And everybody said, “So it was true.”
The White Spat
WHEN it is remembered how large a part has been played in history by revolutionary and political songs it is both lamentable and strange that at the present time only one of the numerous political faiths has a hymn of its own—“The Red Flag.” The author of the words owes a good deal, I should say, to the author of “Rule Britannia,” though I am inclined to think he has gone one better. The tune is that gentle old tune which we used to know as “Maryland,” and by itself it rather suggests a number of tired sheep waiting to go through a gate than a lot of people thinking very redly. I fancy the author realised this, and he has got over it by putting in some good powerful words like “scarlet,” “traitors,” “flinch” and “dungeon,” whenever the tune is particularly sheepish. The effect is effective. Just imagine if the Middle Classes Union could march down the middle of the Strand singing that fine chorus:—
“Then raise the scarlet standard high
Beneath its shade we’ll live and die;
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer
We’ll keep the Red Flag flying here.”
Well, I have set myself to supply some other parties with songs, and I have begun with “The White Spat,” which is to be the party-hymn of the High Tories (if any). I have written it to the same tune as “The Red Flag,” because, when the lion finally does lie down with the lamb, it will be much more convenient if they can bleat and roar in the same metre, and I shall hope to hear Mr. Robert Williams and Lord Robert Cecil singing these two songs at once one day. I am not wholly satisfied with “The White Spat,” but I think I have caught the true spirit, or, at any rate, the proper inconsequence of these things:—
The White Spat.
Air—Maryland.