The army chief of staff sat at his desk, checking through his manpower needs with his ADC. "You are aware that the Army Number One band is required for the visit of the US President?" he asked.
"Ah, yes sir. Only nowadays we can't call it that."
"Why not, pray?"
His ADC's face was wearing a slightly oppressed and hunted look. "I'm afraid the term `band' doesn't quite fit any more."
The Chief of Staff looked up, surprised. "Of course it's a band. It's the band. We lost Number Two band after most of its members sued for post-embroidery stress disorder after they accidentally witnessed two elderly ladies at their needlework in Athy."
"Quite, sir. That was the brass section. Percussion never recovered from seeing the rain the following day. Scarred sir, scarred for life, their lawyers declare."
Gallant band
"Well, all right, I can perfectly see why we lost Number Two band. And Number Three, I know what befell that gallant body of musicians." He suppressed a manly sob.
"Indeed, sir - that time they played for some seaside watercress growers with inflamed joints. They all contracted Coast Rheumatic Cress Disorder from their audience. Most tragic, indeed heartbreaking."
A long silence followed as these two soldiers contemplated the fate which had laid low as plucky a squad as had ever donned the musical instruments of war.
"But that was not my point, sir," said the ADC after the two men had composed themselves. "My point is, alas, that to call it the Army Number One Band would render us liable to prosecution under the Trades Description Act, Army Bands definition of, Section 3, subsection D."
"Ah, yes. Precisely," replied the Chief of Staff, looking a trifle giddy.
"That sir, as you remember, insists that an Army band must number at least 20 members. And I'm afraid the Army Number One Band no longer does."
"Doesn't it?"
"No sir, it doesn't. I'm afraid the high casualties associated with our profession of arms have taken their toll. Our losses at the Kylemore Abbey Olde Tyme Brynge and Buye Faire were heavy. A single B-flat incapacitated an entire section, and the handful of survivors were retreating in good order from that when they were enfiladed by a succession of A-sharps."
"Were they, by God?" muttered the Chief. "I didn't realise things were that bad."
"There's worse to come, sir. The brass section then found it had lost its sheet music for Men of the West, and had to play The Minstrel Boy twice."
Pencil snapped
The Chief of Staff snapped his pencil. "My God," he whimpered. "My boys, my boys, my poor, poor boys."
"You know how sensitive our chaps are, sir. They are soldiers, hardened killers, made of teak and steel, and definitely not the sort of fellows to tangle with in an alley after nightfall. But The Minstrel Boy twice in a day. . .it doesn't bear thinking about. You may visit them, if that is your wish, in St Patrick's Hospital - though I should warn you, no hope for their recovery is entertained by the medical authorities. They sit on the verandah, gazing at the sunset, and waiting for their compensation. Very Wilfred Owen."
"And all this means precisely what, Commandant?"
"Well, up until last week it meant it was the Number One Army Septet. But then there was that flat C-sharp at Ballinasloe, oh blood and snotters everywhere, and that brought us down to the Number One Army Quartet. Then there was the unfortunate friendly fire incident - the Minister for Defence broke into The Homes of Tipperary at an Army reception. Too terrible for words, to see those young lives laid low. Which brings us down to a single musician."
Presidential welcome
"A single musician? This hero, what does he play?"
"She plays the triangle, sir."
"I see. And we are to welcome the President of the United States of America with one woman playing a triangle? Who is she?"
"The Commander in Chief, sir. She plays the instrument rather well, actually. Con brio, as you would doubtless say. And she's ideal sir, ideal. She'll never sue, no matter what happens, because she'll be sueing herself."
"Perfect," sighed the Chief of Staff in deep satisfaction as he envisaged Uachtarain na hEireann solemnly clattering th'ould triangle on the airport tarmac to greet the US head of state. "Once again, an Irish solution to an Irish problem."