We English....
I don't sleep well at night - though I am able to drop off easily during the day! - and in those lonely, dead-of-night hours I seek things to do: composing, painting, attempting to write a poem, or just relaxing in front of whatever TV is around at that time (surprisingly interesting actually, sometimes). Likewise the BBC World Service is nearly always very good at this time. And some of these programmes offer different views of life as seen through folk from all over the world. What has always struck me is how alike, basically, are the aspirations of ordinary people the world over. We share in common the desire to live in peace, without fear, in reasonable plenty, with our family & friends around us, led by humane government, and free to express ourselves within the context of a diverse and vibrant culture. Yet time and again I listen to extraordinary accounts of people for whom life is anything but easy, and time and again I am given reason to pause and think just how fortunate I am to live when and where I do.
I then ponder that big question, why? How come a small island (or group of islands) somewhere betwixt the Atlantic Ocean and the North Sea has remained for so long such a rich, powerful and unconquered nation? How is it that, despite recessions and the like, we still remain right up near the top of the world order, or so we'd mostly like to think? On what was our prosperity founded, and how is it maintained? I ventured to give a tongue-in-cheek response to this big question in a poem of rhyming couplets, although the end result is not entirely frivolous at all: I am not a serious historian, and my view of things may well be somewhat cock-eyed, but there is, I believe, a ring of truth about my portrayal of our hard-fought-for dominance. Our way of life, our standard of living, these are built upon centuries of often bloody history. We have trampled many times over weaker peoples in order to exploit natural resources that we do not have at home. We have for centuries jockeyed with our European neighbours for the pole positions, better to gather the spoils of lesser nations round the globe. It's called Empire building, and we were very, very good at it!
So there it is: a narrative view of why "we English" used to dominate the world, and still have quite a hold on parts of it all. And it is "we English" rather than "we British" because even close to home the London power ruthlessly destroyed any uprisings in the fellow countries of the UK. Some might call us a proud nation, and in many ways we undoubtedly are; but there is also much shame to acknowledge in our struggle to be great. My account bares the soul of our greatness through my guilt-ridden, comfortably-middle-class eyes:
We English....
For the likes of you and me
the comfort of the C of E
provides us with a moral code
to light our way, to show the road
of our life's journey. Each new mile
sanctioned by the vicar's smile.
Canterbury leads the way
for all of us at work, in play.
Provides a decent moral layer
to our Government at prayer.
Whether Left or Tory Right
the Leader's halo doth shine bright,
legislating in the House
with humility of a cathedral mouse.
Our Constitution can be seen
in ceremonial glory of our Queen,
resplendent as our Head of State
in all she does officiate.
And with authority of this crown
has Merrie England oft cut down
peoples in corners of the globe
our country's interests sought to probe
and subjugate with brutish forces
lands rich in natural resources.
We built the British Commonwealth
to satiate the needs of self.
We forced the natives to comply
with laws that sought to edify
their savage and unholy lives;
with guns against their spears and knives
we ruthlessly put down dissent,
sanctioned by that church in Kent.
With greedy zeal our moral Church
knocked many an idol off its perch!
T'was love brought C of E about
espoused in blood by that goutish lout
who sought in vain a Papal blessing
to solve his matrimonial messing.
This heresy nationalised perforce
did justify murderous divorce.
Henry made the glorious C of E
to end our papal legacy.
He finished our dependency
on the corrupted Holy See.
Thus on this convenient foundation
we rebuilt our powerful Nation,
fought with vigour France and Spain,
time and time and time again.
When Philip's Spain attacked our shore
Drake's brilliance gave the Armada more
than maybe they had bargained for. Maybe
the weather helped. Cruel sea
took awful toll of man and ship
as violent storms and winds did whip
the waters into frenzied foam
that chased the beaten sailors home.
Sometimes we lost, sometimes we won,
but when required our Wellington
thrashed Bony when it mattered most.
And kept intact our fortress coast.
Emboldened by our seamen's might
we conquered everywhere in sight.
We out-manouvred with some ease
the Spanish, Dutch and Portugese,
discovering lands across the oceans,
exported our Protestant devotions
to all and sundry. Colonies galore
established world-wide England's law,
and fed the natives with the lie
that our just cause was noble, high,
and in their interest. Thus we stole
their natural wealth, culture and soul,
creating Empire proud and strong.
It could not, did not, last for long.
Poor George the Third was weak and lax,
had problems with our Income Tax,
revolting natives threw our tea
into the sea, along with our authority!
Closer to home, that land of gales
and rain and sheep – storm-tossed Wales -
has always been the lesser nation
made to know its lowly station.
But for their water, coal and steel,
they still remain our dog at heel;
defiantly they have their say
on the rugby field of play.
As do our enemies the Scots
for whom the pain endures. In lots
of games they never seem to win
as England finds their puissance thin.
Their Waterloo was at Culloden
where their dreams ended in mud and
blood and tears. And ever since
England downed each rebellious prince;
(even in their national game
of football, the result's the same)....
And so we kept their coronation stone
[from Scone] beneath our London throne.
The Emerald Isle was bullied too,
for centuries. For although they number few
they have their pride and own beliefs,
and a vast array of warring chiefs,
ever willing to fight to the end
the English whose arrogances offend.
Thus has English supervision
created years of bloody division:
Republicans and Loyalists fight
endlessly for the right
to command the streets, to own the land,
using tactics underhand.
One common shout do all confide,
that God, their God, is on their side.
And then, my friends, our enemy the French
joined forces with us twice in muddy trench,
to fight the monumental German foe,
enlisting all to make the Hun forego
his genocidal, evil case
to become the Master Race;
millions suffered to revoke
the nightmare dreams of Herrenvolk.
And when things were getting frantic,
help came from over the Atlantic;
from the ex-colonial quarter
many flocked to join the slaughter.
From India and down under too
folk came in haste to help the few
protect the White Cliffs of Dover
from the onslaught from Hanover,
paying back that original sin
of choosing German royal kin.
And all for what? And what for all?
How History shapes our crystal ball!
One man's gain is another's loss;
and 'cause our England's usually boss
we prosper in a world of want,
blessed by that water in the font
of the baptismal C of E,
exclusive brand of Christianity
interpreting the God of Love
our way. He up there, above,
supports us in all things we do,
all our ventures, old and new.
History is what proves me right,
and right is on the side of might.
The fist is mostly velvet now,
but still says what it will allow
or not. And in this cut-throat world
makes sure the Union Jack's unfurled!
Our interests always to the fore,
Whilst most have less, we still have more.
Out in the desert Middle East
on liquid black our eyes do feast,
that stuff called oil is what we need
our industrial machines to feed;
'planes, cars and lorries need it too,
to trade in goods from Timbuktoo
to China and the Orient.
To each new place we sent
ambassadors to ease the way
for English interests to hold sway.
'Tis true that in the field of human rights
we appear as leading lights,
trumpeting freedom of expression
to them that practice cruel repression,
on the reasonable condition
that we can do secret rendition:
quiz by proxy in some lesser land
with methods our vicar'd find underhand
those whose motives we suspect,
those belonging to a diff'rent sect,
those whose creeds, from holy Meccas,
bomb Londoners in double-deckers.
At least we question quite a lot
of foreigners, caring not a jot
that many may be innocent
of harbouring any foul intent.
We leave them broken, left to die
away from our sensitive public eye.
Remember, it was we, alas!
first dropped our cans of poison gas
on unsuspecting folk below.
The milk of kindness ceased to flow!
And when we felt the need to stamp
authority, the concentration camp
enabled us to subjugate
those natives that we love to hate.
We reaped, and now we sow
the consequences of this status quo:
the enemy we never had
is now the foe, the fearsome jihad
counteracting our crusade.
Our world's foundations now are laid
on greed and insecurity;
our sense of moral purity
replaced by pious moral stance.
We English always seek advance,
our wealthy influence makes rules
that give us ever sharper tools
with which to shape the world we know -
to nurture friend and punish foe.
In modern times we've meddled still
like thieves with fingers in the till.
The Malvinas, storm-tossed isles
surrounded for miles and miles and miles
by freezing seas. For these we fought as
dogs, for territorial waters
rich beneath the cold grey waves,
were many men sent to their graves.
Once more we claim an Exclusion Zone
round some rocks that stand alone
so many thousand miles away
from where our massive might holds sway.
Imagine letting the Isle of Man
be governed by far-off Iran!
Suppose we ceded sovereign right
to Malta, of the Isle of Wight!
Could we let the Isles of Scilly
be conquered by those that speak Swahili?
How'd we feel if foreign power
claimed mineral rights around the Gower?
Elsewhere too lands rich in oil
we have invaded, military toil
rewarded by the mineral plunder
for which the natives are torn asunder.
Anywhere within our range
we might subject to regime change.
But yet, not all: we only go
where we identify the foe
as weak enough to take the risk.
Our military campaigns are brisk
initially. Post destruction
we ignore the reconstruction.
And our victorious relief
is mirrored by the terrible grief
of those we've vanquished. Wretched mothers
for their sons, girls for their brothers.
Children too join this collateral,
their deaths disgustingly unnatural.
But when each year Remembrance Day
comes round, we join to pray
for our war dead, forgetting those
who, caught in situ, never chose
to live beneath the aerial hellfire.
Weapons our dealers so admire
bought with our taxes. Our joint Forces
England's supremacy endorses.
In our green and pleasant land
we soon forget the desert sand.
The high street stores have food and goods,
our countryside has fields and woods,
no danger from the skies above,
an unspoilt land we've grown to love.
For although we keep world order
we are safe behind our border.
Ours is Right, the Moral Nation,
built by human exploitation.
Church and State unite as one
to shape our God, to own the sun.
When politicians and archbishops meet
they sing from the English Hymnal sheet:
brother clasps the hand of brother, and
marching to the Promised Land
they make on Earth our kind of Heaven:
whether Lancashire or cream teas Devon,
Sussex Downs or Yorkshire Dale,
in fact in every leafy vale
our land is rich, we are never cursed
by famine. Nor do we ever thirst.
Woolly liberal protesters,
the open-toed, and child molesters,
doctors, nurses, factory workers,
even social benefit shirkers,
farmers, kitchen appliance makers,
priests as well as undertakers,
all save up for later times,
retirement, trips to warmer climes.
All entrusted bankers' dockets
not to line financiers' pockets.
They were wrong, and now we pay
whilst bankers grow rich day by day.
In what was all of this invested?
By what ethic was it tested?
Do we really know or care,
so long as we receive our share?
Risking money they don't own
young men fueled by testosterone
lost massive sums; not just millions:
this our life-long hard-earned billions!
Guilt-edged Bonds [sic], stocks & shares,
in any business, no-one cares.
Maybe in green-energy wind-farms,
just as likely drugs and firearms.
In housing too do we invest
which leaves a shortage for the rest,
the out-of-work deserving poor
for whom we should be building more.
Nimby's and our planning laws
work hard to close those needed doors.
As far as any of us tries
to be moral, we all have ties
with business of the darker kind
- out of sight and out of mind.
So ponder as you eat your fill
at all the folk we had to kill
to keep providing on our plate
the food we eat, the goods to sate
our avaricious appetite.
Fight the good fight with all your might
to keep the world at bay, but compliant.
Despite our size, we are the giant,
who from behind our sacred shore
ensures that there is always more
where that came from. For us the morrow
is always free from doubt and sorrow!
In desert storms the still small voice
of calm shouts loud: let us rejoice
with a full and gladsome mind'
to remind us that our Lord is kind!
Through the earthquakes, wind and fire
we prosper neath Cathedral spire;
led by priests in solemn prayers
designed to suit our moral layers.
So know but this, we English folk
will never suffer slavery's yoke;
the men who played on Eton's field
learn principles we'll never yield.
They keep our island home afloat,
entice us when it comes to vote
to vote for them, the ruling classes:
born to lead the chattering masses.
They create the wealthy niche
now occupied by nouveau riche;
they provide the middle classes
with their designer reading glasses,
all they need to live life's plenty
up to the age three score & twenty
thanks to our much-loved NHS.
We would not settle now for less
than what we feel are our just dues.
We English have too much to lose
to rock too much the wobbly boat
of moral contradiction. We'll vote
always where are interests are,
not stretch our consciences too far
with any awkward questions. No:
we'll settle for the status quo!
Rick Birley
30/x/11
For the likes of you and me
the comfort of the C of E
provides us with a moral code
to light our way, to show the road
of our life's journey. Each new mile
sanctioned by the vicar's smile.
Canterbury leads the way
for all of us at work, in play.
Provides a decent moral layer
to our Government at prayer.
Whether Left or Tory Right
the Leader's halo doth shine bright,
legislating in the House
with humility of a cathedral mouse.
Our Constitution can be seen
in ceremonial glory of our Queen,
resplendent as our Head of State
in all she does officiate.
And with authority of this crown
has Merrie England oft cut down
peoples in corners of the globe
our country's interests sought to probe
and subjugate with brutish forces
lands rich in natural resources.
We built the British Commonwealth
to satiate the needs of self.
We forced the natives to comply
with laws that sought to edify
their savage and unholy lives;
with guns against their spears and knives
we ruthlessly put down dissent,
sanctioned by that church in Kent.
With greedy zeal our moral Church
knocked many an idol off its perch!
T'was love brought C of E about
espoused in blood by that goutish lout
who sought in vain a Papal blessing
to solve his matrimonial messing.
This heresy nationalised perforce
did justify murderous divorce.
Henry made the glorious C of E
to end our papal legacy.
He finished our dependency
on the corrupted Holy See.
Thus on this convenient foundation
we rebuilt our powerful Nation,
fought with vigour France and Spain,
time and time and time again.
When Philip's Spain attacked our shore
Drake's brilliance gave the Armada more
than maybe they had bargained for. Maybe
the weather helped. Cruel sea
took awful toll of man and ship
as violent storms and winds did whip
the waters into frenzied foam
that chased the beaten sailors home.
Sometimes we lost, sometimes we won,
but when required our Wellington
thrashed Bony when it mattered most.
And kept intact our fortress coast.
Emboldened by our seamen's might
we conquered everywhere in sight.
We out-manouvred with some ease
the Spanish, Dutch and Portugese,
discovering lands across the oceans,
exported our Protestant devotions
to all and sundry. Colonies galore
established world-wide England's law,
and fed the natives with the lie
that our just cause was noble, high,
and in their interest. Thus we stole
their natural wealth, culture and soul,
creating Empire proud and strong.
It could not, did not, last for long.
Poor George the Third was weak and lax,
had problems with our Income Tax,
revolting natives threw our tea
into the sea, along with our authority!
Closer to home, that land of gales
and rain and sheep – storm-tossed Wales -
has always been the lesser nation
made to know its lowly station.
But for their water, coal and steel,
they still remain our dog at heel;
defiantly they have their say
on the rugby field of play.
As do our enemies the Scots
for whom the pain endures. In lots
of games they never seem to win
as England finds their puissance thin.
Their Waterloo was at Culloden
where their dreams ended in mud and
blood and tears. And ever since
England downed each rebellious prince;
(even in their national game
of football, the result's the same)....
And so we kept their coronation stone
[from Scone] beneath our London throne.
The Emerald Isle was bullied too,
for centuries. For although they number few
they have their pride and own beliefs,
and a vast array of warring chiefs,
ever willing to fight to the end
the English whose arrogances offend.
Thus has English supervision
created years of bloody division:
Republicans and Loyalists fight
endlessly for the right
to command the streets, to own the land,
using tactics underhand.
One common shout do all confide,
that God, their God, is on their side.
And then, my friends, our enemy the French
joined forces with us twice in muddy trench,
to fight the monumental German foe,
enlisting all to make the Hun forego
his genocidal, evil case
to become the Master Race;
millions suffered to revoke
the nightmare dreams of Herrenvolk.
And when things were getting frantic,
help came from over the Atlantic;
from the ex-colonial quarter
many flocked to join the slaughter.
From India and down under too
folk came in haste to help the few
protect the White Cliffs of Dover
from the onslaught from Hanover,
paying back that original sin
of choosing German royal kin.
And all for what? And what for all?
How History shapes our crystal ball!
One man's gain is another's loss;
and 'cause our England's usually boss
we prosper in a world of want,
blessed by that water in the font
of the baptismal C of E,
exclusive brand of Christianity
interpreting the God of Love
our way. He up there, above,
supports us in all things we do,
all our ventures, old and new.
History is what proves me right,
and right is on the side of might.
The fist is mostly velvet now,
but still says what it will allow
or not. And in this cut-throat world
makes sure the Union Jack's unfurled!
Our interests always to the fore,
Whilst most have less, we still have more.
Out in the desert Middle East
on liquid black our eyes do feast,
that stuff called oil is what we need
our industrial machines to feed;
'planes, cars and lorries need it too,
to trade in goods from Timbuktoo
to China and the Orient.
To each new place we sent
ambassadors to ease the way
for English interests to hold sway.
'Tis true that in the field of human rights
we appear as leading lights,
trumpeting freedom of expression
to them that practice cruel repression,
on the reasonable condition
that we can do secret rendition:
quiz by proxy in some lesser land
with methods our vicar'd find underhand
those whose motives we suspect,
those belonging to a diff'rent sect,
those whose creeds, from holy Meccas,
bomb Londoners in double-deckers.
At least we question quite a lot
of foreigners, caring not a jot
that many may be innocent
of harbouring any foul intent.
We leave them broken, left to die
away from our sensitive public eye.
Remember, it was we, alas!
first dropped our cans of poison gas
on unsuspecting folk below.
The milk of kindness ceased to flow!
And when we felt the need to stamp
authority, the concentration camp
enabled us to subjugate
those natives that we love to hate.
We reaped, and now we sow
the consequences of this status quo:
the enemy we never had
is now the foe, the fearsome jihad
counteracting our crusade.
Our world's foundations now are laid
on greed and insecurity;
our sense of moral purity
replaced by pious moral stance.
We English always seek advance,
our wealthy influence makes rules
that give us ever sharper tools
with which to shape the world we know -
to nurture friend and punish foe.
In modern times we've meddled still
like thieves with fingers in the till.
The Malvinas, storm-tossed isles
surrounded for miles and miles and miles
by freezing seas. For these we fought as
dogs, for territorial waters
rich beneath the cold grey waves,
were many men sent to their graves.
Once more we claim an Exclusion Zone
round some rocks that stand alone
so many thousand miles away
from where our massive might holds sway.
Imagine letting the Isle of Man
be governed by far-off Iran!
Suppose we ceded sovereign right
to Malta, of the Isle of Wight!
Could we let the Isles of Scilly
be conquered by those that speak Swahili?
How'd we feel if foreign power
claimed mineral rights around the Gower?
Elsewhere too lands rich in oil
we have invaded, military toil
rewarded by the mineral plunder
for which the natives are torn asunder.
Anywhere within our range
we might subject to regime change.
But yet, not all: we only go
where we identify the foe
as weak enough to take the risk.
Our military campaigns are brisk
initially. Post destruction
we ignore the reconstruction.
And our victorious relief
is mirrored by the terrible grief
of those we've vanquished. Wretched mothers
for their sons, girls for their brothers.
Children too join this collateral,
their deaths disgustingly unnatural.
But when each year Remembrance Day
comes round, we join to pray
for our war dead, forgetting those
who, caught in situ, never chose
to live beneath the aerial hellfire.
Weapons our dealers so admire
bought with our taxes. Our joint Forces
England's supremacy endorses.
In our green and pleasant land
we soon forget the desert sand.
The high street stores have food and goods,
our countryside has fields and woods,
no danger from the skies above,
an unspoilt land we've grown to love.
For although we keep world order
we are safe behind our border.
Ours is Right, the Moral Nation,
built by human exploitation.
Church and State unite as one
to shape our God, to own the sun.
When politicians and archbishops meet
they sing from the English Hymnal sheet:
brother clasps the hand of brother, and
marching to the Promised Land
they make on Earth our kind of Heaven:
whether Lancashire or cream teas Devon,
Sussex Downs or Yorkshire Dale,
in fact in every leafy vale
our land is rich, we are never cursed
by famine. Nor do we ever thirst.
Woolly liberal protesters,
the open-toed, and child molesters,
doctors, nurses, factory workers,
even social benefit shirkers,
farmers, kitchen appliance makers,
priests as well as undertakers,
all save up for later times,
retirement, trips to warmer climes.
All entrusted bankers' dockets
not to line financiers' pockets.
They were wrong, and now we pay
whilst bankers grow rich day by day.
In what was all of this invested?
By what ethic was it tested?
Do we really know or care,
so long as we receive our share?
Risking money they don't own
young men fueled by testosterone
lost massive sums; not just millions:
this our life-long hard-earned billions!
Guilt-edged Bonds [sic], stocks & shares,
in any business, no-one cares.
Maybe in green-energy wind-farms,
just as likely drugs and firearms.
In housing too do we invest
which leaves a shortage for the rest,
the out-of-work deserving poor
for whom we should be building more.
Nimby's and our planning laws
work hard to close those needed doors.
As far as any of us tries
to be moral, we all have ties
with business of the darker kind
- out of sight and out of mind.
So ponder as you eat your fill
at all the folk we had to kill
to keep providing on our plate
the food we eat, the goods to sate
our avaricious appetite.
Fight the good fight with all your might
to keep the world at bay, but compliant.
Despite our size, we are the giant,
who from behind our sacred shore
ensures that there is always more
where that came from. For us the morrow
is always free from doubt and sorrow!
In desert storms the still small voice
of calm shouts loud: let us rejoice
with a full and gladsome mind'
to remind us that our Lord is kind!
Through the earthquakes, wind and fire
we prosper neath Cathedral spire;
led by priests in solemn prayers
designed to suit our moral layers.
So know but this, we English folk
will never suffer slavery's yoke;
the men who played on Eton's field
learn principles we'll never yield.
They keep our island home afloat,
entice us when it comes to vote
to vote for them, the ruling classes:
born to lead the chattering masses.
They create the wealthy niche
now occupied by nouveau riche;
they provide the middle classes
with their designer reading glasses,
all they need to live life's plenty
up to the age three score & twenty
thanks to our much-loved NHS.
We would not settle now for less
than what we feel are our just dues.
We English have too much to lose
to rock too much the wobbly boat
of moral contradiction. We'll vote
always where are interests are,
not stretch our consciences too far
with any awkward questions. No:
we'll settle for the status quo!
Rick Birley
30/x/11