Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Dec. 19, 1917 by Various
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 153
DECEMBER 19, 1917
CHARIVARIA.
GENERAL ALLENBY having announced that all the holy places in Jerusalem
will be protected, the KAISER is about to issue a manifesto to his
Turkish subjects, pointing out that so much time has elapsed since he
was there in 1898 that the place can no longer be considered as holy
as it was.
***
It is now stated that the leader of the Sinn Feiners is an American
citizen. It is hardly likely, however, in view of the friendly
relations prevailing between ourselves and the United States, that
the point will be pressed.
***
Another lengthy pamphlet on the subject of cheese has been issued by
the FOOD-CONTROLLER. The Department now claims that there is no excuse
for even the simplest grocer failing to recognise a cheese when he
sees it.
***
A painful story comes from the North of England. It appears that a man
left his home saying that he would obtain a pound of Devonshire butter
or die. He was only thirty-four years of age.
***
A leaflet containing President WILSON'S recent speech to Congress
has been passed by the CENSOR, who, however, does not wish it to be
understood that he could not have improved on it if he had cared to.
***
A grave state of affairs is reported by a New York paper. It appears
that America will shortly ask Mexico to make revolutions a criminal
offence. They'll be stopping baseball next.
***
A question put by Mr. FIELD in the House of Commons suggested that
M.P.s should travel on railways free of charge. The chief objection
seems to be that they would be sure to want return tickets.
***
A domestic servant points out in a contemporary that she has worked
from seven in the morning until ten o'clock at night for six months
without a break. Another domestic who holds the smash-as-smash-can
record wonders where this poor girl learnt her business.
***
Discussing the London taxi strike a contemporary remarks that both
sides ought to meet. Failing that, we think that at least one side
might meet.
***
Writing to _The Evening News_ a Maidstone gentleman protested against
the action of the authorities who covered up the Tank in Trafalgar
Square on Sundays. On the first Sunday it seems that somebody tripped
over it.
***
There appears to be an epidemic of trouble in the animal world.
An elephant at the Zoo has just died, while only a few days ago
a travelling crane collapsed at Glasgow.
***
Burglars who looted an Oxford Street shop last week obtained admission
by making a hole through a brick wall. It is supposed the shop door
was closed.
***
Surely it is only hindering matters for people to keep writing to the
Press on the matter of the appointment of a Minister of Health. It
seems to be overlooked that so far _The Daily Mail_ has not indicated
who should be appointed to that position.
***
The Government having reaffirmed their statement that they have "no
further fear of submarines," it is felt to be high time that someone
in authority should break it to the U-boats that they might as well
give it up and go home.
***
The gentleman who wrote to the Press offering to sell eggs at _4s.
7d._ a dozen has since explained that he merely wanted to show how
much higher the market price is than his would have been if he had
really had any eggs to sell.
***
We understand that it has not yet been decided in Berlin what the
Sultan of TURKEY thinks of the capture of Jerusalem.
***
Four letters of QUEEN ELIZABETH have just been sold by auction.
Strangely enough, nothing is said in them about her having no quarrel
with the Spanish people, but only with their Monarch.
***
"Is the potato the saviour of the Fatherland?" asks the _Deutsche
Tageszeitung_. Another slight to the ALL-HIGHEST.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Both together_. "NOW, MY MAN, WHY DON'T YOU SALUTE
WHEN YOU PASS AN OFFICER?"]
* * * * *
From a review of Lord LISTER'S "Life":--
"It was in Edinburgh that he struck his most famous patient,
Henley, who has a record of the 'Chief' in his rhymes and
rhythms, 'In Hospital.'"--_Daily Paper_.
But it was not in reference to this incident that HENLEY wrote, "My
head is bloody but unbowed."
* * * * *
"If all fools were rationed there could be no fixed
scale."--_Star_.
Of course not; we have always noticed that the bigger the fool the
more he eats.
* * * * *
"Bassano is a nice town, by a dam site."--_Canadian Paper_.
But a Canadian friend tells us there are others "a dam sight nicer."
* * * * *
"The German government has a terrific explosive, which is being
held in reserve to the last.... It is said that a bomb weighing
scarcely ten kilometres can annihilate everything within a radius
of two thousand feet."--_New York Herald_.
We do not mind saying that we are frankly afraid of a bomb that weighs
about six miles.
* * * * *
"TIPPERARY BURGLARY.--Tipperary Temperance Club premises have been
gurgled."--_Cork Examiner_.
GILBERT'S burglar up-to-date: "He loves to hear the Temperance Club
a-gurgling."
* * * * *
"General Allenby, no doubt, will go in due time to the House of
Lords, and military men are taking a jocular interest in his
selection of a title. Lord Bathsheba might serve, or Lord Hebron.
Lord Jerusalem smacks of the jocose."--_Birmingham Daily Post_.
For our part we thought "Lord Bathsheba" rather funny too.
* * * * *
AN HISTORICAL CURIOSITY.
"At Blenheim is a small glass-topped table, which contains the
sword of the great Duke of Marlborough, also a letter addressed by
him to Sarah Duchess from the field of Waterloo."--_The Queen_.
* * * * *
OUR PACIFISTS.
Far as my humble daily round extends,
There's none but longs to see us lay the foe low;
I cannot trace upon my list of friends
A solitary instance of a Bolo;
So that I've sometimes nursed a doubt
Whether there are such lots of them about.
But now, when that _Gazette_ in which I read
(To learn its views on any given matter
And so avoid 'em) hints that no such breed
Exists among us, save in idle chatter,
I am convinced the country reeks
With these unnatural and noisome freaks.
Only the worst are out for German pay;
Some claim ideals on the loftiest level;
Peace (and a fig for Honour) is their lay--
Peace and the Brotherhood of man and devil;
They love all sorts beneath the sun--
Even an Englishman; but best a Hun.
They save the choicest of their tears to shed
For those who break all laws divine and human;
They'd bid the dead past cover up its dead,
Forgetful of our murdered, child and woman;
Forgetful of our drowned who sleep
Without a grave beneath the wandering deep.
I know not how or when this War will close,
But this I know: unless my brain goes rotten,
Never will I clasp hand with hand of those,
False to their blood, who'd have these things forgotten,
Who want a peace untimely made
Before the uttermost account is paid.
Thirty years on, when weak with age, I might
Possibly talk to some repentant Teuton;
But, while I still can tell a knave at sight
And have enough of strength to keep a boot on,
Only in one way will I get
In touch with samples of the Bolo Set.
O.S.
* * * * *
THE CADET'S FRIEND.
MISUNDERSTOOD.--You were in the wrong. The custom of throwing
chicken-bones over the right shoulder is practised only in the mess of
the 13th Bavarian Landsturm Regiment. Still, considering that you had
only joined that day, we think your colonel acted hastily.
AS YOU WERE (and several other Correspondents).--The executive order
for the new combined movement of "About turn and left incline" is
given when the joint of the left big toe is opposite the right instep
(in Rifle regiments substitute right for left and left for right).
SUBALTERN.--Your company commander is without authority for reproving
you for shaving off your moustache. All the same, judging by the
photograph you enclose, we think you would be wise to keep as much of
your face covered as possible.
FIELD-MARSHAL'S BATON.--No, you are mistaken in supposing that a
private soldier under close arrest may spend two hours daily in the
regimental canteen. The only stimulant allowed him is one glass (2
oz., Mark IV.) of port daily with the orderly officer when the latter
inspects the guardroom.
SUFFERER.--(1) No, White Star gas is never employed by army dentists.
(2) No, you need not take your respirator with you. You hire the
anaesthetist's at a small charge.
PINK RATS.--You assume that if you were appointed a mopper-up you
would _ex-officio_ be put in charge of the rum-ration. This is not the
case. The function of moppers-up is to collect souvenirs for the new
Great War Museum, to be housed in one of the four remaining London
hotels.
OBSERVER.--German minnenwerfer are not dangerous if their flight is
carefully watched, as they swerve to the left, and their landing-place
can thus be fairly accurately judged. Two varieties, however--the
windupwerfer and the hoppitwerfer--swerve to the right. The
googliwerfer swerves both ways.
SOCIABLE.--The correct method of dealing with snipers in a house is to
ring the front-door bell with the thumb and forefinger of the right
hand, at the same time smartly inserting a charge of cordite into the
letter-box with the left. Indents for postmen's uniforms for this
purpose should be rendered to D.A.D.O.S. in triplicate.
STATISTICIAN.--The world's record is held by the adjutant of the
pioneer battalion of the 371st Silesian Foot Regiment. There is
unimpeachable evidence to prove that he was heard drinking gravy soup
from a distance of 477 metres. The night was calm.
* * * * *
IF THE PAPER SHORTAGE INCREASES.
(_SOME FUTURE PRESS ITEMS._)
FICTION FAMINE IN THE PROVINCES.
From many districts come reports of great difficulty in obtaining
novels. Yesterday in a well-known Midland town the unusual sight
was observed of long queues outside the chief booksellers'. Several
libraries displayed notices bearing the words, "No GARVICE to-day";
and quite early in the afternoon best quality BENSONS were practically
unobtainable, even by regular customers.
FIRST CONDITIONAL SALE PROSECUTION.
Much interest has been roused in East Anglia over the fine of one
hundred pounds inflicted by the Bench upon a local bookseller, found
guilty of the Conditional Sale of Fiction. The chief witness, a
retired stockbroker, proved that defendant refused to supply his
order for a shilling's worth of O. HENRY unless he also purchased
a remainder copy of _Wanderings Round Widnes_ (published at
twelve-and-six net). The Chairman, remarking that the case was a
specially flagrant one, expressed a hope that the result would
protect the public from such imposition in future.
VALUABLE DISCOVERY.
In view of the serious shortage in reliable fiction, nothing less
than a sensation is likely to result from the reported discovery of an
entirely satisfactory BARCLAY substitute in tabloid form. Should the
tidings prove well authenticated, the patrons of circulating libraries
will have good reason for satisfaction. The new preparation is said to
be even sweeter than the original article, and equally sustaining.
FICTION CARDS COMING.
On inquiry at the Albert Hall (recently taken over as offices by the
Literature Control Committee), our representative was emphatically
assured that, should the system of voluntary romance-rationing prove
unsatisfactory, some form of compulsion will become inevitable. It was
pointed out that the indicated maximum of one novel or magazine per
head weekly is amply sufficient for all reasonable requirements. The
attention of the public is further called to the need of making the
fullest and most economical use of the allowance, and not wasting
the advertisement pages, which contain much readable and stimulating
matter, the patent medicine paragraphs especially being rich in the
finest imaginative fiction.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE NEED OF MEN.
MR. PUNCH (_to the Comber-out_). "MORE POWER TO YOUR ELBOW, SIR. BUT
WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO FILL UP THAT SILLY GAP?"
SIR AUCKLAND GEDDES. "HUSH! HUSH! WE'RE WAITING FOR THE MILLENNIUM."]
* * * * *
"CHOCKCHAW;"
OR, BIG-WIGS AT PLAY.
Somebody in the Old Country discovered, with the aid of a hint or
two, that the tooth (exact molar not specified) of the General Staff
Officer 3 was sweet. As a natural result a certain famous firm of
confectioners was indented upon heavily. Day in, day out, perspiring
orderlies arrived festooned with parcels containing all kinds of
wonderful things crammed with all sorts of wonderful surprises. Life
in the General Staff Office resolved itself into four meals a day
between sweetmeats. The whole routine underwent a complete change.
Everyone who visited the place made, as a matter of course, a bee
line for the General Staff Canteen cupboard, and while searching for
the particular dainty he fancied broached the subject of his visit in
general terms. He then turned to the officer he was addressing and
politely offered him the kind of delicacy he thought would blend best
with the matter in hand.
And then Chockchaw arrived. It began by letting the G.S.O.3 down
badly the first day. All unsuspicious of its properties he rang up a
Division, popped a piece into his mouth and waited. In due time the
call came through, but no word could he utter. "Chockchaw lockjaw" had
set in. Only a horrible sound like the squelching of ten gum-boots in
the mud reached the indignant Staff at the other end. After a minute's
monologue they rang off in disgust.
Yet in spite of all difficulties the vogue of Chockchaw swept through
the Corps. It is such a ripe, rich, full-flavoured irresistible
concoction. Disadvantages there are, of course, but, on the other
hand, if you want to be quiet, it is easy to lure the unsuspecting
intruder on to Chockchaw and leave it at that. After vain efforts the
poor fellow usually creeps away like a cat with too big a bone and
chews himself back to speech round the corner. He seldom returns, and
if he does--there is always more Chockchaw. Should he refuse it this
time you can take a piece yourself and save the trouble of answering,
anyway.
Chockchaw entailed more perilous chances than at first appeared
probable. Indeed at one time it looked like seriously impeding the
course of final victory.
On a certain brown November day the G.S.O.2 suddenly jumped up from
his chair, ran to the Canteen cupboard, popped a piece of Chockchaw
into his mouth (because he had a difficult March Table to make out and
needed sustenance) and fell to work whistling like an ordinary human
being (who cannot whistle). I.O. (not the gadfly, but the Intelligence
Officer) dropped in with his usual list of suspected hostile
emplacements. He took Chockchaw in case he was asked pertinent
questions. He has to be _so_ careful what he gives away unofficially.
He knows so _much_. Germans try to steal his summaries to find out
what their own intentions really are. The A.D.C. dropped in for his
usual morning chat and Chockchaw. The Staff Officer R.A. (S.O.R.A.),
that inveterate sweet-guzzler, also dropped in.
"Hullo, what are you fellows munching?" asked the General, coming in
muddied all over. "Give me a bit; I've had no breakfast. What's the
news, Intelligence?" (No answer) "Is that Move Order done, by the
way?" (No answer.) "Why, what the--Good Lord, I'm _stuck_! What
stuff is this you've given me?" And there they all stood chumping in
silence.
The telephone rang. The absurdity of a dumb Staff tickled everybody.
They winked their appreciation of the situation at one another. Not to
be able to say "Thank you" on being instructed "with reference to my
telegram of to-day for L/Cpl. Plunkett read L/Cpl. Plonkett," appealed
to them. Amidst the chuckles and gluggels of all, the G.S.O.3 was
obliged to lift the receiver. Something of the seriousness of the
occasion must have communicated itself to the others, for they crowded
round him, mumbling and munching sympathetically. Speechless, the
poor fellow wrote hastily on a buff slip of paper a Name, and passed
it round. It was the name of an Excessively Resplendent One, whose
lightest word results in headlines in the less expensive daily press.
A frightful panic came over all. What--a General Staff ceasing to
function even for a minute? It was unthinkable. The news would
be flashed through to all concerned and become the subject of
conversation in ten thousand messes that evening. It must not be.
Never was there such a kneading and gnashing of teeth. But to no
purpose. You cannot hurry Chockchaw; time, and time alone, will defeat
it. The General tried to pack it all into one cheek. Useless; to
attempt to sculpture in seccotine would have been a simpler task. The
G.S.O.2 tried a frontal swallow, but only lined his throat more and
more thickly until respiration became difficult. The S.O.R.A. nearly
swallowed his tongue. The A.D.C., having cricked his jaw in the first
five seconds, counted ten and threw up the sponge. The voice at the
telephone became louder and more insistent. Flushed, hot and flurried,
the G.S.O.3 thrust the receiver into the hands of the G.S.O.2, who
handed it on to the General, who dropped it. Nobody spoke. Only the
crackling and cackling voice could be heard from the receiver as it
hung face downwards at the end of its cord.
It was a moment demanding imagination. Naturally the Intelligence
Officer felt the responsibility. He stepped forward, slapped the
mouthpiece three times with the palm of his hand, rang off, rang on
and slapped it again. The effect at the other end must have been
horrible, but it achieved its purpose. By the time connection had been
restored and the blood of the Signal Master demanded, the A.D.C. had
cheated with a handkerchief and was able to gasp out that the Corps
Commander would enjoy seeing the Resplendent One any time that day.
Thus the honour of the General Staff was saved, the Intelligence
Officer vindicated and the vogue of Chockchaw brought to an untimely
end.
"You ought," said the General severely to the G.S.O.3--"you ought to
be unstuck for bringing such stuff into the office."
"I have never wished so hard in my life, Sir, to be unstuck," said he.
* * * * *
[Illustration: IN THE TOWER DISTRICT.
"SAY, GUV'NOR, YER MIGHT RESERVE A COUPLE OF FIRST-CLASS DUNGEONS FOR
ME AN' MY FRIENDS ON THE NEXT RAID NIGHT."]
* * * * *
THE SUPERIOR SEX.
"You are late again," said Clara, as I entered our domestic portal.
"What is it this time?"
Gently but firmly I explained the reason. A certain amount of tact was
necessary, for my wife does not care for any remarks that appear to
reflect upon her sex.
"Owing to the present abnormal state of things, my dear," I said, "our
office is now almost entirely staffed by women. In many ways this is
an improvement. Their refining influence upon the dress and deportment
of the few remaining male members of the staff is distinctly
noticeable. But there are, I regret to say, certain drawbacks.
Admittedly our superiors in many respects, in others they are not,
I am afraid, equal to the situation. Take, for instance, matters of
detail where you--I mean they--should excel. I asked Miss Philpott to
write a letter--"
"Did you post that letter for me this morning?" said Clara. "If Mrs.
Roberts doesn't get it she won't know where to meet me to-morrow."
It is a woman's privilege to wander from the point at issue. I
told Clara somewhat shortly that I had posted the letter, although
naturally I did not remember doing so. A man who has hundreds of petty
details to deal with every day, as I have, develops an automatic
memory--a subconscious mechanism which never fails him.
I explained this to Clara. "Not once in five thousand times would it
allow me to pass the pillar-box with an unposted letter in my pocket.
Perhaps it is the vivid red--"
"And perhaps your vivid imagination," said my wife. "Well, I am glad
you posted the letter, for Mrs. Roberts, as you know, never received
the one you posted ten days ago."
"I took that matter up very firmly with the local postmaster," I said.
"He explained to me that letters are now almost entirely sorted and
delivered by women, and he was afraid mistakes sometimes happened.
And just to satisfy you about this last one, which I put as usual in
my breast pocket at the back of my other papers--" I produced the
contents of my pocket. As I expected the letter was not there.
"Why do you carry so many papers in your pocket? What are they all
about?"
"Candidly, my dear, I do not know. Without the element of surprise
life would be unbearably monotonous. That element I deliberately
carry with me in my breast pocket. When a dull moment comes I empty
my pockets. It would surprise you--"
"Nothing you do surprises me," said Clara. "Now go upstairs, please,
and make yourself tidy. Have a dull moment--not more than one, for
dinner is nearly ready--and get rid of those papers."
Although my wife has not a logical process of thought, at times she
makes sensible remarks. I took her advice. As I anticipated I had some
surprises.
A few important business memoranda, a sugar form, two income tax
demands, a number of private letters and an unpaid coal account made
up the collection. There was really nothing I could part with. Luckily
I found two duplicates of the coal account. These I could spare. As I
opened one of them Mrs. Roberts's letter fell out of it.
I had just time to catch the post. I managed to reach the front-door
unobserved. My wife opened the dining-room window to tell me that
dinner was ready. I told her I had forgotten to post a very important
business letter.
"A most unusual occurrence," I said.
"Mary can post it for you. Dinner's on the table." Clara extended her
hand for the letter. I explained that it was so very important that I
could not even trust Mary.
"Mary's sex is, of course, against her," said my wife, "but I'll tell
her to hold the letter out at arm's length. You can see her all the
way from the window and watch her put it in the pillar-box."
A little candour is sometimes necessary.
"Strangely enough," I said, "the five-thousandth chance has come off.
It is true the letter is important, but the business is yours, and
the letter is addressed to Mrs. Roberts. I forgot to post it this
morning."
"I know you did," said Clara. "You left it behind, and I posted it
myself."
Here I saw that I was going to score. "Then what is this?" I asked
in triumph.
"This," said Clara, taking it from me, "is the letter you forgot to
post ten days ago."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Mrs. Judkins_ (_beating up against the draught in the
Tube_). "THANK GOODNESS WE SHAN'T 'AVE NO AIR-RAID TO-NIGHT, MRS.
'ARRIS. IT SEEMS TO BE BLOWIN' UP NICELY FOR RAIN."]
* * * * *
TO "MARTIN ROSS."
(_AFTER READING "IRISH MEMORIES."_)
Two Irish cousins greet us here
From BUSHE "the silver-tongued" descended,
Whose lives for close on thirty year
Were indistinguishably blended;
Scorning the rule that holds for cooks,
They pooled their brains and joined their forces,
And wrote a dozen gorgeous books
On men and women, hounds and horses.
They superseded _Handley Cross_;
They glorified the "hunting fever;"
They purged their pages of the dross,
While bettering the fun, of LEVER;
With many a priceless turn of phrase
They stirred us to Homeric laughter,
When painting Ireland in the days
Before Sinn Fein bewitched and "strafed" her.
With them we watched good _Major Yeates_
Contending with litigious peasants,
With "hidden hands" within his gates,
With claims for foxes and for pheasants;
We saw _Leigh Kelway_ drop his chin--
That precious English super-tripper--
In shocked amazement drinking in
The lurid narrative of _Slipper_.
_Philippa's_ piercing peacock squeals,
Uttered in moments of expansion;
The grime and splendour of the meals
Of _Mrs. Knox_ and of her mansion;
The secrets of horse-coping lore,
The loves of _Sally_ and of _Flurry_--
All these delights and hundreds more
Are not forgotten in a hurry.