Lucy Vickery

In Competition No. 3279, you were invited to submit an extract from a contemporary reimagining of Charles Dickens’s A ChristmasCarol. In 2018, the former children’s laureate Michael Rosen updated the novella – my ‘Ghostly little book’ as Dickens called it – for a 21st-century age of austerity; fast forward a few years and its themes and moral message strike more of a chord than ever. But it’s not all doom and gloom. This week’s brace of entries was a spirit-lifting pleasure to judge, as were all your submissions over the course of the year. Thank you to veteran competitors and newbies alike. The festive winnings of £30 each are awarded to those printed below. A Merry Christmas to you all. ‘I am the Ghost of Christmas,’ said the Spirit.

In Competition No. 3278, you were invited to supply a well-known writer’s response to the question what makes the perfect citizen? In 1970, as part of a school project, a ten-year-old wrote to Charles M. Schulz to ask him a similar question. But the boy asked what makes a ‘good’ rather than ‘perfect’ citizen, and this is how the Peanuts creator replied: ‘I think it is more difficult these days to define what makes a good citizen than it has ever been before. Certainly all any of us can do is follow our own conscience and retain faith in our democracy…’.

In Competition No. 3277, you were invited to supply a poem to mark the 100th anniversary of the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb. Fifty years ago, amid a wave of Tut mania, some 1.6 million people queued up to see the boy king at the British Museum. Nick MacKinnon and his mum were among them and he earns a commendation for his account of their outing. In a diverse, clever and technically accomplished entry, Roger Rengold, A.H. Harker, Michael Jameson, Paul A. Freeman, Donald Mack and Robin Hill also shone, but the prizes go to the seven printed below, whose authors snaffle £20 each. Three thousand years of strangers own his bones And traffic in the trappings of his reign – From mummy mask of gold and precious stones To canes that helped him limp with bent-foot pain.

In Competition No. 3276, you were invited to supply an extract from the memoir of a celebrity with some unfortunate misprints. Step forward, Nick MacKinnon’s Matt Hancock: ‘I was sorry that “bushtucker trials” wasn’t a typo, as I am expert at handling pubic heath during box-tickling exercises on hidden cameras’; Basil Ransome-Davies’s Nigel Farage: ‘I proudly affirm that Make Britain Grate is the slogan of a go-ahead, viral nation. Believe me, as president of the Deform UK Party, I swear that Britain comes above all…’; and, last but not least, Brian Murdoch’s Prince Harry, whose panic--inducing tell-all was the inspiration for this challenge: ‘Living with the pressures of loyalty didn’t agree with us, and we decided to lie in California.

In Competition No. 3275, you were invited to follow the format and formula of Lewis Carroll’s ‘The Mad Gardener’s Song’ and supply a poem entitled ‘The Deluded Politician’. The same challenge was set 15 or so years ago, and on that occasion Tony Blair hogged the limelight. This time around, you were rather more spoiled for choice. Here’s a snippet from Hugh King: He thought he saw ahead of him A glittering career, But soon his mediocrity Became entirely clear, And he, a crass celebrity, Cried ‘Get me out of here’ Entries were uniformly excellent and it was painful whittling it down to just the five below, who take £30 each. He thought he saw a bison with A teapot made of Spode; He looked again and found it was the Ministerial Code.

In Competition No. 3274, you were invited to supply toe-curling analogies. Bad writing has attracted some high-brow fans. J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis revelled in the overwrought prose of the ‘uniquely dreadful’ Amanda Kittrick Ros, and used to take it in turns to read aloud from her work to see which of them could last longer without laughing. Some competitors accompanied their entries with apologetic notes, commiserating with me for having to judge this challenge, but it was a hoot. The winners earn a fiver per analogy. His hand slid up her thigh like a string of partly defrosted sausages that had been imbued with lascivious intent, inexpertly animated, but then denied any sense of decorum.

In Competition No. 3273, you were invited to supply a poem addressing a well-known poem of your choice. In a keenly contested week, honourable mentions go to Robin Hill’s response to John McCrae’s 1915 rondeau ‘In Flanders Fields’ (which was rejected for publication by this magazine), Chris Ramsey and Alex Steelsmith. The winners take £20.

In Competition No. 3272, you were invited to imagine a well-known diarist, real or fictitious, commenting on contemporary events. This month marks the 40th anniversary of the debut of adolescent diarist Adrian Mole, and several competitors imagined what he would have made of these turbulent times. Here’s Janine Beacham: ‘I have tested positive for Covid, worse luck! All that hand-washing, social distancing and mask-wearing was for nothing. This is what comes of living in a cul-de-sac.’ Hats off to Sylvia Fairley’s Bridget Jones for her ability to find a silver lining: ‘Perpetua at her most obnoxious. Excellent news, mortgage on her millionaire home cancelled, thanks to fiscal catastrophe. Bought more chocolate. Feel fat and repulsive, but reprieve in sight.

In Competition No. 3271, you were invited to submit a poem about the Oxford comma. Thérèse Coffey’s much-maligned edict about this divisive piece of punctuation seems a long time ago now, but your entries – tremendous; well done – brought it all back. Though my head was turned by Frank McDonald’s villanelle, John O’Byrne’s haiku and Janine Beacham’s double dactyl, it’s the winners below who scoop £30. A memo arrived in the Coffey break for departmental circulation: ‘Whatever else may be at stake, the priority’s good punctuation.   ‘The NHS will have to wait, I fear this task has proved more pressing, I’ll set aside affairs of state, the Oxford comma needs addressing.

In Competition No. 3270, you were invited to submit a short story entitled ‘The Queue’. As well as inspiring this challenge, the queue to file past the coffin of Queen Elizabeth II during her lying-in-state in Westminster Hall spawned countless jokes and memes, obsessed crowd psychologists and became the top trending topic on Twitter. It now has its own Wikipedia entry. Commendations go to Paul D. Amer and Paul Freeman; the winners earn £25 each. Alone, Dmitri hobbled to join the queue, his arthritic bones aching and his aged eyes tearful. He could see only the shuffling throng ahead of him. The Mausoleum was still out of sight. Two, three, four hours, who knew?

In Competition No. 3269, you were invited to write a poem about Her late Majesty’s favourite things. Alongside the more familiar royal predilections – corgis, horses, Dubonnet and gin, Corrie, the colour blue – was the revelation that the Queen was partial to a spot of heavy metal, and in particular Ozzy Osborne, though perhaps that was just a flight of fancy. Most competitors went the Rodgers & Hammerstein route, but despite some inevitable repetition, it was an instructive and entertaining postbag. An honourable mention goes to Roger Dickinson, Brian Murdoch and Janine Beacham; the winners, printed below, receive £30 each.

In Competition No. 3268, you were invited to recast an extract from children’s literature in the horror genre. In the forthcoming indie slasher film Winnie-the-Pooh: Bloody and Honey, the seed for this challenge, an unhinged Pooh and Piglet run amok in Hundred Acre Wood, indulging in some eye-gouging and decapitation before gorging themselves on honey. Shudder. I was pleased to see the Cat in the Hat –who has always sent shivers down my spine – pop up several times in the entry. Seuss channellers Chris O’Carroll and Brian Murdoch were unlucky losers, pipped to the post by those below who snaffle £25 each.

In Competition No. 3267, you were invited to supply a song from the songbook of one of today’s corporate giants. Songs of The IBM, published in the 1930s, inspired this challenge, and you can listen to original renditions of zingers such as the hymn-like anthem ‘Hail to The IBM’ and the more jaunty, show tune-y ‘March on With IBM’ on the IBM website and on YouTube. Singing was encouraged by the company’s founder Thomas J. Watson Sr as a motivational tool and to inspire loyalty. Here’s a snippet from the rousing IBM Rally Song ‘Ever Onward’: The name of T.J. Watson means a courage none can stem And we feel honored to be here to toast the IBM.

In Competition No. 3266, you were invited to reimagine one of Philip Larkin’s poems in the style of a poet of your choice. This challenge was a nod to the centenary last month of the poet’s birth, the response to which – though the Philip Larkin Society was upbeat: ‘so much is happening!’ – seemed somewhat muted. So the enthusiastic response to this invitation was heartening. Congratulations and commiserations to unlucky losers Terry Parsons, Kit Wittering, Paul Freeman, Ann Drysdale, Atar Hadari and Joshua Kulseth. The winning entries earn their authors £30. Leading the way is Bill Greenwell’s John Betjeman, who described his friend Larkin as ‘tenderly observant’. I am a busy ambulance.

In Competition No. 3265, you were invited to submit a letter to a friend asking for a loan as it might have been written by a well-known character from the field of fact or fiction. John O’Byrne earns an honourable mention for his letter from Hamlet to Laertes. Equally impressive were Susan Firth, Mike Morrison, Ralph Bateman, J.C.H. Mounsey and John Megoran. But the cash prizes go to the winners, printed below, who pocket £25 each. When, in the course of domestic events, it becomes necessary for a man so to impose on the goodwill of his fellow creature, as to request of him pecuniary succour, assistance, and augmentation, it behoves him set out sufficient reasons for such trespass.

In Competition No. 3264, you were invited to submit a poem in response to the following journal entry by Wallace Stevens on 3 August 1906: ‘Engaged at the office all day on a sonnet – surreptitiously.’ For much of his life, the Pulitzer prize-winning Stevens was a vice-president at one of America’s leading insurance companies. He jotted down ideas for poems as he walked the two miles between his home and office in downtown Hartford – and evidently continued to work on them once he got there. But his efforts at surreptitiousness paid off. David Shields drew my attention to a remark by a colleague who expressed astonishment at learning of Stevens’s extracurricular activities: ‘Write poetry! Who, Wally?

In Competition No. 3263, you were invited to submit a short story, written in the style of a cosy mystery novel, with a topical twist. Subcategories in the wildly popular ‘cosy mystery’ genre include animals, crafts and hobbies, and culinary (Toast Mortem/Butter Off Dead) – all of which elements featured in a top-notch entry. Honourable mentions go to Sylvia Fairley’s Knit-and-Natterers and to Bill Greenwell’s twist on the Wagatha Christie case. The winners, printed below, are rewarded with £25 each. The tranquil Sunday afternoon in Cumberby was disturbed only by cricketing sounds. A huge six narrowly missed Miss Patchworth, cycling to the pillar-box with a poison-pen letter before going to evensong.

In Competition No. 3262, you were invited to submit a poem on behalf of Rishi Sunak or Liz Truss in which they set out their stall, the first letters of each line inadvertently spelling out an inappropriate word or phrase. As the Tory leadership contest limps towards its conclusion, you crafted some muscular last-minute pitches on behalf of the two hopefuls. The winners below snaffle £25 each. Look! I’m the face the country needs! You’ve seen the photos – loads! – they’re great! In every one I’m She-Who-Leads Negotiating for the State!  Grand deals! Delivered round the world! My Cheddar cheese! What triumph! God! You wait! Just watch my plans unfurled! Whack Civil Service pay! How odd –  And in the North! Did I say that?

In Competition No. 3261, you were invited to submit a poem about the James Webb Space Telescope. The first dazzling images captured by its infrared eyes were a welcome antidote to our terrestrial woes. They brought to mind the moment in the film Contact when Jodie Foster’s character comes face to face with a celestial object for the first time and says: ‘They should have sent a poet.’ So, it’s over to you. An honourable mention to Bruce Bennett; the winners below snaffle £25 each. Much have I travelled in the realms of space Past supergiants and dying galaxies, With floating rubble tossed on cosmic seas A million miles from Earth’s familiar face.

In Competition No. 3260, a challenge suggested by a reader, you were invited to reveal the existence of a hitherto unsuspected government department by means of a speech by its minister explaining its important policies. Among those entries with a distinct whiff of plausibility was Alan Millard’s Department for Silly Talks, which aims ‘to encourage the proliferation of senseless gobbledegook amongst politicians, professional groups and the general population so that anything anyone says becomes too unintelligible to understand’ and to thereby ‘disseminate utter confusion amongst the populace forcing them to accept parliament’s decisions by being too bewildered to challenge them’.