COMPETITION

Plinth-filler

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1521 you were asked to supply verses to accompany a sculptured figure of your choice on the empty plinth in Trafalgar Square.

Alas! we have no ships afloat Upon the basins of the Square; It is the landsman's lusty throat That rends today a saltless air; And, save from such as hold the main To guard her pride among the nations, England has ceased to entertain Much in the way of expectations.

So wrote Owen Seaman, over 50 years ago, lugubriously musing on Nelson's statue. I wonder what he, or Nelson for that matter, would have thought of some of your less suitable suggestions – Ian McCaskill, the weather forecaster, Whit- comb L. Judson, inventor of the zip- fastener, myself, Thomas Crapper and Enver Hoxha (rhymed with 'brochure'). What a crew!

This week's winners take £14 apiece, except for George Moor, who gets £7 for his six-liner. The bonus bottle of White Horse Whisky, presented by United Distil- lers Group, goes to Keith Norman for his tribute to Ralph Richardson, whose motor- bike I once had the honour of helping to push.

Astride his motor-bike in all his glory Here sits a giant of the English stage, Unmatched in Ibsen, Priestley, Pinter, Storey, Acclaimed the greatest Falstaff of the age.

The years enriched his art and made it subtler — No need to show it all if you can hint. His range was vast: he could be earl or butler, Old Ekdal, Bluntschli, Bottom or Peer Gynt.

The humour and the warmth were tinged with danger, And though both step and tone were feather-light, Beneath the surface one sensed something stranger, A madness briefly glimpsed, then snatched from sight.

The man himself became a ripe creation, A role he played with gusto and with flair. Now cast among the great men of the nation, He'll upstage every statue in the square.

(Keith Norman)

Here, fashioned by the sculptor's art, one stands Whose life was worked upon by many hands. A captain and a baronet first came And got their children on her swan-like frame, Then, after briefly modelling Hygeia. A Greville was the next in her career. He to his uncle passed the charmer on Who thus became the Lady Hamilton. She at her court in Naples came to ignite The heart of Nelson, who from yonder height O'ertops her as he never did in life; He made her mistress, heiress, all but wife. Let none who read this censure her ambition: She worked in the empirical tradition. Romney she sat for, but these stones relate They also stand who only serve and wait.

(Noel Petty) Upon such plinths as this there stand More commonly the Great and Grand Their destiny to legislate A nation's and an empire's fate, Or, in the battle's shot and flame, To character a hero's fame.

Amid such panoply and power. This far less pompous bloom must flower, These much less martial strains be sung.

Her sole constituents the Young (Of every age), her only fight To get the word and image right, By acclamation loud and clear Dear Beatrix is elected here, Where she, with simple-subtle arts, Still rules a million children's hearts.

(Martin Fagg) The mortal enemies in war are three: One seeks to kill the body; and the second Is he who in the name of policy Fails to give the help on which you reckoned; Third enemy, the human constitution, When you are near the goal that you have sought, Breaks, and impairs the half-achieved solution. Against each enemy you bravely fought.

High above slander let your figure stand, Showing the spirit that ensured your fight Triple success: for with your Chindit band You brought a Burma victory into sight; You rose above disease and the surprise Of having those you taught defame your skill. Six thousand miles from here, your body lies Safe in the mighty jungles of your will.

(Paul Griffin) Here David Attenborough stands, Dame Nature's proudest scion, Who traced her spoor through distant lands For us at home to spy on.

No need for us to choose between A sitcom or a thriller, We'd watch our hero on the screen At play with a gorilla.

To den and lair, to hole and nest, Still suaviter in modo He'd chase with undiminished zest The yeti or the dodo.

0 beast-besotted British, bow!

And, freed from film restrictions, May pigeons on his lofty brow Pour liquid benedictions. (Mary Holtby) I in the square of victory Again my conquering hero see.

While pigeons, messengers of love, Carry my amorous wish above: Instead of stone, that we were human, And he my man and I his woman.

(George Moor)