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Poor Murdered Woman

anonimo
Lingua: Inglese


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[183?]
Una canzone il cui autore si dice sia stato tal Mr. Fairs, un fabbricante di mattoni di Leatherhead, nel Surrey inglese. Ma l’attribuzione è incerta.
Interpretata da diversi artisti inglesi, tra i quali Martin Carthy con Dave Swarbrick nel loro disco “But Two Came By” del 1968, e Shirley Collins in “No Roses” del 1971, con The Albion Country Band.
Testo trovato su English Folk Music.

But Two Came By
No Roses

Non ho voluto proporre la versione di Martin Carthy, che pure è precedente, ma quella di una donna, Shirley Collins, per il motivo che il 25 novembre è la giornata mondiale contro la violenza sulle donne. Eppure credo che anche oggi saranno numerose le uccise, le ferite, le stuprate, che purtroppo It's a Man's Man's Man's World, un mondo in mano alla violenza dei maschi, potenti e/o impotenti, dove i più deboli (i maschi che rifiutano la violenza, e le donne non complici dei maschi aguzzini, e i bambini, e gli animali e tutti gli esseri viventi indifesi) molto spesso soccombono…

La canzone racconta un fatto di cronaca vera accaduta a Leatherhead, nel Surrey, nel 1834 quando, durante una battuta di caccia alla volpe, i cani scoprirono il corpo in avanzato stato di decomposizione di una donna, assassinata a bastonate. La vittima non fu mai identificata, e tanto meno il suo o i suoi assassini… Il cadavere di quella povera donna brutalmente uccisa venne sepolto senza nessuno che lo accompagnasse alla tomba:

“SUPPOSED MURDER—While the Surrey Union Fox Hounds (which are under the direction of H. Combe, Esq.) were out hunting on Saturday last, on Leatherhead Common, a most extraordinary and horrid circumstance occurred which at present is involved in great mystery. About 12 o'clock in the day, as the huntsman (Kitt) was beating about for a fox, the hounds suddenly made a dead set at a clump of bushes on the common. As no fox made his appearance, the huntsman whipped the hounds off, but they still returned to the bushes and smelling all round, would not leave. Supposing there was a fox which would not break cover, the huntsman &c., beat the bushes and in so doing, to their astonishment and horror, they discovered the body of a woman in a state of decomposition, so much so, that on attempting to remove it it was found to be impracticable. A person was placed to watch the remains, and information was sent to Dr. Evans of Leatherhead, who promptly attended. On examining the head, a severe wound was found, and from the general appearance of the body it is supposed to have lain there several months. It was placed in a shell and removed to the Royal Oak, on the common, where a coroner's inquest is summoned to assemble this day (Monday). Various rumours are afloat, some stating the unfortunate woman was the wife of a travelling tinker.”

(The Times, 14 gennaio 1834, citato su English Folk Music)
It was Hankey the Squire as I've heard men say
Who rode out a-hunting on one Saturday
They hunted all day but nothing they found
But a poor murdered woman laid on the cold ground

About eight o'clock, boys, our dogs they throwed off
On Leatherhead Common, and that was the spot
They tried all the bushes but nothing they found
But a poor murdered woman laid on the cold ground

They whipped their dogs off and they kept them away
For I do think it proper she should have fair play
They tried all the bushes but nothing they found
But a poor murdered woman laid on the cold ground

They mounted their horses and they rode off the ground
They rode to the village and alarmed it all around
“It is late in the evening, I'm sorry to say,
She cannot be removed until the next day.”

The next Sunday morning about eight o'clock
Some hundreds of people to the spot they did flock
For to see that poor creature, your hearts would have bled
Some cold and some violence came into their heads

She was took off the Common and down to some inn
And the man that has kept it, his name is John Sims.
The Coroner was sent for and the jury they joined
And soon they concluded and settled their mind.

Her coffin was brought, in it she was laid
And took to the churchyard that is called Leatherhead.
No father, no mother, nor no friend I'm told
Came to see the poor creature laid under the mould.

So now I'll conclude and I'll finish my song
And those that have done it shall find themselves wrong.
For the last day of Judgement the trumpet shall sound
And their souls not in Heaven I'm afraid won't be found.

inviata da Bernart Bartleby - 25/11/2016 - 14:31


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