The songs i used to sing

and oh! how I loved to sing them!

I had all but forgotten all about them, till someone said something that reminded me,
reminded me of the 9 year old child I was who sang these songs from the heart with eyes closed like there was no tomorrow.

Mrs. Piek, I think she was called, the ex opera singer who was our singing coach at school. She, who tried so hard and trained our wild voices and brought us to Eisteddfords and choir competitions and the like. She, who taught me how to breathe. She who taught me to love music, as I have done ever since, every single day.
I never got to say thank you to her. But, she must have known the joy she brought us.
It was evident.
(sometimes, I miss singing. I really should...)

When daisies pied and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver-white
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,

The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckoo; Cuckoo, Cuckoo: O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws
And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks

The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckoo; Cuckoo, Cuckoo: O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

There were other songs. Greensleeves, I remember well.

And this one. Early one morning :-)

1. Early one morning,
Just as the sun was rising,
I heard a maid sing,
In the valley below.
Chorus:

2. Gay is the garland,
And fresh are the roses,
I've culled from the garden,
To place upon thy brow.
Chorus:

3. Remember the vows,
That you made to your Mary,
Remember the bower,
Where you vowed to be true,
Chorus:

4. Thus sang the poor maiden,
Her sorrows bewailing,
Thus sang the poor maid,
In the valley below.
Chorus:

Chorus:
O, don't deceive me,
O, never leave me,
How could you use
A poor maiden so?

And this little Eisteddford ditty that I just loved so much.

DIE STEENBOKKIE

Woorde: HARPER MARTINS
Musiek: WALTER SPIETHOFF; verwerk: D. HYMAN

Dis 'n bokkie, soos 'n stokkie,
soos 'n kweperlatjie skraal,
wat so vinnig oor die klippe
soos die kweperlat sy wippe
met sy skrale pootjies haal,
wat so vinnig oor die klippe
soos die kweperlat sy wippe
met sy skrale pootjies haal,
met sy skrale pootjies haal.

Soos 'n mikkie waar 'n kwikkie
nou sy nessie het gebou,
soos die kweperboom sy stokkie
wil die mooie kleine bokkie
nou sy fiere koppie hou;
soos die kweperboom sy stokkie
wil die mooie kleine bokkie
nou sy fiere koppie hou;
nou sy fiere koppie hou.

Hy's 'n skrale en 'n vale,
ja, 'n skelme kleine bog,
wat al seilend deur die grassies
of al springend oor die plassies
met sy nette pootjies spog,
wat al seilend deur die grassies
of al springend oor die plassies
met sy nette pootjies spog,
met sy nette pootjies spog.

I'd better stop now. I'm all swamped in memories.