I guess I could try and explain more about the whole thing.
It's all a bit of a loose end still for me, though the Poem's complete, I wish to get into the story of the man's life and era a lot more, and to learn everything I possibly can.

The inspiration started aged 8 years old (I'm in my late twenties now), back in Junior school. I was taught the story of the late Enoch Stone and we were taken to see a stone at the side of a road that read E.S. This is something that stuck with me. I would always think about the story, and the man; the tragic death, the whole thing, throughout my life.

For the last 3 to 4 yrs, it's been playing on my mind a lot and as a singer and songwriter I'm always looking for inspiration. I always wanted to write about this, be it as a song or a poem or just something for me.

The day I wrote it out was a sad day, a close friend had died the night before and I had been speaking to another friend about the story. He had never heard of the man before, brutally battered at the side of the road many years ago, not surprising perhaps; how many locals can recite folklore of events dating back to 1856?

So that's why I started it. I spent a few hours in the library, looking up family trees, death records, burial locations, birth certificates, and other writings of the actual story. I jotted down some notes, all the names, places, dates, times, who's, what's, where's and when's, and set about it.

I never saw it as a piece of poetry or a song at the time. I just wanted to write the story, but I naturally write in rhyme. 10 years of songwriting tends to drill itself into you.

So there's not much else to tell about my inspiration really. Here's the piece...

Monday, June 23rd, 1856.
Lay in wait, a terrible fate for a man of limited tricks,
On a turnpike, by the Butter Factory on the outskirts of town.
A murder was a-taking place while the locals partied on down,
At the anniversary fete of the Arboretum Park,
Enoch Stone was tackled, robbed and beaten in the dark.
Kicked to death by un-named souls, Left his body in a hole.
Battered, bloody, breathless, cold, at the side of the road.

Enoch Stone was a quiet man and mentally quite lame.
In the church choir he played his flute, people knew his name.
He tried to work but faltered with his disability,
Made his money slaving hard at the Silk Glove Factory.
Ambushed on a lonely road, with no-one else about,
His boots were stole, his clothes were torn, his pockets inside out.
His skull was smashed with a heavy blow, the weapon still unknown,
Left to die by the side of the road, cold and all alone.

Cries of 'murder', shouted out by people of the night.
Others kept on passing by, hindered by the light.
Two men passed a dying Stone, black and bloody, Lain in strife,
and if they could of only known, they would of saved his life.
twenty minutes later, came a man named William Peat
Passed poor Enoch lying there, left dying in the street.
He thought he was a drunkard, and passed him, onward home.
No-one cared or spared a thought for poor old Enoch Stone.

Tuesday, June 24th, 1856.
Keeper Davidson found Enoch lying face down in a ditch.
He sent his Coachman Lavender to go to town for help.
Then on his knees he tried to aid the poor man robbed of health.
A constable and Doctor were the next men on the scene,
Poor Enoch lay there comatose in an unexpected dream.
They placed his body on a wagon and took him to his home.
Better dead with people that cared than outside all alone.

6am on Wednesday with the Doctor by his side,
His wife and children watched in fright as poor old Enoch died.
No answers to the questions as to why this came to be.
Constable Wright was declared the man to solve the mystery.
David Hall was seen on Cemetery Hill in disalarm,
Another spotted poor Welsh Mick with boots under his arm.
Arrested for a murder, or a lack of intelligence.
And later released without a charge, for lack of evidence.

An inquest to the death, the verdict was coldly shown,
The victim murdered willfully by person or persons unknown.
A fine reward was issued by the local magistrate.
To bring the killers to the court for equal awful fate.
The days went by, the years have passed, the murder still unsolved,
Policemen failed to catch the man or men that were involved.
Now all these years later, this story is hardly known,
and all that's left is a stone that reads E S (Enoch Stone).