No. 1339: The winners

Jaspistos reports: Competitors were asked for a friendly and not necessarily solemn poem on the appearance of Prince Henry Charles Albert David.

The challenge to stand in for the Poet Laureate brought a horde of newcomers loping in from the backwoods at the foot of Parnassus, but rough though their loyal efforts were in some cases, I doubt whether Larkin or Amis would have done any better, grimacing and felicitating to order. Brian Stevens, whom I haven't heard from before, had one very happy quatrain:

What'er they call you, we'll not love you less, We'll fondly monitor your passing years — First faltering steps, first insult to the press — And groan if you've inherited those ears.

In fact, there were a great many happy lines, and I'm sorry not only that there can't be more winners but also that there isn't an appropriate bottle of sack as a bonus prize. Those printed below get £10 each, and Joyce Johnson; Rupert Rush- brooke and Basil Ransome-Davies have my consolatory salute.

So he's arrived, and we are all delighted. Everyone in the Flats was so excited. Old Amy Stallbrass, tight as a little tadpole, Hauled up the Jack until it bent the flagpole. Up went her glass. 'We'll drink to Henry's mother, And to the Prince of Wales. Cheers! Have another.'

Then Bill McBride (Please call me William') sort of Wondered how each new royal name is thought of.

'They must be Kings', said Flo, who thinks she knows it, But my young Gary figured how they chose it. 'William is Chief,' he said, 'and Henry's second, So Ginger will be the next'. That's what he reckoned.

He'd worked it out, the cheeky little bleeder, That Prince Charles is a Richmal Crompton reader! (Jean Hayes)

In the Park the cannons thunder. In the street the thousands press. From your cradle, do you wonder How you got into this mess?

When you come to your unveiling, When you hear the people shout. Will you ponder through the hailing What on earth it's all about?

When the pressmen, two years later. Marvel at each half-formed word, Will it help you cultivate a Healthy sense of the absurd?

If I could bestow one key to Fortune in your set career, It would be the sheer esprit to Tolerate the fools out here. (Noel Petty) Although of Laureates we've a current dearth, Allow me these few lines to mark your birth.

0 royal Henry, welcome! share the fame

That Shakespeare gave to monarchs of that name.

A lively bunch of Henrys for you shine — The new addition to the Windsor line.

Through Charles you nod to father, and through him To wigged frivolity and ripe Nell Gwynn, While Albert shows your solid, worthy stock (Like the Memorial, or Hall, or Dock), And, for good measure, David's something else, Being saintly, biblical, refined, and Welsh.

For these slim lines I a small favour ask: The Laureateship's still vacant — ideal task!

I'd do it gladly for the sack and fee, So if the chance comes up, please mention me.

(D. A. Prince) There's a song that I've heard by a jolly young bird Who's 'just wild about Harry' — her cry Fits the new little chap lying snug in the lap Of the Princess of Wales, our Di.

For when he reaches rompers, the mentis ain't compos That stifles a paean of praise,

And from nappies now warm to his last uniform, He'll be crooned to the end of his days.

And though lads with blue blood'll be given a cuddle, A kiss from the national lips, Yet let him not be reckoned as merely the second' And stint not on hurrahs! nor on hips!

Let us welcome the Prince, and right royally.

since, Though he'll probably not wear a crown, He shall still bear the weight of our ancient old state; May they neither be ever cast down!

(Llewellin Berg) Rock-a-bye, Harry, a palace is yours With roses all grown in the Horse Guards' manures.

Daddy will tell you of lochs and old men Again and again and again and again.

Rock-a-bye, Harry, your destiny's grand, You'll shake several billion guys by the hand, From ten to five and from five to ten. Again and again and again and again.

(Fiona Pitt-Kethley) We all thank God — not just for him But for the choice of names too. Had There been no 'Harry', acronym Would have necessitated CAD.

(Margaret Mary)