The Little Boy Who Lives Down the Lane




Baa Baa Black sheep is a nursery rhyme that all of us fondly remember. Baa Baa Black sheep has three bags full of wool. One for the master, one for the dame, and one for the little boy who lives down the lane. From the time I became aware of this rhyme, my curiosity has been at its peak. Who is this little boy who lives down the lane that Baa Baa Black sheep talks about? To find the identity of this mysterious little boy I took a flight to Great Britain.

On a wet, damp morning, I drove a white Hyundai coupe rented from Hertz, to Cotswolds, an area 60 miles of London, between Oxford, Stratford on Avon, and Bath. I was supposed to meet a gentleman by the name of Jack Shepherd – the master of Baa Baa Black sheep. I passed through vast open meadows and fields and saw plenty of sheep grazing on them. There is a quaint charm about this region. Cottages built in honey-coloured limestone dot the entire landscape.

On reaching the cottage called Baa Baa, I stopped my car, and got out. Mr. Shepherd was waiting at the gate to welcome me. He is a tall, strapping man, bent a little at the shoulders due to old age, with white crinkly skin, and has the most amazing blue eyes that you’d ever see. He shook my hands firmly and ushered me inside, where I met the dame, his wife, Lisa Shepherd, a small, dainty, sparrow-like woman, with a smile that brightens up a dull day.

‘Good to have you here, Mr. Zaidi,’ Jack Shepherd said.

‘Call me Nasir, please,’ I said.

‘What would you like to have Nasir?’ asked Lisa Shepherd.

‘No, thanks,’ I said. ‘I appreciate your asking, Lisa, but I am in a hurry. You know the purpose of my visit.’

‘Yes, we know,’ said Jack.

‘Then can you please tell me about this little boy who lives down the lane?’ I asked.

‘He lived down the lane,’ replied Lisa.

‘Lived. You mean, he’s no longer living here now,’ I said.

There was a silence. It was getting unbearable. The old couple had become quiet and emotional. After giving them sufficient time, I said, ‘Could you please tell me what the matter is?’

Jack cleared his throat and narrated the story.

The little boy’s name was Tiny Tom. He was a sick, ailing child but kept a cheerful disposition. So, no one knew about his sickness. He suffered from an incurable disease and would cry when the pain tormented his body. My sheep Baa Baa Black did not like when the little boy cried, so whenever anyone would ask him, ‘Baa Baa Black sheep have you any wool?’ He would say:

Yes Sir, yes Sir

Three bags full  

Two for my master

One for my dame

None for the little boy

That cries down the lane

Tiny Tom’s sickness worsened and one night he passed away. The whole village was devastated by the news. Baa Baa Black sheep went into depression and never could recover his health. On his death bed, he took an oath from me. He said, ‘Let the whole world know, Master, that I had three bags full of wool. One for the master, one for the dame and one for the little boy that lives down the lane.’ 

From that day onwards, the nursery rhyme changed from ‘none for the little boy’ to ‘one for the little boy.’

When I took leave from the Shepherds’ my heart was still heavy. As I started my car, Jack said,’ Down the lane is Tiny Tom’s grave.’

I halted the car near Tiny Tom’s grave. On the headstone, I read the words, ‘In memory of the little boy who lived down the lane – Baa Baa Black sheep has one bag full of wool waiting to be delivered.’

-          NZ

23.5.2019

        

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