Bawling Babies
Bawling Babies
There is a fascination about crying babies. Their very first cry following birth is greeted with great joy, but subsequently …… ? They may not always bawl loudly, but rarely is it not an unearthly wail which demands active attention. Usually nothing but feeding or nappy-changing will stop their very commendable efforts to combine lung and vocal exercise to achieve growth and comfort.
Some dogs have also learned the trick. I had one which liked to pretend to sing when I played the piano. The high-pitched heart-breaking whines and howls that ensued almost rivalled a baby’s cry. But while I am very conversant with the latter ( 5 children, 8 grandchildren and 5 ‘greats’ to date), my experience with dogs is limited. Was my piano playing so awful for the dog that he had to howl ? Or was it a genuine musical (?) effort to please me – or get me to stop and take him for a walk ?
As a piano teacher listening to certain pupils, I confess that I have sometimes felt like howling. I remember a story of how a celebrated composer was tormented beyond endurance by his enemy. The fiend hired a flautist or similar to play beneath his window through the night - just a simple repeated scale but always stopping on the 7th note, omitting the final tonic. This repetition of unfinished scales was sheer torture for the composer – worse than a baby bawling ? I doubt it.
Returning to my subject, I well remember our first baby when my wife brought him home, along with a small library of baby management books. A certain Mrs Somebody had ruled that babies should only be fed at regular intervals. Feeding on demand was a mistake which would upset a healthy routine. That first night or rather early morning was more nerve-racking than hearing the air-raid sirens and the bombs dropping during the war. We listened interminably to our lovely new baby boy crying, whining and bawling for his food, but it was nowhere near the time scheduled by Mrs Somebody for it. We endured the torture for quite a while on that first day and night, before my wife made up her own sensible rules.
Why have I written all this nonsense about ‘bawling babies’ ? I confess that I was somewhat notorious in this respect, so I have been told. I was born on 12th December 1920 at 12 Byron Avenue, Manor Park, London E12, not far from the delightful Plashet Park. I was also told that it was late evening and frosty cold.
I had one brother, Kenneth, about four and a half years older than me. He asserted that I did nothing but cry the whole of my first year. I checked with my mother. She admitted that I had been rather a difficult baby. So I have to accept I was a ‘bawling baby’.
I could not find a baby photo of myself, so append a happier toddler photo taken by my dad.
John G Acton
There is a fascination about crying babies. Their very first cry following birth is greeted with great joy, but subsequently …… ? They may not always bawl loudly, but rarely is it not an unearthly wail which demands active attention. Usually nothing but feeding or nappy-changing will stop their very commendable efforts to combine lung and vocal exercise to achieve growth and comfort.
Some dogs have also learned the trick. I had one which liked to pretend to sing when I played the piano. The high-pitched heart-breaking whines and howls that ensued almost rivalled a baby’s cry. But while I am very conversant with the latter ( 5 children, 8 grandchildren and 5 ‘greats’ to date), my experience with dogs is limited. Was my piano playing so awful for the dog that he had to howl ? Or was it a genuine musical (?) effort to please me – or get me to stop and take him for a walk ?
As a piano teacher listening to certain pupils, I confess that I have sometimes felt like howling. I remember a story of how a celebrated composer was tormented beyond endurance by his enemy. The fiend hired a flautist or similar to play beneath his window through the night - just a simple repeated scale but always stopping on the 7th note, omitting the final tonic. This repetition of unfinished scales was sheer torture for the composer – worse than a baby bawling ? I doubt it.
Returning to my subject, I well remember our first baby when my wife brought him home, along with a small library of baby management books. A certain Mrs Somebody had ruled that babies should only be fed at regular intervals. Feeding on demand was a mistake which would upset a healthy routine. That first night or rather early morning was more nerve-racking than hearing the air-raid sirens and the bombs dropping during the war. We listened interminably to our lovely new baby boy crying, whining and bawling for his food, but it was nowhere near the time scheduled by Mrs Somebody for it. We endured the torture for quite a while on that first day and night, before my wife made up her own sensible rules.
Why have I written all this nonsense about ‘bawling babies’ ? I confess that I was somewhat notorious in this respect, so I have been told. I was born on 12th December 1920 at 12 Byron Avenue, Manor Park, London E12, not far from the delightful Plashet Park. I was also told that it was late evening and frosty cold.
I had one brother, Kenneth, about four and a half years older than me. He asserted that I did nothing but cry the whole of my first year. I checked with my mother. She admitted that I had been rather a difficult baby. So I have to accept I was a ‘bawling baby’.
I could not find a baby photo of myself, so append a happier toddler photo taken by my dad.
John G Acton
posted by John Acton at 12:58 PM
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