An eclogue for Christmas

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2167 you were invited to supply a poetic dialogue between two country-dwellers appropriate to the season.

A poem by Louis MacNeice with this title gave me this idea, with the difference that his dialogue was between a country- dweller and a city-dweller. Its Thirties pes- simism makes good reading even now:

The country gentry cannot change, they will die in their shoes From angry circumstance and moral self- abuse....

G.M. Davis amused me with a dialogue between two Yorkshire farmers which con- sisted of two words, 'all' and 'um'. He just misses a prize. The winners, printed below, get £35 each, and the Macallan Single Malt Highland Scotch whisky is Bill Greenwell's. A happy New Year to you all. Survive, my dears, survive.

A: You see that starlight in the east?

B: I do.

A: Tis sign that man and beast Should shrive themselves.

B: Then quickly stir Your stumps, and help me cut this fir To praise our Lord's Nativity. A: How may we, though, cut down the tree?

B: Why, with an axe, or saw!

A: You've seen The bylaws, then? B: By which you mean A: That if a fir tree here is hacked The New Environmental Act Could have you locked up.

B: Barred indoors For playing simple Santa Claus?

A: 'Tis true.

B: Then we had better keep

Our minds upon our flocks of sheep.

A: Agreed. For 'tis the modern way

That lambs be born on Christmas Day. (Bill Greenwell) `Christmas Eve, come 12 of the clock and the missus will be on her knees,' Said Farmer Brown, as he stood taking stock of his freshly-made Wensleydale cheese. I know what you mean,' said his friend Farmer Green, 'My missus finds Christmas a bind. What with looking for presents and cooking the pheasants and various things of the They pictured their weak, weary women at home while they sipped at their cider and sighed. `Best leave 'em alone to get on on their own, 'tis a method well-tested and tried.'

`Too true,' came the answer, 'they get much more done when the menfolk aren't under their feet.

No doubt they're all right. Let's drink to tonight! This cider goes down a fair treat.'

So fair were their fancies as midnight approached and the alcohol rendered its cheer.

`Best night of the year, don't you think?' said the one. Said the other, `Yes, best of the year!'

`The stars are so bright, and look, what a sight! Could those be two angels I see?'

`Not angels, old mate. They're our wives, and we're late, and they don't look too happy to me.'

In the lonely barton, by yonder combe, a pre-

Christmas rumpus took place And the two drunken sots were marched home to their lots in a state of despair and disgrace.

'Tis Christmas Eve, and 12 of the clock, and the woman are both at their ease. As the chimes die away on this new Christmas Day, it's the men who are down on their knees. (Alan Millard)

Mopsa: Come, Corydon, and let us take a bus; The winter woods look lovely in the rain; The birds are in the hedges, just for us Where any birds and hedges still remain.

Corydon: Mopsa, the bus was cancelled years ago; The only transport is the local train, But that runs seldom and is far too slow: See, where the hopeful travellers wait in

vain.

Mopsa: So let us walk, and find the village store, Buy presents for our friends, and Christmas fare.

Corydon:I fear the village store exists no more; Only a pair of second homes are there. Mopsa: Alas for glories past! At least our flocks

Console us country folk when we feel down.

Corydon: Too late, my love. Their price has hit the rocks.

We in our turn will have to hit the town.

(Paul Griffin) So, what's your dear wife giving you, then, Ted? Dunno, sir—same as most years, I expect: A pair of socks, some homemade gin.gerbread, And fishing flies, the ones that I collect.

And what shall you give her? I'll get some scent, Like 'Lily of the Valley', that'll do.

The thought's what counts, sir, not how much you've spent.

You're quite right, Ted. You know, I envy you. Her Ladyship and 1 will be abroad; We're spending Christmas on her cousin's yacht, The like of which we never could afford! You'd think I'd be delighted, but I'm not. I'd rather see these fields, all crisp with frost, And amble through the woods and watch the deer.

Aye, sir, for doin' that there ain't no cost — that's my idea of 'Prosperous New Year'!

(Jayne Osborn)

No. 2170: The case is altered

You are invited to supply either a poem (maximum 16 lines) or a piece of prose (maximum 150 words) which begins, `Yesterday you told me. . . ' and ends, Tut that was yesterday, that was.' Entries to `Competition No. 2170' by 11 January.