COMPETITION

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IN COMPETITION NO. 1827 you were invited to provide a sickeningly or irrita- tingly cheerful poem, anti-depressant in message but depressing in effect.

There was a poem of Emerson's we were made to learn at school, which instead of bracing us up reduced us to catatonic lethargy: In an age of fops and toys, Wanting wisdom, void of right,

Who shall nerve heroic boys To hazard all in freedom's fight, Break sharply off their jolly games, Forsake their comrades gay, And quit proud homes and youthful dames For famine, toil and fray?. . .

Thank you everybody for a terrible dose of good cheer. The prizewinners, printed below, get £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Drummond's Pure Malt Scotch whisky goes to Kevin McGee, whose piece cries out for a tune as morale-lowering as 'Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit-bag'.

Everything is pleasant. All of nature sings. People carry presents And buy each other things.

Pain has been forbidden. Everyone is wise.

Nothing good is hidden. No one ever dies.

Virtue is rewarded. Kids have fun in slums. Sex is never sordid: Everybody comes.

Animals are merry.

Earth is paradise.

Everything is very, Very, very nice. (Kevin McGee) What's all the gloom for? We have no room for Long faces and sighs and regrets; Life's there a-waitin' for jub-jubilatin', Let's hit the high notes —O let's.

Summer's a-leapin', why miss it sleepin', Join in the fun and the fetes, Laughter's a tonic that's sup-supersonic, Let's hit the high notes —0 let's. Sing while it's sunny, living is funny, Away with your worries and frets, Get up and tango, dance a fandango, Let's hit the high notes— 0 let's.

Don't be a loser, sail on a cruiser, Don't grudge the setters their jets, Get up and be 'ern, carp the old diem, Let's hit the high notes —0 let's.

(Frank McDonald) When you wake up feeling queasy and there's clinker in your head, And the bloke across the ward has coughed his lot, Then God knows it isn't easy, with those curtains round your bed, To lie and quietly ponder all you've got.

But when you total up your blessings and the reasons you should smile, And a nurse has pressed against you with her breast, Well, you half forget the dressings and the sudden taste of bile And you know that things will work out for the best.

There's not much point in moaning and using up your breath When it only spreads a bit more gloom around. No, put a chuckle in your groaning and remember at the death Your grin survives your skin beneath the ground.

(W. J. Webster) Seek solace in ancient wisdom, troubled head, The darkest hour is just before the dawn. The west is grey, but see! the east is red, The torch of hope beckons to souls forlorn.

Don't be too solemn, say it's tickety-boo And greet the morning with a cheerful song. Think of all those less fortunate than you, The bluebird happiness will come along.

When you see a dying Tutsi or a Hutu Just think how God has favoured you and me. That falling body might be me, and you too Might not he here to watch it on TV.

(Richard Blomfield)