anthem

An anthem stirs the emotions and celebrates solidarity with a particular group, period or cause.  Other variations on the theme carry religious and nationalist overtones; indeed, anthem usually has the adjective national before it.

The playing of national anthems brings tears to the eyes of athletes standing on podia and the worst out of jingoists everywhere. Some are odes to monarchies, the greatest travesty foist on a sovereign people.

In my final years at school I attend an evening excursion to a film at the Rivoli. I am already a republican of long-standing. Before the feature a drum roll rolls; shot of a monarch astride a horse; God save the queen forces the meagre audience to its feet. Except for four of my schoolmates.

I know my duty is not to sully the reputation and honour of my school. I half stoop, my bum definitely not touching the seat. And so I avoid the ignominy of the summons to the headmaster’s office next day. To this day I regret that decision. I determine never to stand again for any national anthem, whether it be an ode to a queen, a swagman or a continent girt by sea.

Through twenty plus VFL and AFL grand finals the backs of my legs stick resolutely to the plastic seat while 100,000 folk get up on their back legs. I have the tact not to disturb their silence or their noses by letting rip with a poisonous stentorian fart. 

Flags are the other accepted symbol of the nation, bits of coloured rag fluttering in the breeze. Ours has never stirred me, only partly because it has another nation’s flag occupying a corner. Our other great contribution to flagdom is a boxing kangaroo. Fie!

Samuel Johnson had it right way back in 1775: patriotism is the last refuge of scoundrel; scoundrels like the IRA; the various scoundrels of the Balkans; the scoundrel politicians who sanction every war; the scoundrels who can’t wait to fight them.

Up there, Cazaly is the only anthem I endorse and enjoy.

Rock on.