Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Aug 15, 1917 by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Aug 15, 1917
"How?" I asked, for I do not share Ernest's opinion of his mastery of
the French language, but he ignored this.
"It was dark down there," he went on, "too dark for him to see that I
was in a private's uniform, so I put on a bit of side and he took me for
an officer."
"A French officer?"
"Very likely. Anyway he found me a beautiful cabin with a lovely couch
in it all covered with plush. You would have thought I should want
nothing but to be left to sleep; but no, I saw that the officer in the
next cabin had a candle, and there was no candle for me. Instantly my
worst instincts were aroused. I felt I was being put upon. I demanded a
candle. The sailor declared there wasn't one left."
"You're sure he understood what you were asking for?"
"Yes, I know that candle is boogy, thank you. I argued with him for ten
minutes and then turned in, grumbling. Queer, wasn't it?"
"Yes," I said.
I sat there for a while, thinking over Ernest's story, which had, it
seemed to me, something of the tract about it.
Later the midges began to attack us.
"Aren't these midges absolutely--" I began, and then stopped,
remembering Ernest's tract. It only shows, as I said to Ernest, that we
may learn something even from the most unlikely people.
* * * * *
"Wanted, a strong Boy, about 15 years old, for bottling, &c. The
Brewery, Brixham."
_The Western Guardian._
"Waiter, bring me a bottle of the boy."
* * * * *
"... contest the right of the Spanish authorities to intern damaged
submarines seeking refuse in neutral ports."--_Star._
The Spanish authorities are expected to reply that if that is what the
U-boats are after there is no need for them to leave home.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _First Artist._ "BY GAD! OLD PARSLEY'S SURPASSED
HIMSELF. LAMB CUTLETS, TWO CHOCOLATE CAKES AND THREE LUMPS OF SUGAR.
RATTLING GOOD SUBJECT."
_Second Artist._ "I THOUGHT OF ONE NEARLY AS GOOD, BUT COULDN'T AFFORD
THE MODELS."]
* * * * *
HEART-TO-HEART TALKS.
_(The GERMAN CROWN PRINCE and Fritz, his Valet.)_
_The Crown Prince (in bed and yawning)._ Is that you, Fritz?
_Fritz._ Yes, your Royal Highness. What uniform shall I lay out for his
Royal Highness?
_The C.P._ You can lay out the best I have--the one of the Death's Head
Hussars, with all my stars and medals. I am expecting an important
visit.
_Fritz (with a meaning smile)._ If I might venture so far, I would
suggest to his Royal Highness that he should wear the Trench uniform,
which I arranged with the bullet-holes and the mud-splashes. It creates
a greater effect, especially if the visitor be a lady.
_The C.P._ Fritz, you dog, how dare you? Very well, have it your own way
and let it be the Trench uniform.
_Fritz._ I am only anxious to promote his Royal Highness's interest in
every possible way.
_The C.P._ I know, I know. Only we shall have old HINDENBURG growling
and grunting and looking as black as a thundercloud. I cannot imagine
what my revered father sees in that old wooden effigy, whose only idea
of strategy is to retreat from strong positions. That, at any rate, is
not the fashion in which I have learnt war. I'm thoroughly tired of
hearing of all these HINDENBURG plans, which come to nothing.
_Fritz._ Your Royal Highness is, of course, right. But what I say to
myself is that the ALL-HIGHEST, your Royal Highness's most gracious
father, has in all this a deep-laid design to show conclusively that all
these HINDENBURG plans mean nothing, so that in the end true skill and
merit may have a chance, and the chief command may be placed in the only
hands that are fit to exercise it. Oh, yes, I know what I'm talking
about, and everyone I meet says the same.
_The C.P._ I have always felt that that must be so. No matter, a time
will come. By the way, Fritz, have you packed up the _Sevres_
dinner-service?
_Fritz._ I have already packed six from as many different French and
Belgian houses, and have sent them to Berlin, according to your Royal
Highness's directions. Which does your Royal Highness refer to?
_The C.P._ I mean the one with the simple pattern of pink flowers and
the coat-of-arms.
_Fritz._ Yes, that I have packed like the rest and have sent off.
_The C.P._ And the silver dishes and the lace?
_Fritz._ Yes, they have all gone.
_The C.P._ Good. And the clocks?
_Fritz._ Yes, I did in every case what your Royal Highness ordered me to
do.
_The C.P._ And you packed them, I hope, with the greatest care?
_Fritz._ I did; nothing, I am certain, will suffer damage.
_The C.P._ Excellent. War is, no doubt, a rough and brutal affair, but
at least it cannot be said that we Prussians do not behave like
gentlemen.
_Fritz._ Your Royal Highness speaks, as always, the plain truth. How
different from the degenerate French and the intolerable English.
_The C.P._ Yes, Fritz; and now you can go. Stay; there was something I
wanted to ask you. Dear me, I am losing my memory. Ah! I have it. How is
my offensive getting on? Has any news come in from the _Chemin des
Dames_?
_Fritz._ Your Royal Highness's offensive has not advanced to any great
extent. The French last night recaptured all their positions and even
penetrated into ours.
_The C.P._ Did they? How very annoying. Somebody bungled, of course.
Well, well, I shall have to put it right when I have time. Have you
finished laying out my uniform? Yes. Then you can go.
* * * * *
THE HUMILIATION OF THE PALFREY.
Where is she now, the pride of the battalion,
That ambled always at the Colonel's side,
A fair white steed, like some majestic galleon
Which takes deliberate the harbour tide,
So soft, so slow, she scarcely seems to stir?
And that, indeed, was very true of her
Who was till late, so kind her character,
The only horse the Adjutant could ride.
Ever she led the regiment on its journeys,
And held sweet converse with the Colonel's gee:
Of knights, no doubt, and old heroic tourneys,
And how she bare great ladies o'er the lea;
And on high hill-sides, when the men felt dead,
Far up the height they viewed her at the head,
A star of hope, and shook themselves, and said,
"If she can do it, dammit, so can we!"
But where is now my Adjutantial palfrey?
In front no longer but in rear to-day,
Behind the bicycles, and not at all free
To be familiar with the General's gray,
She walks in shame with all those misanthropes,
The sad pack-animals who have no hopes
But must by men be led about on ropes,
Condemned till death to carry S.A.A.,
And bombs, and beef, and officers' valises;
And I at eve have marked my wistful mare
By thronging dumps where cursing never ceases
And rations come, for oft she brings them there,
Patient, aloof; and when the shrapnel dropp'd
And the young mules complained and kicked and hopp'd,
She only stood unmoved, with one leg propp'd,
As if she heard it not or did not care;
Or heard, maybe, but hoped to get a Blighty;
For on her past she lately seemed to brood
And dreamed herself once more among the mighty,
By grooms beloved and reverently shoed;
But now she has no standing in the corps,
And Death itself would hardly be a bore,
Save that, although she carries me no more,
'Tis something still to carry up my food.
A.P.H.
* * * * *
THE WAR-NOTE IN EXAMINATIONS.
Extract from Smith Minor's Scripture paper:--
"And when Jephthah saw his daughter coming to meet him he was
very much upset. But he had to keep to his vow, so he gave her
two months' leave and then he killed her."
* * * * *
Quoting a European statesman, saying the war would be won by the
last 500,000 bushels of what, Mr. Hoover said."--_New York
Times_.
We trust Mr. HOOVER will hurry up with his peroration.
* * * * *
"I feel that I might claim almost a special kinship with Baron
Sonnino, because I believe his mother was a Welsh lady."
_"Weekly Dispatch" Report of Premier's Speech._
"Baron Sonnino, by the way, who is of half-Scottish extraction,
speaks English perfectly. How many of the master minds at our
Foreign Office speak Italian perfectly?"
_"Weekly Dispatch" Secret History of the Week._
But in fairness to the "master minds" it should be remembered that few
of them have the advantage of a Scotch father and a Welsh mother.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Hospital Wardmaid (who has shown the new matron into her
room)._--"WELL, I MUST SAY I HOPE YOU'VE COME TO STAY. YOU'LL BE THE
SIXTH MATRON I'VE TRAINED."]
* * * * *
AT THE PLAY.
"THE BETTER 'OLE."
I must congratulate Mr. CHARLES COCHRAN on his courage in transforming
the Oxford Music-hall into a home of "the legitimate," and still more on
his good fortune in securing for the initiation of his new venture the
play which Captain BRUCE BAIRNSFATHER and Captain ARTHUR ELIOT have
written round the adventures of "Old Bill." In form it resembles a
_revue_, but I prefer to call it a play, because it possesses a plot,
distinct if slight--an encumbrance banned by most _revue_ producers; and
because it contains an abundance of honest spontaneous fun. The authors
start with the advantage, if it be an advantage, that the principal
characters are already familiar to the audience through the medium of
Captain BAIRNSFATHER's popular drawings; but they have not been content
with reproducing their well-known, now almost hackneyed, adventures, but
have added many others which are new and yet "come into the picture."
Their greatest piece of luck was in finding a comedian exactly fitted to
fill the part of the humble hero. Mr. ARTHUR BOURCHIER as _Old Bill_ is
absolutely "it." His make-up is perfect; he might have stepped out of
the drawing, or sat for it, whichever you please. But, much more than
that, he seems to have exactly realised the sort of man _Old Bill_
probably is in real life--slow-speaking and stolid in manner, yet with a
vein of common-sense underlying his apparent stupidity; much addicted to
beer and other liquids, but not brutalized thereby; and, while often
grousing and grumbling, nevertheless possessed almost unconsciously of a
strong sense of duty and an undaunted determination to see it through.
It is a tribute to the essential truthfulness of Captain BAIRNSFATHER'S
conception and Mr. BOURCHIER'S acting that one comes away from _The
Better 'Ole_ feeling that there must be thousands of _Old Bills_ at the
Front fighting for our freedom.
Admirable work is done, too, by Mr. TOM WOOTTWELL as _Bert_, the
incorrigible amorist, for whom each new girl is "the only girl," and who
has an apparently inexhaustible supply of identity-discs to leave with
them as "sooveneers"; and by Mr. SINCLAIR COTTER as _Alf_, the cynical
humourist--"Where were you eddicated, Eton or Harrod's?" is one of his
best _mots_--who spends most of his time in wrestling with an automatic
cigar-lighter. I think it would be only poetical justice if in the
concluding scene, when _Old Bill_ comes into his own, the authors were
for once to allow _Alf_ to succeed in lighting his "fag."
Of the many ladies who add charm to the entertainment I can only mention
Miss EDMEE DORMEUIL, who as _Victoire_ has an important share in the
plot and saves _Old Bill's_ life; Miss GOODIE REEVE, who sings some
capital songs; and Miss PEGGY DORAN, who looks bewitching as an officer
of the Woman Workers' Corps. The music, arranged by Mr. HERMAN DAREWSKI,
is catchy and not uncomfortably original: and the scenery, designed by
Captain BAIRNSFATHER, gives one, I should say, as good an idea of the
trenches as one can get without going there. In fine I would parody _Old
Bill_ and say, "If you knows of a better show, go to it!"
L.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Perfect stranger (to Jones, who has not forgotten
Willie's birthday)._ "AIN'T YOU ASHAMED TO GO BATTING THESE DAYS?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "NAH, ALL THEM AS IS WILLIN' TO COME ALONG O' ME, PLEASE
SIGNIFY THE SAME IN THE USUAL MANNER. CARRIED UNANIMOUSLY."]
* * * * *
TO A MODERN MUSE.
O Metaphasia, peerless maid,
How can I fitly sing
The priceless decorative aid
To dialogue you bring,
Enabling serious folk, whose brains
Are commonplace and crude,
To soar to unimagined planes
Of sweet ineptitude.
Changed by your magic, common-sense
Nonsensical appears,
And stars of sober influence
Shoot madly from their spheres.
You lure us from the beaten track,
From minding P.'s and Q.'s,
To paths where white is always black
And pies resemble pews.
Strange beasts, more strange than the giraffe,
You conjure up to view,
The flue-box and the forking-calf,
Unknown at any Zoo;
And new vocations you unfold,
Wonder on wonder heaping,
Hell-banging for the over-bold,
And toffee-cavern keeping.
With you we hatch the pasty snipe,
And all undaunted face
Huge fish of unfamiliar type--
Bush-pike and bubble-dace;
Or, fired by hopes of lyric fame,
We deviate from prose,
And make it our especial aim
Bun-sonnets to compose.
I wonder did the ancients prove
Responsive to your spell,
Or, riveted to Reason's groove,
Against your charms rebel.
And yet some senator obese,
In Rome long years ago,
May have misnamed a masterpiece
_De Gallo bellico_.
We know there were heroic men
Ere AGAMEMNON'S days,
Who passed forgotten from our ken,
Lacking a poet's praise;
But, though great Metaphasiarchs
Have doubtless flourished sooner,
I'm sure their raciest remarks
Have been eclipsed by S-----r.
* * * * *
THE LIMIT.
"The daily cost of the war has shown an alarming tendency to
mount, and has gone beyond the 700 millions which some folk
thought must be the limit a few months ago."
_Sussex Daily News._
* * * * *
"Junior Assistant wanted to Grocery, Spirit and Provision
business; send copy references and salary expected."--_Irish
Paper._
Quite a promising idea for getting more capital into a business.
* * * * *
INVENTIONS.
"Amongst a number of new inventions," says the _Frankfischer Tagwacht_,
"is an imitation of the smell of Limburger cheese." This has caused some
alarm and not a little interest in this country, as the following
extracts will show:--
"Berlin Resident" states that he has too long been fed up with imitation
meals, and for weeks past has had nothing to eat but holes from
Limburger.
"Cynic" remarks that it is impossible for the German scientists to
defeat the WOLFF wireless at inventions.
Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL is anxious to know whether they have yet
discovered a substitute for _The Morning Post_.
_The Times_ Greenwich correspondent wires: "If they have invented a
method whereby a news report will make a noise like 'Passed by Censor'
will they wire terms?"
* * * * *
Inscription on a French picture post-card:--
"Une locomotive abandonee devant Thiepval. One locomotive a
profligate woman forepart Thiepval."
Smith minor is avenged.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE REAL VOICE OF LABOUR.
TOMMY. "SO YOU'RE GOING TO STOCKHOLM TO TALK TO FRITZ, ARE YOU? WELL,
I'M GOING BACK TO FRANCE TO _FIGHT_ HIM."]
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
_Monday, August 6th._--This being Bank Holiday and the first fine day
after a week's downpour, Members for the most part stayed away from
Westminster. Some, it is charitably supposed, have gone to look after
their allotments. Others, it is believed, have been kept away by a
different reason. The taxicab-drivers, men constitutionally averse from
extortion, have refused to enter the railway-station yards so long as
the companies persist in exacting from them a whole penny for the
privilege. Consequently some of our week-ending legislators are reported
to be interned at Waterloo and Paddington, sitting disconsolately upon
their portmanteaux. As an appeal to the Board of Trade elicited nothing
more from Mr. G. ROBERTS than a disclaimer of personal responsibility,
it is expected that redress will be sought from the Taxi-cabinet.
Mr. HENDERSON'S dual personality continues to arouse curiosity. There
was some justification for Mr. KING'S inquiry whether he went to
Petrograd as a Ministerial _Jekyll_ or a Labourist _Hyde_. Mr. BONAR LAW
assured the House that on this occasion at least Mr. HENDERSON went
purely as a Cabinet Minister, guiltless of any duplicity.
Mr. PROTHERO enlivened the discussion on the Corn Production Bill by a
new clause providing that where a farmer failed to destroy the rabbits
on his land the Board of Agriculture should have power to do it for him
and recover the expenses incurred. Sir JOHN SPEAR expected that in some
cases the rabbits secured would more than defray the cost of the
capture, and declared that unless the farmer was allowed to keep the
rabbits the Government would be guilty of "profiteering." As other
agricultural Members appeared to share this view, Mr. PROTHERO, most
obliging of Ministers, agreed to alter the word "cost" to "net cost." I
hope no litigious farmer will seek to evade his liabilities on the
ground that, as the Act only says "net cost," he need not pay for the
ferrets.
_Tuesday, August 7th._--Those peers who were supposed to be shaking in
their shoes at the thought of Lord SELBORNE'S impending revelations as
to the means by which they acquired their honours might have spared
their tremors. He opened his bag to-day, but no cat jumped out, not even
the smallest kitten. If he had given a single concrete example of a peer
who, having notoriously no public services at his back, must be presumed
to have purchased his title, he would have created some effect. But the
admission that all his information on the subject was confidential cut
the ground from under his feet; and needless to say none of the Peers
whom he hypothetically accused of buying their coronets responded to his
appeal by standing forth in a white sheet and making open confession of
his crime.
[Illustration: THE FOUNT OF HONOUR AT WORK.
LORD CURZON CAN HARDLY BELIEVE IT.]
Lord SELBORNE was one of three heirs to peerages who a generation ago
banded themselves together to resist elevation to the House of Lords.
Another of them is Lord CURZON, who answered him to-night, and whose
contempt for the Chamber which he now adorns seems to have grown with
the years that he has spent in it. Reading between the lines of his
speech a cynic could only infer that the Upper House, as at present
constituted, is such a useless and superfluous assembly that it does not
much matter who gets into it or by what venal ladder he climbs.
The only peers who ventured to get to close quarters with the scandal
were Lord KNUTSFORD, who told a moving tale of how a potential baronet
diverted L25,000 from the London Hospital to a certain party fund, and
thereby achieved his purpose; and Lord SALISBURY, who declared from his
knowledge of Prime Ministers that they were sick of administering the
system of which Lord CURZON was so ostentatiously ignorant.
[Illustration: WINSTON'S GIFT TO HIS NEW PRIVATE SECRETARY, MR.
MACCALLUM SCOTT.]
Many reasons have been assigned for Mr. CHURCHILL'S reinclusion in the
Ministry, but I am inclined to think that the real one has only just
been discovered. Mr. MACCALLUM SCOTT is one of the most pertinacious
inquisitors of the Treasury Bench; he is also a whole-souled admirer of
the Member for DUNDEE, and has written a book in eulogy of his
achievements by sea and land. Mr. CHURCHILL has rewarded this devotion
by appointing Mr. SCOTT his private secretary, and, as it is contrary to
Parliamentary etiquette for a Member holding this position to
interrogate other Ministers, has thereby conferred a distinct benefit
upon his new colleagues. Mr. LLOYD GEORGE is now reported to be on the
look-out for other statesmen in whom Mr. HOGGE and Mr. PRINGLE repose a
similar trust, but so far without success; and it is thought that his
only chance is to make Mr. PRINGLE an Under-Secretary on condition that
he takes Mr. HOGGE as his _ame damnee_, or _vice versa_.
_Wednesday, August 8th._--Lord BURNHAM shocked some of the more ancient
peers by his skittish references to the coming Conference on the Second
Chamber. When he expressed the hope that Lord CURZON would make an
explicit statement, on the ground that their Lordships' House was in no
need of a soporific, I fully expected one of the occupants of the
mausoleum to rise and reprove him in the words of Dr. JOHNSON, "Sir, in
order to be facetious it is not necessary to be indecent."
The advent of the feminine lawyer was rendered a little nearer when her
champions successfully held up a Bill promoted by the Incorporated Law
Society until the Government undertook to find time for the discussion
of a measure enabling women to become solicitors. Already _Shylock_ is
trembling at the prospect.
_Thursday, August 9th_.--When the House on two successive occasions
rejected Proportional Representation it was generally thought that
nothing more would be heard of the other proposals for securing minority
representation. To-night, however, after a brisk debate, the
"Alternative vote" in three-cornered contests was saved in a free
division by a single vote; and it was further decided that "P.R." itself
should be adopted at University elections, despite the unanimous
opposition of the University Representatives.
* * * * *
THE CHOICE.
The bright August sun certainly made the dining-room paper look dingy.
It was a plain, self-coloured paper, but we were rather attached to it,
and didn't like the idea of a change.
But there seemed no help for it, so I arranged to leave my office early
on Friday afternoon, meet Alison at the Marble Arch tube station and go
with her to choose a new paper.
When we reached the wall-paperer's lair we were ushered by an immaculate
personage into a room that looked more like the dining-room of a private
house than a part of business premises.
"Perhaps," I said, in an awed whisper, "you don't care to have anything
to do with such trifling things as--er--wall-paper?"
"Indeed we do," said the nobleman. "Most important things, wall-papers.
Where did you want it for?"
"For a room in my house, of course," I said. "Not for the garden."
"Oh, not for the garden. And what sort of house is yours?" he asked.
"A very nice house," I said.
"I meant what was the style of the house--Jacobean, Georgian?"
"Brixtonian rococo outwardly," I said, "as far as I can judge; but very
snug inside. No doubt you could show us something we should like which
would also satisfy your sense of propriety."
"I think it might be managed," he said, waving his hand towards two or
three giant books of patterns.
"What we want," I said, "is something meaty."
"Ah, for the dining-room," he said.
"Well, it's a courtesy title," I said, "but really in these hard times
we have reduced economy to such a fine art that I thought a wall-paper
with body in it might help matters."
"I think I catch the idea," said the marquis. "Something that would make
you feel more satisfied after dinner than you otherwise would feel, as
it were."
"My dear Sir," I said, "you have hit it exactly. Yours is a sympathetic
nature. How readily you have divined my thoughts! No doubt you too are
suffering."
He sighed almost audibly. "How is the room furnished?" he said.
"Leading features," I said, "a Welsh dresser, rush-bottomed chairs,
gate-legged table, bookcases--"
"Saxe-blue carpet," said Alison.
"A most important detail," Lord Bayswater said. "Don't you think
something of a chintzy nature would ... etc."
Both Alison and I agreed that a prescription of that kind might possibly
... etc.
I don't know what is comprised under the term chintzy, but it appeared
to be a comprehensive one, for the nobleman descanted on the merits of
the following patterns among others:--
(1) Cockatoos on trees, cockatooing.
(2) Pheasants on trees, eating blackberries.
(3) Other birds on trees, doing nothing in particular.
(4) Roses, in full bloom, half bloom, fading, falling.
(5) Forget-me-nots in bunches, ready for sale.
(6) Grapes doing whatever it is that grapes do.
(7) Other flowers and fruits, also acting after the manner of their
kind.
Many other patterns were shown us and we spent an hour or two looking at
them. Our host tried hard to push the cockatoos on to us. His idea was
that the pattern would act as wallpaper and pictures combined. Alison's
idea was that there would be too many portraits of cockatoos round the
room, and I maintained that the wretched birds looked so realistic that
I should certainly feel I ought to be giving them some food, and this
would of course hardly assist my idea. The noes had it.