A Wild Adventure

Tom Pow

• Publisher: Birlinn
• Year: 2014
• Topic: Literature
• eBook ISBN:
  9780857907868
• Subtopic: European Poetry
• Index: Literature

Tom Pow's beautiful, powerful poems examine the remarkable life of Thomas Watling. Watling was born in Dumfries in September 1762 and raised by a long-suffering maiden aunt. Convicted of forging Bank of Scotland one-guinea notes he was sentenced to fourteen years in the recently founded colony of Botany Bay in Australia. The first professional artist to arrive in the colony, Watling was seconded to its Surgeon General (and amateur naturalist) John White. His pioneer paintings of birds, animals and the landscape became some of the principal records of the earliest days of Australia. He was eventually pardoned, on 5 April 1797, and left Australia, eventually returning home to Dumfries. He died there, most likely in 1814.

PART ONE:

ARREST

“the most wretched and
unhappy of all mankind”

THE BANK OF SCOTLAND ADVISES ITS DUMFRIES AGENT DAVID STAIG, 20 SEPT 1788

Beware of giving the suspect alarm.

Rather indulge his security: smile

As if all but he would wish you harm.

When the warrant is issued, arrive while

He will least expect it. Approach his house

At dawn or in the small hours of the night.

Fear not, he will be trapped as any louse

In candle-flame. We have him in our sights.

But enjoin silence to the Gentlemen

Of your office. Let it be moon silence

Or else the feigned silence of the peahen,

Dazed by majesty, yet through the cold lens

Of its black eyes knowing what must be done.

We will match each false cut and curlicue.

Enjoin silence. The Forger’s luck has run.

This, Agent Staig, is how we instruct you.

WATLING, CAPTURED, HAS A NEW SENSE OF SELF

And, at that moment, when the door darkened,

And the game was up, then, you must have known

Exactly who you were; felt likened

To the weight of a stone, knowing it’s stone

And can be none other. No, not the quill

Of a gull floating downstream. Less the wheep

Of a peewit recalled from the bald hills.

Or the cormorant’s crook, the rotting sheep,

The flicker of a candle flame over

A hand that is not your own. None of these.

For, all things that have sent you from yourself

Have returned to yourself. And so, the core

Of Watlinghood, you lean on your scratched desk

And your world turns like a freshly cast key.

Ah, this, perhaps, is how it feels to be.

Your thin voice cracks through the cold, “Aye, that’s me.”

WATLING, IN HIS OWN DEFENCE

Your Honours, my defence: How can an Artist

Improve without challenge? What challenge greater

Than that which should be refused? The gist

Of my argument is there. It is not the bearer

Of the bill, but the Artist, who innocently sees

The wave in its calligraphy; the lifeline’s hopes

In its faint print. Often in a drawing of leaves

The same pen will express similar strokes.

Besides, the crime of forgery consists

Not simply in imitation, but rather

In putting such copy to use. I rest

My defence with this conceit: that murder

Involves more than forging the weapon.

You think this weak? May I offer then, with leaden

Heart, my transportation? I’d rather leg it

Than remain where I’ve no degree of credit.

HIS AUNT MAY SPEAKS UP

Your Honours, my Thomas is a good boy

In his heart. It was I who brought him up.

His father, Ham, was a soldier, but died

Soon after his poor mother. He could sup

With the Devil, if you’ll pardon me, Sirs.

Thomas is a fair artist as you know

And held in esteem by both boys and girls

At his Drawing School. I am old. The snow

Will be falling soon. What shall I do

With my Thomas away? Who’ll tend my hearth?

Sirs, you should know Thomas can appear vain.

Take it no more than a mark of his talent.

It’s in his temperament to see through

The empty show to a man’s true worth.

He leaves for New Holland with only one stain.

Relent! Let me see my Thomas again.

WATLING’S DIRGE: SCOTIA FAREWELL!

O Scotia, farewell, we leave you behind,

A Flame to tend in the Dark of our Minds.

We must set Sail for a Land faraway

With grim Thoughts of how we’ve ruin’d our Days.

We should’ve paid Heed to those better than us;

We pray they’ll forgive our Betrayals of Trust.

But Scotia has granted the fallen Hope –

In Kindness we have been spared the Rope.

Between us soon will lie the World’s great Seas –

Dear God protect us, we’re on bended Knees!

On a distant soil we’ll cry Tears for Home,

For the Hills and the Skies where Curlews roam.

With our Tears we’ll help this young Land to grow,

To become rich on the Seeds of Sorrow.

Then our Wretchedness won’t have been in Vain

And Scotia pass under another’s Name.

PART TWO:

TRANSPORTATION

“genius in bondage”

ON BOARD SHIP, BOUND FOR TH...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Dedication page
• Copyright page
• Contents
• List of Illustrations
• Thomas Watling: Biographical Notes
• Prelude: A World of Light
• Part One: Arrest
• Part Two: Transportation
• Part Three: Calcutta
• Part Four: Return
• Postscript
• Notes
• Acknowledgements
• Epitaphs