COMPETITION

Whatevergoes

Jaspistos

IN Competition No. 1488 you were asked for a poem in the same metre and of the same length as Masefield's 'Cargoes', describing three stages of any form of transport.

For those who failed to guess my mean- ing, I meant of course the same rhyme- scheme as well as the same metre. The challenge drew a good number of new aspirers and a sprinkling of train buffs, nearly all of whom put up a good perform- ance. Forms of transport stretched amu- singly to include the hearse, the pram, spacecraft, caravans, and a neat Santa Claus sleigh-toboggan-tin-tray sequence. Honourable mentions go to A. Bryson Gerrard, J. C. M. Hepple, Robin Ravens- bourne, Noel Petty and Steve Owen.

The prizewinners printed below get £12 each, and I'm almost glad there isn't a bonus bottle this week because I'm damned if I'd know where to place it.

Algernon and Emma in the Talbot tourer, Bowling down to picnic in leafy Savernake, With a hamper of smoked trout, Fresh figs, bridge rolls, Potted quail, ginger ale and Fortnum's cake.

Mum and Dad with Aunt Em, off to Seaview Villa, Sweating in the Austin with the girls and James, With the grid piled with tin trunks, Spades and potties, Mackintoshes, parasols and Best Beach Games.

Jimmy and his latest with the kids and step-kids, Burning up the fast lane in the GTi, With the on-board computer, Car-phone, video, Turbo-boost, telex-link and Quad hi-fi (Michael Lee) Handley Page Heracles from distant Croydon, Landing at Le Bourget on a worn grass field, With a cargo of gentry, Ladies and children, Tastefully dressed and quite well-heeled.

Dogged, drab Dakota from war-torn Europe, Undercarriage down and flaps unfurled, With a cargo of noncoms, Erks and squaddies, Demob fodder for a brave new world.

Gaudy Lockheed TriStar for package tourists, Dropping down to Gatwick through the morning mist, With a cargo of white trash, Fractious, bleary, Anxiously whining or just plain pissed.

(Joe Hall) Twenty-two-gear thoroughbred, looking like a picture, Climbing up the hillside in the fresh spring breeze, With a cargo of athlete, Skull-cap, singlet, Skin-tight black shorts that reach to the knees.

Sturmey-Archer nondescript, bowling down the byways, Wobbling like a willow if the going gets fast, With a cargo of parson, Parish mags and notices, Singing Alleluias as the world wheels past.

Filthy dirty sit-and-beg, moaning for the oil-can, Wailing in the wind as its brake-blocks rub, With a cargo of tosspot,

Cider jars, jerrycans, Hoping he will make it to the nearest pub.

(A. D. Gibbons) Clumsy little biplane with a motor-car engine, Airborne for twelve seconds — the first powered flight; Wilbur and Orville Rejoicing together: `We have lift-off!' And they were Wright.

Vickers-Vimy bomber on the first Atlantic crossing, Sixteen hours without coming down; Two in the cockpit, Both knighted later, John Alcock and Arthur Whitten-Brown.

European airbus on automatic pilot, Coming in to Gatwick (oops — a near miss), With a cargo of duty-free Cigarettes, whisky, Sweet white wine and smuggled cannabis.

(Stanley J. Sharpless) Walnut-panelled Pullman on the Santa Fe- Topeka, Swinging through the desert of the Wild South- West, With a party of train robbers, Navajo, gunslingers, Crooked politicians and dames half-dressed.

Silk-shaded candles in the first-class dining-car, Gliding down to Monte on the old Blue Train, With a party of duchesses, Debutantes, nincompoops, Admirals and generals with dreams of gain.

Dirty British diesel on a half-doomed branch line Clattering and battering the points worn down, With a party of schoolgirls, Housewives and pensioners On cheap-day tickets to a dying market town.

(A. D. C. Peterson) Shanks's Pony Sixteen-summered sprinter, limber-limbed, spike-shoed, Speeded to the ribbon by the soft June breeze Fabled for his fleetness, Cynosure of Sports Days - Silver cups, speeches and cream-and-strawberry teas.

Desk-bound executive, married, in his thirties, But still a handy Harrier, loyal to his Club Feeling faintly flabby now, But still a fighting finisher - Afterwards, a long soak, the piss-up at the pub.

Grimly jaunty jogger, sagging in his sixties, Pounding round the roads in the January sleet Albeit veins are varicose, Euphorically masochist - High heart fuelling arch-dropped feet.

(Andrew McEvoy)