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COMPETITION

Hey-nonny-no

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1878 you were given two lines which were inscribed on the infant Aldous Huxley's milk mug, and asked to add further lines.

Sybille Bedford, in her biography of Huxley, from which I took this quaint piece of information, failed to notice two things: one, that the lines are a bit of culture (as they would be in a Huxley household), and two, that they are a misquotation (which they shouldn't be in a Huxley household). They are part of King Gama's Song in Princess Ida. Here is the relevant quatrain: 0, don't the days seem lank and long When all goes right and nothing goes wrong, And isn't your life extremely flat With nothing whatever to grumble at! No matter; I was ready for any theme or mood, hey-nonny-no or hey-yippy-yes, and you fertilely obliged. The prizewinners, printed below, get £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky goes to Hilary Wade. The last word on the Perfect Murder competition that never was came in a note from Dominica Roberts which saves face nicely on both sides: 'I'm sure I am not alone in suspect- ing that my entry was just too good for you to print without fear of copycat crimes. I applaud your belated sense of responsibili- ty'

Oh, isn't the world extremely flat With nothing whatever to grumble at!

Well-behaved children ought to be Content with its patent planarity, Nor fly in the face of common sense With spurious circular arguments Derived from the worst authorities!

Columbus, you say? He was one of these.

In fourteen hundred and ninety-two Columbus assembled a reckless crew And set out to prove the Earth was curved!

What happened was no more than he deserved.

He sailed off the edge, and might have died

But for the contrariness of the tide.

And only the lunatic now persists In claiming the US of A exists.

Moral

Be stalwart, my son, and laugh to,shame The Round Earth Society's fatuous claim!

(Hilary Wade) Oh, isn't the world extremely flat With nothing whatever to grumble at! And the sky as blue as the sea is green With nothing but salty air between!

Oh, isn't the season always right For the time of year and time of night! And the frost as crisp as a linen crease, And snow as deep as the finest fleece!

With night so quiet and deep and dark As to quicken the pulse of the local lark! And doesn't the sun seem always new As it dries the morning's eyes of dew!

Oh, doesn't the day have a perfect start To gladden even a hermit's heart! And isn't our daily life sublime And a pleasant place to spend our time!

Oh, isn't it hunky-dory, Lord!

We wouldn't have this if we lived abroad.

(Bill Greenwell) Oh, isn't the world extremely flat With nothing whatever to grumble at!

I can't deny I want to cry At the latest family news: Mother-in-law has locked her door And gone on a lengthy cruise.

Oh, what's to be done with a useful son, A thoroughly worthy sort?

I anguish most when obliged to boast Of his excellent school report.

I'm quite upset — I placed a bet (Though in gambling I'm unversed): The wretched horse has stayed the course And gaily romped home first!

(D.B. Jenkinson) Oh, isn't the world extremely flat With nothing whatever to grumble at!

The sheep's in the meadow, the trout's in the stream, The dog's got the bone and the cat's got the cream; The cow's in the stall, the ink's in the pen, The pig's in the sty and the egg's in the hen; The grass is grass-green, the sky is sky-blue, The sun always rises exactly on cue; The rain always rains. the snow always snows, The butterfly flies and the glow-worm just glows; The bat's in the belfry, the lamb's in the fold, The hump's on the camel and Stow's on the Wold;- The toast is quite warm, the cucumber's like ice, The ditchwater's dull but the pie's always nice ... The world is predictable, boring and flat, But I say — don't you? — thank heaven for that!

(Peter Norman) Oh, isn't the world extremely flat With nothing whatever to grumble at!

No earthquakes, no floods, drought, plague or disease, No drying of marsh or felling of trees, No wars or invasions, coups or unrest, No Third World starving, no poor in the West, No suburbs encroaching on ancient woods, No drug-pushers, prostitutes, pimps or hoods, No traffic jams, roadworks or speeding fines, No silent shipyards or closures of mines, No British Rail, no 'leaves on the line', No dull receptions, no 'sparkling' wine, No varicose veins, toupees, warts or piles, No TV presenters with phoney smiles, No heavy metal, no 'Born To Be Wild', No obstinate granny, no selfish child, No adverts for Persil or Wash 'n' Go.

Well, no. (Paul Brummell)

No. 1881: Bouts times

You are invited to write a poem with the following end-rhymes in this order: clock, sport, shock, court, citadel, rock, hell, block, fall, sound, ground, wall, funeral, hurriedly, crawl, goodbye. Entries to 'Competition No. 1881' by 11 May.