No. 539: The winners
Trevor Grove reports: Competitors were invited to compose an intelligible piece of prose around ten given words, taken from the .opening pass- ages of a well-known work of literature. Not instantly remarkable as an outstanding entry, this week's bag nevertheless produced a level of competence well above average. In the first place, no fewer than a dozen competitors were correct in identifying the source of the given words as Herman Melville's Billy Budd—the guinea for the first correct entry opened goes to Andrew Stewart. However, as to what people did with the words, there is still a large minority who tend to regard the competition rather as a forum for the uninhibited play of free association than as a taxing series of obstacles, to be negotiated gracefully without wavering from one's original narrative intention. J. H. W. Lloyd tried to make a virtue out of inconse- quent waywardness: 'Actually, I detest steamships, quipped casual stroller Sir Basil Smallbeast to our man in An- chorage, shortly before he was arrested for fraud. In an exclusive interview on an Alaskan ice-floe Sir Basil, bronzed forty year old com- pany chairman, whose hobby is astrology, said over radio telephone from Alcatraz: 'It's all because the constellation Orion is in the wrong quarter.' Frustrated shareholder Lord Vain- glorious Petrie-Snowdon confided to me: 'It's an unadulteraie lie; Sir Basil is a barbaric, odious fraud'. . .
. but finally this approach was self-defeat- ing. More of a piece was J. R. V. White's entry, which earns him four guineas:
Watching the dancers, Flora observed that the Hawk Monitor ladies took the floor more like steamships than stately galleons. Seth's dancing, on the other hand, was so naturally graceful that he appeared as casual as a stroller in the Park. Every female eye had been arrested by his bronzed face and lithe figure : a constel- lation of girls buzzed around him. But his pro- gress was not vainglorious. Indeed, at first sight, this unadulterate pagan seemed curiously un- aware of the havoc he was causing. Too, too body-thrilling and barbaric!' squeaked his admirers. Flora wondered how Seth, who had rollicked so often under the sukebind, would take this vaporing, until she noticed something in his eye that showed he meant business. With a nonchalant movement of his hand he un- fastened a shirt stud. Flora hurried away: a plan had occurred to her and she needed a few minutes' solitary reflection.
Charles Lamb, rather sulkily enjoying a Mediterranean luxury cruise, wins three guineas for Edward Samson :
I am sunk, I fear, though afloat in the Medi- terranean, to which I was unwisely tempted by the too colourful praising of cruising steani- ships by their hyperbolic agents, a sad decline for an enthusiastic London stroller. Here, time and movement arrested, I laze upon, rather than sail beneath canvas. Neither is a bronzed face compensation for a pale and stagnant mind. By day some peace prevails; but night, when, one should rest enchanted beneath this sparkling, southern constellation, is made hideous by vulgar men in saloons, besotted and vainglorious of their conquests, or sporting with maidens whose maidenly status I doubt. I yearn for even fog-bound nights in Leadenhall, un- adulterate but for the clip-clop of a belated hackney; anywhere away from this barbaric horde who have, for a week, rollicked till dawn; their loud stupid vaporing so much less pur- poseful than that of this fine ship.
Finally, mentions to Lynne Mottram for a telling piece of constellar sci-fi, to Jerry Holden with a new Sherlock Holmes mystery, and Frances Gomm on zany fashions.
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