The Song of Tap

It is 3 am.

Have you ever woken up out of a deep sleep and found your big toe tapping a rhythm against the mattress? It goes "click-cluck-clock-clack, click-cluck-clock-clack" and has a tune going in your head that keeps up with the beat. The dream process can link to a database and generate a rhythm and a song that we can tune into. So, I thought to share with you "The Song of Tap" as we try to kindle a sense of song lurking somewhere in the mind.

We had wooden tiles in the thatched-roof house tarred to the concrete. The long corridor ran in an L-shape from the kitchen past the pantry, toilet and bathroom. It then passed all the bedrooms, then the sitting room, and finally, it ended up on the red-polished veranda. Mum had shoes with tough semi-high heels in those days. That was the fashion. So, she walked down the corridor, "click-cluck, click-cluck, click-cluck" and so on. Usually, the "click-cluck went real fast, but sometimes it was slow and regular, like the metronome on the piano when Mum sat down to play. It goes fast when she goes to fetch things, but it is slow when she carries the washing or my little brother. 

So, can you hear the "click-cluck, click-cluck" in your head? 

Now, try to concentrate on the left foot. The "click" is when the left foot joins the right foot on the floor. For a moment, they are both stationary on the floor. Then, the right foot lifts, swings through the air, and hits the floor with a "cluck" while the left foot rests. The "cluck" of the right foot signals the left foot to lift, carry the swing and land it back on the floor with a "click". And that starts the song. 

But in the song, the left foot goes up and down on the signal supplied by the right foot. It's quite a simple beat. Technically, a 2/4-time signature on the metronome, even for someone who isn't a musician like me.  

And so, we all have a memory bank of sounds associated with images, smells, and experiences. Some with rhythm, some with tunes and some with combinations of senses that wrap our memories into (hopefully) parcels of joy. 

But what would happen with the "song of tap" if you had four legs, like a horse?

We had a very good-natured horse called "Fleur". Dad said she stood 14 hands high at the shoulders. Well, if that was true, I must have barely made 5 hands to the top of my head because my head barely touched her belly! Fleur was like Mum, calm, elegant, and very wise, and did not talk much. But the song of her walk was much more interesting and much more complicated than that of Mum. The song of her walk sounded like this: "click-cluck-clock-clack, click-cluck-clock-clack", and so on. The sounds were sharp when she walked on hard ground and muffled when she walked in the dust. This is much more complicated than walking on tiles with two feet. When the left forefoot "clicks down", the right rear foot lifts, swings through the air and hits the ground with a "cluck". This signals the right forefoot to do the same, and when it "clocks" down, the left rear foot will follow. When this foot "clacks" back on the ground, the left forefoot will start all over again. Looking at the left forefoot, it will swing through the air, click down, and stay on the ground while the other feet will "cluck-clock" and "clack" before the left foot raises again, swings through, and "clicks" down. 

So, when Fleur walked down the road, the steady four-part rhythm (technically a 4/4-time signature of her walking song) was much more impressive than that of Mum. And what made it even more remarkable was the rhythmic swaying of her head that went with the song. 

There is one other thing I need to explain before I tell you what happened.

There are two main types of "dubbeltjies" in the Bushveld(South African savanna region)."Dubbeltjies" are composite thorns that have multiple sharp tips. We, kids, had tough, callused feet from climbing the granite mountains, so the paper thorns did not trouble us too much. We would dare each other to walk through a patch of "paper thorns" for 50 yards or more without pulling a face, the thorns packing on in thick boots on the soles of our feet. However, the "buck thorns" were a different story. They were very hard, woody thorns with at least four razor-sharp needles pointing in all directions. They pierced the callus like a knife through butter and always dropped you to the ground. 
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So, here is the story.

It was an early Saturday morning. Dad instructed me to go and fetch the horses out of the mountain paddock. I strolled along the footpath winding along the slopes and found the horses grazing near a dry waterfall. I was not much taller than the grass myself. I waited for Fleur to bend her neck down while nibbling some fresh shoots. I climbed on a rock and slipped the halter rope around her neck. Holding her head down with the lead, I fixed the halter to her face. Walking her back home, I knew the other horses would follow. 

So, we started the walk back home with me at the lead. Fleur's feet tapped the walking song behind me on the footpath. "Click-cluck-clock-clack, click-cluck-clock-clack," it sounded in the early morning air. 

Suddenly, I stood on a buckthorn and dropped down into a squat in the middle of the footpath. I grabbed the thorn between two fingers. Fleur, mesmerised by the tapping song of her hooves, took no notice and kept walking, "click-cluck-clock-clack, click-cluck-clock-clack". She placed her left forefoot under my bum with a "click". I knew I had the grace of "cluck-clock-clack" to pull the thorn, but it was stuck, and the extra thorns pierced my fingertips. I was too late! After the "clack" of her left rear foot, Fleur lifted her left forefoot with me sitting on it. She lifted me clean off the ground, swung me through the air and placed me down again half a meter further along the footpath with a "click". 

I struggled again with the thorn, but no luck. "Cluck-clock-clack", the other three hooves went, and she was back at the left front foot. On the "clack" signal, I was up in the air again, took a swing and landed back in the footpath with a "click". These swings went on for quite a distance while I struggled with the thorn: "Click-swing, cluck-clock-clack, Click-swing, cluck-clock-clack" we came down the mountain path. And to tell you the truth, when the thorn was out, I kept my squad and continued the ride! The song of her tapping hooves, my swinging through the air on the "clack", and the swaying from side to side of her head in sync with the rhythm made for a song and a dance to remember! 

A ringer working as a drover on a cattle station in the Northern Territory of Australia once told me about the mesmerising effect of tapping hooves. He was in the saddle from dawn to dusk for five days non-stop when he succumbed to the tapping of the hooves walking on the hard soil. He slowly slipped into dreamland, slid to the side of her neck and then toppled off the horse, dropping like a bag of potatoes in the dust. 

His mates laughed themselves out of their saddles!

Some horses and donkeys even tap-sing themselves to sleep and then stroll along the road with their eyes closed. The occasional peep through shady eyelashes will keep them more or less on course. But inevitably, the song is interrupted by the striking of a cymbal, as he trips over a rock!
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Back to our horses in the Pilanesberg Mountains.

Many years later, Geswind trotted uphill along the freshly harvested headland in a valley between the mountains. Geswind, the son of Fleur, was then a bulky 3-year-old chestnut stallion, and I was breaking him in. We were heading along the fence line, Geswind chewing the bridle bit and awkwardly playing with his head. We turned left at the boundary fence and were then heading slightly downhill along the eastern fenceline. Geswind, stubborn and headstrong, snorted and clamped the bit between his teeth, strained against the reins with his eyes rolling wild in his head. And then he dashed into a ferocious gallop down the slope, his mane flashing in the wind, his tail a challenging battle flag. At full speed, the bold-muscled stallion kicked his hind legs high into the air, rounded his back on the down, and landed on all fours in a slam. I held on for life, the saddle and girth, screeching under the strain. His head tossed wildly as he snorted with froth flying from his mouth. Then, with a piercing neigh, he recoiled, hooves slashing the air as he lurched his head upward in a high jump. He bucked again midair and, on the way down, slammed his front legs straight into the dirt, his hind legs kicking high on his twisted body in a daring show of challenging balance. The propelling force on the girth was too much. It snapped like a whipcrack. I launched into orbit Aladdin style. Only, this was not a carpet, but a saddle with no horse under it. I flew over the fence and crossed three small trees, landed in a cloud of dust and skidded in under a thick thorn bush. The sound of Geswind's pounding hooves disappeared around the foot of the mountain: "cu-dook-a-dook, cu-dook-a-dook, cu-dook-a-dook" they thundered the 1812 overture of Tchaikovsky into the thin morning air. Thorns from all directions pinned me down like Gulliver. 

I lay motionless under the thorn bush. 

A long lapse of quiet followed while I deservedly considered the impasse. 

And then I heard a familiar sound: "cluck-cluck-click, cluck-cluck-click, cluck-cluck-click". At first, the tapping was soft, but it soon became louder and more confident. It was close by. I carefully turned my head sideways so as not to get stabbed by more thorns. But I still could see nothing. The tapping continued close by: "cluck-cluck-click, cluck-cluck-click, cluck-cluck-click". 

And then I saw him! 

A small tok-tokkie beetle (Dichta cubica) was tapping out a love song in Morse code to his darling. His skinny, white-socked legs bent and stretched, bent and stretched to knock his shiny ebony shell against a rock. 

He stopped and listened carefully, his two white tentacles drooping sadly from his forehead. Then he knocked again and paused to listen. 

The answer came from a distance away: "click-click-cluck, click-click-cluck, click-click-cluck". The gentle tap song from his darling was soft but clear. It sent the little troubadour in a happy spin around his rock, only to return and continue with his lovesong. 
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Life & Love certainly taps in inspiring tunes if only we could tune into the right frequency! 

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Alex, at Yoonet, our Blog Publisher, wrote this summary to help unscramble our thoughts.

Thanks, Alex!

"Everyday life has its own beat, a quiet rhythm made up of footsteps, sounds, memories, and the people we care about. “The Song of Tap” shows us how small moments, like a horse walking or a beetle tapping, can hold meaning and joy if we pay attention.

This story reminds us that beauty isn’t just in big or exciting events. It’s also in the little things, the sound of someone walking, the feel of the earth, or the tap of a beetle looking for love. Even pain, like stepping on a thorn, can turn into something funny or memorable when we look back.

Let this be a gentle reminder to slow down and really listen. There’s music in your day - in the way you move, the sounds around you, and the memories you carry. You don’t need anything fancy, just the habit of noticing. When you do, life becomes a little brighter, and a lot more fun."

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This is how it came about.

One day, I was riding a quadbike between the cattle after the first rains of the season in Queensland. Streaks of light slipped through the dark clouds that bucketed water onto dry earth moments ago. The calves raced up the valley in delight, tails in the air, jumping over the bushes, their rapid trotters clattering over the rocks. This was contagious to the big hooves of the old cows and sent them spinning in thunderous gallop around the bike, mocking the red engine.

And then, like magic, a rainbow slipped over the hill.

For a moment, I thought Daisy, with her large udder, was going to jump over the moon!

But instead, my big toe started tapping to the rhythm of the hooves and the magic in the air, and music was born.

Here is the tune. I'm whistling it to the tick-tack rhythm of a metronome.

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And here is the Challenge:

Turn the tune into a song by writing lyrics for it and giving the song a title.

Not difficult-you can do it!

Need more inspiration?

Think about Neil Diamond's song "Beautiful Noise," from the 1976 album of the same name, which captures the vibrant sounds of city life, including street noises that inspire creativity. The lyrics describe a "beautiful noise" rising from the street, with a "beautiful sound" and "beautiful beat," likening it to the "clickety-clack of a train on a track" with "rhythm to spare." The highlight is in the line "What a beautiful noise / Comin' into my room / And it's beggin' for me / Just to give it a tune". And indeed, Robbie Robertson penned down these everyday sounds, blending them into an orchestral pop anthem that celebrates the joy and energy of the soundscapes surrounding us.

So, send your entry to gawieroux96@gmail.com during August. 

The reward for the winner is a $200 gift voucher at your preferred shop!

I'll see you next time when we'll look again, "From a Distance" at what happens down there on the earth! 

And this time, we’ll zoom in on “Happiness”