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SMAD. An Organ of Student Opinion. 1932. Volume 3. Number 2.

Tangleword Tales

page 4

Tangleword Tales.

Everybody's wondering why a fencing bout was featured on the Tournament boxing programme—it seemed an anachronism somehow.

Well, it happened like this:

One Mad March day Signor Alstono was wroth; why. no one knows; but wroth he was, and his wrath was as the wrath of Achilles, quenchless by anything short of an Obituary Notice.

Glaring as through a glass darkly and muttering with a mutter too utterly utter to utter, he ranged the College environs, arching his neck and pawing the turf as he varied his step with restless syncopation from Goose-step to hand-gallop, Bob-hop, hobble-de-hoy and synthetic crawl to match the mood of the moment.

By the ashes of his fore-fathers and fore-mothers he aware a terrible oath to visit stark carnage on the first luckless being to cross his path—be it fish or flesh or fowl. But who is this frisking and curveting o'er the greensward trolling a merry catch? Signora Planca, by gar! And what mean those villainous foils tucked under her spare arm—is it pence, or war to the innards?

Flinging the foils crosswise 0n the level green in front of the College, she swung into a lissom sword dance, chanting in her clear mezzotint voice brave ballads of knightly chivalry.

Unluckily. Signor Alstono was vehemently cake-walking by just as she was loud-pedalling into the thick of a particurlarly stirring lay. Something in the wild words and wild wild refrain twanged a bellicose arpeggio in Alstono's rugged bosom; barking like a sea cow he waltzed up the steps and wrenched an oaken beam from the College portico and clapped it on his shoulder.

"Knock that off!" he challenged, with a belligerent twitch of his starboard nostril, and Planca, game dame! snicked it off into the slips with as sweet a Hick of the wrist as anyone could wish to see. At this Alstono was sore grieved, for he had hoped she would shun the contest and leave him free to engage some fierce Knight of the Bound Table or some fabulous Giant—but he had to abide by the oath to his fore-mothers, so he cried "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war!

With that they grabbed the foils with non-skid clutch and stampeded into the Common Common-Boom, loudly invoking their Tutelary Deities while the neutrals and camp followers yelled "Foils for two, coffee and waffles for one!"

Briskly they measured weapons, and Alstono, seeing his had a slight advantage in length, said prettily, "Tush, let it pass!"

"Notabitofit!" snorted Planca, who was all for lopping an inch or two of scrag end off his thewy arm; but "Out of order!" yelped the referee, so she compromised by gnashing a bit off his foil. How her teeth sang through the tempered steel! What, a woman!

With that she unexpectedly opened the bout with a clever defence in tierce which for a vulgar fraction of a second quite nonplussed Alstono, who happened to be adjusting his gauntlet at the moment and had intended attacking in quatre; but he soon regained his aplomb, and took a neat header through Planca's guard. She only escaped an awful doom by shouting "Up, guards and at 'im!" Alstono lipped with his guard, and she got under and at ted 'im.

This is known as the "psycho-galvanic reflex" mode of attack.

Alstono retaliated by lunging with a vigour that made his muscles stand out like Scare Headlines, and secured a very palpable hit, but his coat of mail, not being of the quality of Mercy, was strained, and down hurtled a shower of buttons; so his respectability, like the Sword of Damocles, hung on a single thread, seconded by an all but severed but still faithful button.

"Another such victory," quoth he, "and I am undone."

Planca, who by this time had recovered from the thrust. renewed the offensive with a shout that made the Welkin ring, but Alstono, mistaking it for the gong, pounced back to his corner, leaving her stabbing the air, which she wounded in four places before she discovered her error.

His modesty reinforced by the Damsels-in-Waiting, who, with many ecstatic shrieks, repaired the rifts in his raiment. Alstono fought as one possessed, but the wily Planca was too many for him, and through his cunningly-devised defence sneaked a thrust which sank deep, deep into his quivering victuals.

Down went Alstono for the count, but just as Planca began to surge and billow with conquest the astonishing fellow recovered with a back handspring which landed him on the picture rail, where he hung like a two-toed Sloth.

"Now then, young man!" admonished Brookie, dashing out for a ladder. Here a point of order arose as to whether she should shin up the ladder and finish him off, or whether he should pounce down like a panther on its prey.

After a stormy debate, during which both were fined for contempt of Court, it was referred to the Council, who promised to bring it up at the next meeting and transmit the solution in duplicate by first mail. Meantime both would have been vanquished by dint of aggressive inaction had not Alsto 110 lost his grip and crashed in the very act of bawling for buckets of boiling pitch to pour on his fair foe; and when all the King's horses and all the King's Men had put him together again he tore into the fray with all the fury of a bridegroom going to meet his bride.

So from morn till dewy eve the noise of battle raged, with little advantage on either side, and the latest bulletin showed them to be all square at the 19th hole, and still going strong.

Up the straight they came, neck to neck, thews and sinews cracking like whips and safety valves whimpering apprehensively!

Look out, Alstono!—too late—he's foot-faulted, and Planca has gained half a nose, only to lose it 011 a revoke at a crucial moment! They're all square again! Hold it, me hearties, hold it!—but, alas! just as the imbroglio was beginning to lOOK like a sanguinary hash of haricot steak—"Ting-a-ling!" went the 9.30 p.m. curfew, and Brookie got restive and started ordering everyone out of. the arena.

TIME! .... and the bout was adjudged a dead-beat, and both were disqualified for sitting down when the Rubber Band struck up the Michelin Anthem—until it was discovered that the resourceful fellows had their fingers crossed all the time—so the King's dignity was saved, and, with a flourish of fanfares the Heralds proclaimed "Coffee and Waffles for two!" after all.

But that wasn't the end of it, not by a long page 5 thrust. The feud was carried into the thick of the Tournament, and after a few boxing bouts which served as a curtain-raiser, our famous duo leapt into the ring amid wild yells of applause; and it wasn't till they had settled their differences before the assembled hosts of all the Universities that the dauntless pair were content to beat their foils into ploughshares. So that was how it came to pass that for the first time in Tournament history a damsel came to joust in the Boxing Ring with much glory and renown withal.