Dinner with Paul and Susan, St. Valentine's day and an old story

Last Friday, I took Paul, Susan and Anne to an excellent Indian restaurant near where Anne lives at Tingalpa. Their chicken Lahori must be just about the best curry that I have tasted: Almost enough to make me want to visit Lahore! We talked about Paul's recent trip to the USA and about American politics mainly.

The V-day went well. I bought Anne a rose and carnation bouquet and Anne cooked us some excellent cevapi. She even had kaimak to go with it and some excellent Tasmanian oysters to start. We had Seaview champagne with it in my recently returfed back yard, among the lush grasses produced by the recent rains.

When I was a kid -- in grade 2, I think -- I remember the teacher reading out a story about a "Little blue boy". It was a sad story and I cried. I was the only one who did, probably because I was the only one who understood. The teacher was upset that I was upset and that story was never referred to again.

I recollect only the title of the story and none of its content so I wondered if I could find it on the net. Unfortunately that name seems to go with lots of different stories but I think I may have found the one I was looking for. It is apparently an old English Lullaby!

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands;
The little tin soldier is red with rust,
And the musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

“‘Now, don’t you go till I come,’ he said,
‘And don’t you make any noise.’
So toddling off to his trundle-bed
He dreamt of his pretty toys;
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our little Boy Blue–
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true.

“Aye, faithful to little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place–
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they wonder as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.”