Songs/poems our Mothers sang

Stansgran - that was recorded by Cilla Black

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I can remember standing on the lavatory seast watching my grandfather wash, where he spent the time singing to me, and they were all songs from the music hall and the first world war. I know how all the words.

What lovely thread. Just to pause and reflect. My mum died young but remember her singing along to the radio. On car journeys she would sing 'The. Northern lights of old Aberdeen' and 'I'll take the high road' + any Val Doonican. (Think she had little bit of a crush). My dad had lost all hearing in the blitz. He still sang all the time out of tune but we didn't care his favourite was 'I saw the moon'. I don't have a very good voice so I didn't sing very much, but now I don't care I sing all the time to my DGC mainly nursery rhymes. Ps how do you spell Doonican ??

Oh Galen, that brought back some memories, my father was an opera lover and was always singing arias in his beautiful tenor voice. He also sang 'oh my papa' and 'scarlet ribbons' Sook, in fact he loved music and sang all the time, as well as playing piano and any other instrument he picked up. We always sang in the car, a habit I carried on with my boys and the one with children now sings to his sons.

My mum tended to sing hymns, not so much fun!

My mum wasn't a singer but loved poetry. She recited lots but the two i remember most were Albert and the Lion and The Owl and the Pussycat the latter of which i can still recite today as can my daughter.

A few pagea back someone qquoted a couple of lines from The Prune Song, saying 'there must be more to it'... There certainly was!

THE PRUNE SONG (1928)
by
Frank Crumit

Nowadays we often gaze on women over fifty
Without the slightest trace
Of wrinkles on their face.
Doctors go and take their dough to make them young and nifty.
But doctors I defy
To tell me just why

No matter how young a prune may be, it's always full of wrinkles.
We may get them on our face;
Prunes get them every place.
Nothing every worries them, their life's an open book.
But no matter how young a prune may be, it has a worried look.

Wrinkles, wrinkles, La la la la la

Every day, in every way, the world is getting better.
We've even learned to fly.
Days go passing by.
But what about the poor old prune?
His life is only wetter.
No wonder he can't grin
In the awful stew he's in.

No matter how young a prune may be, it's always full of wrinkles.
Now, we may get them here and there,
But pruneies get 'em everywhere.
Babies fret until they hear a mother's lullaby
But no matter how young a prune may be you'll never hear it cry.

In the kingdom of the fruits, the prune is snubbed by others.
And they are not allowed
To mingle with the crowd.
Though they're never on display with all their highbrow brothers
They never seem to mind.
To this fact they're resigned.

No matter how young a prune may be, it's always full of wrinkles.
Beauty treatments always fail;
They've tried all to no avail.
Yet other fruits are envious
Because they know real well
No matter how poor a prune may be
Hot water makes it swell.

Peaches and bananas have that skin you love to touch,
But no matter how fine a prune may be it don't amount to much.
Prohibition bothers us, but prunes don't sit and brood.
No matter how young a prune may be, it's always getting stewed.
No matter how young a prune may be, it's always full of wrinkles.
Baby prunes look like their dad,
Just not wrinkled quite as bad.
Prunes act very kind, they say, when sickly people moan.
But no matter how kind a prune may be, it has a heart of stone.

My Mum sang me to sleep every night. Her favourite lullaby was one that I’ve sung to my children and grandchildren – but even with all the resources of t’internet, I can find no trace of who it was written by, or where it originated. My Grandmother came from Gatehouse of Fleet in the Boarders of Scotland, so it may be Scottish in origin – but I can’t find out.
Sadly, my daughter isn’t very keen on singing, so it will probably die out with me... It’s called ‘The Man in the Moon is a Shepherd Dear’ and has a lovely soothing rhythmic melody – just right for singing as you rock a baby to sleep. The words are:
The man in the moon is a shepherd dear,
And all the bright stars are his sheep.
He watches and guards with a tender care
When you little ones are asleep.
I’m sure he has counted them all my dear,
For he is a shepherd true,
And if we but try, perhaps you and I
Can count them and name them all too

Bye-low, we’ll count as we go,
Each little twinkling star.
First one for you, then for me my dear -
What a fine lot there are!
Bye-low, we’ll name as we go,
Each little starry sheep.
Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, rock as we go
Into the Land of Sleep.

I just had a quick look on google and it says it's An Arcadian Lullaby by C W Krogmann. Hope that helps!

Thanks so much Gaga..! Years I've been looking for that - years..!! Now all I have to do is track down a copy of the sheet music... <exits stage left, muttering>

Show me the way to go home
I'm tired and I want to go to bed
I had a little drink about an hour ago
And it's gone right to my head.

My Dad would sing me that and Run Rabbit Run.

My brother and I liked our Mum to sing Frere Jacques and Sur le Pont d'Avignon, complete with dancing around the bedroom.

Golden Slumbers at night time, also Winken, Blinken and Nod.
My gran sang "When the Red Red Robin" and "I like a nice cup of tea"
Also- the Good Ship Lollipop
"On the good ship Lollipop
It's a nice trip to the candy shop
Where the bon-bons play
On the sunny beach in Peppermint Bay"

and
Animal crackers in my soup
Lions and tigers loop the loop
Gosh Oh gee don't I have fun
Swallowing animals one by one
When they're inside me where it's dark
I walk around like a Noah's Ark
I rub my tummy like a gloop
With animal crackers in my soup

The Blaydon Races. Have I spelt that correctly, Geordies ?

At xmas ' oh I do feel sorry I was set free
The master and the missus were so kind to me. Etc

I have no idea why a black country couple born in the 1890s should know what sounds like a negro spiritual sort of song, I have no idea?

Take me back to the blackwoods-the blackwoods of Dakota-where the trees are so tall they touch the sky!

my parents loved to play the piano and Mother would stand besides the piano singing songs and hymns and playing list and other composers. Brought back loads of memories for me and made me chuckle too, what a great interesting thread Thanks

My mother was not a happy woman but she used to sing Kathleen Ferrier 'Blow the wind southerly' beautifully when she thought no-one was listening.

Dad had a lovely singing voice and sang Sinatra, Bing Crosby and 'crooner' songs but he also made us giggle with his rude rhymes.

'I'll have to get some bricks
To build my chimney higher
And stop the cat next door
From piddling on the fire!'
(or words to that effect)

I have made up personal songs for each of my grandchildren based on nursery rhymes, pop songs or lullabies. They love them.

Loads of these are bringing back memories. Music has such power...

My mother used to sing:
Pale Hands I Love
Come into the Garden Maud
Magic Moments
Anything Welsh (hymns, carols, folk stuff).

My father was a music lover too. So anything operatic (Verdi in particular) was his thing. And songs like Road to Mandalay, the Hippopotamus Song (Mud)? from an ancient songbook.

I dreamt that I tickled my grandfathers balls,
With a little sweet oil and a feather,
And the thing that amused the old gent .most of all,
Was the way they went (click-clock ) together.
The effect of this phrase is best obtained by the gentle bringing
together of two empty beer•or~similar bottles.

Snatches & Lays (1962)