[John Whitworth]

The dialogue competition brought near misses for Bob Schechter, Chris O'Carroll and Martin Parker. Bill Greenwell was in winning form and Basil Ransone-Davies, on a bit of a roll at the moment, deservedly pocketed the top fiver. Full results under 'Competition: Dialogue.

This week's competition has possibilities.

No. 2642: Alma Mater
You are invited to pay homage in verse to an educational institution (16 lines maximum). Please email entries, where possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 7 April.

[Marion Shore]

I admit, I'm stymied.

Reminds me of this old one though:

Far above Cayuga's waters
there's an awful smell.
Some say its Cayuga's waters,
but it is Cornell.

[basil ransome-davies]

I'm torn between hailing the crap school that liberated me by expelling me & the superb university that, years later, gave me an unequalled chance to educate myself.

[Marion Shore]

Bazza,
I vote for the crap school.

[John Whitworth]

Marion is right. To be expelled is a fine thing, Bazza. Were you expelled from Simon Langton School for Boys? Good for you. Meanwhile... I may not write the best poem. In fact lately I have rarely been in the frame, but I usually write the one of the FIRST. Here it is.

Alma Mater

To James Gillespie’s Boys I went
When I was a bambino.
My teacher, a sardonic gent,
Like Chalkie in The Beano,

Was Mr Wilfred Grubb. He knew
A plenitude of stuff.
And, so that we would know it too,
His classroom act was rough:

An eye to chill you to the bone,
A voice to shout like Hector,
A teaching method now unknown
Within the public sector.

All flesh is hay. Remember, pray,
The passions and the knowledge
Of Mr Wilfred Grubb B.A.
At James Gillespie’s College.

[basil ransome-davies]

Thanks for the suggestion, Marion. It would give me a chance to be satirical, which is my long suit. For Sussex I have only respect and great affection.

bazza

[R. S. Gwynn]

This is too crummy to send in, but it was true at one time. Hail to the EPA!

Lamar! Thou site of joy unbounded,
By oil refineries surrounded,
Where football teams from other schools
Must add pollutants to the rules
And thus supply their musclemen
With face masks spewing oxygen;
Where women wearing pantyhose
Their naked skins do oft expose
When wafting gases, like a gulf tide,
Expose their skin to H2S
And nylon melts upon their legs
With a perfume of rotten eggs;
Where once a year the Seaport Co.
Roasts coffee when north breezes blow
And sends the students, free and clear,
A fresh-brewed hint of morning cheer.

[John Whitworth]

I don't think it's too crummy at all. It may be too American. The Speccie is a very parochial thing. Judging from the response here, this is a good deal more difficult than some of the competitions recently. Nobody, except me, has produced a hymn in praise of their real Alma Mater.

[Birthe Myers]

The first line of Alfred University's Alma Mater song is actually, really "Alfred, Alfred, mother of men."


Alfred, Alfred, mother of men!
We sang it and snickered and snickered again.
But the chemistry nerds made important components
For space ships and USA’s moon travel moments
While art students puttered with sculpture and pots
Some of it wonderful, some of it rot.
Many an artist received a good start
In Alfred’s ceramics department of art
At Alfred at Alfred, mother of men
Go right ahead, snicker, just like we did then.

[Marion Shore]

Hail to thee, oh Alma Mater,
dear old Party U,
unto thy festive memory
we ever shall be true,

where we made merry every night,
missed every morning class.
Thy motto's blazoned in our hearts:
In Vino Veritas.

Then hail to thee, oh Party U,
when all is said and done,
we didn't pass a single class
but boy we sure had fun!