Poetry, Jingles, Doggerel and Song Lyrics

[Boodi 2]

Thanks Pete!
I actually have "Five go to Billycock Hill", but I did not remember that passage, probably because I think it is one of the "weaker" books in the series.

[Anita Bensoussane]

There's quite a lot about music in the school series, e.g. Elizabeth Allen playing the piano and ordering a classical music record (Whyteleafe), girls playing music on the gramophone (various schools), Irene being a genius at music and maths (Malory Towers), Felicity being entered for the L.R.A.M. at an exceptionally young age (St. Clare's)...

Barbara Stoney tells us that "From earliest childhood Enid had been schooled in the belief that she would eventually become a musician." Her Aunt May (her father's sister) was a musician and Enid's father "was convinced she possessed a similar musical talent." For years Enid worked her way through music exams and did hours of piano practice. "As she grew older, however, and writing became increasingly more important to her, she begrudged the long hours she was forced to spend at her piano." Eventually, in 1916, she turned down her place at the Guildhall School of Music to do teacher-training at Ipswich High School instead. She knew that would give her close contact with children, for whom she knew she wanted to write, and she would be able to study them and get to know their interests.

Interestingly, in Enid's book 'The Story Of My Life' she makes no mention of the piano or even music at all.

Enid Blyton doesn't mention music in the chapter 'My Happiest Times', where she discusses many of her childhood interests and pastimes. However, she does talk about it in Chapters 12 and 13, 'Struggling Along' and 'A Momentous Day'.

[pete9012S]

Thank you Anita - I overlooked that. Here's what Enid says in chapter twelve:

[Boodi 2]

Thanks Anita!
Odd that I forgot the references to music in the school stories with Irene (Malory Towers) and Felicity, but perhaps it is because I have not read them for many years. I enjoyed them when I was younger (especially Malory Towers), but when re-reading the books as an adult (and especially when my son was young) I tended to concentrate more on the mystery and adventure series.

[Anita Bensoussane]

Last night I was reading a poetry book called Time's Delights and was struck by the imagery in this poem by Ted Hughes. Really striking and most apt for this time of year:


There Came a Day

by Ted Hughes

There came a day that caught the summer
Wrung its neck
Plucked it
And ate it.

Now what shall I do with the trees?
The day said, the day said.
Strip them bare, strip them bare.
Let's see what is really there.

And what shall I do with the sun?
The day said, the day said.
Roll him away till he's cold and small.
Hell come back rested if he comes back at all.

And what shall I do with the birds?
The day said, the day said.
The birds I've frightened, let them flit,
I´ll hang out pork for the brave tomtit.

And what shall I do with the seed?
The day said, the day said.
Bury it deep, see what it's worth.
See if it can stand the earth.

What shall I do with the people?
The day said, the day said.
Stuff them with apple and blackberry pie -
They'll love me then till the day they die.

Then came this day and he was autumn.
His mouth was wide
And red as a sunset.
His tail was an icicle.

[pete9012S]

Most enjoyable. Thank you Anita.

Although he's no Ern Goon, he's certainly on the right Plath, sorry path!

[Anita Bensoussane]

[Eddie Muir]

A great poem, Anita with an apt comment from Pete.

[pete9012S]

"Sonnet", in The Story of a Round-House (1915) - John Masefield

Is there a great green commonwealth of Thought
Which ranks the yearly pageant, and decides
How Summer’s royal progress shall be wrought,
By secret stir which in each plant abides?
Does rocking daffodil consent that she,
The snowdrop of wet winters, shall be first?
Does spotted cowslip with the grass agree
To hold her pride before the rattle burst?
And in the hedge what quick agreement goes,
When hawthorn blossoms redden to decay,
That Summer’s pride shall come, the Summer’s rose,
Before the flower be on the bramble spray?
Or is it, as with us, unresting strife,
And each consent a lucky gasp for life?

April 1st, 2022:
Read this this morning, seemed apt for the time of year, although it was -4 last night and the fields are full of frost!

[Lucky Star]

Very appropriate indeed. Pete.

Has anyone heard from Aurelian recently? I notice it's nearly three years since he looked in here. He was good fun.

[Anita Bensoussane]

It's a pity that people drift away over the years, but inevitable I suppose. It's always good to see people coming back after an absence though, or even just popping in briefly.

An enjoyably reflective poem, Pete. I like the phrase "rocking daffodil".

[Anita Bensoussane]

Reading some of Pam Ayres' poems, I came across 'Sling Another Chair Leg on the Fire, Mother'. It was written at a time of soaring inflation in the 1970s but feels rather apt right now (except for 'Happy New Year' at the end!)


SLING ANOTHER CHAIR LEG ON THE FIRE, MOTHER

Sling another chair leg on the fire, Mother,
Pull your orange box up to the blaze,
Hold your poor old mittens out and warm them,
In these inflationary days.
Sink your teeth into that dripping sandwich,
Flick the telly on to channel nine,
And if we get the sound without the picture,
Well, I'll kick it in the kidneys, one more time.

Come with me out to the empty garage,
We haven't been there for a week or more,
We'll bow our heads and gaze in silent homage
At the spots of oil upon the floor.
We'll think of when we had a motor car there,
Which used to take us out in rain or shine,
Before the price of petrol went beyond us,
And we'll make believe we kept it, one more time.

Fling another sausage in the pan, Mother!
We'll laugh away our worries and our cares,
But we'll never get a Doctor after hours, Mother,
So for God's sake don't go falling down the stairs.
Toss another lentil in the soup, Mother!
And serve it up before the News at nine,
And if the GPO detector spots us,
Make believe we've got a licence, one more time.

There was a time we'd booked up for Ibiza,
We'd bought the suntan lotion and the clothes,
But we never got beyond the travel agent,
'Cause Court Line organised the one we chose.
So knock the clouds of dust from off the brochure,
Wipe the 40 watt bulb free of grime,
Turn the dog-eared pages to Ibiza,
And we'll make believe we got there, one more time.

Pass me the hatchet and the axe, Mother!
Wipe away that sad and anxious frown,
What with these inflationary spirals,
It’s nice to see the table falling down.
Your poor old shins will soon be good and mottled,
Once the flames get round that teak veneer,
And in the ring of warm and dancing firelight,
We'll smile and wish each other: Happy New Year.

[Boodi 2]

Thanks Anita,
I enjoyed that and was a big 'fan of Pam Ayres back in the 1970s!

[Anita Bensoussane]

I also used to enjoy listening to her reciting her poems in the 70s, Boodi.

[Boodi 2]

Yes, the poems themselves were brilliant, but it was her accent and presentation that really made them memorable.