Songs for Girls of a Certain Age
(Pink; I Love Him...I do...I'm afraid; Mothers; Shoes; Flowers; Girls of a Certain Age )

“SONGS FOR GIRLS OF A CERTAIN AGE is the perfect end-of-recital collection - with its jazz, classical and musical theatre influences, it accommodates all types of voices and is guaranteed to entertain and move an audience in equal measure - a superb vehicle for the singer who can act! We hope you enjoy performing them. There is no ‘certain' age for the performer of these songs and therefore, it is imperative that the singer (of whatever age!) makes these musical musings her own. In creating this song cycle, Ben and I shared a desire to make equal both words and music; so that the one complements the other. In practice the performers must find the most suitable tempi so that neither element is compromised. The songs explore a variety of moods and musical styles which we hope will lend themselves to all sorts and sizes of soprano and mezzo soprano voices alike. The inspiration for these songs came from several chance conversations with certain female friends. The women to whom I have shown the poems all laughed or smiled knowingly. I think that these reactions were positive ones.... at least I hope they were. Ben and I would like to take this opportunity to give special thanks to mezzo soprano Hanna-Liisa Kirchin and pianist Daniel Browell for their invaluable help and support in the realisation of these pieces.”

© Garth Bardsley

The songs were premiered by Hana-Liisa Kirchin with David Jones (piano) at the RNCM, Manchester on 23rd April 2015. The first public performance was given by international mezzo-soprano Sara Fulgoni with Peter Davis (piano) in a recital at Haileybury College on 29th September 2016. 

1. PINK 

My life would be fine if my room were only pink!
Don’t you think?
I do.
But HE won’t let me!
And I simply can’t understand for, after all, what’s not to like?

I love pink, I love pink - for I’m no bluestocking
The colour’s sublime but at times deeply Shocking
From Amaranth and Carmine, to Puce and Carnation
Its hue, it is true, has extreme variation 

I like Rose pink and Ruby and maybe Magenta
There’s one I’m not sure of called Baby Placenta
I like Persian pink, French pink and Hollywood Cerise
And I like pinks that soothe me, I like pinks that tease 

Such as Razzle Dazzle and Fandango and Purple Pizzazz
I love Luscious and Ultra and Razzamatazz
There are shades that are Hot one’s called Tickle Me Pink
And one’s so exciting they just named it Brink…ah! 

The pink called Icelandic is a.k.a First Lady
Its real name is Thulian which sounds a bit shady
There are pinks that are Dusty but the ones I have seen
Just seem Misty and Musty and I like my pinks clean 

The English like Tea Rose the Queen’s got it at Balmoral
Then there’s Lavender and Fuschia but my favourite is Coral
There’s the one by Schiaparelli, so big in Manhattan
And Plymouth Pink was invented by Louis Mountbatten 

Spoken: It’s true, it was! It’s a sort of Mauve 

I love pink, I love pink – it’s a tint I adore
Each tone makes me moan and I want to moan more
HE says that I’m mad and should go see a shrink
But my life would be fine
Like sweet Rosé wine
Yes life would be fine if my room were only pink!

2. I LOVE HIM… I DO… I’M AFRAID

Just of late I’ve been waking before my alarm,
Which alarms me for I’d rather sleep in
And to make matters worse I feel anything but calm
For my mind’s in a terrible spin. 

I try hard to relax but to no avail
And I fail to curtail my distress
With my eyes closed I still see a certain young male
Who for me, simply couldn’t care less
What a mess… 

I was happy, wasn’t I?  Content with my lot
But my head, by my heart, was betrayed
I was happy, wasn’t I? But now I am not
For I love him…I do…I’m afraid 

I was happy, wasn’t I?  Well that’s what I thought
So please explain how can happiness fade?
I was happy, wasn’t I? But now I am fraught
For I love him…I do…I’m afraid 

How could this happen? And am I to blame?
Were there clues along the way I somehow missed?
And how could this happen?  And who lit this flame?
I’ll get burned…I know...but how…..how can I resist? 

So I lie in my bed with my thoughts racing round
While around me the world slumbers on
And each thought that I have makes my fickle heart pound
At the thought that this chance might be gone 

We’d be happy, couldn’t we, if given a chance?
But that chance needs a choice to be made
We’d be happy, wouldn’t we?  I can tell at a glance
For I love him…I do…and I’m afraid

3. MOTHERS

Mothers are people who cosset and nourish
Who care for their children and help them to flourish
They cherish and comfort, they nurture and treasure
Each moment they fill with contentment and pleasure.
Mothers are people who recognise feelings
Who empathise fully in all of their dealings
They sometimes admonish but always are gentle
Who never condemn and are rarely judgemental.
Mothers are people who calm frantic daughters
Who know when to pour oil upon troubled waters
They know when to offer that pithy bon mot
And they know when to stay but they know when to go. 

Mothers are people whose shoulders you cry on
Whose purpose in life is to wash and to iron
To sew and to cook and play wife and to nest
And that’s what they should do for that’s what they do best.
Mothers are people who kiss children better
Who’ll bake you a cake and who’ll knit you a sweater
Who never would dream of suggesting you diet
And may just have learnt to know when to be quiet. 

Mothers are people both homey and sweet
Who wear sensible shoes on their sensible feet
They are someone to run to for useful advice
But when all’s said and done mothers ought to be nice
They ought to be nice.

 Mothers are people who, yes, once were younger
But realize, deep down, they should no longer hunger
For youth and for beauty and everything modern
Those byways less travelled can never be trodden.
Mothers are people who stay home in slippers
To leave the way open for us nubile nippers
And surely it isn’t too much to ask, is it,
To not goose my boyfriend when he comes to visit?
Mothers are people to love and to honour
Who ought to behave like a saint not Madonna
For mums should be mumsy and never be hot
And some mums are all of these things and my mother is not!
My mother is not!

4. SHOES 

A bottle of booze
A poem by Ted Hughes
A round the world cruise
A trip to Toulouse
A meal at Michel Roux’s
Secret rendezvous
A book to peruse
An account that accrues
A lover who woos
If I had to choose
I’d choose
Shoes

5. FLOWERS 

He brought me flowers
Each bud a tight knit fist of joy
Each bloom a promise of bliss
A secret kiss

 He brought me flowers
Their burgeoning beauty filled the air
Each bloom a moment to capture
Exquisite rapture 

He brought me flowers
Resplendent, they stood swaggering
Each bloom defiant in truth’s cold light
Fleeting delight 

He brought me flowers
I turned to see them fade
Each bloom embarrassed in its frailty
Cruel reality 

He brought me flowers
Too soon they fell into sadness
Each bloom a possibility stilled
Dreams unfulfilled 

He brought me flowers
I wish that he had not.

6. GIRLS OF A CERTAIN AGE 

Girls of a certain age
Know what they want
And are not to be questioned.
Girls of a certain age
Know what they like
And are not to be second-guessed.
Girls of a certain age
Do not need guidance
Or a helping hand
Do not need advice
To make up their minds
They know how to choose
What…
And who…
And when…
For girls of a certain age…
Spoken: Please don’t ask…
Are of an age when they are….certain.

© Garth Bardsley