Some time ago our late, lamented arts editor, Miss Bathsheba Caudle-Green, thought that it would enhance the cultural profile of the island if we had our very own poet laureate. After some consultation with the Mayor of Hopeless (who, at that time, was Alphonse Crackstone), a mutual agreement was reached whereby a modest cottage on Tragedy Creek, plus a small annual stipend, was arranged for the use of the successful applicant. It was later revealed that this was only achieved after Miss Caudle-Green had gained a not insubstantial degree of leverage by making reference to certain interests Mr Crackstone had in the recently re-opened Madame Evadne’s Lodging House for Discerning Gentlemen (Under new management).
Disappointingly, no one from the island applied for the post, so tentative advertisements were placed in the prestigious Kennebec Journal plus several other mainland newspapers. Despite this, only one candidate came forward; a young man named Leonard Stanley. Miss Caudle-Green was much relieved that her artistic ambitions for the island were bearing fruit and Leonard was immediately hired with no questions asked. Having few belongings, to speak of, he was soon transported to the cottage on Tragedy Creek amid a whirlwind of publicity and excited anticipation. Hopeless waited with baited breath for the pure bardic outpourings of its first poet laureate.
After several months of silence people began to wonder if the odd bardic outpouring, or, at least, a bardic trickle of some description, might yet be forthcoming; or, indeed, if the elusive poet was still on the island. Eventually The Vendetta sent Miss Caudle-Green to investigate. She came back shortly afterwards with ‘something he had been working on’ which she published in the paper following week.
Ode to Hopeless
by Leonard Stanley
What a wonderfully strange place is Hopeless,
This island surrounded by mist (and sea).
I really believe I would cope less
well, if anywhere else I should be.
So I think I’ll remain here forever,
as I’m someone who’ll quite often stay
a long time in places like Hopeless,
where the deer and the antelope play.*
So…‘til the mountains all flatten and slope less,
and the gallows (if we had one) is ropeless,
and the Vatican’s empty and popeless,
It’s here I will stay and I’ll mope less
frequently, on strange and mysterious Hopeless.
An island surrounded by mist (and sea).
*Actually they don’t but I like the image and it rhymes.
Sadly, days after this was printed Miss Caudle-Green resigned her position at The Vendetta, and has not been seen in cultural circles since. Mr Crackstone also vanished. It appears that he had secretly sold the cottage and took the proceeds, plus the funds for the laureate’s stipend, with him. With no job or home and despite (or possibly because of) his heartfelt Ode to Hopeless, Leonard Stanley was removed to the mainland. He was welcomed back by his previous employer who had been looking for him. He has now resumed his position in the piggery of the Bolduc Correctional Facility.
Art by Tom Brown