No. 1368: The winners

Jaspistos reports: Competitors were asked for a song by the Sirens suitable either for the ears of Odysseus or of a present-day sailor.

Oddly enough a namesake of Sir Tho- mas Browne (William, who died 15 years before the publication of Urn Burial) had already answered the 'puzzling question' With his charming 'Sirens' Song' beginning 'Steer, hither steer your winged pines, All beaten mariners!' (See that awful old Oxford Book of English Verse, edited by the man we schoolboys used to call Sir Arthur Swiller-Douche.) Even more odd- ly, on the day I judged this competition I noticed in the Lear exhibition at the Royal Academy a drawing of the Siren Isles with two figures captioned by Lear as '1. A blind Doge a-bathing. 2. A Siren a-singing to the 'Arp.' The Siren is remarkably unseductive, rather like a leprechaun cros- sed with a trout.

Your entries veered between the con- ventional and antique and the indecent and madly modern — in fact one or two would not have been out of place yodelled from the quay at Port Said to passengers on the old P. and 0. line. The five winners below get £10 each. If Peter Norman's piece is the lpast singable, D.B.Jenkinson's bow to gamy Belafonte is surely the most and earnS him the bonus bottle of Cognac Courvoisier VSOP.

Ever since dat silly war began

Immin like Helen was fooling man - 2,°Tne go spreading all dee big, fat lies, 'aYing dat dee Sirens trap dee men like flies!

Chorus:

Not me! Not me! Oh, dat Circe she say Dat dee Sirens lead dee sailors astray, But I say, I say dat dee Sirens OK An' smarter dan her in every way!

Orpheus boy he was dee same as you, p,eiling all dee sailors what dey no can do, laYlng reggae music while dee men all moaned - It was not by ME dat dee crew got stoned!

(Not me! Not me! etc.) Listen, Odysseus, listen good to me

An' I tell you what is true about dat girl Circe - She get you on her island, den she say one day: 'Look here, man. . . I'm in dee family way!'

(Not me! Not me! etc.) (D.B.Jenkinson) My heart leaps up when I behold A sailor on the shore; Oh come with me my lad, for I'm A girl who knows the score!

And I can satisfy the needs Of any lusty guy (I know when you're at sea your sex Is somewhat DIY).

You gb for porno-films? Well, mine Are bluer than the sea,

And when you've had enough I make A lovely cup of tea.

So tell me what's your fancy, lad (I've entertained the oddest), And, let me add, you'll find my fees, Unlike myself, are modest. (Ron Rubin) We've a spicy sort of ardour For the modern-day armada, Be it frigate, battleship or plain canoe.

Though you're just a weekend sailor Or a long-term Greenland whaler You'll be pleased by what we water nymphs can do.

We are unimpaired by dresses And our hair is waved in tresses, We've got profiles with a swelling, shapely bust.

Our songs are rather risque And we're famed from Minch to Biscay For our navel actions and our torrid lust.

So just drop an onshore anchor If for naughty bits you hanker.

When you've closed within a cable

You will find us clean and able.

(Sid Field) How coolly the landlubber hijacks our name For ambulance klaxons and factory hooters And warnings of air-raids. . . It's really a shame, For once - in our heyday - a man as astute as Odysseus fell for our nubile young charms And had to be lashed by his men to the mast! Lone yachtsman, come into our welcoming arms - We'll show you some tricks we've picked up in the past From classical mariners, virile and bold, Who knew how to tickle a young mermaid's fancy!

For now, on the rocks, we grow desperately cold And yearn for a seaman who isn't a nancy. Boy! Come! Drop your anchor and daily a while - We'll give you a good time you'll never forget, Though you voyage for many a nautical mile. We may be mature, but we're not clapped-out yet! (Peter Norman) With us, you're bankable - and soon! Tied up? Cut loose! We're here! (Fast movers play our catchy tune, And Churchill wore our gear!) Why leave the kudos to the boast Of some old cliched hack?

Tell your own odyssey (we'll ghost) Your Been to hell and back. Ulysses' Troy will outsell wowers By Joyce, Maclean and Wood - Horse: inside story! Topless towers! Was Helen really good?

You're no one's fool - no homer type!

Yeah, Ule, you should go far.

We'll fix the tours, the deals, the hype: You'll shine - a megastar! (Bridget Loney)