by Gayle Steeves
I stand on the wharf in England; tired of all this strife.
I am an Irish boy who longs for a better life.
This ship will take me far away to a beautiful prosperous land.
I will work my fingers to the bone and blisters on my hand.
Our ship it lands in St. John, in the middle of the night.
A black haired boy just nineteen years old, can hardly believe the sights.
I just have to follow the Immigrant Road and I won’t feel alone.
I hear of a place called New Ireland, very similar to home.
I stand on the wharf in England; tired of all this strife.
I am an Irish boy who longs for a better life.
This ship will take me far away to a beautiful prosperous land.
I will work my fingers to the bone and blisters on my hand.
Our ship it lands in St. John, in the middle of the night.
A black haired boy just nineteen years old, can hardly believe the sights.
I just have to follow the Immigrant Road and I won’t feel alone.
I hear of a place called New Ireland, very similar to home.
I am a little “hot headed” and occasionally tip the bottle to my lips.
I won’t walk away from a scuffle and carry a knife on my hip.
I have no friends, I am alone in this foreign land of yours.
I long to fit in but who do I trust since I landed on your shores?
The magnificent mountains, the evergreen trees that stand high above the shores,
The lakes that give us fish to eat makes for easy chores.
The land is fertile and gives us food that keeps the wolves from our door.
Oh! New Ireland, we are so glad we landed on your shores.
I am not considered to be an educated boy and labour jobs are few.
So I worked a while around the docks making friends with some of the crew.
I didn’t know how to chop wood, harness a horse or do handyman chores,
But Father McAulay hired me o and welcomed me through his doors.
Miss Mary Ann, niece and housekeeper to Father McAulay was a bully.
When the priest was absent Mary Ann was in charge and ruled boldly.
She was unfriendly, gutsy, bossy, demanding and could not be satisfied.
Mary Ann and Tom were not friends and these feelings were justified.
The force behind the axe as it crashed against her head
Her throat slashed from ear to ear would guarantee she was dead.
Two people found her lying in the wood pit of the house
The blood is seeps between the cracks – things are quiet as a mouse.
The deed was done and Mary Ann will never speak again.
The mystery of her death will carry on, but this is not the end.
So many questions go unanswered, so many rumors told.
Could an Irish teenage boy or a respected parish priest have the answer to her soul?
Father McAulay returns to the rectory and finds missing suitcases, jewelry and handkerchief.
Although the closet to the priest room was axed, nothing was lifted.
The doors were open, horse in the barn and Mary Ann dead in the pit
What a frightful sight on a cold dark night – who could have done it?
St. John was the place Tom decided to work and spend his time,
Later being captured in St. George the story of his life made headlines.
He was questioned and searched and the press reported all details.
Would he go to trial, would he hang by the neck for the death of this female?
Now things take a twist that no one can forsee –
Most of the people and press want Tom to go free.
Who robbed the rector and murdered Mary Ann,
Was it the priest orthe kid from a foreign land?
The first trial, it lasted nine long days,
Tom was found guilty and sentenced to the grave.
Oh but the defense was to successfully argue
The judge had committed errors and a new trial was granted.
The second trial was a community affair.
Innocent or guilty could be heard everywhere.
Excitement ran high and bets were placed,
As old man Tweedie tipped the drink to his face.
Tom took to the stand and admitted he was a thief and a liar,
But he did not murder Mary Ann – it did not transpire.
After seven days a verdict was read – hung jury the crowd yelled,
Circumstantial evidence was at fault – a new trial would be held.
Ten days after Tom was sentenced to hang.
Father McAuley departed this land.
The axe was found in the priest’s bedroom.
Over the village lay a feeling of fear and gloom.
The sound of the bolt as it locked Tom’s cell,
As the odour of fried bologna and beans filled the air,
Tom laid on the bunk hands beneath his head,
Dreaming of Ireland and wondering if soon he would be dead.
What did Tom do as he waited in his cell?
He played on his harmonica and wished others well.
He thanked the people who brought him stew
And for the jailer’s daughter a valentine he drew.
The third trial lasted seven trying days.
Tom was found guilty and sentenced to the grave.
The scaffold was built with an eleven foot drop.
The men dug Tom’s grave as quietly he watched.
A pathetic feature was Tom giving away
The small trinkets and gifts he received during his jail stay.
Those who showed kindness were dear to his heart
He embraced them and whispered and tears would start.
The night was long and peace had been made.
The songs had been read and gospel praised.
A quiet sleep, a warm cup of tea
And the start of the morning would set him free.
Written by Gayle (Copp) Steeves (October 2019)
Footnote – Rev. Thomas claimed that the young man (Tom) had a wonderful religious training, and could quote passage from the New Testament.
Tom Collins died November, 1907.
Years later a flat stone was placed on the burial mound near the jail and someone splashed the crude letters “T.C.” on it with paint.
The body of Tom Collins now rests at the Hopewell Cape Cemetery.
I won’t walk away from a scuffle and carry a knife on my hip.
I have no friends, I am alone in this foreign land of yours.
I long to fit in but who do I trust since I landed on your shores?
The magnificent mountains, the evergreen trees that stand high above the shores,
The lakes that give us fish to eat makes for easy chores.
The land is fertile and gives us food that keeps the wolves from our door.
Oh! New Ireland, we are so glad we landed on your shores.
I am not considered to be an educated boy and labour jobs are few.
So I worked a while around the docks making friends with some of the crew.
I didn’t know how to chop wood, harness a horse or do handyman chores,
But Father McAulay hired me o and welcomed me through his doors.
Miss Mary Ann, niece and housekeeper to Father McAulay was a bully.
When the priest was absent Mary Ann was in charge and ruled boldly.
She was unfriendly, gutsy, bossy, demanding and could not be satisfied.
Mary Ann and Tom were not friends and these feelings were justified.
The force behind the axe as it crashed against her head
Her throat slashed from ear to ear would guarantee she was dead.
Two people found her lying in the wood pit of the house
The blood is seeps between the cracks – things are quiet as a mouse.
The deed was done and Mary Ann will never speak again.
The mystery of her death will carry on, but this is not the end.
So many questions go unanswered, so many rumors told.
Could an Irish teenage boy or a respected parish priest have the answer to her soul?
Father McAulay returns to the rectory and finds missing suitcases, jewelry and handkerchief.
Although the closet to the priest room was axed, nothing was lifted.
The doors were open, horse in the barn and Mary Ann dead in the pit
What a frightful sight on a cold dark night – who could have done it?
St. John was the place Tom decided to work and spend his time,
Later being captured in St. George the story of his life made headlines.
He was questioned and searched and the press reported all details.
Would he go to trial, would he hang by the neck for the death of this female?
Now things take a twist that no one can forsee –
Most of the people and press want Tom to go free.
Who robbed the rector and murdered Mary Ann,
Was it the priest orthe kid from a foreign land?
The first trial, it lasted nine long days,
Tom was found guilty and sentenced to the grave.
Oh but the defense was to successfully argue
The judge had committed errors and a new trial was granted.
The second trial was a community affair.
Innocent or guilty could be heard everywhere.
Excitement ran high and bets were placed,
As old man Tweedie tipped the drink to his face.
Tom took to the stand and admitted he was a thief and a liar,
But he did not murder Mary Ann – it did not transpire.
After seven days a verdict was read – hung jury the crowd yelled,
Circumstantial evidence was at fault – a new trial would be held.
Ten days after Tom was sentenced to hang.
Father McAuley departed this land.
The axe was found in the priest’s bedroom.
Over the village lay a feeling of fear and gloom.
The sound of the bolt as it locked Tom’s cell,
As the odour of fried bologna and beans filled the air,
Tom laid on the bunk hands beneath his head,
Dreaming of Ireland and wondering if soon he would be dead.
What did Tom do as he waited in his cell?
He played on his harmonica and wished others well.
He thanked the people who brought him stew
And for the jailer’s daughter a valentine he drew.
The third trial lasted seven trying days.
Tom was found guilty and sentenced to the grave.
The scaffold was built with an eleven foot drop.
The men dug Tom’s grave as quietly he watched.
A pathetic feature was Tom giving away
The small trinkets and gifts he received during his jail stay.
Those who showed kindness were dear to his heart
He embraced them and whispered and tears would start.
The night was long and peace had been made.
The songs had been read and gospel praised.
A quiet sleep, a warm cup of tea
And the start of the morning would set him free.
Written by Gayle (Copp) Steeves (October 2019)
Footnote – Rev. Thomas claimed that the young man (Tom) had a wonderful religious training, and could quote passage from the New Testament.
Tom Collins died November, 1907.
Years later a flat stone was placed on the burial mound near the jail and someone splashed the crude letters “T.C.” on it with paint.
The body of Tom Collins now rests at the Hopewell Cape Cemetery.
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