Bad Hymns 20

The judges of the Eccles Bad Hymn Award have chosen a children's hymn today; this means that is it performed at "family services," and will drive to drink anyone over the age of about 6.

If I were a butterfly, I’d thank you Lord for giving me wings.

Eccles: So, welcome, Brian Howard, author of "If I were a butterfly." Yours is a wonderful hymn - I heard it sung in the London Oratory recently, to the Gregorian chant Si papilio essem. Or was it a Bach cantata? I forget.

BH: Thank you so much, Eccles. It's great to be recognised on a blog of this distinction.

E: Do butterflies actually thank the Lord for giving them wings, Brian? Or are you supposing yourself to be trapped in a butterfly's body? In which case wouldn't you be saying "O Lord, get me out of here!"?

BH: That's too deep for me, Eccles. Still, I can also offer you robins, fish, elephants, kangaroos...

E: "If I were an octopus, I’d thank you Lord for my fine looks." Do you think that octopuses have "fine looks?"

A fine-looking octopus.

BH: Well, compared with some ugly spotty children I've seen... and of course cephalopod molluscs may have different standards of beauty from the rest of us.

E: Now, the hymn does have a chorus: "You gave me Jesus and you made me your child," etc. Not bad, really. But those animals... You couldn't drop the animals and keep the chorus, I suppose?

BH: What, and lose lines like "If I were a wiggly worm, I’d thank you Lord that I could squirm?"

E: Is squirming a good thing? Or were you stuck for a rhyme? Still, let's come to one of the highlights of the song, and the bit where the grown-ups present start squirming.

Si ursus fuzziwuzzus essem...

BH: "If I were a fuzzy wuzzy bear, I’d thank you Lord for my fuzzy, wuzzy hair." Note that bears do appear in the Bible, unlike octopuses.

E: Ah yes, Elisha, who didn't have fuzzy-wuzzy hair, summoned two of them to eat up some rude children. 2 Kings 2, in fact.

BH: We don't teach that bit in schools so much nowadays.

Elisha - spare the bear and spoil the child.

E: Before you go, I would like to mention another hymn: this one's by Mick Gisbey. It's the grasshopper song. Shall we sing it together?

Both: I'm not a grasshopper 
I'm a giant in the Lord! 
I'm not a grasshopper
I'm a giant in the Lord! 
I'm not a grasshopper
I'm a giant in the Lord! 
I'm not a grasshopper
I'm a giant in the Lord!

Not a giant in the Lord.

BH: Of course if I were a grasshopper, I wouldn't sing that song.

E: Let's not go there, please. Brian Howard, thank you very much.

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Previous entries for the Eccles Bad Hymn 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.    The red flag.
Go, the Mass is ended.    I watch the sunrise.    Bind us together, Lord.    Our god reigns.
My way.    Ding-Dong! The witch is dead.

A Lattin Mass

Anti Moly and me we is still stayin wiv Damain Thopmson, who is a really luvvly man. But on Satturday mornin I woke up in my bed in Castle Thopmson to find a pink horse's head in it, which I is fiarly sure wasn't dere de night before.

I summoned Will Heaven de butler, who shimmered in wiv a tray contianing a glass of milk for me and a hair-restorrer and gin cocktail for Anti Moly, what sleeps in de next room. "I sees dat Sir has been contacted by de Gay Maffia," explaned Mr Heaven. "Dey is very poppular in de Cathlic churhc nowaddays, especailly in de Plymouth diocese. No duobt dey is invitin you to go to de Church of de Assumption and St Gregory in Soho for a gay Mass. Dis may be an offer you can't refuse. Play your cards rihgt and Vincent Nichols will give you de kiss of peace."

Damain, howevver, had uvver plans, and on Sunday we trailed into de London Horrortree. I had planned to wear a togga, as dey say dat when in Rome you gotta do what de Romans do, but Damain said it wasnt usaully done. He hisself wasnt wearing a togga, just his superman costume. In de week he is mild-mannered Damain Thopmson, but at weekends he is like a blood-crazed ferret.

Anti Moly disgraced herself almost immediately. "Why has dat woeful priest got his back to us?" she screeched. "Aint dat typical traddy Cathlic rudeness?" Damain explaned in hushed tones dat traddy preists doesnt like to look at de congreggatoin, especailly when Anti Moly is among dem, as it makes dem feel ill.

De preist was wearing a beretta, which he took off to make annuoncements, e.g. "Will you keep dat old bat quiet please, Dr Thopmson?"

After a while, I got fed up, cos I didn't understand wot was goin on, so when de preist puased for breath, I stood up and sang "I am de Lord of de Dance, said He," which is a famuous hynm about Jessus dancin wot we sings in de Calumny Chappel. Anti Moly had been drinkin Damain's hair-restorrer since 8 a.m. and she jioned in de Dance wiv me.

But apparently in de Lattin litturgy, dis is not what dey does, so I got one or two funny looks from de traddies. Sometimes deys sings de Gregorrian chant, "Ego Dominus saltationis sum, dixit," but dat's all.

After de Mass we went back to Castle Thopmson, where Muvver Odone, de cook, was doin us raviolli for lunch. She alternates between passta and piza, she aint got much imaginatoin. After all dat dancin, Anti Moly said she was so hungry she could eat a horse, and so I left her chewin her way frew de pink one I was givven.