As convoluted as any royal story in today’s gossip mags, Sing a Song of Sixpence offers plenty of scope for illustration : on paper and in fabric.
This is the only nursery rhyme which I’ve attempted in quilt form (to date.) Completed in about 2002, I didn’t even try to pretend that it was for either of my children. A long and fairly directionless period experimenting with dyes left me with sizeable samples. The consequence of this experimentation was of course that the fabrics go with nothing but each other. I chanced on one of those serendipitous buys in an op shop : six rolls of indigo cotton, each 14″ wide and more than nine yards on each. This gave me a ground and sashing to attempt my own rebus retelling, in a 5 x 4 setting.
At the time, I felt that the colourways were reminiscent of Raymond Briggs’s rendition of the song. (My linear guess-what’s-happening storytelling can’t compare with his.) The chef’s triumphal entry in full view of the suburban royalty whose house is surely too small for such a theatrical dish. Engaged in their separate activities, their majesties watch the escaping birds like TV. The maid cheerfully and impassively goes on with her laundry, unaware of the one escapee attracted by her cherry red nose.
William Stobbs shows his monarch doubting the daintiness of the dish. The birds’ open beaks portend the attack on the maid’s nose. Her raised forearm, built up with years of laundering, may triumph.
Given all these possibilities, then, this block from the Red Nursery Rhyme quilt is not one of its best. Only familiarity with the rhyme could identify this blonde bouffant with purple bubbles as a pie. The stripey deep dish is commodious enough for the two dozen blackbirds, but so much effort has gone into the working of the title that the needleworker was forced to merely sketch a few of the birds escaping.
I’m planning a new quilt based on another nursery rhyme – inspired by the two I’ve studied and written about since seeing NGV’s Making the Australian Quilt, nearly a year ago now.
Old Mother Hubbard is not the only senior citizen maligned as inept in nursery rhyme. As an imperfect pet-sitter myself, I can only sympathise with her repeated failures at appeasing the mutt.
Amy Amelia Earl (AAE) stitched the scene with the old mother in her kitchen. The cupboard is barely there itself, let alone having any provisions in it. I suspect she’s been spending the housekeeping money on fine lace and red shoes, not to mention the splendid silk portrait of King George. Not even a bone could be bought after that wanton extravagance.
And are those mittens, or furry paws that OMH is gesturing with?
There are many more verses to this rhyme and Raymond Briggs has laid them all out in the wonderful Mother Goose Treasury which deservedly won the Greenaway medal in 1966.
The steady progression of disappointed doggy into Restoration dandy is captured as a pen-and-ink comic strip, pre-figuring his later triumphant Father Christmas (who also had a dog, surely a cousin of this one.)
Harold Jones has a more sinister view of the old woman.
Don’t let the curtains and wallpaper fool you. This witch is hoping to conjure something up for the wolf at the door, who looks as if he won’t be the one playing dead if the cupboard really is bare.
Apologies for the blurriness of this image from the Red Nursery Rhyme quilt, which doesn’t disguise the poor doggy’s ribby hunger. Once again though the old lady has been impecunious : trimming her shawl before stocking the cupboard.
I was not wearing lace when this picture was taken, but Jasper is perfectly channelling his feeling that if I go to the cupboard, for him it will be bare. No amount of pipe-smoking or licking dishes will transform me into his servant, and he knows it.
I’m looking at several of the nursery rhymes which appear on my two favourite quilts of the NGV’s 2016 exhibition Making the Australian Quilt (see previous post). I can’t resist the opportunity to share some of my favourite children’s book illustrators’ interpretations as well.
The names given to the quilts by their collector and curators were, respectively, Child’s Quilt with Nursery Rhymes (by unknown maker/s)and Child’s Nursery Rhyme quilt (by Amy Amelia Earl). Those are definitely accurate but potentially confusing for the reader from hereon in. So, with no disrespect to either, I’ll be using the shorthand names I used when taking notes onsite at the exhibition.
Here’s part of the Red Nursery Rhyme Quilt.
And here is AAE’s quilt.
One of the challenges of depicting stories and rhymes on quilts, as in books, is which character and/or scene to pick. The first rhyme I’ll be talking about has much to challenge the textile artist.
Iona and Peter Opie, writing in The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, call it ‘probably the best known nonsense rhyme in the [English] language.’
Hey diddle diddle
The cat and the fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon
The little dog laughed to see such sport
and the dish ran away with the spoon.
Most of AAE’s quilt is composed of separately worked patches, appliqued onto a large piece of furnishing fabric. That she loved animals is evident in how many there are on this small quilt. The enigmatic penguin in the upper left of this picture is one of several unknown stories that AAE told to the lucky children she knew: sad viewers of the 21st century can only guess at it.
But Hey Diddle Diddle is still recognisable to us. The cat fiddler’s coat resembles faded chenille, and his couched silk shirt, along with golden violin and bow, hint at former grandeur. The other creatures of the rhyme being merely cross-stitched reinforces him as lead player. (Another, larger, black cat made of the same fake fur gazes plaintively with shirt button eyes in another part of the quilt.) Faces on a small scale weren’t really AAE’s forte but her Moon’s cheesy eyes and mouth are the right mixture of crater and grin. They draw us in on the joke while simultaneously avoiding the kicking cow. The knickerbockered dish shoulders the spoon as it runs, and the little dog puts his whole haunches into the laugh.
Harold Jones’s illustrations for Lavender’s Blue, the beautiful collection of nursery rhymes compiled by Kathleen Lines in the late 1950s, also puts the cat at the centre of the story, if not the scene. All of the characters appear in the shadow of his luminous moon.
The cow’s satyr-like silhouette frames the scene and the dog’s open-mouthed laugh directs the viewer to take in the incongruity. The pie dish and the spoon scuttle across the field bathed in cold light like fleeing mice – we can’t see their faces. The only figure with any real colour – the cat – deliberately turns its back on the scene which its concentrated music-making accompanies.
Raymond Briggs’s Mother Goose Treasuryis a stupendous achievement of illustration. Like Amy Amelia Earl, he makes his figures are sturdy rather than sentimental. In his Hey Diddle, diddle, the animals don’t effect clothing.
Briggs’s waning crescent moon smiles up at the cow, stretched out towards the inky night like the side of beef it will become. A skeletal dog has flipped itself into mimicking the moon, while the cat is fiddling as if hypnotised. The dish and the spoon run towards the edge of the page,their shadows before them, hands almost touching. The Puffin Mother Goose Bedtime Rhymes, a taste of the original in board book form, sets the rhyme in a background of shiny bright yellow moonlight, which only serves to emphasise the bizarre blue scene.
And so to the Red Nursery Rhyme quilt’s version. Whoever decided to make this block literally cut to the chase.
It’s difficult to escape the feeling that the dish is eyeing the spoon’s slender form lasciviously: a child will just see their glee as naughtiness we hope. If I’m right though, the master, Randolph Caldecott, pictured the end of the story best.
The Opies say that Hey Diddle Diddle‘s first appearance in print was in a book called MG’S Melody around 1765. That version has the line, ‘The little dog laughed to see such craft‘ : thanks to these quiltmakers, so do we.