Competition: Vicar of Bray
Competition
In Competition 2628 you were invited to submit a contemporary version of the 18th-century satirical song ‘The Vicar of Bray’.
The model for the Vicar was purported to be Simon Aleyn, a 16th-century parish priest of Bray, who hung on to office by cheerfully reinventing himself to fit in with the prevailing orthodoxy. He found a defender, though, in the 1930s, in the shape of George Orwell, who was moved, by a magnificent yew he had planted in the churchyard at Bray, to write in an essay entitled ‘A Good Word for the Vicar of Bray’, ‘a beautiful tree, which has rested the eyes of generation after generation and must surely have outweighed any bad effects which he produced by his political quislingism’.
Thanks to Victoria Lane for suggesting this competition, which produced a colourful cast of contemporary chameleons. Commendations go to Gillian Ewing and Dr G.W. Tapper, while the winners, printed below, earn £25 each. Gerard Benson gets the bonus fiver.
In Bishop Ramsay’s wondrous days
When clergy were all men, Sir,
A sound male chauvinist I was;
Full well I flourished then, Sir.
Then, when the lady clerics came
My views I swiftly altered,
I worshipped under man or dame,
And rose, and never faltered.
But when a Yankee bishop, next,
Emerged from out the closet
I made Gay Lib my preaching text;
That wasn’t daft, now, was it?
Now there’s a woman bishop, who
Is keen on other women.
Of this I’m all in favour, too
I’ll ne’er have done with trimming.
Gerard Benson
In Thatcher’s happy, halcyon days
The Sun shone right behind her:
With Brussels-bashing, Bullish praise
I hailed and then enshrined her.
(Chorus) Oh, I control the Sun and Sky,
My match there never was, sir.
I know who’s who and what and why,
For I am the Digger from Oz, sir.
When Major sank, I sensed what rose
Would work well in my favour;
And though I sometimes held my nose
I liked Blair’s gamy savour. (Chorus)
But when the red rose turned to Brown —
In every sense a clunker —
I jumped before the lot went down
And left him in his bunker. (Chorus)
W.J. Webster
In trendy times when Tony ruled,
Rejecting the absurd way,
He wisely had me three times schooled
And led me down the third way.
(Refrain) And this the rule: who rules the day
I’ll laud upon my knees, sir,
But in my own respectful way
Will do just as I please, sir!
I bow to Brown who rules with stealth
And, knowing how to borrow,
With prudence spends my worldly wealth
To pay for jam tomorrow. (Refrain)
When candid Cameron comes to reign
No matter what he axes,
I’ll praise the phrase, ‘No pain, no gain!’
And gladly pay my taxes. (Refrain)
Alan Millard
When Maggie Thatcher was in power,
I was a fervent Tory,
But then I had three terms back-bench
With Blair’s New Labour glory.
To keep my seat I’ll cross the floor,
Don overalls or tails, Sir,
And give one rousing speech per year.
My system never fails, Sir.
Unto the Sun I daily leaked
About my neighbour’s duck house,
And so I earned a tidy sum
To buy my Jag and shoot grouse.
I mean to get the local vote
Be it posh or green or gay, Sir
With Cameron or Brown in power,
Still I’m going to represent Bray, Sir!
Shirley Curran
When easel painting was the rage
and likeness was the object
I flattered ladies of the stage.
I was a loyal subject.
I made a portrait of the queen,
a Florentine confection,
that pleased the women’s institutes,
and passed the royal inspection.
When action painting came along,
although I missed the point, sir,
I faked a Jackson Pollock on
three tablets and a joint, sir.
My installations sell so well
I live beyond your means, sir,
I tell the critics ‘Go to hell’
I dominate the scene, sir.
Janet Kenny
In our Queen Bess’s golden days,
I lived a life of style;
Took flights in search of UV rays,
In climate-change denial.
I drove a Humvee, God forbid!
And holidayed in Bali;
Not thinking once of what I did,
But now I feel a Charlie!
Whilst speaking of the Prince of Wales,
I held him in derision;
But I was clearly off the rails,
And he? A man of vision!
And this a law we can’t rescind,
A truth to which I’ll swear, Sir.
That every time a cow breaks wind,
It kills a Polar Bear, Sir!
Andrew Mason
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