The Mammoth Book of Losers

by Karl Shaw

  And the workmanship most skilfully planned;

  And I hope the designers, Messrs Barlow and Arrol, will prosper for many a day

  For erecting thee across the beautiful Tay.

  And I think nobody need have the least dismay

  To cross o’er thee by night or by day,

  Because thy strength is visible to be seen

  Near by Dundee and the bonnie Magdalen Green.

  Beautiful new railway bridge of the Silvery Tay,

  I wish you success for many a year and a day,

  And I hope thousands of people will come from faraway,

  Both high and low without delay,

  From the North, South, East and West,

  Because as a railway bridge thou art the best;

  Thou standest unequalled to be seen

  Near by Dundee and bonnie Magdalen Green.

  And for beauty thou art most lovely to be seen

  As the train crosses o’er thee with her cloud of steam;

  And you look well, painted the colour of marone,

  And to find thy equal there is none,

  Which, without fear of contradiction, I venture to say,

  Because you are the longest railway bridge of the present day

  That now crosses o’er a tidal river stream,

  And the most handsome to be seen

  Near by Dundee and the bonnie Magdalen Green.

  The New Yorkers boast about their Brooklyn Bridge,

  But in comparison to thee it seems like a midge,

  Because thou spannest the Silvery Tay

  A mile and more longer I venture to say;

  Besides the railway carriages are pulled across by a rope,

  Therefore Brooklyn Bridge cannot with thee cope;

  And as you have been opened on the 20th day of June,

  I hope Her Majesty Queen Victoria will visit thee very soon,

  Because thou art worthy of a visit from Duke, Lord or Queen,

  And strong and securely built, which is most worthy to be seen

  Near by Dundee and the bonnie Magdalen Green.

  “McGonagall’s Ode to the King”

  Oh! God, I thank Thee for restoring King Edward the Seventh’s health again,

  And let all his subjects throughout the Empire say Amen;

  May God guard him by night and day,

  At home and abroad, when he’s far away.

  May angels guard his bed at night when he lies down,

  And may his subjects revere him, and on him do not frown;

  May he be honoured by them at home and abroad,

  And may he always be protected by the Eternal God.

  My blessing on his noble form, and on his lofty head,

  May all good angels guard him while living and when dead;

  And when the final hour shall come to summon him away,

  May his soul be wafted to the realms of bliss I do pray.

  Long may he reign, happy and serene,

  Also his Queen most beautiful to be seen;

  And may God guard his family by night and day,

  That they may tread in the paths of virtue and not go astray.

  May God prosper King Edward the Seventh wherever he goes,

  May he always reign victorious over his foes;

  Long may he be spared to wear the British Crown,

  And may God be as a hedge around him at night when be lies down;

  May God inspire him with wisdom, and long may he reign

  As Emperor of India and King Edward the VII.

  Amen.

  “The Death of Prince Leopold”

  Alas! noble Prince Leopold, he is dead!

  Who often has his lustre shed:

  Especially by singing for the benefit of Esher School,

  Which proves he was a wise prince, and no conceited fool.

  Methinks I see him on the platform singing the Sands o’ Dee,

  The generous-hearted Leopold, the good and the free,

  Who was manly in his actions, and beloved by his mother;

  And in all the family she hasn’t got such another.

  He was of a delicate constitution all his life,

  And he was his mother’s favourite, and very kind to his wife,

  And he had also a particular liking for his child,

  And in his behaviour he was very mild.

  Oh! noble-hearted Leopold, most beautiful to see,

  Who was wont to fill your audience’s hearts with glee,

  With your charming songs, and lectures against strong drink:

  Britain had nothing else to fear, as far as you could think

  A wise prince you were, and well worthy of the name,

  And to write in praise of thee I cannot refrain;

  Because you were ever ready to defend that which is right,

  Both pleasing and righteous in God’s eye-sight.

  And for the loss of such a prince the people will mourn,

  But, alas! unto them he can never more return,

  Because sorrow never could revive the dead again,

  Therefore to weep for him is all in vain.

  ’Twas on Saturday the 12th of April, in the year 1884,

  He was buried in the royal vault, never to rise more

  Until the great and fearful judgment-day,

  When the last trump shall sound to summon him away.

  When the Duchess of Albany arrived she drove through the Royal Arch,

  A little before the Seaforth Highlanders set out on the funeral march;

  And she was received with every sympathetic respect,

  Which none of the people present seem’d to neglect.

  Then she entered the memorial chapel and stayed a short time,

  And as she viewed her husband’s remains it was really sublime,

  While her tears fell fast on the coffin lid without delay,

  Then she took one last fond look, and hurried away.

  At half-past ten o’clock the Seaforth Highlanders did appear,

  And every man in the detachment his medals did wear;

  And they carried their side-arms by their side,

  With mournful looks, but full of love and pride.

  Then came the Coldstream Guards headed by their band,

  Which made the scene appear imposing and grand;

  Then the musicians drew up in front of the guardroom

  And waited patiently to see the prince laid in the royal tomb.

  First in the procession were the servants of His late Royal Highness,

  And next came the servants of the Queen in deep mourning dress,

  And the gentlemen of his household in deep distress,

  Also General Du Pla, who accompanied the remains from Cannes.

  The coffin was borne by eight Highlanders of his own regiment,

  And the fellows seemed to be rather discontent

  For the loss of the prince they loved most dear,

  While adown their cheeks stole many a silent tear

  Then behind the corpse came the Prince of Wales in field marshal uniform,

  Looking very pale, dejected, careworn, and forlorn;

  Then followed great magnates, all dressed in uniform,

  And last, but not least, the noble Marquis of Lorne.

  The scene in George’s Chapel was most magnificent to behold,

  The banners of the knights of the garter embroidered with gold;

  Then again it was most touching and lovely to see

  The Seaforth Highlanders’ inscription to the Prince’s memory:

  It was wrought in violets, upon a background of white flowers,

  And as they gazed upon it their tears fell in showers;

  But the whole assembly were hushed when Her Majesty did appear,

  Attired in her deepest mourning, and from her eye there fell a tear.

  Her Majesty was unable to stand long, she was overcome with grief,

  And when the Highlanders lowered the coffin into the tomb she
felt relief;

  Then the ceremony closed with singing “Lead, Kindly Light”,

  Then the Queen withdrew in haste from the mournful sight.

  Then the Seaforth Highlanders’ band played “Lochaber No More”,

  While the brave soldiers’ hearts felt depressed and sore;

  And as homeward they marched they let fall many a tear

  For the loss of the virtuous Prince Leopold they loved so dear.

  ___________________

  1 The death toll was in fact seventy-five, not ninety, as reported by McGonagall. Facts were not his strong point.

  Appendix IV

  The Eye of Argon by Jim Theis

  Chapter One

  The weather-beaten trail wound ahead into the dust-racked climes of the barren land which dominates large portions of the Norgolian empire. Age-worn hoof prints smothered by the sifting sands of time shone dully against the dust-splattered crust of Earth. The tireless Sun cast its parching rays of incandescence from overhead, half way through its daily revolution. Small rodents scampered about, occupying themselves in the daily accomplishments of their dismal lives. Dust sprayed over three heaving mounts in blinding clouds, while they bore the burdonsome cargoes of their struggling overseers.

  “Prepare to embrace your creators in the Stygian haunts of hell, barbarian,” gasped the first soldier.

  “Only after you have kissed the fleeting stead of death, wretch!” returned Grignr.

  A sweeping blade of flashing steel riveted from the massive barbarian’s hide enamelled shield as his rippling right arm thrust forth, sending a steel-shod blade to the hilt into the soldier’s vital organs. The disembowelled mercenary crumpled from his saddle and sank to the clouded sward, sprinkling the parched dust with crimson droplets of escaping life fluid.

  The enthused barbarian swivelled about, his shock of fiery red hair tossing robustly in the humid air currents as he faced the attack of the defeated soldier’s fellow in arms.

  “Damn you, barbarian,” shrieked the soldier as he observed his comrade in death.

  A gleaming scimitar smote a heavy blow against the renegade’s spiked helmet, bringing a heavy cloud over the Ecordian’s misting brain. Shaking off the effects of the pounding blow to his head, Grignr brought down his scarlet-streaked edge against the soldier’s crudely forged hauberk, clanging harmlessly to the left side of his opponent. The soldier’s stead whinnied as he directed the horse back from the driving blade of the barbarian. Grignr leashed his mount forward as the hoarsely piercing battle cry of his wilderness-bred race resounded from his grinding lungs. A twirling blade bounced harmlessly from the mighty thief’s buckler as his rolling right arm cleft upward, sending a foot of blinding steel ripping through the Simarian’s exposed gullet. A gasping gurgle from the soldier’s writhing mouth as he tumbled to the golden sand at his feet, and wormed agonizingly in his death bed.

  Grignr’s emerald green orbs glared lustfully at the wallowing soldier struggling before his chestnut-swirled mount. His scowling voice reverberated over the dying form in a tone of mocking mirth. “You city bred dogs should learn not to antagonize your betters.” Reining his weary mount ahead, Grignr resumed his journey to the Noregolian city of Gorzam, hoping to discover wine, women and adventure to boil the wild blood coarsing through his savage veins.

  The trek to Gorzom was forced upon Grignr when the soldiers of Crin were leashed upon him by a faithless concubine he had wooed. His scandalous activities throughout the Simarian city had unleashed throngs of havoc and uproar among its refined patricians, leading them to tack a heavy reward over his head.

  He had barely managed to escape through the back entrance of the inn he had been guzzling in, as a squad of soldiers tounced upon him. After spilling a spout of blood from the leader of the mercenaries as he dismembered one of the officer’s arms, he retreated to his mount to make his way towards Gorzom, rumoured to contain hoards of plunder, and many young wenches for any man who has the backbone to wrest them away.

  Further Reading

  Anthony Brandt, The Man Who Ate His Boots: Sir John Franklin and the Tragic History of the Northwest Passage (2011)

  Bill Bryson, A Short History of Nearly Everything (2004)

  John Carter, Sex and Rockets: The Occult World of Jack Parsons (2005)

  R. M. Crawford, Australia: A Biography of a Nation (2001)

  Graeme Donals, Loose Cannons: 101 Things They Never Told You About Military History (2009)

  Tim Flannery, The Explorers: Stories of Discovery and Adventure from the Australian Frontier (2000)

  Fergus Fleming, Barrow’s Boys (1998)

  Cris Freddi, The Guinness Book of Sporting Blunders (1994)

  Ken Geiger, Frozen in Time: The Fate of the Franklin Expedition (2004)

  David Grann, The Lost City of Z: A Legendary British Explorer’s Deadly Quest to Uncover the Secrets of the Amazon (2010)

  John Gribben, Fitzroy: The Remarkable Story of Darwin’s Captain and the Invention of the Weather Forecast (2003)

  Robert Hughes, The Fatal Shore (2003)

  Roland Huntford, Scott and Amundsen: The Last Place on Earth (2000)

  Lisa Jardine, The Curious Life of Robert Hooke: The Man who Measured London (2004)

  Frank T. Kryza, The Race for Timbuktu: In Search of Africa’s City of Gold (2006)

  Ken McGoogan, Fatal Passage (2002)

  David Miller, Athens to Athens: The Official History of the Olympic Games and the IOC, 1896–2004 (2004)

  Sarah Murgatroyd, The Dig Tree: The Extraordinary Story of the Ill-fated Burke and Wills 1860 Expedition (2003)

  Paul O’Keeffe, A Genius for Failure: The Life of Benjamin Robert Haydon (2009)

  Nick Page, In Search of the World’s Worst Writers (2000)

  Geoffrey Regan, The Guinness Book of Military Blunders (1991)

  Geoffrey Regan, The Guinness Book of Naval Blunders (1997)

  Doron Swade, The Cogwheel Brain (2001)

  Christine Taylor-Butler, Explorers of North America (2008)

  Michael White & John Gribbin, Darwin: A Life in Science (2009)

  Michael White, Isaac Newton: The Last Sorcerer (1998)

  Glyn Williams, Voyages of Delusion: The Search for the North West Passage in the Age of Reason (2010)

  Andrea Wulf, The Brother Gardeners: Botany, Empire and the Birth of an Obsession (2009)

  R. M. Youngson and Ian Schott, Medical Blunders (1996)