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Trivia question

My dear, departed mother-in-law used to sing a song at family get-togethers, but none of us can remember all the words. The song starts: "There was an old man who lived in the woods as you can plainly see. Said he could do as much work in a day as his wife could do in three." Does anyone know the rest of the song? -- Val M.

Sure, I remember it, Val. The words to this old folk song are reproduced at the end of this letter.

The Hand That Rocks the Cradle

The approach of Mother's Day this Sunday, May 13, along with the trivia question above, set me to thinking about the universal importance of those wonderful women called Mother, Mama and Mom.

Many times, in the pages of Good Old Days, I have written about my grandmothers -- Grandma Tate and Grandma Stamps; my own wonderful mother, whom we called "Mama"; and certainly not least on the list, my dear wife, Janice, the mother of my children.

Janice and I were blessed with three children. Our oldest is a boy, followed by two girls. Like a lot of fathers back in the Good Old Days, I was the breadwinner, the chief disciplinarian and the familial head of state. But it was Janice who kept the familial ship of state steady and on course. I might have been the fuel and the engine driving the ship, but she was the rudder and the compass.

A perfect example of Janice being my "compass" would have to be the piano lessons she wanted for our youngest daughter Robin.

I played banjo and guitar, and I had uncles who played guitar, mandolin and fiddle. These were instruments I could relate to: easy to carry, easy to tune, and we had plenty of teachers ready and willing to take the skills to the next generation.

But piano? I knew nothing about playing a piano. We didn't have a piano. Piano lessons were miles away from our country home. My inclination was to be practical, but Robin's heart was set on playing piano, and Janice's heart was set on taking care of Robin's impracticality.

So, first, we found a way to get Robin to lessons. Then we found a piano for the house. The family recitals, the church recitals, the sheer joy of hearing melodies wafting from the living room -- all were made possible by my forward-thinking compass.

And today, Robin is still a fairly good pianist.

Thinking back to those days -- and reflecting on another Mother's Day coming around this Sunday -- I am reminded of one of my favorite songs of home and hearth. It may be true that a man's home is his castle, but "The hand that rocks the cradle ... rules the world."

The Hand That Rules the World
Words and music by Don Fielding

They say that man is mighty,
He governs land and sea,
He wields a mighty sceptre
O'er lesser pow'rs that be.
But mightier pow'r and stronger
Man from his throne has hurled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

In deep mysterious conclave,
'Mid philosophic minds,
Unrav'ling knotty problems,
His native sphere man finds.
Yet all his "ics" and "isms"
To heav'n's four winds are hurled,
But the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Behold the brave commander
Staunch 'mid the carnage stand,
Behold the guidon dying
With the colors in his hand;
Brave men they be, yet craven,
When this banner is unfurled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Great statesmen govern nations;
Kings mould a people's fate;
But the unseen hands of velvet
These giants regulate.
The iron hand of fortune
With woman's hand is purled
But the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.


Trivia answer

The song that Val M.'s mother-in-law sang was Old Man Who Lived in the Woods, also known as Father Grumble. The words are reproduced below.

If you would like to hear a simple recording of this wonderful old song, click here.

The website is the home of Lyon College in Batesville, Ark., and it contains a wealth of words and recordings of old folk songs collected by John Quincy Wolf. Click here for an alphabetical listing of song titles.

Once there was an old man who lived in the woods,
As you may plainly see.
He said he could do more work in one day
Than his wife could do in three.

The old lady said with all her heart,
"If you will me allow,
You may do the work today,
While I go follow the plow."

The old lady took her staff in her hand,
And off to follow the plow.
The old man took his pail on his head,
And off to milk the cow.

Old Tiny, she flinched; Old Tiny, she kicked;
Old Tiny, she turned up her nose.
Old Tiny, she kicked him on the chin,
And made the blood run to his toes.

Saw, Tiny, saw,
My pretty little cow, stand still,
And if I ever milk you again,
It'll be against my will.

He went to feed the three little pigs,
There within the sty,
And bumped his nose against the barn,
And made the blood to fly.

He went to feed the old speckled hen,
For fear she'd go astray,
And quite forgot the spool of yarn
His wife spun every day.

And when the old lady came home that night,
He said he could plainly see
That she could do more work in one day
Than he could do in three.

And when he saw how well she'd plowed,
Her rows so even and straight,
He said she could do more work in one day
Than he could do in eight.
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