No. 1284: The winners

Report by Jaspistos: Competitors were ask- ed for a piece of plausible and entertaining prose in which the names of 15 birds are hidden, as `coot' is in 'rococo ottoman'.

Having, by cross-Channel and rail ser- vice, just holidayed in north-western France — near Segre, to be precise — 1 return to find with bitterness that competitors have been abusing me. Yes, it's easy enough to hide five birds in a sentence, but not so easy to keep it up and be entertaining. But what an almighty effort you put into it! There were a hundred entries, some of them with unitalicised birds so well con- cealed that I needed a magnifying glass and a 150-watt bulb to spot them. S. Musgrove from Auckland referred me to Falla, Sibson and Turbott's Field Guide to the Birds of New Zealand, so that I now know that a pipipi is a brown creeper and an oi is a sod, of petrel. D.U.L. Clarke baked no less than 53 accredited birds in the allotted pie space. But though no one admires ingenuity more than I do, I did ask for entertaining as well as merely plausible prose, and so the prizes go to those who raised a smile as well as a cheer. Congratulations to everyone, a handshake to T.A.H. Tyler for his penguin ingested by a 'misshapen guinea-pig', £10 apiece to the winners printed below, and the bonus bottle of Pimm's No.1 to J. Gill. Carry on, Jeeves1

'Jeeves, I'm stuck over my competition entry.' 'How very regrettable, sir.'

'The situation is grave. Never have I needed

more help. The Wooster nerves are cracking.' 'I think you will find it quite a lot easier than you suppose, sir.'

'But the Spectator ed's hankering after originality, and the muse has deserted me.' 'Erato is unnecessary, sir. Our normal conversation will suffice for a new rendering of an old theme which ought to catch Jaspistos' eye.'

'You mean, I'm not the nitwit everyone imagines?'

'Ornithologically, your language is of the utmost richness, sir.'

'Jeeves, I'm bowled over, Have a fiver — and another one, dash it,' 'Your generosity is unstinting, sir.' 'Think nothing of it, Jeeves. There'll be a fiver apiece from the prize money too!'

(J. Gill) A new opus by Albert Rossi, the 'Songbird Overture', crowns this year's festival. Commissioned last year and awaited with frank mistrust or keen anticipation by critics and admirers, it is scored for nose-flute, tuba, ukelele, massed kazoos and pipe. Rehearsals have proved fascinating, and our young musicians have enjoyed probing the entire dynamic range, from ppp to fff. The opening rondo allegro uses the theme of the famous 'Wanderer's Aria', sung by the reformed rake, Alphonse, in Rossi's second oratorio, 'Leander', neatly transferring its tremulous and repetitive falling phrases to the nose-flute. A chacha (I1) in C heralds the second subject, a slow /anguorous so/o on the tuba, which introduces fragments of other compositions, culminating in a solemn evocation of Brahms' Gaudeamus lgitur. Key changes return us to the rondo (double tempo this time) and thence to a spectacular kazoo cadenza, which ought to bring the house down.

(Gerard Benson) Opening her disma/ larder. Cynthia saw to her consternation that there was only bread left: not that she felt entitled to be surprised at just another reminder of the barren bitterness of her frightfu/ marriage. He'd eaten the pies and now lay spreadeag/ed, drunk and filthy on the sofa, like some pathetic Rowton house reject.

He's never helped me, she reflected — except when he condescended to correct the punctuation of my thesis. Kind of him! Never helps in the house, let alone the garden: just lies wallowing in booze and self-pity. Fury at her past gullibility began to throb in her head: but why brood and rake up the past, she thought, when I crave nothing but to abort the future?

The bread-knife on the table seemed to offer the quickest release. But at that moment there came a sinister choking sound from the next room ..

(Michael Pickering)

We got to the rendezvous at four. Ken, adjusting the lederhosen that were such an important part of his cover, opened the door. Mrs Andrews, the Service's safe- house martinet, was not welcoming. She muttered sarcastically about how chic Ken looked and snarled, 'She's in there,' Wanda, our crack Jewish agent, gave my name correctly and burst out, 'Nearly the whole Ber/in network has been rolled up! In Zagreb even the top man arrested! What can we do?' She and Ken were both rushing around the room in panic. I took a grip on the situation. 'We are all the Gestapo's prey now, Wanda. Regrets are useless, bitterness irrelevant. We must act!' 'Do! Do!' cried Wanda.

Ken had by now grasped the news. 'Gosh, awkward' was his inadequate response. 'Surely the Dutch ought to help?'

Wanda looked at him pityingly. 'Damn the Dutch. Can Aryan delusions extend so far?' (fan Hunter) Catherine Howard to her maidservant, February 1542:

Alas, Jessica, it will not end with me. No sooner did I fall than a sixth rushed in — foolish Catherine Parr (others may call her Queen). Half in triumph, half in charity, she gave me this loutish, awkward fellow for my keeper. 'He must be my major domo, or he need not speak to her

again': so in revenge he doth not speak to me. — What news, sirrah? Brave news or biller? — None, thou seest, Jessica.. nary a word escapes him. But let us sleep. 1 turn my face in peace to this wall, owing no man anything, not even a word, No crown or Ole tempts me now. Wherever I look, on land, over sea, gleams only the light of heaven. Perhaps tomorrow, Jessica, will you, weeping, rouse me. I pray you, before we leave, close my col/ar kindly, just here, at the nape, where the air is cold.

(Carole Angier)