Who’d have ever thought

Well, who’d ‘ve thought it, eh?

Young Joe Cutts, “Joe-be-Nimble, Joe-be-Quick Cutts”, ‘is Majesty’s convict, become a respected citizen, someone looked up to in town? Back then in 1818 round Tisbury they would ‘ave laughed ‘emselves sick at the idea. Back then, like several of me little gang, I were a desperate kid wiv a bit of a reputation as “Joe Nimble”. As luck would ‘ave it, I were far luckier than the rest, tho’ at the time it didn’t look that way.

Me favver were killed in Nelson’s navy, me two uncles, fighting wiv Wellington: all killed in Muvver England’s service. Muvver England? I’ve known whores more kinder and supportive than Muvver England! So Ma was left with nuffin’ and no family to ‘elp bring up us three brats. Nelson woulda done sumpin’ for one of ‘is old crew- ‘e were human - but ‘e were dead. Wellington become a politician and like them lot the world over too much above us, and like politicians the world over, makin’ a lot ev noise about ‘elpin’ the poor an’ doin’ nuffin’. Wellington soon enough made it clear the poor of England were of little account in the ‘ard years after Waterloo; rather, they was to be treated as Revolutionaries.

So I become scrounger for our family and leader of a small gang of desperate lads, none ‘ev us more’n twelve. For five years we makes a living off the citizens of Tisbury. I keeps the rest of our family from following me, though me younger brother has to be reminded on occasion wiv a dob on ‘is nose. Me sister had her muvver’s cleverness wid t’ needle and, when me bruvver were employed as rouseabout at a nearby inn, the family were less dependent on me thievin’.

In early 1819 me luck ran out and I were ‘pinched’. I were brought before the beak, the local squire who’d a name for ‘arsh sentencin’. I were lucky to ‘ave as gaoler a young chap who were soft on me sister, now sixteen and as pretty ‘n innocint as I were rough ‘n ‘ard. He told me to plead guilty but deny knowin’ anyfink about anyfink. “Make no mistake, that bastard will do his best to stitch yer up fer every crime committed this last ten year!”

The Tisbury Assizes was late that year. The gaoler were right, but the worst the beak could do was sentence me to Transportation. Me poor muvver were beside herself but the gaoler convinced ‘er I were lucky not to be scragged. Heartbreakin’ as sentence were and as terrible the passage to New South Wales, I survived and were assigned to a landholder near the new settlement of Wilberforce. How different everyfink were from England! The landholder found I were trustworthy and good wiv the uvver convicts. After five years he set me up fer a ticket of leave. ‘A course those years weren’t so easy as this suggests and I pass over the ‘ardships. Some dark day when the devil ‘imself ‘as me be the scruff of me neck I’ll tell about that, but not ‘ere, thank’ee Lord, an’ not now. It ‘elped that the landholder suffered as much as us convicts. I stuck wiv ‘im anovver two year. Then he recommended me to his friend what ‘ad taken up an ‘olding near Baffurst.

I were ‘appy enough ter move, leavin’ behind me convict taint. I ‘ad a position of responsibility on this property: me experience were appreciated and I were much better-off. An Irish lass from a neighbourin’ property caught me eye. She had green eyes wot danced wiv mischief, a river ev shiny black hair almost to her waist ‘n the perkiest nose. Mary Boyle did her best to ignore me till, driven to distraction, I asked ‘er ‘and in marriage.

“You’ll have to ask me Da’ about that, and himself a fearsome man!”

Eventurly I plucked up courage. She weren’t wrong. Big as I were, the Da’ were ‘alf me size again. When I told ‘im me problem, he scowled fierce then broke into a great bellow ov laughter. “Well,” ‘e gasped, “if ‘erself ‘as told you that, I’d better be saying yes. Mind you, ‘tis a terrible temper she’s got and a tongue like Molly Malone ‘erself. And I’d be keepin’ that in the front of yer mind fer the next few days.”

We was married six months later. Wivvin two years we saved enough for a small ‘olding near to Orange. It were there Rebecca, the first ev our three kids were born and though we loved ‘em all, she were me favourite— so like ‘er muvver, ‘cept in temper. Oh the tongue on ‘er were quick ‘nd sharp enough, but somehow I were spared most ‘ev it.

We did well enough to have some influence in Orange and make many friends. I‘d long realised bein’ transported to New South Wales were me greatest blessing. The wide open countryside, the sky uninterrupted from horizon to horizon, the clear clean air were such freedom as the likes o’ me back in Muvver England had never imagined. That, togevver wiv me wonderful Mary, who wiv her fearsome temper were an equally fearsome worker, God love ‘er.

Rebecca grew a lovely lass and found a placid mate, a Danish man, migrated to New South Wales in 1852. We lived long enough to see the first two ov our grandchildren, then died wivvin a few months ov each ovver.

Dead we might be, but we’re still aware of our descendants. We’ve known seven generations comin’ and goin’. Doctors, lecturers, bankers, teachers, managers, a parson or two (one or two scamps like me, of course, but no scoundrels and none of ‘em politicians or lawyers) – men and women who’ve done me and Mary proud, people what’ve lived for others in their communities and, not least to their credit, who’ve all found happiness in loving marriages like ours were.

Well, as me old Ma woulda said: “You could knock me over wiv a fevver,” for just who would ever ‘ave thought it?