COMPETITION

Telling tales

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2128 you were invited to invent comic tales which could be entitled 'The ivy-tree', 'The two scholars and one pair of breeches' or 'Taffy in the sedan-chair'.

The short story of Oliver Goldsmith in which these funny stories are mentioned but not related is intriguingly called 'A Curious Inconsistency of the Man in Black' — that's as much as I know. What sort of jokes were they? Ponderously pedantic? Risque? Racist? Shaggy dog? Punning? We shall never know. It was hard on you to be asked to think up jests from a cold start, and I sensed the strain. The prizewinners, printed below, who emerged clear of the humorous ruck, get £20 each, and the bot- tie of the Macallan Single Malt Highland Scotch whisky goes to Andrew Brison, for whom brevity proved the soul of wit.

A young man, having paid one of his secret visits to his girlfriend's bedroom, was climbing down when the ivy branches alerted her mother who rushed out to confront him. 'You've been up our ivy, my lad, haven't you?' Begging your pardon, ma'am,' replied the stunned suitor. 'It's your Rose I've been seeing.'

(Andrew Brison) We were rehearsing our annual pantomime, Cinderella, in the chapel. My friend, Taffy, was playing one of the two brokers' men.

Unfortunately, he'd fallen for the girl playing Cinderella and his wife was always trying to catch them at it.

As amateurs we couldn't afford a splendid carriage so we improvised by using a sedan-chair in which the brokers' men transported Cinderella to the ball. One night, his wife while searching for Taffy, pulled back the sedan-chair curtains and discovered him in flagrante delicto with Cinderella.

'Er . . I was looking for Buttons,' Taffy explained lamely. It seems you found most of them,' his wife responded drily.

(R.J. Pickles) When my father sang at King's, he and another choral scholar accepted a wager to exchange clothes during the closing prayers of Evensong. Jackets were removed under cover of surplices and passed discreetly from hand to hand along the stalls, followed by shirts and shoes. However, one pair of trousers was impishly misappropriat- ed en route. The remaining pair was subjected to a surreptitious but keenly contested tug-of-war, which my father lost. He was naturally in some trepidation at the thought of processing before the Provost in his underclothes. Wisely choosing not to exit with the choir and clergy, he remained immovably on his knees until the chapel was empty. Later the Provost remarked how impressed he was by such piety, and advised my father to consider holy orders. 'I suspect,' said the Provost, 'that your particular calling would be to the needy — clothing the naked etc.'

(Philip Irwin) Two students of the Law, Masters Peter and John, had between them but one pair of breech- es, which by agreement they wore alternately, to

the puzzlement of their lecturer, Dr Swyvewell. One day, Master John having failed to return from an overnight escapade, Master Peter was obliged to sally forth with no more covering his legs than a hasty smearing of soot from the chimney. Alas, the wind, taking his gown, blew the soot away, and his stratagem (and much else) was uncovered. When arraigned for a breach of the peace before the Proctor, who was none other than Dr Swyvewell, Master Peter confessed. The good doctor, seeing how matters were, declared that a breach of the peace there may have been, but since it had been caused by more in the breach than the observance, he would let Master Peter go, and rusticate Master

John for breach of promise. (Noel Petty) Two scholars disputed the ownership of a pair of breeches. 'They're mine,' said the first. 'I know by the stitching.' No,' said the second. 'Mine have the same stitching but the braiding proves they're mine.' Insufficient proof,' argued the first. Then, sniffing the breeches, he exclaimed, 'God, how they stink!' They're not mine,' the second conceded. 'They're the wrong colour.' And he left. Thus the craftier scholar acquired a fine pair of breeches. Taffy, half-deaf, had never been in a sedan chair. Told what it was he asked: 'A what chair?' 'Sedan!' shouted the passer-by, whereupon Taffy punched him. 'Nobody tells Taffy to sit down!'

(Frank McDonald) One day, Taffy bets Dai that he, Taffy, can turn up legless but stone-cold sober in the bar that night. So, an hour or so before closing time, Dai and his mates become aware of a rumpus out- side. They go out and see an irate Taffy sitting in a sedan-chair of all things and Jones, the land- lord, telling him it's a vehicle and has to be parked outside, he can't bring it into the bar. 'Ha!' says Dai. 'Looks like you've completely lost the plot this time, Taff! Either that,' and he points at the sedan, 'or the wheels really have come off!'

(Andrew Gibbons)

No. 2131: Class hatred

'How beastly the bougeois is,/Especially the male of the species.' These are the first two lines of a free-verse poem by D.H. Lawrence. You are invited to add 14 lines to them in the same spirit. Entries to 'Competition No. 2131' by 6 April.