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Read Ebook: The Bay and Padie Book Kiddie Songs by Maurice Furnley Dobbs Cyril Illustrator Hamilton Vera Illustrator
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Ebook has 178 lines and 10356 words, and 4 pages
Illustrator: Vera Hamilton Cyril Dobbs
"Do you like ours 'n' father's new book, Bay?"
"Aw, there's not any picture of the Santa-cart written in it!"
Oh! What a lot of lots of things For little boys to like!
THE BAY AND PADIE BOOK
The Writer wishes to thank the Editor of "The Bulletin," Sydney, for permission to reprint "Nonsense Immortal," and the Editor of "The Triad," Sydney, for a similar courtesy regarding "Kitchen Lullaby" and "Little Boys."
The BAY AND PADIE BOOK
KIDDIE SONGS
Commonwealth of Australia Sydney J. Endacott Melbourne 1917
First Edition November 1917 Second Edition February 1918
Wholly set up and printed in Australia at the Galleon Press, Norris-street, Surrey Hills, Vic., for Sydney J. Endacott, 14 Cumming-street, Moonee Vale, Vic.
THE SHADOW SHOW
Trains with wheels and clouds of smoke, Funny crowds of dodging folk, Trams that run along with sparks, Sofa games and pillow larks, Grubs and ponies, worms and tigers, Sparrows on the tree, Oh! What a lot of lots of things For little boys to see!
Aeroplanes and paper darts, Woodmen driving broken carts, Minahs on the chimney tops, Swallows dodging near the shops, Barking pups that make the postman Fall down off his bike; Oh! What a lot of lots of things For little boys to like!
Great big pictures in big books, Pastry from the pastrycook's, Circuses and Mentone sand, Musics of the soldier band, Chocolates wrapped in silver paper So they won't get wet; Oh! What a lot of lots of things For little boys to get!
THE SOLDIER BAND
My mother and my father are both having tea to drink; Inside the pastry shop they saw me last. They don't know where I've got to, for I've runned from where they think; I heard the soldier band go marching past.
Oh, tiddley--om--ti--pomp they go! Stamp soldier, stamp! A cab-horse jumped into the air and bumped against a lamp. Ta--rah--ra--rah, the trumpets go telling the boys to come, And always and all the time, bang goes the drum.
Look at their lovely leather legs! The big brass things they blow! I don't care where I walk or who I meet, I'm following the band away to where the musics grow, I'm hitting my boots heavy on the street.
For I must find the music man that lets them play so loud, And find the funny place where soldiers go To fill their trumpets with the noise they blow among the crowd-- It's not a tea and pastry shop I know.
Oh, I must find the music place, and stamp along the track, And try to let no trams run over me; If I'm a long, long way from home, the band will play me back, That's if I'm good and never spill my tea.
When I grow up a soldier man, I'll buy a pole to wag, With silver top and tassels red and blue; I'll tell my little brother to be carrying the flag, While I call out and tell him how to do.
I don't know where my father is, I've left him in a shop, And if I'm lost there's bound to be a noise; If fathers want their children, they should make the policeman stop The music of the bands that steal the boys.
Oh, tiddley--om--ti--pomp they go! Stamp, soldier, stamp! A captain with a silver sword is marching them to camp. Ta--rah--ra--rah, the trumpets go, telling the boys to come, And always and all the time, bang goes the drum.
INVALID
Raid, raid, go away, Dote cub back udtil I say, That wote be for beddy a day.
Ad wot's the good of sudlight, dow? When I ab kept id bed, Ad rubbed ad poultised for to cure The cold that's id be head?
I've beed out od the kitched lawd, With dothig od be feet, Ad subthig's coffig id be deck Ad all be head's a heat.
Tell Bay to dot bake such a doise; Dote rud the cart so hard! For tissudt fair, just wud of us To rud arowd the yard.
Ad wed I try to say a tale, Or sig a little sog, The coffig cubs idtoo be deck Ad tickles dredful strog.
Ad wed is father cubbig obe? He'd dot be log he said-- If this is jist a cold it bust Be awful to be dead!
Oh what a log, log day it is! Ibe tired of blocks ad books; I've cowted all the ceilig lides, I've thought of sheep ad chooks.
I've drawd a bad's face with a bo, I've drawed a pipe to sboke; Just wed I thought I was asleep I wedt ad thought I woke!
Wot's the good of sudlight dow, Ad wot's the good of raid? Ad wot's the good of eddythig Wed all your head's a paid?
Raid, raid go away, Ad dote cub back udtil I say, Ad that wote be for beddy a day.
WHOM THE GODS LOVE
He's so chubby and happy and wonderful, Dainty and perfectly made, That when he kicks at the sunbeams there, Out on the grass in his cradle chair, Somehow I feel afraid.
We ought to hide him away, I think, Real beauty was always a bane, If the gods get to know of his baby wiles, Of his firm round limbs, or his magic smiles, They'll want him back again.
LITTLE BOYS
The roads go out to Macedon, the roads go out to Rome, Some die in snowy Buffaloes and some turn home; I've done the Alps and Apennines, and Naples to the moon, For fancies cover splendid ground in a Summer afternoon. And then I come to gloryland, and whom do I see there But little Boyo Browneyes and Billy Wirehair?
Little Imps of Gloryland with great big eyes Follow me with questionings and laughter and surprise; Little cheeky pixie boys whom nothing can suppress, Whose pandects, codes and institutes are bound in mother's "Yes."
When Uncle comes in Sunday clothes they clamour to be kissed, Black-currants sticking to each face and pancakes in each fist. Four fists that is, all over jam, and four black sticky lips Just come from playing motor-chairs and sailing sofa-ships. And if you wander on the lawn untended in the dark With tricycles and wheelbarrows your shins will lose some bark!
For what's your talk of tidiness and putting things "right there" To little Boyo Browneyes and Billy Wirehair?
I'm picking up the channel or I'm trucking up the slope, I'm hauling on the shear-head with a length of yellow rope; No matter where I'm wandering, in dreaming or in fact, Wool-loaded down the blacksoil plains or past the desert tract, About the city clamorous with many brakes and bells, It takes no sweep of wizard wand nor moonlit fairy spells To bring me back to kitchen land, and whom do I see there But little Boyo Browneyes and Billy Wirehair!
PEEP SONG
Oh, Friday night's the laundry night, Down the street in the dark-- And Saturday night's the picture night, When bands play in the park.
But Sunday morning is the time We do the pillow-peep, To see what things the fairies brought While two boys were asleep.
NATURE STUDY
A mouse jumped into the watering-can And peeped out of the spout, And said: "If it wasn't for that young man I'm sure I could get out!"
But Sufi sprang from an unknown spot, And the two boys wondered, afraid, When he carried the mouse to a garden plot And played, and played, and played.
THE SKY IN THE POOL
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