6 AUGUST 1983, Page 32

No. 1278: The winners

Report by Jaspistos: Competitors were ask- ed for a sonnet beginning, as one of Wordsworth's does, 'Clarkson! that was an obstinate ... '

Well, er, actually it doesn't: it begins 'Clarkson! it was an obstinate hill to climb ... ', the hill being the 'final passing of the bill for the abolition of the slave trade, March 1807'. Naturally, I accepted both the correct and incorrect versions. What I couldn't accept, though, or even comprehend, is the fact that eight of you sent me a sonnet beginning with your own original words, without mention of poor Clarkson. There should be forfeits as well as prizes.

All the same, it was one of the biggest and most talented entries of the year. Among the most arresting words following 'obstinate' were 'tin lid', 'B flat', 'bird to tame', 'hotel', 'old tooth', 'giraffe' and 'bivalve' (the poet was having difficulty eating an oyster). Half a dozen of you made Clarkson a recalcitrant schoolboy and two

of You featured him as the celebrated wig- maker, both inevitably punning art The five winners printed below get £10 each. Had there been five more prizes they Would have gone to Mary Holtby, A. J. Wyborn, Brabazon Aylmer, Nell L. Wregi- ble and Charles Mosley. The bottle of PIMm's No. I is presented to Paul Griffin for that extra touch of genuine feeling.

Clarkson! that was an obstinate old b., Who never used his Training College arts; His classroom was as cold as charity With open windows, and no maps or charts. Our tape recorders, radios, went for nought; He didn't like our overhead projectors; And when the HMIs said what they thought He told them what he thought of all Inspectors. That winter when the power worker, struck We had to close the school for several days. The rooms were chilly, and you needed luck To find the batteries for your teaching aids. But Clarkson talked by lamplight, just the same, And, inexplicably, his classes came.

(Paul Griffin)

Clarkson! that was an obstinate young wine You served as fellow to the boeuf-en-croate: It glowered when it should have been benign And answered back instead of staying mute. The French Ambassador did more than wince, He clutched his throat and gave a strangled

cry, Her Ladyship just shuddered, and the Prince Looked slightly pained and fiddled with his tie, You've been with me for thirty years and more, It's ages since a servant was dismissed What are you doing lying on the floor? Why are you smiling, Clarkson? Are you pissed?

Not here! — this is no place to have a slash! Good God, it's like the last Spectator thrash!

(Roger Woddis) Clarkson! that was an obstinate hill to climb - Passing the bill on slavery — but do You call complete a bill which, when passed through, Frees only half a nation, and sans rhyme Or reason leaves one section doing time As slaves — women, I mean, black, and white too, Low-paid, sometimes beaten, a sort of zoo (Cages no longer gilded)? It's a crime.

For every century and every race Handed us slavery, no equal chance, 'Pretend' concessions at the very best - Calling us Ms, not just a pretty face, Making us chairpersons and all the rest.

Where's liberation, where's the real advance?

(Fiona Pitt-Kethley) 'Clarkson! it was an obstinate hill to climb ' Begins this sonnet. Notice the elision? That takes some confidence. And further, 'Time' (An eighth-line rhyming word), by some decision Private to Wordsworth is made ominous (Like 'Writing', 'Nations', 'Voice') by being spelt In upper-case for its initial. Thus We may presume that William Wordsworth felt, In warming to his philanthropic theme, That Big Abstractions were the proper mode.

1 guess we must excuse him if they seem - Well, grandiose. A laudatory ode May be forgiven if it frankly raves.

One hopes it was consoling to the slaves.

(Basil Ransome-Davies) Clarkson! that was an obstinate little boy Who tied Jemima's pigtails to the chair Again. And Bounderby! Why must you bare Your tummy in that dreadful way at Joy?

I'm sure you only do it to annoy.

Buggins! Good heavens, child, sit down at once!

Why are you such a fidgety little dunce?

Now where were we? Ah yes, the siege of Troy ...

Clarkson! I shan't be telling you again!

And Binns! If that's an ink pellet, don't flick it!

No, Billington, it won't heal if you pick it So wise Odysseus told his band of men To hide inside the wooden horse, and stay There till ... Oh dear. Bates, please put it away. (Peter Norman)