Competition

No. 1080: If only ...

Set by P.W.R. Foot: If only they could speak! Competitors are invited to supply a script of about 120 words for the Mona Lisa, the Laughing Cavalier, the Thinker, Whistler's Mother, the Sower, Picasso's Lady in a Rocking Chair or any other famous painting or piece of sculpture. Entries to 'Competition No. 1080' by 17 September. (Entries for both competition and crossword may be posted together under one cover addressed 'Competition Entries' provided each is enclosed in a separately marked envelope.)

No. 1077: The winners

Charles Seaton reports: Pope John Paul I wrote a number of letters to famous characters of history and' literature: Competitors were asked for similar letters from any present-day politician. The suggested combination of Mrs Thatcher and St Joan proved a runaway success, though Boadicea had a point or two in her favour, as Peter Peterson observed:

Dear Boadicea,

It is unfortunately no longer true that your descendants bring the benefits of civilisation to regions Caesar never knew. Nevertheless, as the last British ruler under whom the entire population was, owing to the use of homegrown dyes, true blue, you must surely. I feel, be in a position to suggest ways out of our present difficulties. It has occurred to me, for instance, that in cutting a swathe, as I propose to do, through the superfluous bureaucracy now throttling the nation; the use of scythed chariots might prove effective. I should therefore much appreciate yowladvice on the technical problems involved.

Yours firmly, Margaret Thatcher

Interest otherwise was fairly widely spread, ranging from Idi Amin explaining to J.M. Barrie that 'I'm really just a big black Peter Pan who never grew up' (Edward Samson) to Tony Henn getting in touch with Wat Tyler and Moses, though first claim to Moses must surely go to Jim Callaghan (here guiding the ,pen ofT. Griffiths): Like you, Moses, I received a mission to lead my people into the Promised Land. You had your turbulent tribes, I had the trade unions; and when you were in sight of the Promised Land, you died — at Pisgah, wasn't it? My Promised Land was the oil revenue, my Pisgah Mrs Thatcher. Well, it was to be expected. Did you know we had horns in common too? Mine were placed on me by the extreme Left, simply because I did my best holding them together. Well, I've no doubt we'll win through in the end; but I notice in your case the Lord is always speaking unto you and saying

. I wish he'd speak unto me and say how to avoid Tony as Joshua. That would be something!

Among the less conventional couplings were those of Edward Heath and Captain Ahab (John Digby), President Carter and the White Knight (A. Botem an) and Enoch Powell and John the Baptist (Paul Griffin).

Four pounds for each entry printed.

Dear Mr Micawber, When, ignoring the prejudice

against your author still strong in the South of my boyhood because of those libellous Mississippi chapters in Martin Chuzzlewit, I first exulted with you in your triumphs and wept with you in your despairs, I little thought that I too, in an extremity of misfortune, would be obliged to rely on something 'turning up' to extricate me from a combination of hostile circumstances such as would daunt anyone less well endowed than either of us with deep underlying reserves of irrepressible optimism. The 'Inimitable' one who gave you to us provides, in his pages, counsel for every human predicament and consolation for every human trial. If you could, against the odds, achieve a last-chapter salvation, so too may I.

Sincerely yours, , Jimmy Carter (Robin Raven sbourne) Dear Joan (Forgive my dropPing the 'St.' Brings me closer!),

I feel we two have a lot in common. Someone once called you 'an illiterate peasant, girl'; as a grocer's daughter, / started scarcely less under-privileged in the political field. Yet look where we've both got to: you —via gallant battles, victories, and the stake — to sainthood; myself — by sheer slogging and stubbornness to Number JO, Not for nothing did / earn the title 'Iron Lady' and you wear your famous suit of armour, Our national pride steeled us for the final assault, to win through the heat of the day — pardon me! — to historic triumph.1 thin k listening isso important — don't you? — and not to flinch!

Yours ever, Margaret • (W.F. Owtram) Dear Christopher Robin,

Being at a bit of a loose end for the next four years. I've begun rereading old favourites, and I'm struck by the similarities of our two little gangs. You had Pooh, I've Cyril, ponderous, perplexed, but cuddly underneath it all. Poor John (a sad loss, but still on the telly) is Piglet — squeaky, overexcitable and thick. Old Jo is Owl — reclusive, sagacious and up the wrong tree. Clement, who raises lugubriousness to an Art, is &yore. Alan, Emlyn and the lads are Rabbit's friends and relations, (I hope Jeremy is the lieffalump, disappearing up his own ... Bessell is straight out of the Wild Wood — or is that the wrong book? I shall check.

Yours, David Steel (Elsie and Doris Grundy) Dear Moses,

Fraternal greetings from your twentieth-century equivalent, since I'm leading my 'tribe', the British Labour Party, to the Promised Land of Real Socialism. We have already received our Ten Commandments, not from the Lord on Mount Sinai, but from our NEC at Transport House — not as windy as your place but with as much hot air as your desert!

On telling Jim Callaghan, he mystified me by asking .nie, to pass on the message that the eighth

Egyptian plague was of small men with pipes talking through hats. Hope this makes sense to Tony Benn PS, You may have crossed the Red Sea, but I've just sung the 'Red Flag' straight through.

(Victoria Plumb)