COMPETITION

No. 615. The bare truth

The 12th World Naturist Congress meets shortly at Orpington. Competitors are invited to submit a 100-word extract from the open- ing or ;losing address. Entries, marked 'Competition No. 615,' by 14 August.

No. 612: The winners

Charles Seaton reports: Competitors were invited to incorporate the titles of eight current West End plays in a piece of verse. The list of titles had obvious possibilities and a very large entry took full advantage. Most followed the lure offered by The Bed, Pyjama Tops and Three Months Gone—as H. B. Mallalieu remarked: 'It must be the permissive society which juggles the titles into the bedroom.' Even so, thirty-six titles in all.were worked into the entries—even the unpromising-looking 1776. Vera Telfer man- aged nineteen titles, and Tom Shearer eight- een, in twelve lines, while H. B. Mallalieu packed his eight into two lines.

The tone is set by William Hodson : At home, with hair unpinned and loose chemise, Fonder than Ahelard and Heloise, See frisky Lady Frederick to her lord First sing a rude song: then in warm accord They to the bed retire in jocund haste, Half-clad in night attire more scant than chaste, (Pyjama tops, no more, to tell the truth), The rest you'll guess, nor need to be a sleuth.

But Brian Allgar, who wins three guineas, shows how different a dish can be made from much the same ingredients: Tis the voice of the diner. I hear him declare, There's a girl in my soup who has twigs in her hair: She is quite three months gone. or else very well fed.

And appears to have come here direct from the bed; Her pyjama top's missing—it's going too far, Though 1 see that your menu says 'Come v‘no arc.'

Furthermore, she's beginning to sing a rude song.

So call the head waiter, this soup is all

wrong—

It's suppose to be bird's nest. but I've never heard Of a recipe using the secretary bird!

L. S. Crowder (two guineas) chose a com- pletely different line again: I am normally quite a blithe They said 'Come as you are' and I'm here. But they've put on a disc that's upset me And this party's decidedly queer.

There's a man they call Charlie Girl, somewhere, And now someone's beginning to whoop; There's the idiot out there with the mousetrap, And I think there's a girl in my soup.

I'm not sure the plebeians applaud it

And the VIPS certainly don't;

But it's one, if you please, they think stuffy— They said 'Sing a rude song', and I won't!

Of the remaining winners the first three win three guineas each and Adam Khan and Mary Holtby four guineas: In Canterbury, tales, these three months cone, Of conduct unbecoming to a priest, Have gone the rounds. He drinks, his hair is long.

Come! As you are discreet, last but not least. To drive it home, his landlady, 'tis said, Found strange pyjama tops inside the bed.

Peter Peterson Come as you are! The bed at home (Though ten years hard) will give us rest. Pyjama tops would only hide The happy apple of your breast. Let conduct unbecoming thrive! Sing a rude song! Your hair unfurl! DANNY LA RUE ...? You've made me look A right and proper Charlie, girl. -Paul Delon Sir John and Lady Frederick had No Stately Home: a humble pad Was where this non-conforming pair, Unwashed and with dishevelled hair, Would set the mousetrap every night. And find a corpse at morning's light. One evening they were on the bed, When an acquaintance phoned and said, 'Hurry across to Charlie's Bar, And have a ball; come as you are.'

They went in their pyjama tops, And were arrested by the cops, Despite the plea made by Sir John 'My wife, you see, is three months gone.'

Nancy Perry Disguised. then. like a fiddler on the roof, _

The Lady Frederick hid, awaiting proof Of sin : and saw with eyes like organ stops, Upon the bed, in brief pyjama tops- () conduct unbecoming a Tenth Earl!— Lord Fred, embracing that fast Charlie Girl, Both with their hair on end, she on his knees, Shameless as Abelard and Heloise.

Adam Khan THE FALL

Into Eve's lap the happy apple drops (The heretic of Heaven the mousetrap

made) .

Come as you are to Eden, God had said, No need for nighties or pyjama tops!

But now their conduct unbecoming seems, And the bed, flint, where, pillowed but by

hair,

Naked and unashamed the idiot pair Lay ere the tempest broke upon their

dreams. Mary Holtby