The Ballard of Charlotte Dymond
The Ballad of Charlotte Dymond
The ballad of Charlotte Dyamond is a story about a girl, which gets murdered by her Psycho
(AND crippled) boyfriend, Matthew Weeks.
Charlotte Dymond, a domestic servant aged eighteen, was murdered near Rowtor Ford on Bodwin Moor on Sunday 14 April 1844 by her young man: a crippled farm-hand, Matthew Weeks, aged twenty-two.
A stone marks the spot.
The story goes as this Charlotte Dyamond went out on Sunday the 14th in April with her boyfriend, as the day followed they went beyond the marches through the Sunday mist, she never saw the razor waiting at his wrist.
Charlotte was gentle but she was found in her Sunday beads among the reeds beaming with her blood as her naked neck was split.
Her skin was soft as sable, her eyes were wide as day, her hair was blacker than the bog and her cheeks were made out of honey, how could somebody ever kill her, that’s what everybody thought except Mathew Weeks…
It was a Sunday evening
And in the April rain
That Charlotte went from our house
And never came home again.
Her shawl of diamond redcloth,
She wore a yellow gown,
She carried the green gauze handkerchief
She bought in Bodmin town.
About her throat her necklace
And in her purse her pay:
The four silver shillings
She had at Lady Day.
In her purse four shillings
And in her purse her pride
As she walked out one evening
Her lover at her side.
Out beyond the marshes
Where the cattle stand,
With her crippled lover
Limping at her hand.
Charlotte walked with Matthew
Through the Sunday mist,
Never saw the razor
Waiting at his wrist.
Charlotte she was gentle
But they found her in the flood
Her Sunday beads among the reeds
Beaming with her blood.
Matthew, where is Charlotte,
And wherefore has she flown?
For you walked out together
And now are come alone.
Why do you not answer,
Stand silent as a tree,
Your Sunday worsted stockings
All muddied to
The ballad of Charlotte Dyamond is a story about a girl, which gets murdered by her Psycho
(AND crippled) boyfriend, Matthew Weeks.
Charlotte Dymond, a domestic servant aged eighteen, was murdered near Rowtor Ford on Bodwin Moor on Sunday 14 April 1844 by her young man: a crippled farm-hand, Matthew Weeks, aged twenty-two.
A stone marks the spot.
The story goes as this Charlotte Dyamond went out on Sunday the 14th in April with her boyfriend, as the day followed they went beyond the marches through the Sunday mist, she never saw the razor waiting at his wrist.
Charlotte was gentle but she was found in her Sunday beads among the reeds beaming with her blood as her naked neck was split.
Her skin was soft as sable, her eyes were wide as day, her hair was blacker than the bog and her cheeks were made out of honey, how could somebody ever kill her, that’s what everybody thought except Mathew Weeks…
It was a Sunday evening
And in the April rain
That Charlotte went from our house
And never came home again.
Her shawl of diamond redcloth,
She wore a yellow gown,
She carried the green gauze handkerchief
She bought in Bodmin town.
About her throat her necklace
And in her purse her pay:
The four silver shillings
She had at Lady Day.
In her purse four shillings
And in her purse her pride
As she walked out one evening
Her lover at her side.
Out beyond the marshes
Where the cattle stand,
With her crippled lover
Limping at her hand.
Charlotte walked with Matthew
Through the Sunday mist,
Never saw the razor
Waiting at his wrist.
Charlotte she was gentle
But they found her in the flood
Her Sunday beads among the reeds
Beaming with her blood.
Matthew, where is Charlotte,
And wherefore has she flown?
For you walked out together
And now are come alone.
Why do you not answer,
Stand silent as a tree,
Your Sunday worsted stockings
All muddied to