- 26 May 17
Our columnist sets some Orange men right on the correct recitation of their ceremonial toast. Plus: the misplaced admiration for Jean-Claude Juncker and thoughts on the Fine Gael leadership race.
I chanced into the company of a busload of uniformed Orange bands-persons the other day and discovered that not one of them – not one! – could recite the Orange Toast. I refer not to the limp, insipid Loyal Toast which my close neighbour Marty McGuinness and my old school-chum Seamus Heaney (I sometimes softly drop a name) intoned at that dinner in Windsor Castle a couple of years back, where they did their bit for peace and reconciliation in our troubled land. I have in mind, instead, the Toast traditionally orated at ceremonial Orange occasions and closing time in specifically-located pubs.
“To the Glorious, Pious and Immortal memory of King William III, who saved us from rogues and roguery, popes and popery, knaves and knavery, slaves and slavery, brass money and wooden shoes, and whosoever shall deny this toast, let him be rammed, slammed and jammed into the muzzle of the Great Gun of Athlone, and the gun fired into the pope’s belly, and the pope into the devil’s belly, and the devil into hell and the gate locked and the key in an Orangeman’s pocket.”
Great glee around our way at EU Commission president Jean-Claude Juncker giving Theresa May a right going-over for acting the maggot on Brexit.