Ed Miliband singing The Red Flag.
E: Jim, if I could come to you, first. The flag isn't really deepest red, is it? Usually, it's quite a bright red colour. In fact you later describe it as "scarlet."
JC: Yes, well the idea is that it is stained by the blood of the martyrs.
E: Oh right. So Ed, can you name some Labour martyrs whose blood has stained this flag?
EM: Well, there was Clement Attlee.
E: Attlee? The man who ended up with an earldom and the titles of KG, OM, CH, PC and FRS?
EM: He was a martyr to lumbago, you know.
Clement Attlee - used to wrap himself in a red flag when his lumbago got bad.
E: The version I heard was The people's flag is palest pink, Mum washed it in the kitchen sink. Still, back to you, Jim. I see that nowadays people don't sing the more embarrassing verses of your hymn?
JC: (sings)
Look round, the Frenchman loves its blaze,
The sturdy German chants its praise,
In Moscow's vaults its hymns were sung
Chicago swells the surging throng.
E: Of course the French like anything that blazes, really. Red flags, cars, British lamb, ... The pyrotechnic habits of the French are worth a whole verse on their own. But I quite like the phrase "sturdy German." We've had quite a lot of trouble from sturdy Germans since you wrote that song. And Moscow, Chicago, ... hmmm.
EM: At the Labour conference we omit all that tosh. Still, we are very fond of the colour red.
The people's dress is deepest red - behold the wife of poor old Ed!
E: So basically verse 1 is all about martyrs - possibly including Clement Attlee - being wrapped in red flags. Wasn't there another martyr? David somebody, who was stabbed in the back by his brother?
EM: I deny it completely. Anyway, David is not dead. Just resting.
JC: (sings)
It suits today the weak and base,
Whose minds are fixed on pelf and place
To cringe before the rich man's frown,
And haul the sacred emblem down.
EM: Will you be quiet? We in New Labour don't regard anything as sacred. In fact, we don't even regard religion as sacred.
E: And you've got plenty of rich men in your party, eh, Ed?
The rich man's frown.
EM: I don't remember the words exactly, but our conference sing-song ends with something like: "Though tumpty-tumpty traitors sneer, Um, er, the red flag flying here."
E: Actually, most people sneer at the song these days, especially after the fall of communism; not just traitors. You've just missed Eric Hobsbawm, he liked that sort of thing. Where is the flag flying now, then?
EM: We left it in Manchester. You didn't expect us to take the silly thing home with us, did you?
E: No, I guess not.
JC: (sings)
With head uncovered swear we all
To bear it onward till we fall;
Come dungeons dark or gallows grim,
This song shall be our parting hymn.
E: Fine sentiments, Jim. I think that nowadays dungeons aren't dark, indeed they all have colour TVs; and gallows aren't grim either, in fact they're mostly tourist attractions. But you weren't to know that. Ed, a final comment?
EM: Don't look at me, I don't know anything about this hymn.
E: Well, thank you both for coming. Shall we conclude with another scary picture?
The people's witch is dressed in red. She's cast a spell upon you, Ed.
Previous entries for the Eccles Bad Hynm Award:
Lord of the Dance. Shine, Jesus, shine. Enemy of apathy. Walk in the Light.
Kum Ba Yah. Follow me. God's Spirit is in my heart. Imagine. Alleluia Ch-ch.
It ain't necessarily so. I, the Lord of sea and sky. Colours of day.
