Tuesday, March 8

Murhalls Tomb - Tams skin




It happened during the rebellion
Of seventeen forty five
When Bonnie Charlie's armies
Went to London for a fight
They took a break in Bagnall
Near the high point town of Leek
Raping and pillaging Endon
Just to see them through the week
When a local Duke lay waiting
With his soldiers up at Stone
He rode away to Derby
To hide there all alone
A squire then killed a drummer boy
Who was left there just to roam
The poor lad left to wander
They had forgotten to take him home
They sliced and skinned his body
Then they tanned it like a hide
To make a drum to play in church
Which was a most repellent site
Well it caused disease and famine
Or so the town folk said
And many there did cheer aloud
When the squire himself was dead
Now if you don't believe me
I'll swear to you its true
Go see the tomb of Murhall
In the church of our Saint Luke
They say the ghost of Bonnie
Still rides when moon shines bright
Still searching for his drummer boy
Who died of vengeful spite
Go seek the place called Tomkin
A place with a gruesome past
Where locals stop to play the drums
But Scotsman ride through fast

A poem about the legend of Toms skin of Bagnall

Tom’s Skin



Several versions of the story of Tom’s Skin, from which the hamlet takes its name, can be found, but they agree on the central matter of a drummer boy, named Tom, who came south when Bonny Prince Charlie invaded England in 1745 and almost reached as far as Derby. On their way, the Scottish soldiers stayed at Bagnall Hall, home of Squire Murhall. Following various humiliations at their hands, the Squire was able to capture one of them: the drummer Tammas, Tam or Tom. He had the boy flayed with the intention that his skin be used to cover a drum. The rest of the body was laid to rest at the place now known as Tom’s Skin or Tomkin, also spelled Tompkin. You can read the rest of the story, and variations, in the book,

“Tomkin in the Staffordshire Moorlands: A history of hamlet and chapel” by Irene Turner.

1 comment:

  1. I am researching my family history, Murhall, this is fascinating and macabre.
    Thank you.
    Paul MUrhall-Griffith.
    Visiting next week

    ReplyDelete

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Poetry from Stoke On Trent. The various verses within this blog explore my changing reality and mood swings. Verses that meander around domestic violence, self harm and mania, then return to enjoy happier thoughts and emotions from my childhood and the local area and its fantastic history and heritage. This is truly subversive and thought provoking literature from the heart of England that will live with you forever.

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