Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 156, Feb. 5, 1919 by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 156, Feb. 5, 1919
"He must, said Mr. Thomas, urge men to recognise that, in the
present state of the country, it was imperative that soppages
should be avoided."--_Liverpool Paper_.
Excellent advice; but in the present state of the country, unless one
wears waders, extremely difficult to follow.
* * * * *
"WANTED.--A suitable match for a well-connected and refined
Suri widower of 37; healthy and of good moral character;
monthly income about 500 rupees. Possesses property. Late
wife died last week."--_Indian Paper_.
It is a sign of the truly moral character to be definitely off with
the old love before you are on with the new.
* * * * *
"The five main points in the Prime Minister's programme are:
(1) Punch the ex-Kaiser."--_Sunday Times_ (_Johannesburg_).
The other four don't matter, but we wish to take the earliest
opportunity of denying this totally unfounded suggestion. Mr. Punch
is not the ex-Kaiser, and never was.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Late Superintendent of Munition Canteen_ (_in dairy
where she has dealt for over three years_). "AND YOU WON'T FORGET THE
CREAM AS USUAL."
_Dairy Girl_. "SORRY, MADAM. I REGRET YOU CANNOT HAVE ANY MORE CREAM,
AS YOU HAVE CEASED TO BE OF NATIONAL IMPORTANCE."]
* * * * *
A LITTLE FAVOUR.
Maisie was terribly upset when she lost her gold curb bangle (with
padlock attached) between the hospital and the canteen. The first I
knew of it was seeing a handbill offering two pounds' reward on our
front gate, with the ink still damp, when I came home to lunch. There
was a similar bill blowing down the road. My wife had some more under
her arm and she pressed them on me. "Run round to the shops," she
said; "get them put right in the middle of the windows where they'll
catch everybody's eye."
The first shop I entered was a hosier's. Since drilling in the V.T.O.
I have acquired rather a distinguished bearing. Shopkeepers invariably
treat me with attention. The hosier hurried forward, obviously
anticipating a princely order for tweeds at war prices. I hadn't the
courage to buy nothing. I selected the nearest thing on the counter, a
futurist necktie at two-and-six-three, and, as I was leaving the shop,
turned back carelessly. "By the by, would you mind putting this bill
in your window?" I said.
His lip curled. "This is a high-class business. We make it a rule--no
bills," he said.
At the butcher's next door there were several customers. They all gave
way to me. I made purchases worthy of my appearance and carriage, half
an ox tail and some chitterlings. Then I proffered a handbill. The man
in blue accepted it and, before I had opened my lips, returned it to
me wrapped round the ox tail. I was too taken aback to explain. In
fact, when he held out his hand, I mechanically gave him another bill
for the chitterlings.
At the next shop, a fancy draper's, I acted with cunning. In the
centre of the window, on a raised background of silver paper, was
displayed a wreath of orange-blossom veiled with tulle. I bought
it. The young ladies were hysterical. "May I ask permission to put
this little handbill in its place?" I said. They appealed to the
shopwalker. "In the absence of the head of the firm I cannot see my
way to accede to your request," he said. "At present he is on the
Rhine. On his demobilisation I will place the matter before him if you
will leave the bill in my hands." I left it.
I skipped a gramophone emporium and a baby-linen shop and entered a
fishmonger's. Here I adopted tactics of absolute candour. "Look here,"
I said, "I haven't come to buy anything. I don't want any fish, flesh
or red-herring, but I should be no end grateful if you would stick
this bill up for me somewhere."
"Certainly, Sir, as many as you like," said the proprietor heartily.
Gleefully I gave him two. One he stuck on a hook on top of a couple of
ducks, and it flopped over face downwards on their breasts. The other
he laid in the middle of the marble counter, and the next moment his
assistant came along and slapped an outsize halibut on it.
I went into a jeweller's next and purchased a gold curb bangle (with
padlock attached).
"You clever old thing," said Maisie; "you'd never tell one from the
other, would you? Mine's a tiny bit heavier, don't you think? I've
just found it in the soap-dish. I'll change this for a filigree
pendant. All my life I've longed for a filigree pendant"
* * * * *
"For 85 tons of blackberries, gathered last autumn,
Northamptonshire elementary school children were paid
L2,380, 3d. a lb."--_Daily Paper_.
The young profiteers!
* * * * *
"Splendid imitation almond paste for cakes can be made
as follows: Take four ounces of breadcrumbs, one small
teaspoonful of almond essence, four ounces of soft
white sugar, and one well-eaten egg to bind the
mixture."--_Answers_.
The difficulty is to get the egg.
* * * * *
_APRES LA GUERRE_.
"_On ne sait jamais le dessous des cartes_," as the perplexing dialect
of the aborigines of this country would put it. William and I, when
we used to discuss after-the-war prospects o' nights in the old
days, were more or less resigned to a buckshee year or two of filling
shell-holes up and pulling barbed wire down. Instead of which we all
go about the country taking in each others' education. No one, we
gather, will be allowed to go home until he has taken his B.A. with
honours. And after that--But it would be better to begin at the
beginning.
It began within ten days of the signing of the armistice, assuming
the shape of an official inquiry from Division, a five-barred document
wherein somebody with a talent for confusing himself (and a great
contempt for the Paper Controller) managed to ask every officer the
same question in five different ways. They cancelled each other out
after a little examination and left behind merely a desire to discover
whether or not each officer had a job waiting for him on his return
to civil life. William and I took the thing at a gallop, stuck down
a succinct "Yes. Yes, No, No. Yes," subscribed our signatures and
returned the documents--or so William proposed to do--"for your
information and necessary inaction."
"They're getting deuced heavy about these jobs, aren't they?" observed
William a day or two later. "The Old Man wants to see us all at
orderly-room for a private interview--he's got to make a return
showing whether his officers have got jobs waiting for them, if not,
why not, and please indent at once to make good any deficiencies.
Hullo, what's this?"
It happened to be William's mail for the day--one large
official-looking envelope. It turned out to be a document from his old
unit (he had entered the Army from an O.T.C.), headed, "Resettlement
and Employment of ex-Officers: Preliminary Enquiry." It was a
formidable catechism, ranging from inquiries as to whether William had
a job ready for him to a request for a signed statement from his C.O.
certifying that he was a sober, diligent and obliging lad and had
generally given every satisfaction in his present situation. In case
he hadn't a job or wanted another one there were convenient spaces in
which to confess the whole of his past--whether he had a liking for
animals or the Colonies, mechanical aptitude (if any), down to full
list of birth-marks and next-of-kin. William thrust the thing hastily
into the stove. But I observed that there was a cloud over him for the
rest of the day.
However, we both of us satisfied the examiner at the orderly-room,
though the renewed evidence of a determined conspiracy to find work
for him left William a trifle more thoughtful than his wont. Shades
of the prison-house began to close about our growing joy, "These
'ere jobs," remarked William, "are going to take a bit of dodging,
dearie. Looks to me as though you might cop out for anything from
a tram-driver to Lord Chief. Wish people wouldn't be so infernally
obliging. And, anyway, what is this--an Army or a Labour Exchange?"
As the days wore on the strain became more and more intense. William's
old school had contrived an association which begged to be allowed to
do anything in the world for him except leave him for a single day in
idleness. And what time the Army was not making inquiries about his
own civil intentions and abilities it was insisting on his extracting
the same information from the platoons. William grew haggard and
morose. He began looking under his bed every night for prospective
employers and took to sleeping with a loaded Webley under his pillow
for fear of being kidnapped by a registry office. He slept in
uneasy snatches, and when he did doze off was tormented by hideous
nightmares.
In one of them he dreamt he was on leave and walking through the City.
At every doorway he had to run the gauntlet of lithe and implacable
managing directors, all ready to pounce on him, drag him within and
chain him permanently to a stool--with the complete approval of
the Army Council. In another he was appearing before a tribunal of
employers as a conscientious objector to all forms of work.
The last straw was when the Brigadier caused it to be made known that
if any officer was particularly unsettled about his future he might be
granted a personal interview and it would be seen what could be done
for him. William sat down with the air of one who has established a
thumping bridgehead over his Rubicon and wrote to the Brigadier direct
and as follows:--
"SIR,--I have the honour to hope that this finds you a good deal
better than it leaves me at present. In case you should be in any
uncertainty over your prospects on return to half-pay, I shall be
happy to grant you a personal interview at my billet (Sheet 45; G 22a
3.7.) and see whether anything can be arranged to suit you. I may
add that I have a number of excellent appointments on my books, from
knife-boy to traveller to a firm of mineral water manufacturers. For
my own part my immediate future is firmly settled, thank you. For
at least three months after my discharge from the Army I have no
intention of taking up any form of work.
"I have the honour to be, Sir,
"YOUR OTHERWISE OBEDIENT SERVANT, ETC."
* * * * *
The court-martial was held last Thursday and sentence will be
promulgated any day now. Medical evidence certified William as sane
enough to understand the nature of his offence, but as the War is
over it is unlikely that he will be shot at dawn. William himself is
confident that he will be cashiered, a sentence which carries with
it automatic and permanent exclusion from all appointments under the
Crown. "That makes a tidy gap in the wire," says William hopefully.
"They won't even be able to make a postman of me. With a bit of luck
I'll dodge the unofficial jobs--I get that holiday after all, old
bean."
* * * * *
"HUNTING. THE DANGER OF KICKING HORSES."--_Times._
Generally the shoe is on the other foot.
* * * * *
"The Falkirk iron fitters, by an overwhelming majority, have
opposed the forty-hour week and have agreed to a forty-four
hour week."--_Provincial Paper_.
Bravo, Falkirk!
* * * * *
"The announcement of the augmentation of the British beet
in the Mediterranean appeared exclusively in the 'Sunday
Express.'"--_Daily Express_.
It doesn't seem anything to boast about.
* * * * *
"WANTED.--On a farm, two capable European young or
middle-aged girls."--_South African Paper_.
There are lots of girls answering this description, but the difficulty
is that most of them are too shy to admit it.
* * * * *
"M. Clemenceau ... speaks English with rare perfection,
having spent years in the United States."--_Daily Paper_.
"M. Clemenceau, speaking in excellent English, said
'Yes.'"--_Sunday Paper_.
What he really said, of course, was "Yep."
* * * * *
QUESTION AND ANSWER.
"What _are_ you, Sir?" the Counsel roared.
The timid witness said, "My Lord,
A Season-ticket holder I
Where London's southern suburbs lie."
"Tut, tut," his Lordship made demur,
"He meant what is your business, Sir."
The witness sighed and shook his head,
"I get no time for that," he said.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SERVICE EVOLUTION. BUD. BLOSSOM. FRUIT.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Guest_ (_who has cut the cloth_). "BILLIARDS REQUIRE
CONSTANT PRACTICE."]
* * * * *
ANOTHER CRISIS.
(_BY A FUTILITY RABBIT KEEPER_.)
There is a rabbit in the pansy bed,
There is a burrow underneath the wall,
There is a rabbit everywhere you tread,
To-day I heard a rabbit in the hall,
The same that sits at evening in my shoes
And sings his usefulness, or simply chews;
There is no corner sacred to the Muse--
And how shall man demobilise them all?
Far back, when England was devoid of food,
Men bade me breed the coney and I bought
Timber and wire-entanglements and hewed
Fair roomy palaces of pine-wood wrought,
Wherein our first-bought sedulously gnawed
And every night escaped and ran abroad;
Yet she was lovely and we named her Maud,
And if she ate the primulas, 'twas nought.
The months rolled onward and she multiplied,
And all her progeny resembled her;
They ate the daffodils; they seldom died;
And no one thought of them as provender;
The children fed them weekly for a treat,
And my wife said, "The _little_ things--how sweet!
If you imagine I can ever eat
A rabbit called Persephone, you err."
Yet famine might have hardened that proud breast,
Only that victory removed the threat;
And now, if e'er I venture to suggest
That it is time that some of them were ate,
That Maud is pivotal and costing pounds,
And how the garden is a mass of mounds,
She answers me, on military grounds,
"Peace is not come. We cannot eat them yet."
So I shall steal to yon allotment space
With a large bag of rabbits, and unseen
Demobilise them, and in that fair place
They all shall browse on cauliflower and bean;
There Smith will come on Saturday, and think
That it is shell-shock or disease or drink;
But Maud shall dwell for ever there and sink
A world of burrows in Laburnum Green. A.P.H.
* * * * *
SECRETS OF THE PEACE CONFERENCE.
"The proceedings yesterday afternoon began punctually at three
o'clock. Lord Robert Cecil sat with the British delegates. M.
Leon Bourgeois sat among the French delegates."--_Manchester
Guardian_.
And not, as might have been thought, _vice versa_.
* * * * *
"A thoroughly capable and energetic man wanted, who will look
after a family concern: Must understand management of 25 acre
farm with 10 cows, about four acres may have to be broken up.
Must be an experienced brewer, capable of mashing 10 times
a week, and taking entire charge of brewing operations with
assistance of unskilled labour. Must be conversant with
licensing laws and requirements, also present restrictions
as applying to brewing; thoroughly understand and superintend
wines and spirits department, direct repairs, capable buyer,
general manager, organiser and foreman. Must be thorough
accountant, capable of directing office and branch work,
conversant with income-tax and excess profits duty practice.
Able to drive, or willing to learn a 4-ton Commer lorry,
must be motor-cyclist to visit branches, and manage
public-houses. Absolutely essential to understand and
drive oil engines.--Further particulars apply ---- and
Sons."--_Daily Paper_.
What we chiefly miss is any information as to how the man is to fill
up his spare time.
* * * * *
"ITALIAN SPELLING.
"There are to be streets in Athens named after President Wilson
and after Mr. Lloyd George. In the 'Patris,' an Athens paper,
we read that 'Wilson' is spelt 'Ouilson,' whilst 'George' is
Tzortz,' 'Bonar Law' is 'Mponar Lo.'"--_Birmingham Mail_.
We bow to our contemporary's erudition, but we confess it all looks
Greek to us.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE PROGRESSIVE WEIGHT-LIFTER.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Betty_. "MUMMY, DOES GOD SEND US OUR FOOD?"
_Mother_. "YES, DEAR; OF COURSE HE DOES."
_Betty_. "BUT WHAT A PRICE!"]
* * * * *
ALL THE TALENTS.
Now that hostilities are at an end it is thought by many intelligent
young subalterns that a little variety might well be introduced into
Army routine.
For instance, at a General's Inspection why should not Officers'
duties be allotted after this fashion?--
The Commanding Officer will bind up the Second-in-Command with a
length of red tape, showing that no escape is possible from this
form of entanglement.
The Adjutant will give an exhibition of paper manipulation, using
various Army Forms for this purpose.
The Assistant-Adjutant will demonstrate how a morning's work may be
made of the changing of a pen-nib, while still creating an impression
of devoted industry.
The Messing Officer will fry a fillet of sole by means of haybox
cookery, and during the process will publicly skin a ration rabbit
in such a way that not the slightest depreciation is caused in the
value of 21/2d. attached to a rabbit-skin.
The Officer i/e Demobilisation will demobilise you while you wait
(provided you can wait long enough).
The Quartermaster will make a model of Hampton Court Maze,
illustrative of the intricacies of his department, taking care that
his model appropriately differs from the original in having no means
of exit.
The Medical Officer will demonstrate how the huge national
accumulation of No. 9 pills may be adapted to civilian purposes by
using the pill _(a)_ as a fertiliser for the Officers' tennis lawn,
and _(b)_ as a destroyer of the superfluous grass bordering thereon.
Company Commanders will collaborate in a display of standing on
their own feet without the assistance of their respective Company
Sergeant-Majors. (N.B.--Absolute silence is requested during this
very delicate performance.)
The Junior Subaltern will give an exhibition of stunt saluting.
* * * * *
TO MY DRESS SUIT.
Old friend, well met! I've longed for this reunion;
You've been the lodestar of this storm-tossed ship
In those long hours which poets call Communion
With one's own Soul, and common folk the Pip.
The foe might rage, the Brigadier might bluster.
Was I down-hearted? No! My spirit soared
And dreamt of you and me with blended lustre
Gracing some well-spread and convivial board.
And what if now you fit askew where erstwhile
Fair lines bewrayed a figure not too svelte?
What if your shoulder-seams are like to burst, while
A sad hiatus shows beneath the belt?
As April fills the buds to shapely beauty,
As cooks fill Robert with plum-cake and tea,
So, it may be, a diet rich and fruity
May fill the gap that sunders you from me.
And if it fail, as I'm a, living sinner
I'll save you from the gaze of scornful eyes.
They say that Bolsheviks don't dress for dinner;
I'll off to Petrograd and Bolshevize.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _The Mayor_. "THE CONTENTS OF THE PURSE WILL IN TIME
INEVITABLY DISAPPEAR; BUT (_laying his hand on the clock_) HERE IS
SOMETHING WHICH WILL NEVER GO."]
* * * * *
A PLEA FOR PROPORTION.
[Its contemporaries having told us all about Mr. Lloyd
George's hat and how President Wilson ate a banana, _The
Daily Express_ recently went one better with the headline,
"Mr. Balfour joins a Tennis Club," as the subheading of its
"Peace Conference Notes."]
Has it always been this way, I wonder,
Did editors always display
The same disposition to blunder
O'er the weight of the news of the day?
When simpler was war and directer,
Was Athens accustomed to see
In the sheets of its _Argus_ how Hector
Had bloaters for tea?
If so--or indeed if it's not so--
One cannot but gently deplore
That the custom of chronicling rot so
Has not been expunged by the War.
When the world with its horrors still stunned is
And waits for vast hopes to come true,
What boots it if delegates' undies
Are scarlet or blue?
All facts of those delegates' labours
I'm ready to read with a zest,
And they must, like myself and my neighbours,
I know, have their moments of rest;
I do not begrudge them their pleasures,
But frankly I don't care a rap
If the sport that engages their leisure's
"Up, Jenkins" or "Snap."
Since the founts of its wisdom present us
Each morning with gems of this kind,
Such matters must strike as momentous
The news-editorial mind;
'Tis time this delusion was done with,
High time that some voice made it clear
We don't want those fountains to run with
Such very small beer.
* * * * *
"A married man, aged 34 years, collided with the mail train
when riding a motorcycle into Hawera on Friday. His right
arm, collarbone, and blue hospital uniforms on Thursday
morning."--_New Zealand Herald_.
We rather like this telescopic style of reporting. It leaves something
to the reader's imagination.
* * * * *
"To Parents and Pawnbrokers.--Anyone assisting to remove the
Charity Boots, marked B., from the Children's Feet, which
are the property of Mr. J. B---- and his Supporters, WILL BE
PROSECUTED."--_Irish Paper_.
A distressful country, indeed, where the children do not own their own
feet.
* * * * *
WINCHESTER'S OPPORTUNITY.
War legislation has pressed hard on many callings, and on none more
than that of the architect. But the embargo has been lifted; the
ancient art is coming to its own again, and it is of happy omen
that the new President of the Royal Academy has been chosen from the
architects. In this context we welcome the stimulating article in a
recent issue of _The Times_ _a propos_ of the Winchester War Memorial.
"Are we never," asks the writer, "to take risks in our architecture?"
and his answer, briefly summed up, is "Perish the thought. _De
l'audace, encore de l'audace, toujours de l'audace._" It is, of
course, a pity that the Winchester War Memorial scheme has not met
with the unanimous approval of Wykehamists. Possibly they have reason,
for while adding a new cloister, a new gateway and a new hall to
the existing school buildings, it involves the pulling down of the
Quingentenary Memorial Building, erected some twenty years ago, and
of some old houses in Kingsgate Street. Some consider such a drastic
destruction to be unfortunate, but, says _The Times_, it is "necessary
if any scheme worthy of the occasion is to be carried out." Moreover
it is proposed to re-erect the Quingentenary Memorial on a new site,
"where it will certainly look as well as ever."
The greatest event in our history, as the writer finely observes,
cannot be worthily commemorated by any timid compromise. Winchester
has set a splendid example, but it is perhaps too much to expect
that it will be followed by London, owing to the inevitable clash of
conflicting interests in our unwieldy metropolis. The erection of
a new Pantheon on the site of St. Paul's and the removal of WREN'S
massive but _demode_ structure to Hampstead Heath, where it would
certainly look as well as ever, is, we fear, however much _The Times_
may desire it, beyond the range of practical politics. But example is
infectious, and if only the Winchester authorities would expand their
scheme and carry it out with Dantonesque audacity to its full logical
conclusion, other towns and cities might ultimately fall into line.
Winchester Cathedral, as we need hardly remind our readers, has only
been rescued from subsidence and collapse at an immense cost by a
lavish use of the resources of modern engineering. The building itself
is not without merits, but its site is inconspicuous and the swampy
nature of the soil is a constant menace to its durability. The scheme
which we venture with all humility to suggest is that it should be
removed and re-erected, in the same spirit though in the architectural
language of our own day, on the summit of St. Catherine's Hill,
where it would look better than ever, and be connected by a scenic
neo-Gothic railway with Meads. This would not only add to the
amenities of the landscape, but enable the present cathedral site to
be utilized for a purpose more in consonance with the needs of the
age. We do not presume to dictate, but may point out that if the
deanery and the canons' houses were pulled down and re-erected on the
golf-links, where they would look better than ever, space would be
available for a majestic aerodrome, or, better still, an experimental
water-stadium for submarines, in memory of KING ALFRED, the founder of
our Fleet.