No. 1328: The winners

Jaspistos reports: Competitors were asked for a verse comment on the sale of a Falklands medal or 'A Sailor's (Merchant Seaman's, Soldier's) Farewell to his Medal' in their own style or that of any well-known poet.

' "Just for a haridful of silver he left us,' "I Murmured the ribands stuck in his coat' was one neat Browning adaptation. Among the less well-known poets whose styles you borrowed were, refreshingly, Stanley Holloway and Caroline Norton. But the prizes (i8 each) go to those whose inspiration was more obvious, except for Peter Hadley whose original voice lands him the bonus bottle of Champagne Jules Mignon Brut (NV), presented by Christ- opher Moorsom and Michael Alexander of the Chelsea Wharf Restaurant, Lots Rd, SW10 (351 0861).

That's something I am trying to forget, The most horrendous moment I have known, When out of nowhere came that Exocet And sank our ship just like a ruddy stone. In five short minutes all my mates were dead, While 1 survived and got a gong instead.

They told me I should treasure it with pride, To sell would be to prostitute an honour, But it reminded me of blokes who died

That time the old Conveyor was a goner.

I flogged it yesterday for twenty quid: My bookie, now, is very glad I did.

(Peter Hadley)

To his Medal, Returning from the Wars Despise me not, that I renounce

Thy military dash; Thy scarlet backcloth is no more - Besides, I need the cash.

Another mistress now I serve, And must to gold transmute Thy splendid show, to buy a hat, A tie, a pin-stripe suit.

'Tis no inconstancy, 'tis just A matter of good dress, Which I could ne'er love half so much Lov'd I not honours less. (Noel Petty) Deep musing, will I grieve I sold You to a Croesus long ago Because the treasure tempted so? How will it be when I am old With great-grandsons sea-fevered wild, To them my medal all unknown Yet with each generation grown Familiar to some stranger's child?

(George Moor) I met a boy of seventeen Who won a battle for his Queen, And gained a medal, second-class, For winning sheep some meagre grass.

He came home soon from overseas, Where mines had knocked away his knees, His medal for a hero fit.

He polished it with bloody spit.

At last, when all the cheers had died, And all he had was wounded pride, 'I'll sell it for a song;' he said, 'Or starve unsung, unfit, unwed.'

You bitter prigs who sit and sneer At how his medal's price was dear, Sleep well, and dream about the cost Of what he won, and what he lost.

(Llewellin Berg) 'Good show, chaps, good show,' The General said, When he pinned on our medals And stifled a yawn.

Now the soldiers he honoured Are deep in the red, And they're flogging their gongs Or they've shoved 'em in pawn.

'She's a wonderful woman,' Said Harry to Joe When we yomped through the Falklands For Thatcher and Co.

But why we still stick her I'm fucked if I know. (Roger Woddis) I went into the pawnbroker's to flog my Falklands gong, But the chap behind the counter said to sell it was all wrong.

1 told him my decision I couldn't now avoid, For I'd joined a bigger army, the corps of ' unemployed.

Oh, it's Tommy come and Tommy go and Tommy, save our folk, But now the war is over, you are just a useless bloke.

You're just a useless bloke, my lad, you're just a useless bloke, For when we called you heroes, that was just our little joke.

I went along to Sotheby's and asked to sell my Cross.

They said though it might fetch a lot, its loss would be my loss.

I replied I had no use for it, for I'd no longer rove, I've one foot in the grave now and the other's in Bluff Cove.

Oh, it's Tommy etc So sometimes will my fingers run Among the underclothes and socks To find the precious plastic box And, opening it, will find you gone.

I watched them sell my medal and it brought me quite a pile, But as I took the money I couldn't hide my smile, For the gun that took my leg off and had made that tidy sum Had made more for the fellow who had made the thing in Brum.

Oh, it's Tommy etc (E.O. Parrott)