Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Nov 21, 1917 by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Nov 21, 1917
"You are the owner of a motorcar?"
Was it any use denying the fact? I thought not.
"Yes," I replied humbly, "I am."
"Have you the permit which allows you to possess this?" He waved
towards the stagnant 'bus.
"I have."
"Have you the licence which allows you to take it upon the high road?"
With frozen fingers I held it out to him. He moved to the back of the
car, unscrewed the entrance to the petrol tank and applied his nose
to the aperture. After three official sniffs he turned upon me
aggressively.
"There is an undeniable odour of petroleum. How do you account for
that?"
"Sir," I replied, "last week my little son had his knockabout suit
dry-cleaned in Perthshire by the petrol-substitute process. This
morning he climbed upon the back of the car to see whether his Silver
Campine had laid an egg in the hood."
He glared at me.
"Ah! Have you the necessary extension which allows you to use a
motorcar as a habitation for hens?"
I gave it to him.
Then, frustrated with fury, he thundered at me successively: "Have you
a towing permit? Have you a dog licence? Can you produce a boot and
shoe grant? Do you hold any rubber shares? Have you been inoculated
for premature decay? What did you do in the Great War?"
I gave him the necessary documents in perfect order. For a moment
he was nonplussed. Then he asked with sly intention, "Have you
the champagne and chicken sandwich ration which is apportioned to
super-inspectors?"
I handed it to him with a table-napkin (unused) and a pair of
wire-cutters thrown in. For some minutes he remained silent, except in
the gustatory sense, then he turned upon me and, handing back an empty
bottle, said triumphantly, "You must now produce, under Clause 5005
Gerrard, framed this morning at 11-30 o'clock, one pint of old ale
and six ounces of bread and cheese for the sustentation of the
sub-inspector."
I regarded him stonily and leant against the cold, cold bonnet of the
car. Alas! I had it not.
"Sir," I pleaded, "I did not know ... give me time. The next inn is
but a few miles. If you and your companion will take a seat I will
bring you to the inn door and all will be well."
He laughed in my face.
"Algernon Brocklebank Smith," he said sternly, "you have betrayed
yourself into our hands." He turned to his myrmidon: "Get a move on
you, Herbert; it's a bit parky standing about here."
After all he was but a coarse fellow.
Herbert, galvanised into action, produced a small oblong object from
his pocket, lighted the end of it with the glowing butt of one of my
Corona Coronas, and placed it underneath the car. In a few moments all
that remained of my three-thousand-guinea ten--cylinder twelve-seater
was one small nut, which was immediately impounded.
I raised the collar of my overcoat (second reef), shifted my face to
the eastward, and, notwithstanding the blister on my heel, turned my
steps towards my destination.
I uttered no plaint. I had transgressed against the immutable law.
* * * * *
IS THE RACE LOSING ITS NERVE?
"A sensation has been caused by the announcement that Miss Teddie
Gerard is leaving 'Bubbly' to play the leading part in 'Cheep' at
the Vaudeville Theatre."--_Daily Mirror_.
* * * * *
THE "WAR LEADER" AND TWO SENSITIVE SOULS.
[Illustration: "THE ENTIRE GERMAN ECONOMIC STRUCTURE IS ON THE VERGE
OF COLLAPSE,"]
BUT
[Illustration: "WE SHOULD BE MAD IF WE BLINDED OUR EYES TO THE FACT
THAT THEY CAN HOLD OUT FOR YEARS YET."]
[Illustration: "THE SUBMARINE CAMPAIGN HAS BEEN AN UTTER FAILURE. NO
SHORTAGE OF FOOD EXISTS OR WILL EXIST"]
IF
[Illustration: "WE ONE AND ALL DETERMINE NOT TO CONSUME AN OUNCE MORE
FOOD THAN IS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY TO KEEP BODY AND SOUL TOGETHER."]
[Illustration: "THE WAR IS, TO ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES, ALREADY WON,"]
PROVIDED
[Illustration: "THAT IN THE NEXT THREE YEARS THE WHOLE NATION MAKES
SUCH A STUPENDOUS EFFORT AS WE HAVE NOT AS YET DREAMED OF," ETC.,
ETC.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Bookmaker (with long experience of the Turf but none
of Coursing)_. "I'M GIVIN' YOU SIX TO FOUR AGAINST THE FAWN, SIR. NOW
I'LL GIVE ANYONE SIX TO FOUR AGAINST THE BLACK."
_Friend (hurriedly)_. "BUT YOU CAN'T GIVE THOSE ODDS WITH ONLY TWO
RUNNERS."
_Bookmaker_. "WHY? AIN'T THE BLOOMIN' RABBIT GOT A CHANCE?"]
* * * * *
NEW MEN AND OLD FACES.
[According to a writer in _The Daily Chronicle_, Lord Morley's
face "in conformation gets more and more like Goethe's."]
VISCOUNT, better known as plain JOHN MORLEY,
As I gather from a chatty screed,
Ever daily grows exteriorly
(Pray forgive a rhymer's urgent need)
More like GOETHE--please pronounce it "Gertie"--
Who expired soon after eighteen-thirty.
But this instance is not isolated,
As a survey of our statesmen shows;
WINSTON now suggests a long post-dated
DAN O'CONNELL in his mouth and nose;
NORTHCLIFFE's growing more Napoleonic
Than the Corsican, though less laconic.
In the noble lineaments of BILLING
Shrewd observers (like myself) can trace
Wonderful, inspiring, vivid, thrilling
Memories of JULIUS CAESAR'S face,
With a hint of something far more regal,
More suggestive of the soaring eagle.
I admit GEORGE MOORE is not yet showing
Marked resemblance to his namesake, TOM;
But great CHESTERTON is hourly growing
Almost indistinguishable from
Dr. JOHNSON; daily grows more plain
SHAKSPEARE'S facial forecast of HALL CAINE.
HALDANE and his spiritual brother,
SCHOPENHAUER, that dyspeptic sage,
Monthly grow so very like each other,
As portrayed in MAXSE'S lurid page,
That it passes MAXSE'S Christian charity
To detect the least dissimilarity.
BELLOC is approximating closely
To the massive mien of CHARLES JAMES FOX;
BUCHAN plagiarizes very grossly
From the rapt expression of JOHN KNOX;
And the LAUREATE, if his hair grew scanty
Or he shaved his beard, might look like DANTE.
CLARA BUTT, the eminent musician,
Vividly resembles PERICLES;
SARGENT and the late lamented TITIAN
Are as like each other as two peas;
LOREBURN, known to cronies as "Bob" Reid,
Duplicates the Venerable BEDE.
But enough of this identifying
Instances of the recurrent face;
Rather let us foster an undying
Resolution in the British race
Evermore and evermore to shun
Any imitation of the Hun.
* * * * *
A POSER FROM THE BENCH.
From the report of a collision case:--
"Mr. Justice ----: 'Which car hit the other first?' 'I cannot
say.'"--_Freeman's Journal_.
* * * * *
"OUR SWEEP IN THE HOLY LAND."--_Daily News_.
_Ours_ is in Mesopotamia.
* * * * *
[Illustration: HOW IT STRIKES A SOLDIER.
THE KAISER. "WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF THIS LLOYD GEORGE AFFAIR?"
MARSHAL VON HINDENBURG. "I'VE NO TIME TO READ POLITICAL SPEECHES,
SIRE. THIS FELLOW HAIG KEEPS ME TOO BUSY."]
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
_Monday, November 12th_.--An old Parliamentarian, when asked by a
friend to what party the PRIME MINISTER now belonged, sententiously
replied, "He used to be a Radical; he will some day be a Conservative;
and at present he is the leader of the Improvisatories."
The latest example of his inventive capacity does not meet with
unmitigated approval. Members were very curious to know exactly how
the new Allied Council was going to work, and what would be the
relations between the Council's Military advisers and the existing
General Staffs of the countries concerned. Mr. BONAR LAW assured the
House that the responsibility for strategy would remain where it is
now, but did not altogether succeed in explaining why in that case the
Council required other military advisers.
The SECRETARY FOR SCOTLAND is about the mildest-mannered man that ever
sat upon the Treasury Bench. But even he can be "_tres mechant_" at a
pinch. When Mr. WATT renewed his complaint that sheriffs-principal in
Scotland had very little to do for the high salaries they received,
Mr. MUNRO replied that "it would just be as unsafe to measure the
activities of the sheriff-principal by the number of appeals he hears
as to measure the political activities of my hon. friend by the number
of questions he puts."
The Pensions Department at Chelsea is to be reorganised. Mr. HODGE
excused the delays by pointing out that an average of thirty-three
thousand letters a day is despatched, but, as he added that there is a
staff of four thousand five hundred persons to do it, it hardly looks
as if they were overworked.
_Tuesday, November 13th_.--The House of Lords was to have discussed
the state of Ireland, but, owing to the absence of its LEADER,
fell back upon the less exciting but more practical topics of
sugar-substitutes for jam, and barley for beer. It was cheering to
learn from the Duke of MARLBOROUGH that the jam-manufacturers gave
great care to exclude arsenic from their glucose, and from Lord
RHONDDA that there would be plenty of barley for both cakes and ale.
Mr. WARDLE is the latest example of the poacher turned gamekeeper.
A few months ago, as leader of the Labour Party, he was instant in
criticism of the ineptitutes of Government officials. This afternoon,
upon his old friend, Mr. TYSON WILSON, venturing to refer to the
"stupid decisions" of the Board of Trade, Mr. WARDLE was down on him
in a moment. With the air of one who had been born and brought up in
Whitehall Gardens, he replied, "Stupid decisions are not made by the
Board of Trade."
The Pacifists had rather a mixed day.
* * * * *
[Illustration: PENSIONS.
MR. HODGE.]
* * * * *
They were visibly relieved when Mr. BONAR LAW (supported by Mr.
ASQUITH) declined to admit into the Bill for extending the life of
this Parliament a provision enabling constituencies to get rid of
Members who had ceased to represent them. But they did not like his
contemptuous reference to their argumentative powers. Mr. TREVELYAN,
who regards himself as the representative (by literary descent) of
CHARLES JAMES FOX, was particularly annoyed.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _IN RE_ ADMIRAL JELLICOE.
MR. LYNCH. DR. MACNAMARA.]
* * * * *
As party-funds are rather under a cloud just now the Government
thought they might justify their existence by drawing on them for
the campaign against enemy propaganda. But their custodians thought
otherwise. The Tory Whip was prepared to make a small contribution;
the Liberal would give nothing, on the ground that the total required
was extravagantly large. So the country will have to foot the bill.
_Wednesday, November 14th_.--The knowledge that Mr. ASQUITH was to
"interpellate" the PRIME MINISTER regarding his recent speech in
Paris, and the Allied War Council therein described, brought a
crowd of Members to the House, and filled the Peers' Gallery with
ex-Ministers scenting a first-class crisis.
The protagonists on entering the arena were loudly cheered by their
respective adherents, but the expected duel did not come off. Mr.
ASQUITH'S questions were searching enough, but not provocative. Mr.
LLOYD GEORGE'S reply was comprehensive and conciliatory, and ended
with the promise of a day for discussion. Instead of a fight there was
only an armistice, usually a preliminary to a definite peace.
A little disappointed, perhaps, the Peers betook themselves to their
own Chamber, there to hear Lord PARMOOR discourse upon the woes
of conscientious objectors. Many of them, he thought, had been
vindictively punished for their peculiar opinions. Nobody, in a
somewhat cloudy discussion, made it quite clear whether the Tribunals
or the Army authorities or the Home Office were most at fault; and
Lord CURZON'S suggestion that persons who refused not merely to fight
but to render any kind of service to their country in its time of need
were not wholly free from blame had almost the air of novelty.
The Air-Force Bill passed through Committee in one sitting. The credit
for this achievement may be divided equally between Major BAIRD, who
proved himself once more a skilful pilot, and Mr. BILLING, who spoke
so often that other intending critics got little chance. Counting
speeches and interruptions, I find from the official reports that he
addressed the House exactly one hundred times; and it is therefore
worth noticing that his last words were, "This is what you call
muzzling the House of Commons."
_Thursday, November 15th_.--Lord WIMBORNE did his best to-night to
defend the inaction of the Irish Executive in the face of the Sinn
Fein menace. But he would have been wiser not to have adduced the
argument that Ireland was a _terra incognita_. If there is one subject
that the Peers think they know all about it is the sister-island. Lord
CURZON thought it would be a mistake, by enforcing "a superficial
quiet," to check the wholesome influences brought into being by the
Convention. He did not go so far as to say that Mr. DE VALERA was one
of them.
At last the Government have decided to take short order with the
pernicious literature of the Pacifists. In future all such documents
are to be submitted to the Press Bureau before publication. A howl of
derisive laughter greeted the HOME SECRETARY'S announcement, but when
Mr. SNOWDEN essayed to move the adjournment, although he and his
friends were joined by some of the Scotch and Irish malcontents, the
total muster was only thirty-three, and the motion accordingly came to
earth with a thud.
By a large majority the House refused to reinstate the Livery
franchise in the City of London. In any case this ancient privilege
could not long have survived the curtailment of the Lord Mayor's
Feast.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _The Colonel_. "I'D TAKE ALL THOSE MUTINOUS HOUNDS AND
PUT 'EM AGAINST THE WALL."
_Aunt Jane_. "BUT, MY DEAR, THE AWFUL THING IS THAT IT HAS SPREAD TO
OUR OWN ARMY. I HEARD TWO SOLDIERS IN THE TRAIN TO-DAY TALKING ABOUT
THEIR SERGEANT-MAJOR IN A DREADFUL WAY."]
* * * * *
BOON FOR BUSY BRIDEGROOMS.
In these days of military hustle, when a soldier comes home, falls in
love, gets engaged, marries, sets up a home, and returns to the Front
in less than a week, there is little time for the ordinary courtesies
of matrimonial procedure. It is felt, therefore, that the appended
printed form of thanks for wedding presents--based on the model of the
Field Service Postcard--will prove a great boon to all soldiers who
meditate matrimony during short leave. It will be found sufficient
merely to strike out inappropriate words in the printed form, which is
as follows:--
"Captain and Mrs. ---- beg to return thanks for your
_
Beautiful |
Charming |
Generous |
Very generous |
Useful | Gift
Very Useful |- Cheque
More than useful | Letter."
Unexpected |
Totally unexpected |
Remarkable |
Artistic |
_|
_Examples_.--(1) To a rich and miserly uncle, who has come down with
an astonishingly handsome sum--strike out everything except "Very
generous--more than useful--totally unexpected cheque."
(2) To an eccentric former admirer of the bride, who has sent a
forty-stanza poem, entitled "Sunset in the White-chapel Road: Thoughts
Thereon"--strike out everything except "Remarkable gift."
(3) To an enormously wealthy female relative, who disapproves of the
bride and has sent a second-hand plated sugar-sifter--strike out
everything except "Gift."
(4) To anyone of whom much was expected, but who neither gave a
present nor wrote--strike out everything on the postcard.
* * * * *
"Strange Story of a Wedding in the Divorce Court."--_Daily News_.
It seems a rather unfortunate choice of _locale_.
* * * * *
Extract from an Indian begging-letter:--
"My mother is a widow, poor chap, and has a postmortem son."
* * * * *
"AMATEUR GENT., experienced, wanted, for week at Xmas. All
expenses paid." _Daily Telegraph_.
Why not have a professional one and do the thing handsomely?
* * * * *
ONCE UPON A TIME.
THE LETTER.
Once upon a time, not so very long ago, an illustrious man of
affairs--soldier and statesman too--visited our shores, and by his
wise counsels so captured the imagination of his hearers and readers
that one of the greatest of all compliments was paid to him, and
anyone with a black cocker spaniel to name named it after him; and he
had a name rather peculiarly adapted to such ends too.
It chanced that among the puppies thus made illustrious was one which
a young soldier before leaving for France to win the War gave to his
sister, and when writing to him, as, being a good girl, she regularly
and abundantly did, she never omitted to give tidings as to how the
little creature was developing; and I need hardly say that in the
whole history of dogs, from TOBIT'S faithful trotting companion
onwards, there never was a dog so packed with intelligence and
fidelity as this. Most girls' dogs are perfect, but this one was more
remarkable still.
Now it happened that the gallant brother, in the course of his duties
as a war-winner, was moved from place to place so often that he
gradually lost definition, as the photographers say, and the result
was that one of her recent letters failed to catch up with him. That
was a pity, because it was a better letter than usual. It gave all the
news that he would most want to hear. It said what picture her father
was working on at the moment, and told, without spoiling them, his two
last jokes. It said whom her mother had called on and who had called
on her mother and how something must be done to stop her smoking too
many cigarettes. It said that their young brother, having sprained his
ankle at hockey, had become a wolf for jig-saw puzzles. It said where
their parents had dined recently and where they were going to dine and
who was coming next week. It said what she had seen at the theatre
last Saturday and what book she was reading. It said which of the
other V.A.D.'s had become engaged. It said what an awful time they had
had trying to buy some tea, and how scarce butter had become, and
what a cold she had caught in the last raid, and how Uncle Jim had
influenza and couldn't go on being a special, and how Aunt Sibyl had
been introduced to one of the GEDDESES and talked to him as though it
was the other, and how she herself had met Evelyn in the street
the other day and Evelyn had asked "with suspicious interest after
you"--and a thousand other things such as a good sister, even though
busy at a hospital, finds time to write to a brother over there, all
among the mud and the shells, winning the War. And not being in the
habit of signing her name, when writing in this familiar way, she
finished up with a reference to the darlingest of all dogs by sending
its love at the very end: "Love from ----" and so forth.
Well, the letter, as I have said, could not be delivered. The postal
people at the Front, and behind the Front, are astonishingly good, but
they could not get in touch with the brother this time, and therefore
they opened the letter and looked at the foot of it for the name of
the writer and found that of the dog, and at the head of it for
the street and town where the writer lived, and sent it back as
"insufficiently addressed."
And that is why in a certain house in Chelsea a treasured possession
is a returned letter for General SMUTS.
* * * * *
From an article entitled "Is it Safe for Cousins to marry?":--
"It is just as well, however, to pick out somebody besides your
cousin for your wife." _The Family Doctor_.
Before acting on this advice, however, it might be safer to consult
The Family Lawyer.
* * * * *
[Illustration: AFTER A DAY ON THE ALLOTMENT.
"SUDDENLY SHE REALISED THAT HER IDOL HAD FEET OF CLAY."--_Extract from
popular novel_.]
* * * * *
THE VERY GLAD EYE.
Mother put down the key of the hen-house and took up the letters that
lay beside her plate.
"If only Joan would write larger," she sighed, turning over an
envelope across which an ant seemed to have walked and left an inky
trail. "I've mislaid my glass too, and shan't be able to read a word.
Where could I have put the miserable thing?" she asked, peering again
at the ridiculous little script.
Father put down his paper and said these hunts for Aunt Matilda were
getting monotonous. Only yesterday he had rescued her from some dried
bulbs in the greenhouse, and didn't Mother think it time she saw a
good oculist and had proper spectacles, instead of using the old lens
in that carved gold bauble belonging once to his grandmother's aunt.
"Perhaps it's just a bad habit," she answered with a smile, "or my
eyes are getting lazy. But really I can see _so_ well through it, and
if they would print the newspapers better--"
"No one we know in this morning's list," said Father shortly, as he
turned a sheet; "and we should be hearing from those rascals now that
the push is over," he added, glancing at Mother who began to sip her
coffee hurriedly.
"They might even get leave together," ventured Margery. "It's five
months since Dick came home, and as for Christopher--"
"What swank for old Margots, now her hair is up," piped Archie. "Two
brothers from the trenches to--"
"If you'd make a little less noise, my son," said Father in a strange
voice, "I might be able to take in what I'm reading. There's something
here about Christopher."
"What?" cried Mother, springing from her chair.
"Yes, it's Christopher plain enough," he repeated with shining eyes.
"Christopher Charles Bentley, and--God bless my soul!--the boy has
been splendid! It's all down here, and---
"Read, read!" we clamoured, as his voice grew husky and indistinct.
"Read!" again we shouted, as Mother came and took the paper gently
from him.
"When you're all quiet, children," she began, devouring the words
before her.
_Quiet!_ Even the canary held its breath while Mother read that
wonderful paragraph.
It was a long one, and every word of it a tribute to our magnificent
Chris, who had organised a small volunteer party, attacked a strong
point, and captured fifteen of the enemy and a machine-gun, for which
gallant act he had been awarded the M.C.
With lingering pride she went through it a second time, and only then
did we see that she was staring at the paper, proudly and fiercely,
through the handle of the hen-house key!
* * * * *
[Illustration: _First A.B. (indicating old tramp steamer in ballast)_.
"THANK 'EAVENS WE AIN'T GOT PROPELLERS WHAT STICK OUT LIKE THAT ON
THIS 'ERE JUNK, BILL."
_Second A.B._ "WHAT ARE YOU GROUSING ABOUT NOW?"
_First A.B._ "WHY, THE BLOOMIN' FIRST-LOOTENANT WOULD MAKE US POLISH
THE BLINKIN' THING."]
* * * * *
THE MUSICAL CRITIC'S ORDEAL.
[Mr. CYRIL SCOTT, the musical composer, in his recently published
volume on _The Philosophy of Modernism in its connection with
Music_, states that the criterion of lofty music, the method of
gauging the spiritual value of art, "is only possible to him who
has awakened the latent faculties of the pineal gland and the
pituitary body."]
Lately I've been reading CYRIL SCOTT'S
Book on Music, modern and unmuzzled,
And, though solving many toughish knots,
By one statement I am sadly puzzled,
Namely, that if we would understand
What divides the noble from the shoddy
We must cultivate "the pineal gland,"
Also "the pituitary body."
But unfortunately SCOTT refrains
(Hence my present painful agitation)
From elucidating how one gains
This desiderated consummation.
Must I fly to silken Samarcand,
Or explore the distant Irrawaddy
For the culture of my pineal gland
And of my pituitary body?
Is the object gained by force of will
Or some drastic vegetarian diet?
Does it mean a compound radium pill
Causing vast upheaval and disquiet?
Do I need some special "Hidden Hand,"
Or the very strongest whisky toddy
To arouse my dormant pineal gland,
My unused pituitary body?
Should I read the works of Mr. YEATS,
Or the lays of WILCOX (ELLA WHEELER)?
Must I visit the United States
And consult the newest occult "healer"?
Is the tragedy of IBSEN'S _Brand_
Or the humour of _Poor Pillycoddy_
Better feeding for my pineal gland
And for my pituitary body?
Vain the subtle art of HENRY JAMES,
Vain the wealth of ROTHSCHILDS or of MORGANS,
If I fail to satisfy the claims
Of these mystic and momentous organs;
I'm no better than a grain of sand
Or a simple common polypody,
With an undeveloped pineal gland,
An inert pituitary body.