In 1865 Charles Lutwidge Dodgson published Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland under the pen-name Lewis Carroll. The sequel, Through the Looking-Glass & What Alice Found There followed in 1871. During the nine years Dodgson spent writing the two books that would cement his pen-name and reputation in children’s literature for generations to come, he had compiled numerous poems and snippets of verse—only a scant number of which ultimately made it onto the pages of his masterpiece and its sequel. Shortly after Dodgson’s death at the age of 66 in 1898, rumours began to surface of ‘the lost rhymes’—a collection of poetry that presumably shed more light on the subject of Wonderland and the Looking-Glass world. Understandably, questions abounded: Who really stole the Queen’s tarts? Whatever did become of the Walrus and the Carpenter after their nefarious jot down the briny beach with the little Oysters? Is there truly any sense to be found in nonsense at all?

Of course, this was all highly speculative. No one had ever actually seen these so-called ‘lost rhymes’—and if in fact they had existed in the first place, it was generally assumed the author had taken the secret of their whereabouts with him...

That is the tale, as told by my grandfather, back in a time when I was still small enough to settle on his knee for a story—long before I ever put pen to paper, or had the slightest notion that I would one day make a living telling stories. Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, it should be noted that my grandfather was both an Irishman and a storyteller (which arguably are one and the same) and had long been known to put a little polish on a story from time to time—that is, of course, when he wasn’t making one up out of whole cloth. But whether or not the legend of the Lost Rhymes was merely a product of a clever old man’s imagination, spun solely for the entertainment of an inquisitive boy with a depthless capacity for puzzles, mysteries, and all things unattainable, was inconsequential. The seed had been planted, and already experimental tendrils had begun poking up from the soil. If there was even a grain of truth to the tale, the slightest chance that the Lost Rhymes might possibly be out there, I was certain that I would find them. Or so I believed back in those heady days of the ‘unclouded brow and dreaming eyes of wonder’.

Sometime during the inevitable transition from adolescence to adulthood, the dream of discovery was replaced by the discovery of a new, more tangible dream: I had begun to put words on paper. My own words. And even the long-standing lure of the elusive Lost Rhymes couldn’t keep me from this wonderful new sensation of creating stories and rhymes of my own. As time passed, the Lost Rhymes receded further into the reaches of ‘Memory’s mystic band’. And yet the idea of them—the spark that lit the flame that fuels my creativity to this very day—remained, like a slow-burning ember, waiting for someone to stoke the kindling on the grate above it...

It was while working revisions on a book of spooky poems based on legends, faerie tales, and folklore that a time-worn question popped into my mind, quite unexpectedly, and no matter how hard I tried to push it back and get on with the task at hand, it would not relent. It was a simple question, yet one that opened myriad doors down that long and dimly-lit corridor of my childhood: Who really stole the Queen’s tarts? As I pondered this question (along with others—Whatever did become of the Walrus and the Carpenter? Is there any sense to be found in nonsense?), I found myself drifting further away from my spooky rhymes and closer to those long-sought Lost Rhymes of Wonderland. A thorough search of every library and internet site that contained any information on Carroll and his works produced nothing. Were the Lost Rhymes truly lost? Had they ever existed in the first place? Was I just wasting my time, hunting the ghost in the hall, as my grandfather used to say?

It was in this moment of thoughtful introspection—and, admittedly, doubt—that an exchange between my grandfather and me resurfaced. I couldn’t have been more than seven at the time. I don’t recall where we were, whether it was night or day, or whether indeed the exchange was simply the product of a dream, but, real or dreamt, the moment remains etched in my memory. I had asked him if he believed anyone would ever find the Lost Rhymes, and though his reply came with a wink, there was no sign of guile: ‘If anyone is to find them, it will be you.’

As those words settled in, and doubt began to give way to clarity and conviction, I couldn’t help feeling that somewhere my grandfather was smiling. With this vital clue in hand, and a renewed sense of faith in the fable, I set forth in search of the Lost Rhymes once again—only, this time, my journey began on a single blank page and ended with the book you now hold in your hands.

                        J.T. Holden

                        2009

                       

Introduction from Alice in Verse: The Lost Rhymes of Wonderland