Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE KENNIFFS, by JOHN CREEVEY


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE KENNIFFS, by                    
First Line: If you wish to hear a story, lads
Last Line: If he should chance to fall.
Subject(s): Capital Punishment; Crime & Criminals; Death; Hunting; Murder; Hanging; Executions; Death Penalty; Dead, The; Hunters


IF you wish to hear a story, lads,
Come listen and I will tell
How in those ranges far away,
Poor Doyle and Dhalke fell;
Doyle was a gallant trooper,
And Queensland knew his worth,
The horse he rode was Landsdowne bred,
His place was on the turf.

Young Dhalke, a station manager,
A stranger unto fear,
Was mounted on Carnarvon's pride,
A mare called Boadicea.
They started on Good Friday,
An unlucky day they say,
To arrest James and Patrick Kenniff,
For a warrant had come that day.

They steered for Kilman's Pocket,
That cursed spot of their doom,
But little they dreamt when they got there
They would be dead by noon.
At nine o'clock they spied their men
And them they did pursue,
Their horses' hooves made fire fly
As o'er the hills they flew.

The Kenniffs parted from left to right,
But still they stuck to Jim,
O'er hills and gullies they followed,
They raced through thick and thin;
Now Dhalke being a horseman bold,
In those mountains he could ride,
He plunged the spurs into Boadicea,
And soon was by Jim's side.

Lock-level they raced and wrestled
Until Jim fell to the ground,
Then Doyle appeared on the scene
And held him there fast bound.
As the tracker approached he heard a shot,
He saw poor Dhalke fall;
He raced away, he saw no more,
He heard five shots in all.

The police made haste from near and far
To search that mountain range
But all they found of that gallant pair
Was their spurs and charred remains.
The perpetrator of this deed
Could nowhere then be found,
The Kenniffs are suspected,
And they are worth a thousand pound.

It takes all sorts to make a world,
The good and bad as well—
What might have been their lot in life,
The Lord alone can tell.
The human race in crime are stained,
And will to the end of time,
For with one family this world began,
And they did begin in crime.

Now, no matter who has done this deed,
Pity them if you can;
Although he was a murderer,
He is still your fellow-man.
You would not kill, you would not steal,
Thank God he made you so,
So pray for the soul of the murderer,
For God has made him, too.

A mother loved him once, you know,
But now he's steeped in sin;
Though black and foul his deeds have been,
He's someone's darling still.
When on the scaffold the prisoner stands,
He is condemned to die,
There are many who may feel glad
But others will heave a sigh....

With head erect he left his cell,
He needed no man's aid,
He walked upon the scaffold,
And this is what he said:
"My name is Patrick Kenniff,
I am here condemned to die,
As witness of my innocence
I call my God on high.

"To my few friends I bid farewell,
The last farewell I'll say,
For very soon my life will be
A lifeless lump of clay;
I heartily thank the warders,
They have treated me right well,
And the Rev. Father Baldwin,
Who has saved my soul from Hell."

Then forward stepped that noble priest,
And he shook poor Paddy's hand,
"Paradise is yours," he said,
"When you quit this sinful land";
Then the poor priest began to pray,
He prayed till all was o'er,
The lever wrenched, the trap had sprung,
Poor Paddy was no more.

He might have died an innocent man,
There's none of us can say,
There were other men in Kilman's Gap
Upon that fatal day.
Then let us not judge lest we be judged,
By He who judges all,
And never despise your fellow-man,
If he should chance to fall.





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