COMPETITION

No. 635: Her infinite variety

Set by Jane Doe: 'Uncertain, coy and hard to please' seems as doubt- fully relevant as 'ministering angel' in these days of Women's Lib, militant feminism and equality of the sexes, not to mention the dolly scene. With all these in mind, com- petitors are invited to bring the subject up to date with not more than sixteen lines of verse on modern Woman, or Women, in particular or in general, or in a group. Entries, marked 'Competi- tion No. 635', by 1 January.

No 632: The winners

Charles Seaton reports: Asked to compose seasonal greetings to any well known persons, competitors nominated a long and wide-ranging list. Since what happens to us next year depends so largely on what he does (or doesn't), Edward Heath not unreasonably topped the list. Two guineas go to a nautical entry from Whangarei, New Zea- land, which made the closing date in good time: A Merry Christmas, Mr Heath, From fellow yachtsmen here beneath The Southern Cross.

The 'Morning Cloud' is not to start In this year's Sydney to Hobart, Because you're boss, Or skipper, of a different ship, And while you stem the vicious rip, By Enoch's shoals, And trim to meet inflation's blast, Or navigate discreetly past Opinion polls And ride the stormy EEC, We shall drink your health with glee, And wish you strength of arm to steer, Into a happier. New Year.

Christopher Kennedy Runner-up in numbers was, strangely enough, Lord Hall, for- merly of the Post Office ('your old job "went thataway" '—Maud Gracechurch), and thereafter poli- ticians came in hordes, to the virtual exclusion of everybody else.

There was a general anticipation that Lord George-Brown would be in season over Christmas. Lord Robens of Woldingham ('Alfred the Grate'—Roger Woddis) was, of course, a topical figure, as was Christopher Chataway, whom G. J. Blundell addressed thus: . . Meanwhile I send, times being hard, At cut-price rates, this Christmas card. A fourpenny stamp, in colours gay, Will, I hope, speed it on its way. This year's the last (forgive the pun!) For giving you a fourpenny one.

Still on politics, B. J. Kennedy (to Geoffrey Rippon) conjured up this rhyme for 'Christmas': And may we stay an island— Who wants a bloody isthmus? Wishing you, sincerely, A Merry Dickens Christmas.

Even the SPECTATOR had its share of greetings—including one for that unlikely recipient, 'A Conser- vative' ('If thou art plural, please substitute "you" for "thee" '—E. 0. Parrott) and this one for the editor from T. Griffiths (two guin- eas):

A Happy Christmas, Mr Gale! And best of wishes for your paper. May it meet the New Year hale. Speaking as a mere spectator, Somewhat apolitical, I once preferred it to its rival As being less encyclical 'About Millennium's arrival. Happy days that then allowed Levin's laughter, Brien's ego, Before political Macleod, And Mr Lawson's Tory credo! May the politics of wit

Your readers once again regale Free of the Central Office bit ... A happy Christmas, Mr Gale! Sean Lam's acerbity towards

Barbara Castle: To you, intolerant Mrs Castle I am dispatching no Christmas pestle: The coldest Christmas Greetings,

Barbara—

For your hypocrisy I harbara Feeling which I fear is indicative Of nausea for your words vindicative; For the vehement way in which you rail About resisting with tooth and

with nail

A law you yourself tried to introduce, Yet which now you greet w;th vulgar ahuce.

A course of such sienal sterility Ouite strips you of all credibility For all time, in the eyes of men and God.

O shadow Minister of Emp and Prod.

Yet still accept, T bee,

without offence. This frostiest of Season's Complimence. wins two guineas. Even., more un- comnlimentary was Richard Pro- byn's greetine(?) to Clive Jenkins, which wins three guineas: Snide know-all, un/vtliever glib, For von. the boasted infidel, No stable, star or manger-crib, No shephei-ds watch; no First

Nowell.

In your smug heart, no lebensraum For Joseph. Mary, shepherds.

K No Stile Nacht, no Tannenbaitntnels; For you, no Herald Angel sings. No morn of Christ's Nativity, No gold or frankincense or myrrh Melts your insensitivity—

A load of rubbish, you aver. Like Tiny Tim. excluding none, Still for a greeting we must strive; And so, God bless us, every one, Including septic sceptic Clive.

But, finally, for a greetine both topical and temperate T award four guineas to Elsie Moody:

Workers watch their clocks by Toiling in diminished light; Angels sine, but here below

Power and glory both go slown '

slow;

night, Giving up a whole day's pay. Wise men must have lost their way. Oven cold—oven hot—

Can't they settle who-does-what? Must the media again

Bring bad tidings to all men? May your brain-child, brought to Give at last some peace on earitrth,

t Harmony (in place of strife?), Tolerance, a decent life.

Twinkle, twinkle, Robert Carr— Let us see how bright you arc!

Deserving (but, alas, unreward- ed) runners-up include Miss Irene Poulton, B. L. Howarth, N. I- Rock, and P. M.