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I am sitting on the doorstep, eating bread and jam | 29-Jan-08

I am sitting on the doorstep, eating bread and jam,
I aren't a crying really but it feels as if I am.
I am feeling rather lonely...

23 comments have been made on this quote. Click here to read them and then add your own!


Do you know this poem? Do you have any clues to help us find it?


Comments:

Is this the original Liitle Orphan Annie?

I vaguely remember a poem of this tltle which must have predated the comic strip which is referenced on the a web page.
I think there was a a book of poems of which this one gave its name to the book.
Mike Smith

The poem "Little Orphant Annie" was written by James Whitcomb Riley, but it doesn't contain these lines. Each verse ends with the refrain, "An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!"

Maybe it's by the same author?

gill shea

I?m sitting on the doorstep, and I?m eating bread and jam,
and I?m not a-crying really, though I ?spects you think I am.
I can hear the children playing, but they say they don?t want me,
?cos my legs are rather little and I run so slow you see.
So, I?m sitting on the doorstep, and I?m eating bread and jam,
And I?m not a-crying really, though I ?spects you think I am.

This is from a book called 'The Littlest One' by Marion St John Adcock, published by George G Harrap in 1919.
Daisy Hirst

This is from a book called "The Littlest One"
Daisy Hirst is correct but I remember it actually said "I aren't a crying really, though I spects you think I am" I seem to remember another poem in the book about watching raindrops running down a window.
This was one of my first books, pretty battered and crayoned on but treasured. It must have been second hand when it was given to me in the war years of the 1940's.
Pamela Jones

Daisy has most of it, but with two lines missing... "and I'm feeling rather lonely, and I don't know what to do, cause I have no-one to play with, and I've broke me hoop in two" which comes before "I can hear the children playing.
Michael Springate

Yes, I do remember this poem and I just googled the first line to see if I could find it again. I learned it from our elocution teacher when I was in Primary School in the 1950s and I must have empathised with the lonely and sad subject, because I've often thought of it since. I'm so glad to have found it and will now pass it on to my daughter who, funnily enough, always befriended the friendless kids at school.
Lyn Schlaeger

When I was growing up (in the 50's) my mother used to say this quite often. I remember her saying it, but it went this way:
I'm sittin on the doorstep, eatin bread and jam and I ain't a cryin really, but it feels as if I am.
The others they are playing but they say they don't want me cause my legs are rather little and I run so slow you see.
So I'm sittin on the doorstep and I'm eatin bread and jam and I ain't a cryin really but it feels as if I am !
Helen Howard

My nana used to say this poem to me at bed time . Everytime she baby sat . I remembered it like this.
I'm sitting on the door step, eating bread n jam.
I arnt a crying realy tho it seems as if I am.
I can hear the children playing , but they say they don't want me , as my legs are rather little and I can't run fast u see .
So I'm sitting on the door step , eating bread and jam.
I arnt a crying realy , tho it seems as if I am .
I was a child that befriended the lonely children . I have passed it on to my children. N there children . It's a beautiful poem , n realy tugs at Ur heart strings, coz everyone bows at least one child this poem refers to .
yvonne whitfield

this is such a poignant rhyme that is held dear to all of us in my family - my gran, betty garlick (chesterfield) would recite this amongst others to me and my little brother in the late 60s early 70s - and then to my daughter when she was little in the mid 90s! it reminds us all so much of my gran - who is still with us and will be 87 this year - that my daughter has just had ' i aint'a cryin really but i bet you think i am' tattooed on the bottom of her back!

as i remember it is goes........

i'm sitting on the doorstep, eating bread and jam
i ain'a cryin really but i bet you think i am
i'm feeling rather lonely, i'm feeling rather blue
theres noone here to play with
and ive broke my hoop in two
i can hear the children playing
they say they dont want me
cos my legs are rather little
and i run so slow you see
so im sitting on the doorstep
eating bread and jam
i aint'a cryin really but i bet you think i am!


thanks to those who have enlightened me as to the author


i now need to find on, i beleive may be the same author, that starts

last night as i went down the hill
the great moon rose so white and still
my shadow leapt infront of me
when, just there by the chestnut tree
stood an old witch in the gloom.........


i know it all if that helps...............
jeanette lloyd

My Mother taught me this Poem when I was about 5 years old I am now 84 in January. I remember sitting on the brass fender beside the fire and repeating the Poem after her. Through the years I always wondered who wrote it and were there anymore verses?The version that Daisy Hirst wrote is the same as My Mother made me repeat after her. I taught it to my children and one Grandaughter We often mention it So glad to know other folks remember it to
may Williams (nee Hortin)

I am nearly 91, and I have known this poem all my ,life, but cannt remember all of it. I still keep friends amused with my poetry readings, and would love to have it in my repertoire. Pam Ayers is a great source of inspiration! and she reads well.
Betty Calderara

I learnt this poem when I was four years old and I found a copy recently, but now I have lost it again and I was hoping to find it here. I'll keep looking and when I find it post the rest!

The last verse is
I'm sitting on the doorstep and I'm eating bread and jam
And I ain't a cryin' really
Though it feels as if I am.
Geni Johnston

Yes I know this poem - my mother would recite it all the time
I know all the words.

Thank you


Sylvia
Sylvia Roberts

I certainly do recognise this! I still have my copy of the book, which I had rebound after 60 years of loving on my part.
It was written by Marion St John Webb and illustrated by A H Watson. My reprint is from 1947, when I was six. My Auntie Barbara ( no relation, but so called for politeness sake!) used to read to me from her earlier copy, but bought me my own that year, when I was six. My version is the same as that printed in 1927, according to the info on the flyleaf.
Penny Smith

This was in a book belonging to my mother when she was a child and my memory of it is as follows...

I'm sitting on the doorstep and I'm eating bread an' jam,
And I isn't really cryin' but I looks as if I am.
The other childs won't play with me, they say I am too slow
Because my legs are very short, I'm only four you know!
So I'm sittin' on the doorstep and I'm eating bread an' jam,
And I isn't really crying, but I feels as if I am...
Paul Cooper

Sitting on the doorstep

I'm sitting on the doorstep,
eating bread and jam
I ain'a cryIn really but I bet you think I am
I'm feeling rather lonely,
And I don?t know what to do.
Cos there?s no one here to play with
and I?ve broke my hoop In two.
I can hear the children playing
but they say they don?t want me
?cos my legs are rather little
and I run so slow you see
I'm sitting on the doorstep
and I'm eating bread and jam
And I ain't a cryIn' really
Though It feels as If I am.
This is the poem as I remember it from my mother in the 50's she would say this when I fell down and bumped my knee. I don't know if there is any more of it or who wrote it.
Barbara Rutherfoord

The Wonder Gift Book For Childrenl, Odhams Press 1933
Marion St John Webb
I'm sitting on the doorstep,
And I'm eating bread an' jam,
And I aren't a-cryin' really,
Though I specks you think I am.

I'm feelin' rather lonely,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cos there's no one here to playwith,
And I've broke my hoopin two.

I can hear the children playing,
But they sez they don't want me
'Cosmy legs are rather little,
And I run so slow, you see.

So I'm sitting on the doorstep,
And I'm eating bread an' jam,
And I aren't a-cryin' really,
Though it feels as if I am

This is the version I have. I hope I have typed it out correctly.
Patrick Harrison

I have a old book called The Littlest One By Marion St.John Webb printed by H and J Pillans and Wilson Edinburgh
Heather Ashworth

I remember, when I was 7 years old, my calss teacher, Mrs. Rhodes reading this poem to us. It started:-

I'm siiting on a doorstep, eating bread and jam.
I isn't really crying, but I 'spect you think I am.
I'm feelin' rather lonely an' I don't know what to do,
'Cos there's noone here to play with and my hoop's broke in two.
I can hear the children playing
But they say that they don't want me
'Cos my legs are rather little
And I run so slow you see,
So I'm sitting on the doorstep, eating bread and jam.
I isn't relly crying, but I 'spects you think I am.
June Andrews

My version goes as follows:
I'm sitting on the doorstep and I'm eating bread and jam, and I aren't a really cryin, though I 'specs you think I am.
The other children went to play, but they won't play with me, cos my legs is little, and I can't run fast you see,
So,I'm sitting on the doorstep, and i'm eating bread and jam, and I aren't a really cryin' though I 'specs you think I am.

I had hoped to find a second verse,but unlikely.
My older sister told it to me and I remember well that throughout her life she was unable to recite it without bursting into tears.
Brian Thorp

I'm sitting on the doorstep and I'm eating bread and jam
And I isn't crying really, though I 'spect you think I am
I'm just feeling rather lonely
And I don't know what to do
'Cos there's no one here to play with
And I've broke my hoop in two
I can hear the children playing
But they says they don't want me
'Cos my legs are rather little
And I run so slow you see
So I'm sitting on the doorstep
And I'm eating bread and jam
And I isn't crying really
Though it feels as if I am

It was in a blue hardback poetry book in the 1950s
It's called the Littleist One
Jan Jan Loxley Blount

I said this poem at a St Patricks concert in Methven, Canterbury, Nz in about 1959
Joyce McKinnel

From my childhood
keith Gresham


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