THE GOLDEN WEDDING (by Rev.John Burbidge 1885)

Come sit you down, for fifty years dear wife, we’ve lived to see,
Since Parson Adams came to church to marry you and me.
The step of youth has surely gone, our hair is thin and grey,
But the light of love is in our eyes as on our Wedding Day.

What though I have an older look, and wrinkles on my brow?
This heart of mine is youthful still, and goes ‘a-courting’ now.
And yours, in spite of time and care, is just as warm, I know.
For I feel the pressure of your hand like fifty years ago.

What though some days have shadowed been, and friends lie in the grave.
We’ll only think of that bright day when ‘Hand and Heart’ we gave.
Day of all days, the sweetest, best, we never can forget.
And now, though fifty years have passed, undarkened by regret.

Go, fetch me down my Bible, dear, and bring my glasses pray,
And let me find the very place that tells our Wedding Day.
Our children’s birthdays all are there, now men and women grown,
And working hard, and doing well, with children of their own.

Then let me draw up to your side, as I was wont to do,
When the blush of youth was on my cheek, and I went courting you,
Our boys and girls will soon be here – we asked them all, you know
To come and keep our Wedding Day – just fifty years ago.


(On the eve of our own Golden Wedding Day this old poem seemed Just Right!)

AFTER THE WINTER

Lift up your head to the sun's warming rays
Rejoice in the light and the lengthening days.
The Springtime is touching the path that you tread
With hope for the future - so -
      LIFT UP YOUR HEAD

(Iris Heseldon)

"THE MOTHER AND HER GIRL"

(from an Edwardian '"Girl's Own Annual')

'There is no greater service that a mother can render her boy or her girl than to teach him or her to live without her.  This is a noble aphorism, which sounds very fine while the children are young and in no danger of becoming independent of the mother for some years to come.  But the finest aphorism is apt to lose its glory as the period approaches when it may be put into practical operation.  Then mental shakiness is apt to take the place of noble resolution.  But Time is inexorable, and the boy in knickers today becomes in the twinkling of an eye the boy in his first long trousers.   And the day is always unexpected when the girl puts up her hair, lets down her dress, and is transformed into the young lady.   It is a very brief span of time from the blade to the ear, and to the full corn in the ear.   Then life must be lived without the mother; when she is no longer the chief supply of counsel, or the father the chief supply of money.   It is a particularly hard time in the life of a mother when she realises that she is no longer needful to her children; when they no longer turn to her for judgment, or defer to her opinion, or feel that she is as essential to their lives as formerly.   But that time comes to all, and then it is that the mother reaps her reward as she sees that her training has borne fruit in the self-reliance of the daughter.  Her joy is then - and also her pain.  But that is life, and no method has yet been found to make the life of a mother painless. '

(sadly, for all us Mums, it is as true now as it was then.)

Happy EDWARDIAN Christmas.

from 'Ladies Home Companion.'

" .... Kissing under the mistletoe is a very old custom, and no girl should feel indignant or hurt if one of her admirers shows a keen desire to salute her in the way that Cupid strongly approves.
Girls should remember, however, that because a man wishes to kiss her under the mistletoe, he does NOT necessarily mean to Propose to Her..."

(and this only just under 100 years ago.   How times have changed!)

SISTERS' LOVE

How precious is a sister's love
Calm, durable, and kind.
Friendship or passion vainly try
A firmer knot to bind.

It gushed beside our mother's knee
When 'baby' slumbered there;
'Twas hallowed by the lisping breath
Of our first infant prayer.

'Twas cherished by the cradle side,
And on the cheerful hearth;
It grew 'midst all our infant griefs,
And all our childish mirth.

It blent our voices to one tone
When, round our father's knee,
We sang, in happy artlessness,
Some sacred melody.

It strengthened when advancing years
Bade childish thoughts depart.
And other joys, and hopes, and cares
Engrossed the busy heart.

It grows more firmly in the soul,
While other things decay.
Next only to our filial love,
It cannot pass away.

Such, precious sisters, is your love;
And such, I trust, is mine.
These holy bonds, so pure, so sweet,
Shall Heaven itself untwine?

(Fanny Barker. 1875).

MY PICTURES

 I wonder why it is that when

I pictures draw of boys and men,

And horses too, for my Mamma,

She doesn't quite know what they are.

Sometimes I draw a big brick house

Sometimes a cat and little mouse;

And then Mamma will say to me;

"Why, yes, this is a mouse, I see"

When really, what she's looking at

I'm sure she must know, is a cat.

And if I draw a butterfly,

That goes far up into the sky;

She thinks - I can't imagine how -

Perhaps it is the old red cow!

But when I draw, as best I can,

A Picture of a big tall man,

Then clap my hands and shout "Hurrah!"

She always knows it is Papa!

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'The Superseded'

One or two things have happened recently which have made me feel my age, and be a little melancholy.    I seem to remember my own Grandma feeling the same at about my age and Thomas Hardy's little poem (1901) seems to sum it up ...

As newer comers crowd the fore,

We drop behind.

-We who have laboured long and sore

Times out of mind,

And keen are yet, must not regret

To drop behind.

Yet there are some of us who grieve

To go behind;

Staunch, strenuous souls who scarce believe

Their fires declined,

And know none spares, remembers, cares

Who go behind.

'Tis not that we have unforetold

The drop behind;

We feel the new must oust the old

In every kind;

But yet we think, must we, must we,

Too drop behind?

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