COMPETITION

No. 628: Pour rire

Set by Stephen Corrin: In a dis, cussion on 'The Future' a speaker on the French radio declared re- cently that he would like to see the establishment by government decree of a Jour National du Rire, in an effort to dispel the gloom rapidly descending over his coun- try. People like Jacques Tati and Fernandel would parade through the streets doing their acts and the entire columns of the newspapers would be given over to matters hilarious. Competitors are invited to outline a programme for a National Day of Laughter in this country and to forecast briefly its aftermath. Limit 150 words. Entries, marked 'Competition No. 628,' by 13 November.

No. 625: The winners Charles Seaton reports: Asked to c6moose verses on President Nixon's European visit, Mr Wilson's thoughts on his wife's poems or the Tory plans for in- dustrial relations (using four or five given pairs of words as end- rhymes), competitors opted by a large margin for Harold and Mary.

David Tidy illustrates one very human reaction to Mrs Wilson's sued's fou: So that was why my underpants stayed holed and grey And Scillies holidays were sloughs . of distrait gloom; And Nemo's milk was not poured freshly every day And there were no complaints about my pipe-shag's plume!

Not all were so mundane nor, indeed, so uncomplimentary as Sir Thomas Scrivenor:

Are these the lines, in classless charcoal-grey, That launched a thousand copies on the earth?

Not Ella Wheeler Wilcox in her day Could bring such flawless platitudes to birth!

On'this occasion the most agree- able touches were sketched in by the distaff side and three of them win prizes; three guineas for Mar- garet A. Laidlaw: On such a morning, overcast and grey, When my diminished world seemed desolate,

I watched you on the threshold

of your day Walk down the path and through the open gate; Upheld by wings, your footsteps made no sound, Your modest talents recognised, new birth Gave stature to your being: all around The eager public pressed—You owned the earth!

two for Miss B. M. Bartholomew: The wind of change dislodged my plume And filled the ranks with Stygian gloom; But then the shrewdest wife on earth This puffed-up titbit brought to birth With timing so superbly sound _ That, though my head still spins around, The skies are suddenly less grey— My little Mary's saved the day. and two for Mrs K. Y. Hooton: Dynamically I've given birth To schemes to benefit the Earth; Sincerely I have tried to sound Like God. (Mary, were you

around?) Incredible to think of grey Obscurity. How then—today The fickle clamour at your gate And I am•left most desolate.

The second subject—the Tories' industrial plans—brought a sur- prise: a majority of the writers didn't think much of them, and they include the two prizewinners of two guineas each: Men of substance, men of birth, Men who used to rule the earth, Would not let some wretched grey Trade union wallah win the day. They would lock the factory gate, And, if need be. desolate

Cottage homes for miles around. Gad, sir, their ideas were sound!

J. D. Crispin

You'll never see them at the

factory gate, These men of wealth and not-so-noble birth, Who, making life and landscape

desolate,

Would tread our faces deeper in

the earth.

They've never scurried to the hooter's sound

Or queued for buses when the

world was grey: When will they learn we can't

be pushed around, That some tomorrow they'll have had their day? Roger Woddis President Nixon's European visit didn't arouse much admiration either. True, Rufus Stone, as the modern William McGonagall, had this to say: Hail to thee, 0 crutch and succourer of the free world. alighting on thy metallic plume To irradiate with thy frank, ingenious smile our turgid gloom. Verily I was o'erjoyed—it made,

forsooth, my day To gaze upon thy comely spouse Pat in her midi-skirt of tasteful grey.

How considerate it was of Messrs Tito and Franco to ensure that when you gazed around Of nasty, uncouth yahoo noises there was not the teeniest sound. But the climactic apogee assuredly of thy tour was when thou trodst again the Irish earth Which may—or may not—have afforded thy great-great-great- g reat-great-great-great-grand- father birth.

but in thought as in form he Was largely a voice in the wilderness. George van Schaick wins three guineas for lines which show up the public 'relations side of the visit:

Said the man in the crew cut and Washington grey, The President's coming back, just for the day,

To the land (it says here) of his ancestors' birth.

Could you tidy the grass, pal, and

level the earth In the cemetery there? And the piece by the gate, Say, maybe it looks kinda

too desolate.

TV cameras here—yeah, we'll

wire for sound,

Now we'll need a few Micks,

sorta hangin' around.'

The rhymes were taken from Thomas Hardy's 'The Darkling Thrush' and John Cassidy wins the prize for the first entry Owed which identified their source.