No. 505: The winners
Trevor Grove reports: Competitors were asked to submit extracts from a revolution diary kept during some civil disturbance not, on this occa- sion, in France, but in England: a not entirely fanciful situation, most entries seemed to suggest. The possibilities are manifold—what about commuter power on the Southern region?—nevertheless, most competitors opted for the students as the most likely source of insurrection. Here's Martin Fagg, for instance, who wins five guineas: Lewis Eliot's Revolution Diary, Friday: Open- ing The Times to discover whether anybody who was anybody was dead, I noticed that Guttering, having deposited my breakfast tray, was hovering. He looked haggard, broken, slightly troubled.
'Excuse me, sir,' he stuttered with wholly excusable deference, 'but the College has risen..
At first, a vision of the College as some kind of vast, academic soufflé tilled my mind. Sternly suppressing such frivolous but witty fantasy, I was shocked, outraged, mildly surprised. With an icy calm matured by ruthless self-discipline, I seized the telephone and began dialling intrepidly.
'Is that you, Tutor of Admissions, Estates Bursar, Tufnell Gold Medallist for Latin Elegiacs and Sometime Chauntecieere Fellow of Comparative Philology?' I rapped out, grimly aware that there was not a moment to lose if we were to mount an effective counter-stroke against the insurrectionists, who might even now be swilling vintage Dow's in the Combination Room . . .
And talking of commuter power. here's a particularly appropriate 'Then and Now' from Edward Samson, who wins three guineas: Fifth day of ostlers' Do-naught Movement against the Iron Horse. A contradiction, but damnably inconvenient. No post-coaches arrive. Anxious for news of Amelia in London where, they say, traffic has ceased.
Today grooms and stable-lads join protest. Not a horse abroad this week. A no-horse town, indeed! My rosebeds need manure.
Lord Sternum tends his six hunters alone, and mighty irritable. His footmen draw his phaeton with him in shouting, 'Victoria Tan- dem,' the family motto. Hay-merchants have joined protest in sympathy. Strange for such unsympathetic rogues! Have walked much, which improves my figure and ruins my temper.
Do-naughters invaded Rose and Crown bear- ing banners inscribed No Corn in the Cob,' 'Post or Rails,' and similar nonsense. Surprised the rascals can spell. At last; Militia (19th Foot) arrived, led by weary, pedestrian Major. This should restore peace, though Amelia will soon return.
An honourable mention to Charles Lyall, and a final three guineas to Tim O'Dowda:
Parson Woodforde's Diary, 1793, 28 June: Silas Moulting came to me this forenoon with per- turbing intelligence from Little Dunchcombe, where the labourers, infected with vile Jaco-
binical notions from across the Channel, have risen up against their appointed masters, who, remonstrating with them, were driven from their own fields at pitchfork point. For dinner: Rout Venison, Hashed Goose, Devilled Sweetbreads, a Chine of Mutton Dressed, Damson Tartlets, Jellies, Trifles and Syllabubs.
29 June: More reassuring news from Little Dunchcombe, where the aforementioned labourers were overpowered last evening and given into custody. They will doubtless now be either transported or hanged, poor deluded fel- lows. It is put forward in extenuation of their fault that their children were starving owing to the late dearth, but this is small excuse for dis- turbing the King's Peace. For dinner : a Turkey Stuffed, Sirloin of Beef, Kidney Pie, a Fricassee of Veal, Sundry Rich Puddings and a Quantity of Madeira.
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