In The Town Where I Was Born...

[poliphilo]

I don't sing. Or maybe that should read I can't sing. Or even I shouldn't sing. I am wholly unmusical. I can't hold a tune. And in the normal course of things I don't even try

But faced with a baby I do.

First I sing nursery rhymes. I find I know the words of ever so many.

Then drinking songs like One Man went to Mow.

Then I move on to Yellow Submarine

And from there I access my cache of music hall numbers- Daisy Daisy, I'm 'Enery the 8th I Am, The Moon Shines Bright on Charlie Chaplin.

Finally I launch into the Battle Hymn of the American Republic and variations thereon- including the old RAF version with the verse that goes, "He jumped without a parachute from thirty thousand feet....(repeat three times)... And he ain't gonna jump no more".

The baby seems to like it. 

I believe my mother is responsible. She used to sing to me when I was tiny. All sorts. Including Daisy Daisy. And- my favourite- The Skye Boat Song. That's the one she used to put me to sleep with. Such a sad song. A lament for Culloden and Bonnie Prince Charlie. I'd sing it too if I knew the words.

Comments

[baritonejeff.livejournal.com]

This post made me smile.

Also, it made me a little sad, in that slightly regretful way of some of my later-life musings. I *can* sing, and would rather have liked to have had the opportunity to hold and sooth a child of my own.

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

There are always other people's kids.

My own children are distant memories now- and this is a friend's child I'm singing to. :)