The Monday Book: THE SINGING TREE by Kate Seredy

This YA novel is actually the sequel to a famous children’s classic called The Good Master. Kate and Jansci are cousins introduced in that book, when Kate is sent to live with her father’s brother’s family because she’s a spoiled city girl who has been ill.

The Singing Tree is a much deeper book, detailing the experiences of the Hungarian farmers during World War I. The book deals in childlike innocence with topics such as anti-Jewish sentiment in Hungary, the power grab of Austria, the terrible opening of the war, and how Hungarians and Germans set themselves up for future enmity.

The farm where Marton Nagy (the good master) keeps his family safe, and later shelters neighbors who lose their farms, and then houses Russian prisoners of war who work the farm while he is in the army, and finally takes in a passel of German refugee children, is a big happy place. Part of why I like this book is its sappy “Sound of Music” plot twists. (For one example, a stray cat having kittens makes Kate detour the farm wagon to an army field hospital, where missing Uncle Marton is discovered as an amnesia patient. I know, right? Eye rolling.)

And yet throughout the book are these amazing moments of writing, where true horror is simply spoken out by the beloved characters in heartbreaking poetic ways. Marton tells his family the story of Christmas 2015, when soldiers on each side of the trench separating them from killing each other the next day began lighting candles.

Light a candle for Christmas Eve, men whispered and their very words seemed to turn into tiny stars as dozens and dozens, then hundreds of candles came forth from the knapsacks to be lighted and stuck in the snow…..

Kate sighed, a long, tremulous sigh: Oh that was beautiful! What happened after?

The candles burned down, Kate, and the–darkness closed in again. Let those who made war heard the story of what happened after. Let them see.” He lifted his arm and covered his eyes.

Lots of characters fill out the pages and the plot in lovely ways, like Uncle Moses the shopkeeper and Sergei the head of the Russian prisoners, and Mother, who is described in the title. She is the tree that shelters what turns out to be more than twenty people from five nationalities on their farm. Unbelievable, except, in Seredy’s masterful style, it is.

I loved this book as a child and found additional meaning to it as an adult. Give it a read.

When I’m Calling You, Yoohoohoo – –

Jack makes the deadline for his Wednesday guest post – phew – –

We are wakened every morning by birdsong at dawn, which tells the cats they’ll be fed soon. Don’t get the wrong idea; they eat cat food. Wendy doesn’t have the advantage, like me, of being deaf in one ear so she usually feeds the cats. I just bury my good ear in the pillow.

When I do get up I grab my first cup of coffee and head to the front enclosed porch (also the catio) for a cigarette and listen to the birds. I’ve never been terribly interested in wild birds although I have friends who definitely are, so I know a few things about them (the friends and birds).

Although we live near the middle of town we have a large back yard and we see lots of feathered friends, both there and out front as well. There are two pairs of blue jays, another two pairs of robins, one pair of cardinals, numerous sparrows, lots of house swifts and at least one very colorful woodpecker.

Every morning, one of them says the same thing.

“BRIDget, BRIDget, BRIDget”, he calls.

I finally found him: an American robin. (Robins are a different bird in Scotland.) For awhile it was just that, then Bridget began to answer.

“Here, here, here – -“

This went on for a few weeks, and I assumed they were a happy bird couple, oh how sweet. But then a couple of days ago, a third bird entered the conversation. (Does this make it an avion a trois? Or a feathered love triangle?)

The third bird began stringing whole sentences together, and from what limited information I have of birdsong, some of those louder whistles just had to be profanity. You know how, sometimes, you’re listening to a foreign language you don’t understand, but you totally get it?

This is how the morning conversations began to go….

Robin “BRIDget, BRIDget, BRIDget – -“

Bridget – “Here, here, here – -“

Marion, the third bird – “You never call or write! The kids are starving, and the nest is a disaster. Who is that hussy Bridget??”

Bridget – “Me, me, me”

I almost feel sorry for Robin, caught between two nests like this.