Songs of Blanche Scoville

And Ruth Said

After writing about my grandmother's beautiful contralto voice yesterday, I began to think about seeing her name on sheet music.

I thought I knew where some of Blanche's music was, so I was digging out old sheet music today and came across this piece called And Ruth Said. The text is Ruth 1:16-17 -- Intreat me not to leave thee, etc. The price for the sheet music was 35 cents. You can see Blanche's signature at the top of the page, just barely and in pencil: Blanche Scoville. The second line says 428 Blvd N.W. and the third line says Calgary.

Wyora must have inherited this piece of sheet music for her signature is underneath: Wyora Pilling.

My best find of the day, when I was looking for some of Blanche's old music. were some copies of a couple of other pieces that I can remember my mother singing: Little Boy Blue and Ours is the House Where the Children Play, the lyrics both of which I have typed into this post.

Musical tastes change.

I cannot imagine hearing either of these songs in church now.


Just for Today


What I liked best was the blue crayon drawing on the piece called Just For To-Day. You can see that some child has drawn a four wheeled vehicle that fills the middle of the page and echoed the same figure in a miniature in the top left hand corner.

Glen came over to my house today and I asked him to do me a simple line drawing of a train -- sleuthing to see if I could find out who had decorated Wyora's sheet music. He drawing isn't an exact match. Both sheets of music are going to go as gifts -- first ask, first served. I will be watching in the comments section.

And now for the lyrics of the other two songs. I will also give them away. The person who wants Little Boy Blue has to be able to play the piano in four flats (or do some other musical trick of equal complexity).

Little Boy Blue

The little toy dog is cover’d with dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands; --
The little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.

Little Boy Blue

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
Kiss’d 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 the pretty toys.

And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awaken’d our little Boy Blue
Oh? The years are many, the years are long,
But our little toy friends are true.

Ay? Faithful to little Boy Blue they stand
Each in the same old place,
A waiting the touch of the little hand,
The smile of a little face

And they wonder as waiting these long years thro’,
In the dust of the little chair,
What has become of our little Boy Blue,
Since he kiss’d them and put them there.

I used to hate hearing that song when I was young and after inspecting the lyrics today, I know why. Even as a four year old, I must have been old enough to catch on that being awakened by an angel song, might not be that good an idea.

The other song I used to hear sung was this old Edgar A. Guest poem:

The House Where the Children Play

In ev’ry street there’s a certain place
Where the children gather to romp and race;
There’s a certain house where they meet in throngs
To play their games and to sing their songs,

And they trample the law with their tireless feet,
And the scatter their playthings about the street,
But tho’ some folks order them off, I say,
Let the house be mine where the children play

Spoken:

Armies gather about the door
And fill the air with their battle roar,
Cowboys swinging their lariat loops
Dash’round the house with the wildest whoops,

And old folks have to look out when they
Are holding an Indian tribe at bay,
For danger may find them on flying feet
Who pass by the house where the children meet.

Sung:

There are lawns too lovely to bear the weight
Of a troop of boys where they roller skate,
There are porches fine that must never know
The stamping of footsteps that come and go,

But on every street there’s a favourite place
Where the children gather to romp and race,
And I’m glad in my heart that it’s mine to say,
Ours is the house where the children play.

Re the contest? There will also be a skill testing question -- something like name your ancestor who had a rich contralto voice.

(Hint: Her name appears in the title of this post.)