The Mudlarks

He crept on out of the ginnel, and

He whispered: ‘Follow me,

The tide is down in the river, so

We’ll see what we can see.

We might pick up a penny or two,

A bundle of fishing twine,

Or maybe even a sovereign, Nat,

But if we do, it’s mine!’

 

Young Godby, he was a Mudlark,

He was only eight or nine,

But he’d been foraging through the mud

Since 1869,

His Dad had gone with a steamer

All the way down to the Cape,

But if you looked at his mother,

You could see, he’d just escaped.

 

So Godby went on a daily sludge

Each time that the tide was out,

Out where the Thames receded when

His Mother began to shout,

He told me that he would show me

All the tricks to find the gilt,

Buried beneath the slimy mud

And deep down in the silt.

 

He wasn’t the only Mudlark there

We passed by Mary Ann,

She was covered in mud, but grinned,

She’d found a frying pan,

We traipsed out further toward the stream

That lapped beside the mud,

‘This is the place you find the stuff,

It’s mucky, but it’s good!’

 

I picked up a box and wiped it off,

He said, ‘Hey, that’s Japanned,

You’ll probably get a bob for that

If you take it to Wheezy Dan.’

He dug around and he found some brass

And some copper fender ware,

He said, ‘You ‘elp me carry it back,

And whatever I get, I’ll share!’

 

The sun was down, it was almost dusk

And the cold, so cold it hurt,

Suddenly Godby tripped and fell

His foot caught up in a skirt,

The woman lay buried in slimy mud

Her face as black as pitch,

‘Here’s one,’ he said, ‘has slung her ‘ook,

Has jumped off London Bridge!’

 

He said he’d seen them a lot before

So he didn’t appear upset,

‘You get what yer can,’ he said to me

As he fumbled around her neck,

He pulled off a tiny golden chain

With a locket, covered in mud,

Then fumbled around for her hands, I said,

‘I don’t really think you should!’

 

He took two rings from her fingers, but

The third it was on too tight,

He strained, and snapped off the finger,

Took the ring on that dreadful night,

I never went back to the river bank,

To me, the place was cursed,

For there in the locket, a tiny snap

Of her, and my Uncle Perce!

 

David Lewis Paget

 

Reviews

[Veronica Chandler]

The wisdom and surprise in your poems never disappoints; they always bring me right into the center of the drama. The way you have with your words seem to lull me in and then just when I am in a groove the piece takes a twist that never fails to shock and amaze. No matter how often I read you I am never prepared for where your mind will take me. Another gem in your bursting treasure chest of works.

[Lena M. P.]

I've never thought to dig in the mud after the tide comes in then goes out but I bet it does leave things behind at times. I truly didn't expect that ending so you got me again.

[Cree Nations]

My dear David you are awesome. I love and enjoy your words so very much.

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Another great story .... always full of drama ... great work David.

[Constance Payne]

Such an unexpected ending. Careful what you seek for you might find something you never expected. Well written my friend.

[Ravyne Hawke]

Wonderful tale with quite a twist at the end! I guess it is easy to see why he thought it was cursed. You have such a flare for these narratives and you seem to never run out of topics.

[Keith]

Sensational twist! The images come to life, I could feel and smell the mud, I think I need to go and take a shower.

[Augustus]

Staggering, how within a single stanza, you turned the poem on its head. I like the alternating pattern of tetrameter and trimeter. It creates a lovely flow and is perfect for narrating a story through verse, writing a ballad in other words. Obviously it is your forte.

But what I feel elevates this write to a completely different level, is the content itself. Even before the twist, this poem isn't the simple and lively tale that one usually expects from the alternating tetra-tri meter and the abcb rhyme scheme. It adopts a fairly casual tone for sure, but it impresses upon the reader how unenviable the "Mudlark"'s job is.

And the revelation towards the end is at complete odds with the uniformly casual style. Finding a dead body and robbing it of valuables is perhaps as demeaning an act as one can think of, but to the Mudlark, it's all in a day's work. And the tone of the poem firmly upholds this notion. A bitter truth conveyed in this offhand manner somehow makes it all the more realistic.
This poem truly makes a deep impact. Crafted with remarkable skill. Wonderful poetry! Thanks, David!

[Fréyjä Helv..]

Never failed to engage us readers. From start to end our attentions intact. And the sudden twist in the ending was the best part. Something I always look forward to in your poems. :)

[TL Boehm]

OH my! didn't expect that ending. Another stellar tale from the poetic master!

[Tate Morgan]

OH that was good man you had me till the end on that one good job.Your works are so unique and entertaining