I was born in the parish of ———-, about the year brave General Wolfe fell at Quebec. My father worked on the new farms and fields of —————–. When wages were bountiful, he got 9 shilling a week. That went down to seven in the lean times. One winter-tide, he got fourteen pence a day only. No wonder we found bread and fuel scarce that year. Mother gave birth to eleven of us. Six survived.
The first work I ever did was to scare the crows. I got my breakfast and a penny a day. Then I started tending the sheep; then the cows; then the crops. By the time I felt my own strength, I was ready and waiting to leave the parish and go on the tramp.
I’d ask for work as I wandered the country, sometimes staying a few weeks with one master, but never much longer than that. Some nights I’d sleep in the barns and sometimes when it was clear and dry, the hedgerows. I struck up friendships readily, and my ready laugh got me the moniker, ‘Happy Jack.’
I met a mate one night down by the river, looking for eels, and he told me about the work you could get at the Stroudwater Navigation. I walked down there and met the gang and showed the men my muscles. We had a tankard together, and as I stayed on my feet, and pushed the barrow straight, I joined the industrious throng.
I was a tipper, working Sundays and all.
The Navigator on the Cut
I am a navigator, that’s tramped the country round,
To get a job of fruitful work, wherever it is found,
I left my native village, my family and relations,
To ramble up and down and work in various stations,
I am a navigator, the lock gates are quite shut,
I’m a nipper, I’m a tipper, working on the cut.
I left my native home on the first day of September,
That late summer day, I still can remember,
I bundled up my kit, Sunday smock and Sunday cap,
And wherever I do go, folks call me Happy Jack.
I am a navigator, the case it is quite shut,
I’m a nipper, I’m a tipper, working on the cut.
I got a job of navvy work in the lovely town of Stroud,
And working on the cut is a thing that makes me proud,
I can use my pick and spade, likewise my old wheelbarrow,
To dig upon the cut, be the margins broad or narrow.
I am a navigator, the lock gates are quite shut,
I’m a nipper, I’m a tipper, working on the cut.
But now I have to leave the splendid town of Stroud,
But finishing the cut, it makes me feel right proud,
So call for beer freely, and drink away the glut,
Here’s a health to Happy Jack, and his work upon the cut.
I am a navigator, the case it is quite shut,
I’m a nipper, I’m a tipper, working on the cut.