When my daughter Mika was little, I found it appropriate to read English translations of Chinese and Japanese nursery rhymes and to sing the handful of German children’s songs I remembered from my childhood. This seemed appropriate for a Chinese-German-American child with a Japanese name—the name having been her teenaged, manga-loving sister’s idea. I also made a point of reading and reciting the Mother Goose rhymes to her. I can’t say I ever loved Mother Goose—not the way I loved Bambi or Monika Beissner’s Fantastic Toys—but, like the Bible, alcohol, and dairy products, Mother Goose is one of the cornerstones of Western Civilization, and if we stop reciting them to our children, they’re going to fade away.
A few years ago, I was one of the few non-Asian guests at a baby shower. Our hostess had never attended an American baby shower but threw herself into the preparations nevertheless, printing out a list of party game suggestions, including, “Guess that Mother Goose Rhyme.” The results were mixed, to say the least. While I, I’m happy to say, nailed every question, the other guests were baffled by the rhymes, even though they were fluent in English, several even having attended English-language boarding schools. They knew the lullabies of their own home countries, of course, but they did not know Mother Goose.
Nursery rhymes are not part of the school curriculum; they’re fragments of folk history that must be passed on to the very young if they are to be passed on at all. They hold our interest for a very brief spell, after which we dismiss them as nonsense. But Mother Goose, as it turns out, is not just a spinner of silly rhymes; she is also an inveterate keeper of secrets.
Now a staple of American childhood, many of our Mother Goose rhymes originated in England, which is why there are so many rhymes about sheep. In honor of Imbolc, aka Ewemeolc, “ewe’s milk” in Old English, I thought I’d interview the old girl herself.
Tea with Mother Goose
She arrives, as expected, on the back of an overlarge goose, which she insists on bringing inside despite my suggestion that she hitch it to the lamppost in the front yard. She’s an imposing woman of a certain age, dressed in a black, high-crowned hat, white ruff, shawl and sweeping skirt. Her goose, a gander if I’m not mistaken, proceeds to explore the house, tugging at the down pillows and engaging in hissing matches with my cat. It’s not until I have the idea of filling up the bathtub for him to paddle around in that Mother Goose and I are able to sit down to a quiet cup of tea.
“So,” I begin, “what’s the story behind ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’?”
“It’s about taxation.”
“Well, that’s not very exciting.”
Mother Goose shrugs, spooning sugar into her tea.
“What about ‘All the Pretty Horses’? In America we have just the first verse, but in England, there’s a second verse about a little lamb getting its eyes pecked out. That’s a horrible thing to sing to a baby, don’t you think?”
“Life wasn’t always pretty in those days.”
“I see.” I can hear the goose down the hall, splashing furiously and knocking all the shampoo bottles into the tub. “What about ‘Ring around the Rosy’? Can you settle the question once and for all if it’s really about the Black Death?”
“That’s a song and dance, not a rhyme. Not my area of expertise. These are very strange biscuits.”
“They’re Oreos. Okay then, what about ‘London Bridge’? Is it true it’s an echo of a ritual in which a child was chosen to be sacrificed and buried at the foot of a bridge? Because, you know, human bones have been found—”
“Again: a song and dance. I thought you wanted to talk about sheep.”
“Yes, but this is for the Sabbats Almanac, so I’m trying to hit on subjects that might be of interest to witches.”
“You a witch? Don’t make me laugh!”
“How do you know I’m not a witch?”
“Where’s your pointy hat? Where’s your broomstick? All you’ve got is that nasty little cat. If you’re a witch, then I’m the Queen of Sheba.” She snorts and dumps more sugar in her tea.
“Actually, it’s been suggested that there might be some relationship between you and the Queen of Sheba. She liked to keep her feet hidden under her skirts, just like you’re doing now. I’ve also heard that the reason you’re called Mother Goose is not because you ride a goose but because you have a goose’s foot. And if you ask me, you look plenty witchy yourself. ”
“Who were you expecting: Little Bo Peep?”
“How about Little Bo Peep? Does she ever find her sheep?”
“Yes, but they’ve had their tails cut off and hung up to dry.”
“Wow. Could they have been Mongolian fat-tail sheep? You know, the ones with the really fatty tails that you could cut pieces from if you were really starving?”
“In England?” Mother Goose shoots me a disparaging look from under the broad brim of her hat. She takes a last, noisy slurp of her tea.
“Another Oreo?” I say weakly.
She wrinkles her nose. “Rather have another cup of tea.”
“The pot’s empty.”
“Did you tickle it?”
“Yes, I did. And I’m afraid that’s all we have time for anyway. Thank you so much for coming. Please don’t forget the goose on your way out.”
To brush up on your Mother Goose rhymes, just head to the 398.8 shelf in the children’s room of your local library. There are plenty of editions to choose from. To plumb the depths of these deceptively innocent little verses, I recommend Chris Roberts’ book, Heavy Words Lightly Thrown: The Reason Behind the Rhyme. If you want to sample a little something from the East Asian nursery, my favorites are The Prancing Pony: Nursery Rhymes from Japan by Charlotte B. DeForest and Keiko Hida, and Dragon Kites and Dragonflies: A Collection of Chinese Nursery Rhymes by Demi. Be warned: these Asian rhymes are not all sweetness either. Take this one from Chinese Mother Goose Rhymes selected and edited by Robert Wyndham:
We keep a dog to guard the house;
A pig will make a feast or two;
We keep a cat to catch a mouse;
But what is the use of a girl like you?
In the long run, the success of a nursery rhyme depends not on which are prettiest or which ones the mother likes best but which rhymes the small child calls for again and again. During infancy, it’s all about cadence, but when the children get a little older, they begin to appreciate that little shiver of horror that comes from hearing about cut-off tails, broken crowns, and young women imprisoned in pumpkins. Long live Mother Goose!