Wally Whyton Nursery Rhymes etc

I listened to this LP about 2000 times during the first years of my life. Since I worked the record player myself; it was soon covered in scratches and jumps - but never became unplayable. Whyton was a skiffle star of the 1950s, and in my early years he was a continuity announcer on the local Devon TV channel (Westward) - along with a cat glove pupper called Willum.

Certainly these are good performances, albeit in an American folk style. Note the sped-up mouse-voice songs - which could be played at 16 rpm to reveal Wally Whyton's normal voice.

When my kids were young, we had an excellent video of English folk style nursery rhymes - here is a sample:

Yes, that's (the great) Martin Carthy doing Over the Hills. And (the great) Shirley Collins...

What is poetry; what is prose?

*

Poetry comes first - because poetry is in essence mnemonic language: language made easy to remember.

This is achieved in three ways: regular and repeated rhythm, rhyme and alliteration.

*

1. Rhythm - essentially chanting.

Rhythm can be divided in terms of either a few heavy beats, like nursery rhymes which often have two beats in a line but variable numbers of syllables and clusters of syllables; like

Sally go round the sun
Sally go round the moon
Sally go round the chim-er-ney pots
On a Saturday afternoon

(of course the above example also rhymes)

or in short patterns of stresses (metres) - like the

ti-tum ti-tum ti-tum ti-TUM
ti-tum ti-tum ti-TUM

of  'common metre'. 

Quite of lot of the most famous English verse (Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth) is 'blank verse' which is (mostly) ti-tum all the way - generally avoiding alliteration and (especially) rhyme

Example from Shakepeare's Merchant of Venice, which has five ti-tums per line (iambic pentameter):

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heav'n
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes

Beats and stresses both make it easier to remember language - which is why all chanting (even of disorganized mobs) tends to be organized by beats and/ or stresses.

*

2. Rhyme - obviously. 'Nuff said.

*

3. Alliteration - in which the beginnings of words, or their most stressed syllables, are similar. This is almost obsolete and unappreciated - but was standard for Old English and most Middle English verse - especially when it was orally performed.

Here is an Old English pastiche by C.S Lewis (which Tolkien found defective) - the rule is half lines, two stresses in each half line falling on the alliterated sound and at least one alliteration common to the half lines: T, B, S, E, G and the 'ess' sound.

We were talking of dragons, Tolkien and I
In a Berkshire bar. The big workman
Who had sat silent and sucked his pipe
All the evening, from his empty mug
With gleaming eye glanced towards us:
"I seen 'em myself!" he said fiercely.”

*

And prose?

Prose eschews regular rhythm, rhymes and alliteration but is made memorable by narrative, by telling a story.

Of course poetry can tell a story; and indeed poetry which tells a story - an epic or romance, for example - is the most memorable of all literary forms (probably the earliest formal language) - the characteristic production of 'bards', 'minstrels' and 'ballad singers'.

*

What this means is that some things that get called poetry are not essentially so, but only so by lineal descent: e.g. poetry based on syllable counting, or 'free verse'

- these are more of a 'high art' commentary on essential poetry - indeed free verse, in particular, is often subversive of essential poetry - and rigorously avoids any mnemonic aids such as regular rhythm, alliteration or rhyme.

(Yes, I know this is almost all of what gets called poetry nowadays - but that only goes to show...)

*

And prose which does not tell a story (like this essay) is not essentially prose.

*

THUS cometh the focus of poetry on specific words and images (stock images - such as the Kennings of Old English poetry - whale-road = sea; or poetic cliches such as the 'wine dark sea' from Homer);

and in prose the focus is on sense, on (detachable) message: meaning, morals, stock characters and stock situations (the prohibition which is always broken, the youngest son, the rule of three)...

There we have it: the essence of poetry, the essence of prose...

*

I had a little nut tree

*

I had a little nut tree
Nothing would it bear
But a silver nutmeg
And a golden pear

The King of Spain's daughter
Came to visit me
And all for the sake
Of my little nut tree

I danced over ocean
I flew over sea
And all the birds in the air
Couldn't catch me

*

These are the words, as I recall them, of an especially evocative nursery rhyme which (for me) attains to a high level of lyric poetry - and evokes that yearning joy of Sehnsucht.

The decontextualized, uncompromising, unexplained, pared-down quality; is caused (I think) by the tendency of oral transmission and pure memory to focus on the striking imagery - and the rest gets washed away or garbled.

This is what makes the great nursery rhymes, folk songs and ballads so effective - yet the effect cannot be contrived, unless by a poet with a child's gift of directness: William Blake, Stevie Smith for instance.

I feel as if I know exactly what has happened here, and it happened to me! - it is a child's dream of pure escape from a dull, hopeless and desperate situation, into wonder, ecstatic delight and boundless optimism.

*

This version has the lovely tune I knew - with slightly different words. Ideally it should be sung by a boy's voice.

Wallflower, Wallflower...

Wallflower, wallflower, growing up so high
All the little children are all going-to die
Except [Johnny Smithson] - he's the only one
Fie for shame! Fie for shame!
Turn your back to the wall again


I remember this chant from my childhood, together with vague memories of a game that went with it involving some kind of dropping-out of one kid at a time until the last one was left - perhaps the one who was going to die?

It always struck me as a sinister and unlucky song, and I was very reluctant to sing it, or name anyone as the 'except' person who was not going to die - because of the people I was not naming.

But it has that strange, uncanny power about it that some nursery rhymes retain - the product of being orally-transmitted folklore, handed down among children one generation after another.

Green grow the rushes O - and oral transmission

*

JRR Tolkien saw the myth-making process at work in his lifetime when he got back, indirectly (via an identification query sent from the USA to Oxford University) an orally-transmitted version of his poem Errantry which had preserved the 13th century word 'sigaldry' (= enchantment).

"...bore out my views on oral tradition (at any rate in early stages): sc. that the 'hard words' are well preserved, and the more common words altered, but the metre is often disturbed." 

(Letter to Rayner Unwin, 22 June 1952).

This corresponds to the way in which the garbling process of oral transmission yet retains a fascinating core; based around the preservation of strange words or phrases.

*

I find this quality in many nursery rhymes - for instance in the counting song 'Green grow the rushes O' which has always cast a spell over me since childhood.

*

This is the final verse as I knew it:

I'll sing you twelve O
Green grow the rushes O

What are your twelve O?

Twelve for the twelve Apostles
Eleven for the 'leven who went to heaven
And ten for the ten commandments

Nine for the nine bright shiners
And eight for the April Rainers

Seven for the seven stars in the sky
And six for the six proud walkers

Five for the symbols at your door
Ands four for the Gospel makers

Three, three, the rivals

Two, two, the lily-white boys
Clothèd all in green, Yo Ho
One is one and all alone
And evermore shall be so

*

Rather than regarding this lyric as nonsense, I assumed that it meant something.

Probably it was ('just') a Christian mnemonic (although this never crossed my mind as a child - e.g. I had no idea what was meant by 'Gospel makers') , and certainly it has been brushed-up by revivalists (including re-regularising the metre - because ordinary people have tin ears when it comes to scansion, and fail to make even the simplest and most obvious changes to maintain or restore regular metre).

But after all this explaining-away, there remains an extraordinary sense of a world of mysterious numbers and symbols.

*

Five for the symbols at your door! Was this (I wondered) about somebody coming to the door of my house - something like carol singers, but showing a symbol?

Robert Graves guessed that this meant the pentangle, or interlaced five pointed star; this is indeed a Christian symbol in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight - although any such tradition has since been lost, and the pentangle is now the premier symbol of neo-pagans.

*

Each healthy young woman has been gifted with significant social power

*

Young, healthy women are, on average, much more powerful than young men: powerful in the social arena, powerful in the sexual arena.

Indeed all young healthy women are valued, all have significant power - because all are significantly desirable and desired.

*

(The situation is very different for young men. To be a man is to be part of a zero-sum game. If a man does not have valued qualities then he is not valued - is indeed despised - and is indeed regarded as, is treated as, disposable. Which, biologically and economically - although certainly not religiously - he is.)

*

This difference between young men and women is probably mostly for biological reasons described by Robert Trivers in relation to investment of resources in offspring. Over many generations of our ancestors women invested differentially vastly more resources into children than men (9 months pregnancy, a few years of feeding, and several years of total care); and this deeply shaped human psychology. By contrast, one man could provide all the necessary investment to make as many babies as required, and only economically-valuable men were necessary for their upbringing.

*

Young healthy women have the greatest reproductive potential - they can expect to have the most babies and stay well to look after them until the offspring have ceased to be dependent.

That is why visual and behavioural cues signalling 'young and healthy' in a woman = what we term beautiful, desirable, sexy.

*

Anyway, this means that the attractiveness of young healthy women is a gift; it is not something earned or striven-for.

And since attractiveness is the basis of their interpersonal and social influence, the power of young healthy women is also a gift.

Therefore one primary moral challenge for young healthy women concerns how they bestow this gift.

*

Almost all women face this challenge, almost all women have this power - almost all women have (for a while) the power to shape their own social arena by their choices concerning the bestowal of their gift of youth and health.

Such decisions have personal consequences (on the woman who bestows, and the man upon whom the gift is bestowed); but the decisions also have social consequences, as others observe and learn-from the choices of each young healthy woman: at what age she chooses, whom she chooses, how often she chooses, upon what grounds she chooses, upon what conditions she chooses etc.

Therefore, as a gift - not earned - each and every young healthy woman has some significant power to shape not just her own condition, but also the condition of society.

*

Indeed, each and every young healthy woman does - whether wittingly or unwittingly, whether knowingly or denyingly, and to some significant extent, actually shape her society by her choices of when (if ever), where, how, upon-whom to bestow her gift of youth and beauty.

This is, and ought to be regarded, as an awesome responsibility for each and every young and healthy woman.

Each woman is, as in the Princess fantasy, suddenly propelled-into this situation of being a focus of attention and a source of power - simply by virtue of her normal development.

So there she is, quite suddenly - yet temporarily - a ruler of some domain: What will she do?

**


As so often, reality is reflected in Nursery Rhymes!

Men must prove themselves:

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick!
Jack jump-over the candlestick!

Whereas for an exceptionally beautiful, healthy young woman...

Goldilocks, Goldilocks wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine.
But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam. 
And feed-upon strawberries, sugar and cream. 

*

Why do teachers use indirect methods like myths and parables? A letter from correspondent BK

This is an insightful e-mail sent me by a correspondent, printed here with permission:

Why did teachers use myth and obscurity? even philosophers? even philosophers who did so consciously or subversively, not believing them, or using them to dissemble their true opinions?

There was a wise man of a primitive forest tribe, who one day finished building a comfortable log cabin.

All the rest of the people lived in mud huts,  so they went to ask the wise man how they might build their own cabins.

'You are free to inspect my house, and ask any questions you like.'

The people made careful observations of the wise man's cabin,  and went inside to inspect all the rooms. He answered all the questions they had in as clear and precise a manner as possible, then they went off to build their own.

All of their cabins looked very much like the wise man's. But one man built his cabin from dead wood, which was weak and cracked. Others had mistaken the wise man's beautifully carved interior beams for decoration,  and omitted or misplaced them according to their tastes - these collapsed. One man built his cabin in a hollow,  and it  sank when the rains came. Another did not thatch his roof properly, and it flooded in the rains.

The people were quite put out. 'Have you withheld your secrets? Do you use magic? Did you lie to us?' they demanded to know.

The wise man had watched their enterprise go awry, and prepared for them. 'I will reveal all to you', he said.

Turning to the man who used dry wood, he struck a bone with marrow against a dry bone, and the dry bone shattered. The man said 'I ask of wood and you clap bones together? You are a fool.'

Next, he handed two stones each to the men who had built their cabins with haphazard beams. He told them to hold the stones,  one in each hand, whilst in various odd positions, and wait for a sign.  

Keeping two stones for himself,  he held each equally away from his body. Though he was one of the weaker of the tribe,  he held the stones easily,  as the others began to strain, grumble and drop their stones. 'Why did our houses collapse? That is all we ask! Perhaps you make us pose so stupidly to hide your own stupidity, for you have no answer.'

Approaching the man who built his home in the hollow, he made a false step into a puddle. After much difficulty,  he pulled his foot from the mud, then fished out his shoe. Sidestepping around the rocky lip of another puddle, he handed the muddy shoe to the man and said,  'This one is yours', and nothing more. The man went away furious at being insulted in this way.

The last, the young man whose roof had failed in the rains,  watched with much puzzlement,  but no anger,  for he had faith the wise man did nothing foolishly, stupidly, or cruelly. To him the wise man came, 'I really cannot help you, but', pointing to some ducks in the pond nearby,  said, 'those fellows know best of keeping dry. Ask them.'

The young man went away perplexed, and sat at the edge of the pond. Thinking perhaps the wise man knew a spirit,  he called out to the ducks, who did not answer. But then a wind came,  and the ducks took flight. From one fell a single feather, which landed on the water and floated like a canoe.

Then the young man understood all: the bones, the stones, the shoe and the feather. He immediately set out to build a cottage on a hill opposite the wise man's, where it stood long after his teacher's house fell, for he learned much of building in the meantime that the master never guessed.

I hate to spoil it, but that's what I'll do (I ruin jokes, too), and I want to tie this directly to your work.

I think we both agree that education today is really advancing stupidity. This is not all consciously Orwellian (though much of it is). But even when done in good faith, I have the dull sense that it is fundamentally destructive in an important way. Remember, communists in Russia crowed they raised literacy rates from 10 to 90% between the revolution and the thirties. The numbers themselves may have been damned lies, but I'm sure more Russians could read in 1937 than in 1917; there is also no doubt which Russia was more stupid and degraded.

Education today is all formal and standardized.  There certainly is a place for this. Wherever a body of knowledge is organized and professionalized, wherever peers share common referents and standards, there is a place for textbooks and jargon, journals, tests and all the rest of it.

But these things don't advance knowledge - they get in the way on the frontiers.

When the wise man let his neighbors copy what he did,  and answered the questions they thought to ask clearly and directly,  the results looked like good cabins but quickly fell apart because the people were not actually thinking. They missed anything in the building that was not immediately obvious, and were completely unprepared for what the wise man did not think to mention, or did not know himself.

The second time,  speaking to each person's problem,  but cryptically, the wise man forced them to think - to draw out implications for themselves. He does not give answers, but encourages students to 'get' them;  and if they can't,  there's no help for them because a direct answer would only lead to another problem. On the other hand,  if one (and there may only be one) 'gets' the point, he not only earns an answer, but a principle and disposition to 'get' more,  and if he has the capacity, perhaps more than the teacher himself was able to understand.

If the first method has its place in the tame and cultivated gardens of formal academia, the latter is the only viable option in the wild. When the tribesmen first failed, it was not their fault. Even the most intelligent among them could not be expected to succeed in the unknown using only what was already familiar.

Myth, fable, poetry, obscurity, and parable all force us to use our intelligence. Is it any wonder we were more creative as a culture,  and more competent,  when we were raised on nonsense and nursery rhymes (who does that anymore? Let Sesame Street spoonfeed your child letters - with a heaping portion of PC. This is proven to increase literacy!)

And is it any wonder God sent us prophets and not professors?