“When are you going to sing to us again Mummy?” The young voices demanded. The children all giggled and brushed up against my long skirts. Daphne with her cascading golden ringlets, and bright smiling eyes, danced about. Her cheeks were chubby and she had small rosy lips, which were pouting. Peter, who was already tall, at the age of ten, grinned and holding his sister’s hand, agreed by chanting, “Sing to us Mother, sing.”
“All right children,” I told them. “Just let me take the bread out of the oven.” As I moved across the brick floor to take the potholders for protection, against the oven’s heat, I understand that as soon as I sang there would be pleas for my delicious bread and jam. Bread removed and set up high to cool before slicing, I could see their lips gliding over the tops of their lips with hungry anticipation.
I sat them down before me and I picked up my old and well-used guitar. I had already tuned it prior to their coming into the kitchen so I commenced strumming out their favorite song. Their rapt attention was apparent by the hushed movements they made while settling down.
I closed my eyes and in my low voice I sang out the words that they loved so well.
My Bonnie lies over the ocean … My Bonnie lies over the sea … My Bonnie lies over the ocean … Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me.
They clapped their hands and then asked for some bread.