When I was very small, we had “Folk at the Phil!” by The Spinners on cassette. I knew all the words to all the songs, even if I didn’t understand some of them. One of those was “Silver in the Stubble”, and I could never understand why my parents seemed amused when I sang it, in innocent sincerity. I still love it – even more so now, in fact – though the innocence has somewhat worn off over the years. I found myself humming the chorus as we set off on our walk on Saturday.
“For the leaves are getting greener…”
The bluebells have just started to show face, boldly making strides across the woodland floor in the last week. So, too, have the dandelions. When we were younger, we were told (or were we told that our parents or grandparents were told?) that picking a dandelion meant you might wet the bed. I’m sure that’s just because children of a certain age can’t resist their cheerful yellow faces. Auri presented me with a small number and, as they sat wilting in the empty toddler-rucksack on the way home until she’d forgotten about them, I remembered why I always think of them as the beach-pebbles of the flower world. However irrepressible and vivid they look, they soon turn dull, the brightness of their colour fading, when removed from their natural habitat.
“For the leaves are getting greener…”
In looking up who penned “Silver in the Stubble”, I learnt it was Sydney Carter. He also wrote “Lord of the Dance”, “One More Step Along the World I Go”, and “When I Needed a Neighbour”; other classics from my childhood. There is something about this clash of salt and sweet that utterly delights me.