Geoffrey the twine maker of Dunster travelled to London the sell his wares in the great markets there. On his last day he was to witness the death of the Wallace. He was revolted by it. He returned to Somerset never to travel from his home town again.
A TWINE-MAKER WENT TO MARKET
A Twine-maker from near Blackdown
One year I went to trade
I took good twine to London Town
Where horrors were displayed
I had gone there to sell my wares
Up there near Tower Hill
I saw a crowd with ghoulish stares
Gaze at what made me chill
The great and grand, they stood about
Some crowds enjoyed this gore
And then they led some strange man out
Those grand men seemed secure
A strange man whom men said did wrong
Stood there all calm and mild
He seemed to me quite large and strong
His face serene - not wild
A rope was put about his throat
They eased him off the floor
And all around ghouls seemed to gloat
This made some call for 'more'.
They let him down and let him gasp
Then eased him up again
His choking sounds they seemed to rasp
His clothes showed some damp stain
Once more they eased him to the floor
His belly opened wide
They heaved upon the rope once more
His guts no one could hide
The brute showed him the axe so blunt
Showed him what was to be
Alone he swung there to the front
The birds above flew free
This time they eased his entrails out
As he jerked on that rope
The business they were here about -
To bring an end to Hope!
His inwards came out one by one
They eased him down again
They cut his privates off - 'for fun'
Amid that spreading stain
They burned his organs on the fire
Sure not to let him die
There in the mess and in the mire
'Twas strange - he did not cry!
His mind seemed in another place
A place that none could see
Amid all of that cruel disgrace
Inside his soul seemed free
It seemed to soar up like a bird
To dreams - where he came from
Then he called out that single word
He called out loud "FREEDOM"
A sharper axe was got right there
They cut him into four
There seemed great shame for all to share
Each day we get some more
Yet right upon his dying hour
I saw a dove fly forth
I saw that dove from off the tower
Spread wings and fly to North
It was as if his soul had gone
And entered in that bird
No faces in that crowd now shone
They left without a word
There was strength in that good man's death
A strength that did not yield
And though he'd breathed his final breath
That strength is not concealed
The great and grand they slunk away
That crowd sick to the core
So even great dogs have their day
Become more insecure
On my way back to Somerset
Upon the road I cried
That death I saw I'd not forget
Until the day I died
©Copyright August 21, 2004 by Trevor Morgan
Author’s Note: The Rise of the Dream of Wallace
William Wallace led a hopeless guerrilla war to free his country from Plantagenet dominion. His cause was hopeless he was betrayed by other Scots and handed over to the King of England who gave him a show trial and a slow death. Within two decades Scotland was free and had signed the Arbroath declaration. King Alfred was called "Great" as he saved his people from foreign conquest. Wallace was the equal of Alfred but in his struggle for freedom started the long series of historic events that gave us the freedom we all take for granted too easily today.
Alfred won by conquering his invaders Wallace won by being humiliated and tortured to death by them and staying true to his cause of FREEDOM.
Edington in Sedgemoor and Stirling Bridge in Scotland are special places. They are where turning points in history took place.
To me the Arbroath declaration is more important than Magna Carta. It dealt with the very basic human right from which all others flow.
Of equal importance is Churchill. I saw him once, he seemed a little drunk. But I am too close to Churchill in time.
I have written quite a lot about butterflies and flowers. As a child I played on bomb sites in Bristol. By the early 1950s they were covered in dense growth of buddleia (butterfly plant). I got to see all those butterflies as a boy courtesy of Nazi bombs that destroyed a medieval city centre. That is like Samson's riddle. For out of strength came forth sweetness. The trauma of Wallace gave us freedom and our forbearers exported it lots of places.
Trevor Morgan
January 27, 2005