Fantasia on a theme of British Composers
© Elwood Herring, St. George's day 2002
(Some of this is true, some isn't. That's poetic licence for you.)


Elgar is sleeping near Glastonbury Tor,
His Pomp & his Circumstance framed by the door.
As Gordon and Jacob both stifle a snore,
He dreams the complete works of Nicholas Maw.

Sir William Walton; arise, noble knight,
They'll toast your Facade at the banquet tonight.
While Gustav, bespectacled; frail since the crib
Paints planetary quavers via fingertip nib.

Young Benjamin sits in Mark Anthony's chair
Whilst Eric and Frederick sniff the spring air.
"A tum and a tee, then a tum-ti-tum too,
The coda's quite easy, I'll leave it to you."

The Cornishman Lloyd wends downhill to Penzance
To meet Arthur Sullivan doing a dance.
He stomps on an iPod with frenzied delight,
And shouts in his phonograph horn, "I WAS RIGHT!"  

Cornelius Cardew (composer or artist?)
Debates with Sorabji on who is the smarter...
The confusion's compounded by Benjamin Britten
(Who can't decode anything either has written!)

Vaughan-Williams' antarctic excursion; t'was grim,
The chances of warming to that were quite slim.
The cockney Stokowski conducted with style.
(He Rattled the cage of the critics awhile!)

And far out to sea, near the Old Man of Hoy,
The sage they call Maxwell works hard at his ploy;
To rescue his art from the madness of kings,
While Tippet looks inward and spiritually sings.

Then late in the night, at the foot of the stairs
The spectre of Havergal Brian appears.
"Where's my Prometheus?" booms the great muse,
"The score that the BBC managed to lose!"

NEW VERSE added 2007:
I nearly forgot Malcolm Arnold (How could I?)
Surveying the scene with his one sober good eye:
Deciding where everyone's going to sit
(With the help of the Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra Pit!)

When Britten was British, and also was Scott,
And Ireland was English, (But Englund was not)
The twentieth century brought forth a wealth
Of this country's composers - I drink to their health!