Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 156, June 11, 1919 by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 156, June 11, 1919
* * * * *
THE COMMERCIAL TOUCH.
"Presiding at the concert given in connection with the ---- Art
Club's annual exhibition of oil and water-colours, Mr. ----
congratulated the club on the quality of its paintings, which, he
thought, were remarkably cheap when cognisance was taken of the
present high prices of materials."--_Provincial Paper_.
This critic has, as the Art jargon puts it, "a nice feeling for values."
* * * * *
"HOW I DIFFER FROM MY MOTHER."
By A Modern Woman.
'_Women differ by the width of Heaven from what their mothers
were_.'--MR. JUSTICE DARLING.
"I do not smoke and I do not wear bare-back dresses, but I agree with
Mr. Justice Darling--there is the width of Heaven between my mother
and I."--_Evening News_.
Let's hope so, in the matter of grammar.
* * * * *
HUMOUR'S LABOUR LOST.
_Lochtermachty, N.B. May 29th, 1919._
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--My father and I have fallen out over the question
of your literary judgment and sense of humour. If I weren't a filial
daughter I'd say that he's a ----; but I am, so I won't call him
names.
The fact is that, before he became a professional Padre, he didn't
know that such things as senses of humour existed. All that mattered
in his life were Latin and Greek and Hebrew and the other pursuits
of the classical scholar. However, during his wanderings with
the Army he has somehow managed to acquire what he calls "an
appreciation of the laughable." And that is the cause of our divided
house.
This morning at breakfast, while he was reading out the account
of the proceedings of the General Assemblies, he came upon the
interesting statement--volunteered by an eminent Edinburgh
divine--that all the ministers of the Kirk have lost a stone in
weight during the War, and that this works out at a loss of five
tons of ministerial flesh to the United Free Church of Scotland.
Then, after he had tested the accuracy of the statistics, which he
found quite incorrect, and I had meditated upon the bulk of matter
encircled by the parental Sam Browne, we were both seized with an
idea, and said "_Punch!_" at the same instant.
It took us some time to get rid of the accumulation of marmalade,
margarine and bacon fat which we amassed in our attempts to link
fingers across the table; but about 10.30 or so we got settled down
to work on your behalf.
Until lunch-time we were fully occupied in giving each other ideas
and then explaining why they wouldn't work. After lunch the
Padre retired to his study to work out, he said, a satire--after
ARISTOPHANES--which would afford him an opportunity of introducing
the Archbishop of CANTERBURY'S speech, and making some whimsical
allusions to the legend of the strayed lamb come back to tell his
lean Scotch brethren of the green meadows and luscious feeding to be
had across the Borders.
My own ambitions were slighter. I would do a conversation perhaps
between the shades of JOHNSON and his BOZZY, or a Limerick, or even
just an original witty remark, or, failing all of these, I would
select an "apt quotation." About tea-time I retired to the garden
with a notebook, a pencil and a book of quotations. By 6.30 I had a
list of one hundred and two, and was wavering over the final choice
of a parody on "Some hae meat wha canna eat," and an adaptation of
"Be sooople, Davie, in things immaterial," when my parent came
out to the lawn, flushed and excited, with his last three hairs
triumphantly erect, and brandished a document in my face.
It was an ode, Mr. Punch--an ode five (foolscap) pages long, written
in Greek!
I gave him best at once, and then very gently suggested that his
composition might not in its present unmitigated form be _quite_
suited to your tastes and requirements.
I shall spare you the details of the ensuing controversy, but I want
you to know that I have spared you much else, and in so doing have
forfeited not only my father's affection but a projected advance on
my next quarter-but-three's dress allowance.
I hope you need no further proof of my devotion.
Yours, etc.,
A DAUGHTER OF THE MANSE.
P.S.--I was forgetting to say that you will find the bit about the
ministers near the bottom of the third column of the tenth page of
Thursday's _Scotsman_. Perhaps you can think of a funny treatment
yourself.
* * * * *
SONGS OF SIMLA.
III.--THE FURRIER.
Akbar the furrier squats on the floor
Sucking an Eastern pipe,
Thumbing the lakhs that he's made of yore,
Lakhs which creep to the long-dreamed crore
In a ledger of Western type.
And all around him the wild beasts sway,
Cured of their mortal ills--
Flying squirrels from Sikkim way,
Silver foxes that used to play
Up on the Kashmir hills.
On the shelf of a cupboard a polecat lies
Laughing between his paws,
And there's more than a hint of amused surprise
In the gape of the lynx, in the marten's eyes,
In the poise of the grey wolf's claws.
And, should you enter old Akbar's lair
And hear what he wants for his skins,
You will know why the little red squirrels stare,
Why the Bengal tiger gasps for air
And the gaunt snow-leopard grins.
J.M.S.
* * * * *
The Telephone Girl's motto: _Nulla linea sine die_--"Number engaged;
ring again and again, please."
* * * * *
ALAS! POOR PANTHER.
I went to the Derby fully intending to back the favourite--The Panther.
But the cross-currents immediately set in--as they always do.
I began by making the mistake of reading the forecasts of all the
experts--the gallant Captains and Majors, the Men on the Course, the Men
on the Heath, the Men on the Spot--all of whom, although they mostly
favoured The Panther, had serious views as to dangerous rivals,
supported by what looked like uncontrovertible arguments.
I also had an early evening paper with a summary of forecasts, none of
which (as it was to turn out) mentioned the winner at all.
I was even so foolish as to glance at some of the advertisements of the
wizards who are so ready to put the benefit of their knowledge at the
service of the public and make fortunes for others rather (apparently)
than for themselves, all of whom hinted at some mysterious long-priced
outsider whose miraculous qualities of speed were a secret. But of
course I was too late to profit by these; they merely unsettled me.
Not content with this I was forced to overhear the conversation of
others in our compartment, each of whom fancied a separate animal,
arguing with reasons that could not be gainsaid.
In this way I learned that The Panther would win in a canter and would
be badly beaten; that he was a stranger to the Epsom course; that he was
ready for anything; that he liked soft going; that he was no good except
when he could hear his hoofs rattle; that his jockey was not strong
enough; that his jockey was ideal; that he was sounder than any horse
had ever been, and that trouble was brewing.
All this naturally left me shaken as to my first decision. Was I wise,
I asked myself, to trust all my eggs (forgive, Sir ALEC BLACK, the
poorness of this metaphor) to one doubtful basket?
Having admitted an element of doubt I was the prey of every suspicion
and began to consider the other candidates. All Alone headed the list.
I liked the name, because it suggested the corollary: the rest nowhere.
Also it belonged to a lady--to the only lady owner, in fact--and
lady--owners were said (by a man with a red beard opposite me who smoked
cigarettes so short that I was certain it was made of dyed asbestos) to
be in luck this season. "Always follow the luck," he added. But then, on
the other hand, what could be more lucky than Colonel BUCHAN, author of
_Mr. Standfast_ and an excellent History of the War, into whose lap so
many good things fall? Why not back a horse named after him? Besides,
was not Buchan third favourite?
I was making a note of Buchan's claims, when a man with a Thermos flask
lashed to his side began to praise Dominion. Dominion, it seems, was
third in the Two Thousand Guineas--only just behind Buchan, who was just
behind The Panther. Many people thought The Panther unduly lucky that
day. A very different course, too, at Newmarket from that at Epsom.
Obviously Dominion must be remembered. Moreover he was being greatly
fancied and some of the best judges looked to him to win the Blue Riband
for Lord GLANELY. The fact that Lord GLANELY drew his own horse in the
Baltic Sweep was not to be sneezed at either, said some one. That's an
omen if there ever was one! And it knocked out Lord GLANELY'S other
horse, Grand Parade.
"Well, here's a tip," cried a man with a frock-coat and a straw hat.
"Blest if I've got a single coin left--nothing but paper money. That's
good enough for me. I shall back Paper Money."
The carriage agreed that that was his duty. "Of course you must," they
said. "When everyone disagrees in the way that the experts do, you might
as well take a tip like that as anything."
Paper Money had therefore to be added also to my list of possibles.
"Besides," said another man, "DONOGHUE rides him; our leading jockey,
you know." I had forgotten to look at the jockeys' names. How absurd! Of
course one must back DONOGHUE.
But just then, "Give me WHALLEY," said the man with the asbestos beard,
and, as WHALLEY was riding Bay of Naples, I had to consider him too.
Naples was a jolly place and I had had a lot of fun there. Hadn't I
better make that my tip?
But, on the other hand, what about Tangiers? I had had fun there too,
and more than one fellow-passenger had darkly hinted that this was a
much better animal than public form proclaimed. Looking for particulars,
I found that he once "ran Galloper Light to a head;" which had a
promising sound. He was trained at Lambourne too, and I like Lambourne.
There is a good inn there and it is a fine walk to White Horse Hill.
"Well," said another man, who had been borrowing matches from his
neighbour ever since Victoria, "I always had a feeling for a Marcovil
colt. Marcovil is a good sire. I 've had some very special information
about Milton, the Marcovil colt, to-day."
MILTON!--one of my favourite poets, and also one of Mr. ASQUITH'S, as he
said in that lecture last week. Yes, but is Mr. ASQUITH exactly lucky
just now? Perhaps not. And did not MILTON write _Paradise Lost_? True.
But, on the other hand, he wrote _Paradise Regained_. You see how
difficult tip-hunting can be!
And so it went on and I emerged from the Epsom Downs station in a
maze of indecision, in which one fact and one only shone with crystal
clearness, and that was that whatever won the race The Panther had no
better chance, even though it had been made favourite, than any other.
"Besides," as one of the two men who sat on my knees had said, "What's a
favourite anyway? Very often a horse is made a favourite by the bookies,
in conjunction with the Press, just so as everyone will back it. No, no
favourites for me. Give me a likely outsider at good odds. Look what you
have to put on The Panther to win anything."
In the result I backed--well, I am not going to tell you; but they "also
ran."
The moral of this story--if it has one--is either don't bet at all, or,
if you do bet, draw the horse from a hat at random, and, having drawn
it, stick to it. No one, as the failure of The Panther proves, can
possibly _know_ more than you.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Daphne_. "I MUSTN'T HAVE ANY CAKE TILL I DON'T ASK FOR
IT, MUST I?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Wife_. "HOW ABOUT SEAHAVEN FOR THE HOLIDAYS? I HEAR IT'S
VERY PICTURESQUE."
_Profiteer_. "NOT OUR CLASS, MY DEAR. TOO QUIET--SORT O' PLACE THE
_NOUVEAUX PAUVRES_ GO TO."]
* * * * *
TECHNICAL TERMS.
When Ernest asked me to take a run in his car I took advantage of the
invitation because there are times when I think that life is less joyful
without a car and that one day I shall slip out and buy one. I should
love to grip the wheel and sweep the countryside and listen to the soft
purr of the engine. So we started sweeping the countryside, Ernest and
I; but we had not swept very much of it before the soft purr developed a
kind of cough and the car stopped.
Ernest coaxed and petted her. He tried kindness, while I helped him with
sarcasm. He tried hauteur and then a little bad temper.
Eventually he decided to send for the local motor engineer, and it was
when this gentleman arrived with his mate that I decided that motoring
was not for me and that I should have to fall back on fretwork or tame
mice for my recreation.
"Here, Bill," said Overalls-in-Chief, "just hold up the Ding-dong."
His mate did as instructed and up went the Ding-dong.
"Now hand me the Doo-dal," he went on; "and while I tune up the old
Jig-jig you get the Pipety-pip and clean it out.
"Now get the Tick-tick and just give me a tap here with the Ooh-jah,
while I give the Thing-a-me-tight a couple for his nob.
"See that?" he shouted at me. "Would you believe it? Easy as
winking. See, it was like this. The What's-a-name here, as kept the
Tiddley-um-tum in place, was sort of riding on the Squeak-box, so as the
Tiddley-om-pom and the other Jigger sort of gave the half-seas-over
to the Thing-a-me-bob and missed the Rum-ti-tum. Simple, ain't it,
Guv'nor?"
"Yes," I answered, "quite simple."
But I have decided to give up all idea of buying a car. I should never
learn the language.
* * * * *
LITTLE GREY WATER.
Little Grey Water, my heart is with you
In the loop of the hills where the lone heron feeds,
Where your cloak is a cloud with a lining of blue,
And your lover a wind riding over the reeds.
Little Grey Water, I know that you know
What the teal and the black duck are dreaming at noon,
And the way of the wistful wild geese as they go
Through the haze of the hills to keep tryst with the moon.
Little Grey Water, folk say and they say
That the homing hill-shepherd, benighted, has heard
A song in the reeds, 'twixt the dawn and the day,
That was never the song of a breeze or a bird.
But I know you so silent, so silent and still,
And so proud of your trust that you'll never betray
What the fairies that gather from Grundiston Hill
Tell the stars before morning to witch them away.
W.H.O.
* * * * *
[Illustration: FAITH RESTORED.
MR. PUNCH. "STANDS ROBERT WHERE HE DID? GOOD! I WAS AFRAID FOR A MOMENT
THAT MY IDOL HAD FEET OF CLAY."]
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
_Monday, June 2nd_.--The Lords seldom sit _die Lunae_, and were perhaps
feeling what humbler folk call "rather Mondayish" at being summoned from
their week-end pleasaunces to put the Local Government (Ireland) Bill
through its final stages. Anyhow they developed some eleventh-hour
criticisms. The sad case of the Belfast Water Commissioners attracted
Lord STUART OF WORTLEY. There are fifteen of them--one each for the
existing wards. But under the Bill Belfast is to be divided into ten
wards; and fifteen into ten won't go, even in Ireland. Lord PEEL
considered that while Lord STUART'S arithmetic was impeccable his fears
were exaggerated. If Belfast drinks its whiskey neat it will not be for
want of Water Commissioners.
In the Commons Members were disappointed to learn from Sir AUCKLAND
GEDDES that he had no idea of the time when railway-fares would be
reduced to the amount printed on the tickets. Nor were they much
consoled by his promise to consider the suggestion that as the fare
cannot be brought down to the ticket the ticket shall be brought up to
the fare. We should not lightly part with our few reminders of the cheap
dead days that are no more. In fact it would be a salutary thing if
other tradesmen imitated the "commercial candour" of the railways and
ticketed their goods with the pre-war value in addition to the present
charge.
There is a juvenile impulsiveness about Sir HENRY CRAIK which reminds
one of "the boy who wouldn't grow up," and may account for his keen
interest in Kensington Gardens. Dissatisfied with an assurance of the
FIRST COMMISSIONER OF WORKS that he was doing his best to get the War
Office to clear away their hutments he burst out, "Could he not attempt
to use some disciplinary action against the obstinacy, the stupidity,
the slackness, the carelessness of those who are responsible?" Swept
away by this spate of sibilants Sir ALFRED MOND essayed no further
answer.
After less than an hour's debate the House gave the CHANCELLOR OF THE
EXCHEQUER power to borrow a trifle of two hundred and fifty millions,
to square this year's account, _plus_ an undefined sum to enable him to
fund the floating debt, now amounting to close on two thousand millions.
Even Sir FREDERICK BANBURY had no serious objection to raise, his chief
anxiety being that everyone, and not merely the plutocratic holders of
Treasury Bills, should be permitted to subscribe to the new loan. Mr.
CHAMBERLAIN assured him that it was a case of "Let 'em all come."
[Illustration: ANOTHER VISIT--AND IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.
MR. AUSTEN CHAMBERLAIN.]
[Illustration: THE MOTHER OF PARLIAMENTS.
"AM I REALLY SUFFERING FROM SENILE DECAY?"]
_Tuesday, June 3rd_.--According to the view of Major WOOD and his
friends the Mother of Parliaments is played out. The Grand Committees
which were to have restored her vigour have left her more enfeebled
than ever, and unless she devolves a large part of her duties upon
subordinate assemblies her end is near. But I noticed that, although
Ireland was expressly excepted from their resolution, most of them
talked of little else, and I fancy that but for Dublin we should not
have heard much of devolution.
As a statesman His Grace of CANTERBURY has hitherto enjoyed the
reputation of being "safe" rather than dashing. But that is evidently a
mistake, for in introducing the Bill which is to enable the Church to
free itself from some of the trammels imposed upon it by the State he
begged his hearers not to be afraid of "brave adventurous legislation."
His appeal was quite lost upon Lord HALDANE, who was shocked by the
terrible possibilities of the measure, and warned the PRIMATE that
if the Bill became law he would have signed the death-warrant of the
Establishment. Coming from a Presbyterian who helped to disestablish the
Church in Wales, this showed the heights of altruism to which a real
philosopher may rise.
Colonel WEDGWOOD was shocked to learn that in the occupied territories
Germans had to take off their hats when addressing British officers.
But it would be a mistake to assume that his concern was due to any
tenderness for our foes. On the contrary, it was exhibited out of regard
for the feelings of British officers. Mr. CHURCHILL regretted
the inconvenience, but pointed out that it had always been the
practice--even in Belgium--for an Army of Occupation to exact certain
acts of respect from the inhabitants.
Mr. KELLAWAY, who announced last week with such pride that "the
Government have struck oil," was now able to state that the oil had
reached a height of 2,400 feet and was still rising steadily. There is
some talk of inviting the successful engineers to put down bores at
Westminster.
_Wednesday, June 4th_.--Complaint was made recently that under the new
Rules of Procedure Members were expected to be in three places at once.
I fancy that a good many of them settled their difficulty to-day by
betaking themselves to a fourth place, not in the precincts of the
Palace of Westminster.
There was anything but a Grand Parade on the green benches, and the
faithful few who were present put a good many questions "on behalf of my
honourable friend." The Front Benches were well manned, however, and
Mr. LONG had quite a busy time explaining to Commander BELLAIRS why the
Admiralty thought it inadvisable at this date to hold courts-martial in
regard to the Naval losses of 1914. The House was more interested to
hear that the Peace celebrations will include a Naval procession through
London, and that there will be a display in the Thames of war-ships of
various classes, including, possibly, some of those captured from the
enemy.
A feature of the afternoon was Mr. MACQUISTEN'S brief comments upon
Ministerial replies. Divorced from their setting, such remarks as "Fish
is very dear!" (_a propos_ of Admiralty parsimony in compensating the
owners of drifters) or "By thought-reading?" (when the best method of
ascertaining native opinion on the future of Rhodesia was in question),
may not sound particularly funny, but, when delivered in a voice of
peculiar penetration and "Scotchiness," at precisely the right moments,
they were sufficient to convulse the Benches. Mr. MACQUISTEN must be
careful or he will soon be a spoiled DARLING.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Waiter (at public dinner, to very hot and red-faced
diner_). "I'M GOING NOW, SIR. ANYTHING MORE I CAN GET YOU? BRANDY OR
PORT? NO, SIR? SHALL I GET YOU A COOL CHAIR, SIR?"]
* * * * *
"Cigar smokers will be interested very much in the likelihood of
that luxury being soon dearer than ever.... It will most likely
develop into a habit of getting the very last whiffff ffffout of
every cigar."--_Provincial Paper_.
The printer would seem to be practising already.
* * * * *
"HOW TO HEAR MUSIC."
_(With humble acknowledgments to the critic of "The Times.")_
We were grateful to Mlle. Snouck Hugronje for giving us an opportunity
of hearing the Violin Concertos of Prenk Bib Doda in C sharp minor, and
of Basil Tulkinghorn in the composite key of F.E. The latter work, we
may explain, is dedicated to Lord BIRKENHEAD. Doda's work is so rarely
played that Mr. ERNEST NEWMAN has wittily suggested that he ought to be
renamed Dodo. But let that pass. Here he is abundantly like himself,
rich in self-determining phrases which emerge from a Hinterland of wild
surmise, and tower aloft in peaks of Himalayan majesty like Haramokh or
Siniolchum ---- Mr. CANDLER must finish this sentence.
Tulkinghorn is also a master of transcendental effects, and as
relentless in pushing home his points as Mr. SMILLIE when examining a
duke before the Coal Commission. But he is not always to be trusted. He
lacks the architectonic faculty. In between the clusters of clear-cut
phrases there are too many nebulae of gaseous formation and spiral type,
which deflect the orbital movement of his essentially electronic melody
and impair its impact on the naked ear.
But when Mlle. Snouck Hugronje plays you forget all about
self-determination, syndicalism, guild-control, proletariats, sunspots
and even Mr. SMILLIE. If you are a poet, and we are all poets nowadays,
you dream yourself into a punt on the Sonning backwater, wondering if
the summer was ever so amazing before, nearly being shipwrecked on
a sandy spit, startling moorfowl or it may be dabchicks, sending a
_frisson_ into the fritillaries, losing and regaining your punt-pole,
always believing that the next bend ---- Mr. FILSON YOUNG must really
finish the sentence.
If you are a musician and an occultist you will, by due concentration of
your pineal gland and pituitary body, rise with the rapidity of a HAWKER
to astral altitudes immune from all mundane disquiet. You will notice
---- However, this is best, left to Mr. CYRIL SCOTT or Sir RABINDRANATH
TAGORE or Sir OLIVER LODGE. But if you are a mere listener you will
listen and be thankful. But if you never go to concerts you will still
be able, by the aid of the New Criticism, to attain to an ecstasy of
appreciation far greater than if you had relied on the crude medium of
your senses.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Niece_. "BUT AREN'T YOU GOING TO GIVE THAT NICE PORTER A
TIP, AUNTIE? HE'S AN OLD SOLDIER."
_Aunt_. "_EXACTLY_, MY DEAR. MUCH TOO POLITE TO BE UNPLEASANT TO ONE."]
* * * * *
THE CONSCRIPTION OF BRAINS.
PROGRESS OF THE COMMISSION.
The Literary section of the Nationalisation Commission met last Friday.
Before evidence was taken the Chairman, Mr. ROBERT WILLIAMS, said that
as their Report must be delivered in less than a week the Commission had
decided not to summon Lord MORLEY, Lord ROSEBERY or Mr. THOMAS HARDY,
but hoped in the few days still available, to hear the evidence of Sir
THOMAS HALL CAINE, Lady WARWICK, Mrs. BARCLAY, Mr. SPACKMAN and Mr.
SMILLIE.
Mr. EDWARD MARSH read an interesting Report on the State Remuneration of
Poets. He was of opinion that poets, if they could be shown to be of the
authentic Georgian brand, ought to be secured a reasonable salary quite
irrespective of the views which they expressed. They must never be
expected to glorify or approve of the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, but
should be perfectly free to criticise or attack him. No attempt should
be made to impose any metrical constraint on their verse. But he thought
it desirable that for the purpose of bringing them to the notice of
the public a State chaperon should be appointed to provide suitable
introductions and biographical details. He also advocated the
multiplication of poetry tea-shops, where pure China tea and wholesome
confectionery should be supplied gratis to all poets whose works had
been favourably noticed in _The Times Literary Supplement_.