Competition

you were invited to write a poem called ‘The Builders’, for which there were well constructed entries in plenty. Congratulations to those printed below, each of whom wins £25, with the architectonic Chambers Biographical Dictionary going to Charlie Southerland of Arkansas.

One day when we were young and tired

of fishing, we cut some cane poles down along the

creek and lashed them to two saplings with

some string at angle there to shed the rain and seek

the sun in morning from the east back

from the bank. We laid the cross-poles thick across the top and back and forth the verticals each flank. We crawled inside and downed a soda pop

and went to sleep exhausted from the toil. When we awoke we covered it with leaves and ivy vines and dug a bed in soil there neath the roof and tidied up the eaves.

We slept there many nights before a fire and cooked the things we’d caught and

shot for food. When we grew up and left the farm, the

buyer bulldozed the hut. He was a city dude. Barratt zealot, here I stand Hardhat on and tool in hand Building houses quick and cheap Half aware and half asleep Bricking, clicking, right and wrong Two across and one along Dollop mortar, plonk and tap Spirit level, that one’s crap Board on top and whack it flatter Still not right but that won’t matter Boss might cuss and mates berate yer But there’s no straight lines in Nature I’m her child and she’s my mother Fuckit, chuck us up another... The Empire builders in their khaki shorts Who painted every continent with red, Through English Common Law and

English sports, They made the British great and now

they’re dead.

All of them dead as doornails, dead

as earth. My father in Bombay was such a one, Selected by no accident of birth, Cambridge mad dog who braved the

midday sun,

Ruling from his Collector’s bungalow Under his sola topee very pukka, Relaxing now and then to see a show Or take his pony out and play a chukka.

A sahib and his memsahib, proud and free, Both young when being young was very

Heaven, And out on the veranda, baby me. All of this stopped in 1947. I have the builders in. They come and go At will. And never think to let me know Their schedule. And seemingly they have

no guilt About desertion of my partly built Extension. They leave their tools and

cables and cement To signify that this implies intent To finish. But they took the thing that

mattered Most. The dusty, musty paint-bespattered Tranny. Another job competes with mine – In the morning as the clock strikes nine I’ll picture them on site in Hither Green In overalls with mugs of tea and

‘Dancing Queen’ But wait! What lurks beneath the

painter’s sheets? I dare to hope! My heart now beats With joy, and not with gypsum-coated

sorrow The radio remains! They will return

tomorrow!

Are first impressions truest, or just newest? A poem please, called ‘First Time in the Country’. Maximum sixteen lines. Entries by post (The Oldie, 65 Newman Street, London W1T 3EG), or email (comps@theoldie.co.uk) to ‘Competition No 199’ by 5th February. Don’t forget to include your postal address. (1) Might bid Four on the strength of his singleton club. (2) Clever bid (a) to find out if there's a double fit and (b) to attract a club opening lead if the spade suit wins the auction. (3) Double fit – diamonds and clubs – so keeps bidding. (4) East fails to look again at his club holding after hearing clubs bid and supported by the opponents. With short clubs opposite a nearcertainty, East should have bid on to Six Spades.

West led Q and declarer ruffed in dummy, crossed to A, ruffed a second spade in dummy, drew trumps and discarded his two hearts on dummy's clubs. Five diamonds, five clubs and two ruffs in dummy made twelve tricks and slam made.

West's choice of opening lead – Q – may have been naïve – and K would have defeated the contract. However, the disaster had really occurred in the bidding. For East-west can make 6 – ruffing three clubs in dummy. What if South leads a trump v Six Spades, then another when in with a club? You can't score three club ruffs now, but two club ruffs then running all the trumps will see North be squeezed in hearts and clubs.

Andrew Robson is tutoring a special Oldie Bridge Day in London on 23rd March. Go to www.theoldie.co.uk and click on 'Courses'