‘Priscilla Queen of The Desert’ comes to ‘The Forum’ in Barrow in Furness, Cumbria from the 16th- 20th May. Don’t miss out!

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‘PRISCILLA QUEEN OF THE DESERT’ is on at ‘The Forum’ in Barrow-in-Furness in Cumbria from Tuesday 16th May- Saturday 20th May. If you are a fan of feel good musicals, then this one is for you!


To book, call ‘The Forum’ on 01229 467498 or online at http://www.theforumbarrow.co.uk/events/b-o-d-s-present-priscila-queen-of-the-desert?spektrix_bounce=true.



Aira Force

Aira force

-Based on the Cumbrian folk tale.

The besotted lovers were not long betrothed, drums forced Sir Eglamore to war
He promised his weeping Emma that he’d return as he had done before
Emma yearned for her Sir Eglamore, the Knight so gallant and fine;
But alas, he had to depart, abandoning her for some time
News came that Eglamore had perished, grief hurled her into depression
Her health deteriorated seriously and she lived in a deranged possession
In time, Emma began to sleepwalk and the knight did not know;
That she was far from the sweet lady he had met some years ago
One day he returned, alive from the war to be reunited with her
He was not aware of Emma’s condition, or that her mind was deterred
Sighting her near the beck, he approached, tapping her upon the shoulder
But terror struck, and she stumbled, then tumbled over a slimy boulder
Down she plummeted as she fell on a prepiece and over the waterfall
The Knight could only watch in horror as there was nothing he could do at all.
He pulled his lover to the edge of the pool and up, onto the side
It was then Emma lost her life, for in his arms she died.


©Sophie Bowns 2011-2014

Rue The Night.

The curse of Levens Hall.
-Edited by Natalie Simpson

An old woman roamed; she had lost her way upon the grass so bare

Frosted tracks followed and soft brown eyes watched her stumble here and there.

She glanced back at the herd of deer, with their bright eyes staring wide

They were her friends and family, in them she could confide

Like unceasing tears the rain did fall upon the darkened land,

A couple sheltered, warm indoors, for the night was close at hand;

Cutting wind whipped to and fro, and moaned among the leaves

As the haggard creature approached the step, rolling up her sleeves

Her teeth chattered, her knees shook; she drew a painful breath

The cold air rattled in her chest – a harbinger of death.

The gypsy stretched out a withered hand, took hold of the brass handle

As something pretty caught her eye, it was but a simple candle

A pained smile creased her weathered lips; it looked so warm in there

Yes, a fire danced merrily in the hearth. The gentleman rose from his chair.

She heard some sort of commotion, and the door cautiously opened

To reveal a butler standing there: perhaps he would offer a token?

But the servant only stood and stared, before calling for the owner of the house.

Too frail to stand, the old woman sagged and waited like a frightened mouse

Raised voices echoed from inside, followed by chattering and laughter

There were footsteps resounding in the hall, could this be the master?

The door flew open, almost striking her but she shuffled away in time

A handsome man stood before her there, dressed in clothes so fine.

“Gypsy woman remove yourself; you are not wanted here

You do not frighten me, be off with you- it isn’t you I fear.”

She pleaded for his pity, clasped her hands as she clung to his leg;

But- “Be off with you, leave my house. Do not presume to beg!”

The gypsy sighed, slumping back as these words escaped her mouth;

“You’ll live to rue this night, Sir, when you turned me from your house.”

“What do you mean?” He insisted. “Oh why don’t you get up and go?”

“ Sir, your line will bear no heir, until a white fawn is born and the River Kent ceases to flow.”

She took satisfaction from his change of expression, casting one more glance inside;

Her hazel eyes rolled back in her head; the gypsy exhaled and died.

©Sophie Bowns 2011-2014