Talk Of The Fenfolk

Samuel Loveday and the strange death of Eupham Naycroft

The mist gripped at the lowlands and slumbered across the fens. There was nothing here, nothing but the edges of reeds and the shutter of smoke and the snap of the branches. Here, in late November, the sea swept up high and the only way from Gremen Fen to Lewyck was the barrowman’s boat. By nine or so of the clock, the skies gleamed a…