Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 156, April 16, 1919 by Various
V >>
Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 156, April 16, 1919
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 11732-h.htm or 11732-h.zip:
(http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/7/3/11732/11732-h/11732-h.htm)
or
(http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/7/3/11732/11732-h.zip)
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 156
APRIL 16, 1919
CHARIVARIA.
We understand that a proposal to send a relief party to America
to rescue Scotsmen from the threatened Prohibition law is under
consideration.
***
It is rumoured that _The Times_ is about to announce that it does not
hold itself responsible for editorial opinions expressed in its own
columns.
***
A correspondent, complaining of the tiny flats in London, states that
he is a trombone-player, and every time he wants to get the lowest
note he has to go out on to the landing.
***
In Essex Street, Shoreditch--so Dr. ADDISON explained to the House
of Commons--there are seven hundred and thirty-three people in
twenty-nine houses. A correspondent writes that a single house in the
neighbourhood of Big Ben contains seven hundred and seven persons,
many of them incapable, and that nothing is being done about it.
***
"The Original Dixie Land Jazz Band has arrived in London," says an
evening paper. We are grateful for the warning.
***
Over two hundred season-ticket-holders live within a mile radius at
Southend. We suppose there must be some attraction at Southend to
explain why so many season-ticket-holders live there.
***
We are pleased to be able to throw some light on the mystery of the
Russian who was not shot in Petrograd last week. It appears that he
ducked his head.
***
We await confirmation of the report that an American has offered to
defray the cost of the War if the authorities will name it after him.
***
The Surplus Government Property Disposal Board is making a special
offer of eighteen-pounder guns to golf clubs. For a long shot out of a
bad lie the superiority of the eighteen-pounder over the Sammie cleek
is conceded by all the best golfers.
***
Westgate-on-Sea has decided to abolish bathing-machines. In future
visitors desiring to bathe will have to do it by hand.
***
Mr. KELLAWAY informed the House of Commons the other day that the War
Office has forty million yards of surplus aeroplane linen. It seems
inevitable that some of it will have to be washed in public.
***
A woman aged twenty-six, mother of five children, told the Old Street
police magistrate that she could not read. How she managed to have
five children without being able to read the Defence of the Realm
Regulations is regarded by the authorities as a mystery.
***
At the Royal Drawing Society's exhibition there is a picture painted
by a child of two. Pictures by older artists, with all the appearances
of having been painted by children of this unripe age, are, of course,
no novelty.
***
"Whitehall Wakes Up," says _The Evening News_. An indignant denial of
this charge is hourly expected.
***
A Northumberland man last week declined to draw his unemployment pay
on the ground that he was not actually wanting it. His workmates put
it down to the alleged fact that a careless nurse had let him fall out
of the perambulator on to his head.
***
"Unless Russian women join the Bolshevist movement," says Herr RADEK,
"they will all be shot by order of Lenin." This confirms our worst
fears that these Russian revolutionaries are becoming rather spiteful.
***
A new fire-engine has been provided for Aberavon. As a result of this
addition to their appliances the Aberavon Fire Brigade are now able to
consider a few additional fires.
***
A large rat with peculiar red markings on its back has recently been
seen at Woodvale, Isle of Wight. In consequence much alarm is felt
locally, as it is feared that this is an indication that the rodents
on the isle have embraced Bolshevism.
***
The correspondent who, as reported in these columns, noticed a pair
of labourers building within a stone's-throw of Catford Bridge, now
writes to say that a foundation stone has been laid.
***
Philanthropists are warned against a beggar who is going about saying
that, when wounded in France, he was so full of bullets that they took
him back to the Base in an ammunition wagon instead of an ambulance.
***
The reported decision of the Sinn Fein Executive, that policemen shall
only be shot at on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, has definitely
eased a situation which it was feared could only be coped with by
arresting the instigators of such crimes.
***
In a recent suit for alimony a wealthy New Yorker complained that his
wife used a diamond-studded watch for a golf tee. If she had only
wasted the money on a new ball he would never have complained.
***
Experiments in rat-killing, says a news item, are being carried out at
the Zoo. At the time of writing the reticulated python is said to be
leading the whale-headed stork by a matter of three rats.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Husband (just arrived home)._ "WHAT ON EARTH HAVE YOU
BEEN DOING WITH YOURSELF?"
_Wife_, "ONLY THE COAL-MAN'S BEEN AT LAST, AND I SIMPLY COULDN'T
RESIST GIVING THE DEAR MAN A KISS!"]
* * * * *
From the report of a breach of promise case:--
"The engagement came about through a chance meeting in Richmond
Park in the summer of 117."--_Daily Herald_.
Despite the happy case of Jacob and Rachel, we never have approved of
these long engagements.
* * * * *
A PAYING GAME.
When Belgium lay beneath your heel
To prove the law that Might is Right,
And Innocence, without appeal,
Must serve your scheme of _Schrecklichkeit_,
"Justice," we said, "abides her day
And she shall set her balance true;
Methods like yours can never pay."
"Can't they?" you cried; "they can--and do!"
And now full circle comes the wheel,
And, prone across the knees of Fate,
You are to hear, without appeal,
The final terms that we dictate;
And, when you whine (the German way)
On presentation of the bill:
"_Ach, Himmel!_ we can never pay,"
"Can't you?" we'll cry; "you can--and will!"
O.S.
* * * * *
THE BRIGHTER SIDE OF PEACE.
I'm not out of the Army yet, but lately I was home on leave. At a time
like that you don't really care about being demobilised just yet.
After all, to earn--or let us say to be paid--several pounds for a
fortnight's luxurious idleness is a far, far better thing than to
receive about the same number of shillings for a like period of
unremitting toil. There you have an indication of the financial
prospects of my civvy career. None the less, to me in Blighty the
future looked as rosy as a robin's breast, and life was immensely
satisfactory. I deemed that I was capable of saying "Ha, ha" among
the captains (though myself only boasting two pips). Then one day, in
the lane that leads to the downs, I met Woggles.
I've known Woggles for years and years. Some time ago she became a
V.A.D. and began to drive an ambulance about France; since when I had
lost sight of her. I greeted her therefore with jubilation.
"Oh, Woggles," I cried, "this is a great occasion. How shall we
celebrate it?"
"Well, if you like I'll go back again on to the top with you and show
you the Weald. But I'd much rather you came home to tea. I _could_
make some 'Dog's Delight'--s'posing you haven't outgrown such simple
tastes."
"Oh, if you put it like that," I said cheerfully.
Well, it was a bitter sort of afternoon and growing late. The
annoyance of Bogie (an enthusiastic puppy) at missing his walk might
appropriately be solaced with portions of "Dog's Delight." It's a
large home-made bun thing which used to delight me as well as Bogie's
mother in days gone by.
"I ought to warn you," said Woggles as we walked across the fields,
"that Mother and Dad are out to-day. I expect your dog'll have to take
acting rank as chaperon."
"By the way," I said, "you don't know each other, do you?" I called
Bogie, who was giving a vivid imitation of a cavalry screen protecting
our advance, and made him sit up and pretend to be begging. "Now
fix your eyes on the kind lady," I commanded. "Woggles--Bogie:
Bogie--Woggles. Two very nice people." Bogie barked, put out his
tongue and let the wind blow his left ear inside out. Woggles laughed
in that excellent way she has.
At the Rectory she sang to me even better than she used to; the
"Delight" was an achievement, Bogie being most agreeably surprised;
there was a glow of firelight such as I love, and a vast comfortable
chair. I felt lazy and very happy.
"This tea idea of yours was simply an inspiration. I don't know when
I've been so pleased with myself and existence generally. At the
moment my _moral_ is as high as Mount Everest."
"Yes, I noticed something like that," Woggles agreed. "More tea?
It's only about your fifth cup." Suddenly serious, she went on: "I
wonder--is there much to be happy about just now? Dad thinks not; and
so do I, rather. Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather
find faces in the fire?"
"Please I want to talk about it."
"Carry on then. Fortify yourself with that last bit of 'Delight.'"
In spite of this reinforcement I found it wasn't so very easy to
begin.
"Well," I said slowly, "I expect the foundation of my _joie de vivre_
is a great relief that the War's over. Lots of troops celebrated that
with song and dance and so forth on November 11th and subsequent
nights; I'm spreading it over a much longer time. In a way it's like
having a death sentence repealed, for millions of us. Not the heroic
spirit, is it?--but there you are."
"Of course everyone feels that," Woggles admitted. "Only now that it
_is_ all over, aren't we sort of looking round and counting the cost?
Thinking that all this loss of life and suffering hasn't made the
world so very much better? Look at Russia and our strikes. Doesn't
Bolshevism worry you?" she asked.
"The fact is," I told her, "I believe I've evolved a philosophy of
life which nothing of that kind can seriously disturb--or I hope not.
It's very jolly to feel like that."
"It must be. May we have this philosophy, please? Perhaps you'll make
a disciple."
"It's an awfully simple one really, only I think people lose sight of
it so strangely. Just to realise the extraordinary pleasure everyday
things can give you--if you'll only let them. You compree that?"
"It doesn't sound very convincing," Woggles objected. "Everyday
things! As for instance?"
"Oh, what shall I say? One of those really fine mornings; huge white
clouds in a deep blue sky; the feel of a good drive at golf; smoke
from cottage chimneys at dusk; wondering what's round the next corner
of an unknown road; bare branches at night with the stars tangled in
them; the wind that blows across these downs of ours; the music of a
sentence of STEVENSON'S; Bogie here and his funny little ways--Well, I
needn't go on?"
"No, you needn't," said Woggles thoughtfully and looked at me rather
hard for a space. "We're old friends, aren't we, and all that sort of
thing?" she demanded.
"What a question! I hope we are. But why?"
"Well, I'm going to ask you something. But I may say I'm rather
nervous. You'll promise not to set Bogie at me or strangle me with
your Sam Browne?"
"I will."
"Well, then, have you been asking Betty Willoughby to marry you, and
has she said 'Yes'?"
I was amazed. Was Woggles also among the soothsayers? Because a few
evenings earlier, with the help of a splendid full moon and one or two
extenuating circumstances--
"But this is black magic and wizardry," I said. "It's a dead secret.
How on earth did you know?"
"Oh, I just guessed," said Woggles.
* * * * *
THE MATRIMONIAL MARKET.
"Young Girl Wanted, for Wife of Naval Officer."--_Provincial
Paper_.
The Navy may be the Silent Service, but when it does speak it is very
direct.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE EASTER OFFERING.
MR. LLOYD GEORGE _(fresh from Paris)._ "I DON'T SAY IT'S A PERFECT
EGG; BUT PARTS OF IT, AS THE SAYING IS, ARE EXCELLENT."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Colonel (back with his battalion from front lines--to
horsey and immaculate Railway Transport, Officer)._ "ENGINES A BIT
FRISKY THIS MORNING?"]
* * * * *
PROPAGANDA IN THE BALKANS.
At the end of September last those whom we in Macedonia had come
to regard as our deadly enemies became our would-be friends with a
suddenness which was almost painful. Kultur is a leavening influence,
and our spurious local Hun in Bulgaria is every bit as frightful in
war and as oily in defeat as the genuine article on the Rhine.
To escape this unfamiliar and rather overpowering atmosphere of
friendliness our section of the Salonica Force immediately made for
the nearest available enemy and found ourselves at a lonely spot on
the Turkish frontier. The name of the O.C. Local Bulgars began with
Boris, and he was a _Candidat Offizier_ or Cadet, and acting Town
Major. As an earnest of good-will, he showed us photos of his home,
before and after the most recent _pogrom_, and of his grandfather, a
bandit with a flourishing practice in the Philippopolis district, much
respected locally.
We took up our dispositions, and shortly all officers were engaged
sorting out the suspicious characters arrested by the sentries. It was
in this way that I became acquainted with Serge Gotastitch the Serb.
When he was brought before me I sent for Aristides Papazaphiropoulos,
our interpreter, and in the meantime delivered a short lecture to the
Sergeant-Major, Quartermaster-Sergeant and Storeman on the inferiority
of the Balkan peoples, with particular reference to the specimen
before us, to whom, in view of the fact that he seemed a little below
himself, I gave a tot of rum. He eyed it with suspicion.
"What's this?" he asked suddenly (in English). "Whisky?"
I informed him that it was rum.
"That's the goods," he said, and drank it. I then commenced
interrogation.
"You are a Bulgar?" I asked.
"No," said Serge cheerlessly, "I am Serb."
"Serb! Then what are you doing here?"
"I hail from Prilep," he explained. "When Bulgar come Prilep, they
say, 'You not Serb; you Bulgar.' So they bringit me here with others,
and I workit on railroad. My family I not know where they are; no
clothes getting, no money neither. English plenty money," he added, _a
propos_ of nothing.
I ignored the hint.
"Then you are a prisoner of war?" I suggested.
"In old time," he continued, "Turks have Prilep. I go to America and
workit on railroad Chicago--three, four year. When I come back Turks
take me for army. Not liking I desert to Serbish army. When war
finish, Serbs have Prilep. I go home Serbish civil. Then this war
start. Bulgar come to Prilep and say, 'You Bulgar, you come work for
us.' You understahn me, boss?"
"I must look into this," I said to the Sergeant-Major. "Send for the
interpreter and ask the Bulgar officer to step in. He's just going
past."
Boris arrived with a salute and a charming smile and listened to my
tale. Then he turned a cold eye on Serge and burst into a torrent of
Bulgarian, under which Serge stood with lifting scalp.
"Sir," faltered Serge, when the cascade ceased, "I am liar. All I said
to you is false. I am good Bulgar. I hate Serbs."
"Then you are not, in fact, a Serb?" I said.
"Nope," said Serge, nodding his head frantically (the Oriental method
of negation).
"Do you want to go home?" I asked cunningly.
"Sure, boss," replied he. "Want to go Chicago."
Boris uttered one blasting guttural and Serge receded to the horizon
with great rapidity. "You understand, _mon ami_," explained Boris; "he
is really a Bulgar, but the villainous Serb propagandists have taught
him the Serbian language and that he is Serb. It is his duty really to
fight or work for Bulgaria, just as it was ours to liberate him and
his other Bulgar brothers in Serbia from the yoke of the Serbs. It is
understood, my friend?"
"Oh, absolutely," I replied.
He withdrew, exchanging a glance of hatred with Aristides
Papazaphiropoulos, who approached saluting with Hellenic fervour.
"You wish me, Sare?" he asked.
"I did," I answered, and outlined to him what had passed. "Is it true
that propaganda is, or are, used to that extent?"
"It is true," he answered sadly. "The Serb has much propagandism, the
Bulgar also. But in this case both are liars, since the population of
Prilep is rightfully Greek."
* * * * *
Three days later Boris appeared before me with a sullen face.
"I wish to complain," he said. "You have with you a Greek, one
Papazaphiropoulos. It is forbidden by the terms of the Armistice that
Greeks should come into Bulgaria. Greeks or Serbs--it is expressly
stated. I wish to complain."
"You are wrong," I replied. "He is no Greek. He is a Bulgar. But the
cunning Greek propagandists have taught him the Greek language and
that he is a Greek. It is really his duty to be the first to rush on
to the soil of his beloved Bulgaria--"
"Ach!" said Boris, grinding his teeth; "you mock our patriotism. You
are an Englishman."
"I don't," I replied. "And I'm not. I'm French. We came over in
1066. You ask my aunt at Tunbridge Wells. But the villainous English
propagandists taught me English, and the Scotch gave me a taste for
whisky, and--"
But Boris had faded away.
* * * * *
ALARMING: SPREAD OF CANNIBALISM.
"AUSTRALIANS IN FRANCE.
"THIRD OF GERMAN ARMY EATEN."
_Queensland Paper_.
"THOROUGHLY Experienced Cook. Capable cooking large
family."--_Ceylon Paper_.
"WANTED, Smart Young Man or Woman, for frying."--_Provincial
Paper_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Born Grumbler_. "FOR OVER FOUR YEARS I'VE BATTLED
FURIOUSLY AGAINST A 'ARD AN' BITTER FOE. AN' 'ERE I AM CONSTRUCTIN' A
WOODEN' 'ORSE FOR THE CAPTIN'S SON."]
* * * * *
TO A YOUNG SUB.
_(By a late one.)_
Sublime young Sir, so nuttily complacent,
So airy-poised upon thy rubbered feet,
The cynosure, no doubt, of all adjacent
Regard along that hit of Regent Street,
My thanks. In rather less than half a twinkling
Thy lofty air and high Olympian gaze
Have taught me that of which I had no inkling
Throughout my swashing military days.
I too (_et ego in Arcadia vixi_)--
I too have strolled like that in London town,
Demanding homage from the very bricks I
Pressed with my shoes of scintillating brown;
But never till I tried the fair corrective
Of seeing khaki from a civvy suit
Could I envisage in its true perspective
That common circumstance, a Second-Loot.
* * * * *
NOT DEAD YET.
"The Hungarian Soviet Government has adopted a non-posthumous
attitude."--_Globe_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Host (to visitor just arrived)._ "GET YOUR OVERCOAT
OFF QUICKLY, MAN; THEN HE'LL THINK YOU BELONG TO THE HOUSE!"]
* * * * *
THE PASSING OF GREEK.
A great thanksgiving meeting (postponed till "Summer-time" on account
of the shortage of artificial heat) was held at the Albert Hall last
Saturday to celebrate the dethronement of Greek at Oxford. Mr. H.G.
WELLS presided, and there was a numerous attendance.
Mr. WELLS, while he struck and maintained a jubilant note throughout
his eloquent speech, tempered enthusiasm with caution. The Grecians,
he said, like the Greeks, were wily folk and capable of shamming dead
while they were all the while scheming and plotting to restore their
imperilled supremacy. Indeed he knew it as a fact that some of the
most infatuated scholars actually voted against compulsion, simply to
confuse the issue. Still, for the moment it was a great victory, a
crushing blow to Oxford, the stronghold of mediaevalism, incompetence
and Hanoverianism, and an immense relief to the sorely-tried physique
of the nation. For he was able to assure them, speaking with the
authority of one who had taken first-class honours in Zoology, that
the study of Greek more than anything else predisposed people to
influenza by promoting cachexia, often leading to arterio-sclerosis,
bombination of the tympanum, and even astigmatism of the pineal gland.
(Sensation.)
Mr. PEMBERTON BILLING, M.P., speaking from the seat of an aeroplane,
said that he had found the little Greek he remembered from his
school-days not only no help but a positive hindrance to his advocacy
of a strong Air policy. The efforts of the Greeks as pioneers of
aviation were grossly exaggerated and, speaking as an expert, he
denounced these literary fictions as so much hot air. There were at
least forty-seven thousand reasons against Greek, but he would
be content with two. It didn't pay, and it was much harder than
Esperanto.
Mr. WILLIAM LE QUEUX in a most impressive speech said that he was
no enemy of ancient learning. Egyptology was only a less favourite
recreation with him than revolver practice. But Greek he could never
abide, and he was confirmed in his instinct by the fact that at all
the sixteen Courts where he had been received and decorated Classical
Greek was practically unknown. It was the same in his travels in
Morocco, Algeria, Kabylia, among the Touaregs, the Senussis and the
pygmies of the Aruwhimi Hinterland. He never heard it even alluded to.
Nor had he found it necessary for his investigations into the secret
service of Foreign Powers, the writing of spy stories, the forecasting
of the Great War or the composition of cinema plays. He had done his
best to procure the prohibition of the study of Greek in the Republic
of San Marino, and he was inclined to trace the present financial
crisis in that State to his failure. (Cheers.)
Mr. BERNARD SHAW struck a somewhat jarring note by the cynical remark
that it would be a very good thing for modern sensational authors if
Greek literature were not only neglected but destroyed, as some of the
Classical authors had been guilty of prospective plagiarism on a large
scale. He knew this as a fact, as he had been recently reading LUCIAN
in a crib and found him devilish amusing. (Uproar and cries of
"Shame!")
A moving letter was read from Lord BEAVERBROOK, in which the great
financier declared that, in arriving at the peerage at the age of
thirty-seven, he had found his inability to read HOMER freely in the
original no handicap or hindrance. He pointed out the interesting fact
that Lord NORTHCLIFFE, who reached a similar elevation at the age of
forty, had never composed any Greek iambics, though his literary style
was singularly polished.
It was felt that any further speeches after this momentous
announcement would inevitably partake of the nature of an anti-climax.
The Chairman happily interpreted the feeling of the meeting by hurling
a copy of _Liddell and Scott_ on the floor of the platform and dancing
upon it, and the great assembly soon afterwards dispersed in a mood of
solemn exultation to the strains of a Jazz band. As Mr. WELLS observed
in a fine phrase, "We have to-day extinguished the lights in the
Classical firmament."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Demobilised One (to massive lady about to make her
exit),_ "EXCUSE ME WOULD YOU MIND TREADING--ACCIDENTAL-LIKE--ON THAT
MAN'S TOES? HE USED TO BE MY SERGEANT-MAJOR."]
* * * * *
THE TENDER-HEARTED BAILIE.
"Accused broke down in the dock, and while weeping bitterly the
Bailie fined both girls L1 or ten days."--_Edinburgh Evening
News_.
* * * * *
"Lord Burray of Elibank and the Hon. Gideon Murray, M.P., have
recently had influenza and bronchitis."--_Scotch Paper_.
From internal evidence we gather that his lordship has not yet
completely recovered.
* * * * *
SO SOON FORGOT.
[A cinema has been showing a picture of M. PADEREWSKI, bearing
the legend, "The new President of Poland: once a world-famed
violinist."]
The President of POLAND
Was born to place and power;
Yet, ere he found his mission
In filling this position,
He was a great musician--
Men say so to this hour.
But, dash it! while the whole land
Admits his old repute,
It wonders, "Did this fellow,
At whom Queen's Hall would bellow,
Perform upon the 'cello,
Or did he play the flute?"
The day AUGUSTUS JOHN is
Created Duke of Wales,
His countrymen will never
Stop boasting of how clever
He is at Art, whatever
(Though Burlington still rails).
But one small detail gone is
From their forgetful nuts;
Their recollection's shady--
Did JOHN'S artistic heyday
Mean costumes for _The Lady_
Or things for _Comic Cuts?_