IT WOULD BE SOMEWHAT AMISS of me to allow a state ceremonial occasion, such as the incinerating of the last remains of Britain's most important prime minister of the XX century, to go without a fitting word of recognition. And thus, as I feel it my duty to do so, I would like to add my words to those of so many who have committed key to screen over the last, upsetting days.
IN A GOOD WORLD, prime ministers would die in office, whether killed by lunatics who had ill-will toward them, or due to old age, having been good, decent, knowing and sensible folk for a long time. Dame Margaret Hilda Thatcher never had the chance to choose her end, having been beaten into submission by the very people she had promoted to power. This is a matter that those who have strong feelings on this issue should consider.
IN THE MEANTIME I THINK I SHOULD suggest, for those who have short memories, or who never go to the musical theatre, an excerpt from "South Atlantic", the famous Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II production, with its book by Joshua Logan:
We got sunlight on the sand,
We got moonlight on the sea,
We got bilberries and raspberries
You can eat them off your knee,
We got volleyball and ping-pong
And a lot of dandy games!
What ain't we got?
We ain't got dames!
No comments:
Post a Comment