The Ghost of Prince Rupert

In November of 2023, we were delighted to welcome Gareth Owen from BBC Radio 4's Poetry Please programme, who had composed and came to read the The Ghost of Prince Rupert, in honour of the Old Street Tavern:

The Ghost of Prince Rupert

Let me pray introduce my good self
I’m known as Annabelle  Lee
I’m the wife of the Landlord here where we sit
At the Old Street Tavern, you see.

Yes, I’m known to all as Annabelle Lee
And with you all, I am desperate to share
The tale of a ghost I saw here one night
A really quite odd affair.

I was ever seduced by tales of love
Of romance I’m a fond devotee
I fall head over heels for the heroes there
While they, of course, fall for me. 

I’m particularly drawn to tales from the past
Dashing heroes from history
Who lay down their lives for fame and for love
Adoring women, rather like me.

 But one man  in particular quite captured my heart
Known as Rupert of the Rhine
Who stole the hearts of many a fair maid
And in dreams he sure stole mine.

 In the English civil war he fought
Adored by the men that he led
He fought for his Uncle, King Charles number one
Who was inclined to lose his head.

 He triumphed in the battle fought at Edgehill
Where his daring and flair won renown
And the rumour goes that on his way home
He dropped in on Ludlow Town.
 

For Rupert of beer was a famed connoisseur
And he knew his way round yeast and hops
And he’d heard that the ale at Old Street Tavern
Definitely came out the tops.

 Oh, I can see brave Rupert and his sturdy nag  
Taking their ease right here
Both sitting cross-legged on stools at the bar
Quaffing a pint of beer?’

And the rumour goes that his ghost has been spied
On some frosty Shropshire nights
Riding his horse at full gallop
Through the Old Street traffic lights.

 And Annabelle knew all there was to be known
Of her hero, the Prince of the Rhine
She set him up as her hero of hers
In a fashion almost divine.

 She knew what he ate for his breakfast
When he rose from his bed each morn
Who was his father, who was his mother
The very hour when her hero was born.

 She knew he was often given to moods
Of despair or sudden elation
Of the headaches he suffered from day to day
His persistent constipation.

 She knew the favourite songs he sang
How he loved to dance the beguine
How oddly, his left eye was blue as the sky
While the right eye was emerald green  

She knew the pet names of his horses and hounds
And she even took it upon her
To call her pet Poodle Rupertypoms
Expressly in his honour.

A portrait of Rupert hung over her bed
On his head a hat of fine leather
Festooned with his favourite fandangle
A flamboyant ostrich feather

She slavishly surfed the internet
Read every single book
Dreamed that he kissed her and whispered soft
How about a quick little …
… philosophical discussion on the nature of warfare my dear. 

More than life, she wished to give birth to a boy
Her barrenness caused her to grieve
And why she could not become pregnant
She could never really conceive.

 Her husband Jack, thought the fault was hers
Annabelle thought the fault lay with him
That though his sperms were numerous
They had never learned how to swim.

 So against his will she booked him straight in
The sperm clinic in Shrewsbury
And though he demurred he finally went
Although most reluctantly.

On the night Jack was away at the clinic
Annabelle lay alone in her bed
Reading Rupert’s famous quotations
And all the fine things he’d once said.

As she read through the night her eyes waxed heavy
And reveries filled her head
While the book she was reading slipped from her hand
And she slept like one who was dead

And as she was sleeping an odd figure appeared
Clad in armour & and in leather
And on his head a fine hat, adorned
With a crimson ostrich feather. 

And she dreamed of a night of the wildest passion
Till St Laurence’s clock struck four
And the shadow of Rupert waved a ghostly farewell  
Before vanishing through the door.

And Anabelle woke from that long dream of love
Her eyes stared about her room
Felt her love lorne heart still pounding with passion
A strange stirring deep in her womb. 

And her eyes caressed the sheets of her bed
Where they had ghostly lain together
And her soft heart reeled when she saw at her side
A crimson oyster feather. 

When husband Jack, returned home that night
They shared anew, loves soft sweet sorrow
And the swimmers they swam like billyho
As though there were no tomorrow.

 Nine months later the midwife cried
Anabelle , it’s a boy, it’s a boy.
And Jack and Annabelle clutched their son
Their hearts overflowing with joy. 

Anabelle held him close and kissed his lids
The brightest eyes she ever seen
But the one on the left was blue as the sky
Whilst the one to the right was green.