In Competition No. 3278, you were invited to supply a well-known writer’s response to the question what makes the perfect citizen?

In 1970, as part of a school project, a ten-year-old wrote to Charles M. Schulz to ask him a similar question. But the boy asked what makes a ‘good’ rather than ‘perfect’ citizen, and this is how the Peanuts creator replied: ‘I think it is more difficult these days to define what makes a good citizen than it has ever been before. Certainly all any of us can do is follow our own conscience and retain faith in our democracy…’.

Fifty years on, with our democratic institutions looking distinctly green around the gills, and faith in politicians at an all-time low, lessons in citizenship came pouring in from a pleasingly wide range of writers, from Ernest Hemingway to Bernadine Evaristo. Creditable Hemingways – from D.A. Prince, A.H. Harker and Paul D. Amer – were edged out by the winners, printed below, who are rewarded with £30 each.

If you can hymn the burden of the white man,
Yet earn a name for more than racist tropes;
If you know any tribe can birth the right man,
And any colour dash a nation’s hopes;
If you can gain the highest, richest prizes,
Yet hold yourself no whit above the rest;
If you know gold and ermine are disguises
That seldom show the wearers at their best;
If empire’s anthem swells within your heart,
Yet you revere the common Tommy’s voice;
If you know high and low aren’t far apart,
And public spirit’s shaped by private choice;
If you combine the values of the gentry
With older wisdom from the wolf-pack wild;
If you see diverse views as complementary,
You will be civic virtue’s poster child.
Chris O’Carroll/Rudyard Kipling

A first-rate citizen may be a chump of the premier class but must also be decently chummy with his species, a sort of Jeeves in intent if not execution, ever ready to supply a supportive cocktail, a bracing verbal riposte (from Shakespeare, or one of those brainy chaps) and bravely stand up to a rampaging horde of aunts. He never cheats at golf, admires fashionable socks, has a sunny optimism, a moral character, and a will of iron. Such a good egg will, while muddling through life, lend a niblick to a fellow chap stuck in a tricky bunker, or crowbar him out of an ill-starred engagement. The world needs more jovial, what-ho sorts to remove lead from Fate’s boxing-glove and lather up the old conscience, or else standards drop and before you know it, you’ve tumbled into the murky pit of writing novels.
Janine Beacham/P.G. Wodehouse

I am the perfect citizen, full of just those imperfections that call forth all the restraining ingenuities of the State so apparently essential for its perpetuation. Without my incorrigible criminality, what need of burly constable or fulminating Judge? Without my defining proclivity, what occupation for the common soldiery? Even my magpie preference for beauty over practicality necessitates some provision of the blissfully inessential to keep me resident; galleries, parks, libraries. My greatest imperfection as a citizen, and hence the apogee of perfected citizenship, is that these restraints do not alter me. On the contrary, from the curious vantage of an Afterlife I can hardly believe (paradox pertaining beyond the grave) I see a London more reflective of my imperfections than ever I experienced in life. All men have imperfections, all cities, in grappling with them, in some measure contract them. This extraordinary dance, I contend, is Civilisation.
Adrian Fry/Oscar Wilde

I am a first class citizen, observe my fine credentials:
I cycle and recycle and buy nothing but essentials,
I take my cups to coffee shops, I drink handcrafted beer
And breakfast daily on organic muesli and kefir.
I join petitions to destroy the firms I used to fly with,
The only plastic I employ is that I choose to buy with.
I sign online objections to injustices and failings
But wouldn’t cause obstructions or attach myself to railings.
I venerate the NHS. I answered their appeal
By standing on my doorstep and applauding like a seal.
I’m loyal to my Head of State, by which I mean to say
I’m true to whomsoever is in office on the day.
I’m always kind to animals; I’m nice to older ladies
And view the young I walk among as denizens of Hades.
And thus by close adherence to my personal criteria
I deem myself a citizen demonstrably superior.
Ann Drysdale/John Betjeman

There is no doubt that the success of a principality depends to some extent on the character and attitudes of its citizens. A prince must be wary of any citizen who regards himself, or is regarded, as perfect. To be so far above the common standard is to induce admiration in some, envy in others. A boil of discord may then erupt and swell unless the prince, like a doctor, takes remedial action. This should include the letting of blood. Tarquinius Sextus, for example, did not hesitate to cut down the tall poppies around him. The hard fate of a prominent citizen instils fear in observers; and the spreading of such fear maintains the prince’s power and eminence. In time, ordinary citizens will feel grateful to him for saving them from anarchy and will love him as the guardian of their security
and prosperity.
W.J. Webster/Niccolò Machiavelli

No. 3281: hoping for the best

‘Ring out the old, ring in the new,’ wrote Tennyson, welcoming a New Year in ‘In Memoriam’. You are invited to provide 16 lines of cheerful welcome to 2023 in Tennyson’s metre. Please email entries of up to 16 lines to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 4 January.

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