No. 1369: The winners
Jaspistos reports: Competitors were asked to provide a plausible passage of prose containing twelve given words (each har- bouring the consecutive letters one) which might bear the title 'The Hidden One'.
The joker in the pack was Dantonesque. Joyce Johnson, cunningly but unaccept- ably, missed it out altogether, making it the 'hidden one'. P. M. G. Shiel solved the problem with a Carlylean piece on the French Revolution but fell down by using propositioned as if it could mean 'prop- osed'. I also found fault with those of you who referred to bone-dry wine (which would surely be devoid of liquid, powdered perhaps) or to overdone minestrone (a culinary concept which I cannot grasp).
I. C. Snell finished with a wildly extrava- gant flourish: 'Suddenly, there she was, concealed fourfold among Eton-educated Jones's Dantonesque clones!' N. E. Soret, John E. Brown and Ralph Rochester are unlucky losers, especially the last, who ingeniously used many of the stipulated words in malapropisms of a foreign profes- sor: 'It is less credible that after his celebrated meeting with Mrs Thatcher he announced that he had propositioned the prime minestrone; and the story of falling off the motor-cyclone is clearly overdone.' The winners get £10 apiece, and the bonus bottle of Cognac Courvoisier VSOP goes to Gerard Benson, who, 'crouched on the rock ledge', will be glad to have it.
Crouched on the rock ledge without food or water, my mouth bone-dry, I waited all day for the excitement to subside. My oratory had been, I knew, a little overdone, Dantonesque even by some standards, but I had not anticipated the absolute cyclone of vicious reaction my denun- ciation would provoke. It was common know- ledge that the auctioneer was dishonest, so why should my saying so have led to such scenes? That hideous crone, his mistress, had hurled a plate of minestrone in my face, but her irra- tionality was well-known; why, two days pre- viously she'd claimed that I'd propositioned her! But the others! Why had they turned on me? Dione had even drawn a blpde! One second's delay and I'd have been a goner.
I watched them searching the hillside. Sooner or later they'd find my boot-prints. In my eyrie I reflected lonelily and rather hopelessly on my
prospects. (Gerard Benson) Rasnik's bodyguards rushed Bond into the laboratory. In the centre stood a huge steel
cyclone. Bond raised his eyebrows. 'For you, Mr Bond,' said Rasnik. 'We place you inside, press the time-switch, and twenty minutes later . . . minestrone. Alas, the heat is sometimes over- done and our soup is dry. Bone-dry, you might say.' Bond was thrust inside. 'I feel like your famous Mr Christie,' said Rasnik. 'No, not the murderer, the auctioneer. You are going, going . . .' He pressed the time-switch. 'You are a goner. Goodbye, Mr Bond.'
Bond peered out lonelily at the deserted lab. He had propositioned his way out of worse predicaments; sooner or later, surely, some beautiful girl would come and . . . From behind the control panel appeared an appalling, tooth- less crone. 'If I stop the clock, will you . . .?' Bond winced. Would it be too dishonest? Then, Dantonesque, he thought, 'Toujours de l'audace,' and buckled to his task. (Noel Petty) I have always lived well, if somewhat lonelily. One Sunday afternoon, having polished off my minestrone and put the meat in the oven, I embarked on my usual between-course stroll, but no sooner had I entered the park than the rain came down and a veritable cyclone prop- elled me against an elderly lady, who im- mediately said I had propositioned her! An auctioneer of standing who realised he could be a goner, I was defending myself with all the Dantonesque skill I could muster when a young woman suddenly confronted my accuser with a flurry of words which quickly put the dishonest old crone to flight. Brightly explaining that she had seen everything from the shelter of a nearby hollow tree-trunk, my rescuer departed, lucky indeed to have declined my invitation to lunch, for on arriving home I found my overdone joint completely bone-dry, and quite uneatable!
(Frank Lanning)
I prefer to drink my minestrone at the Trat alone. I don't like being propositioned, whether it's by the wheezy tones of the old crone demanding 10p, or by the cloned smile of the zealous young man from the office next door, asking if I know Jesus. ' "Not yet" means "no",' he says. 'Unless you commit yourself right here and now, you're a goner.' It's all rather overdone — and a little dishonest. I cannot bring myself to trust this auctioneer of plastic joy and pedlar of cheap grace.
I leave and walk lonelily down the street. I know that I must keep going, Dantonesque, with boldness, more boldness, always boldness. Sooner or later my eyes will be opened. One day life will be breathed into my hone-dry state, as Ezekiel prophesied; and, like Elijah, I shall find Him, not in the earthquake or the cyclone, but in the still, small voice.
Playing lonelily by the pond, I was startled by thunder. It had been bone-dry for weeks; now there burst a veritable cyclone. Emerging at length from my refuge, I encountered a mass of infant frogs, presumably deposited by the wind. My contemplation was interrupted by cousin Eric, who propositioned me: 'Bet you couldn't pick up a frog.' To say I was fearless would be dishonest, but I would sooner have died than face Eric's gibes, so I gingerly complied.
Just then we were summoned to dinner by Great-aunt Augusta, a sour old crone with Dantonesque sense of justice and a face like an overdone suet pudding. My efforts at eating with one hand soon attracted her attention. Banging the table like an auctioneer, she bellowed, 'Eat your food properly, child!' Suddenly salvation dawned. Into the minestrone went the frog. He was a goner, but I was saved.
(Nicholas Hodgson) (0. Smith)
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