REPORT ON NO. 17

THE usual prizes were offered for topical poems of not more than i6 lines on any event reported or any subject discussed in the newspapers during the last few weeks. Competitors were left free to essay the serious or the frivolous as they pleased. There was a large entry for this competition. Serious verse, in which (for the most part) nobility of theme unfortu- nately outshone poetic accomplishment by an ample margin, was submitted in unexpected floods, the most popular subjects being examples of naval gallantry, the military prowess of the Finns, War (and Peace) Aims, and the Turkish earthquake. In the hour of paper rationing it would, alas, be an offence against proportion to print any of the poems upon these themes. The less ambitious poems were on the whole more rewarding. There was the inevitable small crop of metrical facetiousness about Hitler, Stalin, and conscientious objectors, but quite a number of entries were genuinely entertaining. The first prize is awarded to Mr. Bernard Denvir for an in- genious and pleasant fantasy, and the second is divided between "Billeting Officer" (for whose views the Editor has intimated that he will not accept responsibility), and " Midory," who—apart from Lady Whitson, who sent in a poem in memory of Sir Frank Benson—was the only competi- tor who submitted serious verse which seemed to possess merit.

First Prize.

DOCTOR JOHN DONNE CONTEMPLATES THE INTRODUCTION OF RATIONING IN A SECULAR SONNET.

When by deceite of Mars' ill-gotten strife, And woeful Machination's hostyle planne,

The staies and props of human Life

Are bare emparcelled out to everie man, A horrid wrong is done to Nature's store, For by what Iesuit's counter plot, Is of the vegetable world donated more?

Of solid milk we get the merest clot.

Now overturned is the sovraigne rule of State And mystik booke-enclosed, emprinted stampes Set checks upon our gastronomic fate And blacken out th' Epicurean lamps.

So may th' ascetic rule much lauded bee,

Till, peace returned, the fatted calf we see.

BERNARD DENVIR.

Second Prize. EVACUATION.

Who turned the village upside down, Imported habits from the town, That made the country people frown? The evacuees.

Whose heads (alas!) were filled with lice (It really wasn't very nice), This happened neither once nor twice? The evacuees.

Who longed for tinned and " potted " food, Cased not for country fare and good, Refused it flatly when they could? The evacuees.

Who stayed a month and then returned, Their safety billets gaily spurned (For fish and chips their spirits yearned)? The evacuees. BILLETING OFFICER. Second Prize. BOMBING IN THE FOREST.

[It is proposed to build a bombing range in the New Forest.]

When the cuckoo returns, and the nightingale and the swallow, —Older than man are the trackless roads they follow, Roads that man no* scours, as a bird of prey—

Back to the northern sun and the temperate day, Trickle of streams, and the breeze and the friendly ram; Must they seek in vain for thicket end spray, • Find no peace on the moor, no rest in the hollow, Age old sanctuary broken, and beauty slain?

Commended. W. V. S.

I have evacuated all things

Even unto a typewriter and the cat.

I have made—nay, constructed—a "dolly bag" Which must be seen to be believed.

Truly the army has need of strange comforts, even in the day

of battle.

I have knitted a worm-like woolly

Identical at both ends—

I have sewn a number of garments

Of varying impracticability— We remember, with gratitude, that the hall is lent and thel tea

even now in the urn The war? We will speak of it later: A profound thought has occurred to me, How unsuited to all emergencies

Are all these emergency suits— But there is no limit to our activity, our enthusiasm, and alas,

our ingenuity.

DISGUST OF COLONEL BLIMP.

As Colonel Blimp surveys this war With eyeballs popping out, He certainly has reason for Unphilosophic doubt.

With leaflets we began the strife, And radio backchat: The gory work of taking life Has been held up for that.

And now the Colonel's forced to con Another stunt, by Gad!

The Finns are dropping Bibles on The Reds of Leningrad! WILLIAM STEWART.

HAW-HAW'S BRAY.

Lord Haw-Haw's accent—we regret—

Has not been analysed as yet.

"It's Manchester," some experts say ; Others—" He comes from London way."

Each Haw-Haw fan hazards a guess, And sends suggestions to the Press.

But, be his accent Lancs. or Cholmondely, We all agree he speaks most rolmondely.

V. T. R. BROWN.

A CALL TO TRUE PATRIOTS.

Britons! When you get together, Never talk about the w r, For Berlin hears clear and loud Every mention of a cl . . d, And Nazi ears are straining To hear you say, "It's r g!"

So, remember, you don't know Who may hear you talk of sn . w, And the whole war may be lost By a reference to fr . . t! DOUGLAS HAWSON.

FANTASY.

In London where the lights are low, Where even glow-worms dare not glow, An exile wandered to and fro— The Kaiser strolling vapidly.

For Adolf sent his Nordic braves To Netherlandish water-graves: Who once waived Munich lightly waives A promise of neutrality.

The Huns have gained the dykes at last! Hark! ho! The Hitler Jugend blast! No flying Dutchman flew so fast As His Imperial Majesty.

And so to London he retreats And hears of conquests and defeats, While Schickelgrueber Klein repeats MIDORY.

PHYLLIS PROTHERO.

The European tragedy. GRAGG