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Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, April 18, 1917 by Various

V >> Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, April 18, 1917

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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.

Pages:
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Booker prize shortlist drops early frontrunners
Latest news and features from guardian.co.uk, the world's leading liberal voice

Extract: The Whales by Evie Wyld

Christos Tsiolkas and David Mitchell, both much-tipped when they appeared on the award longlist, have been overlooked in the six finalists

Listen to Claire Armitstead and Sarah Crown discuss the Booker shortlist on a special edition of the Guardian Books Podcast

It headed the most controversial Man Booker prize longlist in years, but Christos Tsiolkas's The Slap has failed to make the final cut for the literary award, as has David Mitchell's much-tipped fifth novel, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet.

Judges overlooked Australian novelist Tsiolkas's tale of the consequences when a child is slapped at a suburban barbecue – which is either "unbelievably misogynistic" or "riveting from beginning to end", depending on who's asked – and Mitchell, twice shortlisted for the prize in the past, to select a shortlist which ranges from two-time former winner Peter Carey's Parrot and Olivier in America to Emma Donoghue. The Irish writer has also stirred up debate with her Josel Fritzl-inspired Room, the story of a boy and his mother imprisoned in a tiny room for years.

Orange prize winner Andrea Levy's The Long Song, about the last years of slavery in Jamaica; Howard Jacobson's The Finkler Question, a cerebral comedy about grief and Anglo-Jewishness; experimental novelist Tom McCarthy's C, which tells the story of Serge Carrefax, a first world war radio operator who escapes from a German prison camp; and South African writer Damon Galgut's tale of a young man travelling through Greece, India and Africa, In a Strange Room, complete the six-strong shortlist for the £50,000 prize, announced this morning.

"It's been a great privilege and an exciting challenge for us to reduce our longlist of 13 to this shortlist of six outstandingly good novels," said chair of judges Andrew Motion, the former poet laureate. "In doing so, we feel sure we've chosen books which demonstrate a rich variety of styles and themes – while in every case providing deep individual pleasures."

The panel of judges had previously read 138 books to select the 13 titles for their longlist, with Martin Amis's new novel The Pregnant Widow and Ian McEwan's venture into comic fiction Solar both overlooked and Carey the only previous Booker winner on the longlist.

His inclusion on the shortlist today for Parrot and Olivier in America, a reimagining of Democracy in America author Alexis de Tocqueville's visit to the New World, gives him the chance of becoming the first ever writer to win the Booker three times, having previously taken it in 1988 for Oscar and Lucinda and 2001 for True History of the Kelly Gang.

"The omission of both David Mitchell and Christos Tsiolkas from the shortlist is a real shock. While both writers might rightly feel aggrieved at being overlooked, I imagine it took some wrangling amongst the judges to reduce one of the best longlists in years to six," said Jonathan Ruppin at independent book chain Foyles, who, while praising all six books for their "lightness of touch which means the reader doesn't get bogged down in something worthy or dull", predicted that Room was the most likely title to go on to win the award.

Waterstone's tipped C to take the prize, with fiction buying manager Simon Burke calling it "a challenging yet dazzling novel". "The news that David Mitchell has not made the shortlist will cause great wailing and gnashing of teeth across the bookworld, but perhaps is a useful reminder of the independence and unpredictability of the Booker," he said. "But this is still a hugely varied and exciting list, worthy of the Booker brand. Carey and Levy have to be strong contenders, but our money is on Tom McCarthy. The more people that read [C] the better."

The bookies agreed, with William Hill immediately installing McCarthy as 2/1 favourite to win the prize. "There has been a considerable media buzz around all of the books on the shortlist, and literary punters have staked more money in total on Tom McCarthy to win than any of the other authors, so he is a worthy favourite," said spokesman Graham Sharpe. Donoghue and Galgut came in second at the bookmaker, both at 3/1, with one customer so sure that In A Strange Room would win that they placed £400 on Galgut at 7/1, the largest single bet on the prize "for a few years", said Sharpe.

Carey came in fourth, at 5/1, with Levy at 7/1 and Jacobson the 8/1 outside to take the prize.

The opinion-splitting novels picked for this year's longlist have helped make it the most popular since 2001, with Tsiolkas's novel selling the most copies, followed by Donoghue's. The winner, who will join a roster of former winners including Margaret Atwood, Roddy Doyle and JM Coetzee, will be announced on 12 October. Last year's winner Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel is the fastest-selling Booker winner ever, with sales of around half-a-million copies to date.

The Man Booker shortlist in full:

Peter Carey's Parrot and Olivier in America

Emma Donoghue's Room

Damon Galgut's In a Strange Room

Howard Jacobson's The Finkler Question

Andrea Levy's The Long Song

Tom McCarthy's C

To buy all six Booker shortlisted titles for only £65 (save £37.94) with free UK p&p visit the Guardian Bookshop or call 0330 333 6846.


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The Marxist Miliband

Evie Wyld, whose debut novel After the Fire, a Still Small Voice won the 2009 John Llewellyn Rhys prize, has written a short story, The Whales, exclusively for Booktrust, where she is currently writer-in-residence. Here we join Jimmy, Elaine, Terry and Yvonne, deep in the bush after five days of walking. The conclusion will appear on the Booktrust website tomorrow

There are four of them footslogging single file along the trail. They sweat and wave their sticks at the flies, spitting the salt off their lips and feeling the rub of their backpacks, hot on their shoulders. A storm bird knows about them from miles off and lets out a wop-wop-wop, getting higher and louder as it goes. Jimmy watches Elaine look up at the gum-treed sky. He follows her gaze. No, he thinks. The bird is wrong; overhead is blue without a wash of cloud.

The crack of dry bark, the whistle of whip birds and sometimes a thundering in the undergrowth – a wombat, a pademelon – it all makes Jimmy feel younger. He can feel the muscles in his thighs working, can feel them thank him for not being stood at the assembly line six hours a day.

Five days of walking and now they are deep in the bush. In another day, they'll turn east, head for the sea, where if they make good time, they'll see the humpbacks heading south towards the Antarctic, their new calves in tow. There'll be a party that night, between the four of them. Terry the young bow-legged one from further down the line with a touch of the idiot about him, Yvonne his frizz-plaited, heavy cousin who runs accounts and her friend Elaine who is nothing to do with the factory and who returns his glances, smiling. Not a bad lot really, especially the girls.

Three days down the coast and they'll arrive home about ready for that soft bed and the meal without char-grit from the campfire, or the dog food pong of tinned meat. It's been good so far. He thinks of what was waiting for him if he hadn't gone bush this week – all those monkey-wrenches wanting to be set. It's been time to move on for a while, he sees that now. Only he'll wait and see what comes of Elaine and the damp hair that ringlets at the back of her neck.

Later in the day he spots a bower bird's chapel. Even this far in, the bird has found a blue toothbrush and bits of turquoise plastic to frame its humpy. He takes a photo, so that the side of Elaine's brown leg slides up the view finder.

'They only collect blue stuff', he says, mainly to Elaine. He feels the roots of his fingers strain as he reigns himself in, his stiff hands reminding him not to overdo it. Steady on.

Chances are, Elaine already knows more than him about bower birds – she told him she's walked the bush for six years, since she left varsity, this last two with Yvonne for company and he only knows from camping out when money gets bad. But he wants to show something to her. Elaine squats next to him and traces an arc with one finger in the dirt, looking at the toothbrush. She is smiling with her eyebrows pulled in.

'It's to impress the female – then she'll come down and he'll do a sexy dance.' As he explains, he wiggles his tail a little in a sexy dance and Elaine smiles wider.

Terry who has been leaning over them to get a look, gyrates around his walking stick. What his mating dance lacks in accuracy it makes up for in energy and the other three look on in silence while he makes the noise of a boombox with his lips pressed together. Jimmy's fingers stretch out towards the ground in embarrassment as he keeps his bad eye – the eye that he thinks of as his secret eye – on Elaine.

'You're a disgustin' specimen, Terry', says the stone-buttocked Yvonne. Terry quickens his hips and points, wiggling himself towards her.

Yvonne stands stiff and still like a wary buffalo. 'Never been the brightest crayon in the box', she says and they all push past him, smiles held down. Jimmy looks back to see him finish in a bunny squat and a flick of his head.

'Yeah!' says Terry loudly, arms raised and both thumbs up to the tops of the trees like they are his audience.

'Yeah' and he finds a cigarette in his back pocket, lights it and considers its glowing end before following on.

There'd been a night of heavy breathing when Elaine and Jimmy faced each other in their swags. They hadn't touched but they'd looked hard in the dark, seeing the glints of each other's tongues, teeth and eyes. There is a luxury in not touching, Jimmy thinks, in not just going with your gut; they don't have all the time in the world but they have this time, which won't end for another few days.

He looks forward to it, imagines the beach in an old film kind of a way. The last night when they will open the wine they've lugged all this way – they'll cool the bottles in a rock pool for a couple of hours, while they see what the beach has for them. He's a beach person at heart, it's where his childhood is at and he can't wait to show off about it. Terry's brought along his spearfishing gear and says he reckons on a good spot up at the point. Jimmy imagines striding into camp, a jewfish slung over one shoulder, a clutch of softly ticking crays hung from their whiskers in his other fist. When the moon's up and the salty wine is drunk, their fingers warm and sticky with sand and cray brains, he'll rub his foot over hers. He'll put his wrists either side of her jaw, so as not to touch her with his prawny fingers and he'll plant a long warm kiss on her mouth, one that shows them both that this is the start of things. He could think about staying on at the factory, him who hasn't stayed in one spot for more than six months at a time since he was 16. Or else, Elaine could come with him, go feral together up the coast. He gets the feeling there's not much holding her to the city anymore. He looks down at himself and he speaks softly to his hands You're orright you bung-eyed bastard. You're an okay sort after all.

Elaine breaks off from the group to take a pee in the scrub. She squats behind a paperbark and laughs. She's been hip deep in croc water, has woken up feeling a huntsman, as big as both of her hands put together, tangling with her feet in her swag. But the idea that the group might hear the sound of her pissing makes it so that she can't go. Eventually, she manages and makes a wet stain on the gum leaves. She pulls her shorts back up and a twig cracks not far up ahead. Shadows rise and fall as something heavy moves away. She catches up with the others at a jog.

Jimmy, that trunk of a man with his duff eye and his bear hands and her pal Yvonne are arguing about a fish. The argument is snapper versus flathead, but in what capacity Elaine is not sure. Terry is unusually quiet for a conversation involving food and he walks a little way from Jimmy and Yvonne.

'Stone lighter?' he asks quietly.

'It was a pee', she says, but her face flushes anyway.

'Right', says Terry and he smiles a weird smile. Elaine accidentally catches his eye.

By five o'clock they reach a small billabong. They strip down to their underwear and jump in like kids, laughing, drowning each other with splashing. Terry tries to duck the girls under, Jimmy dives for yabbies and opens his eyes in the bourbon-coloured water. The white legs of the other three bicycle in the open water. When he comes up for air, he can see that Yvonne is pleased with her breasts and bobs them gently up and down making small waves to the bank.

Jimmy looks a long time at Elaine and she looks back. There is a water level smile between them. He is aware of the ripples that come from his heartbeat and he sees how Elaine's canines creep over her bottom lip. Her hair is dark now, but in the light you can see into it. Where the sun hasn't caught her, her skin is like the damp underside of a leaf.

Elaine thinks she's some wonderful creature. The water holds her in on all sides, she feels good in her skin. The billabong is black from the tea trees that line the bank and when she flicks her legs to the surface she's a pale fish. She pauses before she puts her head under – a brief worry about spluttering and snotting in front of Jimmy, but then she thinks of the beach and the sea to come and she duck dives.

The dark water lifts her hair up and spreads it out, it pushes around her cheeks and taps on her eyelids as she reaches out for the leafy mud of the billabong floor, but even though she goes deep, her hands touch nothing. She kicks up for air and sends a flume of mist from her mouth. She smiles widely at Jimmy who floats on his back like an otter, hands clasped over his chest, dreaming of something.

Frogs and magpies are loud and someone finds a leech and then another and another and there's shrill laughing.

Terry shouts, 'It's eatin' the fuckin' kidneys out of me!' then, 'You girls want me to check under your bras?'

Even though everyone has had a leech before and every person has treated that leech with salt or the tip of a cigarette, quietly, without fear, they all pretend this is the first time they've been bitten and they wallow in the hysteria, enjoying it like gobble-mouthed kids.

Out of the water, damp shirts wrapped around them like towels, Jimmy burns a fat one off Elaine's shoulder. She looks at him sideways and curls a bit of paper bark around her finger.

'Ta', she says, as Jimmy passes her the cigarette which they share puffs from. He looks at her with his good eye. It creases in the corner.

The four of them set up camp a little way from the water hole, away from the leeches. Terry makes a small tepee out of kindling and rings stones around it to stop the fire spreading. Once it's lit they hang over a billy and drink tea while they watch the bats turning circles in the creeping darkness. Yvonne stirs up a thick damper and they bake it in a pan over the fire, to be eaten with a warmed tin of bean stew and rice pudding for afters. The birds are mostly quiet and the cicadas and frogs rev themselves up, as everyone slaps on Rid against the mosquitoes.

'Reckon we'll beat those whales, the way we're moving', Terry says cleaning his bowl with a licked finger.

'Fuckin' A.' Yvonne brings out a flask of bourbon to swill down the pudding with. She takes a long unflinching pull of it before passing it round and beginning a murder story.

'There's this girl went missing not far from Tully – all the kids hitchhike out there…' The dark gets deeper and everyone settles in, enjoying the creep of it. Elaine thinks that there's nothing you can't fix by putting your cheek to the land and feeling it settle. She studies the landscape of Jimmy's face. He is unashamedly enthralled by Yvonne's story. His funny eye looks directly at Elaine but doesn't see her. The lines on his forehead have dirt ground in. He's older than Elaine and she wonders what it is he's been doing all the time he's been alive.

In the silence, after Yvonne's concluding remark 'They only ever found her thumb', Terry farts, a loud one and everyone groans.

'Well, that's put that to bed', he says and they all unroll their swags around the fire and climb in for the night. Jimmy feels the hot weight of Elaine's foot on his and his fingers twitch on their own. Elaine sees Terry's wet eyes, tangerine from the fire and spreads her toes out. She stays awake for as long as possible, making up script after script of how it will go with Jimmy once they reach the sea. She replays the swim at waterhole until she's unsure if she's made parts of it up. She finally falls asleep with her heartbeat high in her chest.

Jimmy wakes long before dawn with a pressure like a stone on his bladder. He swears quietly and rolls out of his swag to ease the ache against a tree. In the undergrowth to his right, something scrabbles. He catches a strong scent and sees a wet snout or eye in the dark. A rumble in the brush and it's gone. Probably a pig or a dingo, but he's glad to get back to the group, where the coals in the fire are still orange. He checks each sleeper. Terry is spread at a diagonal, mouth open, not snoring but making noise. Yvonne sleeps on her front clutching the loose material of her swag, not letting it get away. Elaine is on her side and a brown arm has slithered free. Her hair makes a perfect ring around her ear. As he watches she produces a little noise, a tiny pop from her lips as they're opened with breath. Sleep speaking, thinks Jimmy as he burrows back into his swag, careful not to jog her feet with his, but careful also that they are touching.

The morning is hot and blue from the outset. After tea and a tidy up, they set off, aiming to reach the sea before sunset. Jimmy looks forward to a swim in the bubbling salt, a proper clean down with no bloodsuckers. Terry starts to talk about food almost immediately,

'Lamb chops.' He says confidently to Yvonne. 'That's gotta be the best type of food; lamb chops with the whole grill piece; onions, mushrooms, boiled spuds – no tomatoes though, I'm so over tomatoes.' Yvonne rolls her eyes at him.

'Couldn't give a rat's ring, Terry,' but she hands him a date and a piece of chocolate. Elaine enjoys her feeling of emptiness. Her spit tastes of eucalyptus, she feels new, like the air and blood in her has been filtered out and changed for something better.

After midday, there's a yell from Terry up ahead.

'Get a look at this!' The other three catch up to find him crouching in a small clearing surrounded by stay-a-while and they peer over his shoulder. There's a dead butcher bird on the ground and following the line of Terry's finger into one of the thorny bushes, they see its larder. A small mouse impaled through the neck, stiff and dry, missing parts of its hind quarters, a large Christmas beetle, upside down with the thorn square through the middle and last, still twitching, its legs up and angry, barely impaled through its leaking abdomen, a mouse spider.

'Christssake' whispers Jimmy stepping back.

'How the poor bastard got it up here, I can't figure,' Terry says, pushing the bird with his foot to reveal the green ants starting on its wing. The mouse spider's fangs, black and thick and shiny are up and ready to strike. It waves its legs in the air. Terry picks up a twig to poke it with, but Yvonne knocks it out of his hand.

'Don't be a bum, Terry. I'm not carrying yer fat dead lump out of here if you get bitten. You can count on that.' Jimmy takes a photograph, in which Terry insists on including his own hand, so as get the scale of the thing.

They start to walk on, but Elaine stays behind a beat or two looking at the spider; its fangs reaching for her, legs pointing.

'The sky is falling, the sky is falling!' Yvonne shrieks in a chicken voice as thunder mumbles in the distance. Elaine looks again at the sky, but it's still clear. The thunder is a long way off, but you can smell it in the air, which is heavy and hot. The tips of the trees sway in the sky, but there's no breeze down on the bush floor.

A goanna clings to a Moreton Bay fig above them but nobody sees it.

Jimmy touches the side of Elaine's hand with his little finger and as he does, the leaves to the side of her snaffle and a striped snake comes streaking out of the ground, hitting her on the boot. She barks loudly and kicks trying to get her foot away. The snake's fangs are deeply embedded in the leather of her boot and she shakes her leg hard while around her the others dip and weave and try to help and point their sticks. Jimmy thinks he has control of the situation when he holds Elaine's arm and beats at the snake with his walking stick, accidentally cracking her on the shin. The snake is dislodged, but instead of bolting back into the undergrowth, it turns again and bites Elaine, once, twice, three times and a fourth; calf, back of the knee, thigh, deeply, deeply again on her inner thigh. It's snap-quick and Jimmy doesn't have time to understand and still has Elaine by the arm so she doesn't get away. Finally, Terry gets it – a blow to the eye – and it's stunned. He stomps on the head, but it still twitches, so he beats it with his stick, smashing, till it changes colour, loses its stripes. It is still, but the bush crackles and carries on.

Elaine is tight-lipped and white. Yvonne cries softly into her cupped hands, the small beeps of a bird. Terry shoes leaves over the corpse of the snake and Jimmy still holds Elaine's arm, his grip hard from not knowing what to do, from doing the wrong thing. There is blood, Elaine thinks how it looks like she's got her period and then thinks she'd love a piece of liquorice from her backpack. She starts to turn around, to take her pack off, but her legs have lost their hardness and she is sliding back into Jimmy who is stiff and still.

'Jesus H Christ,' whispers Terry. He looks at the snake and away, prodding it rhythmically with his stick. 'Jimmy,' he says. 'Jesus, Jimmy.'

'S'just a nip,' says Elaine.

As she slides to the ground with the help of Jimmy who has become flesh again, Elaine thinks about the liquorice and then about how it was a tiger. A big dose of tiger and she's starting to feel it now, it feels like it bit her in the artery of her groin. The big one. The one where all the blood lives.

Yvonne straightens herself. She helps Elaine's pack off her back and slides it behind her back to prop her up. She pulls out her poncho and arranges it over Elaine's wounded leg, to keep it out of sight and then snaps the men into action.

'Hot water - get a fire on. Get the first aid.' She looks at the two men who are twisting their fingers. 'C'mon s'only a fuckin' snake bite, let's get it sorted and get on with it.' She's right and Jimmy says so. He says, 'Only a snake bite.' Smiling at Elaine, but what they all think, Jimmy, Terry, Yvonne and Elaine is but it's tiger. And we are deep in. Deep.

• To read the conclusion of the story, visit the Booktrust website from Tuesday 7 September.

• Evie Wyld works in the independent Review Bookshop in Peckham. She is taking part in a live-streamed book club Q&A from the shop at 7.30pm on Thursday 9 September. To find out how to submit questions for the event, visit the Booktrust website


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