Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, February 28, 1917 by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, February 28, 1917
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 152.
February 28th, 1917.
CHARIVARIA.
One of the latest peculiarities of the KAISER is an absolute horror at the
thought of being prematurely buried. Several experts however say that this
is impossible.
***
It appears that HINDENBURG accuses the CROWN PRINCE OF BAVARIA of having
misunderstood an order, thus losing Grandcourt for the Germans. RUPPRECHT,
we understand, retorted that the real culprits were the British.
***
In a character-sketch of VON BISSING, the _Cologne Gazette_ says, "He is a
fine musician and his execution is good." It would be.
***
[Illustration: THE PAPER SHORTAGE.
_News Editor of_ "_Daily Bugle Blast_." "JUST TYPE A SHORT NOTICE THAT
FINDERS OF FIRST SNOWDROP, CROCUS, PRIMROSE OR ANY EARLY SPRING PHENOMENA
MUST APPRISE WORLD THROUGH OUR ADVERTISEMENT COLUMNS."]
***
No German submarine, says ADMIRAL VON CAPELLE, has been lost since the
beginning of the submarine war. This assurance has been received with the
liveliest satisfaction by several U-boat commanders who have been in the
awkward predicament of not knowing whether they were officially missing.
***
Captain BOY ED is stated to have returned to the United States disguised.
Not on this occasion, we may assume, as an officer and a gentleman.
***
According to the ex-Portuguese Consul at Hamburg bone tickets are issued
for making soup, but the bone must be returned to the authorities. Possibly
the hardship of the procedure would be mitigated if ticket-holders were
permitted to growl.
***
A metallurgical engineer at the Surbiton Tribunal said he was forty-one
years old, and only missed the age-limit by eighteen hours. It is not
thought that he did it purposely.
***
At the Billericay Tribunal an applicant last week stated that he had nine
children, but upon counting them again he discovered that he had ten. There
seems to be no excuse for this sort of thing, for Adding machines are now
fairly well advertised.
***
Discussing the latest dress fashion, a lady writer says, "It is a most
ridiculous dress. Nothing worse could be conceived." This, of course, is
foolish talk, for the lady has not seen next season's style.
***
Austrian tobacconists are now prohibited from selling more than one cigar a
day to a customer. To conserve the supply still further it is proposed to
compel the tobacconist to offer each customer the alternative of nuts.
***
"When I see a map of the British Empire," said Mr. PONSONBY, M.P., "I do
not feel any pride whatsoever." People have been known to express similar
sentiments upon sighting certain M.P.'s.
***
"The public must hold up the policeman's hands," said a London magistrate
in a recent traffic case. It is astonishing how some policeman are able to
hold them up without assistance for several seconds at a time.
***
The staff of the new Pensions Minister, it is announced, will be over two
thousand. It is still hoped, however, that there may be a small surplus
which can be devoted to the needs of disabled soldiers.
***
Several men have been arrested in Dresden for passing counterfeit food
tickets. The defence will presumably be that it wasn't real food.
***
The Royal Engineers are advertising for seamen for the Inland Water
Transport Section. The Chief Transport Officer, we understand, has already
hoisted his bargee.
***
Eggs to the number of six million odd have just arrived from China, says a
news item, and will be used for confectionery. Had they arrived three
months ago nothing could have averted a General Election.
***
A hen while being sold at a Red Cross sale at Horsham laid an egg which
fetched 35_s._ In the best hen circles, where steady silent work is being
done, there is a growing tendency to frown upon these isolated acts of
ostentatious patriotism.
***
_The Times_, it seems, has not published a complete list of its rivals in
the desperate struggle for the smallest circulation. A Finchley Church
magazine has increased its price to 1-1/2_d._ a copy.
***
Paper bags are no longer being used by greengrocers in Bangor, and their
customers are patriotically assisting this economy by unpodding their green
peas and rolling them home.
***
"Bacon, as a breakfast food," says an evening paper, "is fast disappearing
from the table." We have often noticed it do so.
***
"It is pitiful and disgraceful," says the _Berliner Tageblatt_, "to watch
women-folk walking beside their half-starved dogs. There is no room in
warfare for dogs." We have all along felt sorry for the poor animals at a
time when one half the dachshund does not know how the other half lives.
***
A Felicitous Juxtaposition.
"EGGS FOR LINCOLN HOSPITAL.
COL. ---- LAYS A FALSE RUMOUR."--_Lincoln Leader_.
***
"PULLETS, laying 3s. 6d. each."--_Provincial Paper_.
Yet farmers persist in telling us there's no money in fowls.
***
"The first description of how the German Fleet reached Rome after the
battle of Jutland is furnished by a neutral from Kiel."--_Johannesburg
Daily Mail_.
Of all the roads that lead to Rome this is certainly the roughest.
***
The New Greeting: "Comment vous Devonportez-vous?"
* * * * *
TO GERMANIA
FROM SOMEBODY WHO OUGHT TO BE IN PRISON.
_Air_--"To Althaea from Prison."
When Peace with wide and shining wings
Invades this warring isle,
And my beloved Germania brings
Wearing her largest smile;
When close about her waist I coil
And mouth to mouth apply,
Not SNOWDEN, patriot son of toil,
Will be more pleased than I.
When round the No-Conscription board
The wines of Rhineland flow,
And many a rousing _Hoch!_ is roared
To toast the _status quo_;
When o'er the swiftly-circling bowl
Our happy tears run dry,
Not PONSONBY, that loyal soul,
Will be more pleased than I.
When sausages and sauerkraut
Fulfil the air with spice,
And loosened tongues the praise shall shout
Of Peace-at-any-price;
When German weeds our lips employ
And hearts are full and high,
Not CHARLES TREVELYAN, blind with joy,
Will be more pleased than I.
Stone walls do not my feet confine
Nor yet a barbed-wire cage;
I talk at large and claim as mine
The freeman's heritage;
And, if this wicked War but end
Ere German hopes can die,
Not WILLIAM'S self, my dearest friend,
Will be more pleased than I.
O.S.
* * * * *
THE BROKEN SOLDIERS.
"Now," I suggested as we left the drapery department, "you've got as much
as you can carry." Unfortunately it was impossible to relieve her of the
parcels as I had all my work cut out to manipulate those confounded
crutches.
"There's only the toy department," returned Pamela, leading the way with
her armful of packages. "I do hope you're not frightfully tired." Of course
it seemed ridiculous, but I had not been out of hospital many days, and as
yet I had not grown used to stumping about in this manner.
"Do you happen," asked Pamela at the counter, "to have such a thing as a
box of broken soldiers?"
The young woman looked astonished and even a little hurt, but offered, with
condescension, to inquire.
"Do you want them for Dick?" I asked, Dick being Pamela's youngest brother.
"For Dick and Alice," said Pamela. Alice was her sister, younger still.
"Why shouldn't I buy them a box of whole ones?"
"That wouldn't answer the purpose. They have three large boxes already,"
answered Pamela, as a young man appeared in a frock coat, with a silver
badge on the right lapel, "For Services Rendered." In his hand was a dusty
cardboard box, and in the box lay five damaged leaden soldiers, up-to-date
soldiers in khaki; two without heads, two armless, one who had lost both
legs.
"Those will do splendidly," said Pamela, and the young man with the silver
badge obligingly put the soldiers into my tunic pocket. It seemed to be
understood that they and I had been knocked out in the same campaign.
"Why," I asked on the way home in the taxi, "did you want the soldiers to
be broken?"
"I--I didn't," murmured Pamela, with a sigh.
"Why did Dick?" I persisted.
"The children are so dreadfully realistic now-a-days. You see, Father
objected to his breaking heads and arms off his new ones. Dick was quite
rebellious. He wanted to know what he was to do for wounded; and Alice was
more disappointed still."
"I should have thought it was too painful a notion for her," I suggested.
"Oh!" cried Pamela, with a laugh, "Alice is a Red Cross nurse, you know.
She's made a hospital out of a Noah's Ark. She only thinks of healing
them."
"All the King's horses and all the King's men cannot put Humpty Dumpty
together again," I said.
"Poor old boy!" whispered Pamela.
"I wonder whether broken soldiers have an interest for you as well," I
remarked ... and Dick and Alice were completely forgotten until they met us
clamorously in the hall.
"Did you get any, Pam?" cried Dick.
"Only five," was the answer, as I took the small paper parcel from my
pocket and handed it over.
"Is that all?" demanded Alice.
"There's one more," I said.
"Is that for me?" cried Alice; but Pamela shook her head and smiled very
nicely as she took my arm.
"No, that's for me," she said.
* * * * *
A TRAGEDY OF THE SEA.
The night was a very dark one, for a cold damp fog hung over the Channel.
The few lights we carried reflected in-board only, and, leaning over the
rail, it was with difficulty that I could distinguish the dark waters
washing below. Shore-ward I could see nothing, though I knew that a
good-sized town lay there.
I had soon had enough of the inclement night. Keeping my feet with some
difficulty upon the wet boards, I groped my way to a door and, pushing it
open, entered.
A strange scene met my gaze. A spruce man in the uniform of a naval officer
was seated at a table. Before him stood a tall well-set-up young seaman.
His dishevelled head was hatless, but otherwise he looked trim, and his
garments fitted him better than a seaman's garments generally do. On each
side of him stood an armed guard.
"Have you anything to say for yourself?" asked the officer sternly.
"No, Sir, only that I am innocent," answered the man. He held his head
high, almost defiantly. I could not but admire his courageous bearing, and
yet there was an air of unreality about the whole thing. I felt almost as
if I were dreaming it, but I knew that this was not a dream.
"The evidence against you is overwhelming," said the officer. "I have no
alternative but to sentence you to death. The sentence will be carried out
at dawn. Remove the prisoner."
The seaman took a step forward. For a moment he seemed to be struggling
with himself, anxious to speak, yet forcing himself to silence. Then he
bowed his head, and, turning, placed himself between the guards and was
marched away.
The officer sighed. "It's a bad business," he said. "He's the best man I
ever had on my ship."
He was speaking to himself, and again I had that strange sense of
unreality, as indeed I well might, for this was the Third Act of _True to
the Death_, a melodrama in the pavilion at the end of the pier.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE RETORT CELESTIAL.
[China has threatened to break off relations with the German Government on
account of its barbarity. It will be recalled that the KAISER once designed
an allegorical picture entitled "The Yellow Peril."]]
* * * * *
[Illustration: SAUCE FOR THE GANDER.
_Grocer_. "A LITTLE SUGAR WITH MY TART, PLEASE."
_Waitress_ (_late grocer's assistant_). "CERTAINLY, SIR, IF YOU WILL ALSO
TAKE MUSTARD, PEPPER, SALT, YORKSHIRE RELISH AND SALAD DRESSING."]
* * * * *
WEATHER-VANES.
It was 2 A.M. The mosquitoes were singing their nightly chorus, and the
situation reports were coming in from the battalions in the line. With his
hair sizzling in the flame of the candle, the Brigade Orderly Officer who
was on duty for the night tried to decipher the feathery scrawl on the pink
form.
"Situation normal A-A-A wind moderate N.E.," it read.
"Great Scott!" said the O.O. "North-East!" (Hun gas waits upon a wind with
East in it). "Give me the message book."
Laboriously he wrote out warnings to the battalions and machine gun
sections, etc., under the Brigade's control. Then he turned to the next
message.
"Situation normal A-A-A wind light S.W."
"South-West?" said the O.O. blankly, viewing his now useless handiwork.
"Which way _is_ the wind then?"
The orderly went out to see, and returned presently with a moistened
forefinger and the information that it was "blowing acrossways, leastways
it seemed like it." The O.O. got out of his little wire bed, searched in
his pyjamas for the North Star, and, finally deciding that if there was any
wind at all (which was doubtful) it was due South, reported it as such. The
responsibility incurred kept him awake for some time, but when the Brigade
on the right flank reported a totally different wind he concluded there
must be a whirlwind in the line, and, putting up a barrage of bad language,
went to sleep.
In due course the matter came to the ears of the Staff Captain, who
broached the subject at breakfast as the General was probing his second
poached egg.
"This," said the General, who is rather given to the vernacular, "is the
limit. A North-South-East-West report is preposterous. Something must be
done. Haven't we got a weather-vane of our own? Pass the marmalade, will
you?"
Four people reached hastily for the delicacy, and the O.O. feeling out of
it passed the milk for no reason. (Generals really get a very good time.
People have been known to pass things to them unasked.)
"What about those two vanes in our last headquarters, Sir?" said the Staff
Captain brightly--he is very bright and bird-like in the mornings--"the
ones the padre thought were Russian fire-guards. Can't we get them? They
aren't ours, but then they aren't anybody's--they've been there a year, the
old woman told me."
"Where's the Orderly Officer?" (He was there with a mouthful of toast.)
"Take the mess limber and fetch 'em back if the Heavy Group Artillery will
let you--they're in there now, aren't they?"
"And if you're g-going into the town g-get some fish for dinner," said the
Brigade Major; "everlasting ration beef makes my s-stammer worse."
"Why?" said the General.
"Indigestion--nerves, Sir; I can hardly talk over the telephone at all
after dinner."
"Good heavens!" said the General; "bring a turbot."
* * * * *
"Fish!" said the B.M. at dinner. "Bong!"
"I brought the vanes, Sir."
"Have any trouble?"
"No, Sir. I saw the A.D.C., and said we had 'left them behind,' which was
true, you know, Sir." (The O.O. for once felt himself the centre of
interest and desired to improve the occasion). "We _did_ 'leave them
behind,' so it wasn't a lie exactly ..."
"I don't care if it was," said the General; "you've got 'em, that's the
main thing."
"Where will you have one put, Sir?"
"In the fields," said the B.M.
"Not too low," said the Captain.
"Or too high," said Signals.
"Or too far away," said the attached officer.
"Well, now you know," said the General, "pass the chutney."
They all passed it as well as several other things until he was thoroughly
dug-in.
* * * * *
"Another N.S.E.W. report, Sir," said the Staff Captain next morning.
"----!" said the General. (I think I mentioned his partiality for the
vernacular). "Where's our vane?"
"It's up, Sir," said the O.O., shining proudly again, "and I--"
"We'll have' a look at it," and out they all went--General, Brigade Major
(enunciating pedantically after a fish breakfast), Staff Captain (bright
and birdlike), and the O.O. It was a brilliant spectacle.
"North is--there!" said the General in his best field-day manner, "and this
is pointing--due East!" He touched the vane gently. It did not budge. He
touched it again. A cold sweat broke out on the forehead of the O.O.
"Paralysed," said the B.M.
"Give it a 'stand-east,' Sir," said the Staff Captain.
"It's stiff!" said the General; "wants-oil" (pause); "wants _oil_!" and the
O.O. slid away, returning at once with oil (salad, bottle, one).
"Now pour it over the top--top, boy, top!"
A flood sprayed over the top flange, and the B.M. searched hastily for a
handkerchief.
"Making a salad of you?" said the General. "Ha! ha!"
The B.M. smiled a smile (sickly, one).
"That's better!" The General spun it round. "What's it say now? East!"
"Better wait," said the B.M., "it'll change its mind in a minute."
"It's going!" cried the General excitedly. "There! Well, I'm--West!"
"The padre was right--it must be a fireguard, after all," said the Staff
Captain.
"Or a s-sundial," muttered the B.M.
I believe the meteorological report was finally entered as: "Wind light to
moderate (to strong), varying from East to West (_via_ North and South)."
"Of course," said the General kindly to the O.O., "it's not quite
perpendicular, it's a bit too low; wants a stronger prop, wires are a bit
slack, the vane itself wants looking to, and the whole thing is in rather a
bad position, but otherwise it's all right--quite all right."
"Yes, Sir," said the O.O.
"And there's too much oil," added the General, as he moved off.
"There is," said the B.M., discovering another blob on his shiny boots,
"and on m-me!"
* * * * *
The Staff were unaccountably late. The O.O. breakfasted alone. For three
days he had been the despair of the small and perspiring body of pioneers,
who towards the end had fled at the mere sight of him. But at last the vane
was working.
"Well," said the General when he came in, "how's the wind, expert?"
"N.N.E.," said the O.O. proudly. (It was the first thing he had done since
he came on the Brigade three weeks before, and he was pleased at the
interest the Staff had taken in his little achievement.) "I've had the
pioneers working on it, and we've got it up another four feet, Sir,
tightened the pole, and wired it on to the supports on every side. It's
quite perpendicular now. I've marked out the points of the compass on it,
and fixed up a little arrangement for gauging the strength of the
wind--that flap thing, you know, Sir--"
"Yes, yes," said the General, who seemed to have lost his first keenness,
"I'm glad it's working all right. By the way, we shall be moving from here
to-morrow; the division's going back."
The O.O. drained the teapot in silence, and was glad it was strong and
bitter.
* * * * *
[Illustration: AT OUR COMPANY SMOKER.
_The Major_ (_sings_). "AND WE DIDN'T CARE A BUTTON IF THE ODDS WERE ON THE
FOE TEN--TWENTY--THIRTY--FORTY--"
_Colonel_ (_roused from surreptitious snooze_). "AS YOU WERE!--NUMBER!"]
* * * * *
Result of the Blockade.
Notice on a railway bookstall:--
"MEN AROUND THE KAISER.
MUCH REDUCED."
* * * * *
"On the pier a man was arrested who declared excitedly that he was
Frederick Hohenzollern, the Kaiser's nephew, but he appeared quite
harmless."--_Daily News_.
Obviously an impostor.
* * * * *
"The khaki-clad boys were as merry as a party of undergraduates
celebrating some joyous event at the college tuck-shop."--_Yorkshire
Herald_.
What memories of the Junior Common Room are recalled by this artless
phrase.
* * * * *
The Super-Submarine.
"The Lyman M. Law was stopped by a gunshot fired by a submarine, which
boarded the American boat, took the names of all on board, and then
authorised the continuation of the voyage."--_Evening News_.
* * * * *
Experiences of Mr. GERARD'S party:--
"Our first surprise on reaching Paris was to find taxi-cabs, and
taxi-cubs with pneumatic tyres."--_Scots Paper_.
We suggest that our M.F.H.'s should import a few of these in time for next
season's cubbing. They give an excellent run for the money--a mile for
eightpence or so.
* * * * *
THE MISSING LEADER.
What is Master WINSTON doing?
What new paths is he pursuing?
What strange broth can he be brewing?
Is he painting, by commission,
Portraits of the Coalition
For the R.A. exhibition?
Is he Jacky-obin or anti?
Is he likely to "go Fanti,"
Or becoming shrewd and canty?
Is he in disguise at Kovel,
Living in a moujik's hovel,
Making a tremendous novel?
Does he run a photo-play show?
Or in _saeva indignatio_
Is he writing for HORATIO?
Fired by the divine afflatus
Does he weekly lacerate us,
Like a Juvenal _renatus?_
As the great financial purist,
Will he smite the sinecurist
Or emerge as a Futurist?
Is he regularly sending
HAIG and BEATTY screeds unending,
Good advice with censure blending?
Is he ploughing, is he hoeing?
Is he planting beet, or going
In for early 'tato-growing?
Is he writing verse or prosing,
Or intent upon disclosing
Gifts for musical composing?
Is he lecturing to flappers?
Is he tunnelling with sappers?
Has he joined the U-boat trappers?
Or, to petrify recorders
Of events within our borders,
_Has he taken Holy Orders?_
Is he well or ill or middling?
Is he fighting, is he fiddling?--
He can't only be thumb-twiddling.
These are merely dim surmises,
But experience advises
Us to look for weird surprises,
Somersaults, and strange disguises.
* * * * *
Thus we summed the situation
When Sir HEDWORTH MEUX' oration
Brought about a transformation.
Lo! the Blenheim Boanerges
On a sudden re-emerges
And, to calm the naval _gurges_,
FISHER'S restoration urges.
* * * * *
A Work of Supererogation.
"At an interval in the evening some carols were sung by members of our
G.F.S., and a collection was taken on behalf of a fund for providing
Huns for our soldiers."--_Parish Magazine_.
* * * * *
INFORMATION WANTED.
No one can answer the question, and I have not the pluck--being a
law-abiding citizen--to try for myself. But I do so want to know. I ask
everyone. I ask my partners at dinner (when any dinner comes my way). I ask
casual acquaintances. I would ask the officials themselves, only they are
so preoccupied. But the words certainly set up a very engrossing problem,
and upon this problem many minor problems depend, clustering round it like
chickens round the maternal hen. But I should be quite content with an
answer only to the hen; the rest could wait. Yet there is an
inter-dependence between them that cannot be overlooked. For example, did
someone once do it and meet with such a calamity that everyone else had to
be warned? Or is it merely that the authorities dislike us to be comfy? Or
is it thought that the public might get so much attracted by the habit as
to convert the place into a house where a dance is in progress? I wish I
knew these things.
Will not some Member ask for information in the House, and then--arising
out of this question--get all the other subsidiary facts? We are told so
many things that don't matter, such as the enormous number of Ministers in
the new Government, which was formed, if I remember rightly, as a protest
against too large a Cabinet; such as the colossal genius of each and every
performer in Mr. COCHRANE'S theatrical companies; such as the best place in
Oxford Street to contract the shopping habit; such as the breaks made day
by day all through the War by billiard champions; such as the departure of
Mr. G.B. SHAW on his bewildering and, one would think, totally unnecessary
visit to the Front and his return from that experience; such as--but
enough. I am told by the informative Press all these and more things, but
no one tells me the one thing I want to know.
Perhaps YOU can.
I want to know why we may not sit on the Tube moving staircases, and I want
to know what would happen if we did.
* * * * *
What to do with Our Dogs.
"FOR SALE.--Pure Bred Irish Terrier Dog, right thing to wear now.
Seamless, comfortable. All Wool."--_Bedford Daily Circular_.
* * * * *
"Bread embroideries encircle the figure."--_Glasgow Citizen_.
An appropriate adornment for the bread basket, no doubt, but too
extravagant in these times.
* * * * *
BUNNY'S LITTLE BIT.
This scheme of keeping rabbits
To fatten them as food
Breaks up the kindly habits
Acquired in babyhood;
For we, as youthful scions,
Were taught to love the dears
And bring them dandelions
And lift them by the ears.