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
