WHAT ABOUT A SONG?

Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 59, Issue 4221, 8 December 1939, Page 6

WHAT ABOUT A SONG?

OUTBURST OF AN IMPULSE. Fiona practically every war there has been .harvested a series of thrilling incidents which have become glorious memories. The present war already promises to perpetuate the tradition. In connection with the recent loss of the aircraft carrier Courageous, survivors are describing experiences that darkly tragic, but also many that strikingly reveal brave men’s reactions to that challenge of desperate situations, instances of the human spirit undaunted by danger and defiant of death. In the London press there have been recorded a number of such stories. One of these is told by’a young Scottish seaman in the following termfs: “ The aircraft carrier had sunk- In all directions men were swimmiing or were dangerously perched on floats. I was picked up in a whaler, which took me to a destroyer. I saw a float with men on her. One of them—he seemed a kid of about fifteen—-shouted ‘Come on, lads. iWihat about a song ? * And they all began to sing lustily.” In the circumstances the lad’s suggestion might well have seemed incongruous. To start singing in the immediate prospect of drowning was a tribute to his fortitude and cheerfulness. In so doing he gave an inspirihg demonstration of a principle which might well be incorporated into any philosophy of life.

vVffiat about a song 1 It was not a meretricious device designed to keep men’s courage up. It was the outburst of an inborn impulse. For man is an incorrigible songster, however ill-equipped for it he may individually be by nature. The human race has been singing its way down the centuries. Even when civilisation was primitive men were making songs, and, in the fashion of the time, were singing them. The bard and harpist were prominent in the earliest royal palaces. The Homeric classics are primarily ballads, and the minstrels who declaimed them Were welcomed both in the halls of princes and in popular assemblies. The ancient Jews marched up to their feasts in companies, singing. The songs they sang, in the statelier nomenclature of Psalms, continue to be sung every Sunday in our churches. The passion of people to express themselves corporately in song is embodied in their national anthems. Knitting all its parts together, the British Empire is almost continuously singing its fervent prayer, “ God Save the King.” In any time of stress the singing of “ The Marseillaise ” can rouse Frenchmen, to frenzy. Song in its myriad forms and tunes would seem to give natural expression and relief to every type of emotion. For song is not less song when its adjective is “ sacred ” and when its verses are called a hymn. In the brave call of the Courageous lad—- “ What about a song ? ” —New Zealanders of the older generation will possibly find something reminiscent of another great shipping disaster. Twenty-seven years ago the White Star liner Titanic, the largest vessel of her time, set out on her maiden voyage. Striking an iceberg, she foundered, and fourteen hundred lives were lost. As they went consciously down to death the great mass of them stood together—and sang. It was a sacred song, but ever since for millions of people “ Nearer, My God, to Thee ” has recalled that display of human calm and of confidence in the Divine. The same spirit teas displayed in an incident, still well remembered, that happened towards the close of the last century at Ballarat. One of the mines suddenly became flooded, and a number of men were entrapped. Steadily the waters rose, and there seemed no possibility of escape. Before, however, the waters reached the ledge to which the men had climbed the gas pressure proved sufficiently strong to arrest the uprising flood, and a rescue was effected. After the men were safe they were asked what they did as they watched the water and death draw nearer. The answer was, “We sang,” and the song they sang was “ There’s a Land That is Fairer Than Day.” It was not improvised piety. They were sturdy, stout-hearted Cornishmen, and they sang bravely, sincerely. There are countless occasions when oratory would be laughable, and when verbal exchanges are impossible. But, when every expedient is plainly out of place, “,W.hat about a song ? ” brings deliverance from emotional stress. It is far from essential that song should be mirthful. Human sorrow, indeed, can be so transmuted by it as to bear witness to Shelley’s famous phrase, “ Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.” In the songs that have lived through the years each successive generation has a heritage whose literary beauty and emotional quality seem likely to prove inexhaustible. Our soldiers sang themselves through the last war; they may be trusted to sing themselves through this. In the mass “ sing-songs ” in bivouacs and around camp-fires the secret emotion of each individual man finds common vent. It is this which imparts so much fervour to the soldiers’ wartime singing. The fact was noted by

a poet who passed through the South African war, and who was impressed by the frequency with which the old Scottish song “ Annie Laurie ” was sung when the troops foregathered. Shrewdly he summed up the meaning of it in the lines: They sang of love and not of fame; Forgot was Britain’s glory. I Each man thought of a different girl, But all sang “ Annie Laurie.” It was simply a further revelation of

the truth that “ every human heart is human,” a further confirmation of

the fact that, in practically every experience in which the emotions are deeply stirred, the most satisfying form of expression is to be found in the Courageous lad’s cheerful query, “ What about a song ? ”