Rollicker

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1944 you were given two rollicking opening lines of poetry and invited to continue in your own way.

The two lines floated into my head just after reading Charles Causley's spirited piece beginning:

Colonel Verzackerly-Butterworth-Toast • Lived in a castle complete with a ghost ...

The dactylic rhythm makes for good fun; you produced a fine variety of revellers. Alanna Blake's piece, rich in kitchen Swahili, ended with Prendergast donning his pith-helmet and shouting: 'We are remittance-men. England expects! Drink up — and bugger the after-effects!' Susan Therkelsen's quartet, on the other hand, turned out to be not seasoned lib- ertines but 14-year-old schoolboys.

The prizewinners, printed below, get £25 each, and the bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky is John Sweetman's.

Prendergast, Blenkinsop, Cholmondeley and Browne

Once chartered a cab for a night on the town. They wore their best dresses, all debby and clean, With their Suffragette sashes in violet and green, And Prendy cried, 'Girls, we must go some- where posh.

'After three weeks on skilly we've earned some good nosh

'And some bottles of fizz — all the girls in the know 'Suggest we should order what's called Veuve Cliquot.' Both Blenkers and Cholmondeley were quick to agree.

Blenkers said to the cabby, 'Café de Paris!' And Brownie declared, to a chorus of praise, 'The banner is safely tucked up in my stays. 'Though I say it myself it's the best you'll have

seen, 'And it's terse, it says nothing but FREE EMMELINE!, 'And after we've dined we'll unroll it and shout,

And we shan't have to pay once they've thrown us out.'

(John Sweetman) Prendergast, Blenkinsop, Cholmondeley and Browne Once chartered a cab for a night on the town. 'To Soho,' cried Prendergast, fancying a tart And a hands-on experience of strip-teaser's art. 'Voyeurz!' exclaimed Blenkinsop (seen it reviewed As erotic, explicit, and — bluntly — quite crude).

'The Carlton,' purred Cholmondeley; though not on their list, He'd a cousin who was and would help them get pissed.

'The Ritz,' thundered Browne, who'd heard it was class - Refined and no riff-raff, all accents cut-glass. So they haggled and heckled, the meter ticked on, No compromise reached and half the night gone, Sex versus drinking, and class versus sleaze. 'It's up to you, driver,' said Browne on his knees. Bored witless, he nodded, and then fixed his route on A fitting location — the centre of Luton.

(D.A. Prince) Prendergast, Blenkinsop, Cholmondeley and Browne Once chartered a cab for a night on the town, Abandoning brollies and bowlers at six To be driven to living entirely for kicks. The night importuned them, the moonlight was red, And the hot scent of sin travelled straight to their head; In no time at all, they were dancing the rumba And tippling tequilas — an infinite number. Prendergast lasted two hours or less; Browne was arrested in total undress; Blenkinsop fumbled the waitresses dumbly; What Cholmondeley attempted was frankly uncolmondeley.

Prendergast, Blenkinsop, Cholmondeley and Browne Awoke in disgrace, but were far from cast down; They were right back at Whitehall at nine, on the hour, Advising the PM on nuclear power.

(Bill Greenwell) Prendergast, Blenkinsop, Cholmondeley and Browne Once chartered a cab for a night on the town, Whilst swilling down 'Bolly' they picked up four whores, Borrowed their lipstick and tried on their drawers.

Cautioned three times for disturbing the peace, They smashed up the Panda and goosed all the police.

In jocular mood, with an absence of qualms, They scaled Nelson's column and added six arms.

With barely a pause, they pillaged the Zoo And graffiti'd the penguins with limericks blue. As a tableau vivant, in the dome of St Paul's, Wearing naught but wide grins, they took four curtain-calls.

Though hitherto blameless, they sinned with aplomb; Each conscience was mute, and shame they knew none, Until the next morning, when, mitred and grave, With the Congress of Bishops they walked down the nave. (E. Laws)

No. 1947: Utopia?

Heard at the next table: 'In an ideal world . . .' You are invited to write a poem (maxi- mum 16 lines), in any mood, beginning with those words. Entries to 'Competition No. 1947' by 22 August.