Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, May 16, 1917. by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, May 16, 1917.
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 152.
May 16, 1917.
CHARIVARIA.
Several factories where counterfeit bread tickets were printed have
been discovered in Berlin. We understand that the defence will be that
the tickets were only intended to be exchanged for counterfeit bread.
***
"The enemies' desire," says KING LUDWIG of Bavaria, "will he dashed to
pieces against our troops, who are accustomed to victory." A number
of the victors who are now eating themselves in behind our positions
profess to be absolutely nauseated with it.
***
Five million four hundred thousand pigs, says Herr BATOCKI, have
"mysteriously disappeared" in Germany in the last year. The idea of
having the CROWN PRINCE'S baggage searched does not seem to have been
found feasible.
***
A festival performance of _Parsifal_ is to be given in Charlottenburg,
to celebrate the anniversary of the Battle of Jutland. The proposal to
substitute the more topical opera, _The Flying Deutschmann_, has been
received without favour.
***
"With such troops," says the CROWN PRINCE, "we could fetch the Devil
from Hell." We have always maintained that the German military route
lay on a direct line to Potsdam.
***
A Manchester man writes to say that he has not heard the cuckoo this
year. What England hears to-day Manchester may hear next month.
***
A Norfolk lady has left an annuity of seventy pounds for the support
of her two favourite cats. Since the announcement of this windfall we
understand that the beneficiaries have been overwhelmed with offers of
marriage.
***
"The bascules of the Tower Bridge were lifted 3,354 times last year,"
says a news item. Yet there are those who pretend that petty crime is
on the decrease.
***
Arundel proposes to have a house-to-house collection of bones. The
Borough Engineer is understood to be completing specifications for a
dog-proof trouser which will be a part of the collector's uniform.
***
The Islington Borough Council report that in the Lady Day quarter only
ten per cent, of the residents had removed without paying their rates.
The inhabitants of the New Cut now accuse Islington residents of
losing their nerve.
***
"Ipswich," says a daily paper, "is fighting a rat plague by putting
a penny on the head of every rat captured in the borough." The
arrangement with birds is of course different, You put salt on their
tails and capture them afterwards.
***
The new restrictions on the use of starch will, says Captain BATHURST,
affect the wearing of starched garments. It is expected that in
the House of Lords Lord SPENSER and Lord HARCOURT will join in an
impassioned plea that, until the shortage grows more acute, really
well-dressed men should be allowed to compromise on stiff dickeys.
***
Owing to the surveyor receiving increased powers the work of
conscientious objectors on the roads in East Essex has improved. Mr.
OUTHWAITE, we hear, will ask in Parliament whether under these
powers the surveyor has actually threatened to give one conscientious
objector a good hard slap.
***
We understand that Mexico has promised to stand by America on
condition that if she takes this step on the side of law and order
America will raise no objection to her having a revolution now and
then just to keep her hand in.
***
Allotment-holders in all parts of the country say that their gardens
need rain very badly, and _The Daily Mail_ is going to take the matter
up.
***
It was stated by a defendant at Wandsworth County Court that his house
was haunted, the bell being rung several times without any visible
human instrumentality. The "Hidden Hand" again!
***
To enjoy good health, says Dr. A. FISHER in an American journal, we
should occasionally sleep for twelve hours on end. We confess that
we may be faddy in these things, but when sleeping we prefer the
horizontal position.
***
"One hundred thousand tons of sugar is wasted each year," says
Mrs. PEEL, "through being left in the bottom of the teacup." A
correspondent points out that if that amount has ever been left in the
bottom of his teacup it was an oversight.
***
The German people, says the _Koelnische Zeitung_, will not soon
forget what they owe to their future Emperor. The CROWN PRINCE, while
thanking them for their kindly intention, privately expressed a wish
that they would not keep rubbing it in.
***
According to _The Express_, every British theatrical star who plays in
America is regarded as the best that England has ever sent out. Until
he has heard from Mr. CHARLES CHAPLIN, Sir HERBERT TREE is holding
back his message, which reads, "That is so."
***
A workman at a brewery last week fell into a large vat of beer. It is
given to few men thus to realise the dream of a lifetime.
***
All vendors of comic postcards at Llanfairfeehan, North Wales, are
to be asked by the Town Council to cover them up on Sundays. We
understand that comic postcards may be differentiated from others by
the word "Comic" plainly printed on the card.
***
_The Daily Mail_ has just celebrated its twenty-first birthday, and
the silence of the POET LAUREATE on the matter is being adversely
commented upon.
***
The Anarchist, LENIN, says the Swedish _Dagblad_, has been missing for
two days. Even before that he never really seemed to make a hit.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE BRIBE.
"WHO GOES THERE?" "K--KAMERAD--MIT SOUVENIRS."]
* * * * *
HEREINAFTERS.
I.
There are people in the world called tenants. I think nothing of them;
Celia thinks nothing of them; jointly we do not think anything of
them. However, as this is not so much a grammar as an explanation, I
will get on with it.
For the last two years we have been letting our flat. Naturally Celia
has had to do most of the work; my military duties have prevented
me from taking my share of it. I have been so busy, off and on,
inspecting my fellow-soldiers' feet, seeing their boots mended and
imploring them to get their hair cut that I have had no time for
purely domestic matters. Celia has let the flat; I have merely
allotted the praise or blame afterwards. I have also, of course, taken
the money.
Our tenants have varied, but they are all alike in this. They think
much more of their own comfort as tenants than of our happiness as
landlords. They are always wanting things done for them. When they
want things done for them, then I am firm. Celia may be a shade the
more businesslike of the two, but I am the firmer. I am adamant.
Take the case of Mr. Toots. As the wife of an officer proceeding
overseas, Celia let the flat to Mr. Toots at the nominal rental of
practically nothing a week. I said it was too little when I heard
of it, but it was then too late--Celia had already been referred to
hereinafter as the landlord. When he had been established some
weeks Mr. Toots wrote to say that he wanted seven different kinds of
wine-glasses, six of each. Personally I wanted seven different kinds
of Keating's Powder just then; tastes differ. The trouble with
Mr. Toots was that for some reason he expected Celia to supply the
glasses. Whether he only wanted them during his tenancy or meant
to keep them afterwards, we never knew. In any case Celia was
businesslike; she wrote regretting that she could not supply them.
But I was firm. I sent a picture-postcard of the champagne country,
which said quite simply, "You must not drink wine during the War. My
husband's milk-glass is in the corner cupboard."
Again, take the case of Mr. and Mrs. Winkle. After getting the flat
practically presented to them for a small weekly bonus, they suggest
that they should only pay half terms during the summer, as they wish
to take the children to the seaside. Celia was for telegraphing to say
that it was impossible. For myself I have just written the following
letter:--
"Dear Sir,--Could I consult my own feelings I would say, 'Pay
no rent at all during the summer. Further, why not sub-let the
flat to any of your own friends who can afford to give you
a few guineas a week for it? Nay more, let _me_ have the
privilege of paying your expenses at the Sunny South. What
do you say to the Metropole at Brighton?' But, alas, I cannot
speak thus; there are others to think of. The King of GREECE,
President WILSON, Marshal JOFFRE--I need say no more. You
understand. Things will have to go on as they are, except that
the rent will probably be doubled about July.
Yours admiringly."
This letter is now waiting to go off. Celia says it is waiting for a
stamp. Personally I don't see the necessity for a stamp.
II.
There are people in the world called owners. I think nothing of them;
Celia thinks nothing of them; jointly we do not think anything of
them. However, as I said before, this is not a grammar.
For the last two years we have been renting cottages. Naturally Celia
has had to do most of the work; the cut and thrust of a soldier's life
has prevented me from taking my share of it. I have been so busy, off
and on, seeing that my fellow-soldiers have baths, getting them shaved
and entreating them to send their socks to the wash that I have had no
time for domestic trifles. Celia has taken the cottage; I have merely
allotted the praise or blame afterwards. I have also, of course, paid
the money.
Our landlords have varied, but they are all alike in this. They think
much more of their own comfort as landlords than of our happiness as
tenants. They are always wanting things done for them. When they want
things done for them, then I am firm. Indeed I am granite.
Take the case of Mr. Perkins, who owns our present cottage. Celia
borrowed the cottage from Mr. Perkins at a rental of several thousands
a week. I said it was too much when I heard of it; but it was then too
late--she had already been referred to hereinafter as the tenant. As
soon as we got in we began to make it look more like a cottage; that
is to say, we accidentally dropped the aspidistra out of the window,
lost the chiffonier, removed most of the obstacles and entanglements
from the drawing-room to the box-room, and replaced the lace curtains
with chintzes. In the same spirit of altruism we improved the
bedrooms. At the end of a week we had given Mr. Perkins a cottage of
which any man might be proud.
But there is no pleasing some people. A closer examination of the
lease, in the hope that we had over-counted the noughts in the rental,
revealed to us the following:--
"At the expiration of the said tenancy, all furniture and effects will
be delivered up by the tenant in the same rooms and positions in which
they were found."
Not a word of thanks, you notice, for the new avenues of beauty which
we had opened out for him; no gratitude for the great revelation that
art was not bounded by aspidistras nor comfort by chiffoniers; nothing
but that old reactionary spirit to which, if I may speak of lesser
things, the Russian Revolution was due. Like Mr. Perkins, the Bourbons
learned nothing and forgot nothing.
Naturally I wrote to Mr. Perkins:--
"Dear Sir,--I regret to inform you that the aspidistra has
perished. It never took kindly to us and started wilting on
the second day. As regards other _objets d'art_ once in the
drawing-room, but now seeking the seclusion of the box-room,
we are in a little difficulty. Before letting it go my
wife took the bearing of the marble how-now from the bamboo
what-not and made it 28 deg. 20', quite forgetting, unfortunately,
that the what-not had also decided to lie fallow for a season.
Consequently, while the direction of the what-not-how-now
line is definitely fixed, their actual positions remain
unestablished. Is it too much to hope that when the time comes
for them to seek again the purer air of the drawing-room they
will be able to rely upon the guidance of an old friend like
yourself rather than upon that of two comparative strangers?
Yours anxiously."
III.
Sometimes I wonder what Mr. Perkins would say if I suggested paying
half-rent during the winter.
Sometimes Celia wonders what she will say if she finds that Mrs.
Winkle has re-arranged all her furniture for her.
"We might," said Celia, looking at the two letters, "send the Perkins
one to Mrs. Winkle and the Winkle one to Mr. Perkins."
"Why?" I asked.
"Just to show how broad-minded we are," said Celia.
A.A.M.
* * * * *
ECONOMY.
Seen in a Birmingham shop window:
"SECOND & FURNITURE."
* * * * *
[Illustration: A BAD DREAM.
SPECTRE. "WELL, IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE LOOK OF ME, EAT LESS BREAD."]
* * * * *
ON THE SPY-TRAIL.
Jimmy says he thought there must he something the matter with Jones
minimus, he was so gloomy.
He actually told Jimmy that he wished he was in heaven. Jimmy had to
tell him not to say such wicked things, because sometimes when you
wished things like that they came true, and then where would Jones
minimus be?
Jimmy says it takes a lot to make Jones minimus gloomy, but it turned
out that he had lost the War Loan; he had either lost or mislaid it,
he told Jimmy.
It was on a card, and Jones minimus only wanted another shilling to
make 15s. 6d., and then in five years they gave you one pound, and it
was because of the compound interest someone invented.
Jimmy says as they were talking the milkman came up and asked if they
had seen his pig. The milkman is always losing his pig. Jimmy says it
wanders off for a walk nearly every day talking to itself and going
into gardens and relishing things. It is a very good relisher, Jimmy
says.
Jimmy says the milkman's pig is being talked about in home circles;
but it doesn't seem to mind, it just goes on its way.
You can always tell the milkman's pig by the black spot on its back.
Jimmy says he knows a man who is going to shoot the pig at sight next
time.
Jimmy was just telling the milkman that he ought to put butter on its
feet to make it stay at home, when Jones minimus suddenly remembered.
He had put the War Loan in his algebra book and left it in Jimmy's
garden. Jimmy says it was a good thing they went back when they did,
because when he got home he found his bloodhound, Faithful, busy
suspecting a chimney-sweep of being a spy; he had done it to the
chimney-sweep's trousers, Jimmy says.
Jimmy says the chimney-sweep was doing bayonet exercises with his
brush at Faithful and working his black face at him.
Jimmy says the chimney-sweep had evidently never seen a prize
bloodhound before, because when Jimmy came up he stood on guard, and
in a frightened whisper said to him, "What is it?"
Jimmy says the beads of perspiration stood on the chimney-sweep's
face like ink. The chimney-sweep told Jimmy that he was travelling the
country sweeping chimneys; but Jimmy said that they had already had
theirs swept, because a cat got in their dining-room and Jimmy had put
in his bloodhound to tell it to go out.
Jimmy says they looked everywhere for the algebra book, but couldn't
find it, and they were just giving up in despair when they heard
Jimmy's bloodhound wrestling with something in his kennel, and there
it was.
Old Faithful had worked half-way through the algebra and was busy
solving simultaneous equations whilst sitting on the War Loan.
[Illustration: _Scandalised N.S. Volunteer_. "'INDENBURG's WATCHIN'
YER!"]
Jimmy says his bloodhound looked so disappointed when they took the
algebra book from him that Jones minimus gave it him back again, as he
said it was no good to him, and perhaps Faithful would find out how to
catch another German spy, or else how to make up the War Loan to 15s.
6d.
Jimmy says his bloodhound did enjoy the algebra, and the way he
tackled several pages of harder problems made old Jones minimus's
mouth water.
Jimmy says Faithful had finished the problems and was just beginning
to chew some quadratics when he looked up and there was the milkman's
pig calmly standing in the garden next door, looking at him through
the hedge and actually munching a piece of coal at him.
Jimmy says it made his bloodhound chew algebra like anything, and when
the pig began flapping his ears at him old Faithful had to go right
into the far corner of his kennel and nurse his wrath.
Jimmy says that bloodhounds have been known to kill a pig in a very
short time; but the pig didn't seem to know this, when Jones minimus
and Jimmy took hold of the kennel and shook out Faithful at him.
Jimmy says the pig just turned on its heel and walked round the garden
sampling things and inquiring into them.
Jimmy says that Faithful is a good sampler too, and when the pig saw
him they tried to sample each other. Faithful thought he was chasing
the pig, and the pig thought he was chasing Faithful, and they did it
in a ring on the lawn.
Jimmy says he could see they were both working themselves up, because
the pig went up to a standard rose-tree and scratched his back at
Jimmy's bloodhound, whilst Faithful kept smelling the ground like
anything.
Jimmy says the pig is a sacred animal to the natives of some places,
but it wasn't to the man who owned the garden; he came out and accused
it of being there.
Jimmy told him that if you placed a pig in the middle of a lake it
always cut its throat when it tried to swim out. But the man hadn't
got a lake, he had only got an ornamental fountain, and the pig had
already scratched that over with its back. The pig seemed very uneasy
about its back, Jimmy says.
Jimmy says the man offered Jones minimus a shilling if he would remove
the pig and that piebald anteater from the garden in five minutes.
Jimmy says Jones minimus is a very good pig-remover, and he thinks it
must be a gift with him. Jimmy says the pig was very much surprised at
Jones minimus, and it wanted to go home and get to bed.
Jimmy says the pig trod on Faithful's toe as they both squeezed
through the gate together, and Faithful pulled the pig's ear, and then
they both went down the road, Faithful leading by about a yard, and
looking behind him with both eyes to make sure the pig was following
him. Jimmy says his bloodhound was working beautifully, and when the
pig stopped to smell one end of a cabbage-stalk which was lying in
the gutter old Faithful, with his nose to the ground, his ears hanging
slightly forward, and his eyes looking upwards, crept slowly back and
deliberately smelt at the other end. It was grand, Jimmy says. There
they stood in silent contest for about five seconds, each trying to
bend the other to his will, till the pig could stand the strain no
longer, and, breaking away with all its strength, actually rushed into
the garden of the man who had promised to shoot it at sight next time.
Jimmy says you might have thought the pig owned the garden until the
man came out. It rooted up wall-flowers and bit off tulips and browsed
on some early peas and was making a regular meatless day of it, and
then the man came rushing out with his gun.
Jimmy says that he and Jones minimus had to duck down, because the man
was so excited; he kept rushing about, talking about things and aiming
his gun at the pig, and the pig kept running round and round and
getting mixed up with Faithful. Then just as Jimmy was expecting the
gun to go off the chimney-sweep suddenly came round some laurels from
the back part of the house, with a bag of soot on his shoulders, and
walked right into the middle of it all.
Jimmy says the way his bloodhound had worked it all out made
even Jones minimus gasp. There was the pig being puzzled at the
chimney-sweep's face; there was the man with his double-barrelled
gun pointed straight at the chimney-sweep, and there was the
chimney-sweep, with both hands up in the air, shouting "Kamerad!" as
hard as he could.
Jones minimus couldn't get over it. To think that Jimmy's bloodhound
had actually made up the War Loan to 15s. 6d., and caught a German spy
at the same time, with nothing more to work with than a pig! Of course
Jimmy knew how old Faithful had done it, but then he knew what
a really prize bloodhound is capable of. It was the simultaneous
equations, of course.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Newcomer_ (_to veteran sanitary orderly_). "ARE YOU
THE REG'LAR GARD'NER, OR JUST IN FOR THE DAY?"]
* * * * *
"Scheinboden, who is very well known as a partisan of the
'Mailed Fish.'"--_Manchester Evening News_.
The very man for a submarine campaign.
* * * * *
"The main goal for which our troops went was the Oppy switch
line, a hastily constructed main goal for which our troops
went was the Oppy switch line, a hastily constructed trench
system by which the Germans have extended their Hindenburg
line northwards."--_Sunday Paper_.
Some of our contemporary's own lines seem also to have been rather
hastily constructed.
* * * * *
NATIONAL SERVICE;
OR, THE SINGLE EYE.
Good Jones, who saw his duty plain,
Resolved he would not live in vain;
He bought some land and made a start,
He gave up literature and art,
He studied books on what to grow,
He studied Mr. PROTHERO;
He worked from early dawn till ten,
Then went to town like other men,
And in his office he would stand
Expatiating on the land.
Prom five again he worked till eight,
Although it made his dinner late;
He could not tear himself away,
He could not leave his native clay.
At last, his energy all spent,
He put his tools away and went,
Took off his suit of muddy tan,
Became a clean and cultured man,
And settled firmly down to dine.
On fish and fowl and meat and wine
And bread as much as he might need;
And while he dined he used to read
What PROTHERO had said last night,
And felt that he was doing right.
He didn't notice food was short;
He quite forgot Lord DEVONPORT.
* * * * *
THE TWO CONSTABLES.
It happened one evening when my wife was staying away with her mother,
in the dark months of last winter, when we were without servants, and
I was glad to have received an invitation from my neighbour Jones to
dinner.
He and his wife welcomed me warmly, and their rather unintelligent
maid had just brought in the saddle of mutton--a great weakness of
mine--when we heard a firm knock on the hall door. She returned to say
that someone wanted to speak to Mr. Brown immediately. "Who is it?"
I demanded. "I don't know, Sir," said the girl, "but he looks like a
policeman."
"I hope nothing has happened to your wife," said Mrs. J. anxiously.
"Or her mother," added Jones rather cynically.
The man at the door was certainly a policeman, and an elderly one, and
had probably been recalled from pension when the War broke out.
"Good evening, Sir," he said, staring hard at me. "Are you
Mr. Brown"--I nodded--"of Myrtle Villa, next door"--he eyed me
suspiciously--"No. 17?"
"Yes, yes," I said impatiently; "what of it?"
"I must ask you for your name and address, Sir," pulling out his
note-book, "for showing a strong light at the back of the 'ouse at 8
P.M."
"That's all nonsense," I answered impatiently; "the house is empty."
"Excuse me, Sir, I saw it myself from the road at the back and came
straight round," said he with his notebook ready.
"But it can't be," I said, getting annoyed.
At this moment a Special came running down the path. "They're coming,"
he panted.
"Who are?" I asked. "No one's been invited but myself."
"The engines."
"But I haven't ordered any," said I.
"I gave the alarm myself," he added proudly.
Jones's rather unintelligent maid had been standing by my side the
whole time. "Excuse me, Sir," she said, "I don't know, but I think
there's something wrong with your 'ouse--the little room at the back,
where you sit and smoke of an evenin'. There's been a big light there
for some time--a wobbly one. I don't know, Sir, but I think the 'ouse
is a-fire."
"_What?_" I yelled, and dashed aside the two varieties of
constabulary. Yes, it was all true. The strong light at the back of
the house--a wobbly one--was rapidly becoming a glow in the heavens,
as they say in journalese. I stood and looked at it, staggered for the
moment, when I heard a cheer and saw the engines coming. I dashed
for my front-door, but found myself forcibly dragged back. It was the
Special, who seemed to be having the time of his life.
"No one allowed to enter a burning building," said he importantly.
"But I must," I cried; "there are some valuable papers----"
"No one allowed to enter," he repeated firmly--he seemed to have
learned it by heart--"except the firemen and police."
"Well, you go in and get them then. I'll----"
"Pass along, please," he said quite suddenly, as a new phase of his
duties seemed to occur to him, and I found myself edged back towards
the crowd.