During the winter and summer holidays I would go down on the train to London, Ontario, to stay with my grandmother. My mother would put me on the train in Toronto. I would have a little note pinned to me to remind the conductor who I was and who would fetch me at the station. A couple of hours later, it seems, my grandmother would collect me from the conductor at the other end of the trip.
At night, Gramma and I shared her bed, and we would lie in the dark all cosy and warm, and she would sing and recite poems. Sometimes a car would pass by, and I would watch the light pass around the room and over the ceiling like visitation from a spirit.
We make such a big deal of reading to our children that we forget that songs and poetry and oral stories are also part of literacy, and listening to them is an important part of developing the imagination.
This is how I remember them as I have not heard them in decades. I hope you like them.