"The Cowslip" III

III.

Filial Love.

Miss Jane's mamma was very ill,

And felt such pain she could not sleep,

And Jane would quietly sit still,

Or sometimes through the curtains peep.

And often as she left the bed,

The tear of sweet affection fell,

And going from the room she said,

"I wish my dear mamma was well."

"The Cowslip" II

II.

The Truant.

Children, who delight to ramble,

When it is not holiday,

And o'er hedge and ditch to scramble,

All for love of truant play:

Must have tasks and lessons double

To make up for time misspent,

And, besides this double trouble,

Must have proper punishment.

"The Cowslip" I

While perusing the local charity shops with a couple of friends and my boyfriend, we went into Oxfam, which regrettably has a rather large shelf unit full of antiquarian books. I don't go in there often, because I have a feeling if I did, I'd be considerably thinner and have a much lighter wallet than I already do (it's featherweight, believe me).

Anyway, I was on my knees in front of that shelf before the tinkly bell above the door had fallen silent, and I picked out a slim volume of cautionary tales for children dating from 1900. Before I had a chance to thank him, my wonderful other half had whisked it away to the counter with a flash of plastic and a 'happy birthday' (it's not for two weeks!). And so, here is the first cutely similar to mine tale:

I.

The New Book

A neat little book, full of pictures, was bought

For a good little girl who was glad to be taught.

She read all the tales, and then said to her mother,

I'll lend this new book to my dear little brother.

He shall look at the pictures, and find O and I,

I'm sure he won't tear it, he's such a good boy.

Oh, no! brother Henry knows better indeed;

Although he's too young, yet, to spell or to read.

The first two lines reminded me of me; however I'd never lend this book to my little brother in a million years...

Happy Families

While rootling in a drawer for some incense sticks, my mother happened upon this treasure left behind by my departed German grandmother, who most likely afforded it the same amount of disinterest as her daughter-in-law:

I don't know precisely when this dates from; in my mind it could be anything backwards from 1940. It's complete, as far as I know, with nine idiosyncratic respectable families each with a husband in trade, a wife either cleaning or sewing, one blonde daughter and one rotund son each happily engaged in activities relating to their father's profession. What the game would be like if it was made today I don't honestly know. It would probably involve more cards.

Many of the cards have sadly outdated professions; turncock, beadle, and the children are nostalgically enterprising. I particularly like Miss Silence the Usher's Daughter, who is grinning and holding a decapitated doll and its head in the other. Master Chop the Butcher's Son, on the other hand, is standing in the street bawling his eyes out because a dog is running away with his string of sausages. I'm sure there's a hidden message in these cards, but until I do the tarot reading I won't be able to decipher it.

I don't know if my grandmother particularly prized these, and this is why they're in a reasonable condition, or whether she didn't much care - my mother is sick of the sight of them and familial connotations and was going to flog them on eBay. Let the irony of this post's title sink in a minute there.

The Death of Childhood

"Is the world all grown up? Is childhood dead? Or is there not in the bosom of the wisest and the best some of the child's heart left, to respond to its earliest enchantments?"

-Charles Lamb
"Great Thoughts From Master Minds", 1899