TROUBLEMAKER

New Zealand Listener, Volume 14, Issue 364, 14 June 1946, Page 20

TROUBLEMAKER

(By

SYLVIA TOWNSEND

WARNER

, in "The New Yorker")

OT long ago the British Broadcasting Corporation opened a recital of chamber music with the slow movement of the "Emperor" string quartet by Haydn, whose theme most people recognise as "Deutschland Uber Alles." This happened to come immediately after a news broadcast. A number of listeners who didn’t listen long enough to discover that the theme was followed by variations concluded that the BBC reactionaries had placed this tune with bad intentions, and hurried to write letters of protest to newspapers, members of Parliament, and the BBC. By the time that other people, better informed, had written further letters to

say how silly the first people were, there was quite a nice little uproar. This did not surprise me. Already I had known that tune for a troublemaker. When I was a child, I lived at Borogove, the seat of a famous English public school renowned, as are all famous English public schools, for its irrationaf customs and the piety with which they are defended. My father was a master there, so on Sundays I was taken to worship in the Hencoop-a transept of the school chapel set apart for the wives and daughters of the staff. The opposite transept was set apart for Old Borogovians. Eight Into Six Won't Go At Borogove, the singing is conducted in sturdy congregational unison, and the choir is drawn from distinguished athletes, whose achievements command respect and following from the rest of the congregation. It is therefore grand to be in the choir. The first and last Sundays of the term are marked by one or the other of a pair of hymns, one beginning, "Lord, behold us with Thy Blessing," and containing aspirations for improvement, the other being "Lord

dismiss us with Thy Blessing," and expressing hope that shortcomings may be overlooked. These hymns are in use at most educational establishments, but at Borogove they had a particular traditionalism and patina because the six-line stanzas were sung to the tune of "Deutschland Uber Alles," which is an eight-line tune. It is obvious that there are two expedients by which this discrepancy may be overcome, One is to repeat two lines of the stanza, the other to cut out two lines of the tune. Borogove adopted the second expedient. It elided the third and fourth lines and the effect was arresting, not unlike what one feels when one thinks there is going to be another step down on the stairs and there isn’t: a jolt, a temporary dizziness and disbelief, followed by the acceptance of the hard fact. But it was a custom and nobody dreamed of questioning it (nobody at Borogove) till, in the year 1915, there was a movement to taboo German music as being full of corrupting implications of enemy origin, and not as good as Allied products anyway. When this movement reached Borogove, the school music master began in a serpentine way

to inflame public opinion against such things as the Venusberg music, and especially to deplore the use of what was really the German national anthem for our two dearest and most valued hymns. This, of course, was very reprehensible of him-he should not have taken up such a shoddy crusade-and it was also injudicious, for his knowledge of the world and of Borogove should have warned him not to raise spirits he might not be able to appease, Largely through his efforts, the German national anthem was cast away and he was requested to compose a substitute. No Pains Were Spared He did so, and it was considered to be very melodious and national. It was taught to the athletic choir, and when they. were pretty sure of it, there were weekly practices for the whole congregation, so that even if the choir should have a temporary aberration, the rest of us should not be left like sheep without a shepherd. Some of the masters taught _it to their wives. No pains were spared. Meanwhile, other masters, who also happened to be Old Borogovians, were oppressed with doubts and disaffections and a sharp sense that an impiety had been committed. The new tune might be all very well-patriotic, no doubt-but it was new, That in itself was bad. But it was not even like the old one, and that was worse. It was new, it was different. It lacked the trenchancy of an

eight-line tune with the third and fourth lines left out; no mere six-line performance could achieve quite the same vitalising effect. Torn between two loyalties, they chose the local one: though the perpetuation of the German national anthem in the school chapel might make a bad impression on the God of Battles, they decided to take a chance on it and to preserve Borogove whatever else might go. On the last Sunday evening of the term, we saw the Old Borogovian transept filling up with more and more Old Borogovians of all sorts and sizes and ages, but all wearing a stern and devoted demeanour. The sermon ended, the last hymn was given out, and the lights dimmed, but they always did that, for the lighting and the organ were run off the same engine. The congregation rose, the organ emitted the usual low preliminary "pom" and, led by the choir, we broke into the new tune with confidence and brio. But after a couple of loud lines we became aware of a deep, mooing discordancy, which proceeded from the Old Borogovian transept and presently declared .itself as the Old Botogovians singing the old tune. Otherwise well organised, the dissentient faction had not thought of rehearsals. Consequently, it took them a little time to get together. But after a ragged start they showed their real quality, and by the end of the first verse ("May Thy children, may Thy children, Ne’er again Thy spirit grieve"), they were roaring as one. Words in the Organ Loft Presumably there were a few rallying words in the organ loft. Anyhow, the second verse began with the athletic choir showing a lot of fight and most of the congregation supporting them with great loyalty; only about twenty-five per cent. or so wandered off to the Old

Borogovians because they knew the old tune so much better, and many of these returned to the right path when summoned by the trumpet sfop. The new tune had all the advantages of the athletic choir, seventy-five per cent. of the congregation, and the reinforcements of the organ’ console, but Haydn fought along with the Old Borogovians and, even though mutilated, was a powerful ally. The second verse was a draw. There were still two more verses, and the Old Borogovians, who were, as they were wont to describe themselves on Founder’s Day, "shorter "in wind though in memory long," realised that they couldn’t maintain their full force to the end, so in the third round they went in to kill. They soon had the advantage, and they scored a decisive punch by holding on to their last note (I really can’t say whether by accident or design) | after their rivals had left off, and then intensifying it into a screech of defiance that rang through the sacred edifice. The issue was no longer in doubt. In the last verse, the Old Borogovians -except for a sprinkling of athletes, one or two Boadiceas in the Hencoop, and the organ, which had gone off into a sort of free fugue-had it all their own way. The rest of us just stood there while the victorious defenders of the old faith gathered themselves together for a parting plea to the Almighty that those returning, those returning, might be made more faithful than before. It is part of the Borogove tradition not to have an amen after hymns, so when the last Old Borogovian voice had died away, there was no tomment until the school chaplain. ejaculated, "Let us pray." The plea for more faithfulness, however, was granted. Next term the Lord beheld us with his blessing to the tune of "Deutschland Uber Alles," omitting the third and fourth ‘ines. --