 Glasgow Necropolis, Where a Monument was erected to William Miller |
William Miller lived from August 1810 to 20 August 1872. He was a Scottish poet best known as the author of the nursery rhyme Wee Willie Winkie and is sometimes known as "The Laureate of the Nursery". The wider picture in Scotland at the time is set out in our Historical Timeline.
William Miller was born in Glasgow and lived in Dennistoun, a suburb to the east of the city centre. His ambitions to become a surgeon were thwarted by ill health, and instead he set up in business as a woodturner and cabinet maker. Meanwhile he began to write poetry and nursery rhymes, mainly in Scots. These appeared in a number of magazines of the day, and in 1842 a collected edition was published under the title: Whistle-binkie: Stories for the Fireside. This contained the nursery rhyme for which he is now best known, "Wee Willie Winkie".
"Wee Willie Winkie" went on to achieve considerable popular success, and was translated into many different languages, including English. But while it brought Miller a degree of fame at the time, it did not make his fortune and he continued to work as a cabinet maker. In 1871 Miller fell ill with an ulcerated leg, which forced him to stop working. By the time he died the following year he was destitute, and he was buried in the Miller family plot in Tollcross Cemetery. Public subscription later raised the funds to erect a memorial to him in Glasgow Necropolis.
Wee Willie Winkie, 1841 original in Scots:
Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town,
Up stairs and doon
stairs in his nicht-gown,
Tirling at the window, cryin' at the lock,
Are
the weans in their bed, for it's now ten o'clock?
Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye coming ben?
The cat's singing
grey thrums to the sleeping hen,
The dog's spelder'd on the floor, and disna
gi'e a cheep,
But here's a waukrife laddie! that winna fa' asleep!"
Onything but sleep, you rogue! glow'ring like the
mune,
Rattling in an airn jug wi' an airn spoone,
Rumbling, tumbling
round about, crawing like a c--k,
Skirlin' like a kenna-what, wauk'ning
sleeping fock.
Hey, Willie Winkie - the wean's in a creel!
Wambling aff a
bodie's knee like a very eel,
Ruggin' at the cat's lug, and raveling a' her
thrums-
Hey, Willie Winkie - see, there he comes!
Wearied is the mither that has a stoorie wean,
A wee
stumple stoussie, that canna rin his lane,
That has a battle aye wi' sleep
before he'll close an ee
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gi'es strength
anew to me.
Wee Willie Winkie, 1844 translation in English:
Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
Up stairs and down
stairs in his night-gown,
Tapping at the window, crying at the lock,
Are
the children in their bed, for it's past ten o'clock?
Hey, Willie Winkie, are you coming in?
The cat is singing
purring sounds to the sleeping hen,
The dog's spread out on the floor, and
doesn't give a cheep,
But here's a wakeful little boy who will not fall
asleep!
Anything but sleep, you rogue! glowering like the
moon,
Rattling in an iron jug with an iron spoon,
Rumbling, tumbling
round about, crowing like a c--k,
Shrieking like I don't know what, waking
sleeping folk.
Hey, Willie Winkie - the child's in a creel!
Wriggling from
everyone's knee like an eel,
Tugging at the cat's ear, and confusing all her
thrums
Hey, Willie Winkie - see, there he comes!
Weary is the mother who has a dusty child,
A small short
little child, who can't run on his own,
Who always has a battle with sleep
before he'll close an eye
But a kiss from his rosy lips gives strength anew
to me.
