An Irishman's Diary

My daughter's piano practice took a worrying turn one night recently, of which I am not the better yet, writes Frank McNally

My daughter's piano practice took a worrying turn one night recently, of which I am not the better yet, writes Frank McNally

It was an otherwise uneventful evening in the McNally household. My wife was watching her gardening programme. The boys were happily destroying the furniture. I was sipping a cup of tea and doing the crossword, while keeping one ear tuned to Róisín's exercises. And then it happened.

You don't always recognise the pieces a second-year piano student plays. But this particular tune made me look up from my crossword. Not only was it strangely familiar. For some reason, it also had a disquieting effect, as if associated with some unpleasant experience. What could it be, I wondered, listening harder. Then the realisation hit me and I nearly choked. It was God Save the Queen.

Having read the parenting manuals, I knew that the important thing at a time like this was to remain calm and not alarm the children. So, as serenely as possible, I placed the paper aside, using it to mop up the spilt tea. And with a studied nonchalance, I wandered over to the piano.

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"That's, er, interesting," I said. "What's it called?" My hope was that the tune had a separate, apolitical existence, hitherto unknown to me. Maybe it had been an old German folk song called "Mermaids of the Rhine", or something, before the English adopted it as their national anthem, with new words. But no. Róisín pointed matter-of-factly to her textbook, Me and My Piano Part 2, where the piece was indeed identified as the British anthem, complete with an illustration of a Buckingham Palace guard.

I like to consider myself broadminded. I have sometimes stood for God Save the Queen- and not just Johnny Rotten's version either. One of the hazards of covering Northern politics is the Democratic Unionist Party's fondness for no-warning, a capellarenditions of the anthem, which serve the dual purpose of expressing their loyalty while also embarrassing any Taigs in the room. At such times, you just have to stand up and think of Ireland.

Moreover, unlike others, I have no problem with the prospect of the anthem being played at Croke Park later this month, provided that the English rugby team shows respect for our culture by losing the subsequent game. After all, Ulster rugby players - traditionally unionists to a man - have always stood stoically for The Soldiers' Songwhen in Dublin.

The learning curve in peace-process Ireland is even steeper than I thought, however. It's one thing playing it in Croke Park. But when Rule 42 was amended, it never occurred to me that I would live to see the day when God Save the Queenwas played on the hallowed turf of my own living-room.

On the other hand, what could I do about it? My daughter was only eight, still too young to learn the facts or Irish life: the birds, the bees, and the 800 years of oppression. Her mother could tell her all that stuff later, as and when the need arose.

It was rather sweet, in fact, to contemplate her lack of all that baggage. When I was eight, we were learning Anglo-Irish history from bombs on the nightly news. Happily, my children's knowledge about the British monarchy derives mainly from the episode of The Simpsonsin which Homer, touring London in a rental car, rear-ends the royal carriage and ends up in jail.

Still, I mentioned the anthem issue in passing to Róisín's charming piano teacher, who comes from Hungary, and who laughingly admitted there had been a few comments from parents. It was an English textbook, she explained, and if anyone wanted to write out the Irish anthem for piano, she would gladly teach that. Unfortunately, God Save the Queenpresented a particular technical challenge for second-year students, and it was not easily replaced.

I could certainly relate to that, because it presented a challenge to their parents too. I could also agree with the blurb on the book's cover, which says: "Not only is it colourful and delightful to look at, but it treats the difficulties as exciting adventures." The way I grapple with God Save the Queen'sdifficulties is by telling myself that while, yes, it can be considered an oppressive reminder of Britain's colonisation of Ireland, it can also be looked on as a very basic piano exercise.

Indeed, if I were British and easily offended, I might be annoyed to see my anthem sharing the same textbook as The Muffin Man, Rock-a-bye Baby,and I'm a Little Teapot.You wouldn't meet La Marseillaiseor Deutschland Über Allesin that company.

In any case, God Save the Queenwas the last song in the book, on completion of which we have moved on to more sophisticated adventures, such as Greensleeves.The British anthem is now just another tune in my daughter's back catalogue. And I'm completely relaxed about this, apart from warning her for God's sake never to play it as party piece, unless she happens to be entertaining the DUP at the time.

As for visits to my relatives, I've told her that Twinkle Twinkleis always a popular choice. You can never go wrong with Chopsticks, either.

fmcnally@irish-times.ie ]