No. 1300: The winners

Jaspistos reports: Competitors were asked for a revoltingly flattering poem in heroic couplets in praise of a contemporary person of power or eminence.

You ate toads and licked boots heroically till your tongues had blisters, you bowed and scraped and genuflected so that I could almost hear the slipping of discs. Some of you, like E. 0. Parrott, couldn't resist blen- ding satire with adulation, so that the effect was of a continually winking groveller. He, Charles Mosley, Laurence Fowler and Llewellin Berg (who on earth can he be?) all gave me great pleasure, yet not quite so great as the five prizewinners below. Peter Hadley's brilliant buttering-up of Jaspistos sent him into an ecstasy of gratification, but he recovered just in time to award the last two bottles of Château Gruaud-Larose 1976, from our generous sponsors over the Christmas and New Year season, Biben- dum, 113 Regent's Park Rd, Primrose Hill, NW1 (01 586 9761), to George Simmers.

GOODMAN, whose name sums up thy modest zeal

And tireless effort for the public weal, How oft thy sage advice and honest craft Have saved from floundering the nation's raft! And should snakelike scurrility defame The spotless glory of some noble name, How dolt thou summon all thy fire and wit To deftly issue an heroic writ!

O Man of Principle! 0 Man of Parts! O Tireless Worker for the Graceful Arts! Yet always off the stage. Could we with thee Find any fault, 'tis that thy modesty That guards a soul so opulent, so rare, Keeps thee from out the spotlight's gaudy glare.

Oh, let it flow, that spirit rich and deep Come, take the stage, and like Nureyev leap!

(George Simmers) Monarch of All the Missiles, though uncrowned, When fainthearts sound retreat, you stand your ground, Reflecting glory from your golden mane, Beneath whose halo sits a massive brain.

I laud your love of liberty and truth, Your deep devotion to the polling booth, Where voters are content to make a cross And leave the great decisions to the Boss.

Against the tide you are our sure defence, Though Greenham makes no kind of commonsense: All praise to you for doing what is right By making Britain target for tonight.

You are opposed to anything that harms The philanthropic industry of arms: Long may you rule and may your powers increase, As King of Cruise and Minister of Peace!

(Roger Woddis) The telly's dullest night is brightly lit By Day, who turns his scintillating wit On all that cross his path. His spotted dicky Intimidates those trying to be tricky, Whilst those who might have shrunk back in alarm Are brought out by his marvellous old-world charm.

His voice, strong-toned but not at all abrasive (Except with ministers who'd be evasive) Is broadcast every day on Radio 4 - And leaves one at 1.40 crying for more.

The sad thing is, he's not appreciated For what he does, but constantly berated; On 'Question Time' they shout and answer back As if he were some simple media hack.

It pains me when they let some ill-bred yob in To bandy words with wonderful Sir Robin.

(Peter Norman) 'Tis you I praise, Jaspistos, at this hour, A man of awesome literary power And eminence: to you I dedicate These verses, from the little to the great.

How can mere words suffice to honour him That hides beneath a modest pseudonym,

Spectator's Solomon, whose judgment seat

Is in the corridors of Doughty Street, Where Nell L. Wregible (unlikely name) Joins Ransome-Davies in the hall of fame Week after week? What care I if my own Less worthy efforts must remain unknown And unrewarded? Since my life began My fate has been to be an Also Ran.

So moriturus I salute you, Sir, Content that you should be my arbiter. (Peter Hadley) Hail, latest scion of a royal line: May every blessing, every joy be thine! Auspicious Prince, at whose nativity Glad bells rang out and fireworks filled the sky - As at thy Father's consecrated birth Autumnal Spring revivified the earth, So in soft Summer's seasonable embrace Thou didst reveal the sunshine of thy face, Which now in drearier December days Illuminates th'enraptured nation's gaze. Hail, chaste Diana's reconciling Son, Thou at whose shrine humble and high are one, Whether, as yesterday, the infant charms Shine like the dawn in her maternal arms Or as today, when crowd and camera greet The staggering sanctity of princely feet! (Mary HoltbY)