The Foxearth and District Local History Society

The Hysterical Hystorian

For occasional articles, snippets and announcements by the Resident Historians. (Andrew Clarke and GH) These articles are presented in date order, but if you explore the back-catalogue, you may find much of interest. Historical information doesn't really go out of date! Any member of the F&DLHS may add an entry or make a comment to an existing entry once they have got their userID and password from the Webmaster.

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Thursday, January 27, 2005

Them Harnted Housen

As the 'Most haunted House in England' was once on our patch, I thought it would be interesting to reproduce a ballad written in the Essex dialect by Charles Benham in 1890. It takes very little to make the ballad fit the legend of Borley Rectory, but I fear to do it in case it then becomes absorbed into the tissue of the legend. The fit is remarkable, with the description of the rats, the lights in the window and the female ghost, 'the Owd un' (the old one)

" THEM HARNTED HOUSEN. "

[A BALLAD OF WARNING.]

Goo' mornin', sir, you minter say you bought them housen there,

An' you're a-go'n ter live in one ? Well, that 'l1 make 'em stare.

Them housen. sir, is harnted, an' was when I's a lad,

An' anyone as sleep there, sir, is sartin to be had.

I wouldn't tell yer, but surlie, I knaow as you'll repent.

Tek my advice, sir, don't you gao, y'll on'y wish yer hent,

Tha's no good you a-larfin don't you sleep 'ithin that plaice.

Do to-night you'll be a-larfin on the wrong side o! yer faice.

There's jes one thing about it, you 'ont want to be there long

Afore you say my wahrd is right, though now you think tha's wrong

The rets ? Nao, sir, that ent the rets, n'r yet the moice,

I guess, But tha's the Owd un, I believe, an' nothin' more n'r less.

Las' night I passed them housen by, along o! Tom an' Jack.

"There'll be a tempest, booy," 1 say, "the moon lay on her back."

The wind were flanny, an' the clouds come up as black as slaites,

An' soon that lightened crost the sky, an' thundered jes to rights.

You oughter sin them winders, sir, all lit o' fire-good luck !

And rattled-1 sh'd think th'did-my stars, them winders shuk !

We didn't stop, I tell yer why, we felt that drefful bad,

Afear the Owd un sh'd rome out, an' we sh'd a bin had

Ah, you can larf, but don't you lay your head 'ithin that plaice,

Do to-morrer you'll be larfln on the wrong side o' yer faice.

Them housen, sir, is harnted, an' was since I's a lad

Tek my adwice, sir, don't you gao--yer sartin to be had.

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