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The Female Transport

Anonymous
Language: English


Related Songs

Uchodźca
(Bardziej)
Jota carcelera
(La Bullonera)
Van Dieman's Land
(Ewan MacColl)


[prima metà 800]
Una canzone presente tra le Broadside Ballads from the Bodleian Libraries, ripresa da Frankie Armstrong nel suo album “...Out of Love, Hope and Suffering” del 1973
Testo trovato su Mainly Norfolk: English Folk and Other Good Music e su Mudcat Café



Sono parecchie, anche sulle CCG/AWS, le canzoni che raccontano di condannati alla deportazione in colonie penali. Dopo la perdita delle colonie in America, la classe dirigente britannica volse la sua attenzione all’Australia. Per la colonizzazione (e la predazione) di quell’immenso territorio era necessaria un bel po’ di manodopera a basso costo e l’idea geniale fu quella di liberarsi di criminali comuni e di detenuti politici, che affollavano inutilmente e costosamente le regie galere, per spedirli a lavorare nelle fattorie prigioni e nelle colonie penali australiane, la prima delle quali fu allestita a Botany Bay nel 1786. Non occorreva essersi macchiati di chissà quali reati per finire per anni o per la vita in Australia, bastava essere un poveraccio o un rompicoglioni…

Van Diemen’s Women

La canzone che segue è interessante perché il punto di vista è, per una volta, quello di una donna condannata al trasporto in una colonia penale australiana, nello specifico, nella Van Dieman's Land, l’odierna Tasmania...
Come all you young girls both far and near and listen unto me,
While unto you I do relate what proved my destiny.
My mother died when I was young which caused me to deplore,
And made me find my ways too soon, all on my native shore.

Sarah Collins is my name and dreadful is my fate.
My father reared me tenderly, the truth I do relate.
Til enticed by bad company, along with many more,
Which led to my discovery, all on my native shore.

My trial it approached fast, before the judge I stood,
And when that he the sentence passed, it fairly chilled my blood.
Crying, you must be transported, for fourteen years or more
And make haste, without delay, unto Van Diemen's shore.

It hurt my heart when in the coach my native town passed by,
To see so many I did know it fairly made me cry.
Then to the ship I went with speed, along with many more,
Whose aching hearts did grieve to go all on Van Diemen's shore.

They chained us two by two and whipped and lashed us all along,
They cut off our provisions if we did the least thing wrong.
They march us in the burning sun until our feet are sore,
So hard's our lot now we have got all on Van Diemen's shore.

We labour hard from morn till night until our bones do ache,
Then every one we must obey, our mouldy beds to make.
We often wish when we lie down that we may rise no more,
To face our savage governors all on Van Diemen's shore.

So come young men and maidens, a warning take by me.
If tongue could tell our overthrow, t'would make your heart to bleed,
You girls I pray be ruled by me, your wicked ways give o'er,
For fear you end your days like me all on Van Diemen's shore.

Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2017/12/14 - 14:50



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