Our vegetable loves | The Spectator

In Competition No. 2484 you were invited to provide the first 16 lines of an ‘Ode to Vegetables’. Thank you for the kind words that have been reaching me at the Charing Cross Hospital. Mike Morrison’s entry was particularly bracing:

I’ve never known a patient quite like you,

Jaspistos: no, you can’t have Irish stew ...

‘May I have cheese on toast?’ No, you may not,

It’s Hobson’s choice here, sunshine — that’s shallot!

My challenge called for either the solemnity of an Erasmus Darwin or Auden in a light-hearted mood, but the results were disappointing. The prizewinners, printed below, are rewarded with £25 each, while the bonus fiver goes to Noel Petty.

Oh, some go wild for fillet steak, enough to fill the plate,

And some declare a rump to be the best they ever ate,

But I’ve got high cholesterol and have to watch my weight,

Said the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.

Oh, some like fancy recipes from alien cuisines,

But I find huge contentment in a bowl of home-grown greens

Like curly kale and broccoli, and leeks, and runner beans,

Said the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.

Oh, some must have their Camemberts and some their creamy Bries,

But my delight is victuals more congenial than these.

There’s nothing like a hearty dish of carrots, sprouts and peas,

Said the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.

Oh, some there are who dally with a rich and juicy ham,

While others risk their future with a dripping leg of lamb,

But I’m the one who’ll make it to the Royal Telegram,

Said the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.

Noel Petty

Great Brassica and Chlorophyll! Inspire

My ardent quill and tune my ready lyre,

That I, twice-Mused, may laud with all my power

The Kingdom of the Leek and Cauliflower,

Where Runner Beans stand tall to gaze around

While Tubers ripen darkly underground.

Admire the Celery, with modest pleats,

Or risk the scarlet succulence of Beets.

Know Peas are silent, but a blushing bunch

Of Radishes emits a sprightly crunch.

Yonder, in fields of Lettuce, Sprouts and Cress

Gardeners find Heaven, lovers happiness,

And Parsnips shelter with their ferny plumes

Whole nurseries of immature Legumes.

Now my exordium done, I move to parse

The history of the Vegetable class ...

Basil Ransome-Davies

You spurn the lowly turnip,

The parsnip or the pea?

Each has its hidden blessing

Conferred on you for free.

And in that bland assembly

Of cauliflower and sprout

Kind atoms are combining

That pack a powerful clout.

Don’t push aside the carrot,

The cabbage or the cress,

They come in humble clothing

But love you nonetheless.

Though richer meals may lure you,

They’ll hurt you in the end,

But bear in mind that veg is kind,

A convalescent’s friend.

Frank Mc Donald

Rich roots of every gastronomic joy:

Sweet parsnips, turnips peppery and pale,

Crisp cheerful carrots, you will never cloy.

I also welcome you whose leaves don’t stale:

Young winter greens and long-lived dark Savoy,

Abundant Brussels sprouts and hardy kale.

Then I anticipate your summer seed,

My various bean-vines, ripening to please

Our tastebuds; and, by season guaranteed,

Sun-gilded maize cobs, pods of sugar peas,

While in the meadow through the grass and weed

Soft pungent mushrooms magically squeeze.

In healthy lifestyles now you play your part

Supplying vitamins, so experts say,

And anti-oxidants to help the heart —

Five portions of pure pleasure every day.

Alanna Blake

Sun strikes on a cabbage row, moves to the rest of them,

Like a gold onion it shines from the east

On courgette in jolly flower, carrot and cauliflower;

Only the brassica’s late for our feast.

Oh, how we trenched and manured and watered you,

Drilled and prepared for our setting your seeds,

Fought off all evil things, pests and those weevil things,

Sprayed the broad beans and uprooted the weeds.

Time for the harvesting, time to enjoy ourselves,

Here is the summer, the season of ease;

We will make hay of it, feast every day of it,

Dressing our salad and boiling our peas.

You, our dear veggies, are paradise food for us,

Calabrese, aubergines, ripening there;

Joy without reckoning, joy ever beckoning,

Golden and green in the summery air.

Paul Griffin

Our cows are mad, our turkeys carry flu,

And, given time they’ll ban all meat and fish.

When dairy products breach some ruling too,

Then veg may be our only legal dish!

As nanny-state restrictions start to bite,

Reluctantly, we’ll go back to our roots:

Potatoes, parsnips, turnips — all we need

From Mother Nature’s range of earthy fruits —

Will be our staple diet, and the height

Of luxury will be a plate of swede.

Allotment holders on each city’s edge

Will start a revolution underground

By planting ever more exotic veg;

And soon, in every tabloid will be found

The news that okra, rocambole, and yam

Are threatening the British way of life . . .

Bernadette Evans

No. 2487: Ancient and modern

If Hamlet in modern dress is now de rigueur, what about a theatrical critic’s response (in 150 words) to a production of a modern play in ancient costume? Entries to Competition No. 2487 by 22 March.