And so the bold outlaw set forth,
At eighteen years disowned,
To slaying braggarts, beasts and bears,
And catching wedding guests unaware,
And acquiring Swallow his swift sleek mare –
So many adventures alone!

During this time he fell in love
With Turfrida of St. Omer,
When fighting for the Count of Flanders
Against Count Guines and his fighters,
And then against the French commanders,
Holding her ever closer.

But all these tales are not for today,
Perhaps another time,
Instead the tales of his return,
When he heard that his homeland burned,
Invaders ruled his hometown Bourne,
Whilst boasting of their crimes.

Returning to The Ballad of the Wake, these verse attempt to condense his time in exile.
(10.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by British Library on Unsplash

Here is the tale of Hereward,
The one they call The Wake,
The warrior from the deepest Fen,
Who gathered around him mighty men,
To keep at bay that William,
For precious England’s sake.

Amongst his childhood friends and peers
Young Hereward caused offence,
Both tough in work and rough in play,
He grew in boldness day by day,
Determined to win in every way,
Succeeding at others’ expense.

But through this strife he grew in strength,
In arm and leg and chest,
With speed, agility, and thought,
In nimbleness he was never caught,
Overcoming all he fought,
Proving he was the best.

His Father? Leofric of Bourne,
The nephew of Earl Ralph.
His mother? Eadgyth,¹ great-niece of
The famed Duke Oslac of the north.
From this fair family he set forth,
One born to rank and wealth.

In stature, sturdy and most stout
And handsome in his features.
With striking eyes and long blond hair,
He strode the land without a care,
A burly man built like a bear,
Most striking of God’s creatures.

After a while his constant quarrels,
With neighbours, friends and strangers,
Kept his parents from their sleep,
As they had to wield their swords to keep,
At bay the crowds of those he’d beat,
Now baying for blood enraged.

Inevitably this hell-raiser,
Soon fought against his father,
And wore him down with arguments
And a rebellious streak that wouldn’t relent.
So long this feud was allowed to ferment
That his Father snapped, his clothes he rent,
And with the blessings of good King Ed,²
Banished his son to the continent,
To shock the prodigal was his intent,
Into rediscovering honour.

So Hereward stormed away in anger
As heat burned in his head,
No kind words to his kin addressed,
No sin he thought should he confess,
He left them in their sore distress,
As onwards he did tread.

A few more stanzas of my Hereward ballad, edited together with those from earlier this week
(08.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Image John Cassell, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

1. Pronounced Edith ↩︎
2. King Edgar ↩︎

Amongst his childhood friends and peers
Young Hereward caused offence,
Both tough in work and rough in play,
He grew in boldness day by day,
Determined to win in every way,
Succeeding at others’ expense.

But through this strife he grew in strength
In arm and leg and chest,
With speed, agility, and thought,
In nimbleness he was never caught,
Overcoming all he fought,
Proving he was the best.

In stature, sturdy and most stout
And handsome in his features
With striking eyes and long blond hair
He strode the land without a care
A burly man built like a bear
Most striking of God’s creatures

A look back at Hereward’s youth
(07.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
John Cassell, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons