Love-Lies-Bleeding

hobby. I used to love my garden But now my love is dead,' For I found a bachelor's button In Black-Eyed Susan's bed.

The usual prize was offered for a four-line epigram of disillusionment with any other

IF a good competition is one which attracts plenty of good entries, one which attracted as many bad entries as this one stands self-convicted. It did not seem too much to ask for a four-line pun about pastimes, but over 150 entries did not produce fifteen really good verses. And of these some of the best-presumably taking their cue from the low innuendo of the example-disquali- fied themselves for publication. Frank Pavry produced three excellent specimens of this genre, but even the most innocuous of them could not be given a prize.

Part of the trouble was that too many people instead of choosing some hobby they really knew about picked on the obvious ones, with the result that dozens of cricketers, philatelists and chess- players could only produce the same few thread- bare jokes about 'short square leg,' 'penny black' and 'mate.' Amateur archwologists and do-it-your- selfers were, surprisingly enough, particularly scarce, but a handful of anglers, fretworkers, ornithologists, burglars and cooks brightened the bunch : I was sorry that 'Sawdust Asgold' did not keep up the standard of his (her?) lines on cookery, 'the purest of arts,' which culminated in the disastrous discovery that 'All Maids of Honour are tarts.'

R. Kennard Davis wins three guineas for his appealing (though presumably phoney) eni de clew; H. A. C. Evans a second prize of two guineas for his version of the most popular cricketing pun; Aurea Rolfe wins a third prize of a guinea. D. R. Peddy, Joyce Johnson and Rhoda Tuck Pook followed close behind-a field day for the regulars. But B. R. Nicholl's entry is printed to dispel the dark suspicions which he, amongst others, has expressed.

PRIZES

(It. KENNARD DAVIS)

An amateur spare-time Author, My soul with bitterness burns : It isn't the small, small profits, It's the damnably quick `returns'!

(If. A. C. EVANS)

I used to love my Cricket more than gold Until it turned one day, both fine and hot, To nightmare, for the bowler, I was told, Had three short legs. I fainted on the spot.

(AUREA ROLFE)

With Sunday worship I am through Because the Church is not quite `U,' Not only did I 'take a pew' But Common prayer books were there too.

Her Breach of Promise action laid me low- In black are my retorts and test-tubes clothed; For what a lot of Ls1320,

At passion's death 2NeXb-trothed.

(D. PEDDY)

My collection of musical toys could perform From doh ray me fah to a Valse But my pride's turned to shame since the `Damsel with Shawm'

Has taken to playing me false.

(JOYCE JOHNSON)

I loved Test cricket-anyway, the teams (The game I don't know very much about); But all those gorgeous men have short square legs, 0 why did Swanton have to let it out ?

(RHODA TUCK POOK)

A bachelor I played at chess (And other games, unstated); All, all of which I play much less Since, dammit, I got mated.

(R. A. MCKENZIE)

Cleopatra, Cassandra, one seer, one philanderer, Practised hobbies whose endings proved sticky, if solemn : So their present employment seeks safer enjoyment, For the one runs a Needle, the other a column.

(.1. P. A. RACE)

Ingenuously, once, I swore to choose No mistress other than the muse. But she's a fickle jade : I now enthuse Predominantly over booze.

(ERICA SCOTT) I used to fish on loch and stream

And tell of angling glory Until I lost a fish so large It swallowed my prize story.

(NAN WISIIARr)

used to think the lines that I composed Could better those of Evans, Laing and Pook. At last the light has dawned-the shop is closed ! The blacklegs' entries never get a look

(B. C. R. NICHOLL)