COMPETITION

What the Dickens

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1442 you were in- vited to write a complaint as it might be spoken by a Dickens character aggrieved at the way the author presented him or her.

I never knew till this week that the Dickens in my exclamatory title isn't the writer but the deuce or the devil, nor for that matter (exploring further) that the Scott in 'Great Scott!' seems to have been General Winfield-Scott, a popular figure in America after his Mexican campaign in 1847. Strange oaths intrigue me. Did some of you, like me, vouchsafe 'Jumping Jeho- shaphat!' at school? Please, for fun, send me any fine specimens you recall.

In Our Mutual Friend, praising Sloppy as a fine reader aloud of newspapers, Betty Higden says, `He do the Police in different voices.' You did your different voices with rare wit and mimicry. There were clinking good performances from Jeremy Browne (Lawrence Boythorn), Toby Dawe (Twemlow), Russell Lucas (Fagin), D. A. Prince (Wackford Squeers), George Moor (the Fat Boy), Basil Ransome-Davies (Thomas Gradgrind) and J. Martin (Tiny Tim as a nasty little mugger and pimp). The prize-winners printed below take £9 each, and the bonus bottle of Pol Roger White Foil Champagne, presented by Col- in Dix, Wolseys Wine Bar, 52 Wells St, London, goes to Andrew McEvoy for his outburst from Mrs Wilfer (whose entire family I personally find impossible to like).

Though only too cruelly. aware that he does nothing to deserve them, mils REGINALD W1LFER presents her compliments to Mr Dickens, and asks him to ponder whether his depiction of her as a self-dramatising termagant terrorising her husband into subservience by the vicious ex- tremity of her moods is the act of a — but no, she will not say 'Gentleman' because even such a calumniating cur as Mr Dickens is not, presum- ably, impudent enough to aspire to a station so palpably precluded to him. That Mrs Wilfer is in fact a woman of such stoical meekness and rigid containment of feeling as to excite amazement among her innumerable acquaintance that she has not, long ere this, BURET! — this is some- thing that Mrs Wilfer guarantees to bring home to Mr Dickens with the utmost forcefulness if he would but grant her five minutes of his otherwise

prodigally ill-spent time. (Andrew McEvoy) Sam Weller

Yen a man takes the likeness o' a feller's phiz and puts it in a book, vy then a feller's entitled to a slice o' the royalties, as the Jacobin said ven he vos thoughtfully thumbin' the blade o' his guillotine. But if the bump o' benewolence is brought out uncommon large, as mine 'as bin, it an't easy to get another crib. Flats like Pickwick is rare as a wirgo intacta in the Vest End, an' there's ten gents vot wants a `complice in gammonin' to every pictur o' parsonified wer- dancy vot desires a walet. Accordin'ly I'm left high an' dry by my undeserved character, as the mack'rel said ven they 'anged 'im on the 'ook an' smoked 'im in mistake for a kipper.

(Charles Mosley) [Continued overleaf Many is the time Mrs Harris has begged me, with tears in her eyes, to sue Mr Dickings for slander and defalcation. `Sairey Gamp,' says she, 'you poor defamed creature, sue that willian and bleed him dry. Dodson and Fogg will do it for a percentage and hold him up to public calumny.' If ever a kinder-hearted woman ever lived Mrs Harris is that person, and she well knows that what I have suffered from that wicious book is more than the tongues of angels could tell or the ears of worms believe. But I know that ig,noriance is the consequence of living in a wale, and, as Mrs Harris always says, I was born to be a martha. Talking about that rascal makes me so angry. 1 must have a few drops of . . . tea . . . to compoge myself. Were my late husband alive Dickings would not bear himself so high.

(Stephen Truman) Mr Chadband Is this a novelist who has assailed me? It is. Do I deserve it? I do. Did I allow myself to tell Mrs Jellyby that Borrioboola-Gha would be better administered by Mr Geldof? I did. For this I may be justly mortified, but do I allow this to hold me back from defending myself with full confidence in my own rectitude? I do not. Do I not know, does everyone not know, that Mr Dickens was, at the very moment he launched his assault in the pages of a journal designed for Sabbath-day reading, considering transgression of his matrimonial vows? We do. Was this not in the company of an actress? It was. Did he not then view my own matrimonial bliss with jealousy and resentment? He did. Is he not condemned out of his own mouth? He is.

(Owen Jenkins) I 'ope as no offence is took but a poor 'ooman 'oo's only ridges is 'er reppertation as a honest friend to them wot's in need, which Mrs Harris would confer was she 'ere, must speak up.

Which I would not denige that I take a drop o' comfort of a cold night, but Mr D do make too much o' that for 'ow else can a body keep out the perishin' chill of a London perticlar which often comes my way for I'm that kind-'earted as never to refuge 'elp when arst an' Mr D 'imself might never 'ave lived to write a blessed word 'ad it not been for some 'elpful body by his pore Ma's bedside when 'er time come.

(John Sweetman) Mrs Leo Hunter

When thy churlish cur-blood thickens, Mock me wouldst thou, Mr Dickens?

Cast aspersions on my scansion?

Spurn my teeming heart's expansion?

Doubtless, as a boy, thou booted Humble hoppers webby-footed -- But mark me well, 0 Dolt Accursed, One day the roles will be reversed: A Frog become Leviathan, Its haunches hulking higher than Thy puny bulk, will thee ambush — Then crush thee to a slushy mush!

My one faint pang, Unfeeling Man, Thou wilt not be alive to scan The dithyrambs with which I'll log

Thy dim demise — EXPIRING DOG!

(Molly Fitton)