SPECTATOR COMPETITION No. 64

Report by John Usbornc

LAndor's fire of life, it must be imagined, flared up, and he found himself anything but ready to depart at the age of, say, 85. The reason : a boyish enthusiasm for either train numbers, bird watch- ing, folk songs or playing the saxophone. A prize of £5 was offered for the second verse which Landor accordingly offered.

Before his flare-up Landor had written: "I strove with none, for none was worth my strife. Nature I loved and next to Nature Art.

I warmed both hands before the Fire of Life.

It sinks and I am ready to depart."

Philosophic, resigned, sage and senile. Though the mood must change abruptly, there must be continuity. About a third of the entries went out on the first count for lack of this. With some it was as if their authors had not read the original ; or perhaps they were merely carried away by their zeal to peddle puns. And puns there were galore ; some were good like: 66 but still I hope to copy all

Their numbers down before my number's up."

(Leslie Johnson.) "The book of Exodus will not seem sweet Till trained on right lines I can read, record.

And make the Book of Numbers first complete."

(Rev. P. A. Schofield.) The temptation to pun with the saxophone was the carrying away and undoing of many, entertaining though much of it was. I was surprised, however, not to meet even one "divine afflatus" bellow- ing the embers.

The not altogether unexpected lyre of Orpheus figured in many comparisons, almost all of which rendered their verses myth-heavy. Of these Mrs. K. J. Webb's was the cleverest: "Now Orpheus-like, I would not go alone With empty hands. Give me another dawn And yet another, till my saxophone Can charm the Dog to prick six ears and fawn."

And that illustrates, I think, as well as any the peculiar" prosoddity " of the word "saxophone," which for me would have ruled it out as a subject. J. N. Slade's "syrup-eructating saxophone" could have been by Dylan Thomas out of Roget and was not remotely germane to Landor. Of course in many the saxophone outwitted the harp-lyre (celestial). .

"I'd rather live and play-my saxophone, Than twang the strings of my celestial harp."

(M. S.)

rd guess that Geoffrey Minish has written a traumatic experience

out of his psyche:— " But for a Wizard Sax I'll trade my lyre, And yet awhile shall I forestall my doom: Piping more warmth inio the ebbing Fire With 'Hot Licks' practised in my empty room."

And " hellish " were many poets' saxophones. There were no references to birds that never wert, except by Virginia Parker, whose bird that ever wast wast nought but rhyme- worthy. " Yet now this life I will not abdicate, That yesterday seemed finished, dim and dull. The rarest bird of Paradise can wait Until I've seen that Lesser Black-backed Gull."

It was probably the difficulty of punning with this choice that brotfiht so many of them to the final rounds. Although of no

bird, was it written, I'm glad to report, that "it stinks and I am

ready to depart," the imp in John M. B. Nicoll's sense of humour led him to get Landor watching a Black Redstart " . . but now upon my life It sings, and I am ready to depart."

Which is better, though similarly out of order. There were many

quotable verses in this category.

In making my final decisidn I looked for a happy blend of pun and polish, of good Victorian diction and Augustan wit, nicely flavoured with parody. I recommend that the prize be shared

equally by D. L. Clarke, R. J. P. Hewison and Graeme Wilson.

PRIZES

(D. L CLARKE)

I rose to go, yet loth was I to start. The lark at matins beckon'd me again: The fire of youth rekindled in my heart ; It sings, and I. am ready to remain.

(R. J. P. HEwisoN) The flame leaps up ; oh may there yet avail Long years wherein, a boy again, I look For engines thundering down the iron rail, And note their numbers in a little boOk. •

(GRAEme WILSON) A young man, quick and arrogantly live, May well afford to bellow for his ,death.

1, who have learnt at wheezy eighty-five,

To play the saxophone, must save my breath.

Others worth quoting were:—

Yet life was all too short to solve the doubt

Which for conclusive answer vainly begs: Do cuckoos board their actual offspring out, Or get some other bird to lay their eggs ?

(Guy INNEs.) But hark ! I hear an unrecorded song !

Stir up the embers, raise again the flame ; For I must search the fields and woods among. • I cannot leave yon bird without a name.

(Doum_As FlAwsoN.) The fire flares up, revived by emulation, That passion which till now had passed me by ; How can I quit both world and railway-station

While he has engine-numbers more than 1?

(S. M. GIFFORD.)