prize cf£.5 was offered for the most surprising, interesting or

anuising'Earliest Recollection,' whirrs could be personal and genuine (but so far unpublished) or pure fiction, fathered on any prcminent historical or public figure.

The rntries for this competition were fairly evenly d yid, d between the genuine and the spout ; but I regret to add that most of the gi nu:ne recollect' ons seemed to me deplor- f bly flat. Whether or not truth imitates fiction, it sums clear that fiction can improve upon fact—'n this competition, anyhow. Th.; spoof recollections best worth mention- ing (not including the winners) were those of Judas (P,bwob), Joad (Katy), Pcpys (Douglas Hawson), Darwin (R. B. Brown- ing), Lady Godiva (Nancy Gunter) and Roger Bannister (R. M. Anthony). None of the gt nuine ones came anywhere near to the fascinating story of Sir Edmund Gosse and the leg of mutton in quality, but good ones were sent in by Miss G. 0. Jones, who

remembered sprinkling pepper on the milk pudding; David Heggie, who related in verse how he was persuaded when very young to pick up a hot horseshoe; and M. Callaghan who, sent out to buy hairpins, was asked by the shopgirl:' What kind?' and replied, primly : 'Ladies', please.'

For winners I have chosen two genuine recollections, one amusing, the other inter- esting, by J. Aitken and P. M. respectively; a fictional recollection by M. R. Tannaltill; and an entry in characteristically neat verse, whose classification I cannot be quite sure about, by R. Kennard Davis. They share the prize equally.

PRIZES

J. AITKEN)

When I was about two years old, my younger sister was christened in an Edinburgh church. A large congregation stayed on after morning service to be present at the ceremony. At the conclusion the minister, a dignified and reverend old man in black Geneva gown and, doctor's hood, asked those present to pray for the father and mother of the child. At that moment a small figure shook herself free from restraining hands, and, plucking at his gown, said in clear childish treble, 'And me too.'

So my earliest recollection is of my face being pressed close against my young uncle's coat, as, with great presence of mind, he picked me up, and carried me out of the church. Such a spontaneous outburst was an unseemly and startling interruption of the order and decorum of Presbyterian worship.

(P. M.)

At about the age of four I was one day sitting on the carpet watching an aunt do her hair at the dressing-table 'mirror when the door behind me opened, and to my astonishment I realised I was seeing my mother come in, although I had not turned to look. I still remember my thrill of excitement at this strange discovery about the nature of mirrors—and also my utter inability to explain what had caused my cry of delighted surprise.

(M. R. TANNAHILL)

(Estract from an Autobiography by the Editor of the Spectator.)

Often, in after years, it is surprisingly difficult to estimate the value of one's early recollections. Does one actually remember an incident, or is memory but a composite of the casual reminis-

say without hesitation, 'I remember. . . Indeed, the occasion impressed itself upon me so vividly at the time that I knew then, and with remarkable clarity for a four-year-old, that here was an experience I should never forget. Perhaps the future was casting its shadow before. Perhaps I sensed the first stirrings of the primeval urge to conquer. Whichever was the case, the encounter• with the man to whom I was then introduced held something of the frightening quality of a nightmare. I know I shivered when my Mother said, 'Now Walter dear, shake hands nicely. This is Mr. Kingsley Martin.'

(It. KENNARD DAVIS)

I remember, I remember The house where I was born,

The nursery, with its wallpaper By tiny fingers torn, The dining-room, the drawing-room, The servants' huddled lairs; But the thing that always beats me, is, I can't recall the stairs! I try to reconstruct the place, Lying awake at night, And wonder, did that staircase Wind upward left or right? Where did it reach the landing?

How did it leave the hall?

Sometimes I think the blessed house

Had got no stairs at all!

I remember, I remember, As clearly as can be The kitchen and the scullery, The bathroom al & C), But how I reached my bedroom,

Or left the floor below—

The place has been demolished, and never, never know!