While waiting to be taken away he had a keepsake made from a penny coin. It was a love token to leave with Ann.

William had ''Farewell but not For ever'' engraved on it but, of course, in the youngsters' hearts that looming 14 years, worlds apart, surely must have meant forever.

Today the exquisite, detail-packed little token is in the collection of the National Museum of Australia and, on Tuesday, William Reynolds' great-great-great granddaughter Jan Liddicut visited the museum's storage unit at Mitchell to see and to hold it, while wearing white cotton gloves, for the first time.

Ms Liddicut is writing her family's history, and already knew a great deal about William. But when she found out about the museum's possession of the token, she said at Mitchell on Tuesday, ''I was absolutely astounded.

''For me it was very poignant because I'd always wondered about his first wife, Ann, who at the grand age of 22 was separated from William.

''So I contacted the museum and said, 'I'm coming to Canberra [from Melbourne] for the folk festival. Is it possible I could see the token?' They very kindly arranged it. And it's such a thrill. It's like a voice from the past.''

Words can't really express the poignancy and historical importance of love tokens such as these but at Mitchell the museum's senior curator of Australian society and history, Sophie Jensen, did her - very good - best. You could tell she was passionate about the items. And so was her employer, the museum, because it had collected 314 of them.

''I think, what's particularly interesting with the convict love tokens, is that they're so personal,'' Ms Jensen said.

''We already know a tremendous amount about the convicts coming to Australia because their lives are incredibly well documented. We have their physical descriptions, their hair colour, their eye colour. All of this is recorded. We're able to find out all that.

''But the thing that we absolutely lack about convicts is their personal stories, things about their home lives, their loved ones.

''And these tokens are one of the very few moments when we get to hear a convict's own voice. These are not official documents, they're personal documents and this makes them incredibly valuable.

''They're unique. In this case there's this particular message of love from a young husband to a young wife.

''And we have no idea what happened to his wife. We can trace his life because he's a convict and that life is documented. But, of course, Ann disappears [from history] '' Ms Jensen said.

We know that William was illiterate and though it is possible he made the token it may be that the whole token, words and pictures, was made for him by someone - a fellow convict? - skilled in the art.

The artist crammed a great deal into the penny-sized space. On one side, in cursive text are the words ''Far[w]ll but not For ever ~ Ann Reynolds ~ aged 22 Wm Reynolds . aged 21 1829'', and on the other the stippled engraving of a man with a chain joining his left hand and foot. He is doffing his top hat in a gesture of farewell.

Other symbols stippled on the token are a ship and a wheelbarrow and spade.

''I think,'' Ms Liddicut diagnosed as we all huddled round to examine the token, ''that ship represents the sailing ship taking him away.

''The chains holding him and the wheelbarrow and the shovel means he's expecting to do some pretty hard labour, which he did.'' Her researches into his sojourn in Van Diemen's Land show he spent time in a chain gang.

Curator Jensen says convict love tokens were sometimes given by men condemned to death, therefore literally expecting to be leaving their loved ones forever.

William Reynolds was at first sentenced to death for breaking into a Birmingham home on Christmas Eve, 1828, and stealing 22 pounds of butter and other items. But it was after that sentence had been commuted to transportation that he had the love token made for the beloved Ann.

Ms Liddicut is descended from William and a later wife, Eliza Campbell. But she is also fascinated by Ann, the young wife left behind. We know little about her though we know from her husband's convict records, Ms Liddicut said, that she was a Birmingham maker of straw bonnets.

As a family historian and relative, Ms Liddicut is fond of William Reynolds, his chequered life in Tasmania rich with misdemeanours, punishments and adventures before his pardon in 1854, after which, she says, ''he redeemed himself''.

''It's great having a black sheep in the family. It adds a bit of colour to the story I'm writing.

''I'm always looking for the black sheep when I'm researching,'' she said.