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The Ballad of Susan Nobes (harp and poem)

from Susan Nobes by The Penland Phezants

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about

Harpist Vanessa Wood-Davies and Poet Gareth Calway, are the composer/ writers of "The Ballad of Susan Nobes" and perform it on this track. The initial historical research was stumbled upon by accident in the British Library during the author's search for the date his cottage was built. The ballad was based on this re4search. Subsequent research by village historian Tim Snelling informed the other tracks.

Words and music of "The Ballad of Susan Nobes" were published in "Doin' Different- New Ballads From the East of England" (Poppyland 2016.) A recording has since passed a thousand plays worldwide on Soundcloud; a bi-centenary film got a hundred views on You Tube in its two weeks. Not many now would view Susan's death as an Act of God, at any rate not a Christian fire-and-brimstone kind of God. We might be more inclined to interrogate the Sunday School's Health and Safety Policy and the actions of the teacher in loco parentis and feel the father's tragic loss of a beloved daughter cut off in her prime before we made a moral lesson of it. We also might worry more about climate change and how well our fire and rescue service is funded than we might about our children's 'sinfulness' (playing around in the graveyard before school rather than saying her prayers.)


The backdrop for the private bicentenary performance The Ballad of Susan Nobes scheduled for July 5 2019 was the Ladywell, Sedgeford (pictured). The church tower is to the left of the picture, mostly concealed by trees. Note the spooky shadow-cross!

The Ipswich Journal: "During the dreadful thunderstorm on the Evening of July 5th the electric fluid struck the top of Sedgeford Church Steeple on the West Side, and precipitated to the ground several stones of considerable magnitude making a breach in the wall of about a yard square. The lightning also passed through the Church entering in at a window near the porch on the South side; and after crossing in a North East direction, it made its escape at two places in an upper window near the Chancel on the North side".The Rev. A. Ogle later recorded in his 'Sedgefordiana'that "The Church was struck by lightning, whilst a water-spout was falling upon it';

This catastrophic event was worthy enough for the newspaper report to find its way into the Annual Register of World Events 1819-20. A comparable event in recent years would be the May 2007 deluge day when the entire village was cut off after a sudden and unprecedented downpour that within the space of 15 minutes, had brought the village to a standstill with roads cut off by hillwash and mud slides and all access roads flooded with waters amassing at the lowest point of Cole Green, submerging the ground floors of roadside cottages. In July1819 the villagers were dealing with something far more ferocious.

Such was the force of the lightning strike that stones from the tower were dislodged and thrown down to the ground and "the water poured in almost deep enough to drown, forcing its way into the graves within the Church."That would have been bad enough, but this occurred at the same time Mrs Catherine Frances Rolfe, the village squires wife, and the Master, William Harrison, were holding a Bible reading class for the young children, in the vestry which was situated immediately below and between the tower and the south porch where the lightning first entered the church. The news report continues: "An Evening School was being held previous to the occurrence, which happened about 9.p.m. The dismay may be better conceived than described. The children, nearly in a state of distraction, uttering the most dreadful shrieks; parents in search of their children, incessant lightning with peals of thunder, and torrents of rain such as had never been remembered, formed a scene truly terrific."

"Now some time before this they had seen flashes of lightning through the church window. It was very awful, but the lady thought that they were well enough employed, and she did not wish that they should go away before they had done. When the singing was over they all knelt down to pray. The lightning rapidly increased and seemed to fill the window with a blaze of light. But the master went on praying in a very earnest manner. He is one who loves Christ, and I dare say he thought that if he, or any of his little flock were to be struck dead, they could not do better than die on their knees, seeking mercy from Jesus. So he did not pray less because of the storm, but longer; though it was so very dreadful that all present really thought they should soon be killed. You may fancy how awful it was, when I tell you thata thunder­bolt struck the steeple and forced down a beam from the roof just over the door of the vestry where they all were. Large stones were also broken off the steeple. The noise was like the sound of a great gun close by, and there was a strong smell of brimstone. The lady, the master and two girls were struck down by the lightning. One of the girls, Catherine Frary, was in an agony of terror, crying out "Indeed, I will strive to sin no more." The children were so frightened that they began to scream and ran about as if they were beside themselves. The lady begged them not to run away from her... but they all ran away, except the master and the children who stayed with the lady in a corner of the church."

The Rev Ogle tells us that " A beam was displaced, large stones were displaced and fell down from the steeple, and Mrs Rolfe, the Master, and two children were struck down... Whereas the tract states that"By and by it gave over thundering and lightning. The lady and the master, and the children who had stayed with them, then knelt down and thanked God for having kept them safe among so much danger... the father of Susan Nobes came to inquire after his daughter. He had been waiting at home for some time, anxiously expecting her return for he was a man who dearly loved his children, and though he could not keep them from the dangers of such a dreadful storm, yet it was natural for him to wish to have them about him at such an awful time. So after looking for her in vain, he went to the church and not finding her, he went with the lady and the schoolmaster into the vestry, and, after looking about, they found poor Susan lying in a corner behind the door and would fain have persuaded himself she was only in a fit; but her head hung back, there were black zig-zag lines on her side where the lightning had struck her, and he soon found that he was only embracing her dead body and that the soul had gone".

The news report makes no mention of 'zig-zag lines' or any other scorch marks, in fact it clearly states that "Fear is supposed to have been the cause of death, as there was no appearance of the electric fluid having entered the room. A few pieces of mortar were detached from the ceiling, which in all probability was effected by the shock communicated to the steeple, or by the concussion of the stones falling to the ground."Susan father is named as Robert in the news report but parish records reveal that her father was a Henry Nobes, husband to Mary (nee Creed). Henry was a farm labourer and the family lived at "the little cottage called the Town House, at the foot of Corner Stone hill, pulled down and rebuilt by Mr Herbert Binks in 1888."The Town House was Sedgeford's Poor House for the most needy. In 1960, the site was a row of 4 cottages called Washpit of which the two nearest to the main road were condemned but partly saved under new ownership. In due course the remaining 2½ cottages were knocked into one.

Today, Susan's old cottage is (like many in the village and as we present it in this ghost ballad) a holiday home.

Comprehensive further information and pictures etc may be perused here- garethcalway.blogspot.com/2019/04/desperately-researching-susan.html

lyrics

The Ballad of Susan Nobes
‘Come out in the dark lane, lonely boy,
Leave your laptop and play with me.
Leave your father and mother and holiday home
For my wildwood and wicked sea.’

A gone-tomorrow full-moon face
In bonnet and Sunday best;
A goose ran up and down my flesh,
My hair stood stiff as a crest.

‘I’d die to hold a girl like you,
So fashion-hungry thin
But fear there is no heart behind
That sly come-hither grin.

‘There’s maggots in your Sunday best,
Your bony heroine chic’s
A shade too grave about your mouth,
Your vulture-grinning beak.’

‘I’ve been Death’s bride two hundred years
And much too young to die,
Let me take you back to 1819,
The Fifth Day of July.’

The Squire rode down my father’s door
‘All hands to the pump!’ honked he.
‘Sir, I’m weary from working your bone-dry fields,
‘My family hath need of me!’

‘You’re weary from working my golden fields
But my House expects a neighbour
And my Stream has dried in the lower field
And my Pump demands your labour.’

Our childish shrieks filled the heaven-blue
Played hide and seek round the paves
Laughed under the leaves of Eden-green
And kiss-chased through the graves.

The tardy teacher at the gate,
Seized my pretty lobes,
My spray of pretty graveyard flowers:
‘You’re a hell child, Susan Nobes!’

The sunlit schoolroom candle burned
A flame that barely lightened;
A stroke before the clock struck nine
It devilishly brightened.

A growl and rumble at the door,
As dark as pitch in the room,
A sizzling hiss, like a snake on the roof,
An ear-exploding boom.

‘Prayer,’ scorned the teacher, ‘is stronger than rain!’
The dark began to splinter
In lightning tongues as bright as noon,
It grew as cold as winter.

‘God save us!’ screamed the children all,
The teacher tore her gown,
The rain came down in ice and hail,
The sky turned upside down.

A stained glass window-angel smashed,
I kneeled and tried to pray,
A fiery crack of sulphur took
My girlish breath away.

The flickering lightning licked the tower,
Scorched a yard-wide hole in the wall
And from where my Saviour hung on high
Great blocks began to fall.

‘O Robert, our Susan’s lost in the storm.
What kept you away so long?’
‘The Squire needed water, he got his wish,
But where is our daughter gone?’

‘I sent her to Sunday School, oh Robert,
And I fear my choice was cursed.
For none alive has seen such a Flood
Of gravesoil in the church.

He forged the cross under baked Dove Hill
Its Wash rolled like a tide,
He climbed over hill to the rain-drenched crowd
And took the teacher aside.

‘Where’s Susan?’ he said, as quiet as Death,
‘I believe she is with her Saviour.’
‘You left her alone in the schoolroom and fled?’
His question got no answer.

He waded past the porchway Flood,
The font they’d named his daughter
And into a schoolroom as chill as the tomb
Awash with blocks and mortar.

He found me lifeless upon the floor,
My temples charred with flame,
He clenched me in his arms and wept
A tide he’ll never stem.

‘Come out in the dark lane, lonely boy,
Leave your laptop and play with me.
Leave your father and mother and holiday home
For my wildwood and wicked sea.’

credits

from Susan Nobes, released December 18, 2019

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The Penland Phezants England, UK

Name inspired by Rev. Spooner, we fuse a storyteller/poet/
drummer; composer, folk guitarist/dulcimer; folk harpist/ composer;& a 4th singer (2 men/2 women) in singalong anthems for the underdog and the undersung. Hereward the Wake as European hero; rebel-mystic Margery of Lynn; Freeborn John the Civil War Radical; the Littleport Bread Rioters of 1816. Folktale/song, folk ballad, harp/spoken word ... more

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