Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, April 18, 1917 by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, April 18, 1917
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 152.
April 18th, 1917.
CHARIVARIA.
The growing disposition to declare war against her is causing genuine
concern in Germany, where it is feared that there may not be enough
interned German vessels to go round.
***
An Austrian General is reported to have been overwhelmed by an avalanche of
snow, and at Easter-time a number of patriotic English people were
offering, in view of the usefulness of the stuff for military purposes, to
forgo their own ration.
***
The question of Parliamentary reform has been under discussion in the House
of Commons. That the Legislature should attempt to deal with reforms of any
kind which have not been previously demanded by the Daily Press is regarded
in certain quarters as a most dangerous precedent.
***
Immediately north of the Siegfried line, the experts explain, is a new
German position, which they have christened the Wotan line. It will not be
long before we hear of fresh German activities in the Goetterdaemmerung line.
***
Thousands of men at the docks are boycotting public-houses as a protest
against increased prices. A deputation of licensed victuallers will shortly
wait upon the Government to inform them that their action in restricting
the brewers' output is likely to have the deplorable effect of making
drinking unpopular.
***
There has been some slight activity on the Dublin front, but beyond a few
skirmishes there is little to report.
***
One of the most recent additions to the Entente Alliance proves that the
art of war as practised by Germany is such a horrible travesty that even
the Cubists condemn it.
***
Goat-skin coats are mentioned by a lady writer as quite a novelty. She is
in error. Goats have worn them for years.
***
A wedding at Huntingdon, the other day, was interrupted by the barking of
dog within the vicinity of the church. It is a peculiar thing, but dogs
have never looked upon marriage as the serious thing it really is.
***
We are sorry to contradict a contemporary, but the assertion that men are
losing their chivalry cannot be lightly passed over. Only the other night
in the tube a man was distinctly heard to say to a lady who was standing,
"Pray accept my seat, Madam. I am getting out here."
***
[Illustration: _Small Invalid_ (_to visitor_). "I'VE HAD A LOT OF DISEASES
IN MY TIME -- MEASLES -- WHOOPING-COUGH -- INFLUENZA -- TONSILITIS -- BUT
(_modestly_) I HAVEN'T HAD DROPSY YET."]
***
Mr. DUKE has just stated that there is work for all in Ireland. This is not
the way to make the Government popular in the distressed isle.
***
The Vienna _Zeit_ says the worst enemy of the people is their appetite.
Several local humourists have been severely dealt with for pointing out
that eating is the best way of getting rid of this pest.
***
A Stepney market porter attempted last week to evade military service by
hiding in a cupboard, but the police captured him despite the fact that he
attempted to throw them off the scent by making a noise like a piece of
cheese--a very old device.
***
On one day of Eastertide there was an inch of snow in Liverpool, followed
by hailstones, lightning, thunder and a gale of wind. Summer has certainly
arrived very early this year.
***
The _Berliner Tageblatt _makes much of the fact that a recent submarine
expedition was carried out by means of German Naval officers on board a
trawler "disguised as ordinary men." A clever piece of masquerading.
***
"Members of the Honor Oak Golf Club," says a contemporary, "are arranging
to play their rounds to the music of grunting pigs, cackling fowls and
bleating lambs." With a little practice these intelligent animals should
soon be able to convey their appreciation of the more elementary strokes.
***
WOLF'S comet is approaching the earth at the rate of 1,250,000 miles a day,
and our special constables have been warned.
***
England, said Lord LEICESTER recently, is neglecting her trees during the
War. But with our Great Tree (Sir BEERBOHM) it is the other way about.
***
The overseer of one of the workhouses in the vicinity of London is to
receive an additional four pounds a year in place of beer. It is hoped that
this sum will buy him a nice glass of stout for his next Christmas dinner.
***
In justice to the thieves who removed 1-1/2 cwt. of sugar from a grocer's
shop in Kentish Town it should be stated that had it not been for an
untimely alarm it was their intention to have taken a sufficient quantity
of other articles to justify their appropriation of that amount of sugar.
***
"Only the older generation recalls the glass of sherry and slice of
Madeira that used to be the invariable refreshment offered in the
farmhouses of the Southwest."--_Daily Telegraph._
Our own recollection is that it was sometimes a glass of Madeira and a hunk
of sherry.
* * * * *
A SCHOOL FOR STATESMEN.
[The _Hamburger Fremdenblatt_, in an article on our Ambassador at
Petrograd, ascribes his success as a diplomat to his passion for golf--
"if one can speak of passion in connection with this cold game of
meadow billiards." "The conditions," it goes on to say, "in which this
rather tiresome game is played do really produce the qualities
necessary for any statesmanlike or diplomatic work.... Silent, tough,
resigned, unbroken ... the good golfer walks round his field, keeps his
eye on the ball and steers for his goal.... Sir George Buchanan walked
round the whole golf field of Europe for years until at last he was
able in Petrograd to hurl the ball into the goal."]
Oft have I wondered as my weapon's edge
Disintegrated solid chunks of greenery,
Or as my pillule flew the bounding hedge
Into outlying sections of the scenery,
What moral value might accrue
From billiards played beneath the blue.
Little I fancied when I topped the sphere
And on its candour left a coarse impression,
Or in the bed of some revolting mere
Mislaid three virgin globes in swift succession,
That I was learning how to grip
The rudiments of statesmanship.
Yet so it was. I schooled myself to gaze
Upon the object with a firmly glued eye,
And, though I moved by strange and devious ways,
To keep in view the goal, or _finis ludi_,
And ever let my language be
The language of diplomacy.
Thus BALFOUR learned the politician's game,
And thus LLOYD GEORGE was trained to be a Premier;
Thence many a leader who has leapt to fame
Got self-control, grew harder, tougher, phlegmier,
Reared in the virtues which prevail
At Walton Heath and Sunningdale.
Golf being then the source of so much good,
I own my conscience suffers certain wrenches
Recalling how the links of Chorley Wood
Have seen me on the Sabbath carving trenches,
Where Tommies might be taught to pitch
The deadly bomb from ditch to ditch.
For I reflect that my intruding spade,
That blocked the foursome and debarred the single,
May well have cheeked some statesman yet unmade,
Some budding HOGGE, some mute inglorious PRINGLE;
And that is why my shovel shrinks
From excavating other links.
O.S.
* * * * *
"In reply to your valued inquiry, we enclose illustration of Dining
Tables of Oak seating fourteen people with round legs and twelve people
with square legs, with prices attached. Hoping to have your order."--
_The Huntly Express._
Mr. Punch is now engaged upon an exhaustive examination of the extremities
of his staff before deciding whether to replace his existing Round Table.
* * * * *
"BRITISH PRESS BACK HUN REARGUARDS."--_Newspaper headline._
Happily it is only a small section of the British Press that adopts this
unpatriotic attitude.
* * * * *
SHAKSPEARE on the FOOD CONTROLLER:--
"No man's pie is free'd
From his ambitious finger."--_Henry VIII., Act I. Scene I._
* * * * *
HEART-TO-HEART TALKS.
_(The GERMAN CROWN PRINCE and Marshal HINDENBURG)._
_Hindenburg._ So your Royal Highness proposes to leave us again?
_The Prince._Yes, Marshal, I'm going to leave you for a short time. I have
made arrangements which will render my absence from the Front as little
disadvantageous as may be possible. My orders have been carefully drawn up
so as to provide for every contingency, and I trust that nothing the enemy
can do will find my stout fellows unprepared, while I am devising fresh
triumphs for them in my temporary retirement.
_Hindenburg._ We shall all regret the absence of your Royal Highness from
those fields in which you have planted new proofs both of German courage
and of German intellectual superiority; but no doubt your Highness will be
all the better for a short rest. May I, perhaps, ask the immediate cause of
your Highness's departure from the Front?
_The Prince._ No, Marshal, you mustn't, for if you do I shall not answer
you fully. _(Hums) Souvent femme varie; fol qui s'y fie_--do you know what
that means, you rogue?
_Hindenburg._ I know your Highness spoke in French, which is not what I
should have expected from one who stands so near to the throne.
_The Prince._ Now, you mustn't be angry; only dull people ever get angry.
_Hindenburg._ Your Royal Highness means to say--?
_The Prince._ I mean to say that you're not dull--not _really_ dull, you
know, and that therefore you can't be allowed to get angry about a mere
trifle. Besides, our predecessor, the GREAT FREDERICK, always spoke in
French and wrote his poetry in French--very poor stuff it was too--and had
a violent contempt for the German language, which he considered a barbarous
jargon.
_Hindenburg._ I care not what the GREAT FREDERICK may have thought as to
this matter--there are other points in which it might be well to imitate
him first rather than to remember what he thought and said about our noble
German language--but for me it is enough to know that the Emperor and King
whom I serve holds no such ideas.
_The Prince. _Of course he doesn't; he holds no ideas at all of any kind.
_Hindenburg._ At least he would be angry to hear such--
_The Prince. _Of course he would; he's dull enough in all conscience for
that or anything else.
_Hindenburg (after a pause)._ Your Royal Highness will, perhaps, forgive me
if I draw your gracious attention to the fact that I have much work to do
and but little time to do it in.
_The Prince. _Of course, my dear Marshal, of course. They're making things
warm for you, aren't they, in the direction of Arras? I was saying to
myself only this morning, "How annoying for that poor old HINDENBURG to
have his masterly retreat interrupted by those atrocious English, and to
lose thirteen thousand prisoners and one hundred-and-sixty guns, and I
don't know how many killed and wounded. Where's his wall of steel now, poor
old fellow, and his patent plan for luring the enemy on?" That's what I
said to myself, and now that we have met I feel that I must offer you my
condolences. I know what it is, though of course it wasn't _my_ fault that
we failed to bring it off against the French at Verdun. Heigho! I'm really
beginning to believe that I shall never see Paris.
_Hindenburg._ !!! !!! !!!
_The Prince._ You needn't look so stuffy, dear old thing. I'm going. But
remember _I_ shall be your Emperor some day; and then what shall I do with
you? I know; I shall have you taught French.
* * * * *
[Illustration: DYNASTIC AMENITIES.
LITTLE WILLIE (_of Prussia_). "AS ONE CROWN PRINCE TO ANOTHER, ISN'T YOUR
HINDENBURG LINE GETTING A BIT SHAKY?"
RUPPRECHT (_of Bavaria_). "WELL, AS ONE CROWN PRINCE TO ANOTHER, WHAT ABOUT
YOUR HOHENZOLLERN LINE?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Sergeant._ "PUT YOUR THUMBS DOWN BEHIND THE SEAMS OF YOUR
TROUSERS, NUMBER SIX! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK THE SEAMS OF YOUR TROUSERS
ARE PUT THERE FOR?"]
* * * * *
CAUTIONARY TALES FOR THE ARMY.
I.
_Sergt.-Instructor George Bellairs, who imagined himself to be a master
of strong language._
Sergt.-Instructor George Bellairs
Prided himself on dreadful swears,
And half the night and all the day
He thought of frightful things to say.
On his recruits in serried squad
He'd work them off; he said, "You clod!"
"You put!" "You closhy put!" (a curse he
Got from _The Everlasting Mercy_,
Which shows one can't take care enough,
Not knowing who may read one's stuff).
With joy he saw his victims quiver,
With wicked joy beheld them shiver.
Six stretchers in attendance waited
To carry off the men he slated.
But early in the War there came
A squad of men of rowing fame.
With them, his choicest oaths he found
Fell upon bored and barren ground.
He lavished all his hoard, full tale;
They did not blench, they did not quail.
His plethora of plums he spilt;
They did not wince, they did not wilt.
Poor fellow! As they left him there,
He heard one beardless boy declare,
"Jove! what a milk-and-water chap!
I thought non-coms. had oaths on tap."
Another said, "We'd soon be fit
If we were only cursed a bit!"
Sergt.-Instructor George Bellairs,
He stands and stares, and stares _and stares_;
Then (he who late so freely cursed)
Tried to express himself and--burst!
* * * * *
SPRING FASHIONS FOR MEN.
"Lord ----, who managed to be present, wore a festive air with a
button-hole of lilies of the valley."--_Ramsey Courier._
* * * * *
"LOST, between Huddersfield and Saddleworth, on the 7th inst, Two Swing
Doors."--_Provincial Paper._
What became of the rest of the storey?
* * * * *
The SULTAN has presented the GERMAN KAISER with a sword of honour--"Same I
massacred the Armenians," as _Rawdon Crawley_ would have said.
* * * * *
"The launching of the first great Allied offensive of this year has
fallen at such a time in the week that it is unfortunately impossible
to deal with it at all thoroughly in the present number."--_Land and
Water._
Sir DOUGLAS HAIG ought to be more considerate.
* * * * *
A RATIONAL QUESTION.
Dear Mr. Punch,--Seeing from your cartoon that you have views of your own
on Food Control, may I put a puzzling case to you? The other evening, after
the theatre, I wished to give some supper to a hungry young soldier friend
who any day now may be summoned to France. It was a quarter past eleven and
I led him to a restaurant near Piccadilly Circus which was still open and
busy. But the door-keeper refused to admit him. I might go in--oh, yes--but
not a soldier. Now I am an elderly civilian, doing very little for my
country except carrying on my own business and paying my way and my taxes;
but this boy is a fighter, prepared to die for England if need be. Yet it
is I who am allowed to eat at night, and not he, however much in need of
food he may be! Surely there is some want of logic here?
I am, Yours faithfully,
PERPLEXED CIVILIAN.
* * * * *
"April came in yesterday with none of the mildness
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelllllll xfifl vbg emf shr tao hr which is proverbially
associated with that month."--_Glasgow Evening Times._
We can almost hear the printer's teeth chattering.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Mother._ "SO YOU'RE THE BOTTOM BOY OF YOUR CLASS. AREN'T
YOU ASHAMED OF YOURSELF?"
_Peter._ "BUT, MOTHER, IT'S NOT MY FAULT. THE BOY WHO'S ALWAYS BOTTOM IS
AWAY ILL."]
* * * * *
FIRST LINES.
After having spent an hour or so with WORDSWORTH'S sonnets I found my head
so full of his sonorous adjuratory music that when in the middle of the
night I woke as usual--from three to four is the worst time--my wooing of
reluctant sleep took on a new fashion, and instead of repeating verses I
made them. But I only once proceeded farther than the first line. Anybody
who finds pleasure in poetic pains may add the other thirteen; to me such a
task would savour of bad luck. Here, however, are some of my brave
Rydalesque beginnings, with titles:--
_To the ASSISTANT CONTROLLER of FOOD, wishing him success._
JONES, who wouldst keep potatoes for the poor--
_To the Ex-PREMIER, now in very active retirement._
ASQUITH, till recently our honoured head--
_To a prominent K.C. who has become First Lord of the Admiralty._
CARSON, who latterly hast taken salt--
_To an Ex-Minister for Foreign Affairs, on a bed of sickness._
GREY, who wouldst Represent Proportionally--
_To a Second-in-Command._
BONAR, who speakest for the absent GEORGE--
_To the PRIME MINISTER, on a notable innovation._
GEORGE, who receivest Yankee journalists--
_To the KAISER._
WILHELM, who dost thy damnedst every day--
_To the CROWN PRINCE._
Namesake of mine, but O how different!
_To an Ex-Colonel._
WINSTON, whose fighting days, alas! seem o'er--
_To an assiduous Watcher of the literary skies._
SHORTER, who tellest readers what to think--
I then essayed two lines:--
_To an Incorrigible Wag._
SHAW, who, in khaki, with that gingery beard,
Joyous and independent scann'dst the Front--
With this effort I fell asleep.
* * * * *
DAWN OF HUMOUR IN SCOTLAND.
"Summer time begins at 2 a.m. on Sunday morning. Clocks should be put
back an hour on Saturday night."--_Ross-shire Journal._
* * * * *
THE SECRET OF LONGEVITY.
"The death occurred on Friday of Mr. ----, at the age of 94. Deceased
had liver through the reigns of George IV., William IV., Victoria,
Edward VII."--_Provincial Paper._
* * * * *
From a picture-dealer's advertisement:--
"Corot got originally 500 francs for his painting of 'The Angelus,'
which ultimately brought 800,000 francs."--_The British Magazine_
(_Buenos Aires_).
Poor MILLET, it appears, got nothing.
* * * * *
WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE.
PART I.
Angelo Armstrong was a man of thirty. He had no capital, but by dint of
honest and meritorious toil he found himself eventually earning a moderate
salary as clerk in a London Insurance Office. He had been rejected for the
Army on account of a defective knee-cap. Outside his work his tastes lay in
the direction of botany and bibliomancy, which latter, according to the
dictionary, is "Divination performed by selecting passages of Scripture at
hazard." He also indulged in good works and was President of the Society
for the Preservation of the Spiritual Welfare of the Deputy Harbour Masters
at our English Seaports. Thus he was worthy of the name of Angelo by which
his mother had insisted that he should be christened, after seeing a
picture of the famous historical incident of "_Non Angli sed Angeli_."
Strangely enough he had never yet come under the influence of love. The
three diversions given above had filled his spare hours, and woman was to
him a sealed book. One morning he found a letter on his breakfast-table
from an old family friend; it read as follows:--
"_Ton Repos," Woking_,
_December 11th, 1916_.
"DEAR MR. ARMSTRONG,--Do tear yourself away from grimy London and come and
spend the Christmas holidays with us. Only a small party and one of
War-workers. We are all workers nowadays, aren't we? You _must_ come!
Sincerely yours,
AUGUSTA POGSON-DELABERE.
N.B.--Our house is a long way from the Crematorium!
This settled it; he decided to go.
PART II.
The Pogson-Delaberes' party at "Ton Repos" consisted of four guests: Col.
Maxton, from Aldershot, commanding the 106th Battalion of the Drumlie
Highlanders; Miss Agatha Simson, a middle-aged munition-worker; our hero,
and, oh! the lovely Miss Sylvia Taunton, another War-worker, aged 22. The
result may be easily guessed. For two days the young people were left,
naturally, very much together. They quickly fell into an easy intimacy, and
on the third and last day of the holiday Angelo was profoundly in love.
Gone were the botanizers, gone the bibliomants, gone the Deputy Harbour
Masters. There was but one thought in his evacuated brain, to make the fair
Sylvia his own.
His opportunity came after dinner that night when the rest of the party had
gone out to look at some condemned pheasants which were to be shot at dawn.
She was at the piano playing that deservedly popular song, "I've chipped my
chip for England," by Nathaniel Dayer, when he suddenly leant over her.
"Miss Taunton--Sylvia," he ejaculated, "you will be surprised at this
suddenness, I know, but I cannot keep it in any longer; I love you
enormously. Is there any chance for me?"
She had just reached that passage in Nathaniel's song where a triumphant
ascending scale in G rings out. She faltered and played D-flat instead of
D-natural, the first dissonance that night--would it had been the last!
Quickly she turned on the music-stool and on him, and spoke with averted
head.
"Mr. Armstrong, I will own frankly that I like you more than a little.
Though we only met three days ago I am more drawn to you than I have ever
been to any other man."
"Aha," he cried exultingly.
"But," she said, "I must say something about myself. While I am a
War-worker, I have never told you yet what I am doing. I am a clerk in
Marr's Bank, in Cheapside."
"There is nothing dishonourable in that," he almost shouted.
"There is not," she answered, haughtily drawing herself up.
"I keep my account there," he said.
"I know," she replied; "I am in the Pass-book department."
He stood quite still, but the lapels of his dinner-jacket shook slightly.
"My duties," she went on quietly, "are to report each evening to my chief,
Mr. Hassets, on our clients' balances. Yours has never been higher than L24
7_s._ 9_d._ during the eighteen months that I have been there. I am very
sorry, but I cannot marry you."
He looked straight into her inscrutable eyes and the right repartee froze
on his lips.
On the morrow he left at dawn, just as the birds were beginning to drop;
and before the day was over he had transferred his account from Marr's Bank
to Parr's.
* * * * *
"CHAPLAIN ---- ASKS GUIDANCE FOR THE AUTHORITIES.
Prays that recent events may be prevented."--_Baltimore News._
Surely this is asking too much.
* * * * *
"British troops in Macedonia are now in possession of Deltawah and
Sindiyah, some thirty-five miles north of Bagdad, and of Falluyah on
the Euphrates, thirty-six miles west of Bagdad."--_Sunday Paper._
We know on _Fluellen's_ authority that Macedon and Monmouth are very much
alike; and so, it seems, is Mesopotamia.
* * * * *
BACK TO THE LAND.
The wintry days are with us still;
The roads are deep in liquid dirt;
The rain is wet, the wind is chill,
And both are coming through my shirt;
And yet my heart is light and gay;
I shout aloud, I hum a snatch;
Why am I full of mirth? To-day
I'm planting my potato patch.
The KAISER sits and bites his nails
In Pots- (or some adjoining) dam;
He wonders why his peace talk fails
And how to cope with Uncle Sam;
The General Staff has got the hump;
In vain each wicked scheme they hatch;
I've handed them the final thump
By planting my potato patch.
The U-boat creeps beneath the sea
And puts the unarmed freighters down;
It fills the German heart with glee
To see the helpless sailors drown;
But now and then a ship lets fly
To show that Fritz has met his match!
She's done her bit, and so have I
Who dig in my potato patch.
And later, when the War is won
And each man murmurs, "Well, that's that,"
And reckons up what he has done
To put the Germans on the mat,
I'll say, "It took ten myriad guns
And fighting vessels by the batch;
But we too served, we ancient ones,
Who dug in our potato patch."
ALGOL.
* * * * *
"IT."
PHASE I.
The doctor says, perfectly cheerfully and as though it were really not a
matter of vital importance, that there is no doubt that I have got IT. He
remarks that IT is all over the place, and that he has a couple of hundred
other cases at the present time.
I resent his attitude as far as I have strength to do anything at all. I
did not give permission for him to be called in just to have my sufferings
brushed aside like this. He only stays about three minutes altogether,
during which time he relates two funny stories (at least I suppose they are
funny, because my nurse laughs; I can't see any point in them myself), and
makes several futile remarks about the War. As though the War were a matter
of importance by comparison! Then he goes, talking breezily all the way
down the stairs.