My children tell me I have taken to shouting in the street. The fact that I was shouting “Heil!” may require explanation. I was, in fact, singing a comic song. Personally, I consider them a trenchant commentary on current events. The royal family’s holiday snaps reminded me of Der Fuehrer’s Face, a catchy little number that positively demands a heartfelt Seig Heil!: “Ven der fuehrer says ve are der master race / Ve heil, ve heil right in der fuehrer’s face / Not to love der fuehrer is a great disgrace / Ve heil, ve heil right in der fuehrer’s face.”
The only other living soul to remember Der Fuehrer’s face is probably Mel Brooks, who owes it a debt of gratitude for Springtime for Hitler. Or, possibly, royalties. Talking of which, the Queen and Prince Philip certainly remember it. You have to be pushing 90.
Recently when the Greeks showed what they were made of, I remembered this one as if it were yesterday: “O…h! What a surprise for the Duce, the Duce / He can’t put it over the Greeks / O…h! what a surprise for the Duce, the Duce / With Adolf his name simply reeks.”
But it wasn’t yesterday. It was 1940. Mussolini had invaded Greece and, as Captain Bertorelli would put it later, “Oh what-a mistake-a he make-a!” It all went wonderfully well for the Greeks for a while, until the Germans arrived in a mood. As they tend to.
While O…h What a Surprise for the Duce was a British number, and sung by ladies with marcel waves and names like Elsie and Florence, Der Fuehrer’s Face was American and given plenty of oompah by Spike Jones and his City Slickers. A moustache was encouraged. A raspberry was compulsory.
Now I realise that I am apt to celebrate the news in song, I wonder a bit nervously what the next big thing will be. Perhaps the BBC will be under attack again. There is a song about that too. When Peter Black, a TV critic, wrote a history of the BBC, he called it The Biggest Aspidistra in the World and was beamingly pleased with the analogy. The aspidistra thrives in a corner of the living room. It is not a flashy plant and is, currently, unfashionable. It is, however, unsurpassable for sheer bloodymindedness. Try as you might, you cannot kill the thing. Its enemies rarely come off so well. According to Our Gracie (another of those Elsie and Florence names) it was our secret weapon during the war. “We’re going to ‘ang old ‘itler / From the very ‘ighest bough / Of the biggest arse-pidistra in the world.”
Did I mention that comic songs are invariably rude?
