Lucy Vickery

Song for Europe

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In Competition No. 3002 you were invited to provide lyrics to the European anthem.

The anthem has as its melody the final movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 but dispenses with Schiller’s words. I wondered if anyone might go back to his 1785 ‘Ode to Joy’ and repurpose the following lines: ‘Yea, if any hold in keeping/ Only one heart all his own/ Let him join us, or else weeping/ Steal from out our midst, unknown.’ No one did, though there were frequent nods in the entry to other parts of the ode.

Over to the winners, who pocket £25 each. John Whitworth was an unlucky loser and W.J. Webster takes the extra fiver.

Fair Europa’s old, old story —

Innocence seduced by bull:

She was covered, not with glory,

Maid unmade, a trusting gull.

Out of such unnatural union

Came a still-born Eurostate,

Comity without communion,

Rule by distant delegate.

Symbol of this misconception,

Mined from German mother lode,

Sounds an anthem-like deception,

Brussels’ grand symphonic ode.

Joy is hymned as wealth increases

Where good trade for some has flowed:

Others, when the music ceases,

Only know a vast debt owed.

W.J. Webster

Freud and Schoenberg, Goethe, Foucault,

Cocteau, Faust and Nibelungs;

Overrated Goya, Munch and

Friedrich Schiller, Heine songs!

Who needs Bach or Schubert’s Lieder,

Beethoven, Brahms or Janacek?

Diderot, Descartes, Derrida? —

When you could have Ant and Dec!

How we’ll miss the great tradition

Of our friends across the wave:

Noddy Holder, One Direction,

Chuckle Brothers, Chas & Dave.

Ah! Your Only Fools and Horses,

Benny Hill and TOWIE styles —

What we’ll miss the most, of course, is

You — dear cultured Europhiles!

David Silverman

Brothers of this greater union

Daughters of Elysium

Firm we stand in grand communion

Staving off oblivion

Meeting at our various summits

Shaking one another’s hands

While the euro ever plummets

Shafting all our southern lands.

Quislings of the UK funken

Navigate their leaking boat

Clearly they are dead and sunken

By their futile Brexit vote

Leave us to our federating

Underneath this twelvefold star

With one voice communicating

Of our Mutter Angela.

Paul Carpenter

Sworn to see all hatreds vanish,

Friends from Portuguese to Balt,

Harmonised but never clannish,

Democratic to a fault.

Other nations try to sell us

Monstrous schemes of government.

Don’t believe them when they tell us

We are the Lost Continent.

We are honest, well-intentioned,

In our union good thoughts reign,

And the war is never mentioned

Lest it trigger members’ pain.

Farewell then to island nations

Who refuse to share our dream.

We shall last for generations,

Europe, mega-state supreme!

Basil Ransome-Davies

Ten long years she’s pushed her trolley

Down that Brussels corridor;

Serving tea and being jolly,

Joy at Britain’s Euro core…

Now the Brexit exit’s nearing,

Joy’s recalled for one mishap:

Prompting universal cheering,

She spilled tea in Nigel’s lap!

London-born, and proudly British,

Joy’s decided to remain;

Her solution may seem skittish,

But she’s keen to stay, it’s plain…

When the Brexit vote was carried

She pursued a local boy.

She’s remaining, now she’s married,

This salute is owed to Joy!

Paul Evans

Mighty Europe, wisely guided,

Merkel’s daughter, Juncker’s son,

We, its members, undivided,

Bound in union, bow to none;

Conquerors in tribulation,

Willing slaves to Brussels’ writs,

Friends we’ll be with every nation,

All, except the bolshie Brits.

Blessed with Continental ardour

On we’ll march to pastures new,

And, by working ever-harder,

Lead the world in all we do;

Wars forgotten, wrangles righted,

Freed from ruptures, rifts and splits,

We, with all, shall be united,

All, except the bolshie Brits.

Alan Millard

No. 3005: brought to book

Anthony Lane’s ‘The Book of Jeremy’ appeared recently in the New Yorker (‘And there came from the same country a prophet, whose name was Jeremy. His beard was as the pelt of beasts, and his raiments were not of the finest…’) You are invited to contribute your version of either ‘The Book of Boris’, ‘The Book of Theresa’, ‘The Book of Tim’ or ‘The Book of Nicola’. Please email entries of up to 150 words to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 28 June.