seligorscastle the home of diddily dee dots sleepy childrens bedtime stories Flora a Fauna
The Elfin Artist
In a glade of an Elfin Forest when Sussex was Eden-new, I came on an Elvish Painter and watched as his picture grew. A harebell nodded beside him. he dipt his brush in the dew.
And it might be the wild thyme round him that shone in that dark strange ring But his brushes were bees' antennae, his knife was a wasp's blue sting;
And his gorgeous exquisite palette was a butterfly's fan-shaped wing.
And he mingled its powdery colours and painted the lights that pass, On a delicate cobweb canvas that gleamed like a magic glass, And bloomed like a banner of Elf-land, between two stalks of glass;
Till it shone like an angel's feather with sky-born opal and rose, And gold from the foot of the rainbow, and colours that no man knows; And I laughed in the sweet May weather, because of the themes he chose.
For he painted the things that matter, the tints that we all pass by, Like the little blue wreaths of incense that the wild thyme breathes to the sky; Or the first white bud of the hawthorn and the light in a blackbirds eye.
And the shadows on soft white cloud peaks that carolling skylarks throw, Dark dots on the slumbering splendours that under the wild wings flow, Wee shadows like violets trembling on the unseen breasts of snow;
With petals to lovely for colour that shake to the rapturous wings, And grow as the bird draws near them, and die as he mounts and sings; Ah! only those exquisite brushes could paint these marvellous things.
Are not these the most beautiful words you have heard in a long time. They were written many moons ago by Alfred Noyes at the beginning of the nineteen hundreds. He wrote a lot for childrens annuals, making annual contributions to add to the pleasure given Victorian children. Seligor has the greatest collection of these ancient books you can imagine, many by Arthur Mee, many written even before Arthur Mee's time. Sharing them with you, gives her much pleasure.
Flora and Fauna
If you have any ideas do leave a message for me at dottido@hotmail.co.uk
The Missing Danish Pastries
Down at the bottom of the garden, A Danish Goblin dwelled. And on, one, hot and windy day, He screamed! and then he yelled! "Who's stole my Danish Pastries? And nicked my strawberry flan? I'm undone, quite besides myself, I, will have to make a plan."
Our Danish Goblin called his mates, Who lived, beneath the hedge. He told them of his stolen cakes, From off his window ledge. "I suppose it could be garden gnomes, They're all looking kind of fat." But Gertie, pushed them all aside, Me thinks, it was That Cat. The cat was sitting 'neath the tree, Cream, all about her face. She eyed the Goblins up and down, And then, began the chase. First they watched the slant, eyed puss, Till, her whiskers, began to quiver. "Stand aside men!" Gertie cried, Whilst I grab her tongue and liver.
The Goblin swayed, the big cat strayed- much closer to her quarry. She stretched her paw, with nail and claw, And Gertie didn't tarry. Next up came Bert with his garden spade, He swung it round his head, He missed the cat, and hit a rat, Then toppled down quite dead. Then, with a grin, the puss did spin, Her tail, curled round her paw. She sent them sprawling across the lawn , Then made it off towards the door. The Goblins beat, made a hasty retreat, Then assembled 'neath the bushes. With scratches and bruises from head to toe, There were no more, heated rushes. The Danish Goblins sat quite still, Each with their own remorse. Ne'er again would they stand the pain, Of the pussy cat's, tail and claws. Gertie decided right there and then, That, they all, would take a pledge. If they ever made Danish Pastries again, They would never, ever, be left, on the ledge.
Diddily Dee Dot August 2007
A Fairy Came To Tea Last Night
A Fairy flew down to tea last night, she was wearing a gossamer gown. But instead of her looking happy, she was wearing a terrible frown. Her eye-brows they met in the middle, her wings hung limp by her sides, She stood there, her hair in a tissy, I couldn't believe my own eyes. "Why are you looking so angry, what is it that makes you so glum? Why are you pulling such faces, you look like you've swallowed a plum?" The blue fairy sat on my table, crossed legged, her head on her knees, Little sobs they came all a sudden, "They've vanished, they've taken my seeds." "Taken your seeds, such sadness, you say they have vanished from sight, Did you hide them safe from the Goblins, or the Elves that were prowling last night?" Blue fairy jumped up on the teapot, her little eyes flashing like fire, "Those goblins, I forgot it was Saturday. I bet it was them."she did sigh "Oh dear, then, there already useless, they will already, be turned into flour, For there's nothing a goblin likes better, than the blue fairies seeds of desire. "How will I explain to the elders? How can I put everything right? I'll be banished to some far off country, somewhere far, far, away in the night. Blue Fairy, she jumped off the table, Blue Fairy, she walked out the door. Her shoulders were drooping so lowely, her eyes looking down to the floor And the moral of this sad story, to prevent and avoid such a plight. Is always take care your desire dear, and your seeds, on a Saturday night.
Seligor August 2007
Little Bird, what are you Singing?
Little bird, what are you singing? I used to sing such simple tunes about love, the moon and places I have never seen - don't you know that none of it is true?
Little moth, where are you going sitting in the gold-green light contemplating the coming of night and the mystery of the stars? Once I sat and dreamed like you of pretty moths and coloured wings and worlds strung on a bit of string.
Once I too believed in goodness, romance and flight - O sad and patient little moth what dark-winged nemesis will come this Night to abuse you?
Little child, what are you saying what complicated, made-up game are you playing?
Once I had a house of bricks, of fond hellos and willow-sticks; it took me all day long to weave it and when at last the sun had set I did not ever wish to leave it yet when morning came I found the wind had blown it all away - oh but I remember it still today.
Little child, keep on believing though all the world seeks to deceive you one day when you least expect it the house of love will open its doors again to receive you. Birds and moths will bid you welcome and starlight banish thoughts of trouble.
Little child, when at last you come into your great inheritance remember me I too once believed - for a little while at least...
THE BEE AND THE SNAIL
"Hurry up, hurry up!" said the bee to the snail. It really is quite shocking the way you crawl; I have flown half a mile in the teeth of the gale, why you have not moved an inch away from the wall."
"Very good, very good!" said the snail to the bee; you are welcome to do as you choose. I am sure I don't mind if you fly out to sea; If you fall in you have nothing to lose"
"You are wrong!" said the bee, "what I carry with me, as I fly, is worth lots of good money." Hm m, what you gather men sell," said the snail, "but my shell is my home and worth much more than your honey."
This was written by E Tracey Archer, I can not find out anything about her unfortunately, but I have always like it. I have it written down in an old book of mine, so it is possible it came out of Chatterbox 1913. DMS
A Morning Call Up the sleepy village street, Searching for a face to greet Comes the wind with footsteps fleet.
Fast and faster falls the rain, Beating on the window pane, Filling up the rutty lane.
By the light of morning stirred Loud and louder sings a bird,
His sweet song without a word.
Earth is fresh and sweet and green; lambkins in the field are seen; flowers lift up there faces clean.
Children! sleeping, time is done; Rise and sing, and play and run; For after rain, shines out the sun.
Another little verse from Chatterbox 1913, unfortunately there is no known author. DMS
Who Likes Sunbeams?
"Who likes sunbeams?" said the sun shining earthwards from the sky; And a hundred little flowers answered altogether, "I love sunbeams, Shine o shine on this little bloom of mine!"
"Who likes raindrops?" said the rain, when the ground was parched and dry: And a hundred flowers again answered altogether, "I love the rain drops; fresh and sweet. Welcome after the sun and heat"
So the sun sent down his beams where the little flowers grew And the raindrops came in streams on the blossoms red and blue, And the flowers all were glad, every one in beauty clad.
This is another rhyme/story from Chatterbox 1913, written by Frank Ellis. I am not sure about the rhyming at the end, and I would have done it different. But that is what makes, for everybody being able to write a few rhymes. Have a try, while I look to see if I can find out anything about Frank Ellis. I tried to find him, but it is very difficult with so many years gone by, maybe one of your parents might be able to find out some more about him. Good Luck.
"Wealth"
The Flower and the Star
The flowers are very near to me The stars are far away; but yet their loveliness I see In light and shining ray Oh! beauty near, a beauty far, Your treasures all are mine. The flowers in all the fields that are, The stars that burn and shine. Revived by DMS
SHADOW PICTURES, FAIRIES LOVE MAKING SHADOW PICTURES AND SHOWS.
I think I was as lucky though when I was little for we had lots of books and with there being the four girls we made up lots of wonderful stories and plays which we acted out on the river bank and in my dad's garden. We even had a shadow show in one of the hen houses once. Smelt a bit but it kept us out of the cold and snow., Lovely days those in Bont Newydd.
XXXX
Many but One
The waves of the sea are many,
The ocean is but one,
Its waters all day are flowing, Its work is never done
The heavens are bright at midnight,
When the hours of day are done.
The stars in the sky are many,
but the sky is only one. Like the myriad waves in the ocean, Like stars after set of sun, The thoughts of a child are many;
But its heart is only one.
Revived by DMS for whom ever xxx
Flora and Fauna, Flower and Fawn
T'was early spring and the young fawn did run, Down from the hilltops to bathe in the sun, But the sun it was mellow, it's rays still we're cool, The young fawn she ambled yon down to the pool.
Saplings were growing on the banks and the brae, Small buds young and tender,begat its display, Fawn drank from the water, cool and refreshed, Looked hard at the sapling so beautifully dressed.
She moved her lips closer, wrinkled her snout, Opened her mouth, then stopped at the shout. She pulled her head upwards, away to the sky, Eye's wide in amazement at who made the cry.
"Please don't! It will hurt if you take them away, They still need to grow for a month and a day, Then you can return when the shoots are well grown, Then my branches will wear a gown of their own."
Fawn smiled at the sapling with its shoots small and sweet, Wagged her wee scutt and pawed with her feet, She thought for a while for she knew this was true, That the buds would turn lacy with leaves full of dew.
So she nestled her back, and the sapling did bend, they became perfect cousins this fawn and her friend, She nibbled on grass, dandelions and reeds, Till the day when she shared, her friends tasty leaves.
Dorothy Milnes Sinclair. N0vember 1st 2007
SWEET RELIEF
Strangled by nature, turned brown under sodden strands of wilting yellow. Choked stems try to reach up to catch hold of the suns powerful rays. Thorns dig deep into the fragile growth of youth, gouging out crevasses that will never be healed. Dying....all around the cries of starvation can be heard on the wind. Then new voices are heard, hands wrestle with the undergrowth, pulling, twisting, turning, letting light through to the darkened soil.
Oh sweet relief.... I can feel a breeze upon my face. Look, look, there is a light. There, high above me, a faint light shining. Is this me, saved. Are we all to be saved from this hell that has befallen us. Reach out, reach up, climb the sunbeam to a new life, stretch your backs, flex your arms, lift your heads high. Fresh mown hay gives way to a blanket of green. Birds sing in the trees above us, bees fly deep into our bellies, taste the sweet honey which flows freely from within us. Days pass by, life gets stronger, hearts begin to beat again. Peach and purple, azure and turquoise, russet and gold. Colour creeps across the horizon like a rainbow reborn. Scarlet fuchsia dance gaily above the chamomile lawn. Tangerine montbretia sway to and fro, like fronds of fire, swaying beneath the lilac buddleia which is, in turn kissed gently by the painted lady.
Sweet... sweet perfume fills the air, carried on the wind to each hidden corner. The sickly smell of the honeysuckle tells us that night is descending, Scented stock adds to the evenings mystic aroma. Tomorrow we shall awake and feel the dew on our petals, see the whiteness of the clouds in the summer sky, feel the softness of the rose petals as they fall upon our delicate blades.
Tomorrow we shall fill our bodies with the silver raindrops as they fall to the sepia ground beneath our leaves. Tenderly stretch our roots deeper into the soft earth below. But now to sleep, to dream in the shadows. Sleeping quietly, waking sometime, then drifting back to sleep. The moonlight kisses us whilst we rest, then comes the morning and we awake knowing we have been blessed.
The Missing Danish Pastries
Me thinks, it was That Cat.
That, they all, would take a pledge.
"Those goblins, I forgot it was Saturday. I bet it was them."she did sigh 
you choose. I am sure I don't mind if you fly out to sea; 
Up the sleepy village street,
Many but One
Flora and Fauna, Flower and Fawn
