FINISHER OF THE LAW

Alexander Green, for stealing a piece of brown stuff, the

property of Mr James Sayer, mercer, from the shop of the said Mr Sayer, to be transported for the term of his natural life . . .

Eddowes Salopian Journal, Wednesday, 21 January 1824

                       Hangin’

                       Eases the pain.

                       Oncommon hangman, me.

                       Made my livin’ from the dead.  Aye,

                       Rum dog.

                       Fond o'
                       Greenhide tails to

                       Stroke n knot, flog n chew.

                       Danna flowed down Hangman Hill.  But

                       Wore a

                       Top ‘at,

                       Swallow-tail coat.

                       Was a circus lad once,
                       A crown tumbler.  Then a tumbler
                       Of crowns.

                       
                       Stretched rope,

                       Soaped, sized up neck,

                       Scragger’s weight, strength, rope’s length

                       From the floor to fall straightways down -
                       The drop.

Lags all

Shivers an’ shakes,

Prayers.  Tied arms tight.  Urged

‘Em up Jacob’s ladder to the
Platform.

                       Proddies

                       Right side o’ drop,

                       High Church croneys middle,

                       Croppies left.  Pulled white caps over

                       Bowed nobs.

                       My first
                       Scragging the worst.
                       Two o’ the culls dropped sweet,
                       But curse the rope that snapped the third
                       What stared

                       Hare’s eyes!
                       Parson painted
                       A better world while Law’s
                       Will was done.  Gave ‘im five minutes’
                       croakin’.

                       Arm broke,
                       When Tiernan,
                        Bushranger pug, flung his

Self, bound, mind, from scaffold to ground.

Knocked me

Flyin’

Fifteen feet down.

Kid was dangled over

The gallows, neck a-jerkin’, stretched,

Strangled.

So climbed

Back to the trap,

Dragged up the pop-eyed corpse,

Sprang the lever and made the drop

Proper.

 Sent to

 King’s Town, Norfolk.

 Scruffed fourteen cockatoos

 What thanked God for deliverance.

  Happy

  The dead.

  Them saved wrung their

  Mittens dammed.  They’d burned to

  Hack Morisset to quarters n

  Flogger

  Fyans

  Boil for dinner.

  Lags were mustered afore

  Gallows Gate to watch me set ‘em

  Dancing.

  My chops

  Was split open

  On a schooner.  Was attacked

  An’ gashed by a prisoner’s axe.

  Scarred bad.

  Beglie,

  A scragger, preached

  Eve afore his snuffing,

  ‘God gives me strength!’ to the pinch-guts

  In cells.

  Next morn,

  Neath the drop, cur

  Preaches by his coffin.

  Gull found God, but mercy mine -  he

  Died quick.

  Scourger

  Of the Barracks

  Once.  Thick skins don’t cry out.

  You catted a cove on his scabs,

  He’d sing,

  Fall faint

  Or fevered.  Blood

  Must flow.  If he baits bribes,

  Tease not the kidneys, but tickle

  The breech.

  Nutbrown

  Phizz, cicatrized.

  Never stood no chance with

  Ladies of the Quality.  Cut

  Me dead,

  Toffs.  Nor

  Swapped neckerchiefs

  With a sweet convict bird.

  Fancied Bridget Horrigan, spit

  Of a

  Spitfire

  Spliced to a rogue.

  Tempted to slip my wind

  At old Sydney Gaol.  Noosed my neck,

  Kicked down

  The stool.

  Curse the cove what

  Cut the Finisher down.

  Hooded n hanged nigh five hundered

  Croakers.

  Enjoyed

  A big bustle

  Watch me bind arms, bag heads,

  Drop the trap while maggots still prayed

  Fierce.

  What’s life?

  Solitary.

  Mutton, damper, rum, gin,

  Molestin’ morts, sly dealin’s ‘bout

  The Rocks.

  I sticks

  Wild pigs amid

  Botany swamps, cut all
  Four paws off the bitch what dare lose

  A fight.

  In dog-

  Carts rode coffins

  To Windsor.  Last hanging

  Were first inside Darlinghurst walls,

   Private.

   Wits turn.

   All hangmans’ does.

   Madhouse at Tarban Creek,

   They stow me in a straitjacket,

   Tight bound.

   Shook by

   Catted screams.  The

   Death bell tolls.  My bolt be

   Drawn.  God, you forsook me summat

   Rotten!

                                                               Michael Small            
April 5-May 7, 2006