Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, March 7, 1917. by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, March 7, 1917.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 152.
March 7th, 1917.
CHARIVARIA.
"A motor car repairer," says Mr. Justice BRAY, "is like a plumber. Once you
get him into the house you cannot get him out."... Unless, of course, you
show him a burst bath pipe, when he will immediately go out to fetch his
mate.
***
According to Herr WILDRUBE, a member of the Reichstag, Germans should
"rejoice at the departure of Mr. GERARD and his pro-Entente espionage
bureau." They have some rubes in the U.S.A., but nothing quite so wild as
this.
***
An historical film, called "The Discovery of Germany," is being exhibited
widely through the Fatherland under the auspices of the Government. A
further discovery of Germany--that she has been fatally misled by her
rulers--has not at present received the approval of the Imperial House.
***
The German Army authorities have issued an urgent warning to the public not
to discuss military matters. Their own communiques are to be taken as a
model of the right kind of reticence.
***
An American film syndicate have overcome their difficulty in finding a man
to take the place of CHARLIE CHAPLIN. They have decided to do without.
***
In Vienna, so as not to infuriate the indigent poor, tables are no longer
placed near the window of the dearer restaurants. Similar establishments in
Germany for the same reason were long ago made sound-proof.
***
We note that German and Turkish diplomats have been engaged in conference
for the purpose of drawing the two countries closer together. Any little
pressure from outside (as on the Tigris and the Ancre) is doubtless welcome
as contributing to this end.
***
"The right way to dissipate the submarine nightmare" is how a contemporary
describes the new restrictions on imports. The embargo on tinned lobster
should certainly have that effect.
***
A museum is to be established at Stuttgart "to interest the masses of the
people in overseas Germans and their conditions of life." Several Foreign
Governments, it is understood, have expressed their willingness to supply
specimens in any reasonable quantity.
***
Lively satisfaction is being expressed among members of the younger set at
the appointment of Mr. ALFRED BIGLAND, M.P., as Controller of Soap. They
are now discussing a resolution calling for the abolition of nurse-maids,
who are notorious for using soap to excess.
***
A Bill has been introduced into the House of Lords with the object of
admitting women to practise as solicitors. The raising of the statutory fee
for a consultation to 6_s._ 83/4_d._ is also under consideration.
***
At Old Street Police Court a man charged with bigamy pleaded that when a
child he had a fall which affected his head. It is not known why other
bigamists do it.
***
At Haweswater, Westmoreland, some sheep were recently dug out alive after
being buried in a snow-drift forty days. It is thought that a morbid fear
of being sold as New Zealand mutton caused the animals to make a supreme
struggle for life.
***
A lady correspondent of _The Daily Telegraph_ suggests that tradesmen
should economise paper by ceasing to send out a separate expression of
thanks with every receipted bill. A further economy is suggested by a
hardened creditor, who advocates the abolition of the absurd custom of
sending out a quarterly statement of "account rendered."
***
Beer bottles are now said to be worth more than the beer they contain, and
apprehension is being felt lest the practice shall develop of giving away
the contents to those who consent to return the empty bottles.
***
Difficulty having been found in replacing firemen called up for military
service, the Hendon Council, it is rumoured, are requesting the residents
not to have any conflagrations for the present at least.
***
Mr. JOHN INNS, of Stevenage, has just purchased the whole parish of
Caldecote, Herts; but the report that he had to do this in order to obtain
a pound of sugar proves incorrect.
* * * * *
NOTICE.
In order to meet the national need for economy in the consumption of paper,
the Proprietors of _Punch_ are compelled to reduce the number of its pages,
but propose that the amount of matter published in _Punch_ shall by
condensation and compression be maintained and even, it is hoped,
increased.
It is further necessary that means should be taken to restrict the
circulation of _Punch_, and on and after March 14th its price will be
Sixpence. The Proprietors believe that the public will prefer an increase
of price to a reduction of matter.
Readers are urged to place an order with their Newsagent for the regular
delivery of copies, as _Punch_ may otherwise be unobtainable, the shortage
of paper making imperative the withdrawal from Newsagents of the
"on-sale-or-return" privilege.
In consequence of the increase in the price of _Punch_ the period covered
by subscriptions already paid direct to the _Punch_ Office will have to be
proportionately shortened.
* * * * *
APOLOGY OF A WARRIOR MINSTREL.
Lucasta, don't be cruel
If my bewildered lyre
Amidst such stores of fuel
Seems reft of sacred fire.
For if you know what France is
You know how it is hard
To blend, as in romances,
The warrior with the bard.
The troubadours of story
Knew no such woes as we,
Whose hopes of martial glory
Are built on F.A.T.[1]
With songs and swords and horses
They learned their careless role,
While we are sent on courses
That starve the poet's soul.
With gay anticipations
They feasted ere a fight,
But we in calculations
Wear out the chilly night.
And if some hour of leisure
Permits a lyric mood
My wretched Muse takes pleasure
In nothing else but food.
Thus when I am returning
Ice-cold from some O.P.,
And in the East is burning
Aurora's heraldry,
That spark she fails to waken
With which of yore I glowed,
Who, fain of eggs and bacon,
Tramp ravening down the road,
Aware, with self-despising,
Which interests me most--
The silvery mists a-rising
Or marmalade and toast.
Such are the War-bard's passions--
Rank seedlings of a time
That chokes with maths and rations
The bursting buds of rhyme.
[1]: Field Artillery Training
* * * * *
A ROMANCE OF RATIONS.
"Not like to like, but like in difference."
"_The Princess._"
I have always misjudged Victorine--I admit it now with shame. While other
girls have become engaged--and disengaged quite soon after--she has
remained unattached and solitary. As I watched the disappointed suitors
turn sadly away I put it down to pride and self-sufficiency, but I was
wrong. I see now that she always had the situation well in hand.
As for Algernon, he is the sort of man who writes sonnets to lilies and
butterflies and the rosy-fingered dawn--this last from hearsay as he really
knows nothing about it. He is prematurely bald and suffers from the
grossest form of astigmatism, and I thought that no woman would ever love
him. I never dreamt that Victorine had even noticed he was there.
One day I heard that they were engaged. It was too hard for me to
understand.
On the third morning I went to see her.
"Victorine," I said, "you have never loved before?"
"Never," she assented softly.
"Now, this man you have chosen--you do not care overmuch for lilies and
butterflies and rosy-fingered dawns?"
"Not overmuch," she admitted sadly.
"Then what is it brings you together? What strange link of the spirit has
been forged between you? To speak quite plainly, what do you see in him?"
"Yesterday we lunched together, and two days before that he got here in
time for breakfast."
"And the engagement still holds?" I am no optimist.
"Before that we dined. Yes, I do not exaggerate. It was my suggestion. One
sees so much unhappiness now-a-days, and I wished to be quite sure we were
suited to one another."
"And you are convinced of the sincerity of the attachment?"
"Why, I feel for him as Mother does for the knife-and-boot boy, and Uncle
Stephen for the charlady. We cannot be separated. It would be monstrous."
I ceased to be articulate. Victorine suddenly became radiant.
"We must always be together--at any rate for the duration of the War, you
see. I eat under my meat and he is over. In flour and sugar--oh, how can I
confess it?--I _exceed_. He is far, far below his ration. Apart we are
failures; together we are perfect. We both saw it at once."
I realised suddenly the inevitability of this mutual bond.
"So marriage is the only thing?" I asked; but I was already conquered.
She assented with a regal air.
As I went away I saw a new and strange beauty in the problem of Food
Shortage.
* * * * *
SONGS OF FOOD PRODUCTION.
IV.
The Farmer's Boy (New Style).
The Hun was set on making us fret
For lack of food to eat,
When up there ran a City man
In gaiters trim and neat--
Oh, just tell me if a farm there be
Where I can get employ,
To plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O,
And he a farmer's boy,
And be a farmer's boy.
"In khaki dight my juniors fight--
I wish that I could too;
But since the land's in need of hands
There's work for me to do;
Though you call me a 'swell,' I would labour well--
I'm aware it's not pure joy--
To plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O
And be a farmer's boy,
And be a farmer's boy."
The farmer quoth, "I be mortal loth,
But the farm 'tis goin' back,
And I do declare as I can't a-bear
Any farming hands to lack;
So if you've got grit and be middlin' fit
An'll larn to cry, 'Ut hoy!'
And to plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O,
You shall be a farmer's boy,
You shall be a farmer's boy."
Bold farmers all, obey the call
Of townsfolk game and gay!
And you City men put by the pen
And hear me what I say:--
Get straight enrolled with a farmer bold,
And the Hun you'll straight annoy,
If you plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O
And be a farmer's boy,
And be a farmer's boy.
* * * * *
The Sex-Problem Again.
"FOR SALE.--A 3-year-old Holstein gentleman cow."--_Canadian Paper_.
* * * * *
"A Liverpool master carter told the Tribunal that the last 'substitute'
sent him for one of his men backed a horse down a tip and landed him in
an expense of L50."--_Yorkshire Evening Post_.
Many men have lost more by backing a horse _on_ a tip.
* * * * *
A Bare Outlook.
"THINGS YOU HAVE GOT TO DO WITHOUT.
CLOTHES AND FOOD."--_Daily Sketch_.
This seems to bring the War even closer than the PREMIER intended.
* * * * *
MORE OR LESS.
The fleet of Dutch merchantmen which has been sunk by a waiting submarine
sailed, it now appears, under a German guarantee of "relative security":
and the incident has been received in Holland with a widespread outburst of
relative acquiescence. Germany, in the little ingenious arrangements that
she is so fond of making for the safety and comfort of her neighbours, is
so often misunderstood. It should be obvious by this time that her attitude
to International Law has always been one of approximate reverence. The
shells with which she bombarded Rheims Cathedral were contingent shells,
and the _Lusitania_ was sunk by a relative torpedo.
Neutrals all over the world who are smarting just now under a fresh
manifestation of Germany's respective goodwill should try to realise before
they take any action what is the precise situation of our chief enemy. He
has (relatively) won the War; he has (virtually) broken the resistance of
the Allies; he has (conditionally) ample supplies for his people; in
particular, he is (morally) rich in potatoes. His finances at first sight
appear to be pretty heavily involved, but that will soon be adjusted by
(hypothetical) indemnities; he has enormous (proportional) reserves of men;
he has (theoretically) blockaded Great Britain, and his final victory is
(controvertibly) at hand.
But his most impressive argument, which cannot fail to come home to
hesitating Neutrals, is to be found in his latest exhibition of offensive
power, namely, in his (putative) advance upon the Ancre.
* * * * *
Realism.
From a cinema announcement:--
"The management regret that 'The Lost Bridegroom' missed the boat on
Sunday."--_Guernsey Evening Express_.
* * * * *
A Family Affair.
From an account of a "gift sale":
"Alderman ---- advised the Committee to sell the donkey in the evening,
when there would be a lot present."--_Provincial Paper_.
* * * * *
More Impending Apologies.
I.
"Mr. ---- writes from New Cross:--'Sir,--I was pleased to see that you do not
intend increasing the price of 'The Daily News,' and hope that you will not
have to reconsider your decision. If necessary I, for one, would be quite
content with four pages only."--_Daily News_.
II.
"The nurses who have a seven minutes' walk to their home quarters, have
never had a rude word said to them, 'even,' she added, 'when they have had
too much to drink.'"--_Daily Province (Vancouver, B.C.)_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THE FREEDOM OF THE SEA."
HOLLAND. "YOU'VE TAKEN A GREAT LIBERTY WITH ME."
GERMANY. "OF COURSE I HAVE. I'M THE APOSTLE OF LIBERTY."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE THEATRE OF WAR.]
* * * * *
THE SOLACE.
Mr. William Wood, grocer, of Acton, was very tired. And no wonder, for not
only had he lost his two assistants, both having been called up, but the
girls who had taken their places were frivolous and slow. Moreover his
errand boy had that day given notice. And, furthermore, the submarine
campaign was making it every day more difficult to keep up the stock, and
the rise in prices meant anything but the commensurate increase of profit
of which he was accused by indignant customers.
Mr. Wood, therefore, was not sorry when, the shutters up, he could retire
to his sitting-room upstairs and rest. His one hobby being reading, and his
favourite form of literature being Lives and Letters, he had normally no
difficulty in dismissing the shop from his mind. He would open the latest
memoir from the library and lose himself in whatever society it
reconstructed, political for choice. But to-night the solace could not so
easily be found. For one thing, he had no new books; for another, the cares
of business were too recent and too real.
He sank into his armchair, covered his eyes with his hand, and pondered.
Then suddenly he had an idea. If there were no letters of the Great to
read, he would himself write to the Great and thus escape grocerdom and
worry. If he were not a person of importance, he would at least pretend to
be, and thus be comforted.
Seating himself at the table and taking up his pen, he composed with
infinite care the following chapter from a biography of himself:--
The year 1916 was a comparatively uneventful one in the life of our hero.
The principal events were the marriage of his youngest daughter with the
son of the Bishop of Brighton and the rebuilding of The Towers after the
fire. Perhaps the most important of his new friends were the Archbishop of
CANTERBURY and Sir HEDWORTH MEUX, but unfortunately Sir HEDWORTH has not
kept any of the letters. Nor is there much correspondence; but a few
letters may be printed here, all testifying to the multifarious interests
of this remarkable man, who not only knew everyone worth knowing, but
projected himself into their careers with so much sympathy and keenness.
The first is to the then Prime Minister:--
_To the Right Hon. H.H. ASQUITH, M.P._
MY DEAR ASQUITH,--This is only a line to remind you that you lunch with me
at the Primrose Club on Monday at one o'clock. I have asked two or three
friends to meet you, all good fellows. With regard to that matter on which
you were asking my advice, I think that the wisest course at present is (to
use the phrase, now a little stale, which I invented for you) to wait and
see. Let me say that I thought your speech at the Guildhall a fine effort.
Kindly remember me to the wife and Miss ELIZABETH, and believe me,
Yours sincerely,
WILLIAM WOOD.
P.S.--I wish you would call me William. I always think of you as Herbert.
_To the Earl of ROSEBERY._
MY DEAR ROSEBERY,--It is a great grief to me to have to decline your kind
invite to Dalmeny, but there is an obstacle I cannot overcome. My youngest
daughter is to be married next week to the son of the Bishop of Brighton, a
most well-bred young fellow with perfect manners. Nothing but the necessity
of my presence at the feast of Hymen could deprive me of the pleasure of
seeing your country place. Do not stay away too long, I beg. The town is
dull without you.
I am, dear ROSEBERY,
Yours most affectionately,
WILLIAM WOOD.
_To Mr. RUDYARD KIPLING._
MY DEAR KIPLING,--Just a line to say how much I admire your poem in this
morning's _Times_. You have never voiced the feeling of the moment with
more force or keener insight. But you will, I am sure, pardon me when I say
that in the fifty-eighth stanza there is a regrettable flaw, which could
however quickly be put right. To me, that fine appeal to Monaco to give up
its neutrality is impaired by the use of the word "cope," which I have
always understood should be avoided by good writers. "Deal" has the same
meaning and is a truer word. You will, I am sure, agree with me in this
criticism when you have leisure to think it over.
Believe me, my dear KIPLING,
Yours sincerely,
WILLIAM WOOD.
_To His Grace the Archbishop of CANTERBURY._
MY DEAR ARCHBISHOP,--That was a very delightful dinner you gave me last
night, and I was glad to have the opportunity of meeting Lord MORLEY and
discussing with him the character of MARLBOROUGH. While not agreeing with
everything that Lord MORLEY said, I am bound to admit that his views
impressed me. Some day soon you must bring her Ladyship down to The Towers
for a dine and sleep.
I am, my dear Archbishop,
Yours cordially,
WILLIAM WOOD.
_To Lord NORTHCLIFFE._
MY DEAR ALFRED,--You cannot, I am sure, do better than continue in the
course you have chosen. What England needs is a vigilant observer from
without; and who, as I have so often told you, is better fitted for such a
part than you? You have all the qualities--high mobility, the courage to
abandon convictions, and extreme youth. If you lack anything it is perhaps
ballast, and here I might help you. Ring me up at any time, day or night,
and I will come to you, just as I used to do years ago when you were
beginning.
Think of me always as
Yours very sincerely,
WILLIAM WOOD.
_To Sir ARTHUR WING PINERO._
MY DEAR PINERO,--I am glad you liked my suggestion and are already at work
upon it. No one could handle it so well as you. I write now because it has
occurred to me that the proper place for Lord Scudamore to disown his
guilty wife and for her impassioned reply is not, as we had it, the spare
room, but the parlour.
I am, dear old fellow,
Always yours to command,
WILLIAM WOOD
Having written thus far, Mr. William Wood went to bed, perfectly at peace
with himself and the world.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Friend (to Professor, whose lecture, "How to Stop the War,"
has just concluded)_. "CONGRATULATE YOU, OLD MAN--WENT SPLENDIDLY, AT ONE
TIME DURING THE AFTERNOON I WAS RATHER ANXIOUS FOR YOU."
_Professor._ "THANKS. BUT I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN SO
CONCERNED ON MY BEHALF."
_Friend._ "WELL, A RUMOUR _DID_ GO ROUND THE ROOM THAT THE WAR WOULD BE
OVER BEFORE YOUR LECTURE." ]
* * * * *
THE GREAT BETRAYAL.
'Twas night, and near the Boreal cliff
The monarch in seclusion lay,
A wondrous human hieroglyph,
Worshipped from Chile to Cathay;
When lo! a cry, "Sire, up and fly!
The pirate ships are in the bay!"
"Begone, ye cravens," straight replied
The monarch with his eyes ablaze;
"No pirate on the ocean wide
Can fright me, for I know their ways.
Shall I do less in times of stress
Than soldiers who have earned My praise?
"Yet stay," he paused awhile, and then--
"Let messengers the country scour
On pain of death forbidding men
To speak, in hut or hall or tower,
Of what I said this night of dread,
Or where I spent its darkest hour."
Swift flew the minions to obey;
The wearied monarch slumbered late;
Yet, in the Capital next day,
Writ large upon his palace gate,
A mighty scroll to every soul
Blazoned the words that challenged Fate.
The monarch's rage surpassed all bounds
When of this treachery he read;
A price of several million pounds
Was placed upon the miscreant's head;
But sceptics jibe--an odious tribe--
And swear that he will die in bed.
* * * * *
A New Way to Pay Old Debts.
"The Inventor of British and American Patents is desirous to Sell or
License to Manufacturers, &c., &c.... The above Inventor and Patentee
will be greatly obliged if anyone that he owes money to will forward
the amount not later than this month, otherwise he will not acknowledge
after."--_Financial Times._
* * * * *
"LITTLE WAR PICTURES.
A NOBLE ARMY OF OPTIMISTS IN TRANCE."--_Straits Times (Singapore)._
We wish our pessimists would join them.
* * * * *
THE WATCH DOGS.
LVII.
My Dear Charles,--St. John, in 1914 a light-hearted lieut., advancing and
retiring with his platoon as an all-seeing Providence or a short-spoken
Company Commander might direct, and in 1915 a Brass-hat with a vast amount
of knowledge and only a hundred buff slips or so to write it down on, is
now Second in Command of his regiment. He tells me he is encamped with his
little lot on the forward slope of a muddy and much pitted ravine. On the
opposite slope are some nasty noisy guns, and at the bottom of the ravine
are the cookers.
When, after much forethought, he has found something to do and has begun
doing it, there is a cry of "Stand clear!" and, with that prudence which
even an Englishman will learn if you do not hustle him but give him a year
or two to find by experience that care should sometimes be taken, all get
to earth. The guns fire; the neighbourhood heaves and readjusts itself, and
a man may then come out again. By the time, however, he has collected his
senses and his materials there is another "Stand clear!" and back he must
go to earth. This is what is technically known as Rest.
It was not good enough for one of the battalion cooks. No man can do
justice to a mess of pottage by lying on his belly at a distance and
frowning at it. After many movements to and fro, he eventually said be
damned to guns and "Stand clears;" stood on the top of his cooker (there
was nowhere else to stand), and, holding a dixie lid in his hand and
bestowing on the contents of the dixie that encouraging smile without which
no stew can stew, defied all the artillery of the B.E.F. to do its worst.
It did.
The cook recovered to find himself among his dixies, frizzling pleasantly
and browning nicely in certain parts. Even so, professional interests
over-came any feeling of personal injury. Rising majestically, he stepped
down and advanced upon the nearest gun crew. "Now you've done it, you
blighters!" he shouted, waving an angry fist at them. "You've been and gone
and blown all the pork out of the beans."
The same man went on holiday to the neighbouring town, which is in reality
an ordinarily dull and dirty provincial place, but to the tired warrior is
a haven of rest and a paradise of gaiety and good things. Here he came into
contact with the local A.P.M. in the following way. The latter was in his
office after lunch, brooding no doubt, when in came a French policeman
greatly excited in French. There was, it appeared, promise of a commotion
at the Hotel de Ville. A British soldier had got mixed up in the queue of
honest French civilians who were waiting outside for the delivery of their
legal papers. There were no bi-linguists present, but it had been made
quite clear to the Britisher that he must go, and it had been made quite
clear by the Britisher that he should stay. Always outside the Hotel de
Ville at 2.30 of an afternoon was this queue of natives, each waiting his
turn to be admitted to the joyless sanctum of the Commissaire, there to
receive those illegible documents without which no French home is complete.
Never before had a British soldier fallen in with them, and, when requested
to dismiss, showed signs of being obstreperous.