An undeletable memory of '60s childhood in Southern Rhodesia is having to stand up before any film footage could begin, and watch as Lizzie Regina rode side saddle across the screen to witness the patriotic Trooping of The Colour - to the accompaniment of that piece of plodding musical pomp for the ceremony. The gracious queen was always in need of being saved by God. I found it numbingly puzzling then and never have solved the puzzle of its meaning. Must be dangerously impervious to propped up ganda. The only anthem that was musically interesting was that of French Congo! (the indigenous one not the French imposition).
Thanks for a great journey through many notes, maybe even G sharp...
As a Zimbabwean, you may have been exposed to the comedy series "Dad's Army". One episode begins with the platoon in a cinema, as the film is coming to its close, whereupon everyone in the audience scrambles like mad to get out of the hall before ... the national anthem starts. Captain Mainwaring stands alone for England. Figuratively if not literally. It's not fanciful: even when I was a youngster, we stood for the national anthem either before or after a movie, and someone always needed to rush for the last bus.
The finer points of the subjunctive mood have been lost as we drifted into the indicative over the past century, but, if "God save" actually does mean "(We hope that) God (might) save", then the least I can say is that He heeded the request.
Thanks for an entertaining comment, from a different angle. I have Zimbabwean friends in Belgium and in Ireland. I have no Zimbabwean friends in Zimbabwe, however. People are so mobile these days.
Ah... that withering away of the subjunctive. Studying French at least helped me master that subtlety.
I actually live now in South Africa. My British journalist husband was deported too many times for his effrontery in exposing Mugabe's cute little genocide in the South of the country.
I graduated from Edinburgh on the same day Mr Mugabe was awarded an honorary English degree by the university. I wonder whether he knew about the withered subjunctive. They later took his back. I've still got mine, but for a short hour or so, he and I occupied the same room. That's how close I got to fascism. My friend in Ireland was an undertaker and buried many of the president's family. Just not one member in particular.
An undeletable memory of '60s childhood in Southern Rhodesia is having to stand up before any film footage could begin, and watch as Lizzie Regina rode side saddle across the screen to witness the patriotic Trooping of The Colour - to the accompaniment of that piece of plodding musical pomp for the ceremony. The gracious queen was always in need of being saved by God. I found it numbingly puzzling then and never have solved the puzzle of its meaning. Must be dangerously impervious to propped up ganda. The only anthem that was musically interesting was that of French Congo! (the indigenous one not the French imposition).
Thanks for a great journey through many notes, maybe even G sharp...
As a Zimbabwean, you may have been exposed to the comedy series "Dad's Army". One episode begins with the platoon in a cinema, as the film is coming to its close, whereupon everyone in the audience scrambles like mad to get out of the hall before ... the national anthem starts. Captain Mainwaring stands alone for England. Figuratively if not literally. It's not fanciful: even when I was a youngster, we stood for the national anthem either before or after a movie, and someone always needed to rush for the last bus.
The finer points of the subjunctive mood have been lost as we drifted into the indicative over the past century, but, if "God save" actually does mean "(We hope that) God (might) save", then the least I can say is that He heeded the request.
Thanks for an entertaining comment, from a different angle. I have Zimbabwean friends in Belgium and in Ireland. I have no Zimbabwean friends in Zimbabwe, however. People are so mobile these days.
Ah... that withering away of the subjunctive. Studying French at least helped me master that subtlety.
I actually live now in South Africa. My British journalist husband was deported too many times for his effrontery in exposing Mugabe's cute little genocide in the South of the country.
I graduated from Edinburgh on the same day Mr Mugabe was awarded an honorary English degree by the university. I wonder whether he knew about the withered subjunctive. They later took his back. I've still got mine, but for a short hour or so, he and I occupied the same room. That's how close I got to fascism. My friend in Ireland was an undertaker and buried many of the president's family. Just not one member in particular.