No. 1307: The winners

Jaspistos reports: Competitors were asked for a poem, in their own style or that of a well-known poet, on the disappearance of the halfpenny.

After 704 years of healthy life the death- throes of this maddening little coin (somebody actually sent me one: thank you very much) evoked an unexpectedly plangent response — and an unexpectedly Scottish one too, since the bawbee and the shadow of Burns were much in evidence. The standard, both imitative and original, was extremely high, P. K. Brown, Bridget Loney, T. Griffiths and J. Thomson leading a small crowd who were hard to distinguish from the winners. The latter, printed below, get £10 each, and all of you have my appreciative congratulations.

A Piece of Very Late Auden When good historians (and the very finest are Always endomorphs), ignoring our mountains Of self-aggrandising paper, delve among really Serious truths in our cess-pits and coin-hoards, They are sure to mull the demise of this obolus, A token that buys nothing, though it can be

But is just a nuisance to the pound-notish. Toongeestetifoo miffed about it might be to brand ated A soppy ha'porth, but a sigh can be sP When links go with the ages before our rigid And bossy rules insisted that base ten Be our single tally. (So what are they °Ores-

sing?

Some deep fear that God's not decadigital?) ish Nor need we shy at doling for anything's van Whose intrinsic worth exceeds its face value' Since rushed in where(GAenogreglel Sfeinia: :41° tread, ' And lured inflation into Sterling's bed, Her age of gold has passed beyond recall. Inexorably, the pound's decline and fall Makes wages wax in each year's hopeful roil" And prices rise by many a leap and bound' Time was when by myself I did avail To purchase every morn a Daily Mail. wills, A tram ride, or a Woodbine made by Diminished snoowmnbcyh in Gody'asinaebraansd in abrasive mills, I've That Government has ordered my demise. But though as money I shan't be of use' ,„s You'll find me handy when you undo sae' 'rr) (Charles Ca From 'Elegy written in a Country Sub-Pose-office

Here lies a minor p on

Small Change he layer wroughtthis stage, on our terrestrial ingratitude it tide was all he had for wage, And rude inflation mark'd him from his birth. Let not High Finance scorn his humble Nor silver Heptagon, nor milt-edg'd Poan Today they come, tomorrow they depart. d. And follow him from Mint to burial-grow Although may be his fate, Will roll at last, unmar'sk'idlic,

gate

To join the host of Peter's lesser Pencoel Petty)

(N

incontinence Heard, Coy copper coinlet, 0 are you dead then? Widow's mite, most minuscule medallion! Shuffling shrew as much as stamping sta.ilifaand Is loved by the Almighty Minter of frac.'

men.

InHmibs humble _image made, we too love what 15 hu We r white's nt

A furred bee's bumble, and his barbed sting' grumble.

Chime and chink in a whisky bottle, clink alb, '" Of cash in a stash; the humblest has great on Multiplied millionfold. So too with 111 A c a b b eaags en r we e' s and wgi;tsthemmtsseanweest nioinpg

e and

But a t miss one soul, the chain lacks one f ith- Psed.-out two farthings, faced with our v

defender,

Hotewndy tender. are to me — now that you are not -- man/ (peter N°r Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey --way; Yet one more dwindling coin must Pass The humble coin that, to an infant's Conjured up jagged toffee, prised off traY Orbead-eyed sugar mouse with stringy tail, splintery ice-cream from a zinc-lined pail, Sweets rainbow-hued or zebra-like in jar, Liquorice bootlace, slender chocolate bar. Returning home, his grand-dam would lament To see his weekly ha'pence so ill-spent,

And tell of what one farthing used to buy When she was young. And so fare you and I, When infant tastes, and teeth, are now no more. The ha'penny soon will join the gold moidore In the fair past where all Man's coinage goes Gone with the groat, or like last winter's snows.

(0. Banfield)