#100MonstrousPoems 1: The Giant Rombald

It’s that time of year again.

This time, I’m going to try to write a poem about a different monster every day, drawing from legends and folklore.

I’m starting where I grew up, so here’s Rombald, whose statue stands in Keighley town centre, or did last I checked.

Content warning for domestic abuse, however inept. I read up on the legend and it turns out Rombald’s a nasty little bully.

He stands in the corner of Coffee Delight
And the people around him all gasp at his height,
Because He’s the Big Man. He hopes all of them know it
And he’s got his boulder, but he’ll never throw it.

The great giant Rombald! The scourge of the moor,
Went down to the pub for a quick pint or four.
And soon four became eight, and then twelve, then sixteen.
And the sort of drunk Rombald became, we’d call mean.

They were used to his benders, the people round there,
They kept out of his way, and nobody much cared
When he blustered and shouted. All bark and no bite,
And they laughed as he staggered out into the night.

And out on the moor you could see where he’d thrown
Great boulders at shadows, while wobbling home.
This sheep looked at him funny! That gorsebush was staring!
His rages were common, and most found them wearing.

He got to his house, quite three sheets to the wind
In a terrible mood, not the least bit chagrined
Till his giantess wife, with a tut and a hiss
Shouted “Rombald! just what bloody time d’you call this?!”

Well he’d had quite enough of this rank disrespect
Why did his strength and size have so little effect?.
So he picked up a rock, slurred “tha knows what time this is!”
And hurled it as hard as he could
at his missus.

But his aim wasn’t great. The stone fell on the mat.
And you know Mrs Rombald’s not standing for that!
So she picked up the rock for a counter attack.
Feeling less of a big man, he took a step back…

He woke up next morning and wished he was dead.
Lying out on the moor, a great lump on his head.
And he dareden’t* go back with his wife still so vexed.
So he sat there and thought about what to do next.

He went down to the corner of Coffee Delight
In the hopes that someone would be scared by his height.
He still has his boulder, but he never throws it.
For Rombald’s a coward, and everyone knows it.

*this is a real word in Keighley, I swear.