Happy Homepage
Akira Avenue
Angels A to Z
Ayliyah Avenue
Brody Close
Bruno's Bedtime
Choocho Station
Comfort Valley
Corey's Castle
Dinah's Drive
Dino's Burger.
Dionne Bridge
Disney Drive
Donna's Diner
Fairy Square
Ffordd Llyfr
Ha-Ha Arcade
Happy Mansions
Jaimie's Zoo
J.J's Junction
Jo's Galleon
K. K's Square
Kid's House
Kid's Treasury
Kindness Street
King P. Palace
Knock Meadow
Lily's Yard
Monty's Circus
Minnie Marsh
Molly Melody
Noah's Ark
Nonsense Avenue
Nursery Land
Odhran's Tale
Penguin Avenue
Pleasure Land
Pooh's Park
Princess Way
Prudence Close
Prince's Alley
Queen P Palace
Rabbit's Warren
Sage Rise
Scotch Corner
Scrap City
Spiggy Square
Studio Ghibli
Sunday School
Tilly Teapot
Toby Bucket
Unicorn Meadow
Merry - Land
Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere
Prudence Close

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What can you do with a hundred

One 1ZeroZero

The child is made of one hundred.
The child has a hundred languages
a hundred hands, a hundred thoughts
a hundred ways of thinking, of playing, of speaking.
A hundred, always a hundred ways of listening
of marveling, of loving
a hundred joys for singing and understanding
a hundred worlds to discover, a hundred worlds to invent
a hundred worlds to dream.
The child has a hundred languages (and a hundred hundred hundred more)
but they steal ninety-nine the school and the culture
separate the head from the body.
They tell the child to think without hands, to do without head
to listen and not speak, to understand without joy
to love and marvel, only at Easter and Christmas.
They tell the child to discover the world already there
and of the hundred they steal ninety-nine.
They tell the child that work and play, reality and fantasy
science and imagination, sky and earth
reason and dream are things that do not belong together.
And thus they tell the child that the hundred is not there.
The child says: No way. The hundred is there!

By Loris Malaguzzi

Loris Malaguzzi and The Reggio Approach to Early Childhood Education

It was Loris Malaguzzi (1920-1994) who became the inspiration behind the educational experiences in Reggio Emilia. Malaguzzi was a primary school teacher who later went on to study psychology and brought to his lifetime work in education, his interests and experience in theatre, journalism, sport and politics. He is remembered by his colleagues as a very strong character but highly collaborative. Malaguzzi described himself as stubborn, with an iron will. He wanted to win and to carry along with himself everyone who thought like himself, better than himself or differently from himself. As a result, Malaguzzi worked tirelessly with colleagues in Reggio to further his understanding of how children learn, and to publicize his passionate belief in his image of the competent, confident child.


One 1100100

100 Is a Lot!
By Meish Goldish

100 dogs, 100 cats, 100 heads for 100 hats.
100 women, 100 men, 100's more than 5 or 10.
100 buttons, 100 coats, 100 sails for 100 boats.
100 cookies, 100 cakes, 100 kids with bellyaches!
100 shoes, 100 socks, 100 keys for 100 locks.
100 puddles mighty dirty, 100's even more than 30.
100 daughters, 100 sons, 100 franks on 100 buns.
100 trees, 100 plants, 100 picnics, 100 ants! 100 is a lot to count.
100 is a LARGE AMOUNT! 100 kisses, 100 hugs,
100 bats, 100 bugs. 100 bees, 100 birds,
This poem has 100 words!

Meish Goldish is an author of fiction and nonfiction books and poetry. He has written over 300 books, ranging from 8-page and 16-page readers for school children to books over 100 pages long for libraries. One of his biggest-selling books is called 101 Science Poems and Songs for Young Learners. Another big seller is Making Multiplication Easy.

Both are published by Scholastic

In the summer of 2006, Meish Goldish was the Writer Spotlight for Literary Magic, a literary magazine on language

What animal can you always count on? The goat! Meish Goldish ... Its tail's a beaut, So curly cute! And on the farm, It oinks with charm! Meish Goldish ...

One 1ZeroZero


Seven Times One  PENNY PRUDENCE PRESENTSSeven Years X One

Seven Times One.


THERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There's no rain left in heaven:
  I've said my "seven times" over and over,
Seven times one are seven.

I am old, so old, I can write a letter;
My birthday lessons are done:
The lambs play always, they know no better;
They are only one times one.

O moon! in the night I have seen you sailing
And shining so round and low;
You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing,--
You are nothing now but a bow.

You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven
That God has hidden your face?
I hope if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.

O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow,
You've powdered your legs with gold!
O brave marsh marybuds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!

O columbine, open your folded wrapper,
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell!
O cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper
That hangs in your clear green bell!

And show me your nest with the young ones in it;
I will not steal them away;
I am old! You may trust me, linnet, linnet,--
I am seven times one to-day.

Jean Ingelow

    By  Jean Ingelow

    Jean Ingelow had a singularly serene and happy life. Her father was a prosperous banker, and until his death lived at Boston, Lincolnshire, where she was born in 1820. She described her childhood as "bright and joyous," and her many brothers and sisters as "'droll, full of mirth and clever." The Ingelow house was situated on the coast at the mouth of the River Witham and was flanked by two lighthouses.

"We had a lofty nursery," she wrote, "with a bow-window that overlooked the river. My brother and I were constantly wondering at this river. The coming up of the tides and the ships and the jolly gangs of towers ragging them on with a monotonous song, made a daily delight for us. The rushing of the water, the sunshine upon it, and the reflection of the waves on our nursery ceiling supplied hours of talk to us and days of pleasure."

Jean learned to read when three years old, and at an early age began to write poetry. Her first efforts were scribbled on the backs of the folding shutters of her bedroom. She was educated at home by private teachers, superintended by her mother, who was a clever woman of poetic nature.

Miss Ingelow's last years were passed in Kensington, her house standing in spacious grounds with well kept lawns and flower gardens. Here she died on July 20, 1897. Toward the end of her life she wrote little, and only a few hours a day. She spent her winters in the south of Europe. Miss Ingelow was exceedingly charitable, and gave much energy to good works.



The Weather Witch

"Why do folk call you Mister Wind?
Is it because your strong?
Surely there is a Mistress too -
Perhaps I'm guessing wrong?

And have you got some little girls,
And jolly little boys? -
Just like my brothers who are wild,
And make a dreadful noise?

I think your lovely house is built
High up there in the sky;
And when your finished playing here,
Then away home you fly.

I wonder if the angels bright
Live very near to you;
I often see you hurrying
Through clouds all white and blue.
Angels bright

You sail so prettily, I wish,
Sometimes that I could be.
A fluffy, soft, white wind - then I
Angels brightThe angels bright would see."

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           PENNY  PRUDENCE

 This Beautiful Story is told to Juliana Horatia Ewingyou today from The Project Gutenberg Ebook of Verse. I have however read it first from an old Poetry and Song book by Juliana Horatia Ewing; She lived a very short life being born in 1841, married in 1867 and tragically died of spinal cancer in 1885.

She was an English writer of children's stories. She was the second of ten children of the Reverend Alfred Gatty, the vicar of Ecclesfield in Yorkshire, and Margaret Gatty, who was herself a children's author.

On 1 June 1867, she was married to Major Alexander Ewing (1830-1895) of the army pay department. Within a week of their marriage, Ewing left England for New Brunswick, Canada, where her husband had received a new posting. They remained there for two years, before returning to England in 1869. Though her husband was sent overseas again, to Malta, Sri Lanka in 1881, her poor health would not allow her to accompany him. In 1885, she moved to Bath, in the hopes that the change of air would do her good. However, her health continued to deteriorate, and after an unsuccessful operation, she died there on 13 May 1885. She was given a military funeral at Trull, Somerset, three days later.

I have found whilst looking through the Web and the libraries many stories so similar to this, of some of our most loved story tellers and writers of wonderful songs and verse. People didn't seem to live long at all pre Queen Victoria's days. Cancer which we still fear can be treated today and many of the people diagnosed have a chance of a full life once more. We are very lucky therefore to have been left these wonderful Gems to treasure for always and pass on to our children.

Hanging clothes on line


Sally is the laundress, and every Saturday
She sends our clean clothes up from the wash, and Nurse puts them away.
Sometimes Sally is very kind, but sometimes she's as cross as a Turk;
When she's good-humoured we like to go and watch her at work.
She has tubs and a copper in the wash-house, and a great big fire and plenty of soap;
And outside is the drying-ground with tall posts, and pegs bought from the gipsies, and long lines of rope.
The laundry is indoors with another big fire, and long tables, and a lot of irons, and a crimping-machine;
And horses (not live ones with tails, but clothes-horses) and the same starch that is used by the Queen.
Sally wears pattens in the wash-house, and turns up her sleeves, and splashes, and rubs,
And makes beautiful white lather which foams over the tops of the tubs,
Like waves at the seaside dashing against the rocks, only not so strong.
If I were Sally I should sit and blow soap-bubbles all the day long.
Sally is angry sometimes because of the way we dirty our frocks,
Making mud pies, and rolling down the lawn, and climbing trees, and scrambling over the rocks.
She says we do it on purpose, and never try to take care;
But if things have got to go to the wash, what can it matter how dirty they are?
Last week Mary and I got a lot of kingcups from the bog, and I carried them home in my skirt;
It was the end of the week, and our frocks were done, so we didn't mind about the dirt.
But Sally was as cross as two sticks, and won't wash our dolls' clothes any more—so she said,—
But never mind, for we'll ask Mamma if we may have a real Dolls' Wash of our own instead.

Mamma says we may on one condition, to which we agree;
We're to really wash the dolls' clothes, and make them just what clean clothes should be.
She says we must wash them thoroughly, which of course we intend to do,
We mean to rub, wring, dry, mangle, starch, iron, and air them too.
A regular wash must be splendid fun, and everybody knows
That any one in the world can wash out a few dirty clothes.
Weary Little Mother
Well, we've had the Dolls' Wash, but it's only pretty good fun.
We're glad we've had it, you know, but we're gladder still that it's done.
As we wanted to have as big a wash as we could, we collected everything we could muster,
From the dolls' bed dimity hangings to Victoria's dress, which I'd used as a duster.
It was going to the wash, and Mary and I were house-maids—fancy house-maids, I mean—
And I took it to dust the bookshelf, for I knew it would come back clean.
Well, we washed in the wash-hand-basin, which holds a good deal, as the things are small;
We made a glorious lather, and splashed half over the floor; but the clothes weren't white after all.
However, we hung them out in our drying-ground in the garden, which we made with dahlia-sticks and long strings,
 And then Dash went and knocked over one of the posts, and down in the dirt went our things!
So we washed them again and hung them on the towel-horse, and most of them came all right,
But Victoria's muslin dress—though I rinsed it again and again—will never dry white!
And the grease-spots on Mary's doll's dress don't seem to come out, and we can't think how they got there;
Weary Little MotherUnless it was when we made that Macassar-oil, because she has real hair.
I knew mine was going to the wash, but I'm sorry I used it as a duster before it went;
We think dirty clothes perhaps shouldn't be too dirty before they are sent.
We had sad work in trying to make the starch—I wonder what the Queen does with hers?
I stirred mine up with a candle, like Sally, but it only made it worse;
So we had to ask Mamma's leave to have ours made by Nurse.
Nurse makes beautiful starch—like water-arrowroot when you're ill—in a minute or two.
It's a very odd thing that what looks so easy should be so difficult to do!
Then Mary put the iron down to heat, but as soon as she'd turned her back,
A jet of gas came sputtering out of the coals and smoked it black.
We dared not ask Sally for another, for we knew she'd refuse it,
So we had to clean this one with sand and brown-paper before we could use it.
It was very hard work, but I rubbed till I made it shine;
Yet as soon as it got on a damped "fine thing" it left a brown line.
I rubbed it for a long, long time before it would iron without a mark,
But it did at last, and we finished our Dolls' Wash just before dark.

Sally's very kind, for she praised our wash, and she has taken away
Victoria's dress to do it again; and I really must say
She was right when she said, "You see, young ladies, a week's wash isn't all play."
Our backs ache, our faces are red, our hands are all wrinkled, and we've rubbed our fingers quite sore;
We feel very sorry for Sally every week, and we don't mean to dirty our dresses so much any more.

Hanging clothes on line

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ver at Seligor's Castle I have just finished placing a story called Jacobs Chicken.
Susie with her flowersIt comes from Milos Macourek who was born in 1926 and died in 2002 but not until he had written some wonderful tales for children. I love his stories but only now am I finding many more than the few in English I have, but now due to the world wide web we are able to find many more than we could. The one I am about to tell you now was written by Milos Macourek also  but instead of writing it in Czechoslovakian, I am writing it in English.

 Susie and the ALPHABET
        Once upon a time there was a little girl, and her name was Susie, whose writing was so bad that when anyone looked in her exercise book, well it made them cry. Whenever the teacher opened the book, she burst into tears and cried until her eyes were all red and her handkerchief was wet right through.
 She went along to the headmaster and showed him the book,
"Just look at these letters that Susie has written in her exercise book!" she sniffed "It is enough to make you cry." And sure enough as the headmaster looked at Susie's book he burst into tears, crying like a baby until his handkerchief was wet too.
  "Why some of these letters have broken legs, some of them haven't got any legs at all!" He sighed. "We will have to do something about it, hopefully if we work together we should be able to fix them by evening."
      So together they set to work and made some splints and plaster-casts and bandages for the broken legs, till eventually they had mended all the poor letters in Susie's exercise book.
      The next morning, before lessons started the teacher took Susie to one side and told her that they; "Didn't want to see any more broken legs, or letters with no legs at all in your writing book. You have no idea how difficult it is to repair them."
      Susie took the teachers word to heart and she tried really hard to make her letters perfect, and when she handed her book into the teacher she was sure there was not a single broken leg or no legs at all in her book.

     Yet when teacher came to look at the work, she was still very sad for the complete letters looked as if they hadn't eaten for weeks they were so thin. Being so sad the teacher decided to take the letters home and fattened them up herself, it took her all evening.  Next day when Susie arrived at the class the teacher was waiting for her,  she showed her how she had fattened up her letters, please added" Don't make them so thin dear, it took me so long to fatten  them up.
Of course Susie promised the teacher that she would try to make letters better, and she took great care not to leave a single letter thin, she worked so hard on them that when she went to bed that night she fell straight to sleep. When her teacher looked at her book later that day,
she got an awful fright, some of the letters were thin, some of the letters were fat, some straight, others sloping forward, more sloping backwards.
What a state they were in, sweaty, smelly, out of breath, all of them thirsty, what was she to do. "If I give them cold water , they will possible catch a cold," ..she pondered, "I know I shall take them home with me, give them a nice cup of tea. "
Poor teacher she was late home and very cold when she arrived. As she thought several caught a cold and nine of them developed a fever. But by then seven of them had got pneumonia. "What a night!" exclaimed teacher as sat down exhausted. Next morning the teacher said to Susie.
"Susie dear, you really must make your letter all the same, not fat, not thin, not falling forward, or slipping backwards, just look in your book, there are seven letters missing?"
Susie looked at the book, then at her teacher.
"Do you know where the missing letters are Susie? Well they are in hospital!
Susie with her flowersOh my was Susie upset, she told two of her friends and together they decided to go to the hospital to visit them.
So the little girls bought bunches of flowers and went to the hospital.
"I am really sorry about what happened, I promise I will never make such a mess of my letters again, I promise."
"We hope you mean it Susie," they said. although they did look like they didn't think Susie could really do it. But Susie did mean what she said.
     Suddenly there was a tremendous ringing and all the letters looked terribly frightened.
"Susie, Susie it's time to get up" a voice was saying.
Susie say up in bed, rubbing her eyes as she did so; "Oh goodness, what an awful dream," she said to herself. "What a fright."
But do you know what, from that day on, Susie became the best writer in her school. Her letters were not to skinny, never too fat. No more broken legs and what's more she never
A Spider Imp
, ever made them walk up hill again.

Did you love that story, your Diddily used to have awful writing, not just in school but everywhere. In fact if I tell the truth, it is just as bad now...why do you think I use the keyboard, he he he. One teacher wrote on my schoolbook. Miss Gilmore (me) I have known spiders who can write better than you!!! no marks. he he, wasn't I naughty....


Diddily Dee Dot's Dream-Land

Many Inns are called the Shoulder of Mutton, like this one in Darlington


YOUNG Jem at noon return'd from school,
  As hungry as could be,
He cried to Sue, the servant-maid,
  "My dinner give to me. "

Said Sue, "It is not yet come home;
  Besides, it is not late. "
"No matter that, " cries little Jem,
  "I do not like to wait. "

Quick to the baker's Jemmy went
  And ask'd, "Is dinner done?"
"It is," replied the baker's man.
  "Then home with it I'll run."

"Nay, Sir, " replied he prudently,
  "I tell you 'tis too hot,
And much too heavy 'tis for you. "
  "I tell you it is not."

"Papa, mamma, are both gone out,
  And I for dinner long;
So give it me, it is all mine,
  And baker, hold your tongue.

"A shoulder 'tis of mutton nice!
  And batter-pudding too;
I'm glad of that, it is so good;
  How clever is our Sue! "

Now near the door young Jem was come,
  He round the corner turn'd,
But oh, sad fate! unlucky chance!
  The dish his fingers burn'd.

Now in the kennel down fell dish,
  And down fell all the meat:
Swift went the pudding in the stream,
  And sail'd along the street.

A Pub sign I think this must be the shoulder of muutton that Jem dropped.The people laugh'd, and rude boys grinn'd
  At mutton's hapless fall;
But though ashamed, young Jemmy cried,
  "Better lose part than all."

The shoulder by the knuckle seized,
  His hands both grasp'd it fast,
d deaf to all their gibes and cries,
  He gain'd his home at last.

"Impatience is a fault," cries Jem,
  "The baker told me true;
In future I will patient be,
  And mind what says our Sue. "

Beautifully written by Adelaide O'Keeffe


The Rainbow Bridge


The Rainbow Bridge is a place which is often referred to by people whose pets have died.
It is a small story that was written some time between 1980 and 1992, which has gained wide popularity amongst animal lovers who have lost a pet, especially in America.

Although no major religion specifically refers to such a place for pets, the belief shows similarities with the Bifröst Bridge of Norse Mythology. The Bifrost Bridge (Also known as "The Rainbow Bridge") is the bridge that connects Asgard to Earth. It is how gods and other Asgardian creatures travel between the two worlds.
There are many other Myths and Legends about the Bifrost Bridge, but they bear no real comparison with the Childrens Rainbow Bridge for their Pets to travel to the other side.

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This is the story I like best

Far away above the trees, where only the rainbow goes, there is a beautiful green meadow. But this is no ordinary meadow, this is a special place where all the creatures of the earth might cross to get to the Rainbow Bridge that leads them to heaven.

It is such a wonderful place that no matter how old ar ill it may have been this side of the meadow, as it crosses the meadow and then crosses the bridge, all is made whole again. Here is the place that the pet can wait until their owner is ready to come and join them once more.

When that day comes, the pet somehow knows that they are coming and they run back over the bridge and wait patiently until there owner arrives and they are reunited, never to be parted again.

I like to think that if the owner was a horrible person and mistreated the animal that , that owner wouldn't be allowed to cross the Bright Green Meadow, for I am sure there is no place over the Rainbow Bridge for the cruel and the unkind.

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 The Man and the Lion

There was once a man who refused to obey his king. He was sentence to die. But before they could kill him, the man escaped and ran into the forest. He met a lion with a thorn in his paw. The man pulled the thorn out. As the lion was licking his paw, he said, “I am grateful to you. I will never forget what you have done. You will always be my friend.”

So the man told the lion goodbye and left. It was not long before the man was captured by the king’ soldiers. They brought him back and he was sentenced to died in the arena. When the lion was released, the man recognized the lion. It was the very same lion that he had helped. He bravely reminded the lion of his promise and asked the lion not to eat him because they were friends.

The lion was hungry. He jumped upon the man and ate him.

Beware of friends who make false statements.

Note: If you don’t like this ending, there are stories where the lion doesn’t eat the man because the lion was grateful. The moral would then be something like: When you help other people, you sometimes help yourself.

The Frog and the Ox

An ox came down to the pond to drink. As he walked into the water he smashed a young frog into the mud. When the frogs returned home, the old mother frog soon missed the little frog. She wanted to know where the little frog was. “Oh mother,” said the little frogs, “a big monster stepped on little brother with one of his big feet.”

“How big?” said the mother frog. “Was he as big as this?” And she puffed herself up.

“Oh, much bigger!” they cried.

The frog puffed up even bigger.

“No, he was bigger than that!” they cried.

“He couldn’t possibly have been bigger than this,” she said. And she kept puffing herself up bigger and bigger and bigger until, all at once, she burst.

Do not attempt the impossible.

The Fox and the Stork

One day a fox was feeling good. He decided to play a trick on the stork. The fox thought the stork looked funny and he was always laughing at the stork.

“Please come over to my house for supper,” the fox told the stork. The stork gladly accepted. He wanted to be friends with the fox. He made sure he arrived at fox’s house on time. He was hungry.

The fox served soup for supper. It was set out in a very shallow dish and all the stork could do was dip in the end of his beak. He did not taste a single drop of soup. Fox happily lapped up the soup with a sly smile on his face. The stork pretended to enjoy his soup.

Although the stork was very angry at the fox’s trick, he was also even-tempered and not one to throw temper tantrums. However, not long after this, the Stork invited the fox to dinner. The fox arrived promptly. The stork was serving a delicious smelling fish dinner. But it was served in a tall jar with a very narrow neck. The stork could easily get at the food with his long bill, but the fox could only sniff at the delicious dinner and lick the outside of the jar.

Do not play tricks on your friends unless you can stand the same treatment yourself.

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Wood ThrushBill was lying in the hay field one day, and the hedgehog sat besides him. They were talking about the seasons,and saying what they liked about each one.
"Spring," said the hedgehog, "is like spears. All the bulbs push sharp pointed leaves through the ground, till they look like little armies of spearmen."
"Summer," began Bill.  .  .  .  .  . 
"What do you mean by Summer?" said the hedgehog.
"June's quite different from Juy, and August to either."
"June," said Bill slowly, "June's got so many things, roses and strawberries, you don't know which way to turn. It's the nights I like, when there's a glow in the sky nearly all the tim
At this time a peal of laughter came from a tree near them.
"That's the
Yaffle," said the hedgehog. "He's always laughing. That bird has got a funny sense of humour, he has no idea when and where to laugh. Go away," he called, and the Yaffle flew away still laughing heartily.
"July," said the hedgehog, "Is the month I laike best. It's peaceful, the clouds look like white fishes, and lie quietly in the sky. The flowers look like altar candles, or tall tapers, mulliens, delphiniums and such things.  In August.   .   .   ."
"Yes," said Bill, "In August I like 'the day long murmuring wood pigeon.' "
"Who called them that?" said the hedgehog.
"My father says that Lamb called them that in an essay."
"I never knew a lamb that wrote," said the hedgehog scornfully. "I always think that lambs have so little sense."
"Bill knew for a fact that
MarigoldCharles Lamb had written this essay, and that the hedgehog didn't know what it was talking about - but he said nothing; which was very nice of Bill, as the hedgehog was apt to be very cocky about his opinions.

"August," the hedgehog began again, "is the month when everything is silent, the birds hardly sing, but the bees hum and the flowers smell extra good."
"Yes," said Bill "I love the smell of the phloxes and marigolds."
"September's nice, too, went on the hedgehog, "with the sounds of reaping and the corn in the fields and the fresh frosty mornings. And  so is October. The rest I know nothing about."
"Nothing about?" repeated Bill astonished.
"No, nothing, silly" said the hedgehog sharpishly, and Bill remembered that of course hedgehogs rolled themselves up under heaps of leaves all the winter. Once on a winter's day he had heard a funny snoring noise, and, going up to where it came from, found a tiny hedgehog rolled up fast asleep.
"Let's go to the farmyard," he said to change the subject. They wandered up from the hatfield into the farmyard. The hedgehog was on the look out that no one should notice him. Once he and Bill had met the gardener, and in one second the hedgehog had vanished into a tuft of grass.
They saw the pigs who looked like pink and black lollipops on legs, grunting and poking about. A pair of guinea fowls followed the pigs, picking insects off the pigs legs. The guinea fowl kept up a sort of sad piping noise. So did some baby turkeys who walked about in a little flock together chaperoned by a hen. They kept up their sad little tune without stopping, and seemed in terror of letting the hen out of their Pink and black piglets (lollipops)sight for one minute.
The hedgehog yawned, and said, "Let's go and see Maria Missel-Thrush, she is always so cheerful."
They went along to the yew tree. Maria Missel-thrush was hopping about singing to herself. When they came up she cried, "So glad to see you. I was just going to send you an invitation. I'm just serving them out now." She picked up a yew leaf in her beak with six spikes on it and a yew berry growing in the middle.
"That means six o'clock and a yew berry party," said the hedgehog in a whisper to Bill.
Bill walked away a few steps and said in a low voice, "But, Hedgehog, Nannie always says that yew berries are poisonous - and on no account put one in your mouth."
The hedgehog blinked his bright eyes. "Well you must be careful. Maria Missel-Thrush, as I said before, is so terribly touchy." He wrinkled his nose for a minute or two, while Bill twisted the leaf in his hands so hard that the yew berry fell on the grass. Bill felt very unhappy; he did so much want to go to the party.
"I'll tell you what," said the hedgehog suddenly. "Go to the village shop and ask Mrs Fatkin if she has got any more of those tiny round raspberry drops. They look exactly like yew berries if one doesn't peer too close, and you must somehow manage to throw away the real yew berries, and pop a raspberry drop in your mouth whenever Maria looks your way."
Bill ran as fast as his legs would carry him to the village, paying no attention to the little birds in the hedges, who  called out to each other, "What ever is that child running so fast for?" He ran up the stone flagged path, past the apple tree bowed down with apples, up to the door on which was written,Mrs Fatkin's Sweet Shop
"Mrs. Thomas Fatkin. Licensed to Sell, Ale and Tobacco." Bill dashed in and laid his birthday sixpence on the counter.
"Sixpence worth of raspberry drops, please," he panted.
"Well, I declare," said Mrs Fatkin, leisurely putting on her spectacles, and beaming at Bill over the counter, "Why you are quite out of breath."
Bill wished she would hurry up, so he politely but quickly repeated his request.
"I declare I'm not sure if I've got anymore," sh said and with maddening slowness began to rummage among the big sweet bottles. First she looked at the peppermint balls, then she took up and shook every bottle in the shop. At last in a dark corner she spied one almost empty jar.
"Well I do declare, there are just a few left," she said. "I shan't let you pay more than a penny for these," she said, and Bill took them off her and ran down the stone path with fivepence of his birthday sixpence in one hand and a bag with eight round raspberry drops in the other.Raspberry drops
The hedgehog was waiting for Bill behind a rose bush. "Come along," he said, and they walked over the lawn to the yew tree. It was a very old tree with a thick dark red twisted trunk and branches, which were so long that they lay on the ground. It was dark, musty, and mysterious under these branches on ordinary days; but this special afternoon the yew tree was full of birds twittering and jumping about.
Maria had laid little heaps of yew berries all round the trunk, and her guests fell upon them without any manners at all, and started gobbling them all up. All except Bill, who managed to spill his yew berries on to a big heap Maria had made near him, and whenever she looked his way Bill put a raspberry drop into his mouth. When he had finished his fourth raspberry drop he felt he never wanted to eat another one again in all his life.
blackbirds"Now let's have some songs," said Maria, cleaning her chest feathers with her beak. "We've put a sentinel outside, he's quite happy. I've given him lots to eat; and if anyone passes we can all fly out in different directions."
"Oh, so that's why birds so often fly out of a tree, when one comes round the corner suddenly," thought Bill, but he said nothing.

Two blackbirds sang a duet, then two thrushes. Their song reminded Bill of evenings in the garden in spring, when the light was bright in the sky after rain, and the big drops pattered off the bushes, and everything you touched threw out a long trail of scent.
Then the starling obliged, with an imitation of the butcher's boy coming whistling up the drive in the morning. Then a dozen sparrows sang a chorus, which sounded like the clashing of tiny bells. The owl, who was sitting half asleep on a branch, opened his eyes. "He may be going to recite," said the hedgehog.

All the birds sat very quiet and the owl began - -
    "Oh, the dreary endless day,
     Oh, the thrilling throbbing dark.
                      I get up when squeaks the bat,
                      And go to bed when sings the lark."

Someone giggled, and the owl shut his eyes again, and couldn't be persuaded to say any more.
After much pressing the grey squirrel consented to repeat a poem he had learnt from a badger. He sat up, folded his paws, and tucked his tail round him and began.
  "It is called 'Broughton Spinney,' " he said.

grey squirrel         
"Under this little wood, so say the wise,
          An iron foundery hidden lies,
          Made for their use by the legions of Rome
           Who in this valley once made their brief home.
          Sparks flew, iron hissed and the sky caught the glare,
             Where now the badger makes his deep lair.
            He mutters and grumbles impatient of mood,
            Intent upon nothing but shelter and food.

            Life is but a wheel turning round
                                                       So say ..........................,

At this moment the bird sentinel puts his head in and said,
The cat's coming," and all the birds began to flutter their wings.
"I'll go and send him away," called out Bill, and he ran out. "Go away, Martin," he said crossly, and threw a fir cone at the Persian cat's head. It hit Martin on the nose. He hissed at Bill, "I'll get even with you for that," and with one bound he fled into the shrubbery.

"All clear!" said Bill, as he crashed through the yew branches, but sad to say the peace and happiness of the party had somehow vanished away, and all the birds began to  make
excuses, about how long it took them to get home. The party  broke up in confusion.
Maria took it all very calmly and said, "Better luck next time."
Gosh! these are only kittens
"We  must look out for those cats," said the hedgehog to Bill as they strolled away.
"They've a nasty revengeful streak in them. I think they mean mischief.

This most wonderful story comes from the pen of Ms Susan Tweedsmuir, she wrote quite a few books, this tale it says was in "The Freedom of the Garden," and printed in 1932, I will keep a look out in my searches for another one, maybe "Martin's Revenge." but it might take a while for I have found so little written about this charming lover of Nature.

PRUDENCE TriantiwontigongolopePENNYTriantiwontigongolope FARTHING

An Australian Rhyme


C J Dennis


There's a very funny insect that you do not often spy,
And it isn't quite a spider, and it isn't quite a fly;
It is something like a beetle, and a little like a bee,
But nothing like a wooly grub that climbs upon a tree.
Its name is quite a hard one, but you'll learn it soon, I hope.

So try:
 Tri anti wonti - tri anti wonti  go
ngo lope.


It lives on weeds and wattle-gum, and has a funny face;
Its appetite is hearty, and its manners a disgrace.
When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare,
But when you look for it again, you find it isn't there.
And unless you call it softly it will stay away and mope.

So try:
Tri anti wonti - tri anti wonti gongo lope.

TriantiwontigongolopeTriantiwontigongolope Triantiwontigongolope

It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon its toes;
It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish nose.
If you snear at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame,
But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you call it by its name,
And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax and soap.

So try:
Tri anti wonti - Triantiwontigongolope.


But of course you haven't seen it; and I truthfully confess
That I haven't seen it either, and I don't know its address.
For there isn't such an insect, though there really might have been
If the trees and grass were purple, and the sky was bottle green.
It's just a little joke of mine, which you'll forgive, I hope.

Oh, try!
Tri anti wonti -Triantiwontigongolope.

Triantiwontigongolope Triantiwontigongolope

Wattle Gum: AUSTRALIAN GUM -- This gum occurs in large globular, transparent tears or masses, which are hard and of a pale yellow, amber, or brown color. It dissolves completely in water, producing a mucilage which is very adhesive, and less liable than other gums to crackle when dry. Tannin from the bark is apt to be present on this gum. It is the product of several species, among them acacia pycnantha, acacia decurrens, acacia homalophylla, and acacia cunningham.

Thanks again to "Just Playing." I have never heard this before.
This Old Man
This Old Man

This old man he played one,
He played knick knack on my tum.
With a knick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

knick knack on my shoesThis old man he played two,
He played knick knack on my shoe.
With a knick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

played knick knack on my knee
This old man he played three,
He played knick knack on my knee.
With a knick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

played knick knack on my door

This old man he played four,
He played knick knack on my door.
With a knick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.
played knick knack on my hives

This old man he played five,
He played knick knack on my hive.
With a knick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

played knick knack on my sticksThis old man he played six,
He played knick knack on my sticks.
With a knick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.
played knick knack on my gate

This old man he played seven,
He played knick knack down in Devon.
With a knick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

played knick knack on my gates
This old man he played eight,
He played knick knack on my front gate.
With a knick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

played knick knack on the spine
This old man he played nine,
He played knick knack on my spine.
With a knick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

Midi: This old man      

roosty playing with the hens 
This old man he played ten,
Then he started all over again.

With a knick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.



 Briar Rose
also known as
The Sleeping Beauty
The Brother's Grimme

A long time ago there were a king and queen who said every day, ah, if only
we had a child, but they never had one. But it happened that once when the queen was bathing, a frog crept out of the water on to the land, and said to her, your wish shall be fulfilled, before a year has gone by, you shall have a daughter.

What the frog had said came true, and the queen had a little girl who was so pretty that the king could not contain himself for joy, and ordered a great feast. He invited not only his kindred, friends and acquaintances, but also the wise women, in order that they might be kind and well-disposed towards the child. There were thirteen of them in his kingdom, but, as he had only twelve golden plates for them to eat out of, one of them had to be left at home.

The feast was held with all manner of splendor and when it came to an end the wise women bestowed their magic gifts upon the baby - one gave virtue, another beauty, a third riches, and so on with everything in the world that one can wish for.

When eleven of them had made their promises, suddenly the thirteenth came in. She wished to avenge herself for not having been invited, and without greeting, or even looking at anyone, she cried with a loud voice, the king's daughter shall in her fifteenth year prick herself with a spindle, and fall down dead. And, without saying a word more, she turned round and left the room.

They were all shocked, but the twelfth, whose good wish still remained unspoken, came forward, and as she could not undo the evil sentence, but only soften it, she said, it shall not be death, but a deep sleep of a hundred years, into which the princess shall fall.

The king, who would fain keep his dear child from the misfortune, gave orders that every spindle in the whole kingdom should be burnt. Meanwhile the gifts of the wise women were plenteously fulfilled on the young girl, for she was so beautiful, modest, good-natured, and wise, that everyone who saw her was bound to love her.

 It happened that on the very day when she was fifteen years old, the king and queen were not at home, and the maiden was left in the palace quite alone. So she went round into all sorts of places, looked into rooms and bed-chambers just as she liked, and at last came to an old tower. She climbed up the narrow winding-staircase, and reached a little door. A rusty key was in the lock, and when she turned it the door sprang open, and there in a little room sat an old woman with a spindle, busily spinning her flax.

Good day, old mother, said the king's daughter, what are you doing there. I am spinning, said the old woman, and nodded her head. What sort of thing is that, that rattles round so merrily, said the girl, and she took the spindle and wanted to spin too. But scarcely had she touched the spindle when the magic decree was fulfilled, and she pricked her finger with it.

And, in the very moment when she felt the prick, she fell down upon the bed that stood there, and lay in a deep sleep. And this sleep extended over the whole palace, the king and queen who had just come home, and had entered the great hall, began to go to sleep, and the whole of the court with them. The horses, too, went to sleep in the stable, the dogs in the yard, the pigeons upon the roof, the flies on the wall, even the fire that was flaming on the hearth became quiet and slept, the roast meat left off frizzling, and the cook, who was just going to pull the hair of the scullery boy, because he had forgotten something, let him go, and went to sleep. And the wind fell, and on the trees before the castle not a leaf moved again.

But round about the castle there began to grow a hedge of thorns, which every year became higher,Sleeping Beauty and at last grew close up round the castle and all over it, so that there was nothing of it to be seen, not even the flag upon the
roof. But the story of the beautiful sleeping briar-rose, for so the princess was named, went about the country, so that from time to time kings' sons came and tried to get through the thorny hedge into the castle.

But they found it impossible, for the thorns held fast together, as if they had hands, and the youths were caught in them, could not get loose again, and died a miserable death.

After long, long years a king's son came again to that country, and heard an old man talking about the thorn-hedge, and that a castle was said to stand behind it in which a wonderfully beautiful princess, named briar-rose, had been asleep for a hundred years, and that the king and queen and the whole court were asleep likewise. He had heard, too, from his grandfather, that many kings, sons had already come, and had tried to get through the thorny hedge, but they had remained sticking fast in it, and had died a pitiful death.

Then the youth said, I am not afraid, I will go and see the beautiful briar-rose. The good old man might dissuade him as he would, he did not listen to his words.

But by this time the hundred years had just passed, and the day had come when briar-rose was to awake again. When the king's son came near to the thorn-hedge, it was nothing but large and beautiful flowers, which parted from each other of their own accord, and let him pass unhurt, then they closed again behind him like a hedge. In the castle yard he saw the horses and the spotted hounds lying asleep, on the roof sat the pigeons with their heads under their wings. And when he entered the house, the flies were asleep upon the wall, the cook in the kitchen was still holding out his hand to seize the boy, and the maid was sitting by the black hen which she was going to pluck.

He went on farther, and in the great hall he saw the whole of the court lying asleep, and up by the throne lay the king and queen.

Then he went on still farther, and all was so quiet that a breath could be heard, and at last he came to the tower, and opened the door into the little room where briar-rose was sleeping.

Sleeping Beauty There she lay, so beautiful that he could not turn his eyes away, and he stooped down and gave her a kiss. But as soon as he kissed her, briar-rose opened her eyes and awoke, and looked at him quite sweetly.

 Then they went down together, and the king awoke, and the queen, and the whole court, and looked at each other in great astonishment. And the horses in the courtyard stood up and shook themselves, the hounds jumped up and wagged their tails, the pigeons upon the roof pulled out their heads from under their wings, looked round, and flew into the open country, the flies on the wall crept again, the fire in the kitchen burned up and flickered and cooked the meat, the joint began to turn and sizzle again, and the cook gave the boy such a box on the ear that he screamed, and the maid finished plucking the fowl.

And then the marriage of the king's son with briar-rose was celebrated with all splendor, and they lived contented to the end of their days.
Prudence whistled many notes
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Little Penny Prudence went whistling down the lane,
And every song she whistled, it never was the same.
She whistled "Old Mac Donald,"
She whistled "Old King Cole,"
But when it came to singing, she was never very bold.

Little Penny Prudence was whistling in the town,
children singing and dancing
She whistled in the Shopping Mall, they paid her half a crown.
She whistled "Boys come out to Play,"
She whistled " Loop- ipty Loo,"
But when it came to dancing, she just didn't have a clue.

Little Penny Prudence went whistling down the lane
Until one day, her teeth fell out, and she never did again.
She tried and she tried and tried once more,
but her trying it was all in vain
So she learn't to dance and learn't to sing,
and she never whistled  AGAIN.


Ten Green Bottles
(Words - Traditional)
(Illustrations - Copyright © 2000 John Hampson)

10 green bottles sitting on a wall,  10 green bottles sitting on a wall
And if one green bottle should accidently fall

There will be ...

...sitting on the wall
9 green bottles sitting on a wall,  9 green bottles sitting on a wall
And if one green bottle should accidently fall
There will be ...

...sitting on the wall
8 green bottles sitting on a wall,  8 green bottles sitting on a wall
And if one green bottle should accidently fall

There will be ...

...sitting on the wall
7 green bottles sitting on a wall,  7 green bottles sitting on a wall
And if one green bottle should accidently fall
There will be ...

...sitting on the wall
6 green bottles sitting on a wall,  6 green bottles sitting on a wall
And if one green bottle should accidently fall
There will be ...

...sitting on the wall
5 green
bottles sitting on a wall,  5 green bottles sitting on a wall
And if one green bottle should accidently fall
There will be ...

...sitting on the wall
4 green bottles sitting on a wall,  4 green bottles sitting on a wall
And if one green bottle should accidently fall
There will be ...

...sitting on the wall
3 green bottles sitting on a wall,  3 green bottles sitting on a wall
And if one green bottle should accidently fall
There will be ...

...sitting on the wall
2 green bottles sitting on a wall,  2 green bottles sitting on a wall
And if one green bottle should accidently fall
There will be ...

sitting on the wall

1 green bottle sitting on a wall,  1 green bottle sitting on a wall
And if one green bottle should accidently fall
There will be ...NO green bottles...sitting on the wall


      It was such a beautiful morning Daisy decided to go for a walk in the woods. She had not gone far when she came upon her very favourite tree, it was the tallest in the woods.
Unfortunately Daisy was only little and the tree was very tall, but it never stopped her dreaming about climbing to the very top day after day.Daisy however contented herself with sitting on one of the very low branches and lying there, dreaming of what it must look like way up high.

Donald the Dream Weaver Daisy jumped up onto her branch and settled down, she had only just closed her eyes when there was a loud whirring sound; not unlike that of a a helicopter, and out of the tree fell a little man.
He was wearing a pair of purple trousers and a turquoise blue jacket, and would you believe he was
even smaller than Daisy.

        Hello Daisy," he said
as he landed with a wallop on her lap and took out a grey hat and popped it on his head. "There that's better, wait, hold on just a moment?" He then pulled out a pair of red cloth boots and put them on his feet. "Now where were we?" He asked in a croaky little voice. "I believe you were day dreaming again. Do tell me what is it your dreaming about today?"
Daisy opened and closed her eyes in amazement.
"And hello to you too!" she said nervously. "Firstly do you always travel like that? Secondly how come you know my name?" 

The little man smiled "Forgive me my dear but it's my business to know name of everybody who lives in or around Fingles Wood and your family have been living here for a very long time."
"Why I do believe your Granny called you Daisy because you  reminded her of the first flower of a new day... isn't that so?"
Daisy smiled and picked up the little man and held him in her hand."
"Alright, so you know all about me, but who are you?" Daisy smiled and
prodded the little man gently in his tummy.
Instantly he began to chuckle, then Daisy started to laugh, already you could tell they were going to be good friends.Donald the Dream Weaver                            
"Well my dear, my full name is Mr Donald O'Dermot,
O'Callaghan, but my friends usually call me "Donald the Dream Weaver" or Mr Don, for short, and dream weaving is my work."
"A dream weaver, and what on earth is a dream weaver, Mr O'Dermot O'Callaghan?" Daisy said  placing the little man on
Daisythe  branch at her side.

"Daisy O'Donnal, didn't I tell you my friends call me Mr Don and are we not friends already or are all these smiles false ones?"
"Oh no, no we surely are friends Mr ...em  Don, but a dream weaver, what kind of work is that may I ask?" Daisy smiled a huge smile which made her whole face shine.
"Hm now let me think, a dream weaver. Well it's different of course from aShamus weaver of dreams, for that would be Shamus MacSweeny from the old Rainbow Smithy in Fingles Close. No I'm definitely the dream weaver who listens carefully to peoples dreams, then tries to weave a wee bit of magic to make them come true."
"Oh I see," Daisy frowned, she didn't really see but she just knew that it could only be a good thing for her "Mr Don" was definitely a good... little man... whatever.Daisy

"So where does that lead us to my dear?" Mr Don asked but didn't wait for an answer. "Your dreaming I suppose."
"My dreaming!" Daisy looked up to the top of the tree. "You mean of being up there, the top of my tree!" she exclaimed, then she frowned as she picked Mr Don up by his collar and held him out in front of her.
"And how may I ask is one as small as you, going to get one as big as me, up
to the top of the tallest tree in the whole of the wood?"
            Hm, you leave that to me young Daisy, you're not that big yourself you know. You just put me back down on the branch and we'll jolly well see who can do what around here."tall trees
Daisy placed Mr Donald O'Dermot O'Callaghan back on the branch and began to laugh, her  golden curls  shining in the sun.
"Come on then let's do it?" she teased.
"Ok, ok, close your eyes and make ready to fly!"
"Whoa, who said anything about flying, I was thinking of climbing. I don't
have your wings you know."
Donald the Dream Weaver"Climb to the top of this tree," Donald shook his head and frowned.
" I don't think your Mum and Gran would be happy with me if you hurt yourself climbing and I do believe flying would be easier."
 Mr Don nodded his head as he spoke.
"Yes, flying it will have to be, now come on, close your eyes Daisy O'Donnal."

Daisy closed her eyes, first there was a tingle in her fingers, then there was a trembling in her legs. Then it felt as if she were going up in lift just like the ones in the stores in Broughton.
"You can open your eyes now Daisy." Donald said. Daisy took a deep breathShe could see Badger Valley by Fingles Wood and slowly opened her eyes. "Oh wow", she gasped. All around her there were clouds and they seemed to be floating in a sea of blue. She could see Badger Valley and Fingles Wood. She turned around carefully and she could see the river and the bridge over the other side of the village. It was all so wonderful.  She turned very carefully she could see the river and bridgetowards Donald who somehow seemed to be holding her as if she weighed nothing.
"Oh my goodness, it is all so beautiful, thank you, O thank you, thank you," she cried over and over again. "Now I shall never have to wonder what it is like up here any more."
She stood there for what seemed like ages looking this way and that. The church, the school, why she could even see the swing park over the other side of the village and the bowling green. "Oh thank you, thank you,"
she kept repeating.
She bent over and gave
Mr Don a little kiss on the top of his head.
They both began to wobble a little.

"Oops be careful,  I think we are ready to go down now though Daisy."
"Oh yes I suppose so, thank you again," Daisy said, a little sad but at the same time flashing another one of her gorgeous smiles at the old Leprechaun.

"I can't thank you enough, You truely have made my dream come true today."
She closed her eyes once more and with a tingle and a tremble and a slight roll in her tummy, Daisy was back on the ground with Donald standing by
her side, she lifted him up onto the branch and Daisy jumped up besides him. She leant back against the huge old tree trunk and closed her eyes, her mind full of all the wonderful sights she had seen in her adventure.
She could hear Donald talking away besides her.
"Well my dear I must be gone now for I have to be over at the Badger caves before dinner time."
tall treesDaisy slowly opened her eyes, but to her amazement Mr Donald O'Dermot O'Callaghan was gone, not a trace of him anywhere.
She jumped down from the branch and stood there a puzzled look on her pretty face...
Had she been dreaming, maybe she had fallen to sleep on the big branch and it was all a dream after all.
She looked about her but there was nothing that told her that Donald O'Dermot O'Callaghan the Dream Weaver of Fingles Wood had ever been there, or took her to the top of the tree...

Slowly Daisy began to make her way home, a smile still on her face for in herDonald the Dream Weaver heart she knew it had all been real and that she would meet the little man, with the croaky little voice again sometime very soon. 
Written by Diddily Dee Dot, her first short story of 2008
Enjoy everyone. xxx

Baa, Baa Black Sheep have you any food?

Yes Sir, Yes Sir, three bags of Gruell.

One for my breakfast

And one for my Tea,

And one for you if you come  with me.

 Mary had a Little Lamb

Mary had a little lamb,

A little bread and a little jam,
A little pie and a little cake,
Then Mary had the stomach ache.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty
had a great fall.
All the King's horses,
And all the King's men,
Ate scrambled egg for two weeks.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And one stupid potato!

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,
Jack jump over the candlestick.
Poor young Jack he should have jumped higher
Jack! Jack  your pants are on fire!

Monday's Child


Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace;
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go;
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for its living;
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

Once I saw a little bird
Come hop, hop, hop;
So I cried, "Little bird,
Will you stop, stop, stop?"
And was going to the window
To say, "How do you do?
But he shook his little tail,
And far way he flew.

Little Nancy Etticoat,
In a white petticoat,
And a red nose;
The longer she stands,
The shorter she grows

I had a little pony,
His name was Dapple-gray,
I lent him to a lady,
To ride a mile away;
She whipped him, she slashed him,
She rode him through the mire;
I would not lend my pony now
For all the lady's hire.

There Were Three Jovial Huntsmen

There were three jovial huntsmen,
A hunting they did go,
They hunted and they hollered,
They gave their horns a blow.
Well look'e there now, well look'e there.

Then these three jovial huntsmen,
As I have heard them say,
 They would go a-hunting
All on a summer's day,
Well look'e there now, well look'e there

All day they went a hunting,
but nothing they could spy,
but a sparrow in a gum tree,
and this they passed on bye.
 Well look'e there now, well look'e there.

And on their way a hunting,
they took a swig of rum.
The first one drank,
the second one drank,
the third one he drank some.
Well look'e there now, well look'e there

All the day they went a hunting,
And nothing could they find
But a ship a-sailing with the wind.
and this they passed on bye.
Well look'e there now, well look'e there.

The first said it was a ship,
The other he said nay;
The third said t'was a summer house
With the chimney blown away.
Well look'e there now, well look'e there.

Now all night they hunted,
And nothing could they find
But the moon a-gliding in the wind
And this they passed on by.
Well look'e there now, well look'e there.

One said t'was the moon,
The other said nay;
The third said it was just a cheese,
With half of it cut away.
Well look'e there now, well look'e there.

A Seligor/Diddily adaption of a very old Folk Song

Specially prepared for Penny Prudence



(found written as a blog on google)
Tamas found an orphaned magpie in his garden begging for food from Tamas' pet turtle. Tamas adopted the magpie and brought him into the office every day, where he perched atop various computer screens. Then, one day, a flock of magpies flew past an the orphan joined them. Here's the inquisitive fellow. Somewhere, Tamas has tape of the magpie perched atop the turtle's shell, tapping away, saying to the hiding turtle, "come out to play!"

One for sorrow.

Two for joy.

Three for a girl.

Four for a boy.

Five for silver.
Six for gold.

Seven for a secret never to be told.

Eight's a wish.

Nine's a kiss.

Ten is a story never to be missed.

Magpies seem to be jacks of all trades - scavengers, predators and pest-destroyers, their challenging, almost arrogant attitude has won them few friends. With its noisy chattering, black-and-white plumage and long tail, there is nothing else quite like the magpie in the UK. When seen close-up its black plumage takes on an altogether more colourful hue with a purplish-blue iridescent sheen to the wing feathers, and a green gloss to the tail. Non-breeding birds will gather together in flocks.

Where to see them

Found across England, Wales and N Ireland, but more localised in Scotland, absent from the Highlands. Seen in a range of habitats from lowland farmland to upland moors.


Midi: Ants Go Marching
The ants go marching one by one;
Hoorah, hoorah
The ants go marching one by one,
Hoorah hoorah
The ants go marching one by one,
The little one stops to suck his thumb,

And they all go marching across the floor,
under the door, down the drain, into the rain,

Zoom, zoom, zoom!


The ants go marching two by two.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching two by two.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching two by two;
The little one stops to tie his shoe,

 And they all go marching across the floor,
under the door, down the drain, into the rain,
Zoom, zoom, zoom!

The ants go marching three by three.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching three by three.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching three by three;
The little one stops to climb a tree,

And they all go marching across the floor,
under the door, down the drain, into the rain,
Zoom, zoom, zoom!


The ants go marching four by four.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching four by four.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching four by four;
The little one stops to shut the door,
And they all go marching across the floor,
under the door, down the drain, into the rain,
Zoom, zoom, zoom!


The ants go marching five by five.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching five by five.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching five by five;
The little one stops to take a dive,

And they all go marching across the floor,
under the door, down the drain, into the rain,
Zoom, zoom, zoom!


The ants go marching six by six.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching six by six.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching six by six;
The little one stops to pick up sticks,

And they all go marching across the floor,
under the door, down the drain, into the rain,
Zoom, zoom, zoom!


The ants go marching seven by seven.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching seven by seven.
 Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching seven by seven;
The little one stops to pray to heaven,
And they all go marching across the floor,
under the door, down the drain, into the rain,
 Zoom, zoom, zoom!

The ants go marching eight by eight.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching eight by eight.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching eight by eight;
The little one stops to rollerskate,
  And they all go marching across the floor,
under the door, down the drain, into the rain
Zoom, zoom, zoom!

AntAntAnt AntAntAntAntAntAnt

The ants go marching nine by nine.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching nine by nine.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching nine by nine;
The little one stops to check the time,
And they all go marching across the floor,
under the door, down the drain, into the rain,
Zoom, zoom, zoom!


The ants go marching ten by ten.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching ten by ten.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The ants go marching ten by ten;
The little one stops to shout
"T H E  E N D!!"
But they all kept marching across the floor,
under the door, down the drain, into the rain.
Zoom, zoom, zoom.

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