Competition

IN COMPETITION No 256, you were invited to write a verse postcard to a grandchild describing something we used to do, with the title Before the Virus. I was surprised to find tears coming to my eyes in reading your entries, some written as from lockdown, and others from later. Con Connell, in grandfatherly guise, began, ‘I can’t remember if I told you this / (And even if I did, it’s worth repeating)’. Robert Best’s postcard said, ‘The world felt more spontaneous back then; / It may never be quite the same again.’ Is it ever? Commiserations to these and congratulations to those printed below, each of whom wins £25, with the benignly viral bonus prize of The Chambers Dictionary of Great Quotations going to Peter Davies for his rondeau.

Before it came, dear sweet Monique, We had you several times a week, We wiped your bum, we cropped your hair, We gave you good old-fashioned care And left you in your pram to shriek.

We taught you not to be a sneak, Nor thumb your nose, nor give us cheek, We taught you not to spit or swear, Before it came.

Although the situation’s bleak And times like this are quite unique, Come, offer up a little prayer For times we shared, beyond compare. What fun we had, dear sweet Monique, Before it came. Peter Davies

He’s struggling with his straps before The car is fully up the drive. Windmilling limbs impede his mum’s Well-meaning efforts to contrive His liberation. Then he’s off, Preceded by a joyous blast Of ‘GRANDPA. HERE I AM.’ How long Will this enthusiasm last? I meditate. In years to come He’ll be blasé, but when you’re three Love’s unconditional, thank God. Arms raised, he cannons into me. I haul him skywards, let him down. Small, welcome hands clasp round my neck. Big chaps like us tend not to kiss, But as it’s Christmas, what the heck? Peter Wyton

When you wake and say, ‘Alexa, put the light on,’

An electronic universe is there. Planet Attenborough waits, Brian Cox’s tour to Pluto, Your room, as someone said, ‘an everywhere’.

And games galore. So play a game for me: Say, ‘Alexa, please give Grandpa back the year When he was ten and I was minus sixty’. For my universe, boy, was the open air.

I’d be off all day across the moors to Chatsworth, Self-isolating, gloriously alone, Except for grouse and mountain hares and curlews. (‘No signal?’ Don’t be daft, dear boy. No phone.)

Never since then such oxygen of freedom (No one was worried that I might be lying dead) Until the late bus back to home and supper, And my bedroom, where what mattered was the bed. Peter Hollindale

Remember how we went one day On a beautiful seaside trip: Mummy and Daddy and Gramps and I Took you out on an orange ship, And we sailed away for most of the day To the place where the dolphins swim, Though the captain said when he looked ahead The chance we would see them was slim.

Then someone cried, ‘There’s a dolphin there!’ And we all rushed over to look, And Gramps lost his hat as it blew in the sea – But a sailor got a long hook And got it back in. That made us all grin, Though the dolphin had swum away – But maybe next year it will reappear When we all go on holiday. Katie Mallett

COMPETITION No 258 I was glad to see some British gooseberries in the supermarket, though I didn’t buy them. So a poem called Fruit, please. Maximum 16 lines. This month we cannot accept any entries by post, I’m afraid, so do send them by e-mail (comps@theoldie.co.uk – don’t forget to include your own postal address), marked ‘Competition No 258’, by 20th August.