COMPETITION
No. 620: Fairest isle?
At one time and another we have had the benefit of nearly everyone's opinion of the Isle of Wight pop festivals. Now competi- tors are asked to provide a bird's-eye view by a local seagull in not more than sixteen lines of human verse. Entries, marked 'Competition No. 620', by 18 September.
No. 617: The winners
Charles Seaton reports; Tom Brewer struck perhaps the sanest note with a picture post- card from France: 'Wot—think about that Wilson on me vacances!' Nevertheless competitors were asked to submit either the blurb for, or the opening paragraph of, Mr Wilson's forthcoming memoirs. Extracts outnumbered blurbs by two to one, but for tidiness' sake let's have the blurbs first. Here are three; each wins three guineas: No one who enjoyed Mrs Wilson's Diary will want to miss this further delightful
account of the adventures of this lovable family. This time the story is told from father's viewpoint, and with the aid of a fertile imagination and an unusual sense of the absurd Mr Wilson has woven a rich tapestry in the highest traditions of English humour. Everyone will have his own fav- ourite among the host of comic characters who jostle on every page and range from the earnest but eccentric Wedgwood Benn to the crafty and menacing Lord Cromer. The Wilsons, who have two sons and a dog, live in London or in a bungalow on the Scillies, George van Schaick What was scribbled on the blotter that Barbara Castle pushed agitatedly across the Cabinet Room table that taut morning in October '66? What were George Brown's exact and uncensored words to the Prime Minister on the night he resigned? What was the dirty joke that had Ian Smith in stitches in the wardroom of rims 'Fearless"? The answers to these and a thousand other unflinching questions lie frankly and fear- lessly between the covers of this courageous document. But even its most intimate anec- dotes are eclipsed by the revelation that the loss of the 1970 election was merely the devilishly subtle first shot in Harold Wilson's campaign to regain the Premier- ship in 1975 and continue uninterruptedly in office until the year 2000.
Tim O'Dowda No Tory should miss Mr Wilson's sidesplit- tingly sour revelations of his Cabinet's antics, which will make loyal Socialists thrill with pride and delight. Mr Wilson's dash- ing style, as flat as his northern vowels, is a scintillating blend of Dostoievsky, Barbara Cartland and Stanley Unwin, absurdly suited to his witty disclosures of the high tragedy of the ruthless pressures so disas- trously divisive of Labour's shoddy idealism and pragmatic expediency. No punches are pulled in this innocuous inside account of the meretricious altruism of Socialism's selfless leaders. Only a Prime Minister of genuine stature, histrionic integrity, liberal- minded fatuity and satirical humour could give the world this blistering and insipid mélange of hastily assembled, explosive and scandal-packed damp squ:is.
Richard Probyn The parodist labours under a severe handicap, as Harold (Fas)-on form-is his own best parodist. However, he did not enter. Meanwhile for those who cannot wait here are three titbits (likewise three guineas each): Quite frankly, Mary was against it from the start. But, you know, after talking it over with those of us who had a seat at the conference tables of the world during those exciting, dynamic, power-packed years, I decided I would be wrong, at the end of the day, not to speak out fully and fearlessly. Pragmatically speaking, I felt it right to let the people of Britain know just who was responsible for what was, for them, a new Golden Age. Finally (and this was a deci- sive factor) I had the gracious interest and co-operation of Her Majesty the Queen. Mrs A. G. Ka.,
I have always said that if there is one post in British politics that demands of its holder a greater degree of integrity, talent, intelli- gence and political acumen than that of the Prime Minister, it is the Leadership of the Opposition. It is an opinion which has been confirmed by all my friends in my ov‘n political party and by many Tories (for there are no political barriers to friendship when it comes to giving advice of this kind). The post demands words without deeds. plans without performance, criticism with- out action and a high moral tone without any justification whatsoever. This, as people will know from six years' dynamic Labour government, is what socialism excels at.
Maud Gracecluiliii It was as early as my fifth birthday, when I was first allowed to sit at dinner with m■ parents, that my future was determined. For, just as Marcel had the whole of his past re-animated by the taste of that famous madeleine, so, by a kind of reverse Proust- ianism, all my cardinal years were fore- shadowed by an engraving of a long, spiky. dual-towered edifice on the label of a bottle I then saw for the first time. Above the grey architecture reared two, to my infant eyes. giant letters. I asked my father what the building was, the meaning of the alpha- betical superscription . And, even to this day, this same condiment fitly claims its emblematical place on my table .
John Dig!),
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