The songs of my childhood have started coming back thick & fast now.
Sunday evenings, after tea, was concert time when I was little – back in the dark ages, before we all had TV. Maybe even the radio provide no programming at that hour when grownups should have been at Evensong.
The entertainment was mostly provided by me & my sister. Singing, dancing, recitation. Sometimes we laid on our own version of something like Sleeping Beauty. Bompa might do a magic trick or recite Albert & the Lion. Nana related how her grandmother loved to cry over Dont go down in the mine tonight (Daddy). Sometimes we had a comb & Bronco orchestra with Bompa whistling the tune or playing the spoons.
One that stands out in my memory however was when my little sister & I played baby birds. Escaping over the furniture or behind the settee, with much giggling & squealing, to escape Horrible Uncle. He was playing the part of the dastardly predator in a spirited performance of I Tawt I Taw a Puddy Cat, , a new song at the top of the hit parade.
I am a little tiny bird, my name is Tweety Pie
I live inside my birdcage a hanging way up high
I like to swing upon my perch and sing my little song
But there's a cat that's after me and won't let me alone
I tawt I taw a puddy tat a creeping up on me
I did I taw a puddy tat as plain as he could be
I am that great big bad old cat Sylvester is my name
I only have one aim in life and that is very plain
I want to catch that little bird and eat him right away
But every time that I get close to him this is what he'll say
I tawt I taw a puddy tat a creeping up on me
You bet he saw a puddy tat that puddy tat was me
That puddy tat is very bad he sneaks up from behind
I don't think I would like it if I knew what's on his mind
I have a strong suspicion that his plans for me aren't good
I am inclined to think that he would eat me if he could
I'd like to eat that Tweety Pie when he leaves his cage
But I cannot get close to him it throws me in a rage
You bet I'd eat that little bird if I could just get near
But everytime that I approach this is all I hear
I tawt I taw a puddy tat a creeping up on me
I did I taw a puddy tat as plain as he could be
And when I sing that little song my mistress knows he's back
She grabs a broom and brings it down upon Sylvester's back
So listen you bad puddy tat let's both be friends you see
My mistress will not chase you if you sing this song for me
I tawt i taw a puddy tat a creeping up on me
I did I taw a puddy tat as plain as he could be
