WHY RUGBY MUST CHANGE ITS TUNE
ENGLISH rugby is considering whether to say no to Swing Low. The song that has struck doom into the heart of every Welsh supporter as its chorus droned across Twickenham is under review from the RFU.
The union – which has used Swing Low Sweet Chariot’s lyrics as a marketing slogan – has now admitted that many England fans are unaware of its origins as a song about slavery.
Sung at matches since the late 1980s and on club rugby tours with accompanying comedic actions for years before that, its adoption has been criticised in the past by academics as “cross-cultural appropriation of a US slave song”.
The Black Lives Matter movement has revived the debate on its use with the RFU acknowledging the need to “educate” rugby followers.
A spokesperson explained: “The RFU has stated we need to do more to achieve diversity and we are determined to accelerate change and grow awareness.
“The Swing Low, Sweet Chariot song has long been part of the culture of rugby and is sung by many who have no awareness of its origins or sensitivities. We are reviewing its historical context and our role in educating fans to make informed decisions.”
In the words of England’s star second rower Maro Itoje, Swing Low’s background is “complicated”.
Yet there are already members of the HQ faithful bleating the inevitable refrain of “political correctness gone mad”, vowing to continue to bellow the song, even though they have only ever bothered learning two lines of it.
The world has always “gone mad” for those who feel their world view is, and always has been, the dominant one.
There is never an acknowledgement that the world can feel a horribly crazy place for those who have never enjoyed that privilege, power and entitlement.
And before we Celtic cousins take the moral high ground on Swing Low, our usual counterpoint of telling England where to stick their Chariots takes on an uncomfortable resonance when we too realise its historical context.
In Wales we also have our own dubious rugby soundtrack. Why, why, why, Delilah?
Stand-up comedian Mike Bubbins cut straight to the chase this week on Twitter: “If the RFU do ban Swing Low Sweet Chariot at England games, could the WRU please ban Delilah at Wales games too? I love Tom Jones but stabbing your girlfriend to death for laughing at you isn’t a great message to put out there. And he has done LOTS of much better songs. Thanks.”
Twitter being Twitter sidestepped by most of the respondents in favour of a discussion of alternate Tom Jones songs. Mike’s right.
There are much better ones. Having produced a documentary to mark the Welsh legend’s 80th birthday recently I’ve listened to every single one of them and even without its nasty line on knifing, Delilah is just a kitsch belter when compared with some of the other classics Sir Tom has made his own. Mike plumped for Help Yourself, Thunderball was a popular choice with its obvious oval potential while Green, Green, Grass of Home seemed an obvious swap until everyone remembered it ends with a public execution. My favourite, meanwhile, came courtesy of Tweeter Dave Thomas: “Lone fan: ‘What’s new pussycat?’ “Entire South Stand: ‘WOOAAAHOOOOHOOOH OAAAH!”
Yet the process of musical osmosis that makes a song a crowd anthem is difficult to manufacture.
But in recent times, in Delilah’s case it seems to be a singalong when the resident male voice choir puts it on the pre-match bill rather than a spontaneous choral decision from the stands (In fact, beyond a burst of Hymns & Arias and half a chorus of Bread of Heaven the Principality Stadium congregation seem incapable of any decent vocal contribution these days anyway).
So it could be dropped with little fanfare without anyone really noticing.
But perhaps it is better to debate its status as a rugby song.
Questioning Delilah’s appropriateness can be a valuable educational exercise.
The statue furore has been deeply divisive yet those who argue removing a controversial monument is somehow tampering with history completely miss the point.
People know a lot more about slavery now than they ever did when Colston’s statue still stood.
Similarly, would we be messing with the sacred culture of rugby “bants” by deciding not to sing a song about a woman getting stabbed?
Or projecting the positive, inclusive and modern face of the game at the heart of Welsh life by saying: “Do you know what, it just doesn’t feel right to see 60 men on the field singing about a woman murdered by her jealous partner.”
The call has been made before to consider rugby’s relationship with this song.
In 2014 Dafydd Iwan – who has left his own mark on the game’s musical heritage with the stirring Yma O Hyd – said it was “a song about murder and it does tend to trivialise the idea of murdering a woman.
“It’s a pity these words now have been elevated to the status of a secondary national anthem.”
Rhondda MP Chris Bryant added to the chorus of disapproval in 2016.
“It is a simple fact that when there are big international rugby matches on, and sometimes football matches as well, the number of domestic violence incidents rises dramatically,” he said.
“I know that some people will say, ‘Oh, here we go, he’s a terrible spoilsport,’ but the truth is that that song is about the murder of a prostitute.”
Adding that there were many other songs that could be sung instead, he said: “I have sung Delilah as well, everybody loves doing the ‘She stood there laughing’ moment, but if we are really going to take this issue seriously in Wales we have to change how we do things.”
I’ve sung Delilah too, in bars and stands from Murrayfield to Melbourne.
And when I was asked by BBC Breakfast Time to give my views when the issue was raised in 2016 I declined because I honestly didn’t know how I felt about it. Within the fun scrum of rugby gatherings, I had belted out those key lyrics many times:
“At break of day when that man drove away, I was waiting.
“I cross the street to her house and she opened the door.
“She stood there laughing... I felt the knife in my hand and she laughed no more.”
But I had not considered its dark side – how it might feel to a woman beaten by her partner that the largely macho world of Welsh rugby championed a song about domestic violence. At the time, the Welsh Rugby Union defended the song by comparing its subject matter to Shakespearean tragedies like Romeo and Juliet.
“Within rugby, Delilah has gained prominence through its musicality rather than because of its lyrics,” a spokesman said.
“There is, however, plenty of precedent in art and literature, prominently in Shakespearean tragedies for instance, for negative aspects of life to be portrayed.”
Yet Delilah was written in 1968, not 1588, and in its view of a woman’s place in society has more in common with the sexist culture of Benny Hill than the tragedies of the Bard (and if we’re really going to go down the classical literature route to excuse it, let’s not forget Romeo didn’t actually kill Juliet).
It looks as if the RFU will encourage supporters not to sing Swing Low rather than attempt to impose a ban.
It becomes a matter of personal choice and conscience.
The same could now apply to Delilah. I, for one, won’t be singing it again.
Sport is reflective of our society but it can also change it.
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Rugby now has an opportunity to make a difference, make us think about race and gender and highlight the values the game should project.
Changing the tune on outdated attitudes will ensure that when it comes to equality and diversity we are all singing from the same song sheet. » Read Laura McAllister & Sara Robinson’s columns: Magazine