I’ve been so desperate to receive my order of 311 Fairy Tales taken from their earliest prints, that I just about managed to hold it together before their arrival today. To my glee, I have not been disappointed with this disk filled with PDFs of these rare and out of print books. Don’t ask me why, but the first book I chose to look through was titled: “Children’s Rhymes, Children’s Games, Children’s Songs, Children’s Stories (1904)” … yes, that’s right – 1904 !
Having looked through it, I found myself saying – wooow … wooow … wooow, every few moments. I just can’t help it; it’s hard to not keep in mind that these were written more than a century ago. It awes me, especially when I wonder how the original authors would feel knowing how iconic their rhymes, stories, songs and games became.
Amongst the poems that I have read so far though, I can’t help but laugh at the clear meanings behind them. In this post, therefore, I’m going to share some of my favourites with you :-):
Tom, Tom, the piper’s son,
Stole a pig and away he ran;
Pig was eat, and Tom was beat,
And Tom went roaring down the street.
*Poor Tom. This is so clearly a time of corporal punishment !*
Little Polly Flinders
Sat among the cinders,
Warming her pretty little toes,
Her mother came and caught her,
And whipped her little daughter
For spoiling her nice new clothes.
*Poor Polly. It’s not like the whipping would have kept her new clothes nice.*
Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief,
Taffy came to my house, and stole a piece of beef;
I went to Taffy’s house, Taffy was not at home;
Taffy came to my house, and stole a marrow-bone.
I went to Taffy’s house, Taffy was in bed,
I took up a broomstick and flung it at his head.
*So very violent and yet I can’t help but laugh!*
And now for my favourite:
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children, she didn’t know what to do;
She gave them some broth, without any bread,
And whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.
*Now I’m not great at interpreting poetry; but I think she put her children into the broth to cook and “whipped them all soundly” until they were dead – don’t you think so too ? … No … just me ? … Let’s just pretend that’s what that poem means :-D*
HA HA, HA HAHA
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