[Daisy was the youngest of nine children, seven of whom were boys. Their father Matthew Cowper (1836-1895) died at sea when Daisy was aged five. Her older sister Agnes Cowper (1874-1963) also wrote a memoir, A backward glance at Merseyside, listening experiences from which are featured in the Listening Experience Database]

However, while speaking of the forebearance [sic] mother showed, so wisely, to her growing youngsters, I can tell you of a family concert that had several repeat performances by Special request of the performers, they also being the audience, if you leave mother out. It took place in the kitchen because to desecrate the parlour by active amusements was unthinkable, and also, because two at least of the instrumentalists couldn’t perform elsewhere, as the kitchen provided their means of “makyn melodie”. There would be Charlie (16) with his big brass bombardon, Ernest (14), with his fife (?) flute (?) – they were members of the Boys’ Brigade band, Harry (11), with a tin whistle, Bert (9) vamping an accompaniment with his wrists on the metal cover of the fireplace, and I (7) put in charge of vibrating the kitchen-knives which were jammed in the partly opened tabledrawer, and were a lovely addition to the cacophony, I thought. “Altogether boys”—and what a din! – whilst those who were free to do so would join in the martial music with the words – the boys’ own version of what the Boys’ Brigade regimental march suggested to them – nonsense- “Pim, pim, pim, popey-nairo, get your hair out, your bally hair out.” That’s all I ever knew of it. How clever I thought my big brothers were! Mind you, we might have had an augmented orchestra, for Fred, at this time, played a banjo in a concert party, Jack had a bugle, as he was a Volunteer, and [my sister] Agnes “tickled the goose’s belly” as the boys said when she practiced her mandolin pieces. This mandolin I greatly admired because a bunch of blue and yellow ribbons hung from it, and I had hopes of inheriting those ribbons some day.