Rhymes and poems that we said to our children

I grew up in Newport in South Wales, sometimes my Dad would serenade me with this Anglo-Welsh 'lullabye':

Iechyd da,
Little Bo Beep.
Cusanu fy ass,
and go to sleep!

For non-Welsh speakers, 'Cusanu fy ass' has the same translation as 'Pogue mahone'.

Falconbird

And we had a similar one in secondary school.

Come to our school, come to our school
It's a school of misery
There's a notice on the doorstep saying Welcome Unto Thee
Don't believe it, don't believe it
It's a pack of rotten lies
If it wasn't for the teachers it would be a paradise

Build a bonfire, build a bonfire, put the teachers on the top
Put the prefects on the bottom and burn the bloomin ' lot

How dreadful!

Ali Bali, Ali Bali Bee
Sittin' on yer mammie's knee
Greetin' for a wee bawbee
To Buy some Coulter's candy

Puir wee bairn
Ye're looking awfy thin
A puckle o' banes covered ower wi'skin
Soon ye'll be gettin' a wee double chin
From sookin' Coulter's candy.

It's raining, it's pouring
The old man's a-snoring
He got into bed
And bumped his head
And couldn't get up in the morning.

Is this what you were thinking of, oznan? I always thought the 'old man' was the sun.

My mother said that I never should
Play with the gypsies in the wood.
If I did, she would say
'Naughty little girl to disobey'.

'Mother, may I go down to swim?'
'Yes, my darling daughter.
Hang your clothes on a hickory bush,
But don't go near the water.'

My mum used to tell us this one, wait for the last line:-

Father Christmas is coming soon,
Now you dear old man,
Whisper what you'll bring to me,
Tell me if you can.

When the clock is striking twelve,
And I am fast asleep,
Down the chimney you will come,
Into my room and peep.

Arthur wants a rocking horse,
And Jane a bouncing ball,
Peter wants a game or two,
And lots of toys for all.

But as for me what I like best
I really could not say,
I think the wisest thing would be
To leave the choice to you.

IT DOESN'T RHYME MUM!! Was the cry every Christmas for years and she would just giggle.

And as we got older we did this one:-

When fishes flew and forests walked,
And figs grew among thorns,
The moment that the moon was blood,
Then surely I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening cry,
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody,
On all four footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also have my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

This poem still gives me goosebumps. It is The Donkey by G. K. Chesterton but we used to recite it often, my mum, my brother and I. Isn't it funny how some things come back to you and bring back memories.

We also sat around one late night and recorded a horror tape on a cassette player. We used squeaking doors, a ticking clock, howling, various other noises and a scream at the end. I had fallen asleep on the settee and when they got to this point I sat bolt upright scared stiff. It was a good night though and a lovely memory. I wonder why I now like murder stories on tele, lol.

Oh, look at the moon!
She is shining up there;
O mother, she looks
Like a lamp in the air!
Last week she was smaller,
And shaped like a bow;
But now she's grown bigger,
And round as an O.
Pretty moon, pretty moon,
How you shine on the door,
And make it all bright
On my nursery floor!
You shine on my playthings,
And show me their place;
And I love to look up
At your pretty bright face.
And there is a star
Close by you; and maybe
That small twinkling star
Is your little baby.

As I was walking on the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there.

He wasnt there again today.
I wish that man would go away.

HANG UP THE BABY’S STOCKING By Emily Huntington Miller

Hang up the baby's stocking
Be sure you don't forget!
The dear little dimpled darling,
She never saw Christmas yet!
But I've told her all about it,
And she opened her big blue eyes;
And I'm sure she understood it-
She looked so funny and wise.

Dear, what a tiny stocking!
It doesn't take much to hold
Such little pink toes as baby's
Away from the frost and the cold.
But then, for the baby's Christmas,
It will never do at all.
Why! Santa wouldn't be looking
For anything half so small.

I know what I will do for the baby.
I've thought of the very best plan.
I'll borrow a stocking of Grandma's,
The longest that ever I can
And you'll hang it by mine, dear mother,
Right here in the corner so!
And leave a letter to Santa,
And fasten it in the toe.

Write-
This is the baby's stocking,
That hangs in the corner here.
You never have seen her, Santa,
For she only came this year
But she's just the blessed'st baby.
And now before you go,
Just cram her stocking with goodies,
From the top clean down to the toe!

I learnt this one from my mother, and sang it to my children:

Go to sleep my little piccaninni,
Mummy will not love you if you don't.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, mummy's little darling,
Mummy's little ulla-bulla-coo

My GS2 used to love me singing it to him as a baby (substituting Nana for Mummy), but I couldn't bring myself to sing the second line, so changed it to "Nana always loves you when you do"

Another learned from my mother was:

Rock-a-bye baby on the treetop,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
Down will come baby, cradle and all.

My three-year-old grandson chose a book called Goodnight, Sleep Tight the last time we went to the library. It's is packed with traditional rhymes recited by the "favourite babysitter" Skinny Doug. Every time he tells one, from This Little Piggy went to Market to Star Light, Star Bright, via Pat-a-cake, Pat-a-cake Baker's Man and This is the Way the Ladies Ride, the children reply, "We love, we love it, said Bonnie and Ben/How does it go? Will You say it again?" To which he always replies, "Some other time. But I'll tell you another, I learned from my mother".

My grandson adores this book and we have read it countless times in the last couple of weeks. He now know all the rhymes and we recite the lines in turn, laughing our head off.

It's good to see traditions passed down families and it's also good to see that other people value that too.

GC love it when Granda gets started , one favourite , calls for tut tut from me and hoots of giggles from them

A wee woman from France
went to an American dance
She played the piano
and ate a banana


and music came out of her pants

I used to sing this to DD3 to send her to sleep. She loves horses and has one of her own now.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleep my little baby.
When you wake you shall have
All the pretty little horses.
Black and bays, dapples, grays,
All the pretty little horses.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleep my little baby.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleep my little baby.
When you wake you shall have
All the pretty little horses.

I could actually send myself to sleep with it now

When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall
And milk comes frozen him in pail,
Then, nightly sings the staring owl
Tuwoo tuwit, tuwoo a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow
And coughing drowns the Parson's saw,
And birds sit shivering in the snow
And Marion's nose looks red and raw,
When roasting crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tuwoo, tuwit tuwoo a merry note
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

My mother used to recite this to us. It wasn't until years later that I discovered that it was one if Shakespeare's sonnets.

I missed a line out. And milk comes frozen home in pail
When blood is nip'd and ways be foul.

Little brown houses now what do you hold,
Treasures of purple and crimson and gold,
Kings, queens and princesses wear robes like these,
Tell us who live in your brown houses please.
See the door open and now can be seen,
Dear little waiting men dressed all in green,
Daily they climb higher into the air, what are they guarding with such tender care?
Here is King Daffodil golden and gay, here is queen Hyacinth not far away, here are the Princesses Crocus so small, God is the maker and giver of all.......
My mum taught me this when I was a tiny girl ?