Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie. When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing; Wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the King? The King was in his counting house, counting out his money; The Queen was in the parlour eating bread and honey.
The maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes; when down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose.
Well that serves that little maid right for baking the poor blackbirds in a pie in the first instance!
Trains of thought are so odd aren’t they? Little boxcars carrying our thoughts from one place to another, this nursery rhyme makes me think of a dog I once had, whose name was Sixpence. When my parents separated, my mother left Ireland and returned with their only daughter to her native country South Africa, leaving my three brothers and my first and most beloved dog, Patches behind.
Poor Sixpence! Adopted from the local SPCA by my Nana and my Uncle Tim in order to fill the Patches shaped hole in my heart and even though he was a perfectly lovely dog he was sadly not up to the task. A 12-year-old girl needs time to heal from the devastating loss of furry soul mate.
All my love
moi ♥
I understand how you feel about being torn away from your father and brothers. Same thing happened to me. Everything changed by one plane trip across the ocean.
Lovely photos.
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Thanks Carissa, it’s still tough even now forty years later.
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Nearly fifty years for me and it still reverberates.
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Sending love and hugs. Love reading these little snippets…we haven’t totally lost your wacky sense of humor since you left the Rock…thank goodness! Xxx
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Still me alright! Thanks for your comments Kez, love to the munchkin from us and hope you are feeling good!xxxx
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These stories remind me of times sitting around our little kitchen table in Mauritius having supper. Oh I miss those days.
🙂 Mandy xo
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Come and visit!
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