A prize of f5 was offered for a poem (of

not more than eight liner) to go in a visitors' book which makes the best of things on the lines of a comment heard recently: " Its such a pleasure to dry good glass." Perhaps I should apologise to competitors for introducing what are probably the two most effective stultifiers in the world—a visitors' book and washing-up. Inspiration seems to have found it difficult to survive the double blow. Few of the entries really com- bined the back-handedly exquisite politeness and forgiving resigna- tion that I had in mind with a technique that did not conjure up in every line sympathetic memories of that paralysing last moment when the book is pushed under one's nose. There were, in the less good wholes, some nice " good glass " touches which caught the aesthetic. near-snobbery of the example.

" Inferior toil did not demean us. We washed some high-class ware between us." from Mrs. Rapport. .

" How we laughed as we washed the Rolls And filled the antique jar with coals." from " Arc."

" I love to wash grease from good dishes, I adore sweeping dust from good rugs." from M. K. Vivian.

The prevailing preoccupations were, as no doubt they are among today's hardworking visiting public, the homeliness of the home from home, the superior qualities of other people's sinks—I liked Miss Hilda Cross's useful guest who acquired a wonderful tan on her holiday because the sink faced south and said

" My visit has been a real change, (The sink quite a different height.)"—

the awfulness of other people's dear little children and the truth of the proverb about making your bed and then having to lie on it, which A. M. Sayers summed up in " My bed was vile, but half the blame Was mine, because I made the same."

£1 each to Mrs. Hilda Brooke, Mrs. M. Stanier, R. J. P. Hewison, J. N. Wheeler and H. A. C. Evans, with a slight preference for that order of merit. Runners-up, H. J. Wheeler, who might have qualified for a prize but for a qifestionable rhyme, and W. M. L. Escombe..

PRIZE-WINNERS

[H1LDA BROOKE]

"To dust your Chippendale and Ming, To make your beds that hail from Heals, Has been a treat for me, a thing This honoured guest most deeply feels. Who would not jump at drying up A Georgian spoon or Worcester cup ? How different from my unloved chores The privilege of doing yours ! "

[M. STANIER]

"My sink, my child, my husband, I Abandoned gladly at your cry, Come• visit us.' I came. What then ? Be witness, my departing pen, • A second home from home I found. Scarce have I language to expound The debt I owe, in feeble ink, Your child, your husband and your sink." [R. J. P. HEWISON] " Who carries coals glows doubly warm ; Who makes his bed the softer lies ; Who purges china's gleam and form Of lipstick, mustard, gravy—plies A brush—moves on the loitering dust— Some skill, much merit, has acquired. I would not have my talent rust, Nor see my host and hostess tired."

[J. N. WHEELER] "As thrills the Sinologic soul At touch of `Sung' and stroke of ' Wang ' or Ming.' My ego yearns for,slass or bowl Of timbre fine and true symphonic ring.

I revel at the pantry tap If all I wash up be as clear as crystal. Of luxury I'm in the lap When all 1 dry is Waterford or Bristol."

[H. A. C. EvANs] "I didn't know, but now I know, How cabbages and carrots grow, And that it's requisite to hoe The tender plantlets, row by row, And wage upon each insect foe An unremitting war ; and though Lumbago's all I've got to show, I know these things are good to know."