Seated on his customary log by the camp fire, George Wakefield recited the old nursery rhyme slowly, the methodical cadence of his Midlands accent lending added force to the words.

‘Baa baa Black Sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, sir, yes, sir,
Three bags full;
One for the master,
One for the dame,
And one for the little boy
Who lives down the lane.’

Having completed his recitation, he leaned forward – elbows on knees – and gazed down at his six-­year-­old son, cross-­legged on the ground beside him. The look in the boy’s eyes was one of expectancy, but also mystification.

Young James had heard the nursery rhyme often – he’d heard many a nursery rhyme from his father in the past – but this time when he’d joined in, knowing it off by heart as he did, he’d been silenced.

‘No, no, Jimmy,’ his father had said. ‘Listen very carefully to the words, each and every one of them, for I’m about to explain to you their meaning. You’re of an age to learn now.’ And then he’d started his recitation all over again with even greater deliberation.

Now the wide-­eyed boy stared up at his father in wordless anticipation. He was about to learn something. James liked to learn things.

‘Who do the three bags go to, Jimmy?’ George asked.

Oh that part was easy. ‘The master and the dame and the little boy,’ he answered.

‘And who do you think they are?’

Not so easy. Not so easy at all. What did his father mean? James was confused. He shook his head…

Continue reading the extract here…

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