WHEN, O WHEN, WILL THE ENGLAND RUGBY TEAM LINE UP AT TWICKENHAM AND SING AN ENGLISH NATIONAL ANTHEM? IS IT TIME TO BUILD JERUSALEM IN ENGLAND’S GREEN AND PLEASANT LAND? ANYTHING BUT ‘GSTQ’.
I’ve asked Eddie Jones and I’ve got nowhere. Stuart Lancaster – in fairness – did give the matter his consideration but events – cruelly – overtook him: so much for friends in high places. Where now, then? Do I consider civil disobedience? Direct action? My minx of a daughter – God love her – recommends something called ‘principled non-violence’, something she says she practices on me whenever I’m in one of my ‘more fascist’ moods and I’m moaning – ‘again’ – about her room looking like the bottom of a canal. But I’m not sure a two-week pout would do the trick.
Perhaps I should try something ‘suffragette’ – chaining myself to a Twickenham railing or even running onto the pitch and throwing myself under the feet of a rolling maul – anything, absolutely anything, to stop England Rugby from playing ‘God Save the Queen’ ahead of each of this autumn’s Test Matches. I have had enough.
How complicated is this? Are we talking differential calculus? Are we trying to solve the Schleswig-Holstein Question? No, we’re not. All we’re saying is that (a) the England Rugby team represents England and (b) the National Anthem of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland does not. That’s it. So how is it that English rugby supporters have to sing someone else’s anthem before their team kicks off at Twickenham?
What aggravates the issue is that ‘God Save the Queen’ is such a gormless tune. In fact – treasonable though it may be to say so – it’s a ghastly, bloodless, plonking, facile composition, which presumably explains why no one’s ever admitted to writing it. As far as anyone can tell, it seems to have taken root sometime around 1745 – when the Jacobite clans were gathering and the monarch looked like he might need the deliverance of a deity – and it’s just carried on from there. Like much of this country’s ceremonial infrastructure, its official status derives solely from custom and use, arguably the only sense in which it might – just – be considered truly ‘English’.
But it seems there’s not even any certainty that the anthem is Anglo-Saxon. A French Marquise once claimed that the tune – in his words, ‘Grand Dieu Sauve Le Roi’ – was actually written by one Jean-Baptiste Lully to celebrate Louis XIV surviving an operation to remove an anal abscess – I’m not making this up – the surgical knife that was purpose-made for the occasion now being on display in ‘La Musee d’histoire de la Medecine’ in Paris. Obviously the scalpel now being in a museum doesn’t prove anything in itself; I just mention it in case you ever happen to find yourself anywhere near the Rue de l’Ecole de Medecine and at a loose end.
The perfidious French aside, what’s indisputable is that the anthem’s not even exclusively ours. Liechtenstein uses the same melody, which is why – confusingly – the one tune was played twice before the Euro 2004 qualifier between the two countries. The home supporters sang ‘Oben am jungen Rhein’ (translation: ‘Up above the young Rhine’) and the away supporters sang ‘God Save the Queen’ (translation: ‘You’re gonna get your f*****g head kicked in.’) Neither did much to tingle the spine.
Frankly, the only time GSTQ has ever truly resonated was when the Sex Pistols covered it for HMQ’s Silver Jubilee in 1977. Otherwise, it’s dated, it’s dire and if you’re an atheist and a republican, it’s thirty seconds of your life you’ll never get back. Indeed, it’s so dusty it has two further verses no one even knows, let alone sings. The second verse actually says:
‘O, Lord our God arise, scatter her enemies, and make them fall. Confound their politics, frustrate their knavish tricks, on thee our hopes we fix, God save us all.’
Rarely has rhyme been stretched quite so close to breaking point.
The UK lumbering itself with so anemic an anthem is the UK’s problem and good luck solving it. It has – or it should have – absolutely nothing to do with England or with England Rugby. ‘But the trouble is, old boy,’ as one senior, RFU blazer once explained to me, ‘HMQ’s the patron of the bloody union. It might not go down too well with The Firm if we were to ditch her song.’ Yes, but hang on a minute. HMQ is also the patron of the WRU and I don’t hear much gnashing of teeth down Buckingham Palace Road when the Millennium Stadium close-harmonises around ‘Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau’. And while you’re there, Brenda’s also the Head of State of both Australia and New Zealand, neither of whom entreats the Almighty to send her victorious before rugby matches or, indeed, before anything else.
So when are the – we – English going to wake up? Toby Perkins MP (Labour, Chesterfield) did try to bring in a Private Members’ Bill laying an English anthem on the statute books at Westminster but, bless him, he ran out of time, confounded by oafs like Jacob Rees-Mogg MP (Conservative, NE Somerset) who said, and I quote: ‘what greater pleasure can there be for a true-born English man or true-born English woman to listen to our own national anthem?’ curiously ignoring the fact that the English – true-born or otherwise – don’t actually have one.
How is it – by the way – that a man can be educated at Eton and at Trinity, Oxford, thence elected to the House of Commons and still not grasp the difference between the United Kingdom and England? This, though, is the same indefatigable Jacob who in 1997 contested the socialist enclave of Central Fife for the Tories and who – reputedly – toured the constituency (a) in a Bentley and (b) with his nanny as one of his door-to-door canvassers. Not for nothing is the man known to Parliamentary sketch-writers as the ‘honourable member for the early twentieth century.’
Rees-Mogg aside, opinion polls are unequivocal; indeed a ‘YouGov’ survey found that a stonking 73% of England has had enough of ‘God Save the Queen’. Obviously, that leaves 27% who fear that the United Kingdom would be ‘Balkanised’ should England have its own anthem, a specious argument which – effectively – allows the Celts to celebrate their identity and tells the English to shut up and stand in the corner. Scotland’s rugby anthem, let’s not forget, defines the entire nation at the explicit expense of England, or more accurately ‘Proud Edward’s army’, infamously beaten 3-0 by Robert the Bruce at Bannockburn in 1314. In that sense, let’s be honest, Edinburgh has been the capital of the Balkans for some time now.
So if it’s not to be GSTQ, what do we think would bring a patriotic tear to the eye of a heaving Twickenham? ‘Rule Britannia’? It’s a showstopper, no question, but the rather obvious warts – surely – are the title and the chorus. ‘Land of Hope and Glory’? It’s very Royal Albert Hall, I grant you, but perhaps a touch too much pomp and circumstance? ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’? Are you serious? It’s an American Negro spiritual, for heaven’s sake. Smarten up, will you?
All of which – assuming we’re not going to accept Billy Connolly’s suggestion and use the introduction to ‘The Archers’ – would seem to leave us with William Blake’s words, Hubert Parry’s music and the second verse of ‘Jerusalem’. Forget the first verse, what with its ancient feet, its divine countenances and its dark satanic mills – far too outré – and let’s stick with the second, which says:
‘Bring me my bow of burning gold. Bring me my arrows of desire. Bring me my spear, o, clouds unfold. Bring me my chariot of fire. I will not cease from mental fight. Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand. ‘Til we have built Jerusalem in England’s green and pleasant land.’
Now imagine if Lawrence Dallaglio had ever got to sink his teeth into that. England would have been unbeatable. It’s even said that the Oscar-winning ‘Chariots of Fire’ was all set to be called ‘Running’ until screenwriter Colin Welland found himself in front of ‘Songs of Praise’ one Sunday evening as the congregation gave a rousing rendition of Blake’s second verse. No question, it’s an inspiring tune.
Indeed, the England – and Wales – Cricket team uses it, the England Rugby League side sings it, Labour Party Conferences end with it, Women’s Institutes can’t start a meeting without it and it’s a hardy annual at the Last Night of the Proms; in other words, it covers a broad church without once – thank God – mentioning Him. Indeed when George V first heard William’s words set to Hubert’s hymn back in 1916, he said he preferred ‘Jersualem’ to his own anthem, so it even has royal approval. What’s not to like?
Yes, well, it appears there may be a flaw. ‘Blakologists’ will tell you that their man wrote it not as a celebration but as a parody of English nationalism; as one put it, it’s a poem ‘laced with the resentful irony of Shostakovich’s Leningrad Symphony’. I have no idea what this means but, clearly, it doesn’t sound good.
Another sceptic wrote that Blake, who was charged with sedition in 1803, was preoccupied with what he saw as the suppression of individual spirit and ‘concerned with building a utopia that would appeal to ‘proto-atheists’ and ‘proto-socialists’, which I’m also not sure I quite understand. Mind you, I understand enough to wonder just how many of each you’d find in the West Car Park at Twickenham on any given Saturday in November. My guess would be no more than three.
Which leaves us where, precisely? Auditioning for something new, perhaps? Yes, well, what kind of noise are we after? How about something akin to ‘Advance Australia Fair’, which does at least have the country in the title and does also extol the virtues of the landscape, namely a ‘beauty rich and rare’? Then again, it does also say that the nation is ‘girt by sea’. Girt? Who is Girt? In fact, on reflection, perhaps we should forget that one. It’s a bit Janet and John.
‘Nkosi Sikelel’i Afrika’ is as beautiful a hymn as you’ll ever hear but we can’t really have an anthem in three languages. How about something a bit more Latin such as ‘El Himno Nacional d’Argentina’, – ‘let us live crowned in glory or let us swear in glory to die’ – or even the magnificent ‘La Marseillaise’ – ‘let the impure blood of our enemies drench our furrows’ – both of which are a shiver in search of a spine. Too purple for you? Okay, well there’s always ‘Fratelli d’Italia’, which personally I’ve always loved, a jaunty mixture of fife and drum guaranteed to leave a tight-head prop in tears.
Clearly, this is an emotive argument with no obvious, unanimous solution. Les Back is a professor of sociology at Goldsmith’s College in London, who believes that ‘there is a tension between an imperial nationalistic past and the realities of the multicultural present and that’s where the heat is in this debate.’ He goes on; ‘I think all this is about a much wider crisis concerning the place of nations and national identity in a hyper-connected globalised world’ and, as far as I have a clue what he’s talking about, he may well be right.
But, frankly, I don’t care if the England rugby team stand shoulder to shoulder and sing ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman’, just as long as what they’re singing is ours. Is that really too much to ask for? C’mon, England: give us a tune.
07 NOVEMBER 2016