Suffolk Folk: East Anglian Tales for the 21st Century


The Stowmarket Fairies by Dinah Cowan

Season 1, Ep. 5

1st January 1800

Stowmarket, Suffolk.

Dear Parishioners,

As I dip my pen, at the dawn of a new century, and on a day when so many of us reflect on our lives, vowing to make resolutions, I feel the time has come to share with you a tale that first enchanted me as a young child, some forty years ago. Linger on that word for a moment: enchanted. We Suffolk folk have long considered our cherished county to be enchanting, but let us focus on its essence of the magical, which lies at the heart of this tale.

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Eva of Dunwich by Muriel Moore-Smith

Season 1, Ep. 7
The story of Eva of Dunwich by Muriel Moore-SmithMany years ago, when Dunwich was a bustling port and not the tiny hamlet it is today, a young girl, Eva, was out walking along its harbour walls. In the distance, she spied a ship with magnificent sails. Curious, she hurried towards the place where the ship was moored.Securing the ropes of the vessel was a sailor who looked up from his task and saw Eva, with her rust-coloured hair plaited down her strong back and her cream dress tipped with black. He told her she was beautiful, a child of nature. He said that if she met with him that evening, he would bring her riches the like of which she had never seen.Eva agreed and later that evening, she met the sailor as arranged. It was then that he told her he loved her. And again, later in the dead of night, and later still, in the dark of dawn. But when Eva woke in the morning, the sailor was gone. On the horizon, the sailor’s ship was far away and slipping out of view. Eva looked down at her torn dress and ran a hand through her tangled hair. Her heart ached for his words of love. In an anguish of sorrow for all she had lost, she reached inside her dress and ripped out her heart, throwing it towards the vanishing ship. Today, if you walk along Dunwich beach, in amongst the pebbles and driftwood and pieces of brick, you might find a wooden heart. However much you look, don’t pick it up; its sorrow may become your sorrow.