Ahem…
Now, personally, I think it should start out with: ‘Sing
a song FOR sixpence’ because, according to a popular author of the early
fifteenth century, giving someone sixpence for a song was, if not common, at
least accepted.
I know, I know. That would be an unacceptable number now—being both grossly inadequate and completely out of date.
But go with me on this…
A pocketful of rye could just be a simple unit of
measure—although what one bake-er would be able to bake for his (or her) bake-ees
with that much rye is questionable…
Now the next line was always the one that most fascinated
me. The baking of four and twenty blackbirds into a pie.
I probably don’t have to tell you how I begged
soulfully demanded asked politely for Mom to bake blackbirds into a
pie for me.
Although I had no idea what a blackbird was.
Just a note: Now all I can think of is: feathers and
beaks (birds and I have a history there…)
And bird poop.
Moving on…
But she never did.
So all pie singing had to be done by me. Ad infinitum,
etc. See above…
And all eating by some nameless/faceless king who
probably got yummy pie-makings all over that money he was counting.
Now the Queen had the right idea. Vis-à-vis eating, that
is.
She was in the right place.
And eating the right things. (Although I always insisted
that Mom add peanut butter to MY bread and honey.)
But the maid really got the short end of the stick.
There she was—the only person in the story (besides the
bake-er) actually…you know…working…
And what does she get for her troubles?
A pecked-off nose.
Can anyone say OUCH?!
Oh, yeah…me.
OUCH!
Okay, okay, yes. Her nose was seamlessly restored by
either the doctor or the less-likely Jenny wren, depending on which version you
favour, but still.
And bleeds.
A lot.
So I’m thinking we probably will be looking at washing to
do over.
Poor maid.
See? Short end of the stick.
Oo! Oo! I just want to put this out there: Said maid was,
in all likelihood, hanging said clothes on a Clothesline. I’m not too sure of their efficacy in relation to
actual—as the name suggests—clothes.
We’ll have to explore that later…
But clothelines make great jungle gyms…
And there you have it.
A day in the life of the Blackbird King and Queen and
their long-suffering maid.
With at least 24 blackbirds. Plus or minus one that
obviously got away and started mutilating local personnel.
And maybe a bake-er.
Oh, and a doctor…or wren.
This was fun!
And just FYI: If you make me a pie with live birds in it,
I’ll hand you a fork and napkin. Maybe even a plate.
But you’re eating it on your own.