A Hymn to Home

Those who know me will be aware that what follows does not necessarily reflect my own views. I might even go so far as to state that I am speaking in the voice of a convinced Brexiter in this attempt at a post-Brexit National anthem written in the workshop I ran a couple of Thursdays ago for Macclesfield Creative Writing Group. I’d be interested to hear what reaction, if any, it elicits.

A Hymn to Home

From North Sea to Atlantic vast,

from Dover’s cliffs and Beachy Head

to Scotland’s northern shores, from mast

we fly our flag, blue, white and red.

 

One people and one nation proud,

our borders now reclaimed and whole,

together we are all endowed,

O little island, great of soul.

 

Weather fronts and jet stream’s wiles

have formed our temperament benign.

We shrug off daily tests and trials,

believe that all will turn out fine.

 

Our politicians selfless are

and our police are pure at heart.

Our health system’s the best by far

compared to those in foreign parts.

 

We’ve made the world a better place

because of Britain’s glorious past.

We’ve given English as a base.

and to tradition we hold fast.

 

We love our Queen. Long may she reign.

We’ve Lords and Crufts and Wimbledon.

On foreigners we pour disdain.

It’s they we Brits look down upon.

 

So hush, Remainers, hold your peace.

We’ve led you out, like knights of old,

from Brussel’s grasp. Be not like Greece

impov’rished, but enriched and bold.

 

The Future’s bright outside EU.

We will succeed against the odds.

We’ll thrive. A golden era’s due.

The choice is ours. The will is God’s.

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3 comments

  1. mph26 · 24 Days Ago

    In case you don’t know Daniel Defoe’s “The True Born Englishman” (1701), here it is… I think you’ve written the modern-day equivalent!

    Thus from a mixture of all kinds began,
    That het’rogeneous thing, an Englishman:
    In eager rapes, and furious lust begot,
    Betwixt a painted Britain and a Scot.
    Whose gend’ring off-spring quickly learn’d to bow,
    And yoke their heifers to the Roman plough:
    From whence a mongrel half-bred race there came,
    With neither name, nor nation, speech nor fame.
    In whose hot veins new mixtures quickly ran,
    Infus’d betwixt a Saxon and a Dane.
    While their rank daughters, to their parents just,
    Receiv’d all nations with promiscuous lust.
    This nauseous brood directly did contain
    The well-extracted blood of Englishmen.

    Which medly canton’d in a heptarchy,
    A rhapsody of nations to supply,
    Among themselves maintain’d eternal wars,
    And still the ladies lov’d the conquerors.

    The western Angles all the rest subdu’d;
    A bloody nation, barbarous and rude:
    Who by the tenure of the sword possest
    One part of Britain, and subdu’d the rest
    And as great things denominate the small,
    The conqu’ring part gave title to the whole.
    The Scot, Pict, Britain, Roman, Dane, submit,
    And with the English-Saxon all unite:
    And these the mixture have so close pursu’d,
    The very name and memory’s subdu’d:
    No Roman now, no Britain does remain;
    Wales strove to separate, but strove in vain:
    The silent nations undistinguish’d fall,
    And Englishman’s the common name for all.
    Fate jumbled them together, God knows how;
    What e’er they were they’re true-born English now.

    The wonder which remains is at our pride,
    To value that which all wise men deride.
    For Englishmen to boast of generation,
    Cancels their knowledge, and lampoons the nation.
    A true-born Englishman’s a contradiction,
    In speech an irony, in fact a fiction.
    A banter made to be a test of fools,
    Which those that use it justly ridicules.
    A metaphor invented to express
    A man a-kin to all the universe.

    For as the Scots, as learned men ha’ said,
    Throughout the world their wand’ring seed ha’ spread;
    So open-handed England, ’tis believ’d,
    Has all the gleanings of the world receiv’d.

    Some think of England ’twas our Saviour meant,
    The Gospel should to all the world be sent:
    Since, when the blessed sound did hither reach,
    They to all nations might be said to preach.

    ’Tis well that virtue gives nobility,
    How shall we else the want of birth and blood supply?
    Since scarce one family is left alive,
    Which does not from some foreigner derive.

    Like

    • doggerelbanksy · 24 Days Ago

      Thanks for this, Mark. Well done! It’s not a poem I know.
      Now I’ve even more respect for Daniel Defoe. Phil

      Like

  2. Coln · 24 Days Ago

    ”Tis not the foreigners we fear,
    For many have brought us great cheer,
    For we Brits are not pure bred
    We are multicultural, amongrel mix From Everyman.
    Saxon, roman, Viking, Hun,
    French, Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Chinese, Hungarian.
    And each have had their part to play
    In building the Britannia we have today.
    But what of the morrow, what awaits us all?
    For our island haven is so small.
    We do not have the space, or land,
    For all to share this isle so grand.
    Should we Pollute the air, our rivers, our soil, Destroy our children’s environment whose future we toil.?
    A Brexiteer I have to be else see our land bespoiled under the sheer weight of humanity.

    Like

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