Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 158, March 17, 1920 by Various
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 158
MARCH 17, 1920
CHARIVARIA.
PRINCE ALBERT JOACHIM, it appears, did not take part in the attack on
a French officer at the Hotel Adlon, but only gave the signal. Always
the little Hohenzollern!
***
It seems that at the last moment Mr. C. B. COCHRAN broke off
negotiations for the exclusive right to organise the CARPENTIER
wedding.
***
"Will Scotland go dry?" asks _The Daily Express_. Not on purpose, we
imagine.
***
A new method of stopping an omnibus by a foot-lever has been patented.
This is much better than the old plan of shaking one's umbrella at
them.
***
Mr. LLOYD GEORGE, we read, makes a study of handwriting. The only
objection that _The Times_ has to this habit is that he positively
refuses to notice the writing on the wall.
***
It is rumoured that the Government will construct an experimental
tunnel between England and the United States in order (1) to cement
Anglo-American friendship, and (2) to ascertain if the Channel Tunnel
is practicable.
***
Dr. C.W. COLBY, head of the Department of History, has taken Sir
AUCLAND GEDDES' place as Principal of McGill University. The report
that Sir AUCKLAND will reciprocate by taking a place in history awaits
confirmation.
***
"It is quite usual nowadays," a well-known auctioneer states, "for
mill hands to keep a few orchids." We understand that by way of a
counter-stroke a number of noblemen are threatening to go in for
runner ducks.
***
A Rotherham couple who have just celebrated their diamond wedding have
never tasted medicine. We ourselves have always maintained that the
taste is an acquired one.
***
A Greenland falcon has been shot in the Orkneys. The view is widely
taken that the wretched bird, which must have known it wasn't in
Greenland, brought the trouble on itself.
***
An alleged anarchist arrested in Munich was identified as a poet and
found Not Guilty--not guilty, that is to say, of being an anarchist.
***
With reference to the pending retirement of Mr. ROBERT SMILLIE from
the Presidency of the Miners' Federation, it appears that there is
talk of arranging a farewell strike.
***
The _Berlin Vorwaerts_ states that ex-Emperor CARL has been discovered
in Hungary under an assumed name. The Hungarian authorities say that
unless he is claimed within three days he will be sold to defray
expenses.
***
We understand that Mr. Justice DARLING'S weekly denial of the reports
of his retirement will in future be issued on Tuesdays, instead of
Wednesdays, as hitherto.
***
When hit by a bullet a tiger roars until dead, says a weekly paper,
but a tigress dies quietly. Nervous people who suffer from headaches
should therefore only shoot tigresses.
***
Two out of ten houses being built at Guildford are now complete.
Builders in other parts of the country are asking who gave the word
"Go."
***
"Marvellous to relate," says a Sunday paper, "a horse has just died
at Ingatestone at the age of thirty-six." Surely it is more marvellous
that it did not die before.
***
It is said that the Paris Peace Conference cost two million pounds.
The latest suggestion is that, before the next war starts, tenders
for a Peace Conference shall be asked for and the lowest estimate
accepted.
***
A Walsall carter has summoned a fellow-worker because during a quarrel
he stepped on his face. It was not so much that he had stepped on his
face, we understand, as the fact that he had loitered about on it.
***
A painful mistake is reported from North London. It appears that a
young lady who went to a fancy-dress ball as "The Silent Wife" was
awarded the first prize for her clever impersonation of a telephone
girl.
***
We are glad to learn that the thoughtless tradesman who, in spite
of the notice, "Please ring the bell," deliberately knocked at the
front-door of a wooden house, has now had to pay the full cost of
rebuilding.
***
After reading in her morning paper that bumping races were held
recently at Cambridge, a dear old lady expressed sorrow that the
disgraceful scenes witnessed in many dance-rooms in London had spread
to one of our older universities.
***
Tyrolese hats have reappeared in London after an interval of nearly
five years. We understand that the yodel waistcoat will also be heard
this spring.
***
A Welshman was fined fifteen pounds last week for fishing for salmon
with a lamp. Defendant's plea, that he was merely investigating the
scientific question of whether salmon yawn in their sleep, was not
accepted.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "WELL, ANYHOW, NO ONE COULD TELL THAT THIS WAS ONCE A
BRITISH WARM."]
* * * * *
MORE BOAT-RACE "INTELLIGENCE."
"The Oxford crew had a hard training for an hour and a-half
under the direction of Mr. Harcourt Gold, who is to catch them
at Putney."--_Evening Paper_.
But will they catch Cambridge at Barnes?
"The Cambridge people have elected to use a scull with a
tubular shank or 'loom.'
"Oxford are using these sculls, too."--_Evening Paper_.
We have a silly old-fashioned preference for the use of oars in this
competition.
* * * * *
"On St. David's Day, Welshmen wear a leak in their
hats."--_Provincial Paper_.
Lest they should suffer from swelled head?
* * * * *
THE "NEW" WORLD.
["Direct Action," which was regarded as a novelty suitable for
an age of reconstruction, has now, by the good sense of the
Trades Union Congress, been relegated to its proper place in
the old and discredited order of things.]
In these, the young Millennium's years,
Whereof they loudly boomed the birth,
Promising by the lips of seers
New Heavens and a brand-new Earth,
We find the advertised attraction
In point of novelty is small,
And argument by force of action
Would seem the oldest wheeze of all.
When Prehistoric Man desired
Communion with his maid elect,
And arts of suasion left him tired,
He took to action more direct;
Scaring her with a savage whoop or
Putting his club across her head,
He bore her in a state of stupor
Home to his stony bridal bed.
In ages rather more refined,
Gentlemen of the King's highway,
Whose democratic tastes inclined
To easy hours and ample pay,
Would hardly ever hold their victim
Engaged in academic strife,
But raised their blunderbuss and ticked him
Off with "Your money or your life."
So when your miners, swift to scout
The use of reason's slow appeal,
Threaten to starve our children out
And bring the country in to heel,
There's nothing, as I understand it,
So very new in this to show;
The cave-man and the cross-roads bandit
Were there before them long ago.
O.S.
* * * * *
FAIR WEAR AND TEAR.
In a short time now we shall have to return this flat to its proper
tenants and arrive at some assessment of the damage done to their
effects. With regard to the other rooms, even the room which Richard
and Priscilla condescend to use as a nursery, I shall accept the
owners' estimate cheerfully enough, I think; but the case of the
drawing-room furniture is different. About the nursery I have
only heard vague rumours, but in the drawing-room I have been an
eye-witness of the facts.
The proper tenant is a bachelor who lived here with his sister; he
will scarcely realise, therefore, what happens at 5 P.M. every day,
when there comes, as the satiric poet, LONGFELLOW, has so finely
sung--
"A pause in the day's occupations,
Which is known as the children's hour."
Drawing-room furniture indeed! When one considers the buildings and
munition dumps, the live and rolling stock, the jungles and forests
in that half-charted territory; when one considers that even the
mere wastepaper basket by the writing-desk (and it _does_ look a bit
battered, that wastepaper basket) is sometimes the tin helmet under
which Richard defies the frightfulness of LARS PORSENA, and sometimes
a necessary stage property for Priscilla's two favourite dramatic
recitations
"He plunged with a delighted _scweam_
Into a bowl of clotted cweam,"
and
"This is Mr. Piggy Wee,
With tail so pink and curly,
And when I say, 'Good mornin', pig,'
He answers _vewwy_ surly,
Oomph! Oomph!'"
and sometimes the hutch that harbours a cotton-wool creation supposed
to be a white rabbit, and stated by the owner to be "munsin' and
munsin' and munsin' a carrot"--when, I say, I consider all these
things I anticipate that the proceedings of the Reparation Commission
will be something like this:--
_He (looking a little ruefully at the round music-stool)_. I suppose
your wife plays the piano a good deal?
_I (brightly)_. If you mean the detachable steering-wheel, it is only
fair to remember that a part interchangeable between the motor-omnibus
and the steam-roller--
_He_. I don't understand.
_I_. Permit me to reassemble the mechanism.
_He_. You mean that when you put that armchair at the end of the sofa
and the music-stool in front of it--
_I_. I mean that the motor-omnibus driver, sitting as he does in front
of his vehicle and manipulating his steering-wheel like this, can
do little or no harm to the apparatus. On the other hand, the
steam-roller mechanic, standing _inside_ the body of the vehicle, and
having the steering-wheel in _this_ position--
_He_. On the sofa?
_I_. Naturally. Well, supposing he happens to have a slight difference
of opinion with his mate as to which of them ought to do the driving,
the wheel is quite likely to be pushed off on to the macadam, where it
gets a trifle frayed round the edges.
_He_. I see. How awfully stupid of me! And this pouffe, or whatever
they call it?
_I_. Week in and week out, boy and girl, I have seen that dromedary
ridden over more miles of desert than I can tell you, and never once
have I known it under-fed or under-watered, or struck with anything
harder than the human fist. Of course the hump does get a little
floppy with frequent use, but considering how barren your Sahara--
_He_. Quite, quite. I was just looking at that armchair. Aren't there
a lot of scratches on the legs?
_I_. Have you ever _kept_ panthers? Do you realise how impatiently
they chafe at times against the bars of their cage? Of course, if you
haven't....
Finally, I imagine he will see how reasonable my attitude is and how
little he has to complain of. He will recognise that one cannot deal
with complicated properties of this sort without a certain amount of
inevitable dilapidation and loss.
As a matter of fact I have an even stronger line of argument if I
choose to take it. I can put in a counter-claim. One of the principal
attractions of old furniture, after all, is historic association.
There is the armchair, you know, that Dr. JOHNSON sat in, and the
inkpot, or whatever it was, that MARY, Queen of Scots, threw at JOHN
BUNYAN or somebody, and I have also seen garden-seats carved out of
famous battleships. And then again, if you go to Euston, or it may be
Darlington, you will find on the platform the original tea-kettle out
of which GEORGE WASHINGTON constructed the first steam-engine. The
drawing-room furniture that we are relinquishing combines the interest
of all these things. If I like I can put a placard on the sofa, before
I take its owner to see it, worded something like this:--
"Puffing Billy, the original steam-roller out of which this elegant
piece was carved, held the 1920 record for fourteen trips to Brighton
and back within half-an-hour." And after he has seen that I can lead
him gently on to Roaring Rupert, the arm-chair. Really, therefore,
when one comes to consider it, the man owes me a considerable sum of
money for the enhanced sentimental value that has been given to his
commonplace property.
Mind you, I have no wish to be too hard on him. I shall be content
with a quite moderate claim, or even with no claim at all. Possibly,
now I come to think of it; I shall simply say,
"You know what it is to have a couple of bally kids about the place.
What shall I give you to call it square?"
And he will name a sum and offer me a cigarette, and we shall talk a
little about putting or politics.
But it doesn't much matter. Whatever he asks he can only put it down
in the receipts' column of his account-book under the heading of
"Depreciation of Furniture," whereas in my expenses it will stand as
"Richard and Priscilla: for Adventures, Travel and Romance."
EVOE.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A ST. PATRICK'S DAY DREAM
(MARCH 17).
THE IDYLLIST OF DOWNING STREET (_with four-leaved shamrock_). "SHE
LOVES ME! SHE--BUT PERHAPS I'D BETTER NOT GO ANY FURTHER."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Visitor_. "AND HOW IS YOUR NEWLY-MARRIED DAUGHTER?"
_Mrs. Brown_. "OH, SHE'S NICELY THANK YOU. SHE FINDS HER HUSBAND A BIT
DULL; BUT AS I TELLS HER, THE GOOD 'UNS _ARE_ DULL."]
* * * * *
WINTER SPORT IN THE LOWER ALPS.
About two months ago, after a course of travel literature and some
back numbers of _The Badminton Magazine_, I became infected with a
desire to spend a winter in the Alps, skating, sliding, curling and
yodelling in the intervals of ski-ing, skijoring, skilacking and
skihandlung. The very names of the pastimes conjured up a picture
of swift and healthy activity. As the pamphlets assured me, I should
return a new man; and, though I am greatly attached to the old one, I
recognised that improvement was possible.
I don't remember how it came about that I finally chose Freidegg
among the multiplicity of winter-sport stations whose descriptions
approximated to those of Heaven. I expect Frederick forced the choice
upon me; Frederick had been to Switzerland every winter from 1906 to
1913 and knew the ropes. I somehow gathered that the ropes were of
unusual complexity.
The entire journey was passed among winter-sporters of a certain
type. From their conversation I was able to learn that Badeloden
was formerly overrun by Germans; that Franzheim was excellent if you
stayed at the Grand, but at the Kurhaus the guests were unsociable,
while at the Oberalp you were not done well and the central-heating
was inefficient.
I ventured a few questions about the sport available, but was gently
rebuked by the silence which followed before conversation was resumed
in a further discussion of comforts and social amenities.
On arrival at the hotel I took out my skates, but, on Frederick's
advice, hid them again. "Don't let people see that you are a newcomer;
there won't be any skating for some weeks yet," said he.
"But why not?" I objected. "The ice must be at least six inches
thick."
"Well, it isn't done," he replied. "One's first week is spent in
settling down; you can't go straight on the ice without preparation."
On the third day a Sports' Meeting was held, as the result of which
a programme of the season was published. It was announced that there
would be, weekly, three dances and one bridge tournament; a theatrical
performance would be given once a fortnight, and the blank evenings
filled with either a concert or an entertainment. I began to wonder
how I could squeeze in time for sleep.
In order that boredom might not overtake the guests before evening
came, a magnificent tea was served from four to six. During the
afternoon one could visit the other hotels of the place and usually
found some function in progress. We were not expected to breakfast
before ten, and the short time that remained before lunch was spent
in a walk to the rink, where we would solemnly take a few steps on the
ice, murmur, "Not in condition yet," and return to the hotel.
After about a fortnight of this I announced to Frederick that I was
going to skate, no matter how far from perfection the ice proved to
be.
Frederick was indignant.
"You'll make yourself both conspicuous and unpopular. The two
Marriotts are giving an exhibition to-morrow; if you spoil the ice for
them their show will be ruined."
"Very well, then," said I, "I will borrow some ski and mess about on
the snow."
"You can't do that," he replied, horrified; "the professionals are
coming next week for the open competition, and if they don't find
clean snow--"
"All right; I'll get one of those grid-irons and course down the
ice-run. I suppose that's what the ice-run is for," said I bitterly.
"And spoil the Alpine Derby, which you know is fixed for the tenth?"
Frederick addressed me with some severity. "Look here--you must choose
your sport and stick to it. I am a ski-er; you don't find me skating
or bobbing or curling."
"Or ski-ing," I added.
"Before ski-ing," he informed me, "one must have one's ski in perfect
condition. Mine are improving daily."
Frederick in fact spent his short mornings in giving instructions as
to how his ski were to be oiled and rubbed. All the most complicated
operations of unction and massage were performed upon them, and all
the time Frederick watched over them as over a sick child.
Next I was told that the height of the season had arrived. The round
of indoor entertainments went on and almost daily the guests walked to
some near point to witness performances by professionals who seemed to
tour the country for that purpose.
Just when there appeared to be a slight prospect of some general
outdoor activity (and Frederick's ski were pronounced perfect) a
thaw occurred. I am bound to say that the event was received
philosophically. Not a single member of the company made any
complaint; they faced adversity like true Britons and boldly sat
in the warm hotel to save themselves for the evening. Nor did their
distress put them off their feed; they punished the tea unmercifully,
showing scarcely a sign of the aching sorrow which devoured them.
Soon it froze again. The daily visit to the ice was made and
Frederick's ski were once more put into training.
As for me I began to believe that there was something shameful or
disgraceful in my desire to skate. So I left secretly for Sicily. Here
I can enjoy passive entertainment without being unpleasantly chilled.
Well, a few days ago I received from Frederick a letter, from which
the following is a quotation: "The final thaw has now occurred and the
season is ended. It has been one of the most successful on record. The
full programme was carried out to the letter; I wish you had been here
for the last Fancy Dress. My ski were really fit and I was looking
forward to some great days on the snow. I think I made a bit of a hit
too, playing _Lord Twinkles_ in _The Gay Life_."
The ski will no doubt miss Frederick's affectionate attention; he was
very fond of them.
Yesterday, by the purest accident I came across Claudia, like myself
enjoying the warmth and sunshine.
"Oh, you've been to Freidegg; how lovely! I went to Kestaag this year
and was very glad to leave. Nothing to do in the evening but sit round
a fire. All day the hotel was like a wilderness and outside nothing
but a lot of men falling about in the snow. They were too tired to do
anything during the evening. It was horrid. Next time I shall be more
careful and choose a nice bright place like Freidegg."
Next time I too shall be more careful.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "ANOTHER BLOW FOR THE COALITION."
_Sombre Reveller._ "IS THIS PADDINGTON?"
_Porter._ "PADDINGTON? NO! IT'S MERSTHAM. WHY, YOU AIN'T EVEN ON THE
RIGHT RAILWAY. THIS IS SOUTH-EASTERN AND CHATHAM."
_Reveller._ "THERE Y'ARE, Y'SEE. THAT'S WHAT COMES OF GOV'MENT CONTROL
OF RAILWAYS."]
* * * * *
HOUND-FOXES.
It was really Isabel's idea. But it must be admitted that the Foxes
took it up with remarkable promptitude. How it reached them is
uncertain, but maybe the little bird that nests outside her nursery
window knows more than we do.
The idea owed its inception to my attempt at explaining the
pink-coated horsemen depicted on an old Christmas card. I did my best,
right up to and including the "worry," in which Isabel joined with
enthusiasm. Then she went to bed.
But not to sleep. As I passed by the open door I heard a small
excited voice expounding to a lymphatic dolly the whole mystery of
fox-hunting:--
"And there was a wood, and there was a smell. And all the peoploos
on '_normous_ huge high horses. And _nen_ all the hound-foxes runned
after the smell and eated it all up."
A fortnight later, taking a short cut through the Squire's coverts, I
sat down to enjoy the glory of woodland springtime. "There was a wood
and there was a smell." There certainly was; in fact I was all but
sitting upon an earth.
All this is credible enough. Now I hope you will believe the rest of
the story.
A dirty sheet of paper lay near Reynard's front doorstep. Idly
curious, I picked it up. Strange paper, a form of print that I had
never seen before; marked too with dirty pads.
It was a newspaper of sorts. Prominent notices adjured the reader to
"Write to _John Fox_ about it." The leading article was headed
"AN APPEAL."
"Foxes of Britain!" it began; "opposed though we have always been to
revolutionary politics, a clear line is indicated to us out of the
throes of the Re-birth. The old feudal relations between Foxes and
Men have had their day. The England that has been the paradise of the
wealthy, of the pink-coated, of the doubly second-horsed, must become
that of the oppressed, the hunted, the hand-to-mouth liver. In a
word, we have had enough of Fox-Hounds; henceforth we will have
Hound-Foxes."
Then the policy was outlined. Foxes could not hunt hounds--no; but
they could lead them a dog's life. They had been in the past too
sporting; thought too little of their own safety, too much of the
pleasure of the Hunt and of the reputation of its country.
Henceforth the League of Hound-Foxes would dispense justice to the
oppressors. No more forty-minute bursts over the best line in the
country; no more grass and easy fences; no more favourable crossing
points at the Whissendine Brook; no more rhapsodies in _The Field_
over "a game and gallant fox."
A Hound-Fox would be game, but not gallant. He would carry with him
a large-scale specially-marked map, showing where bullfinches were
unstormable; where the only gaps harboured on the far side a slimy
ditch; where woods were rideless; where wire was unmarked; where
railways lured to destruction--over and through each and every point
would the Hound-Fox entice the cursing Hunt.
As for the Hounds, they feared no obstacles, but they hated mockery.
_They_ should be led on to the premises of sausage factories; through
villages, to be greeted as brothers-in-the-chase by forty yelping
curs; into infant-schools (that old joke), where the delighted babes
would throw arms around their necks and call them "Doggie," until both
men and hounds would begin to question whether the game were worth the
candle.
Therefore let every eligible vulpine enroll himself to-day as a
Hound-Fox. They must be dog-foxes, rising three or over, of good
stamina, with plenty of scent, intelligent and preferably unmarried.
The League Secretary was ---- (here followed the name, earth and
covert of a well-known veteran).
There was other matter, of course. A "Grand Prize Competition--A
Turkey a Week for Life!" was announced. A humorous article on
Earth-Stoppers and, on the "Vixens' Page," a discussion as to the
edibility of Pekinese.
Absent-mindedly I crumpled up the astounding rag and thrust it down
the hole.
* * * * *
I arose stiff, bemused. The hot March sunshine and the song of
birds had left me drowsy. A glance at my watch showed me, to my
astonishment, that was tea-time. So I made my way home.
The reception of my story was as cold as the tea. They weren't such
fools, they said, as to believe it. So, knowing your larger charity,
dear Mr. Punch, I send it to you.
And I shall await that retrospective article in some Maytime _Field_,
entitled "A Season of Disasters."
* * * * *
A CRITICAL PROBLEM.
"_The Admirable Crichton_ is still one of the most captivating
of modern plays, rich in humour, scenically 'telling' and
close-packed with Barrieisms."--_Times_.
"'Crichton' is one of the most agreeable Barrie plays, because
it is so free from Barrieisms."--_Manchester Guardian_.
* * * * *
SURMISES AND SURPRISES.
The appearance of the Dean of ST. PAUL'S at a recent social gathering
not in the character of a wet blanket, but as a teller of jocund tales
and a retailer of humorous anecdotes, must not be taken as an
isolated and transient transformation, but as foreshadowing a
general conversion of writers and publicists hitherto associated with
utterances of a mordant, bitter, sardonic and pessimistic tone.