I mentioned in a couple of other posts (The Adviser and The Fire) about a wonderful Victorian booklet I found in the Barony St. John hall building.

The stories are designed to advise children on how to live a good and honest life and how to attain their best.

There is lovely story titled “Her Daddie” by Mary E. Kendrew (note the old fashioned spelling, not Daddy with a “y” but Daddie). It tells the heart wrenching story of a man returning to his family home after a long time away fighting the demon drink – he was so long in fact that his young daughter does not recognise him and his wife has just passed away.

The sketch is of the little girl hugging her daddy, who has fallen to his knees beside his wife’s coffin;

image“Too late! too late!” he moaned and his frame shook with sobs. “Poor girl! to work herself into her grave for twopence-halfpenny a blouse, and I, who ought to have supported her, wasting all my substance in drink, and now it is too late!”

“Not too late for God’s mercy,” sister said.

The nursing sister goes on to explain to the man that he has a duty of care towards his child and his daughter hugs him as he says;

“My little child! my little angel! God is good to have left you to me.”

“No, I isn’t no angel yet, daddie. I only a little girl, but mummie said if I kept on asking Jesus to make me twite dood, I should be an angel some day, and with the angels stand.”

They don’t write stories like that anymore!

I guess the phrase “twite dood” is meant to be child-talk for quite good?? 😀