click go the shears

Out on the board there, the old shearer stands,
Grasping the shears in his thin bony hands...

One of my earliest memories is of sitting in the bath, splashing happily around, while my dad kept an eye on me, providing musical accompaniment. He had a good, if humble, light baritone, and a regular repertoire - 'The Road to the Isles', a French song about tasting wine, 'oui, oui, oui' and Click go the Shears. My mother was the one with the acknowledged singing talent, a good soprano, whose grandfather had been a professional singer. She did a lot of local amateur concerts, and as I got older, with a good ear for harmony and a developing alto, I would be roped into duetting with her. My dad, a modest man of astonishing skills and knowledge, who took me for walks by the river, pointing out edible berries and once quietly knocking me up a superb whistle out of a sycamore twig with his penknife, was a Manxman through and through. It was the family joke that he hardly spoke, though when he did it was always worth listening to. And though I remember my mum's singing, that is always in public. Dad would give me these private concerts in the bathroom, leaning on the bath rail, amusing me with this odd song from Australia about sheep shearing. And it is only now, as a professional accent coach that I realise that when I try and sing the song, I sing it as I heard it when I was three - with a strong manx accent.