[Jayne Osborn]

I don't like musicals, generally speaking, so I'm not too thrilled at this prospect. Some of you will shine, though, I'm sure!

Jayne

The Oldie Competition
by Tessa Castro

Competition no. 186

You are invited to write a song (please specify the tune) for a forthcoming musical on the collapse of Royal Mail, called Last Post. Maximum 16 lines.
Entries, by post (The Oldie, 65 Newman Street, London W1T 3EG), fax (020 7436 8804) or email comps@theoldie.co.uk to ‘Competition No. 186’ by Friday 6th February.
Don’t forget to include your postal address.

[John Whitworth]

Well, here's a little something I prepared earlier. I have been singing it to myself. I wish I could play the piano. You can google the tune if you don't know it.

Last Post

The Slow Train; Flanders and Swann

No letter to send to Bullingdon Parva or Ponders End,
No postcard to scribble to Boughton-on-Ribble or River Bend,
No brown paper parcel tied up with string
For Barnard Castle or Teynham or Tring.
Our hiking and biking are toast.
It’s the Last Post.

Alas and alack!
There’s no shadow of doubt
That we’re not coming back.
All the money ran out.

No telegram terse for Merton or Burton or Buttermere,
No postal packet for Drumnadrochit or Durisdeer,
No stamping or franking or sealing wax,
We’ve all been remaindered by e-mail and fax.
Our scheming and dreaming are toast.
It’s the Last Post.

You know I think I've made it better.
Last Post

The Slow Train; Flanders and Swann

No letters to send to Appleby Parva or Primrose Hill,
No postcards to scribble to Sawley-on-Ribble or Martin Mill,
No brown paper parcels tied up with string
For Tintagel Castle, Tredegar or Tring.
Those parcels distress me the most.
It’s the Last Post.

Alas and alack!
There’s no shadow of doubt
That we’re not coming back.
All the money ran out.

No telegrams terse for Merton or Burton or Buttermere,
No postal packets for Drumnadrochit or Durisdeer,
No stamping or franking or sealing wax,
We’ve all been remaindered by e-mail and fax.
Our hiking and biking are toast.
It’s the Last Post.

[Martin Parker]

To the tune of Dylan's The Times They Are A-Changin' :--

Once we sent letters on Basildon Bond
To friends and relations of whom we were fond
And with pen and real ink they all used to respond
Via a system as slow as a snail.
Now refinement is gone and we've nothing beyond
Just illiterate texting and email.

Screw the cap on your Quink and your Stephens Blue Black,
For calligraphy's dead and there's no going back
Now the man with the little red van's got the sack
And there's no more collecting or sending.
And your dog will be left with one less to attack
For the whole Postal Service is ending.

[John Whitworth]

Nice one, Martin.

[Brian Allgar]

Err ... can someone tell me what this is about? I'd heard that the Royal Mail had been sold off, in Thatcherite fashion, at an absurdly low price by Tory tossers, but the last I heard, the privatized version was still delivering mail when it suited them. Have I missed something?

[Nicholas Stone]

The last I heard, Royal Mail had been privatised to the taxpayer's advantage and was now more efficient for it.
Presumably Tessa means us to versify about the fact that nobody sends letters anymore regardless of who owns Royal Mail?