Punch, Or The London Charivari, Volume 152, March 21, 1917 by Various
V >>
Various >> Punch, Or The London Charivari, Volume 152, March 21, 1917
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE NEW POSTER.]
* * * * *
"The important now development in the cotton situation is that the 1/2
Prime Minister has consented to receive a deputation."--_Manchester
Guardian._
All the same, he refused to adopt a 1/2 measure.
* * * * *
"The history of the development of the 3/4eppelin is well-known."--_Daily
Chronicle._
Particularly since our airmen ceased to give it any quarter.
* * * * *
From an official notice of the sale of an enemy business:--
"Lot 2. The goodwill of the business of the company attaching to goods
shipped from England to Nigeria, marked with the unregistered or
common-law trade-marks known as 'Eagle on Rocks' and 'Lion and Flag.'"
We are not surprised to hear of the "Eagle on Rocks" when it had the "Lion
and Flag" after it.
* * * * *
[Illustration: TILLERS OF THE SOIL.
STUDY OF URBAN DWELLERS PREPARING FOR THE WORST.]
* * * * *
THE JOY-RIDER AT THE FRONT.
(_Being a free version of Mr. BERNARD SHAW'S articles in "The Daily
Chronicle" on his visit to the seat of War_.)
"Since the good man, RAMSAY MACDONALD, while touring in the East
Went out to shoot the tiger, that homicidal beast,
The most electrifying humanitarian stunt
Has been my khaki joy-ride along the British Front.
"It wasn't my own suggestion; I went as the Government's guest,
Invited to see how the brass-hats were running the show on the West;
I've never been sweet on soldiers, but I only went for a week,
And it gave me heaps of chances of studying war technique.
"If they really thought to convert me by the loan of a khaki suit,
Or by conferring upon me the right to claim a salute,
It wouldn't at all surprise me, for dullards have always tried
To bribe true men of genius to take the popular side.
"Well, I went, I saw, I 'joy-rode,' and my verdict remains the same;
There's no use having a country unless she's always to blame;
For of all the appalling prospects that human life can lend
The worst is to be unable to play the candid friend.
"Men talk of France, the Martyr; of her precious blood outpoured;
Of the innocent helpless victims of the brutal Hunnish horde;
Presuming, insensate idiots, to label as beast and brute
The race that has always held me in the very highest repute!
"While France has failed completely, at least in those later days,
To show appreciation of my Prefaces and Plays;
It wouldn't be therefore worthy of a genuine superman
To show undue compassion for the sorrows of 'Marianne.'
"And as for the sheer destruction of noble and ancient fanes
Which the prejudiced Hun-hater indignantly arraigns,
The simple truth compels me in honesty to state
That the style of some ruined buildings was utterly second-rate.
"But to quit these trivial matters--let weaklings wail and weep,
The loss of a few cathedrals will never affect my sleep--
What lifts this Armageddon to an altitude sublime
Is the crowning fact that it gave me a perfectly glorious time.
"As an ultra-neutral observer I entered the battle zone
And emerged unmoved, unshaken, with a heart as cool as a stone;
No sight could touch or daunt me, no sound my soul untune;
From pity or tears or sorrow I still remained immune.
"I own that before my arrival I felt an occasional qualm
Lest the shock of the unexpected might shatter my wonted calm;
But it gave me the richest rapture to find I was wholly free
From the crude and vulgar emotions that harass the plain V.C.
"I inspected the great war-engine, and, instead of its going strong,
I saw that in each of its workings there was always something wrong;
In fact, with the old black powder and the obsolete Brown Bess
The chances of missing your target were infinitely less.
"The so-called arm of precision scores only by lucky hits,
Though the 'heavies' and high explosives may possibly blow you to bits;
I saw one corpse on my 'joy-ride,' the head had been blown away,
And the thought of this painless ending produced in me no dismay."
_Now he's back in the finest feather from his holiday with the Staff,_
_And we're sure that no one will grudge him the meed of this epitaph:_
_"He went through the fiery furnace, but never a hair was missed_
_From the heels of our most colossal Arch-Super-Egotist."_
* * * * *
"GREAT WHITE SALE.
UNREPEATABLE BARGAINS IN LINGERIE."--_Daily Paper._
We respect this reticence.
* * * * *
"The public are responding but slowly to the appeal of the Post Office
to facilitate the delay of correspondence in London by using the new
numbered addresses."--_Daily Mail._
If that is really the object, why hurry?
* * * * *
[Illustration: CANCELLED
BY ORDER OF THE COMPETENT MILITARY AUTHORITY.]
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
_Monday, March 12th._--Having declared war upon the Government the
Nationalists are seeking a suitable plan of campaign. The Home Rule demand
never obtained much support among the Irish farmers until FINTAN LALOR
hitched it on to the Land question, and ever since Mr. WYNDHAM'S Land
Purchase Act turned the tenants into prospective owners it has been
steadily losing momentum. Mr. GINNELL, who made his reputation as a
perverse species of cowboy, now witnesses with grim satisfaction the
efforts of his colleagues to borrow his policy and break up the grass
farms. It was rather hard on him that the Parliamentary printer should have
ruined one of his questions on the subject by making him say "that the
reason"--instead of the season--"for breaking this land is passing away."
The HOME SECRETARY is regarded by those who do not know him intimately as a
somewhat austere person, but given the right atmosphere he can be as lively
as anybody. Questioned about the reopening of Ciro's, he betrayed a minute
acquaintance with the details of its programme. I was beginning to wonder
if he were related to that famous Early-Victorian family, the Caves of
Harmony, when his knowledge broke down. On being asked by his old friend
Mr. BUTCHER to define a cabaret-entertainment he was nonplussed, and could
only refer him to Colonel LOCKWOOD as a probable authority.
No one was more delighted at Mr. BONAR LAW'S announcement of the capture of
Baghdad than the Member for Cockermouth, who knows the region well.
Mesopotamia may or may not be the Garden of Eden, but Baghdad was at one
time unquestionably the abode of BLISS.
Mr. CATHCART WASON was a little puzzled when Mr. FORSTER informed him that
the peeling of potatoes by Army cooks is strictly forbidden, "except when
the dietary of the troops makes it necessary." Why should there be any
exception at all, he wondered, until a neighbour, better informed about the
new meat-ration, whispered, "Sausages and _mashed_."
A grave statement by Mr. MACPHERSON as to the recent losses of the Royal
Flying Corps on the Western Front, and the increased activity of the German
airmen, created some natural depression, which might have been more
pronounced had not Mr. PEMBERTON-BILLING seized the occasion to reiterate
his charges of "Murder" already condemned as baseless by two judicial
tribunals. The House will do anything in reason, but it refuses to
accompany Mr. BILLING in his flights of imagination.
_Tuesday, March 13th._--In the Lords, the Bill to deprive enemy peers of
their titles was supported by Lord MIDLETON, who nobly offered to sacrifice
his Red Eagle on the altar of patriotism. On the other hand Lord COURTNEY
condemned it; but there is no truth in the story that the Yellow Waistcoat
which he habitually wears was originally conferred upon him by the KAISER.
It is, I understand, an example of protective colouring, designed to ward
off the attacks of the Yellow Press.
_Wednesday, March 14th._--The explosive qualities of cotton when suitably
combined with other ingredients are well known. Of these ingredients the
Lancashire spirit is perhaps the most potent. Mr. AUSTEN CHAMBERLAIN began
his defence of the proposed Indian cotton duties with an appeal to Imperial
sentiment based upon what India had done and was doing. The Maharajah of
BIKANIR, seated in the Distinguished Strangers' Gallery, listened with
appreciation to the praises of his famous Camel Corps. Then followed what
might be called the Home Rule argument--we could not refuse what the Indian
people so much desired--delivered with so much earnestness that Mr.
JEREMIAH MACVEAGH loudly invited Mr. CHAMBERLAIN to "come over and sit on
these benches."
[Illustration: MEGAPHONES FOR MINISTERS. A SUGGESTION FROM THE PRESS
GALLERY.]
But his best card was his last, when, after a tribute to Mr. ASQUITH'S
"loyalty to colleagues," which roused tremendous cheering from the
Liberals, he invited the late Prime Minister to cast his vote with the
Government. Mr. ASQUITH did even more, for at the end of a speech, critical
but not censorious, he suggested an amendment to the Resolution which
enabled his Free Trade followers to "save their face." A few stalwarts from
Lancashire insisted none the less on taking a division, and were joined on
general principles by the Nationalists and other habitual malcontents. But
India, the Government and Mr. ASQUITH had the comfortable majority of 140.
_Thursday, March 15th._--Under the present rules of procedure (the products
of Irish obstruction in the past) the Nationalists find it difficult to put
their declaration of war against the Government to much effect. Their best
chance comes during the first hour of the sitting, and their most useful
weapon is the Supplementary Question. No sooner has Mr. DUKE read the
official reply to the inquiry on the Paper than there comes a strident
"Arising out of that, Mr. SPEAKER-R." Fortunately the CHIEF SECRETARY
possesses a Job-like patience, and is rarely betrayed into any departure
from his polite if somewhat ponderous manner. To badger Mr. BIRRELL was an
exciting pastime rather like punching the ball. To heckle Mr. DUKE is like
hammering a sandbag.
It would be interesting to know how many Members of the House of Commons
have volunteered under the National Service scheme. I only know of one;
that is Dr. MACNAMARA, who modestly avowed the fact when challenged by Mr.
PRINGLE, though I doubt whether the Admiralty will consent to dispense with
his services. On the other hand I only know of one who has not; and that is
Mr. PRINGLE himself, who, on the same challenge being put to him, replied,
"No, and don't intend." There is evidently someone, possibly Mr. HOGGE, who
thinks Mr. PRINGLE'S present services indispensable to the winning of the
War.
The debate on the new Vote of Credit dragged along in a thin and somnolent
House until Mr. BONAR LAW woke it up with the startling news that there had
been a revolution in Russia, and that the TSAR had abdicated. Everybody
seemed pleased, including Mr. DEVLIN, who was quite statesmanlike in his
appreciation. But no one noticed that henceforward we must rank the late
Sir HENRY CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN among the prophets. Addressing the Members of
the Inter-parliamentary Conference assembled in the Palace of Westminster
on July 23rd, 1906, just after the dissolution of Russia's first elected
Parliament, he said, "_La Duma est morte; vive la Duma!_" For a Prime
Minister this outburst was regarded as a little tactless; its essential
wisdom has been justified by the event.
_Friday, March 16th._--To-morrow being St. Patrick's Day, Mr. BONAR LAW
seized the opportunity to address a little homily to Members from Ireland.
Unless they mend their ways pretty soon they may have to go back to their
constituents and tackle the Sinn Feiners themselves.
* * * * *
WINGED VICTORY.
"_Per ardua ad astra._"
"One of our machines did not return."
I like to think it did not fall to earth,
A wounded bird that trails a broken wing,
But to the heavenly blue that gave it birth
Faded in silence, a mysterious thing,
Cleaving its radiant course where honour lies,
Like a winged victory mounting to the skies.
The clouds received it and the pathless night;
Swift as a flame, its eager force unspent,
We saw no limit to its daring flight;
Only its pilot knew the way it went,
And how it pierced the maze of flickering stars
Straight to its goal in the red planet Mars.
So to the entrance of that fiery gate,
Borne by no current, driven by no breeze,
Knowing no guide but some compelling fate,
Bold navigators of uncharted seas,
Courage and youth went proudly sweeping by,
To win the unchallenged freedom of the sky.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Curate (to unfailing supporter)._ "OH, MISS TOOTSBY, IT'S
GOOD TO SEE YOU HERE AGAIN. IT WOULDN'T SEEM LIKE A JUMBLE SALE WITHOUT
YOU."]
* * * * *
HEART-TO-HEART TALKS.
(_Enter PASHA and the Sultan of TURKEY._)
_The Sultan._ Then you want me to press the GERMAN KAISER to come to
Constantinople and pay me a visit. Is that it?
_Enver._ Yes, your Majesty, that is about it. It would produce a splendid
effect on the populace and would electrify the soldiers.
_The Sultan._ But I've already told you that I cordially dislike this
KAISER of yours. Wherever he goes he turns everything upside down, and
there's not a moment's peace or repose for anybody. He must have reviews of
troops morning, noon and night, and it's all quite useless, for our
Generals tell me that he doesn't really understand anything about soldiers
and their movements. You know they've had to keep him away from the
fighting, both in France and Russia, because he would insist on giving the
most absurd orders, and when things didn't go right immediately he always
broke out into shouting and cursing, and praying and crying until his Staff
felt so ashamed of him and themselves that they didn't know which way to
look. There's never any knowing what a man like that will do. He's as
likely as not to want to preach a sermon in St. Sophia, or to ride his
horse up the steps of the Palace.
_Enver._ These are certainly faults, but they are the faults of an
enthusiastic nature.
_The Sultan._ Well, I don't like that kind of enthusiastic nature. I prefer
something quieter. Besides, I am told that his behaviour in the house and
his table-manners are dreadful. He's quite capable, if he doesn't like a
dish, of throwing it at the attendants. Then he gets so angry when people
don't agree with him; the least contradiction makes him purple, absolutely
purple, with passion. My dear ENVER, you would have to pretend you knew
nothing about Turkey when you talked with him--at any rate nothing in
comparison with his knowledge--and I'm sure you wouldn't like that; nobody
would. No, I can't say the prospect of having him here as my guest allures
me, but of course, if you say it _must_ be done, I'm ready to sacrifice
myself. Only I warn you it will spoil everything for me to have him here
prancing about in a Turkish uniform.
_Enver._ I didn't know your Majesty's feelings were so strong on the
subject. Perhaps it will not, after all, be necessary. I will see what can
be done.
_The Sultan._ Yes, do, there's a good fellow. If I had to entertain that
man for a week I should suffer from indigestion for the rest of my life.
_Enver._ If possible we will see that your Majesty is spared such an
affliction. With your Majesty's leave I will now withdraw.
_The Sultan._ Do by all means. No--stop; you haven't given me any of the
War news. I keep on asking for it, but nobody pays any attention to my
requests. Honestly, I don't see much use in being a Sultan if one can't get
anyone to do what one asks.
_Enver._ Oh, you want to hear some War news, do you? Well, I may as well
tell you now as later. Baghdad's gone.
_The Sultan._ What--captured?
_Enver._ Yes, the infernal English have got it.
_The Sultan._ I knew it was bound to happen. I told you so only last
Tuesday--at least, if it wasn't you it was somebody else. "Baghdad," I
said, "is sure to be captured. The English are in great force, and if we
don't watch it carefully they're sure to snatch it from us." That's what I
said; but you wouldn't have it. You were all so cock-sure, and now where
are you?
_Enver._ Who can fight against treachery?
_The Sultan._ Treachery? It's simply stupidity and incompetence. You and
your KAISER keep patting one another on the back, and then one fine morning
you wake up and discover that Baghdad has fallen. ENVER, you'll find it
rather difficult to explain this to the people. They know my advice hasn't
counted for anything in this; they'll put it all down to you; and you can't
murder them all, as you murdered poor old NAZIM.
_Enver._ Silence, or--
_The Sultan._ Yes, I know, but I will not keep silence. Rather, I will ask
again, why have you sent my best regiments to help the Austrians and
Germans on their own fronts? Even I could have managed better than that.
And why are we fighting in this War at all? Answer me that.
_Enver._ We fight for the greatness of Turkey.
_The Sultan._ Well, we don't seem very successful. It was a good deal
bigger before we lost Erzerum and Baghdad...
(_Left wrangling._)
* * * * *
Conscience-Money?
"The Commissioners of Inland Revenue acknowledge the receipt of first
half of L100 note from 'Berlin.'"--_Daily Paper._
* * * * *
"Half-a-dozen deer escaped from Hatfield Park some weeks ago through a
gate having been carelessly left open. A wholesale clearance of
vegetables followed in the district, and the damage was so serious
that, with the Marquis of Salisbury's approval, shooting parties of
farmers went out, and the raiders have now been run to
earth."--_Manchester Paper._
It looks as if they were only rabbits, after all.
* * * * *
AT THE PLAY.
"REMNANT."
I wish now that I had not been compelled to postpone my visit to the
Royalty, for I think the fall of Baghdad must have put me a bit above
myself. Anyhow, I was less moved than usual by the triumph of virtue and
the downing of vice; and permitted myself to wonder how a play like
_Remnant_ ever found its way into the Royalty (of all theatres), and what
Mr. DENNIS EADIE (of all actors) was doing in this galley, this
melted-butter boat. And indeed there were moments when I could see that Mr.
EADIE himself shared my wonder, if I rightly interpreted certain signs of
indifference and detachment in his performance. I even suspected a sinister
intention in the title, though, of course, Messrs. MORTON and NICCODEMI
didn't really get their play off in the course of a bargain sale of
superannuated goods.
Apart from the Second Act, where Miss MARIE LOeHR (looking rather like a
nice Dutch doll) delivered the blunt gaucheries of _Remnant_ with a
delightfully stolid naivete, the design of the play and its simple little
devices might almost have been the work of amateurs. The sordid quarrels
between _Tony_ and his preposterous mistress (whom I took to be a model,
till I found that he was only an artist in steam locomotives) were
extraordinarily lacking in subtlety. In all this Bohemian business one
looked in vain for a touch of the art of MURGER. What would one not have
given for something even distantly reminiscent of the _Juliet_ scene--"_et
le pigeon chantait toujours_"? And it wasn't as if this was supposed to be
a sham Americanised _quartier_ of to-day. We were in the true period--under
Louis PHILIPPE. Indeed I know no other reason (costumes always excepted)
why the scene was the Paris of 1840. For the purposes of the play _Tony_
might just as well have been a British designer of tanks (London, 1916).
Nor was there anything even conventionally French about the girl _Remnant_,
who might have been born next-door to Bow Bells.
[Illustration: REMNANT BARGAIN DAY.
_Tony_ ... MR. DENNIS EADIE.
"_Remnant_" ... MISS MARIE LOeHR.]
Miss MARIE LOeHR was the life and soul of the party. Her true comedy manner,
when she was serious, was always fascinating. She said with great
discretion her little Barriesque piece about the desirability of babies,
and she did all she knew to keep the sentiment from being too sickly-sweet.
Here she had strong assistance from Mr. EADIE as her lover _Tony_; for,
though he got a fine flash out of the green eye of jealousy when he
suspected his patron, _Jules_, of jumping his love-claim, it was obvious at
the end that the success of his professional ambitions was far more to him
than any affair of the heart. And, after all, when _Remnant_ complained of
a curious _bourdonnement_ in her ears, and _Tony_ had to reply solemnly,
"That which you hear is the beating of your heart to the music of your
soul," you could hardly expect a man with Mr. EADIE'S sense of humour to
throw much conviction into the statement.
Mr. C.M. LOWNE was a very passable _beau_, and made love to _Remnant_ with
that rich fruitiness of voice of which he is a past master. It was her
business (as she explained to _Tony_ when he surprised their two faces
within kissing distance of each other) to keep _Jules_ in good humour since
_Tony's_ chances depended upon his patronage. But it couldn't have helped
much to tell _Jules_ with such appalling candour that the shiver produced
by his kiss was the same kind as she had once felt when a rat ran over her
face during sleep. However, _Jules_ was not a _beau_ for nothing and could
afford this exceptional set-back to one of his many amours. There was, by
the way, an excellent little comedy scene between him and his wife, played
by Miss MURIEL POPE with a quiet humour as piquant as her gown.
As _Manon_, the querulous termagant that _Tony_ had taken for mistress,
Miss HILDA MOORE was not very kindly served by her part--so rudimentary
that its highest flight was achieved when, with a Parthian shot, she
referred to _Tony_ as a geni-ass.
I will not forecast a limited success for this play, for who would dare to
say that there is not always room in the broad British bosom for yet
another triumph of sentiment over ideas--I speak of the play itself and not
of the performance? If only for Miss LOeHR'S sake I could wish that the best
of fortune may attend it; for to have worn her hair as she did in the
Second Act, out of regard for the period, was a sacrifice as fine as any
that women have shown in the course of Armageddon (if I may judge of them
by their portraits in the Photographic Press), and she ought to have her
reward, bless her heart! O.S.
* * * * *
"GENERAL POST."
It would be easy to make fun of the exaggerations and ultra-simplifications
of Mr. TERRY'S new comedy. It is much pleasanter (and juster) to dwell on
its wholesomeness, its easy humour and its effect of honest entertainment.
Not a highbrow adventure, it is not to be judged by highbrow standards. It
is decently in key, and an exceptionally clever cast carried it adroitly
over any rough places. Remarkable, too, as almost the first popular
testimonial since the War began to the too-much-taken-for-granted
Territorials, who worked in the old days while we scoffed and golfed.
That's all to the good.
[Illustration: THE TAILOR WHO DID NOT NEED TO PRESS HIS SUIT.
_Sir Dennys Broughton_ ... MR. NORMAN MCKINNEL.
_Lady Broughton_ ... MISS LILIAN BRAITHWAITE.
_Edward Smith (tailor)_ ... MR. GEORGE TULLY.]
Our author's hero is an excellent provincial tailor, who is also keen
_Captain Smith_ in the Sheffingham Terriers. As tailor his chief customer,
as soldier his contemptuous scandalised critic, is _Sir Dennys Broughton_,
whose wayward flapper daughter _Betty_ is in the early fierce stages of
revolt against the stuffiness of life at Grange Court, meets _Smith_ over
some boys' club work, and, finding brains and dreams in him (a formidable
contrast to her loafing brother), falls into passionate first-love. _Smith_
is just as badly if more soberly hit, and recognising the impossibility of
the situation (quite apart from demonstrations by the alarmed _Broughtons_)
decides to take his tape and shears to his London house of business. The
date of all this being about the time of the misguided _Panther's_ fateful
leap on Agadir.
Act II. brings us to the second year of the War. Young _Broughton_, puppy
no longer, is gloriously in it, and has just been gazetted to a Territorial
regiment whose Colonel bears the not uncommon name of Smith. Our tailor, of
course, and a rattling fine soldier too. Having discovered this latter fact
and also formed a remarkably cordial relationship apparently in a single
day, the enthusiastic cub subaltern (distemper and snobbishness over and
done with) motors up his C.O., who is visiting his brother and partner, and
brings him in to Grange Court on the way. _Sir Dennys_, now a brassarded
private and otherwise a converted man, is still confoundedly embarrassed,
and stands anything but easy in the presence of his youngster's Colonel.
_Lady Broughton_, least malleable of the group, is frankly appalled by this
new _mesalliance_. Perhaps Mr. TERRY'S version of blue-blooded insolence
and fatuity is for his stage purpose rather crudely coloured, but who shall
say that the doctrine that a man in khaki who has been an elementary
schoolmaster or a tailor is a man for a' that, is quite universally
accepted in the best circles even in this year of grace? _Betty_, now a
grown girl in the cynical stage, revenges herself with feline savagery on
the knight of the shears for the imagined slight of his defection.