I recently tracked down, courtesy of Google, a poem that I had learned as a child. Though not without the help, as a crucial first step, of a book in the reference library, an index to verse for children
The reason I coudnt find it directly on Google was that I was misremembering a name. I was mixing it up with the Mary Jane who did not like rice pudding
This poem, by Anna Maria Pratt, is about Mary Anne, a doll whose name is given as the, mortifyingly mistaken, answer to the question What is six times nine?
A Mortifying Mistake
I studied my tables over and over
And backward and forward too
But I couldn't remember six times nine
And I didn't know what to do
'Til my sister told me to play with my doll
And not to bother my head
"If you call her 'Fifty-four' for awhile
You'll learn it by heart', she said.
So I took my favorite, Mary Anne,
Though I thought 'twas a dreadful shame
To give such a perfectly lovely child
Such a perfectly horrible name,
And I called her my little Fifty-four
A hundred times 'til I knew
The answer of six times nineAs well as the answer of two times two.
Next day, Elizabeth Wigglesworth,
Who always acted so proud
Said, "Six times nine is fifty-two,
And I nearly laughed out loud
But I wished I hadn't when teacher said,
"Now Dorothy, tell if you can."
For I thought of my doll and sakes alive!
I answered, "Mary Anne!"
One thing leads to another & I found myself remembering my grandfather
If I did or said anything foolish in his presence he would shake his head, cluck his tongue & say "Eeh! Youre a right Mary Ellen, you are"
When I was told that the headmistress of the school I was going to teach at was called Sister Mary Ellen, I thought, She can't be
But she was. I dont know if that made me more or less nervous of meeting her
