Please Comment: The Legend of Spring-Heeled Jack

[From Our Blog]

Just posted on SuperStack by mickleinapickle – discussions in this thread, please
---

Come pull up a chair,

pray sit you down.

I’ll tell you a tale

of London Town.

A story to thrill

and I won’t hold back

about the legend

of Spring-Heeled Jack.

.

In those bygone days

when I was small,

it came to pass

that a man so tall

did prowl the streets

with roguish eye.

A man who could leap

two storeys high.

.

In the dark of night

in a leafy glade,

he stole a kiss

from a comely maid,

then off he went

in a blinding flash

with a bounding leap

and a daring dash.

.

The maid did scream

in great alarm

and brave men rushed

to cause him harm,

but Jack was gone

by a city mile.

Left a buxom girl

with a secret smile.

.

“Tell me, maiden,”

said the Squire so bold,

“about this demon

and we’ll take hold.”

“He was eight feet tall

and spat blue flame!

Please catch him, Sire,

to honour my name.”

.

The Squire rode hard

on this deep, dark night

with twenty stalwarts

in righteous might.

Jack was dancing

with leaps and hops.

Waltzing all over

the chimney tops.

.

“Tis he!” came the cry

and shots rang out,

but Jack came around,

gave a hefty clout.

Then off he leapt

with a leering aside

to the red-faced Squire

and his wounded pride.

.

Well, Jack jumped over

London’s tower,

danced a fine jig

through frame and bower.

He’d steal a kiss

through hooded cape

then off he’d bound

on his merry jape.

.

Now, Spring-Heeled Jack

doth care for naught.

Two hundred years

and ne’er been caught.

Out he’ll leap with

a cuddle and a sigh

for a winsome wench

with a wistful eye.

.

So, come you beauties,

you maidens fair

with flashing eyes

and shining hair.

Now, tell me ladies

(pray, don’t hold back),

perchance a kiss

from Spring-Heeled Jack?

.​

---

By @mickleinapickle
Get the discussion going – post your thoughts & comments in the thread below…

 

[Rich.]

Really enjoyed this!

A few years ago I was developing a kind of X-Files-in-Victorian-England series, and Spring-heeled Jack was on my list of characters to include. He's a rich seam to be mined.

Now, Spring-Heeled Jack

doth care for naught.

Two hundred years

and ne’er been caught.

And this conjures an image of a young woman alone in a 21st-century library discovering this poem in a book from the 19th century. But Jack's legend was fresh back then, so how can it be that the book speaks of "Two hundred years"? Unless the book is somehow writing itself.

And then there's a tap on the window, and a hooded figure whips by...

---

There are more stories to tell of Spring-heeled Jack, I reckon.

Great poem, mickle, loved it!

 

[mickleinapickle]

Really enjoyed this!

A few years ago I was developing a kind of X-Files-in-Victorian-England series, and Spring-heeled Jack was on my list of characters to include. He's a rich seam to be mined.


And this conjures an image of a young woman alone in a 21st-century library discovering this poem in a book from the 19th century. But Jack's legend was fresh back then, so how can it be that the book speaks of "Two hundred years"? Unless the book is somehow writing itself.

And then there's a tap on the window, and a hooded figure whips by...

---

There are more stories to tell of Spring-heeled Jack, I reckon.

Great poem, mickle, loved it!

Ah, @Rich. I was that masked avenger. He was actually leaping around London rooftops about 140 years ago, but 'two hundred years' fitted the rhythm of the poem better. He was last seen in Liverpool in the 1970s... there were strange reports of a man running and jumping across rooftops in the dead of night. Funny old world.

 

[Rich.]

'two hundred years' fitted the rhythm of the poem better

And rightly so! I wasn't criticizing, but rather suggesting a story one might write inspired by your poem

 

[mickleinapickle]

And rightly so! I wasn't criticizing, but rather suggesting a story one might write inspired by your poem

Good bit o' banter @Rich. Take care.

 

[Hannah Faoileán]

And this be the same Jack who's forever jumping over candlesticks.

 

[mickleinapickle]

And this be the same Jack who's forever jumping over candlesticks.

@Hannah F I've inkling he may also be the Jack who went up the hill with Jill.

 

[Rich.]

I've inkling he may also be the Jack who went up the hill with Jill.

Is he now? Deep roots, indeed. What's the story there?

 

[mickleinapickle]

Is he now? Deep roots, indeed. What's the story there?

I'm unsure of the full events which unfolded, @Rich. but my understanding is that Jack and Jill were summer-kissed lovers who spent a lot of time cavorting up and down the hill, and then one day Jack fell from top to bottom, and had a mishap concerning his crown. This misfortune seems to have sent him doolally, and caused him to start leaping across rooftops and steal kisses from comely maidens. Most peculiar. Jill herself also took a tumble, but only suffered a broken heart when Jack began chasing hither and thither after the said maidens. Rumour has it that Jill eventually became a madam in a house of ill repute... but details of that seem to have been lost in the ongoing confusion of life and tall tales.

 

[Rich.]

You know, now that you say that, there was this bloke I was talking to down the pub the other night, big fella he was, with a scar down one cheek in the shape of a bat, and he knew this old girl – lovely woman, fishwife-turned-seamstress, made dresses for them rich ladies up the nice end of town – and she said – you're not going to believe this – she said – you ready for this? – she said that it was Jack that was running the house of ill repute, that he'd changed his name to Josephine and worn naught but stockings and a negligee for nigh-on fifty years. So that – and now this is me talking; call me a fool – that would seem to suggest – wild speculation, of course – but that would seem to suggest that it was Jill that donned the sprung heels and got to leaping all over town.

Oh, now look at that, all me hairs are standing on end.

It was you that said, wasn't it? – funny old world.

 

[Peyton Stafford]

You know, now that you say that, there was this bloke I was talking to down the pub the other night, big fella he was, with a scar down one cheek in the shape of a bat, and he knew this old girl – lovely woman, fishwife-turned-seamstress, made dresses for them rich ladies up the nice end of town – and she said – you're not going to believe this – she said – you ready for this? – she said that it was Jack that was running the house of ill repute, that he'd changed his name to Josephine and worn naught but stockings and a negligee for nigh-on fifty years. So that – and now this is me talking; call me a fool – that would seem to suggest – wild speculation, of course – but that would seem to suggest that it was Jill that donned the sprung heels and got to leaping all over town.

Oh, now look at that, all me hairs are standing on end.

It was you that said, wasn't it? – funny old world.

@Rich. Bravo for your prose.

 

[Rich.]

@Rich. Bravo for your prose.

Thanks, Peyton, very kind.