REPORT ON COMPETITION No. 1

PRIZES of book tokens for Li Is. and los. 6d. were offered for the best letters (of not more than 250 words) to a divisional petroleum officer claiming a supplementary ration of petrol, couched in what was conceived to be the epistolary style of any one of the following :-(x) Henry James ; (2) James Joyce ; (3) P. G. Wodehouse ; (4) Bernard Shaw ; (5) the Editor of The Spectator.

This competition produced results the reverse of what had been expected. Henry James, the only one of these authors whose published correspondence was available as a model, and Joyce, the writer whose style seemed most obviously to solicit parody, each attracted only a solitary entry. The august anonymity of our leading articles preserved their author almost as securely from imitation, and left Shaw and Wodehouse to divide about 95 per cent. of the field between them. The Shavian entries were not particularly dis- tinguished, though A. M. Denton's haughty postcard stating that Mr. Shaw was " quite capable of supplying an almost unlimited quantity of gas himself," had its points, as had \ I ,s M. J. Mason's entry citing the fate of "the foolish virgins, helplessly devoid of oil in the hour of emergency." Wodehouse, though popular, baffled everyone but Marcus Bird ; Hilary Trench's was the only successful James ; the Joyce entry was only a formal contender for the title. Those who applied on behalf of the Editor of The Spectator showed a curious but almost unanimous tendency to depict a household crowded with evacuated children, dogs, and old ladies clamour- ing for rapid transport ; on behalf of the children Miss Mary Moore rang a small but audible bell with, " The children of today will be the men and women of tomorrow, upon whose shoulders will fall the task of building the new Europe based on ideals of liberty and justice." Mr. L. H. Howarth's entry, eloquently championing the cause of the dog, would have been considered for a prize if it had arrived in time. The first prize is awarded to Hilary Trench for his admirable James, and Marcus Bird's only slightly less effective Wodehouse, though departing from the strict letter of the rules, gets the second prize.

First Prize.

Mr. Henry James, Lamb House, Rye, to the Divisional Petroleum Controller.

DEAR SIR,

The papers " inform "-if one can use in connexion with our dear delightful old backward English Press a word which conveys

the vulgar and voluble idea of news-that in less than a week's time (our days now so hurry on under the pressure of universal calamity) a law is to be enforced which will prevent even so modest, so innocent, I was going to say so " green," a creature as myself, from purchasing more than a modicum of what my compatriots call m their gross vivid style, so like their own streets, all concrete foundation, glittering surface and brutal echo, gas. My wants are humble: far be it from me in a time of ferocious inquisition and rigid self-examination to lay claim to further benefit on grounds that are not the most urgent, the most impelling: I simply beg you as one bred in the bureaucratic corridors, acquainted as my poor friends are not with the moeurs, conditions and relations responsible for the inconceivably portentous questions handed to me yesterday, to tell me tout doucement, whether I, aged, infirm, out of the vast crowded political canvas as I am, may yet retain- practically and not as a mere fond memento of the kindest, the most amiable of ladies-a small gay gorgeous object that goes, so I am told, in the huge hideous undiscriminating world by the abrupt name of a " lighter."

Believe me, very truly yours,

HENRY JAMES.

Second Prize.

The Drones Club Dover Street, W. I.

DEAR SIR,

My Dear Old Comptroller: Touching this matter of rationing the old bus, Jeeves (my man, you know) says that Mr. C. (how he knows these chappies beats me) has ordained-a typical Jeeves word-that we Owner-Drivers have got to cut down on our browsing and sluicing. Tuppy Glossop, one of our leading O.D.'s, has been parading outside The Drones all the afternoon, making an awful ass of himself, with a placard saying " H.M. GOVT. UNFAIR TO LAGONDAS." The Crumpets have voted this bad form. Not cricket, you know, war on, women and children first and all that.

Jeeves, a brainy chap if there ever was one, says there are always pouts and chaussies-ways and means was, I think, the expression he used-and I must say I hand it to him for suggesting that this is an occasion when young Bertram can do some service to the State. (Jeeves says this is a bit out of the Bard.)

Well, it seems that Jeeves has an uncle-he's got dozens, but this one, he says, has the largest bean of the lot-who has it from the War Office that armies walk on their stomachs. A rummy idea, I must say. But if these are old Tiger Gort's orders, what I say is fill them up with the best. And this is where Jeeves's W's and M's come in. You need the best cham- pagne: We have it. You have that little something some others haven't got: We need it. What about it, my old friend in need? You pour in the wine ; we pour in the oil. Good Samaritans all round and no questions asked.

I enclose half-a-dozen bottles of the best and I've instructed Jeeves to drive the old horse round to the back door of the F.O. after dark this evening and show you which end to fill her up with the goods.

Yours ever,

BERTIE WOOSTER.