Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, April 4, 1917 by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, April 4, 1917
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 152.
April 4th, 1917.
CHARIVARIA.
The KAISER has conferred upon the Turkish GRAND VIZIER the Order of the
Black Eagle. The GRAND VIZIER has had persistent bad luck.
***
"A few weeks ago," says Mr. ROBERT BLATCHFORD, I asked, "What manner of man
is the Tsar? And now he has abdicated." We understand that the EX-TSAR
absolves Mr. BLATCHFORD from all blame.
***
The Amsterdam rumour to the effect that eighty thousand German soldiers had
surrendered was followed the next day by the report that it was really
ninety thousand. It appears that a recount was demanded.
***
_The Evening News,_ ever ready to assist with economical hints, now throws
out suggestions for renovating last year's suit. No mention is made,
however, of the fact that people with fur coats can now obtain quite cheap
butterfly-nets for the moth-chasing season.
***
In the Reichstag a member of the Socialist Minority Party has denounced the
KAISER as the originator of the War. The denunciation made little
impression on the House, as it was generally felt that he must have been
listening to some idle street-corner gossip.
***
A cat's-meat-man informed the Southwark Tribunal at a recent sitting that
he served over four hundred families a day. The unwisdom of permitting cats
to have families in war-time has been made the subject of adverse comment.
***
"I swear by Almighty God that I will speak the truth, no nonsense, and
won't be foolish," was the form of oath taken by a witness at a recent case
in the Bloomsbury County Court. It was explained to him that this was only
suitable for persons taking office under the Crown.
***
It was urged on behalf of a man at the Harrow Tribunal that there would be
no boots in the Army to fit him. If a small enough pair can be found for
him it is understood that he will join the police.
***
We fear an injustice has been done to the large number of Mexicans who have
lately entered the United States. It was at first suggested that they were
of pro-German sympathies, but it now appears that they were only fugitives
who had fled from the elections in Mexico.
***
[Illustration: _Impressionable Grocer._ "BELIEVE, ME, MISS, IN WAR-TIME A
GROCER NEEDS A 'EART AS COLD AS AN 'INDENBURG."]
***
A man at Bristol charged as an absentee said that he had been so busy
wilting poetry that he had forgotten all about military matters. His very
emphatic assurance that he will now push on with the War has afforded the
liveliest satisfaction to the authorities concerned.
***
"Owing to restrictions on the output of beer," says a contemporary, "the
passing of the village inn is merely a question of time." Even before the
War it often took hours and hours.
***
It is announced that a wealthy American lady with Socialistic leanings
will, at the end of the War, marry a well-known conscientious objector at
present undergoing a term of imprisonment. The American craze for
curio-hunting has not abated one bit.
***
A woman in North London who two years ago offered her services to the
Government in any capacity has just been informed that her offer is noted.
There is good reason to believe that she will he among the first women
called upon for service in our next war.
***
Because a man had jilted her fifteen years ago, a Spanish woman shot him
while he was being married to another woman. It is a remarkable thing, but
rarely does a marriage ceremony go off in Spain without some little hitch
or other.
***
Proper mastication of food is necessary in these times, and we are not
surprised to hear that one large dental firm are advertising double sets of
teeth with a two-speed gear attachment.
***
According to _The Pall Mall Gazette,_ Mr. LLOYD GEORGE'S double was seen at
Cardiff the other day. The suggestion that there are two Lloyd Georges in
the world has caused consternation among the German Headquarters Staff.
***
The bones of a woolly rhinoceros have been dug up twenty-three feet below
the surface at High Wycombe, and very strong expressions have been used in
the locality concerning this gross example of food-hoarding.
***
Complaint has been made by a brass finisher at Oldham that his
fellow-workmen will not speak to him because he receives less wages than
they do. To end an awkward situation it is hoped that the good fellow may
eventually consent to accept a weekly wage on the higher scale.
* * * * *
NOTICE.
The Proprietors of _Punch_ are glad to announce that they find themselves
in a position to revert, for the time being at any rate, to the type and
size of _Punch_ as they were before the recent changes.
* * * * *
PUNCH'S ROLL OF HONOUR.
WE record with deep regret the death from pneumonia of Captain HARRY
NEVILLE GITTINS, R.G.A., on Active Service. He was a member of the
Territorials before the outbreak of war, and, after serving two years at
home, went out to France in August of last year. His light-hearted
contributions to _Punch_ will be greatly missed.
* * * * *
THE HOHENZOLLERN PROSPECT.
REFLECTIONS OF THE HEIR-APPARENT.
When I've surveyed with half-shut eyes,
Over the winking Champagne wine,
What I shall do when Father dies
And hands me down his right divine,
Often I've said that, when in God's
Good time he goes, I mean to show 'em
How scorpions sting in place of rods,
Taking my cue from REHOBOAM.
But now with Liberty on the loose,
And All the Russias capped in red,
And Demos hustling like the deuce,
And Tsardom's day as good as dead--
When on the Dynasty they dance
And with the Imperial Orb play hockey,
I feel that LITTLE WILLIE'S chance
Looks, at the moment, rather rocky.
Not that the Teuton's stolid wits
Are built to plan so rude a plot;
Somehow I cannot picture Fritz
Careering as a _sansculotte_;
Schooled to obedience, hand and heart,
I can imagine nothing odder
Than such behaviour on the part
Of inoffensive cannon fodder.
And yet one never really knows.
You cannot feed his massive trunk
On fairy tales of beaten foes
Or HINDENBURG'S "victorious" bunk;
And if his rations run too short
Through this accursed British blockade
Even the worm may turn and sport
A revolutionary cockade.
Well, at the worst, I have my loot;
And if, in search of healthier air,
We Hohenzollerns do a scoot,
There's wine and women everywhere;
And, for myself, I frankly own
A taste for privacy; I should rather
Not face the high light on a throne--
But O my poor, my poor old Father!
O.S.
* * * * *
THE MUD LARKS.
THE French are a great people; the more I see of them the more I admire
them, and I have been seeing a lot of them lately.
I seem to have spent the last week eating six-course dinners in cellars
with grizzled sky-blue colonels, endeavouring to reply to their charming
compliments in a mixture of Gaelic and CORNELIUS NEPOS. I myself had no
intention of babbling these jargons; it is the fault of my tongue, which
takes charge on these occasions, and seems to be under the impression that,
when it is talking to a foreigner, any foreign language will do.
Atkins, I notice, also suffers from a form of the same delusion. When
talking to a Frenchman, he employs a mangled cross between West Coast and
China pidgin, and by placing a long E at the end of every word imagines he
is making himself completely clear to the suffering Gaul. And the suffering
Gaul listens to it all with incredible patience and courtesy, and, what is
more, somehow or other disentangles a meaning, thereby proving himself the
most intelligent creature on earth.
We have always prided ourselves that the teaching of modern languages in
our island seminaries is unique; but such is not the case. Here and there
in France, apparently, they teach English on the same lines. I discovered
this, the other day, when we called on a French battery to have the local
tactical situation explained to us. I was pushed forward as the star
linguist of our party; the French produced a smiling Captain as theirs. The
non-combatants of both sides then sat back and waited for their champions
to begin. I felt a trifle nervous myself, and the Frenchman didn't seem too
happy. We filled in a few minutes bowing, saluting, kissing and shaking
hands, and then let Babel loose, I in my fourth-form French, and he, to my
amazement, in equally elementary English. The affair looked hopeless from
the start; if either of us would have consented to talk in his own
language, the other might have understood him, but neither of us could,
before that audience, with our reputations at stake.
Towards lunch-time things grew really desperate; we had got as far as "the
pen of my female cousin," but the local tactical situation remained as
foggy as ever, our backers were showing signs of impatience, and we were
both lathering freely. Then by some happy chance we discovered we had both
been in Africa, fell crowing into each other's arms, and the local tactical
situation was cleared "one time" in flowing Swahili. Our respective
reputations as linguists are now beyond doubt.
We became fast friends, this Captain and I. He bore me off to his cellar,
stood me the usual six-course feed (with wines), and after it was over
asked how I would like to while away the afternoon. I left it in his hands.
"Eh bien, let us play on the Bosch a little," he suggested. It sounded as
pleasant a light after-dinner amusement as any, so I bowed and we sallied
forth.
He led me to his observation post, spoke down a telephone, and about twenty
yards of Hun parapet were not. "That will spoil his siesta," said my
Captain. "By the way, his Headquarters is behind that ruined farm,"
"Which?" I inquired; there were several farms about, none of them in any
great state of repair.
"I will show you--watch," he replied, talked into the 'phone again, and far
away a cloud, a cloud of brick dust, smoked aloft. "_Voila!_"
He thereupon pointed out all the objects of local interest in the same
fashion.
"We will now give him fifty rounds for luck, and then we will return to my
cellar for a cup of coffee," said he, and a further twenty yards of Hun
parapet were removed.
Suddenly there came an answering salvo from Hunland, and a flock of shells
whizzed over our heads.
"Tiens!" my Captain exclaimed. "He has lost his little temper, has he?
Naughty, naughty! I must give him a slap. A hundred rounds!" he shouted
into the 'phone, and the German lines spouted like a school of whales
blowing.
Again the Bosch slammed across a heavy reply. My Captain leapt to his
'phone. "He would answer me back, would he? The impudence! Give him a
_thousand_ rounds, my children!"
Then for the next hour or so the sky was filled with a screaming tornado of
shells, rushing, bumping, and bursting, and the Bosch lines sagged, bulged,
quivered, slopped over, and were spattered against the blue in small
smithereens.
"And now let us see what he says to that," said my Captain pleasantly. We
waited, we watched, we listened; but there came no reply (possibly because
there was no one left to make one), and my Captain turned to me, shoulders
shrugged, palms outspread, a grimace of apologetic disgust on his mobile
face--like a circus-master explaining that his clown has got the measles:
"Nottin, see you? _Pas d'esprit, l'animal!_"
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE RUMOURISTS.
FIRST ASS. "AND I HAVE IT ON THE BEST AUTHORITY."
SECOND ASS. "INCREDIBLE!" [_Goes off and repeats it._]]
* * * * *
Certainly Hans the Hun does not seem to be enjoying the same high spirits
he did of yore. Possibly he is beginning to regret the day he left the old
beer garden, his ample Gretchen, and the fatty foods his figure demands.
The story of Patrick and Goldilocks would tend to prove as much.
The other day Patrick was engaged in one of those little "gains" which
straighten out the unsightly kinks in the "line" and give the
War-correspondents a chance to get their names in print.
Patrick and his friends attacked in a snowstorm, dropped into a German
post, gave the occupants every assistance in evacuating, and prepared to
make themselves at home. While they were clearing up the mess, they found
they had taken a prisoner, a blond Bavarian hero who had found it
impossible to leave with his friends on account of half-a-ton of sandbags
on his chest. They excavated him, told him if he was a good boy they'd give
him a ticket to Donington Hall at nightfall, christened him Goldilocks for
the time being, and threw him some rations, among which was a tin of
butter.
He listened to all they had to say in a dazed sulky fashion, but at the
sight of the tin of butter he gurgled drunkenly and seemed to go
light-headed. He spent a perfect day revelling in the joys of
anticipation, crooning over that butter, cuddling it, hiding it in one
pocket after the other. Towards dusk down came the snow again, and under
cover thereof the Bosch counter-attacked.
Patrick says he suddenly heard the bull voice of a Hun officer hic-coughing
gutturals, and they were on him. He had no time to send up an S.O.S.
rocket, and his machine-gun jammed. In a minute they were all mixed up, at
it tooth and claw as merry as a Galway election, the big Bosch officer,
throwing off a hymn of hate, the life and soul of the party. He came for
Patrick with an automatic, and Patrick thought all was up; and so it would
have been but for Goldilocks, who materialized suddenly out of nowhere,
deftly tripped up his officer from behind, and, dancing on his stomach with
inspired hooves, trod him out of sight.
Their moving spirit being wiped out, the Huns lost whatever heart they had
had, and went through their "Kamerad" exercise without further ado.
When the excitement was over Patrick sought out Goldilocks, and, shaking
him warmly by the hand, thanked him for suppressing the officer and saving
the situation.
"Situation be damned" (or words to that effect), Goldilocks retorted. "He
would have pinched my butter!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Clerk._ "YES, SIR, IT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT, SIR. TWINS I AM
HAPPY TO SAY, SIR. ANOTHER FIVE POUNDS A WEEK WILL COME IN VERY HANDY,
SIR."
_Employer_ (_imagining him to mean a rise in salary_). "ANOTHER FIVE POUNDS
A WEEK! GOOD LORD!!"
_Clerk._ "YES SIR. LORD DEVONPORT, SIR."]
* * * * *
THE FLOWERLESS FUTURE.
(_Notes from a Society newspaper of the coming vegetable epoch._)
PERSONAL PARS.
We regret to learn that Lady Diana Dashweed has returned from Nice
suffering from nervous shock. During a battle of vegetables at the recent
carnival Lady Diana, while in the act of aiming a tomato at a well-known
peer, was struck on the head by a fourteen-pound marrow hurled by some
unknown admirer. There is unfortunately a growing tendency at these
festivities to use missiles over the regulation weight.
* * * * *
A daring innovation was made by last Wednesday's bride. One has become so
accustomed to the orthodox cauliflower bouquet at weddings that it came
almost as a shock to see her holding a huge bunch of rich crimson
beetroots, tied with old-gold streamers. The effect however was altogether
delightful.
* * * * *
The decorations for a particularly smart "pink-and-white" dinner at one of
our smartest restaurants last evening were charmingly carried out in spring
rhubarb and Spanish onions, the table being softly illuminated by tinted
electric lights concealed in hollow turnips, fashioned to represent the
heads of famous statesmen.
* * * * *
FROM THE SERIAL STORY.
"Sick at heart, Adela tottered across the room and, opening her bureau,
drew from its secret hiding-place an old letter. As she tremblingly removed
it from the envelope a few faded leaves fluttered down to the floor. It was
the brussels-sprout he had given her on the night they parted."
* * * * *
AN INDUCEMENT.
"WANTED, Nurse, L30, for three children, 13, 7, and 3 years: nurseryman
kept."--_Evesham Journal_.
To help, we suppose, in making up the beds.
* * * * *
"The stream proved treacherous in the extreme, being a succession of
rapids and whirlpools. Often their magazine rifles and automatic
revolvers were all that stood between them and death."--_Observer_.
We always use a Winchester repeater for shooting rapids.
* * * * *
"Merely as photographs these postcards are remarkable. As ikons for men
to vow by; as lessons for women to show their children in days to
come--when the Hun octopus roots himself again in the comity of
civilised nations, lying in wait at our doorways, stretching out his
antennae, like those foul things that lurk at sea-cavern mouths--these
eight pictures have historical value."--_Daily Mail_.
Biologists too will be glad to have this description of the habits and
characteristics of that fearsome beast the _Octopus Germanicus_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "WHAT'S FOR YOU, MISSIE?" "I FORGET ITS NIME--BUT IT'S
A PINT O' WOT IT SMELLS LIKE."]
* * * * *
ANTICIPATORY INTELLIGENCE.
(_Items gathered from the Dally Press of April 1st_, 1927).
LORD KENNEDY-JONES, Grand Editor to the Nation, announced yesterday that he
proposed to take no notice of the protest against the use of the words
"voiced," "glimpsed" and "featured" in official documents.
* * * * *
The Earl of Mount-Carmel has left London on a protracted tour in Pulpesia.
He requests that no mention shall be made of his movements during his
absence in any newspapers. A special correspondent of _Chimes_ will, we
understand, accompany his lordship.
* * * * *
Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL gave further evidence yesterday before the
Dardanelles Commission.
* * * * *
Lord BILLING left England yesterday for New York in the Transatlantic
air-liner _P.B._
* * * * *
"Polymachus," the famous descriptive journalist, yesterday published his
five-thousandth daily article on the policies, principles and opinions of
the house of Pelfwidge. An ox was roasted whole on the roof garden of the
famous emporium in honour of the event.
* * * * *
Mr. GINNELL created a slight sensation in the House of Commons yesterday by
attempting to accompany on the Irish harp his speech in support of the
Atlantic Tunnel Bill.
* * * * *
The SPEAKER of the House of Commons has ruled a Member out of order for
making a Latin quotation, the first heard at Westminster for nine years.
* * * * *
The Right Hon. GILBERT CHESTERTON is recovering from a mild attack of
mumps. During the progress of the complaint his portrait was painted by Sir
AUGUSTUS JOHN.
* * * * *
The Rev. H. G. WELLS preached yesterday evening at the City Temple.
* * * * *
Viscount GREBA (Sir HALL CAINE) takes his seat in the House of Lords
to-day, and is expected to make an important pronouncement on Compulsory
Manx at the Universities.
* * * * *
Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL'S portrait of Lord FISHER has been accepted at Madame
TUSSAUD'S Exhibition.
* * * * *
OLD RHYMES FOR RATION TIMES.
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children she didn't know what to do;
She gave them some broth without any bread,
So as not to exceed her allowance per head.
Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard
To get her poor dog a bone;
But when she got there the cupboard was bare,
And so the poor dog had none.
She went to the kitchen and scolded the slavey,
Who answered, "All bones must be boiled down for gravy."
"Mary, Mary, quite contrairy, how does your garden grow?"
"Early greens and haricot beans and cauliflowers all in a row."
When good KING ARTHUR ruled this land he was a goodly king,
He stored ten sacks of barleymeal to last him through the Spring;
The Food-Controller heard thereof, and said, "This wicked hoarding
Must not go on--and if it does I'll have to act according."
* * * * *
CHILDREN'S TALES FOR GROWN-UPS.
v.
THE RIVALS.
The frog challenged the nightingale to a singing contest. "Of course for
gurgling and untutored warbling I know he has it," he said to his friend
the toad, "but in technique I shall beat him hollow."
So the jury was chosen. The nightingale proposed the lark, the thrush, the
blackbird and the bullfinch as experts in singing, and the frog proposed
the starling, the linnet, the chaffinch and the reed-warbler.
The nightingale was overcome with emotion at the generosity of the frog,
and insisted on adding the crow and the toad as experts in croaking.
The nightingale sang first, whilst his trade rivals sat and chattered. They
chattered so loud that the nightingale stopped singing in a huff.
"You are hardly at your best, you know, old thing," said the linnet
sympathetically.
"You will find these throat lozenges excellent for hoarseness," said the
blackbird.
"His upper register is weak--abominably weak," said the starling to the
lark.
"Perhaps if his voice were trained," suggested the lark.
Meanwhile the frog croaked away lustily, but no one listened to him. "The
jury must vote by ballot," he said as he finished the last croak.
"Of course we must," twittered the jury.
The frog won by eight votes to two.
"I voted for the nightingale," whispered the crow to the toad.
"So did I," whispered the toad.
* * * * *
A LOSS.
For many reasons the passing of the poster is to be welcomed. For one
thing, it robbed the papers themselves of that element of surprise which is
one of life's few spices; for another, it added to life's many complexities
by forcing the reader into a hunt through the columns which often ended in
disappointment: in other words the poster's promise was not seldom greater
than the paper's performance. Then, again, it was often offensive, as when
it called for the impeachment of an effete "old gang," many of whose
members had joined the perfect new; or redundant, as when it demanded
twenty ropes where one would have sufficed.
But, even although the streets may be said to have been sweetened by the
absence of posters, days will come, it must be remembered, when we shall
badly miss them. It goes painfully to one's heart to think that the
embargo, if it is ever lifted, will not be lifted in time for most of the
events which we all most desire, events that clamour to be recorded in the
large black type that for so many years Londoners have associated with
fatefulness. Such as ("reading from left to right"):--
-------------- -------------- -------------- --------------
| | | | | | | |
| | | | | ALLIES | | FLIGHT |
| FALL | | STRASBURG | | CROSS | | OF |
| OF | | FRENCH | | THE | | CROWN |
| METZ | | AGAIN. | | RHINE. | | PRINCE. |
| | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | |
-------------- -------------- -------------- --------------
-------------- -------------- -------------- --------------
| | | | | | | |
| | | BRITISH | | | | |
| RUSSIANS | | AND | | REVOLUTION | | FALL |
| NEARING | | FRENCH | | IN | | OF |
| BERLIN. | | NEARING | | GERMANY. | | BERLIN. |
| | | BERLIN. | | | | |
| | | | | | | |
-------------- -------------- -------------- --------------
-------------- --------------
| | | |
| THE | | |
| KAISER | | |
| A | | VICTORY! |
| CAPTIVE. | | |
| | | |
| | | |
-------------- --------------
And Finally--
-------------- --------------
| | | |
| | | |
| AMERICA | | |
| DECLARES | | PEACE! |
| WAR. | | |
| | | |
| | | |
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