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Charlotte Dymond WBCP Cornish Poem-Poetry



See the YouTube Video by clicking the below LINK:

Charlotte Dymond –the murder of

The infamous story of this murder, which happened in Cornwall in 1844.

Written and voiced by Cornish Poet Clive Blake.

A poem about a true-life murder, the murder of Charlotte Dymond.  Much research has been carried out regarding this murder case and at least two books have been written into the murder trial and its conclusion.

The Shire Hall in Bodmin, Cornwall, UK has a murder trial reconstruction several times a day, so visitors can make their own mind up to whether Matthew Weeks was guilty of the murder, or not. In the video which is shown before the trial reconstruction, Clive Blake plays the part of Thomas Good the surgeon. The poem by Clive Blake (early version of) is hung on the ground floor to the left of the staircase.



A short video to promote Clive Blake’s latest book ‘Clive’ Uni-Verse – A Cornishman’s take on life’.


Clive's Uni-Verse - A Cornishman's take on life
Poetry by Clive Blake.  Published by:  Olympia Publishers
          An A to Z
          100 Poem
          Galactic Tour

Amazon Kindle eBook:
LINK:   Clive's Uni-Verse: A Cornishman's take on life eBook : Blake, Clive : Kindle Store

GB £3.99


Book Depository:
LINK:  Clive's Uni-Verse - : Clive Blake : 9781800743342 (

GB £9.07 (free shipping worldwide)

Olympia Publishers:
Clive's Uni-Verse - A Cornishman's take on life by Clive Blake – Olympia Publishers

GB £7.99 (plus shipping)

W H Smiths:
LINK:   Clive's Uni-Verse -: A Cornishman's take on life by Clive Blake | WHSmith

GB £6.55 (plus shipping)

by Clive Blake


Coastline, rocky, rugged, proud,
Crumbling cliffs in ozone shroud,
Sun-kissed drifts of desert sand,
Golden frame of a sea cradled land.

Fishing village, atmospheric hub,
Brass band playing, outside quaint old pub,
Boats, all sizes, rest near harbour wall,
Wading birds sift through tide-filled pool.

Foliage explosion of a Cornish hedge,
Country lanes snake, and young birds fledge,
Ruminants, punctuating, quilted hill,
Buzzards soar and wise hares are still.

Tin mine engine house, towering stack,
Roof caved in, gorse and bracken’s back,
White clay peak, geometrical and sleek,
Earth’s riches gouged, canyon deep.

Moor-land, open, untamed, granite strewn,
Wild ponies dance to a skylark’s tune,
Tor and beacon, barrow and mound,
You’re in God’s own country, when you walk this ground.


Lichen laden, granite cross,
Reminder of a celtic culture’s loss,
An icon to placate a harsh deity,
A religious symbol, an outward plea.

Laden cross, granite lichen,
Not a mere whim, but a deliberate decision,
Ley-line power, here to focus,
Awaiting another mid-summer solstice.

Granite cross, lichen laden,
Sculptured for a dark-haired maiden,
Elaborate and ultimate statement of love,
A prayer for a union to be blessed from above.

Cross, lichen laden, granite
Manufactured on a far off planet,
Crafted and left to become immortal, 
Marker of a time traveller’s portal.


Tick-tock and then chime;
Our life-clock beats
Our precious time out,
As it slowly depletes.

No-one can know when
Their own 'clock' will stop,
Will it end on a tick ...
Or will it end on a tock?

Each hour on the dot
Our clocks clearly chime,
To remind us all
Of our passing time.

Use your time wisely,
For ye know not when,
As engraved on the sun-dial;
On the church at St Wenn.


AKA ‘Dymond – A Girl’s Worst End’

In early eighteen-forty-four,
In Cornwall’s heart; on Bodmin Moor,
Charlotte Dymond, a young farm maid,
Had her throat slit with a steel blade,

She crossed fast streams and deadly bogs,
Found her way through mists and fogs,
But couldn’t stop that fatal blow,
That stole her life and laid her low,

She walked to meet someone that day,
Just who that was ... no one would say,
Found days later beside a track,
Laid on a cart; her shroud a sack,

The surgeon, Thomas Good, was fetched,
Had in his mind, her white face etched,
Charlotte untouched by fox or crow,
Had she been moved ... he did not know, 

No evidence was ever found,
But her young boyfriend had gone to ground,
Fingers so quick to point his way,
Matthew Weeks panicked; ran away,

The hapless cripple, was soon caught,
No other culprit was ever sought,
The judge was just a rubber-stamp,
Bodmin Gaol was dark and damp,

The scaffold built, the crowds arrived,
Matthew swore he had not lied,
The floor gave way, the rope drew tight,
Was justice done ... the verdict right?


[Fowey is pronounced Foy; as in boy]

There was an old wreck-marker from Fowey,
Who had been at sea since he was a buoy,
But when his mooring wore through,
He went where the wind blew,
Ending his days on the beach - as a toy.


This flower cut,
Whilst in full bloom,
Now rests in peace,
Within this tomb.


I watched
A Cornish chough,
Flying so Cornish high,
Over Cornish cliffs,
In a Cornish sky,
All Cornish observations,
Made by my Cornish eye.

I watched 
The Cornish sun,
Masked by a Cornish cloud,
I thought my Cornish thoughts,
My Cornish thoughts were loud,
I viewed the Cornish landscape,
And I felt so Cornish proud.

I watched 
The Cornish waves,
Roll into the Cornish bay,
I saw the Cornish sunset,
At the end of another Cornish day,
For I am forever Cornish,
And forever Cornish I will stay ...


Cornwall is almost an island,
Thanks to the river Tamar and the sea,
Its indigenous inhabitants are us Cornish and
We Cornish are a nation - and will always be.

Kernow (Cornwall)
Boasts its own: 
      Parliament and laws home grown,
      Flag, anthem and crest with fifteen bezants,
      Cornish Pasty and Oggy Oggy chants,
      Patron Saint and noble Kings,
      National bird with its black chough wings,
      Unifying tagline of ‘One And All’,
      Cornish wrestling and silver hurling ball,
      Ethnic Minority status, Unique DNA,
      Cornish language still spoken today,
      Nationhood recognised worldwide,
Facts are facts and the facts can’t hide.

We embrace our British neighbours
And we respect the Queen,
But we Cornish are a Nation
And we have always been.

Westminster chooses to ignore this fact,
Let it relent and admit its shame,
For whilst the truth beats in Cornish hearts,
A nation – we shall remain …


The Cornish shore …
Where golden sand lies next 
To dappled grey granite rock,
Where the sea breeze sweeps
And the mussels flock,
Where the rock pools gather
And the small crabs patrol,
Where the white foam curls
And the breakers roll,
Where the sea birds call
And the salt spray stings,
Where the seaweed sunbathes
And the limpet clings,
Where a stream’s course meanders,
And reflects the azure sky,
Where a starfish gazes skywards
And white clouds go scudding by.

By all means take treasured memories,
But please take nothing more, 
And leave nothing but your footprints
On this sacred Cornish shore …


I want to walk in my golden years,
On the Cornish beaches’ warm gold sands,
Where my footsteps are unhurried,
And my route is seldom planned.

I want to sit on the wooden benches,
Overlooking those dark blue bays,
I want to breath in this fresh salt air,
Until the ending of my days.

I don’t want to become immortal;
Living for forever and a day,
I just want to savour life in this world,
No matter how long or short my stay.

I don’t want my life extended for the sake of it,
With no reason or rhyme,
I just want to live in the here and the now,
And enjoy this - my quality time.


She watched
A Cornish chough,
Flying so Cornish high,
Over Cornish cliffs,
In a Cornish sky,
All Cornish observations,
Made by her Cornish eye.

She watched 
The Cornish sun,
Masked by a Cornish cloud,
She thought her Cornish thoughts,
Her Cornish thoughts were loud,
She viewed the Cornish landscape,
And she felt so Cornish proud.

She watched 
The Cornish waves,
Roll into the Cornish bay,
She saw the Cornish sunset,
At the end of another Cornish day,
For she was forever Cornish,
And forever Cornish she will stay ...


He watched
A Cornish chough,
Flying so Cornish high,
Over Cornish cliffs,
In a Cornish sky,
All Cornish observations,
Made by his Cornish eye.

He watched 
The Cornish sun,
Masked by a Cornish cloud,
He thought his Cornish thoughts,
His Cornish thoughts were loud,
He viewed the Cornish landscape,
And he felt so Cornish proud.

He watched 
The Cornish waves,
Roll into the Cornish bay,
He saw the Cornish sunset,
At the end of another Cornish day,
For he was forever Cornish,
And forever Cornish he will stay ...


Now, Cornish tradesmen do a proper job,
But they might not do it straight away,
For if they say they’ll do it dreckly,
There might be a slight delay …!

Although the English directly, 
And …..……… the Cornish dreckly, 
sound very similar, 
they are polls apart
in terms of meaning!!

Cornish Poet Clive Blake
You can contact me via my website:

Anyone can use these poems, as long as I am credited as  the author and they are not used in any commercial way.

Cornish Poetry Collection:
Poems by Clive Blake

       01  Cornwall Explored
       02  Lichen Laden Granite Cross
       03  Ye Know Not When
       04  Charlotte Dymond
       05  Old Wreck Marker From Fowey
       06  An Epitaph For Charlotte Dymond
       07  Cornish Eye
       08  We Cornish Are A Nation
       09  Cornish Shore
       10  Quality Time
       11  Her Cornish Eye
       12  His Cornish Eye
       13  Cornish Tradesmen

The 'Duchy of Cornwall' is the South Western most part of the British Isles.  It neighbours England but is not part of it.
The Cornish are the indigenous inhabitants of Cornwall and are officially recognised as an ethnic minority.
Kernow is the Cornish Language word for Cornwall.

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This YouTube Video tells the infamous story of the murder of Charlotte Dymond