[John Whitworth]

I found the short story too hard, but Chris O'Caroll didn't. Well done him for keeping up the honour of the Sphere. I can't help feeling I've seen the new competition before, but I can't find any record of it.

No. 2701 Adlestrop
You are invited to take the opening line of Edward Thomas’s ‘Adlestrop’, substitute a location of your choice for ‘Adlestrop’, and continue for up to a further 15 lines. Please email entries, where possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 15 June.

[basil ransome-davies]

I'm sure you're right John, I have a distinct memory, but it was yonks back.

[Jerome Betts]

Yes. I remember Neopardy -
And yet, just why escapes me now.
That gangling girl from Gothenburg?
Ed's piglets? Buttercup, the cow?

The actual name? (Most say it comes
From 'neeps', as charm the Burns Night lot,
But some claim 'catnip', or the plant
That acts on felines much like pot.)

Could it be where we lost ourselves
In labyrinthine Devon lanes
And so, in verbal combat, cast
Aspersions on each other's brains?

Spring lamb? A pasty? Strawberries? Cream?
No madeleine furnishes a key
To open such a long-closed door . . .
I must go back to Neopardy.

[Roger Slater]

I REMEMBER

Yes. I remember Paris, France --
or was it really Amsterdam?
Lately it's been hard enough
to know precisely where I am

before I've even left the place,
so keeping track of where I've been
is not as easy as it sounds.
Was it Brussels? Bonn? Berlin?

I might have seen it from a train.
Back then I had a Euro Pass.
I used to sleep across three seats
when there was room in second class.

I'm not sure where it was that I
remember or just what I did
when I was there, and yet I sigh . . .
for Adlestrop? For Leeds? Madrid?

[John Whitworth]

eggy? Eggish?

Joy In The Morning

Yes, I remember Steeple Bumpleigh,
The baaing sheep, the lowing beeves,
The chaffering chickens scratching plumply,
The reassuring hand of Jeeves,

Sweet Nobby Hopwood, so good-eggy,
Soul-mate to Boko Fittleworth,
Edwin the boy-scout, dire and dreggy,
Ought to have been put down at birth,

The jealousy of Stilton Cheesewright,
The drippiness of Florence Craye,
The twittering birds and buzzing bees right
Through the unending summer’s day,

The loopiness of Uncle Percy,
The ghastliness of Bertie’s aunt,
You have to say it’s such a mercy –
For Jeeves there’s no such word as can’t.

[George Simmers]

Excellent one, John. Maybe you need a hyphen to make it 'good-eggy'. Useful phrase, anyway.

[John Whitworth]

I find myself using it. The hyphen is right. You're definitely good-eggy, George.

[FOsen]

Yes, I remember Denby Dale,
we bought some crisps; at Markham Vale,
some Pampers, then near Rotherham
they napped, we didn't bother 'em.
The Woodall with the KFC
and Esso, lattes, Cokes, BP,
that lavatory at Daventry,
some chips and juice past Coventry.
We got them toys at Houghton Regis,
but still the fights were loud and tedious.
Tom said he didn’t have to go
but then he did, at Felixstowe.
We stalled at Luton, in a crunch
and that's where Alice lost her lunch.
Then home, and feeling quite subpar,
till I’d unpacked and burned the car.

Frank

I suppose I shouldn't say 'diapers' or 'lavatory' and I probably have pronunciations all screwed up - this is a revisioning of bygone car trips home from San Francisco.

Editing in to thank Ann.

[Ann Drysdale]

If you said "Pampers" instead of diapers - they're a wellknown brand of what we call "nappies" - that'd do. And lavatory would be fine with Lucy - it's "bathroom" in that context that would throw her!

[Lance Levens]

Good shots, Frank and John. ( Here's hoping I read the directions correctly!)


Yes, I remember Holy Other,
that pilgrim site for queasy souls,
Brother Spud and his shorter brother,
the one who wore the store-bought moles,

and Father Boaz' dulcet smell,
and Father Fitch of the twirling brows,
and the angelus, that addled bell
whose dong gave off the scent of cows,

the freezing cold baptismal font
that sang Bing Crosby bob--a--loo's
the incense which at times was wont
to giggle just before ach-oo's.

Yes, Holy Other was the non
plus ultra on the Pilgrim Line.
Wherever else could clerics don
the garb of Madame Eglantine?