GNOME

Whenever I'm stealing snow
I go around it in the flow
Displacement stays important to me
Wherever I may choose to go...
I always blame serendipity
For what washes up on shore
But ice-reaver gnomes are born to strife
And the greed of collecting more!

Chorus:
We are gnomes truly, pointy-eared and drooly,
With a red nose shiny, and our liver always glows!
We are gnomes surly, as the censors tell me;
Each of us says he's not a clone,
But looks so much like other gnomes...

When there is rubble to blow through
We can plant explosives too,
There are mushrooms in the larder
And we have toadstools in the loo.
We have gilded seams of leather
Just like we've done before
As the carpenters and shoemakers realise
We gnomes are beyond the law.

Chorus:
We are gnomes truly, pointy-eared and drooly,
With a red nose shiny, and our liver always glows!
We are gnomes surly, as the censors tell me;
Each of us says he's not a clone,
But looks so much like other gnomes...

(With apologies to my fourth cousin once removed.)

Other Countries

I was mulling over one of the hymns of my youth the other day. This was Cecil Spring-Rice's 1918 nationalist piece, I Vow To Thee, My Country. Its words read:

I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above
entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;
the love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,
that lays upon the altar the dearest and the best;
the love that never falters, the love that pays the price,
the love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice.

And there's another country, I've heard of long ago
most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know;
we may not count her armies, we may not see her King;
her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering;
and soul by soul and silently her shining bounds increase,
and her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace.

As is traditional in these politically-correct days, there is an omitted middle verse no longer considered suitable for modern audiences. You can find it here.

In August 2004, around the time this blog was first set up, the Anglican Bishop of Hulme raised his voice against this hymn as an emblem of heretical (his word) nationalism (his other word). He claimed that it set love of country above love of God. This latter assertion is a rather odd claim, no matter how you read the first line — the verse is explicit that love of country is all earthly things above. There is no doubt about its flagrant nationalism though.

But there is indeed another (part of) history I've heard of long ago, which the Bishop was not taking into account. The first verse was written in 1908 and, along with the excluded middle verse, updated in January 1918. These verses were written in the throes of British (well, English) nationalism before the end of the First World War. The last verse was written at the end of the War, and it is heartening to see how the author had come to acknowledge that other, greater country — the one which we can be faithful to despite not being British.

I've always maintained that people who sing anthems are implicitly claiming to live by them. And if they make such implicit claims, they should be careful to remain true to the values and virtues explicit in such verses. Sometimes, these verses may be old, outdated, untrue. They are then perhaps rightly expunged from what is sung. Sometimes, they are all too relevant, cannot be expurgated, and must be sung loudly, with feeling, and in the true spirit which comes from faithful allegiance.

Ars Magna, Vita Brevis

Yes yes, this is an utterly pagan Easter night post.

As everyone knows, I am a loyal and extremely patriotic adherent of a venerable institution founded in 1886. It has won many awards and medals over the years, and its fan base is wide - covering several continents and many other cities besides its own. My blood flows freely in its colours.

The problem is that this institution can be so much greater than it is. It has everything: young and enthusiastic talent who contain world-class award-winners within their ranks, a developmental system touted as holistic and complete, management once considered enlightened and academically supreme. But it is not indubitably championship material any more. It tends to win enough to make pundits say that it might be the best, and then falter in certain key areas.

They have a brand-new expansion, costing millions in donations and investments. They will be paying off the creditors for years to come. The new site is huger than the old one by far. It should bring with it dominion and power, majesty, honour... argh, all right, I have gone too far and verge on blasphemy now. For the new site has recently been the venue of horrible defeat at the hands of the enemy.

It is an unhappy situation for me. It makes me suffer. I remain loyal and patriotic. I will not let go of this old lady who has provided me with so many thrilling experiences over the years. Yet I am sad, I am hurting. We have become the laughing-stock of millions, our captain appears to be out of the action for months at a time (and even when active, seems a little out of sync with everyone else despite his native talent).

But what can I do? I have suffered long enough as a fan of Arsenal FC. This venerable North London football club has seen highs and lows, and to be truthful, is not doing as badly as it might. It is currently fourth in the English Premier League. Manchester United and Chelsea, however, have an insurmountable lead. And Bolton and Everton are not far behind. Let's not talk about Liverpool though. And we lost to West Ham 0-1 at Emirates Stadium yesterday. Woe, woe, woe.