The April Baby's Book of Tunes: with the story of how they came to be written

In Short

This charming turn-of-the-century maternal memoir chronicles a mother’s creative rescue mission during a severe late-season blizzard. trapped inside their forest home when their schoolmaster is snowed in, her three young daughters grow restless, dismantling their dolls and edging toward household chaos. To keep the peace, the mother sits at the piano to compose simple musical scores for popular English nursery rhymes like "Little Polly Flinders." The narrative captures their whimsical debates over rhyme logic, peaceful tea parties, home theatricals, and the quiet joys of a family bonding through music and imagination while awaiting the spring thaw.

The Story

When a prolonged, historic Easter snowstorm buries their secluded house in thick drifts, three young sisters—April, May, and June—are trapped indoors with no lessons and nowhere to run. Their initial amusement with winter crafts and dolls quickly degenerates into destructive play; they chop up doll limbs, melt wax into mock puddings, and turn bran stuffing into watery porridge. Their French nurse, Seraphine, finds herself overwhelmed by the mess and sends the girls to the room's corners. Recognizing that her daughters need a meaningful outlet to survive the confinement, their mother gathers them by the library fire for tea, dough nuts, and warm chocolate.

During tea, the conversation turns to the tragic tale of Little Polly Flinders, whose mother whipped her for warming her cold toes by the cinders. The girls passionately take Polly's side against her mother's injustice. When April asks if there is a proper tune for the rhyme, the mother admits she knows none. The children immediately demand that their mother create one. Banishing the girls to the schoolroom so she can work, the reluctant mother sits at the piano, agonizing over note-paper with the soft pedal depressed until she produces a modest melody for "Little Polly Flinders."

The experiment proves so successful that the mother continues composing over the next several days. She wrestles with the absurdities of "Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary," setting it to music while the children act out the roles, culminating in April enthusiastically "watering" her sisters' heads with leftover cold chocolate. Undeterred by ruined carpets, the mother writes settings for "Little Miss Muffet," "Hush-a-bye, Baby," "Jack and Jill," "Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat," "Curly Locks," and "Sing a Song of Sixpence." Each new song prompts lively philosophical debates among the girls regarding spider anatomy, the absurdity of pumps built on hills, and the wisdom of choosing real pigs over strawberries and cream.

As Good Friday approaches, the weather breaks, the sun shines, and the thermometer rises. The children head outside to skate on the frozen stream, allowing the exhausted mother a moment of quiet relief. The narrative culminates in a festive Easter celebration where June confides that she has figured out the truth about the Easter Hare, sharing a secret with her mother. After acting out a duet of "Where are you going to, my pretty maid?" and singing "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild," the three tired children are tucked into their cots. They drift off to sleep, bringing their snowy musical ordeal to a sweet, contented close.

How It Unfolds

Trapped by the blizzard An unseasonal Easter snowstorm seals the family inside, driving the three young girls to dismantle their old dolls and scatter hair and bran across the playroom floor.

The penalty of corners Seraphine, the robust French nurse, restores order by sweeping the unruly children into three of the room's four corners, leaving the mother to devise a better remedy for their cabin fever.

A firelit compromise The mother hosts a cosy tea party in the library, where the girls fiercely defend poor Polly Flinders' frozen toes and demand that their mother compose a real tune for the nursery rhyme.

Agonies at the piano Unaccustomed to composing, the mother retreats to the piano with the soft pedal on, laboring over note-paper to set the first batch of nursery rhymes to music.

The chocolate baptism While acting out the story of "Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary," April takes her role too seriously and pours a jug of cold chocolate over her sisters' heads to help them grow like garden flowers.

Excursions and Easter secrets The sun finally appears, enabling the girls to skate on the garden stream while June quietly confesses to her mother that she no longer believes in the Easter Hare.

Bedtime harmony After performing a full evening of songs and duet recitals, the exhausted children express their gratitude and drift peacefully to sleep in their cots.

The People

• The Mother: A patient, resourceful, and mildly self-deprecating woman who prefers creative harmony to harsh discipline. She wants to keep her home peaceful during an endless snowstorm, though she struggles through acute embarrassment and awkward piano composition to produce tunes that satisfy her children.
• April: The eldest and most dramatic daughter, who possesses a quick temper and a vivid imagination. She wants to fully immerse herself in story play, though her intense dedication sometimes leads her to dump chocolate on her sisters or hurl German insults when exasperated.
• May: The middle child, notable for her quiet disposition, beautiful curls, and frequent bouts of sniffling. She wants warmth, sugary treats, and peace, though her constant sneezing during cold weather occasionally irritates her sisters.
• June: The youngest, boldest, and most inquisitive daughter, who carries pocketfuls of loose doll eyes like coin. She wants to assert her independence and intelligence, successfully deducing that her mother is the real Easter Hare while fiercely holding her own in arguments.
• Seraphine: The French nurse who transformed from a delicate newcomer into a firm, round authority figure. She wants neatness and obedience in the nursery, relying on corner punishments to manage the children's energetic outbursts.

In Its Own Voice

June went about rattling half a dozen eyes in her pocket as grown-up people rattle their money; and when her mother asked her what made that noise, she pulled out a handful of them in different sizes, and they looked so like real eyes that it quite gave her mother what is known as a turn.

This moment captures the grotesque, unvarnished reality of young children left too long with broken toys during a winter storm.

'I doesn't believe there ever is Easter hares,' continued June, in a tone of gloomy conviction, while her mother rubbed her tickled ear without answering, 'nor any baskets too not. I doesn't believe there ever did was any, either.'

June's solemn declaration reveals the subtle, triumphant shift from early childhood innocence to pragmatic reasoning.

'God bless you, pwecious mummy,'--and then a voice out of the darkness added very slowly and drowsily 'Sleep--well--mummykins--and dweam--about--one--pwetty--angel--'

The book closes with this tender, quiet exchange, highlighting the affectionate bond between the mother and her tired daughters.

What It's Really About

Beneath its gentle domestic surface, the book explores the creative friction between adult logic and the literal-minded imagination of young children. The mother approaches nursery rhymes as nostalgic artifacts, but her daughters analyze them as literal accounts of justice and practicality. They demand to know why Polly Flinders was beaten for having cold feet, or why anyone would sit on a cushion sewing when they could be tending pigs. The narrative highlights how maternal love drives quiet self-sacrifice; the mother willingly endures the awkward frustration of musical composition simply to bring order and joy to a trapped household. It also captures the distinct cultural rhythm of an Anglo-German home where nursery rhymes and domestic life intertw seamlessly.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate classic domestic memoirs, historic child-rearing observations, and classic children's literature will find much to enjoy here. The writing is marked by a warm, dry wit that skewers both the romanticized view of perfect childhood and the solemnity of Victorian parenting manuals. Reading it feels like sitting in a sunlit room listening to an uncommonly observant relative recount the chaotic reality of family life.

The narrative proceeds at an easy, deliberate pace, grounded entirely in small household events rather than dramatic adventure. Modern readers will easily recognize the timeless struggle of keeping energetic children occupied during bad weather. The text includes historical period details, such as light spanking, casual child corner-placements, and occasional German vocabulary terms like Schmutzfinck, but these are presented without sentimentality. Its gentle humor, sharp dialogue, and genuine portrayal of maternal devotion make it an endearing quiet read.

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