Joan Hunter Dunn

[ansoe]

Joan Hunter Dunn died on 11th April at the age of 92. She is immortalised in John Betjamin's famous poem " A Subaltern's Love-song". Some time ago an Irish bridge player, Seamus Dowling, imagined the lovers were bridge players and wrote a parody on the original. I think it is a masterpiece.

 

A Male Bridge Player’s Love-song.

 

Miss J.Hunter Dunn, Miss J.Hunter Dunn,

With wisdom and wiles of Ely Culbertson,

Engaged in a rubber we played after tea,

My dearest, her mamma, her papa and me.

 

At five hundred above and sixty below

She played in two spades, on my lead she played low

My King held the trick, I continued, alack,

My torturer held both the Ace and the Jack.

 

With the speed of a swallow; the grace of a stag,

She later end-played me, eight tricks in the bag,

And the rubber to boot, her papa just glared,

As he and I paid, but my heart was ensnared.

 

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,

How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won.

The smooth-coated cards are returned to the press,

And I know that my champion, she loves me no less.

 

The scent of the woodbine, the song of the thrush,

As I view from my bedroom the gardens so lush,

And I struggle with cuff links and collar and tie,

For we play at the bridge club, my victor and I.

 

In drawing room cabinet her trophies arrayed,

And photos of victories on walls are displayed

At tennis and bridge Oh! what consummate craft;

Bare footed she stands, five foot twelve and a half.

 

The Hillman is waiting, the engine still purrs,

My darling emerges in satins and furs,

“We’ll play strong notrump and weak twos and have fun”

I’m o’er come by your mastery Joan Hunter Dunn.

 

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,

Came in from the car, the mixed pairs had begun,

She picked up her cards which she gracefully fanned,

Nor diamond, nor spade, ‘twas my heart in her hand.

 

“Two clubs” a game force, oh faultless of calls

I passed, she just smiled, how she softens my falls,

She claimed thirteen tricks, then remarked “ ‘tis just fun,”

I am faint from your graciousness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

 

The next board was average, the third one a steal

When my darling false carded I scarce could conceal

My joy when declarer was fooled by her ruse,

And when our opponents in praise were profuse.

 

The first hand I played was board ten in round six,

A one no trump contract, I made seven tricks,

The score sheet revealed half the field had made eight

A broad reassuring smile came from my date.

 

The Hillman heads homewards, we recall the way,

She backward finessed, Morton’s fork, her end play,

She played nineteen hands, I should tell you we won,

Oh! rapturous squeeze from Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

 

We talked about technique as reclined she lay,

How expert she was at discovery play,

Light openings and entries and when to advance,

She strove for an hour my approach to enhance.

 

The power of her perfume, and tender words said,

And planning for congress and mixed pairs ahead,

We parked in the driveway till twenty to one,

And now I’m engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

 

It was published last year in "The Irish Bridge Journal" which has a limited circulation and I post it here as I think it deserves a wider audience.