PERSONAL COLUMN

A farewell to arms

SIMON RAVEN

During one of the sillier periods of my youth, I decided that it would be nice to be armigerous. I therefore wrote off to the Heralds' College to request that a grant of arms might be procured for me in the

degree of esquire (since I was at that time a serving regular officer and so entitled to such a style) and received a courteous letter back from Rouge Portcullis or some- one of the sort, who informed me that

something could likely enough be arranged but whatever it was would be expensive.

As far as I remember, the devising of my arms would cost above £200, their registra- tion a further £200, and a hand-painted reproduction of them about E150 more; and all this was to say nothing of crest and motto, both of which would be extra.

At this stage snobbishness yielded to parsimony. Simple faith, I told myself, counted for more than Norman blood; I would rest my claim to gentility on my merits, which had no need of certification

by the Heralds. And yet, I still hankered. It would have been so very agreeable, I told myself, to sport a signet ring with my crest

on it, so very amusing to take advantage of that charming paragraph in Army dress regulations which stated that officers might cause their mottoes, should these be duly authenticated by the College of Arms, to be chased on their swords. One's own motto on one's own sword . . . now there was chivalry for you. True, I wasn't even worth a place in the battalion sabre team and was the despair of the !ism when it came to sword drill; but somehow a motto on my blade would make up for all that. Fantasy proliferated . . .

. . Captain Raven, sir, kindly stop waving that sword about like a spare pr—k.' `RSM, you're insulting the blood of the Ravens.'

'Insulting the what?'

'We Ravens, RSM, are now of gentle blood. Armigerous. Which means that we are pri- vileged to bear our motto on our swords, these being the symbol of our honour.'

'In which case, sir—cringing-1 most humbly apologise for calling yours a spare pr—k.'

'Enough, RSM.' Haughty. And then mag- nanimous: 'Pray say no more about it.'

But all this was getting me nowhere. In the first place I hadn't yet got a motto and in the second it would need the authorisa- tion of the Heralds. So I wrote back to Rouge Portcullis (or whomever) to inquire whether it might not be possible, at a some- what cheaper rate, to register a crest or simply a motto without also registering arms; and then I set to work to devise the motto itself.

The first thing to decide, I thought, was the kind of sentiment I wished to convey. Since the motto was to go on a sword, it must certainly have a streak of arrogance; but then all the best arrogant mottoes (e.g. Nemo Me Impune Lacessit) were already

booked and in any case were purely ar- rogant and nothing more, whereat my motto must be a great deal more. For example,

I wished to make it plain that I was a civilised man as well as a soldier, that I knew a thing or two, that I had a pretty wit. Furthermore, in those days I rather favoured an element of idealism or at least of Romance (for the whole conception, after all, was knightly) while at the same time I wanted a dash of cynicism to show that I wasn't a booby Don Quixote. An autobio- graphical or family reference would not be inappropriate; a hint of hard-headed practi- cal capacity might recommend me to my superiors; and then it was always as well to display a touch of modesty or reverence to placate the gods, who (as I realised even then) were hostile to excessive pride.

All in all, quite a lot to pack into a single motto. But Rouge Portcullis was taking a long time to answer, so I had leisure for experiment. The arrogance, I decided, should come from the sound or ring of the words rather than their actual sense: this meant that my motto should either be in Latin (a language which can never be less than seignorial), or largely in monosyllables, so arranged as to give the thing a punch, or, possibly, in both. I was thus obliged to rule out Greek for the good reason that Greek monosyllables, unlike Latin or English ones, are unimpressive to the modern ear and are mostly particles of rather finicking signi- ficance. Whatever my motto was to be, it must not be finicking.

The best way of demonstrating my worldliness and wit, I considered, might lie in taking some well known quotation and inverting it (the old Wilde technique) or parodying it with ironic intent: for instance, vice 'Manners Makyth Man', Man Makyth Manners, an equally true assertion and one with philosophic undertones. The element of idealistic Romance was going to be diffi- cult, but this might be fabricated (at a need) by substituting old French for Latin or imparting a mild flavour of Malory to the English, if English at last I decided on— 'This stoned and anvil', something like that. Family pietas indicated some mention of raven or of bird, which would be compli- cated by the fact that the Latin for raven is often mistranslated 'crow'; and amour propre required allusion to my personal achievements, which were nil. I must allude to my aspirations instead: so why not take Malory's 'This questing beast' and emend it to 'This questing bird', thus cramming ro- mance, errantry, family provenance and per- sonal endeavour into three words, two of which, for good measure, were mono- syllabic? Although such a motto would have a note of pride, it was too modest to annoy the gods (whose jealousy is reserved for finders rather than questers), and it would convey to my superiors a general impres- sion of energy without committing me to any particular practical skill.

But somehow the thing wouldn't do. It was too dewy-eyed and it hadn't got zing. For a time, wearied by the search, I toyed with the notion of something openly rebel- lious or, perhaps better, just decadent:

something to set heads shaking and insin- uate scandal. 'In Youth is Pleasure' I thought

might be elegant, hinting at the sword as a priapic symbol: while Video meliora pro- boque, Deteriora sequor CI see the stars but seek the stews') would pursue the phallic metaphor to a strongly satirical conclusion. Or again, a play on our regimental motto might be fun; this was Aucto Splendore Resurgo, and I fancied that Aucto Splen- dore Regurgo, while of dubious latinity, might cause a lot of annoyance. 'Dis- honour before Death' was a sentiment I heartily subscribed to in my less martial moods; Ante Omnia Vinum had a jolly pagan air; 'Nothing Venture, Nothing Lose' had a strong appeal in all tactical contexts with which I was acquainted; and Falstaff's observation'that 'A Soldier is better accom- modated than with a Wife' was a piece of sterling common sense which would infuri- ate the regimental ladies.

But in the end my sense of responsibility prevailed, and I resumed serious inquiry. Perhaps a biblical reference would be the answer: something about the ravens feed- ing Elijah? Both edifying and practical. But then Elijah was so unattractive a character, so boorish and fanatical, that even in my conforming mood I wanted no part in him. What else were ravens famous for, in sacred or secular writ? Well, they lived a long time, they were birds of ill omen, they were much feared and admired in the Ionian Islands, and were known to haunt Phiscardo in Cephalonia, where Robert the Guiscard had died while campaigning against the Byzantines. Something about the Guiscard's soul having passed into the ravens? No; too elaborate. Poe's raven then; anything in this? No; that spiteful and repetitious bird, poking its face round people's chamber doors and nagging at them—who would claim kinship there? Shelley had 'obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead', which wasn't the image one wanted; Aytoun had compared 'the Grim Geneva Ministers' to ravens flocking, which was almost as bad; and there was some ballad about Three Ravens sitting on a tree and planning how to steal their breakfast, which was the most degrading locus classi- cus of the lot.

Back to first principles then; Latin and/or monosyllables ... 'The Show Must Go On'? Suitable in spirit and salutary in an age of state-subsidised malingerers (which was even then the case), but somehow . . . well . . . rather . . . well . . . common. Try again: monosyllables . . . aspiration and Romance . . . modesty . . . 'Thy Will Be Done'? But not worldly enough, not witty (unless the 'Thy' were taken to apply to the sword itself, in which case it was positively fas- cist). But ah—now I had it: wit by inver- sion of the familiar: not 'Thy Will Be Done' but 'My Will be Done'. Perfect. It was entirely fitting for an officer of the Queen; it had a definite ring; it spoke of endeavour, etc, etc; and if there was no family refer- ence (and not much modesty), well, one couldn't have everything.

And then I heard from Rouge Portcullis again. No, he said, I could not have a crest or a motto without a coat of arms. Chivalry was not to be had on the cheap; it was pos- sible, however, if I was willing to order the whole package, that some sort of instalment plan might be arranged ... so would I please fill in the enclosed form. But when I got down to 'Motto', my heart failed me. How could I register this as 'My Will be Done' when I was paying for it on hire-purchase? I remain non-armigerous to this day.