Dec 14
Camomile tea tonight. Perfect for a late night cup of tea, if you like that sort of thing. We don’t. Of all the sleep-inducing teas, we’ve never warmed to camomile. Too much like drinking a cup of warm hay. Uf we want something warm before bed, we’ll make hot chocolate.
Still, it’s not a bad way to unwind after an evening dancing. One more Christmas Party with the Tuesday grannies, and after that we’re off for a month. And Monday’s book club. We always swap favourite books at the Christmas meet up, so I was out browsing choices earlier. Appropriate then, that tonight’s poem is about reading. Even if we take issue with some of it.
The Reading Mother
Strickland Gillilan
I had a mother who read to me
Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth,
“Blackbirds” stowed in the hold beneath.
I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every boy has a right to know.
I had a Mother who read me tales
Of Gelert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death,
Faithfulness blent with his final breath.
I had a Mother who read me the things
That wholesome life to the boy heart brings–
Stories that stir with an upward touch,
Oh, that each mother of boys were such!
You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be–
I had a Mother who read to me.
Look, we too had a reading mother, and apparently she had the brains not to read to us about Gelert, because the first we heard of the poor dog, our Welsh Vicar Connection mentioned it. Don’t know Gelert? You may be happier that way. The cliff notes version goes that a hunter came home to find his faithful dog at the foot of the baby’s crib, covered in blood. Seeing this and seeing his child was also covered in blood, he skipped asking questions, presumed a dog with no history of savaging children had slaughtered the child and stabbed the unsuspecting Gelert. And then, because this is a nice, happy story for kids – the poem has it filed under wholesome – and their beloved dogs everywhere, he saw the dead wolf on the other side of the crib and realised that in fact the child was alive because Gelert had killed the wolf. This is why Geleret is the only dog who is a saint, which seems like pretty cold comfort.
The thing is, we’re not otherwise averse to reading kids stories that can be grim. It’s just…speaking as a person with dogs, we’d be quite happy still not knowing about this doomed Welsh dog. So, you know, I guess all we’re saying is that mothers who choose not to read that one to their children aren’t exactly doing it wrong.
