A bunch of the boys
Had the whooping-cough at the Puppy Dog Saloon
The kid that handled the music box
Was playing his Sunday School tune.
If you are a fan of Robert W. Service you will see this as somewhat of a mashup of The Shooting of Dan McGrew. My dad knew loads of poetry and was very willing to share with us as kids. He liked to switch it up when we were little. He mesmerized us with voice tone, action and antics. This is how children learn and how they acquire a love for the spoken word. A trip to Yukon is definitely on my bucket list! I still have my kids copies of The Shooting of Dan McGrew and the Cremation of Sam McGee illustrated by artist Ted Harrison and will read them to my grandchildren.
As I got older I found a well-worn copy of Songs of the Sourdough on the bookshelf and to this day I can pretty much recite every single poem in it. My favourite is My Madonna.
My dad loved to read. His favourite author was Thomas Hardy. I still enjoy him today as well. When my dad was in a really good mood, probably after a drink or two, he would quote this poem below. Said he learned it from his father. My mom would get all flustered; telling him not to be teaching us things like that. I had forgotten all about it until I found a copy in her things . I tried to google it and couldn’t find it anywhere. Funny how as a kid I only remember the prayer and miracle part and I’ve never been afraid of hermits!
Moral is read to kids, read with passion.
Don’t think reading this one to the grand kids will be an option.
A hermit once lived in a beautiful dell
There’s no legend or moral in the story I tell
For our Squire’s son said he knew him quite well
He lived all alone in a cave by the lake
Libations of herbs for his health he would take
And nothing but fish would this good man partake
To inquisitive mortals his portals he closed
Once a year he bathed his body and clothes
How the lake ever stood it the Lord only knows
And he would not tell
One day as he arose all dripping and wet
To his horrified vision two fair maidens he met
And as not being a hardened sinner as yet
He grabbed for his hat, which lay on the beach
To cover up all its wide brim would reach
And he yelled to the girls with a horrified screech
But the girls only laughed at his pitiful plight
And begged him to show them the wonderful sight
But he held to the hat with all of his might
To hide it
Just then along came a wandering gnat
Which made him forget just what he was at
He hit at the insect and let go of the hat
And now I come to the thread of my tale
The hermit turned red and then he turned pale
He offered a prayer for prayers never fail
So it’s said
Of the truth of this story there’s no doubt at all
The Lord heard his prayer and he answered his call
Though he let go of the hat, the hat did not fall
That’s the miracle