Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 156, April 16, 1919 by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 156, April 16, 1919
FINANCIAL INTELLIGENCE.
The decision of _The Westminster Gazette_ to return to its old figure
of a penny must not be taken as a sign that prices generally are
coming down. On the contrary there is every indication that they are
rising and will still rise, as the following symptomatic scraps of
news, gathered from all parts of the country, go to prove:--
The First Commissioner of Oaths states that "twopenny damns" will,
until further notice, be eight-pence each.
* * * * *
A schoolmaster in Birmingham who propounded the old question about
a herring and a half costing three half-pence has been put under
restraint as a dangerous lunatic.
* * * * *
If the information that reaches us from a little bird is correct, a
boycott of sparrows is in progress, owing to their inveterate habit of
saying, "Cheep! Cheep!"
* * * * *
Mr. HEINEMANN announces that, as a concession to modern
susceptibilities, he has decided to alter the title of Mr.
HERGESHEIMER'S successful novel, _The Three Black Pennys_ to _The
Three Black Half-crowns._
* * * * *
All guinea-pigs and guinea-fowls will from the present date onwards be
two guineas.
* * * * *
In the best profiteering circles cigars are now lighted with spills
made of one-pound, notes, instead of, as during the war, ten-shilling
ones.
* * * * *
A well-known orchestral leader states that there is a serious movement
afoot to popularise "The Dear Home Land" as an encore for the National
Anthem.
* * * * *
The legal profession has long been concerned by the fact that lawyers'
fees remain so fixed in a world given over to flux. It has now been
decided that, although the fees shall remain the same, less value
shall be given. For six-and-eightpence a solicitor will in future give
only half his attention, by listening with only one ear.
* * * * *
COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.
"EGGS FOR SALE.
"Why go out of ---- to be swindled? Come to the ---- Poultry Farm."
* * * * *
"IN MY GARDEN.
"April 4.--Now is a suitable time to saw sweet peas."--_Daily
Mirror._
When the stalks are very strong we always use an axe.
* * * * *
L'ALLEGRO.
Haste thee, Peace, and bring with thee
Food and old festivity,
Bread and sugar white as snow,
The bacon that we used to know,
Apples cheap, and eggs and meat,
Dainty cakes with icing sweet,
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nymph (not much U.P.).
Come, and sip it as you go,
And let my not-too-gouty toe
Join the dance with them and thee
In sweet unrationed revelry;
While the grocer, free of care,
Bustles blithe and debonair,
And the milkman lilts his lay,
And the butcher beams all day,
And every warrior tells his tale
Over the spicy nut-brown ale.
Peace, if thou canst really bring
These delights, _do_ haste, old thing.
* * * * *
"WINTER SPORTS IN FRANCE.--Sledges were constructed out of
empty ration-boxes, whilst the old flappers used for dispersing
poison-gas from dug-outs did duty as snow-shoes."--_Daily Paper_.
The young flappers were no doubt better engaged.
* * * * *
PINK GEORGETTE.
Joyce, at breakfast that morning, had announced firmly that if I
really loved her I would take the pattern up to town with me and "see
what I could do." What she failed to realise was that, if I ventured
alone into the midst of so intimately feminine a world as Bibby and
Renns' for the purpose of matching stuff called Pink Georgette, I
should become practically incapable of doing anything at all.
The only redeeming feature about the whole nerve-racking business was
that he found me as soon as he did.
"Good afternoon, Sir," he said in a most ingratiating voice. "What can
we have the pleasure of showing you, Sir?"
He was tall and handsome, with a perfectly waxed moustache and a
faultless frock-coat. He bowed before me with a sort of solicitous
curve to his broad shoulders, and the way he massaged one hand with
the other had a highly soothing effect.
"Pink georgette, Sir? Certainly, Sir." To my inexpressible relief he
seemed to consider it the most likely request in the world.
A moment before I had been drifting hopelessly, in a state of most
acute self-consciousness. But with him to guide me I set off quite
boldly.
At what proved to be exactly the right spot he paused.
"Miss Robinson," he called; "pink georgette."
With a polite introductory wave of the hand he motioned me towards
the lady. He hovered about, near by, whilst I opened the bit of
tissue-paper containing the pattern and murmured my needs to Miss
Robinson. His very presence gave me confidence.
When it was all over he came up and led me away. As we emerged into
the stronger light near the door I peered at him closely. Then I
touched him on the arm and beckoned him behind a couple of Paris
models.
I took hold of his hand and wrung it fervently.
"Sergeant Steel," I said, "you always _did_ have the knack of being in
exactly the right spot at the right moment. I haven't set eyes on you
since that very hot day in '16, when you brought up the remnants of 14
platoon and pulled me out of that tight corner at Guillemont. That
was a valuable bit of work, Sergeant, but nothing to this--simply
nothing!"
The solicitous curve had straightened out from his broad shoulders.
His hands had ceased their soothing massage. His heels were together,
his arms glued to his sides, his eyes glaring at a fixed point
directly over the top of my head.
"Thought it was you, Sir, as soon as I saw you. But of course I wasn't
going to say anything till you did." It was not the ingratiating
voice now, but that rasping half-whisper he always used for nocturnal
conferences in the front line. "Never heard anything of you, Sir,
since you went down with a Blighty after Guillemont. Beg your pardon,
Sir, but you looked a bit windy as you came in just now, so I thought
I'd keep in support.... Yes, Sir, got my ticket last month--only been
back on my old job a fortnight."
I tapped the parcel that Miss Robinson's own fair hands had made up
for me.
"This a good issue, Sergeant?" I said. "Sound and reliable and all
that?"
"Couldn't be better, Sir. I had my eye on her. We only drew it
ourselves lately. That's the stuff to give 'em. You can safely carry
on with that, Sir ... a perfect match ... exquisite blending of colour
... those art shades are to be very fashionable this season, I assure
you, Sir."
Imperceptibly his hands had resumed their massage, the solicitous
curve had returned to his broad shoulders, his voice was ingratiating
again.
"We have a large range of all the daintiest materials. I believe our
charmeuse, ninons and crepe-de-Chines to be unrivalled in town, Sir.
A little damp under foot to-day, Sir, but warmer, I think--distinctly
warmer. Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir, _Good_ day, Sir."
And Sergeant Steel (D.C.M. and four chevrons) bowed me into the
street.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "I DON'T THINK I CARE ABOUT THAT ONE. IT MAKES ME LOOK
LIKE ONE OF THESE 'ERE SPANISH DANCERS."]
* * * * *
LITERARY GOSSIP.
MR. WELLS has a new volume of collected Prefaces coming out this week,
with an Introduction and an Epilogue by Sir HARRY JOHNSTON. It will be
remembered that in _Joan and Peter_, a comparatively early work of
Mr. WELLS--it was published, if our memory serves us, before the
Armistice--handsome acknowledgment was made of Sir HARRY JOHNSTON'S
administrative ability and high aims; and it is pleasant to know that
in the long interval that has elapsed nothing has occurred to modify
their mutual admiration.
* * * * *
The firm of Black and Green will shortly publish Lord DYSART'S
monumental monograph on _China Tea: the Universal Antidote._ Lord
DYSART establishes the remarkable fact that the word "dyspepsia" was
practically unknown until the introduction of Indian and Ceylon tea.
Mr. WELLS, who contributes an illuminating Preface, points out that
the troubles of Russia are entirely due to the cutting off of the
supplies of caravan tea from China (the leading Bolshevists prefer
vodka to tea in any form) and the consequent recourse to inferior
synthetic substitutes. The rival merits of cream, milk and lemon are
carefully discussed both from the gustatory and hygienic standpoint,
Mr. WELLS pronouncing in favour of lemon, in which idiosyncrasy
he resembles Mr. CONRAD and Mr. GALSWORTHY. The volume is richly
illustrated with pictures of rare tea-pots, tea-caddies and samovars,
and contains a set of humorous verses dedicated to the author by Mr.
T. LEIF JONES.
* * * * *
The Right Hon. REGINALD MCKENNA'S new book, _The Proud Podsnaps_,
will be his first novel, and we hear it is to be humorous. His
distinguished relative, Mr. STEPHEN MCKENNA, Mr. WELLS and Mr. HERBERT
JENKINS have all written encouraging Prefaces to it; and Master
ANTHONY ASQUITH has added two essays on commercial aviation and a
couple of brilliant caricatures of Mr. LLOYD GEORGE and Mr. WINSTON
CHURCHILL.
* * * * *
Mr. HAROLD BEGBIE'S _Life of the Kaiser_ is already far advanced, but
he has laid it on one side in order to collaborate with Sir ARTHUR
CONAN DOYLE in the authoritative biography of Sir OLIVER LODGE. It
is understood that of the chapters dealing with the physiognomy
and phrenological aspect of the subject Mr. HAROLD BEGBIE will be
exclusively responsible for those on the frontal regions of Sir
OLIVER'S cranium, while Sir ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE will devote himself to
the occipital Hinterland. In this way it is hoped that the whole
area, which is enormous, will be adequately covered. The book will be
published by Messrs. Odder and Odder at 10s. 6d.; but a limited
number of copies, with special tambourine and planchette attachments,
will be available at L2 2s.
* * * * *
To the list of biographies of the PRIME MINISTER already published or
in contemplation there remains to be added one by an author who veils
his identity under the pseudonym of "Mount Carmel." It will bear the
title, _Lloyd George_--_Saint or Dragon_? and will be prefaced by an
introduction by Mr. Stickham Weed, in which that eminent publicist
discusses the antagonism of the Celtic temperament to Jugo-Slav
ideals. The book will be published at Fontainebleau.
* * * * *
The new Cardiff firm of Jenkins and Jones announce a novel from the
pen of Mr. Caradoc Blodwen, who had to fly from his native village
last year owing to the realistic picture he gave of local life in _The
Home of the Squinting Widows_. It is to be called _Taffy was a Thief_;
and those who have had the privilege of seeing early copies of the
book, which Mr. Blodwen wrote during his seclusion amongst the Hairy
Ainus, describe it as lurid in the extreme.
* * * * *
Mr. Cuthbert Skrimshanks's new novel is being looked forward to
expectantly by those who admire the vital and distinguished artistry
of his work. The author, it will be remembered, was employed in a firm
of ginger-beer bottlers before he took to literature, and Mr. WELLS,
who contributes a Preface, dwells happily on the stimulating and
phosphorescent quality which his literary work owes to his employment,
and contrasts it favourably with the flatness of Eton "Pop."
* * * * *
Yet another Shakspearean volume, which promises to be of engrossing
interest, has been written by Lord BLEDISLOE. It is to be called
_Bacon and Hamlet_, and Sir THOMAS LIPTON has contributed an
Introduction, in which the organisation of the food supply in the
Elizabethan age is exhaustively described. This exhaustive work, which
is dedicated to General STORRS, the Governor of Jerusalem, will be
published by Messrs. FORTNUM and MASON.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Nurse (reproachfully)._ "WHO DIDN'T FOLD UP HIS
TROUSERS WHEN HE WENT TO BED?"
_Tony_. "I KNOW. ADAM. I CAN ALWAYS GUESS THESE SUNDAY RIDDLES."]
* * * * *
"C'EST LA GUERRE."
A brace of chemists' labels:--
This preparation is issued in amber glass pots, as a War Emergency
Measure, when white glass is not available owing to shortage."
"War Bottle. Amber glass is not obtainable just now, so we have to
use white glass. May we ask you to grant us your kind indulgence
under the circumstances?"
* * * * *
"A bullet fired at a pig from a humane killer, struck the wall
of a Merthyr Tydvil slaughterhouse, ricochetted and wounded a
butcher's manager."--_Daily Paper_.
The victim regards the name of the instrument as most inept.
* * * * *
"Lord Salvesen, the presiding judge, arrived in Aberdeen on Monday
night, and gave a winner in the Palace Hotel."--_Sunday Paper_.
We hope to meet him in London before the Derby.
* * * * *
POLLY.
_(With acknowledgments to Mr. KIPLING.)_
I went into a private 'ouse to get a place as cook;
The lady ups an' greets me with a most angelic look:
"I've just been makin' tea," she sez, "I 'opes as you will try
These little scones wot I 'ave baked;" and to myself sez I:
"It was Polly this, an' Polly that, an' 'Polly, scrub the
floor,'
But it's 'If you please, Miss Perkins,' since we won the
bloomin' War;
We won the bloomin' War, my girls, we won the bloomin' War,
It's 'If you please, Miss Perkins,' since we won the
bloomin' War."
The lady she was out to please; we talked about the weather,
An' when the tea was done we smoked a cigarette together,
An' then we talked o' jazzin' an' the BILLIE CARLETON case,
An' so we come in course o' time to talkin' o' the place.
"You won't mind cookin' lunch?" sez she. Sez I, "Without a doubt,
On Toosdays an' on Fridays, which they ain't my 'alf-days out;
An' dinner, too, I'll manage"--'ere the lady give a grin--
"On Mondays an' on Thursdays, which they 'll be my evenings in."
"An' wot about the breakfast?" "Don't you worry, mum," sez I,
"I'm willin' to oblige you every single blessed dye,
Bar Sundays, when my young man comes; 'e's such a bloomin' toff,
'E takes me up the river, so I takes the 'ole day off."
"That's excellent," the lady sez, "I'll easy do the rest,
So if you come, Miss Perkins, you will be our honoured guest,
For Mr. Vere de Vere an' I do all we can an' more
To please the splendid women wot 'ave bin an' won the War."
Well, seein' as the lady seemed to 'ave the proper view,
I took the situation an' I 'opes as it will do.
Of course there may be drawbacks, but you can't get _all_ you wish,
For aprons ain't quite overalls an' cookin' ain't munish.
It was Polly this, an' Polly that, an' "Ugh! the mutton's red;"
But it's "_Won't_ you come, Miss Perkins?" now we're paid to
stay in bed;
An' it's Polly this, an' Polly that, an' anythink you please;
An' Polly ain't a bloomin' fool--you bet that Polly sees!
* * * * *
"LES BEAUX ESPRITS SE RENCONTRENT."
"Persons expressing unpopular views (by which I mean views opposed
to such patriots as Horatio Bottomley, Colonel Lowther, and
our own hon. and gallant member of Parliament, et hog genus
omne)."--_Letter in "The Daily News_."
"There have been more pig posts than there have been big men able
to fill them.--Mr. Bonar Law."--_Bristol Times and Mirror_.
* * * * *
From an article on the Zeebrugge exploit:--
"An on-shore wind was needed to carry the fog-screen in advance
of the blockships. Absence of fog was essential. A fog would be
beneficial. These desiderata postulated a concurrence of
favourable conditions, and on April 23 they were not all
present."--_Cologne Post_.
We gather that the Censor, shortly to be demobilised at home, still
maintains his watch on the Rhine.
* * * * *
CRITICISM IN EXCELSIS.
There was a good deal of excitement in the Elysian Fields when the
news went round that the Committee had exercised their power of
electing a certain distinguished Shade to full membership of the
Asphodel Club without a ballot. The general opinion seemed to be that
the Committee had acted wisely, and that the election was in every way
justified. A few members, however, expressed disapproval, not so
much on account of any demerits of his own as of the effect that his
election might produce on the sensitive minds of some who were already
members.
"This Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON," said one who had been busy in canvassing
opinions, "is fully qualified for membership, but I fear he may have a
deleterious effect on JOHN MILTON and THOMAS GRAY. Did he not roughly
criticise them in his _Lives of the Poets_, and do you think that
MILTON is one who will sit down tamely under the affront? MILTON has
been for years and is still one of our most distinguished members.
Indeed, he has almost the standing amongst us of a highly-respected
Bishop. He uses the Club a great deal, and I fear his comfort will be
much reduced by the admission of one who regards his poetry with a
hostile eye."
"In what way," said another, "has the denouncer of SALMASIUS become
entitled to complain of rough attacks? Nor has his character been
assailed. In that he remains episcopal. Only in his poetry is he made
to suffer."
"But he is made to suffer pretty heavily," said a third. "Hear what
JOHNSON said with regard to our friend's _Lycidas_:--
"'One of the poems on which much praise has been bestowed is
_Lycidas_; of which the diction is harsh, the rhymes uncertain and the
numbers unpleasing. What beauty there is we must therefore seek in the
sentiments and images. It is not to be considered as the effusion of
real passion; for passion runs not after remote allusions and obscure
opinions. Passion plucks no berries from the myrtle and ivy, nor calls
upon Arethuse and Mincius, nor tells of rough _satyrs_ and _fauns
with cloven heel_. Where there is leisure for fiction there is little
grief.
"'In this poem there is no nature for there is no truth; there is no
art for there is nothing new. Its form is that of a pastoral: easy,
vulgar and therefore disgusting.'
"Do you call that criticism?"
"Ah, but listen," said another and much agitated Shade, "to what he
says of our respected THOMAS GRAY. The Committee must have forgotten
how it goes:--
"These odes are marked by glittering accumulation of ungraceful
ornaments; they strike rather than please; the images are magnified by
affectation, the language is laboured into harshness. The mind of the
writer seems to work with unnatural violence. _Double, double, toil
and trouble_. He has a kind of strutting dignity and is tall by
walking on tiptoe."
The agitated Shade was about to proceed further with his protest when
a sound of cheering stopped him. And lo and behold! an approving
throng was circling round the new member, and in the thick of it were
JOHN MILTON and THOMAS GRAY.
* * * * *
"FOR THIS RELIEF," ETC.
From a Girl Guides' report:--
"The thanks of the Association are due to the following ladies who
have resigned...."
* * * * *
"Sir George Newman and Mr. Philip Snowden have resigned their
membership of the Central Control Board" (Liquor Traffic).
"Caruso has sung at 550 performances."--_Evening Paper_.
All the same, there seems to have been a lack of harmony.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Lady (who has called on two successive Wednesdays, the
fourth and fifth of the month, and has been told each time that Lady
Smith-Robinson is not at home)._ "BUT I THOUGHT HER LADYSHIP WAS AT
HOME ON ALTERNATE WEDNESDAYS?"
_Parlourmaid (with dignity)._ "NO, MADAM. HER LADYSHIP IS AT HOME ON
THE FIRST AND THIRD WEDNESDAYS IN THE MONTH; BUT WHEN THERE IS A FIFTH
WEDNESDAY THAT IS TO _OUR_ ADVANTAGE."]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
_(By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.)_
_My War Experiences in Two Continents_ (MURRAY) is made up of the
diary and letters of Miss MACNAUGHTAN, written during her search for
work that might help in the great Task. The book, it is sad to say,
must serve as her memorial to those many whom she has amused by her
bright and wholesome stories. Worn out by labours and quests beyond
her strength she fell sick at Teheran in 1916 and returned to England
to die. In 1914 she had done fine service with her soup-kitchen in
Flanders, where her energy and almost too tender sympathy had full
scope and the reward of good work accomplished. She seemed also to be
happy in her lecture tour on her return to England, trying to arouse
the sluggish-minded to a sense of the gravity of the business. But
in her Russian and Persian adventure it is clear that she was deeply
disappointed at feeling herself unwanted and useless in a region
of waste and muddle. It is probable that for all her courage and
unselfish devotion she was too sensitive to the suffering she
encountered ever to attain the routine indifference which makes work
among such horrors possible. Her deep religious convictions aggravated
rather than eased that suffering. She was honestly old-fashioned and
never took quite kindly to the khaki-breeched free-spoken young women
of the subsidiary war services, had a hatred of muddle and was a
little severe on men, though acknowledging that "young men are the
kindest members of the human race." True this, I should say, who am no
longer young. "The war is fine, _fine_, FINE, though I don't get near
the fineness except in the pages of _Punch_." Charming of her to say
that.
* * * * *
The heroine of _Miss Fingal_ (BLACKWOOD) is called by her publishers
"a woman whose distinguishing trait is femininity," to which they add,
with obvious truth, "a refreshing creation in these days." Really,
in this one phrase Messrs. BLACKWOOD have covered the ground so
comprehensively that I have little more to do than subscribe my
signature. To fill in details, Mrs. W.K. CLIFFORD'S latest is a
quietly sympathetic tale about a lonely gentlewoman (this you can take
either as one or two words) rescued from a life of penury by the
will of a rich uncle, transferred from her tiny flat in Battersea to
Bedford Square and a country cottage, expanding in prosperity, and
generally proving the old adage that where there's a will there's a
way, indeed several ways, of spending the result agreeably. As I have
said, it is all the gentlest little comedy of happiness, not specially
exciting perhaps. I find it characteristic of Mrs. CLIFFORD'S method
that the only at all violent incident, a railway smash, happens
discreetly out of sight, and does no more than provide its victim
with an enjoyable convalescence, and the attentive reader with the
suggestion of a psychological problem that is both unnecessary and
unconvincing. The best of the tale is its picture of _Miss Fingal_
herself, rescued from premature decay and gradually recovering her
youth under the stimulus of new interests and opportunities. Whether
the now rather too familiar _Kaiser-ex-machina_ solution was needed in
order to rid the stage of a superfluous character is open to question;
but at all events it leaves _Miss Fingal_ happy in companionship and
assured of the success that waits upon a satisfactory finish.
* * * * *
"How can I"--I seem to hear the author of _Elizabeth and Her German
Garden_ communing with herself--"how can I write a story, with all
my necessary Teutonic ingredients in it, which shall be popular even
during the War?" And then I seem to see the satisfaction with which
she hit upon the solution of inventing pretty twin girls of seventeen,
an age which permits remarks with a sting in them to be uttered
apparently in innocence and yet is marriageable or, at any rate,
engageable; making them orphans; giving them a German father and
an English mother, and very mixed sympathies, in which England
predominates; and sending them to America to pass its novelty under
their candid European eyes. Much of the satisfaction which her scheme
must have given to the authoress of _Christopher and Columbus_
(MACMILLAN) is shared by its readers, although the feeling that it has
been made to order to fit a difficult market is never absent. For much
of the dialogue, and often when most amusing, does not ring true,
and we are occasionally asked to believe that the twins could be far
slower in the uptake than at other, and less inconvenient, times they
show themselves to be. But the book is another sufficing proof that
the male sex has no monopoly of humour.