The Doctor then began to read the prize poems, and he started with that of Percy minimus, much to Percy’s confusion.
"The views of Percy minimus on the War are elementary, as we should expect from a youth of his years," said old Dunston. "I may remark, however, that he rhymes with great accuracy, and if he shows an inclination to be didactic, and even give Lord Kitchener a hint or two, I frankly pardon him for the sake of his concluding line. This reveals in Percy minimus a flash of elevated feeling which does him infinite credit. One can only hope that his pious aspiration will be echoed by those great nations doomed to defeat in the appalling catastrophe which they have provoked."
War is a very fearful thing, I’m sure you’ll all agree, But sometimes we have got to fight in order to be free. The Germans want to slaughter us, and do not understand We are a people famed in fight, and also good and grand. We never were unkind to them and never turned them out When unto England’s shores they came, to trade and look about.
But all the time, I grieve to say, they only came as spies, So that, when came the dreadful "Day," they’d take us by surprise. Which they did do, and if our ships had not been all prepared, The Germans would have landed, and not you or I been spared. Now all is changed, and very soon, upon the Belgian strand, I promise you a million men of English breed shall land.
And thanks to good Lord Kitchener, their wants will be supplied With splendid food and cosy clothes and many things beside; But he must bring the big siege guns when Antwerp we shall reach, Because with these fine weapons we have got to make a breach. So let us pray that very soon we smash the cruel Hun, And if, by dreadful luck, we lose--oh, then God’s will be done!
We applauded Percy minimus for his sporting attempt, feeling of course, it was piffle really, but good for a kid. Then the Doctor said he was going to read Rice.
"Mr. Fortescue," said Dunston, "has evinced the deepest interest in the achievement of Rice. He tells me that there is now a movement in art--including the sacred art of poesy--which is known as the Futurist Movement. Rice’s effort reminds Mr. Fortescue of this lamentable outrage on the Muses, for it appears that the Futurists desire to thrust all that man has done for art into the flames--to forget the glories of Greece, to pour scorn on the Renaissance, to begin again with primal chaos in a world where all shall be without form and void. This is Nihilism and a crime against culture. For some mysterious reason, the boy Rice, who we may safely assume has never heard of the Futurists until this moment, appears to have emulated their methods and shared their unholy extravagance of epithets, their frenzied anarchy, their scorn of all that is lovely and of good repute. He even permits himself expressions that at another time would win something more than a rebuke. I will now read Rice, not for my pleasure or yours, but that at least you may learn what is not poetry, and can never be mistaken for poetry by those who, like ourselves, have drunk at the Pierian spring."