The Press & Rickety Dan

The Press surrounded the boarding house

That was kept by Mary Toft,

Her sailor man was Rickety Dan

Who was hidden, up in the loft.

‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’

Cried the head of the Press Gang crew,

We’ve got you a berth on the frigate ‘Perth’,

‘Don’t make us come looking for you!’

 

Mary stood by the door and blocked,

‘You’ll not be coming in here,

You can’t Impress in a private house,

The law of the land is clear.’

‘But this is a plain old Bawdy House

It’s the Navy’s right to come in,

You don’t say no to a guinea or so

From a sailor, looking for sin.’

 

‘I’ll have you know it’s a Boarding House

Not a Bawdy House, Oh dear!

You’d better go off for a pint of gin

And swill it around in your ear!

A Boarding House is a private house

And protected, under the law,

You’d better go looking somewhere else,

Like ‘The Angel’, down at the shore.’

 

‘We’re here to pick up Rickety Dan

We know that he’s here with you,

There’s no protection since Bony came

And the Navy’s short of a crew,

So stand aside, by the rising tide

He’ll be lost to you, Miss Toft,

For somewhere out by the channel ports

He’ll be clambering up, aloft.’

 

Dan had rickets when he was young

His legs were bowed like a bell,

He heard the door come clattering in

And he heard young Mary yell;

He seized his favourite capstan-bar

And he leapt right out of the loft,

Then laid about him from right to left

In defence of his Mary Toft.

 

The Press consisted of Isaac Raines

A farmer, plucked from the hay,

A weaver, minus the broken frames

The Luddites had taken away,

A shipwright, also a ropemaker

Who had joined to avoid the Press,

‘As long as you bring them in, my lads,

I’ll not let you go for less!’

 

Dan lashed out with the capstan-bar

And he laid the weaver low,

Sent the farmer to tend his fields

With only a single blow,

Chased the shipwright out of the door

Where the ropemaker had fled,

Knocked the Lieutenant down to the floor,

Then saw that he lay, stone dead!

 

‘I’m gone, I’m gone,’ said Rickety Dan,

‘I’d better head back to the sea,

It’s bad enough that I’ve killed the man

They’ll all be looking for me,

I’ll go and sign on an Indiaman

If I have to sign as a cook,

Once I’m safely away at sea

It’s the last place that they’ll look.’

 

She never saw Rickety Dan again

Though she’d wait at the turning tide,

Whenever an Indiaman came in

She would dress herself as a bride,

And even after they’d left this life

With Dan no longer aloft,

A bird perched up on the mizzen mast

Would look out for Mary Toft.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Tom]

A rousing, bittersweet maritime tale David, glad Dan got away in disguise though sad the two lovers were forever parted!

[Tate Morgan]

Your mastery of the terms not only of sailing but the days of old is unsurpassed. What a tale you have here. Well done

[Morgan Storms]

Well done! You always amaze me!

[Keith]

Excellent tale perfectly told. Thanks David.

[wordwarrior]

Wonderful as always, David!

[shallimarRose]

Thank you David. You never cease to lose this impeccable rhythm in all of your works and we get to smile a lot as we read. What more could one ask.. Wonderful peace.. xo Rose

[Marie]

I don't know much aabout this particular history, but I know that sailors were impressed into service. I don't know why a bawdy house can't be a boarding house too Tragic story of two overs...good job.

[TPK Stories]

Another great story David. i love how your twists in your stories.

[Strider Marcus Jones]

Superb control of rhythm, rhyme and structure and I love the way you bend the language to tell the story. Brilliant poem. Rated 100/100

[Diomedes]

Masterfully written, sir. I'm a big fan of Robert W. Service, and this reminds me of his "tales in verse".