A Poor Man's House

by Stephen Sydney Reynolds

"Yes, but they've had enough."

When Tony sings, he throws his head back and closes his eyes, so that, but for the motions of his mouth, he looks asleep, even deathlike, and is, in fact, withdrawn into himself.

I think he sees his songs, as well as sings them. I often wonder what pictures are flitting through his mind beneath (as I imagine) the place where the thick grizzled hair thins to the red forehead. His voice is a high tenor. I make accompaniment an octave below, whilst Mrs Widger—a little nasal in tone and not infrequently adrift in tune—supports him from above.

We sang "The Poor Smuggler's Boy"—

Your pity I crave,

Won't you give me employ?

Or forlorn I must wander,

Said the poor smuggler's boy.

Then the "Skipper and his Boy"—

Over the mounting waves so 'igh,