The Lambton Worm Poem by Mary Champion

I'll tell you of a deadly curse
befell a noble clan.
I'll take you back 800 years
to where it all began.

Young John Lambton took his rod
to fish the river Wear.
He caught a creature on his hook
‘twas worm-like and ‘twas queer.

There's none would cook so strange a fish,
the little lad could tell
and so, he never took it home
but threw it down a well.

John Lambton grew, became a man
and heard the papal call.
He fought for Christ in Palestine,
spared no thought for that haul.

But through the years since it was caught
the worm waxed large and strong.
It left the stricture of the well
and went to prey upon

the cows and sheep who lived about,
the pigs and chickens too.
He sucked the milking cattle dry
and snatched a child or two.

When he was sated, he would crawl
to Fatfield Hill to rest,
or else to Penshaw Hill perhaps,
as legend would suggest.

So huge the worm had grown by now,
he'd wind himself around
the hill some seven times or more
and snored with frightful sound.

At last the story reached the ears
of young John far away.
He travelled back to sort the mess
he'd made in childish play.

Such daunting prospect met his eyes
when he was fresh returned -
the land laid waste, his people starved.
Bleak was the news he learned.

An ancient crone of ill repute
gave counsel to Lord John.
'I'll help you slay the Worm, ' she said
'But that depends upon

you slaying the next thing you meet
however dear it be.'
In desperation John agreed
and fought heroic'lly.

John and his father made a plan
that, with the worm deceased,
he'd sound his hunting horn and then
a dog would be released.

But as so oft, plans went awry -
no dog was on its way.
John met his father first of all
and could not bear to slay

his kin so loved, and so ignored
advice that he'd received.
He went to slay the dog instead
but there was no reprieve.

Three generations of his line
all died before their term.
The price they paid to rid the land
of that marauding worm