COMPETITION

Conman

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1832 you were invited to write a story for which `Conman' could be the title, containing a dozen words of four letters or more beginning with con or man.

Some of you did it all with con, some all with man, and some with a mixture. As it happens, all the winners were mixers. Commendations to Chris Tingley, Ba Mil- ler (who took as conman the 18th-century quack James Graham) and Peter Norman, for this sentence: 'A manifestly Mancunian maniac with contorted diction contrives to convince you that he controls a Manhattan manufacturing conglomerate, a container fleet sailing under a Manchurian flag of convenience and a considerable portion of the coniferous timber belt of Manitoba?' The prizewinners, printed below, get £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Drummond's Pure Malt Scotch whisky goes to W.F.N. Watson.

`Draw near, good people,' cried the chapman, `while 1 make manifest unto you the many merits of this plant.' He displayed it, blew upon his conch, then said, 'This, friends, is the legendary

Mandragora, an oriental herb of wondrous virtues. Considering its forked root's lewd like- ness to mankind, I keep its back turned, to avoid affronting sober dames and maiden modesty. But you, my masters, approach and behold.' The men crowded round, becoming convulsed with guffaws. 'As for you, mistresses, hear this: a concoction of Mandragora increases fecundity in woman, and prevents conception. It en- hances' — he lowered his voice — 'amorous inclination in the goodwife, and concupiscence and' — whispering — 'potency in her goodman; and conjugal pleasure in both. The Emperor Julian consumed a potion thereof nightly, and the Mandarin Hsi-Men administered it regularly to his concubines. The cost, neighbours, is one groat.'

Whoy,' muttered Hodgkin, `tis nobbut a whoreson mangel-wurzel.'

(W.F.N. Watson)

I knew about Find the Lady and its variants, of course. Indeed, I had but recently concluded editing a manuscript on the Elizabethan cony- catchers, who were adept at the art. I had not managed, however, to see a latter-day practi- tioner, so when a street-side barker invited me to 'try my skill', I readily consented.

He was a mangy little fellow, constantly looking out for the constable. He had a small table bearing three upturned cones. Concealing a pebble under one of them, he began to manipulate them at great speed, crying like a kind of mantra. 'The quickness of the hand deceives the eye.'

I followed his movements closely, and correct- ly conjectured the pebble's location. I doubled my stake and won again. Then, anticipating the waiting trap, I retired, smugly pleased.

Only upon reaching my rooms did I miss my wallet, my watch, and the entire contents of my briefcase.

(Noel Petty)

He seemed such an ordinary chap. Good man- ners. A bit grey, really, but he offered consensus after all her years of confrontation. We've contained inflation, he said. We've cut civil service manpower. We've got better manage- ment in the NHS. We won't put up taxes. We've

got a consumer-led recovery. Manufacturing industry is beginning to boom. We'll bring in open government. As for the other lot, they were inexperienced and still manacled to the trade unions. Socialism had been consigned to the history books.

Well, my manufacturing industry has made me redundant. Government is now conducted by quangos. The NHS is all managers and market forces. There's VAT on fuel. The manure is hitting the fan with the Scott inquiry. And so on.

But I have to confess, he convinced me, and thousands more in constituencies up and down the country — that smiling face filling the cover of the Conservative Manifesto.

(Nicholas Hodgson)

`Manzanilla with the consommé? It's manda- tory,' said my host. I'd not seen my old acquaintance Bristowe for many years, so when he invited me to be his guest at the Connaught, I was delighted. Things had gone well for him, he confessed — he'd become a director of a conglomerate making everything from mantel- pieces to condoms. A fanciful confection was being served for dessert when Bristowe's port- able phone rang. 'Sorry, old chap, it's confiden- tial,' he said, 'I'd better take it outside.' After three quarters of an hour, no Bristowe manifestly, I'd been taken for a ride. The bill was gargantuan.

(Herbert Frimblebee)

Tourist lodges constructed on stilts in a man- grove swamp? It was not, Miss Mainwaring decided, after some consideration, the most unlikely project she'd been presented with. As a consequence of her sudden good fortune, she was constantly being approached with hopeful schemes by plausible people.

She glanced covertly at Mr Conway. He had such a delightful manner — confidential without being ingratiating. And he seemed wholly con- cerned with her interests. The cheque was simply to 'seal the contract'.

As she checked the noughts she explained that she used a Manx account for tax purposes. He smiled conspiratorially at her, tucking her che- que into his notecase. Miss Mainwaring smiled back. For now, everyone was happy! Only later would the recriminations begin, and her bank manager turn huffy. But let him huff, she thought. He could play the financial consultant on her other accounts. On this empty one she only needed a bouncer.

(W.J. Webster)