Punch, or The London Charivari, Vol. 153, November 7, 1917 by Various
V >>
Various >> Punch, or The London Charivari, Vol. 153, November 7, 1917
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 153.
November 7, 1917.
CHARIVARIA.
No sooner had the _Berliner Tageblatt_ pointed out that "Dr. MICHAELIS
was a good Chancellor as Chancellors go" than he went.
***
_The Daily Mail_ is very cross with a neutral country for holding up
their correspondent's copy. If persisted in, this sort of thing might
get us mixed up in a war.
***
A Highgate man has been fined forty shillings for feeding a horse
kept solely for pleasure upon oats. His plea, that the animal did not
generate sufficient power on coal-gas, left the Bench quite cold.
***
A ratcatcher has been granted three pounds of sugar a week until
Christmas by a rural Food Control Committee, whom he informed that
rats would not look at poison without sugar. The rats' lack of
patriotism in refusing to forego their poison in these times of
necessity is the subject of unfavourable comment.
***
There is no foundation for the report that a prominent manufacturer
identified with the Liberal Party has been offered a baronetcy if he
will contribute five pounds of sugar to the party funds.
***
No confirmation is to hand of the report that Commander BELLAIRS,
M.P., has been _spurlos versnubt_.
***
"Why can't the Navy have a Bairnsfather?" asks _The Weekly Dispatch_.
This habit of carping at the Senior Service is being carried to
abominable lengths.
***
Charged with failing to report himself, a man who lived on Hackney
Marshes stated that he did not know there was a war on, and that
nobody had told him anything about it. A prospectus of _The Times'_
History of the War has been despatched to him by express messenger.
***
Efforts of the Industrial Workers of the World to establish themselves
in this country have received no encouragement, says Sir GEORGE CAVE.
They were not even arrested and then released.
***
We trust there is no truth in the rumour that the Air Ministry Bill
has gone to a better pigeon 'ole.
***
No information has reached the Government, it was stated in the House
of Commons recently, that toasted bread is being used as a substitute
for tea. The misapprehension appears to have been caused by an
unguarded admission of certain tea merchants that they have the public
on toast.
***
We felt sure that the statement declaring that Mr. CHURCHILL had in a
recent speech referred to "my Government" would be contradicted. The
slight to _The Morning Post_ would have been too marked.
***
In a case at Bow Police Court it was stated that it took fifteen
policemen and an ambulance to remove a prisoner to the police-station.
It is supposed that the fellow did not want to go.
***
Too much importance must not be attached to the report emanating
from German sources that Count REVENTLOW has been appointed Honorary
Colonel to the Imperial Fraternisers Battalion.
***
According to _The Evening News_ a gang of thieves are "working"
the West End billiard saloons. So far no billiard tables have been
actually stolen, but a sharp look-out is being kept on men leaving the
saloons with bulgy pockets.
***
Addressing a Berlin meeting Herr STEGERWALD said, "We went to war at
the side of the Kaiser, and the All Highest will return from war with
us." If we may be permitted to say anything, we expect he will be
leading by at least a couple of lengths.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Film Producer_ (_to cinema artist hesitating on the
threshold_). "YOU'D SOONER NOT, EH? WHAT DO YOU THINK I GOT YOU
EXEMPTED FOR?"]
* * * * *
COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.
From a Native Tender for Works:--
"In last we hope to be favoured with your orders, in the
execution of which we will neglect nothing that can cause
you any inconvenience."
* * * * *
"In the past quarter there were 19 births (6 males and 13
females), comprising 10 between 1 and 65 years, and 9 65
and upwards."--_Huntingdonshire Post_.
The method of dodging the Military Service Acts adopted by these
elderly infants strikes us as distinctly unpatriotic.
* * * * *
LOOKING AHEAD.
"Comfortable Home for young lady as paying guest; every
convenience; near Cemetery."--_Local Paper_.
* * * * *
"Nothing which happens in Russia ... can alter the bare fact
that Germany is _in extremis_. I am not sure that _articula
mortis_ wouldn't be the correct term."--_John Bull_.
We, on the other hand, are quite sure it wouldn't.
* * * * *
"'Is it fresh, salt, Danish, or what?' one of the shop assistants
was asked.
'Don't know,' he replied, as he wiped the perspiration from his
brow, and into the heap of butter with his pats."--_Evening
Paper_.
The vogue of margarine is now explained.
* * * * *
"Servant (general), lady, two gentlemen; no starch."--_Scotsman_.
We are glad to see that mistresses are taking a firm line against the
prevailing stiffness of manners below stairs.
* * * * *
"Of 9,048 houses in Newport only 5,130 are occupied by one
family."--_The Western Mail_.
If full advantage were taken of the housing accommodation it appears
that Newport would contain almost two nowadays.
* * * * *
GERMAN OFFICIAL.
"Only a slight gain near Poelcapelle, 300 inches deep by 1,200
inches wide, remains to the enemy."--_Nottingham Evening Post_.
But by this time the Germans have discovered that, when they give him
an inch, Sir DOUGLAS HAIG takes an ell.
* * * * *
MORE TALK WITH GERMAN PEACEMONGERS.
(_Including an incidental reference to Mr. H.G. WELLS._)
[The writer has received a pontifical brochure by Mr. WELLS,
reprinted from _The Daily News_, sold by the International Free
Trade League and entitled "A Reasonable Man's Peace", in which
the following passage occurs:--"The conditions of peace can now
be stated in general terms that are as acceptable to a reasonable
man in Berlin as they are to a reasonable man in Paris or London
or Petrograd.... Why, then, does the waste and killing go on?
Why is not the Peace Conference sitting now? Manifestly because
a small minority of people in positions of peculiar advantage
in positions of trust and authority, prevent or delay its
assembling."]
When with another winter's horror nearing
Once more you send along the old, old dove
And frame with bloody lips that hide their leering
A canticle of love;
It has no doubt a most seductive cadence,
But we who look for argument by fact
We miss conciliation's artful aidance,
We note a want of tact.
Your words are redolent of pious unction;
Your deeds, your infamies, by sea and shore,
Go gaily on without the least compunction
Just as they went before.
We are not caught with olive-buds for baiting;
Something is needed just a shade less crude,
Something, for instance, faintly indicating
The penitential mood.
While still the stain is on your hands extended
We'll hold no commerce with your frigid spells,
Even though such a move were recommended
By Mr. H.G. WELLS.
Rather, without a break, like _Mr. Britling_
(Though the brave wooden sword his author drew
Seems to have undergone a certain whittling),
We mean to "see it through."
O.S.
* * * * *
THE GREAT MAN.
What am I doing, Dickie? Well, I'll tell you. I'm one of those
subalterns you hear of sometimes. You know the kind of things they do?
They look after their men and ask themselves every day in the line
(as per printed instructions), "Am I offensive enough?" In trenches
they are ever to the fore, bombing, patrolling, raiding, wiring and
inspecting gas helmets. Working-parties under heavy fire are as meat
and drink, rum and biscuits to them. Once every nine months, and when
all Staff officers have had three goes, they get leave in order to
give excuse for the appointment of A.P.M.'s. There are thousands of
us, and we are supposed to run the War. These are the things which
I am sure (if you get newspapers in Ceylon) jump into your mind the
moment I mention the word subaltern, and I may as well tell you that
in associating me with any one of these deeds at the present time you
are entirely wrong.
I sit in a room, an office papered with maps in all degrees of
nakedness, from the newest and purest to those woad-stained veterans
called objective maps. In this room, where regimental officers tread
lightly, speak softly and creep away, awed and impotent--HE sits.
"HE" is a G.S.O.3, or General Staff Officer, third grade. He it is
who looks after the welfare of some hundred thousand troops (when
everybody else is out). I am attached to him--not personally, be
it understood, but officially. I am there to learn how he does it
(whatever it is). High hopes, never realised, are held out to me that
if I am good and look after the office during mealtimes I shall have
a job of my very own one day--possibly two days.
And he is very good to me. He rarely addresses me directly, except
when short of matches, but he often gives me an insight into things
by talking to himself aloud. He does this partly to teach me the
reasoning processes by which he arrives at the momentous decisions
expected of a G.S.O.3, and partly because he values my intelligent
consideration.
This morning, for instance, furnished a typically brilliant example
of our co-operation. "I wonder," he said (and as he spoke I broke off
from my daily duties of writing to Her)--"I wonder what about these
Flares? Division say they want two thousand red and white changing to
green--oh no, it's the other lot; no, that _is_ right--I don't think
they _can_ want two thousand _possibly_. We might give them half for
practice purposes, or say five hundred. Still, if they say they want
two thousand I suppose they do; but then there's the question of what
we've got in hand. All right, _let them have them_."
That was one of the questions I helped to settle.
"Heavens!" he went on, "five hundred men for digging cable trenches!
No, no, I don't think. They had five hundred only the other night--no,
they didn't; it was the other fellows--no, that was the night
before-no, I was right as usual. One has so many things to think
of. Well, they can't have them, that's certain; it can't be
important--yes, it is, though, if things were to--yes, yes--_we'll
let them have them_."
You will note that he said "we." Co-operation again. I assure you I
glowed with pleasure to think I had been of so much assistance.
I had hardly got back to my letter when we started off again.
"Well, that's my morning's work done--no, it isn't--yes, no, by Jove,
there's a code word for No. 237 Filtration Unit to be thought out. No,
I shan't, they really _can't_ want one, they're too far back--still
they _might_ come up to filter something near enough to want one--no
I _won't_, it's sheer waste--still, I suppose one ought to be
prepared--oh, yes, give them one--give them the word 'strafe';
nobody's got that. Bong! That's all for to-day."
And now you know what part I play in the Great War, Dickie.
Yours, JACK.
P.S.--Just off for my morning's exercise--sharpening the Corps
Commander's pencils.
* * * * *
A "PUNCH" COT.
Some time ago Mr. Punch made an appeal on behalf of the East London
Hospital for Children at Shadwell. He has now received a letter from
the Chairman, which says: "By a unanimous resolution the Board of
Management have desired me to send you an expression of their most
grateful thanks for your help, which, it is no exaggeration to say,
has saved the Hospital from disaster." He adds that the Board "would
like to give a more practical proof of their gratitude," and proposes,
as "an abiding memorial," to set aside a Cot in the Hospital, to be
called "The Punch Cot."
It gives Mr. Punch a very sincere pleasure to convey to those who so
generously responded to his appeal this expression of the Board's
gratitude, and he begs them also to accept his own.
The sum so far contributed by Mr. Punch and his friends amounts to
L3,505.
* * * * *
[Illustration: INTERLUDE.
ST. PATRICK, "THAT'S NOT THE WAY I DEALT WITH POISONOUS REPTILES.
WHAT'S THE GOOD OF TRYING TO CHARM IT?"
MR. LLOYD GEORGE, "I'M NOT TRYING TO CHARM IT. I'M JUST FILLING IN THE
TIME."]
* * * * *
THE RECORDER.
[At the concluding session of the Museums Association Conference
in Sheffield, Councillor Nuttall, of Southport said it was
desirable that every town should make a voice record of every
soldier who returned home from the wars, describing his experience
in fighting. It would be a valuable record for future generations
of the family to know what their ancestor did in the Great War.]
In an Expeditionary Force whose vocabulary included several lurid
words there was a certain Battalion renowned for the vigour of its
language. And in that Battalion Private Thompson held a reputation
which was the envy of all. Not only had he a more varied stock of
expletives than anyone else, but he seemed to possess a unique gift
for welding them into new and wonderful combinations to meet each
fresh situation. Moreover he had an insistent manner of delivering
them which alone was sufficient to place him in a class by himself. It
was not long before many of his friends gave up trying altogether and
let Private Thompson do it all for them. It is even rumoured that on
occasions men in distant parts of the line would send for him so that
he might come and give adequate expression to feelings which they felt
to be beyond their range.
To show you the extent of his fame, it is only necessary to mention
that Lieutenant ---- composed an ode all about Private Thompson and
got it published in _Camouflage_, the trench gazette of the Nth
Division. Two of the verses went, as far as I can remember, something
like this:--
As Private Thompson used to say,
He couldn't stand the War;
He cursed about it every day
And every night he swore;
And, while a sense of discipline
Carried him on through thick and thin,
The mud, the shells, the cold, the din
Annoyed him more and more.
The words with which we others cursed
Seemed mild and harmless quips
Compared to those remarks that burst
From Private Thompson's lips;
Haven't you ever heard about
The Prussian Guard at X Redoubt,
How Thompson's language laid them out
Before we came to grips?
Anyhow, after bespattering the air of France and Flanders with a
barrage of anathemas for the best part of a year, Private Thompson did
something creditable in one of the pushes, and retired to a hospital
in England, whence he emerged a few months later with a slight limp, a
discharge certificate and a piece of coloured ribbon on his waistcoat.
Having expressed his opinion on hospital life, he returned to his
native town.
His first shock was when he was met at the station by the local band
and conducted up the Station Road and down the beflagged High Street
to the accompaniment of martial and patriotic strains. His second was
when he was confronted at the steps of the Town Hall by the Mayor and
an official gathering of the leading citizens, with an unofficial
background of the led ones, and found himself the subject of speeches
of adulation and welcome.
He was too dumbfounded to grasp all that was said, but he recovered
his senses in time to hear the Mayor assuring his audience that it
gave him great pleasure, indeed he might go so far as to say the very
greatest pleasure, to welcome on behalf of their town one who had
upheld with such distinction and bravery the reputation and honour of
the community. And that, although he did not wish to keep them any
longer, yet he must just add that he was going to ask Mr. Thompson
then and there, while the remembrance of his terrible hardships was
still fresh in his mind, to impart them to a phonograph, so that
the archives of the town might not lack direct evidence of the
experiences, if he might so express it, of her bravest citizen, and
future generations might know something of the noble thoughts that
surged in so gallant a breast in times of danger, and the fine and
honourable words with which those thoughts had been uttered.
The Mayor's peroration annoyed Thompson; the cheers that followed it
annoyed him still more, and the subsequent shower of congratulations
and vigorous slaps on the back threatened to move him to reply in a
speech which might have been unintelligible to the ladies present.
Fortunately the danger was averted. Before he could come into action
a select committee of two, specially appointed for the purpose, had
seized him by the arms and was conducting him up the steps of the Town
Hall. The rapidity and the unexpected nature of the movement threw him
out of gear, and he was forced to adopt an attitude of sullen silence
during the progress of the little party across the Council Chamber and
through a doorway leading into a small room.
This room was furnished only with a table and a chair. On the former
stood a phonograph; into the latter the Committee deposited ex-Private
Thompson and explained to him that he was desired to sit there and
in his own words to recount into the trumpet of the machine his
experiences at the Front. That becoming modesty, they added, which
hitherto had sealed his lips should now be laid aside. Posterity must
not be denied the edification of listening to a hero's story of his
share in the Great War. The phonograph was then turned on and the disc
began to revolve with a slight grating sound that set Thompson's teeth
on edge. He was about to address a few remarks to the Committee when
they tactfully withdrew, leaving him alone with the instrument.
For a few seconds he was silent. The machine rasped unchallenged
through a dozen revolutions. Then he took a deep breath and, leaning
forward, thrust his head into the yawning mouth of the trumpet.
* * * * *
His Worship has sampled the record. The session was a secret one, but
the Town has been given to understand that the disc has been sealed up
and put away for the use of posterity only.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "HERE, STICK YOUR HEAD DOWN, CHARLIE."
"WHAT--IS THERE AN ORDER COME ROUND ABOUT IT?"]
* * * * *
COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.
Letter recently received from a firm of drapers:--
"Madam,--With reference to your blue Silk Mackintosh, our
manufacturers have given the garment in question a thorough
testing, and find that it is absolutely waterproof. If you will
wear it on a dry day, and then take it off and examine it you
will see that our statement is correct.
Assuring you of our best services at all times,
We are, Madam,
Your obedient Servants,
---- & SONS, Ltd."
* * * * *
A DEAL WITH CHINA.
Fritz having killed the mule, it devolved upon the village Sanitary
Inspector to see the carcass decently interred, and on application to
the C.O. of the nearest Chinese labour camp. I presently secured the
services of two beautiful old ivory carvings and a bronze statue,
clad in blue quilted uniforms and wearing respectively, by way of
head-dress, a towel turban, a straw hat and a coiffure like an early
Victorian penwiper. It was the bronze gentleman--the owner of the
noticeable coiffure--who at once really took charge of the working
party.
He introduced himself to me as "Lurtee Lee" (his official number was
thirty-three), informed me he could "speakel Engliss," and, having
by this single utterance at once apparently proved his statement
and exhausted his vocabulary, settled down into a rapt and silent
adoration of my tunic buttons.
Before we had proceeded thirty yards he had offered me five francs
(which he produced from the small of his back) for a single button. At
the end of one hundred yards the price had risen to seven twenty-five,
and arrived upon the scene of action the Celestial grave-digger made a
further bid of eight francs, two Chinese coins (value unknown) and a
tract in his native tongue. This being likewise met with a reluctant
but unmistakable refusal, the work of excavation was commenced.
Now when three men are employed upon a pit some six feet square they
obviously cannot all work at the same time in so confined a space.
One man must in turn stand out and rest. His rest time may be spent
in divers ways.
The elder of the two ivory carvings spent his breathing spells in
philosophic reverie; the younger employed his leisure in rummaging on
the neighbouring "dump" for empty tobacco tins, which he concealed
about his person by a succession of feats of legerdemain (by the end
of the morning I estimated him to be in possession of about thirty
specimens). Lurtee Lee filled every moment of his off time in the
manufacture of a quite beautiful pencilholder--his material an empty
cartridge case, his tools a half-brick and a shoeing nail.
Slowly the morning wore on--so slowly, indeed, that at an early
period I cast aside my tunic and with spade and pick endeavoured by
assistance and example to incite my labourers to "put a jerk in it."
Noon saw the deceased mule beneath a ton or so of clay, and Lurtee
Lee, whether from gratitude or sheer camaraderie, gravely presented me
with the now completed pencil-holder. No, not a sou would he accept; I
was to take it as a gift.
At this moment a European N.C.O. from the Labour Camp came upon the
scene and kindly offered to save me a journey by escorting Lurtee Lee
and Company to quarters. They shuffled down the road, and I turned to
put on my tunic. One button was missing.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Jock_. "MAN, IT'S AN AWFU' PUIR DAY FOR FECHTIN'.'"
_Donal'_. "AY. BUT IT'S AN AWFU' GUID DAY FOE GETTIN' THE FU' WARRUMTH
AN' COMFORT OOT O' THE RUM RATION."]
* * * * *
MORE GERMAN FRIGHTFULNESS.
"Hindenburg sent a great number of bug guns to General
Boroevics."--_Daily Paper_.
* * * * *
ANOTHER IMPENDING APOLOGY.
"Early in the operations a jet of water struck the Chief
Officer of the Fire Brigade directly in the right eye,
completely blinding him for the time; and he had to be
assisted away but returned shortly after. The Brigade are
to be complimented on their work."--_Rangoon Times_.
* * * * *
"The complete cessation of the exports of opinion from
India to China is a distinct landmark in the moral progress
of the world."--_South African Paper_.
This seems rather sweeping. What about Sir RABINDRANATH TAGORE?
* * * * *
THE STEW.
FRAGMENT OF A SHAKSPEAKEAN TRAGEDY.
["There are many things with which a stew can be
thickened."--_Extract from Regimental Order_.]
SCENE I.--_Battalion Orderly-Room._
_Flourish. Enter_ Colonel _and_ Adjutant.
_Colonel._ I do mistrust the soft and temperate air
That hath so long enwrapped us. No "returns
Of bakers," visitations of the Staff,
Alarms or inquisitions have disturbed
Our ten days' rest. Nothing but casual shells
And airy bombs to mind us of the War.
_Adjutant._ Oh, Sir, thy zeal hath mated with thy conscience
And bred i' the mind mistrustful doubts and fears,
A savage brood, which being come to manhood
Do fight with sweet content and eat her up.
_Colonel._ Alas! it is the part of those who govern
To play the miser with their present good
For fear of future ill. But who comes here?
_Enter_ Messenger.
_Messenger._ So please you I am sent of General Blood
To bid you wait his coming.
_Colonel._ When?
_Messenger._ To-morrow.
He purposes to visit your command
About the dinner-hour. [_Exit._
_Colonel._ Now let th' occasion
Be servant to my wits. "The dinner-hour."
Twice hath he come; and first upon parade
Inspected all the men; the second time
The transport visited. Surmise hath grown
To certainty. He will inspect the dinners!
Go, faithful Adjutant, stir up the cooks
And bid them thicken stews and burnish pots.
_Adjutant._ I take my leave at once and go. [_Exit_ Adjutant.
_Colonel._ Farewell.
Now with elusive Chance I'll try a fall
And on the fateful issue risk my all. [_Flourish. Exit._
SCENE II.--_A kitchen. In the middle a dixie. Thunder._