Wee Willie Winkle Remembered

Come late morning yesterday, there was a man at my window – my second floor window to be precise. It's alright; I knew that the painter was coming to paint the shutters, but then he was suddenly there.

Seeing him at my window made me think of Wee Willie Winkie, except I am pretty sure he was Winkle (with an L) in our house.

By Cleo Sara. Work Projects Administration Federal Art Project, Illinois76

This is somewhat of a more standard English translation of first verse of the original Scottish Wee Willie Winkie nursery rhyme. I will post the original verse farther below.

Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
Up stairs and down stairs in his night-gown,
Tapping at the window, crying at the lock,
Are the children in their bed, for it's past ten o'clock?

I remember being scared one night, when I was probably five years old or even less. I wasn't asleep on that night, and I was hearing a rattling at the window and thought that it might be Willie Winkle coming to check on me. No doubt, my mother had used the threat (that is how I took it) of the nursery rhyme character peering in at me to get me to settle down.

If memory serves me correctly, I got up frightened and expressed my angst to my mother who was in the bathroom. She advised me to go downstairs to be with grandpa.

That is my whole memory of Wee Willie Winkle tapping on my window. I don't remember being with grandpa or later being consoled by mother. But I do suspect that Wee Willie Winkle was never mentioned in my house ever again.

Here is the whole nursery rhyme in its original Scottish form (1841).  The paraphrased English version that I quoted, above, was written in 1844 and can also be found here in Wikipedia. I think that I may have had it in a children's book, but I cannot be sure and there is no one whom I can ask, for I am the same age now and my grandfather was then, and my parents are also long gone. Every now and then, there is something that I want to ask of them, but, alas, I cannot.

Wee Willie Winkie rins through the toon,
Up stairs an' doon stairs in his nicht-gown,
Tirlin' at the window, crying at the lock,
"Are the weans in their bed, for it's now ten o'clock?"

"Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye comin' ben?
The cat's singin grey thrums to the sleepin hen,
The dog's speldert on the floor and disna gie a cheep,
But here's a waukrife laddie, that wunna fa' asleep."

Onything but sleep, you rogue, glow'ring like the moon,
Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon,
Rumblin', tumblin' roon about, crawin' like a cock,
Skirlin like a kenna-what, waukenin' sleepin' fock.

"Hey Willie Winkie, the wean's in a creel,
Wamblin' aff a bodie's knee like a verra eel,
Ruggin' at the cat's lug and raveling a' her thrums-
Hey Willie Winkie – see there he comes."

Wearit is the mither that has a stoorie wean,
A wee, stumpie, stousie, that canna rin his lane,
That has a battle aye wi' sleep afore he'll close an e'e-
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me.  Wikipedia

To bring it full circle, this is Sue's collage of the painter,  who, by the way, happens to be somewhat of a wee fellow.

My window if the one to the left of where he was working in these photo.