Victoria Lane

Competition 3434 was prompted by the 400th anniversary of the retrospectively controversial purchase of Manhattan island by the Dutchman Peter Minuit from a local tribe, supposedly for 60 guilders ($24). You were invited to write a poem on the subject. The standard was really high and the whittling process tricky: mentions must go to A.H. Harker, Sue Pickard, Brian Murdoch, Joseph Houlihan, Ian Allen, Richard Warren, Nicholas Lee, George Simmers and Helen Baty, and there were other good entries besides. The £25 vouchers go to the following. Come nether man from Nether Land,Brung purse of beads and guilder,And all us tribe, we took him bribe:Him Big Chief of this wilder.

Competition 3432 invited you to submit a passage containing some AI-style ‘hallucinations’ (it would be just as anthropomorphic to call them lies). These are false assertions delivered in a perky tone, often with a smidgeon of flattery, in an answer that may contain enough correct information to give the user misplaced confidence. The yield was small but amusing and several entries managed to capture AI’s encouraging tone; the winners of the £25 John Lewis vouchers are below. ‘An apple a day’ refers to a mobile phone or computer invented by Isaac Newton, who discovered gravity in 1666 when a phone fell on his head. The fall of the apple, which is never far from the Tree of Knowledge, was recorded by the Beatles, a British pop group, in 1999.

Competition 3429 invited you to tell the story of the Nativity in the style of a well-known writer. There were very many excellent passages, enough to fill this column three times over, but as it is the £25 vouchers go to the following. Thanks for all your lovely entries this year and happy Christmas one and all. To begin at a new beginning: he was birthed, berthed in a barn with gert bulks of shifting, breathy beasts. Joseph would sooner have been up the pub, sheets to the wind, but it was no more the establishment to encourage the fulfilment of dreams than prophecies. At his own wordless dreamings, the little wet racket of a tike in the crib scarcely noticed his visitors that long night. Pompous Kings and grumbly shepherds (it was cold out, man) came and went.

Comp. 3426 was inspired by Stephen Vincent Benét’s 1927 poem ‘American Names’ (see Charles Moore’s Notes, 1 November): I have fallen in love with American names, The sharp names that never get fat, The snakeskin-titles of mining-claims, The plumed war-bonnet of Medicine Hat, Tucson and Deadwood and Lost Mule Flat.     You were invited to submit poems to do with place names. It was hard to whittle down the very good entries (too many runners-up to single any out) though certain places kept cropping up so I tried to avoid too much repetition. The £25 vouchers go to the following. Morning! After downing booze, Have a fryup, come the dawn – Chopwell, chipping.

Competition 3425 was prompted by Gill Hornby, a biographer of Jane Austen, telling an audience at the Cheltenham Literature Festival that Jane’s sister Cassandra did the novelist’s reputation a favour by burning most of her letters, and if that hadn’t happened she might have been cancelled: ‘She has become this very vague, hazy figure, like God and Shakespeare…’. You were invited to ‘find’ a letter that had escaped the bonfire.     There was a strong response, though a few entries crossed into sacrilege. The best got something of the tone while casting her in an unexpected light. Tom Adam found her channelling thunderers de nos jours: ‘I grow quite weary of the Hampshire Chronicle.

Comp. 3423 invited you to submit a passage about a command or suggestion from literature being taken too literally. I was sorry not to squeeze in Alan Millard’s riff on John Donne’s ‘Go and Catch a Falling Star’: ‘The object in question can reach temperatures of almost 3,000˚F when entering the Earth’s atmosphere…’. A popular choice was ‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be’; nods to Elizabeth Kay, Nicholas Lee, Simon Godziek, Max Ross.

For Competition 3422 you were invited to submit a poem or passage on the theme of ‘daylight saving’. In a very good batch, once again the poetry bubbled to the top. There are too many close runners-up to name names, and it seems best to maximise space for winners. The £25 vouchers go to the following.

For Competition 3420 you were invited to submit a poem or short story incorporating that sentence of Emerson’s: ‘The louder he talked of his honor, the faster we counted our spoons.’ Dr Johnson may have been the first to mention spoon counting, saying (according to Boswell) that ‘if he does really think that there is no distinction between virtue and vice, why, Sir, when he leaves our houses, let us count our spoons’. In a large and very good entry, in which poetry prevailed, Alex Steelsmith, J.C.H. Mounsey, Tracy Davidson, Frank McDonald, Brian Murdoch, Adrian Fry, Sylvia Fairley and a few others missed out by a whisker. Those below win the £25 vouchers.

For Comp 3419 you were invited to write a poem to mark National Vodka Day (4 October) or another spurious designated day, actual or invented. There were several good vodka poems, by Adrian Pascu-Tulbure, D.A. Prince, Tanya Dixon--Clegg, and Helen Baty – I was sorry not to be able to fit them in. Ditto David Silverman’s celebration of National Crisp Day (the ‘Feast of Crispian’), John O’Byrne’s Baked Beans Day, Alan Millard’s Gobbledegook Day, Bill Greenwell’s National Plagiarism Day, Andy Myers’s Breakfast Wine Day, Jayne Osborn’s No Talking About Your Ailments Day, Frank Roots’s Self-ID Day, George Simmers’s Lemon Meringue Pie Day (15 August), and others besides.      The £25 vouchers go to the following.

Comp. 3417 invited you to write an elegy to a piece of obsolete technology. This prompted a deluge of very good entries – too many to name all the runners up, though here are some of the lamented objects: mangles, steam engines, oil lamps, floppy discs, the trebuchet, cash registers, radiograms, gramophones, tape recorders, Ceefax, Betamax, proper cameras, the fish slice, the pipe knife and – most of all – the VHS and the typewriter. A special mention to Tom Adam’s relatable paean to the Nokia: I mourn that lump of plastic and its tiny little screen, With only ‘Snake’ to offer up a hit of dopamine. And Simon Godziek’s to the dial phone: Yes, you could receive and, yes, you could call But when all’s said and done, that’s about all.

Comp. 3416 invited you to marry romantasy (the romance-fantasy fusion now dominating fiction sales) with a third genre. Narnia, gritty realism and Holby City were in the mix. Some saw no reason to confine themselves to three, and we had romantasy sci-fi noir, as well as a Scandi noir-Richard Curtis romantasy-com. I’m sorry to leave out Sue Pickard, David Silverman, Basil Ransome-Davies, Nick Syrett, D.A. Prince, Bill Greenwell, Josephine Ruth and others. The voucher winners are below. ‘Don’t try to seduce me, mortal,’ breathed the Fae cowpoke. I had no intention of touching the varmint. He might be tall, sardonically sexy, cruel and cool, wear a black vampire-made Stetson, Elvish spurs, and leather chaps that clung to his sculpted thighs, but I was determined to hate him.

Comp. 3413 was prompted by J.G. Ballard’s story ‘The Assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy Considered as a Downhill Motor Race’ (itself inspired by Alfred Jarry’s ‘The Crucifixion Considered as an Uphill Bicycle Race’). You were invited to consider some event in a category to which it did not belong. It was harder than ever to choose winners; Adrian Fry, Bill Greenwell, Paul Freeman, Martin Brown, Sue Pickard, J.S.R. Fleckney, Nicholas Stone and Sylvia Fairley are a few of the runners-up. The prizes go to those below. The Big Bang considered as a TV baking challenge The initial cosmic oven temperature was unbelievably high. Whoever was responsible for turning it on should have read the thermodynamic instructions with more care.

For Comp. 3411 you were invited to submit a passage or poem on the subject of dynamic pricing. Thanks to Paul Freeman for the suggestion, who deserves a nod for his entry too. So do Mike Morrison, Matt Quinn, Nicholas Lee, Elizabeth Kay, Frank Upton and others, and here’s John O’Byrne’s Larkinesque riff: I listen to prices surging. It’s like Dallas Blues, Or any ragtime number you care to choose; Syncopated malady, stiff C-sharp shock: This be The Economics, its sums ad hoc.     Poetry prevailed over prose this time, and the £25 vouchers go to the following. Like weasels with their beady eyes They know exactly when to strike And when we need what’s hard to find They’ll twist the knife and prices hike.

For Competition 3408 you were invited to write poems about heatwaves. This comp was inspired by the weather! In the face of lethargy, rage, sleeplessness etc lots of you still managed to put fingers to keyboard with good results. It was almost too hot to choose, but the £25 vouchers go to the following. Long drag the days of lop, of laze,Of no precipitation,Bar slathered factor fifty glazeOn perspiration. And long the nights; too hot, still light,Fans faintly stirring stifleWhile outside, drunks ferment a fightOf some mere trifle. Long seems the spell, Heaven or Hell,When England’s tropic.Waters run short, tempers as well,Heat’s misanthropic. The wave will break; cloudburst, rain slake.Upon our sudden wetting,We’ll eulogise that fearsome bakeAnd start forgetting.

For Competition 3407 you were invited to write about a historical event euphemistic-ally. This challenge was a little vague; Private Eye code was the inspiration but from the tone of the entries it could have been 1066 and All That. The standard was very high, with too many runners-up to name names, and the £25 vouchers go to the following. Life grew rather complex in 1789 when France experienced a regime malfunction. The financially embarrassed commoners, who kept popping their clogs due to nutrition deficiency, took against royals and aristocrats who did not rate highly on political awareness. Paying an unscheduled visit to the Bastille, the monarchy-resistant mob significantly devalued it as a property.

For Competition 3405 you were invited to submit a scene in which Doctor Who has regenerated into someone very unexpected. Plenty of interesting transformations resulted, featuring among others Paddington Bear, Mary Berry and two Jacob Rees-Moggs, but the winners of the £25 vouchers are below. The Doctor, regenerating as a tall, meaty-faced man in jeans, a plaid shirt and his mid-sixties, soon got clumsily busy for comic effect with screwdrivers, sonic and otherwise, setting about the Tardis console and causing Fleetwood Mac to play at excessive volume before sending us zagzigging erratically across spacetime on a far from grand tour. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’ he bellowed, overemphasising every word in apparent exoneration of his haphazard driving skills.

For Competition 3404 you were invited to design your own Midsummer rites. There were fewer entries than usual, all of them very good. I was sorry not to have room for Mark Ambrose’s ritual involving a small white ball (‘Eighteen is the sacred number. We assemble before dawn and climb the hill to a wooded glade’). Other runners-up: Tracy Davidson, Paul Freeman, Sue Pickard, George Simmers, Bill Greenwell and Joseph Houlihan. The £25 vouchers go to the following. Midsummer Saturday at Frizinghall begins early with the ritual of Waking the Sleepers, in which locals salute the rising sun with power tools, mowers, car alarms and pressure washers.

In Comp. 3402 you were invited to submit a poem or passage about an unusual predilection. The quirks ranged from wildly fantastical to having the ring of truth. Mike Morrison, Paddy Mullin, David Shields, Elizabeth Kay, Adrian Fry and Nick Syrett were close contenders, but the vouchers go to those below. In supermarket checkout queues, not being in a dash And now retired with time to spare, I always pay by cash. Aware that those behind me have a thousand things  to do There’s nothing that delights me more than holding up the queue. Behaving as a pensioner should and making others curse, I’ll fumble through my pockets in a search to find my purse.

For Comp. 3401 you were invited to submit a poem that included the line ‘My vegetable love should grow’ from Marvell’s ‘To His Coy Mistress’. There were lots of entries, some of them quite fruity (sorry). There are too many worthy runners-up to name names, but the£25 vouchers go to the winners below. My vegetable, love, should grow, not end up on your plate, at least until it’s won first prize at the village fète. I’ve never nurtured one so vast, nor hosed a hue so green – how can you think of eating it like some mere runner bean? But at my back I hear you mutter It’s just a courgette, after all… Hands off! – such plants once rooted in Eden, before the Fall.