COMPETITION

Lords a-weeping

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2067 I drew the picture of Belloc's Lord Lundy composing some lachrymose octosyllables on the impending fate of peers such as himself, and then said, 'Over to you.'

So many of you took that last phrase to mean that you were free to describe any Lundy-like peer in distress that I accepted this interpretation. So much lachrymosity made me think of the glee with which the late Lord Milford would have received the news of impending reform, yet it would have been glee tinged with disappointment, for his extremely brief maiden speech had quite simply proposed the abolition of the Upper House. Dominica Roberts's fantasy envisages his motion passed:

And so it proved: no pleb could beat A lord to any Commons seat (With one exception, Tony Benn). Lord Lundy's now at Number Ten.

The prizewinners, printed below, have £25 each, and the bottle of The Macallan Single Highland Malt Scotch whisky goes to Chris Tingley.

'My son,' I cried, through streaming tears, 'The curtain's down on countless years.' 'Father,' he blubbed, 'forget your pride. Couldn't there be a brighter side? Think, you'll be free to live unchecked By what the county swells expect, Free from the need to hem and hrumph And plough through yards of boring bumf, Or botch our mouldy gates and fences From squirrelled train and meal expenses.

Think of the funds our acres crave!

We'll have a weekly monster rave, And give our purse a mighty lift.'

`That's all in hand,' I weakly sniffed.

`You miss the point, my cherished boy.

The tears I weep are tears of joy.' (Chris Tingley) Lord Backwoods' view of politics Consisted of an idee fixes That 'blood will out' was what he thought (And practised in the field of sport), And since his was the purest blue (Though looking red to me and you) He'd leave a covert with a fox in If once he heard his leader's tocsin, And hasten from his country seat To save his party from defeat By using just his ayes and noes To track and then despatch his foes.

But then all changed: he heard, aghast, That noble voters were outcast; Now patronage had all the clout: Old pals were in — and blood was out.

(W.J. Webster) Lord Heyford was an utter fool.

No matter! He was born to rule.

When not engaged in shooting pheasants, Riding to hounds or flogging peasants, He sat on several City boards And voted in the House of Lords.

Alas, one day, about to reach The peroration of a speech Upon a Private Member's Bill To dig a moat round Primrose Hill, He learnt the House had been abolished.

With rhetoric no whit less polished Despite this most severe of blows, He brought his ramblings to a close, Let fall a final teardrop, blinked, And silently became extinct. (Michael Swan) Lord Lundy, he whose noble Blood Dates back some time before the Flood (And whose unfortunate Career Belloc in famous verse made clear), Lapsed into lachrymose despair On hearing of the plans of Blair: `An Upper House to be elected?

Hereditary Peers rejected?

Those dignified by wearing Ermine Treated as mere redundant vermin, And Patriots such as myself To end discarded on the shelf?

It cannot be! My language fails.

I, who once governed New South Wales,

Surely at least / should be kept?'

With this, Lord Lundy wept and wept.

(Geoffrey Riley)

I would not miss my scarlet bench,

Or mourn the after-luncheon stench Of brandy fumes, or lordly bores Discussing god-forsaken laws, But, Hades though the House may be, It's still Elysium to me.

The stately pile went years ago

And now I share a bungalow

With wife, six children, dowager, A footman much attached to her,

And fourteen dogs. Appalled, I see

A ghastly domesticity Of school runs, washing plates and pots, And dishing out the Winalots.

Bomb the Iraqis, build your dome, But, Mr Blair, don't send me home! (Nick Syrett) Until Lord Hautjoie's eightieth year No one had seen him shed a tear; His upper lip had never trembled.

People remarked how he resembled A character from Evelyn Waugh: Change and decay all round he saw Occasioned by the middle classes; Nor did he think much of the masses, Not that (to keep the balance trim) The masses gave much thought to him.

One day came down the fell command: `Henceforth the House of Lords is banned!'

For the first time in eighty years Lord Hautjoie burst out into tears.

The Hautjoie Way to Self-Expression Has just sold out its fifth impression.

(Hugh Munro)