Roamin’ in the gloamin’ (1928)

ROAMIN' IN THE GLOAMIN' 21 my bed, in my bath, in the train, on the steamboat, fishing, golfing, or shooting — I seem to be singing all the time. I think singing must be a sort of disease with me. But in my case it has been both a pleasant and profitable disease, and you can't say that about any other disease! One day I began to calculate the number of times I have sung each of my famous songs. I began, I say, but I never finished — the numbers ran into millions ! An eternal spring of simple melody has welled in my head ever since I was a little fellow at my mother's knee. Even today if I suddenly get a new tune or a new twist to an old one I cannot rest until I have evolved words to fit it, and if I hit upon a phrase or a couplet or an idea which appeals to me I must wed the words to a tune before I lay my head on the pillow. It is not at all unlikely, however, that the writing of my memoirs — these roamin's in the g'loamin's of a crowded professional life — will drive some of the liltin' an' singin' out of my head for a month or two. A man cannot write and sing at the same time — as I am now beginning to find out — but there's nothing to prevent me throwing down my Waterman every now and then and bursting into song. In this joyous occupation I shall have the company of the larks and mavises and the "blackies" who sing all day long in my garden on the bonnie bank o' Clyde. Yes, we'll all make melody together because we love to sing, and a simple song is the finest tonic and brain-reviver in the world. When Harry Lauder can sing no more there will be no more Harry Lauder! I wish all my readers could see the scene upon which I gazed with an almost holy rapture a few minutes ago. I had gone upstairs and strolled through the open window on to the balcony of Laudervale which overlooks the water. (To be perfectly frank, I was in sair need of inspiration as to