I don’t usually have lazy days. My time is limited, so I tend to make sure that I am very busy, often. However, I do have a “tricky toe” and today it decided to be a little painful, forcing me to sit down and put my feet up – Yes I have to be forced to do this. Since, I don’t watch TV and I had had enough on-line time to numb my brain, I was restless. Fortunately my new poetry anthology was near at hand. I read the poem for today. It was OK but probably by a “lesser” poet. Somehow my University courses in poetry divided poets into two categories – major and minor. I decided long ago that the minor poets were not worth the effort. However I do have a soft spot in my heart for “anon” a.k.a. anonymous and children’s verse.
I read the poem for March 24. Is this a little like – back to the future – or some sort of time machine? I know I have an Aquarius rising so I tend to live a little ahead of myself – but March really! Anyway, it filled my down time with magic. In fact magic x3. The poem I read is at the end. Here is the version I love
Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of St. Clement’s. You owe me five farthings, Say the bells of St. Martin’s. When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey. When I grow rich, Say the bells of Shoreditch. When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. I do not know, Says the great bell of Bow. Here comes a candle to light you to bed, And here comes a chopper to chop off your head.
OK I usually stop before the last two lines, but it is also a children’s game like London Bridges falling down and the children going through the arch on those lines take a beating. What can I say? We grew up being cruel to one another. Anyway, the poem reminded me of my two years in London where I visited many of the churches named in the poem. My favourite was St Clement Danes, a fragile, ancient construction in the middle of a traffic circle in busy London. I hope it has survived.
Here is another version.
Gay go up, and gay go down, To ring the bells of London town.
Bull’s eyes and targets, Say the bells of St. Margaret’s.
I’m sure I don’t know, Says the great bell at Bow.
Here comes a candle to light you to bed, And here comes a chopper to chop off your head.[2]
And finally the one in my poetry book.
Two Sticks and Apple, Ring ye Bells at Whitechapple, Old Father Bald Pate, Ring ye Bells Aldgate, Maids in White Aprons, Ring ye Bells a St. Catherines, Oranges and Lemons, Ring ye bells at St. Clements, When will you pay me, Ring ye Bells at ye Old Bailey, When I am Rich, Ring ye Bells at Fleetditch, When will that be, Ring ye Bells at Stepney, When I am Old, Ring ye Bells at Pauls.[1]
I think I could plan a fun trip to London just to live through these poems, these rhymes. Anyway the poems made my day. My toe isn’t any better, but my spirits are. There is something about frivolity that livens things up a little and of course the weather helped. It was 20C in mid October.
