Competition

IN COMPETITION No 247, you were invited to write a poem called Fear of heights. Fear seems to bring out the best in you. Pauline Watson’s fledgling pigeon overcame it; Ted Lane’s narrator wasn’t so sure. Dorothy Pope linked it up with a realisation of impending divorce. David Cohen thought it best cured by seeing that with a willing partner, ‘The top’s a fine and public place/and where better to embrace?’ Commiserations to them and congratulations to those printed below, each of whom wins £25. Martin Elster tells me his entry is a Stefanile triadic sonnet. The bonus prize of The Chambers Dictionary of Great Quotations goes to the highly encouraging Katie Mallett.

He wouldn’t cross the bridge across the gorge, Wouldn’t trust the builders or the one Who had designed it, thought that it might fall. Even if I had produced a gun He would have stood refusing to go on, But then my daughter went to him and said, I’m frightened too, but I will go with you, Which seemed to alter something in his head.

Carefully they walked, eyes fixed in front, Not looking at the water far below, And soon they reached the other side, and said, That wasn’t really terrible, you know. And so they should. Since eighteen sixty-four The bridge has spanned the Avon through thin air. But history meant nothing to them, just A human bridge of friendship spanned with care. Katie Mallett

The cat perched on the topmost branch Of the tallest tree around. Alert to all the sights below, Each shadow, every sound. He saw the holes in the dry-stone wall Where he searched each day for a mouse. And the long grass where he’d pounce and play, And his suntrap by the house. A zephyr breeze stirred the leafy trees And a gentle shower fell, And he thought of his nook by the kitchen range And a friendly lap as well. ‘My supper,’ he thought, as the lamps were lit, ‘Is going to be delayed.’ And he hoped that someone had had the wit To call the fire brigade. Daphne Lester

While dangling from a ledge twelve storeys high (Not unlike that scene in Vertigo), You hear a buzzing sound – a dragonfly?

Louder and louder it rises from below – A flying car. As it hovers just behind you, You’re snatched and yanked inside. How did it find you? Before you think a thing, ‘Hi Fred!’ A voice You haven’t heard in years: your baby bro! ‘I’ll drive you home. Mum, Dad and Mary Jo Have missed you. Or we’ll get a drink. Your choice.’ ‘But Bob,’ you say, ‘our parents are in heaven!’

The buzzing noises vanish from your ears As you fall faster past floor eight, past seven, Past six – past all your seconds, minutes, years. Martin Elster

If you suffer vertigo Here are a few things you should know: The proper name for fear of height Is Acrophobia – get it right.

Now what might be your best career? You’ll never be a mountaineer; I’d also say you’ve not the knack To succeed as a steeplejack.

Don’t think of flying microlights – They’re not for someone scared of heights; Take my advice and look around And find a job on solid ground.

Don’t try climbing Blackpool Tower – Find a niche that suits your power; Experience will make you wiser – Like me, you’ll be Careers Adviser. Mary Hodges

COMPETITION No 249 I’ve just been abroad and found Sunday far quieter than in England now. A poem, please, called Sunday, then. Maximum 16 lines. Entries, by post (The Oldie, Moray House, 23/31 Great Titchfield Street, London W1W 7PA) or e-mail (comps@theoldie.co.uk – don’t forget to include your postal address), to ‘Competition No 249’ by 5th December.