Various - Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, May 30, 1917
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, May 30, 1917
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 152.
May 30th, 1917.
CHARIVARIA.
Mr. WILL THORNE declares that a hotel in Petrograd charged him twelve
shillings for four small custards. After all, the war spirit of
Russia, it would seem, is not wholly dead.
* * *
According to officials of the Food Ministry, "domestic pastry" may
still be baked. The idea is that this kind of pastry tends to decrease
the total number of food consumers.
* * *
Allied control officers have discovered fifteen hundred tons of
potatoes hidden in Athens. The Salonika expedition is now felt to be
justified.
* * *
A certain Kingston resident, when out walking, wears a white band on
his hat, the with words, "Eat less bread. Do it now." Eyewitnesses
report that the immediate rush of pedestrians to the tea-rooms to eat
less bread is most gratifying.
* * *
"The British loaf," according to Mr. KENNEDY JONES, "is going to beat
the Germans." If grit can do it, we agree.
* * *
"Allotments under cultivation in Middlesex," says a weekly paper
breathlessly, "if place end to end, would reach five miles." Of course
it is not thought likely that they will be.
* * *
The father of a lad charged with embezzlement explained that since the
boy was struck on the head with a cricket ball he could not keep a
penny novel out of his hands. Speculation is now rife as to the
nature of the accidents responsible for the passion that some people
entertain for our more expensive fiction.
* * *
"It is possible," says a contemporary, "that an invention will one
day be forthcoming which will make a clean sweep of the submarine."
Meanwhile we must expect him to go on acting like the dirty sweep he
is.
* * *
To meet the paper shortage, Austrian editors have determined to
economise by reducing the daily reports of victories.
* * *
_Le Matin_ states that at a Grand Council of War sharp disagreement on
the conduct of operations arose between the KAISER and HINDENBURG. The
Marshal, we understand, insisted upon the right to organise his own
defeats without any assistance from the All-highest-but-one.
* * *
A London dairyman has been heavily fined for selling water containing
a large percentage of milk.
* * *
"To tell the honest truth," said the Hon. JOHN COLLIER, giving
evidence in the Romney case, "we artists do not think much of the art
critics." It is this dare-devil attitude which distinguishes your real
genius.
* * *
Some surprise was recently caused in Liverpool when the residents
learned from the _Cologne Gazette_ that their port had been destroyed
and all the inhabitants removed to another town. They consider that in
common fairness the _Cologne Gazette_ ought to have given them some
idea as to where they were living.
* * *
It is announced that four German War Correspondents have been
decorated with the Iron Cross of the Second Class. We have always
maintained that the War Correspondent, like his fighting brother, is
not immune from the perils of warfare.
* * *
We are not surprised to learn that the mouth-organ is the favorite
instrument among the soldiers in a certain Labour unit. The advantage
of this instrument is that when carried in the pocket it does not
spoil the figure like a cello.
* * *
Now that the shortage of starch supply will compel men to wear soft
collars it is understood that Mr. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW, who already
wears them soft, proposes to give up collars altogether, so as not to
be mistaken for an ordinary man.
* * *
City business houses, it is stated, are adopting the practice of
closing during the dinner-hour. The old fashioned custom of doing
business and dining on alternate days had much to recommend it.
* * *
There was no sugar in England when Crecy and Agincourt were fought,
as Captain BATHURST told the House of Commons recently. How the War
Office did without its afternoon tea in those barbarous days it is
impossible to conjecture.
* * *
The forthcoming Irish Convention is to be held, it is stated, behind
locked doors. Why not add a charming element of adventure to the
affair by entrusting some thoroughly absent-minded person with the
key?
* * *
Lord ESHER believes that "our home-coming is not far distant."
Meanwhile it is cheering to know that quite a number of our fellows
are getting home on the HINDENBURG line.
* * *
"Walking canes for ladies with small round heads of ivory" are
becoming increasingly popular, declared a contemporary. We ourselves
would hesitate to lash the follies of smart Society in a manner quite
so frank.
* * *
It appears that at the Bath War Hospital a hen lays an egg every day
in a soldier's locker. Only physical difficulties prevent the large
hearted bird from laying it in his egg-cup.
* * *
ZAMBI, a Zulu native, has just died at the age of a
hundred-and-twelve. It seems that war-worry hastened his end.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Proprietress_ (_as customer becomes obstreperous_),
"NOW THEN, WILLIE, OVER THE TOP!"]
* * * * *
=Professional Candour.=
From a dentist's advertisement:--
"TEETH EXTRACTED WITH THE GREATEST PAINS"
* * * * *
"Wanted.--Good cook-general, for very small Naval officer's
family."
_Isle of Wight Mercury_.
Intending applicants should exercise caution. A very small Naval
officer may have a very large family.
* * * * *
"L5 REWARD--Lost from Ruislip (July, 1214), half-persian dark
tabby tom cat."
_Harrow Observer_.
And they tell us that a cat has only nine lives!
* * * * *
=THE PROPHETIC PRESENT.=
"There is no Hindenburg line."
_Inspired German Press_.
By nature they abhor the light,
But here in this their latest tract
Your parrot Press by oversight
Has deviated into fact;
If not (at present) strictly true,
It shows a sound anticipation
Born of the fear that's father to
The allegation.
For, though the boasted "line" of which
No trace occurs on German maps
Retains the semblance of a ditch,
It has some nasty yawning gaps;
It bulges here, it wobbles there,
It crumples up with broken hinges,
Keeping no sort of pattern where
Our Push impinges.
When the triumphant word went round
How that your god, disguised as man,
At victory's height was giving ground
According to a well-laid plan,
Here he arranged to draw the line
(As _Siegfried's_ you were told to hymn it)
And plant _Nil ultra_ for a sign--
Meaning the limit.
And now "There's no such thing," they say;
Well, that implies prophetic sense;
And, if a British prophet may
Adopt their graphic present tense,
I would remark--and so forestall
A truth they'll never dare to trench on:--
_There is no HINDENBURG at all,
Or none worth mention_.
O.S.
* * * * *
=WAYS AND MEANS.=
I met her at the usual place, and she looked much the same as
usual--which astonished me rather.
"Now that we're engaged," I began.
"Oh, but we aren't," said Phyllis.
"Are you by any chance a false woman?" I asked. "You remember what you
said last night?"
"I do, and what I said I stick to. But that was pleasure, and this is
business."
I looked at her in sudden alarm.
"You're--you're quite sure you aren't a widow, Phyllis?"
"Quite. Why?"
"Talking of business at a time like this. It sounds so--so
experienced."
"Well, if you _will_ try to settle our whole future lives in one short
week-end leave, we must at least be practical. Anyway, it's just this.
I'm not going to be engaged to you until there's some prospect of our
getting married. I hate long engagements."
"That means not till after the War, then," said I disconsolately.
"I'm afraid it does. But when once the War's over it won't be long
before you'll be able to keep me in the style to which I'm accustomed,
will it?"
"Years and years, I should think," said I, looking at her new hat.
"It'll take at least a pound a day even to start with."
"Three hundred and sixty-five a year," said she thoughtfully.
"And an extra one in Leap Year," I warned her.
"Did I ever tell you," she asked with pride, "that I have money of my
own?"
"Hurrah!" I shouted. "You darling! How splendid!"
"Jimmy," she said apprehensively, "you aren't marrying me for it, are
you?"
"How can I tell till I know how much you've got?"
"Well, at a pound a day it would take us to February 19th. You'd have
to begin from there."
"What an heiress! Promise you'll never cast it in my teeth, dear, that
I've got less than you. I've got enough War Loan to take us on to the
23rd and halfway through the 24th; and Exchequer Bonds and things
which will see us through--er--to about 7.15 P.M. on March 31st. Then
there's my writing."
"Oh," she said in a surprised tone "do they pay you for that? I
always thought you gave them so much a line to put things in--like
advertisements, you know."
"Madam," I answered with dignity, "when you find yourself, from April
1st until April 20th, depending each year upon my pen for the very
bread you eat, perchance you will regret those wounding words."
"Well, what else?"
I shook my head.
"That's all," I said. "We don't seem to have got very far, do we?
Couldn't you--er--trim hats, or take in washing, or something?"
"No--but _you_ could. I mean, we haven't counted in your salary yet,
have we?"
"What salary?"
"Well, whatever they give you for doing whatever you do. What were you
getting before the War?"
"Oh, nothing much."
"Yes, but _how_ much?"
"Really," I began stiffly.
"If you're ashamed to say it right out, just tell me how far it would
take us."
"To about the end of September, I should think."
"Oh, dear! Three more months to go." A frown wrinkled her forehead;
then her brow cleared. "Why, of course we haven't counted in the
holidays."
"They aren't usually an asset."
"Yes, they are--if you spend them with your rich relations. I've got
lots, but I don't think they'd like _you_ much."
"All right," said I shortly; "_keep_ your beastly relations. I shall
go to Uncle Alfred for October. _He_ loves me."
"That leaves November and December," she mused. "Oh, well, there's
nothing else for it--we must quarrel."
"What, now?"
"No, stupid. Every October 31st, by letter. Then I'll go home to
mother, and you'll stay with Uncle Alfred some more. I hope he'll like
it."
"Y-e-s," I said doubtfully. "That would do it, of course. But we
shan't see very much of each other that way, shall we? Still, I
suppose.... Good Heavens!"
"What's the matter?"
"Phyllis, we've forgotten all about income-tax. That means about
another two months to account for."
"My dear, how _awful!_"
There was a pause while we both thought deeply.
"Couldn't you ..." we began together at last, and each waited for the
other to finish.
"Look here," I remarked, "we're both very good at finding things for
the other to do. Isn't there anything we could do together--a job for
'respectable married couple,' you know?"
"Why, of course--caretaking! We'll look after ducal mansions in the
silly season, when everybody's out of town. Then we'll see simply
heaps of one another."
"Yes," I agreed. "And then in the evenings, when you've scrubbed the
steps and the woodwork and polished the brass and dusted the rooms and
cleaned the grate and cooked the meals and tidied the kitchen, and
I've inspected the gas-meter and fed the canary, or whatever it is a
he-care-taker does, we'll dress ourselves up and go and sit in the
ducal apartments and pretend we're 'quality.'"
"And impress our relations by asking them to dinner there," added
Phyllis. "I think it's a lovely idea. We don't seem to be going to
have much money, but we _shall_ see life. I'm beginning to be quite
glad I listened to you yesterday, after all."
* * * * *
=An Accommodating Creature.=
"A Respectable woman wants situation as dairymaid, laundress, or
fowl."
_Cork Constitution_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: =THE GREAT UNCONTROLLED.=
The Mutton. "I HEAR THEY WANT MORE OF US NOW THE MEATLESS DAYS ARE
OFF."
The Beef. "DON'T YOU WORRY. THANKS TO THE PROFITEERS, PEOPLE CAN'T
AFFORD TO EAT US."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE FIRST POTATO-LEAF!]
* * * * *
=THE WATCH DOGS.=
LXI.
My Dear CHARLES,--Have I ever, in the course of these SECRET and
CONFIDENTIAL despatches, called your lordship's attention to the
existence, the very marked existence, of our Hubert, "the little
Captain," who, being out of the battle for the moment, relies upon
argument for argument's sake to keep up his circulation? It
has been said of him that he spends his office time in writing
superior letters to his subordinates and insubordinate letters to
his superiors; but that, I think, is over harsh. In any case, as
he has now run short of grievances, and the authorities of the
B.E.F. regard him as a joke and like him best when his little
temper is hot, his fights out here have for some time lacked
reality. I fancy that he was merely in search of a _casus belli_
when, being on leave in the U.K., he conceived the idea of a day's
extension and stepped round to the War Office to demand same as of
right.
But the War Office, Charles, is not as other places and War
Officers are not like the common sort. Hubert, arriving in his
best fighting trim, was at once ejected by the policeman at the
door. He underestimated the importance of that official and
his office, otherwise he would not have adopted the
just-dropping-in-to-have-a-chat-with-a-friend-inside attitude.
From the constable's cold response he realised that, in tackling
the W.O. single-handed, he was attempting a big thing, whereas the
W.O., in tackling him, was not under the same disadvantage. Then
he did what was unusual with him; he paused to think before
resuming the offensive. What he wanted, he felt, was big guns. The
House of Commons caught his eye and reminded him of politicians.
He recalled a slight acquaintance with one of the more important
of these and went round to call upon him personally. It was not
his idea to obtain any such authority as would demolish all
opposition at the W.O.; he just hoped to get a personal chit,
which would act as a smoke barrage and at least cover his advance
right into the middle of the enemy defences.
So Hubert asked for the politician in person, but only got his
secretary. This gentleman, having elicited that Hubert's train for
France left at 5 P.M., regretted that the politician would not be
visible till 6. This opposition warmed Hubert's blood; he asked
for a statement in writing. After some little discussion he got
it, since the secretary, for all his caution, could see no harm in
an unofficial note, addressed to no one in particular, and stating
merely that Hubert wanted to see the politician and the politician
was out till 6 P.M.
The little captain is one of those who state their grievances to
themselves, when no other audience is available. During his
return journey to the W.O. mental processes of no little heat and
significance took place in his busy head, he putting up an
overwhelming case to show why his leave ought to be, and must be,
extended. The force of this case gave him such a burning sense of
justice as to carry him, this time, safely past the policeman.
Five rows of barbed wire, two of them electrified, would be but a
poor substitute for the barriers of the W.O. Before you set foot
on the staircase you have to produce a ticket, and it is supposed
that the porter, who has the forms to be filled in, forfeits a
day's pay every time he parts with one. Hubert, gradually losing
confidence, wrote upon the form all he could think of about
himself, and handed it to the porter, who received it with
reluctance, read it with suspicion, and disappeared with a grunt.
What he did with it is not known; probably someone got into
communication with the B.E.F. to know if such a person as Hubert
existed, and, if so, why? Meanwhile Hubert had good time to
realise that no one loved him and that this was cold brutal war at
last.
Bit by bit the porter drifted back and gave Hubert his form, now
stamped and become his ticket. The porter having finished with
him, he passed on and, after many wanderings, found the door of
the room where his sentence would be passed. Bracing himself
up and clearing his throat, he prepared to knock and enter.
Fortunately, however, his audacious intention was observed by an
official and frustrated. He was commanded to write something more
about himself in the book provided for that purpose, and to go on
waiting. Being now an expert at writing and waiting he did as he
was bid, spending the next few hours of his life remodelling his
case in less fierce and glowing terms.
At last the door of the room persuaded itself to open and let out
a real red god, who looked upon Hubert, took an instant dislike
to him, relieved him of his ticket and went in again. During
the ensuing period of suspense the last vestige of Hubert's
personality departed from him.
Again the door opened and another red one, even more godlike,
emerged clamouring for Hubert and his blood. Had he still been in
possession of his ticket (a necessary passport for egress) Hubert
would have fled. There was nothing for it but to confess his
identity and to hope for mercy. The god, who clearly had not more
than three and a half seconds to spare, demanded an explanation of
his presence. Hubert admitted that once, in a moment of impudent
folly, he had thought of asking for a day's extension. The god
said nothing, but a light smouldered in his eyes which intimated
to Hubert that if he did not at once produce some paramount excuse
for so monstrous a request the War would be held up and the
military machine would be concentrated on punishing Hubert.
His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth; even if it had been
available it would have helped little, for it is more than mere
words that the gods require. His hand searched in his pockets and
produced the return half of his leave warrant, a five-franc
note, a box of matches, a recently purchased paper flag and the
politician's secretary's note. The first and the last were taken,
the rest fell to the floor, the door closed once more and again
Hubert was alone.
Hubert doesn't know what he did next; probably, he thinks, he sat
down and wept, and it was his tears that induced the gods not to
convert his ticket into a death-warrant, but instead to give him
the slip, "Leave extended one day for urgent private business."
This was clearly one of Hubert's most decisive victories. He had
his day's extension solely in order to interview the politician
at 6 P.M.; he was to interview the politician solely in order to
obtain his day's extension. But Hubert insists morbidly that his
was a moral defeat, amounting to utter suppression. He called upon
the politician at 6 P.M. to thank him personally. Again he could
get no further than the secretary, who, learning that Hubert's
train would not depart at all that day, regretted that the
politician would, on second thoughts, be out for a week. "Now if
I really _had_ triumphed," said Hubert, "I should have got the
secretary to put that also in writing, and should have stepped
round to the War Office again to demand a further week's extension
on the strength of it." This, however, he did not do.
Yours ever, HENRY.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "GOOD 'EVINGS! WHERE YER GOIN'?"
"YE KEN YON THREE HUNS I JUST BROUGHT IN? WEEL, THEY WANT TO PLAY
WHIST, AN' I'M GOING BACK TO TRY AND PICK UP A FOURRTH."]
* * * * *
"Southport, December 9th.--Miss ---- presented vegetarian
literature and a box of vegetarian sausages to a Sale of Work in
connection with the United Methodist Church, High Park. The gifts
led to much thought and inquiry."--_Vegetarian Messenger_.
In spite of a natural disinclination to look a gift sausage in the
mouth.
* * * * *
A CALL TO THE COW PONIES.
They sent us from Coorong and Cooper
The pick of the Wallaby Track
To serve us as gunner and trooper,
To serve us as charger and hack;
From Budgeribar to Blanchewater
They rifled the runs of the West,
That whatever his fate in the slaughter
A man might ride home on the best.
We dealt with the distant Dominion,
We bought in the far Argentine;
The worth of our buyers' opinion
Is proved to the hilt in the line;
The Clydes from the edge of the heather,
The Shires from the heart of the grass,
And the Punches are pulling together
The guns where the conquerors pass.
So come with us, buckskin and sorrel,
And come with us, skewbald and bay;
Your country's girth-deep in the quarrel,
Your honour is roped to the fray;
Where flanks of your comrades are foaming
'Neath saddle and trace-chain and band,
We look for the kings of Wyoming
To speak for the sage-brush and sand.
W.H.O.
* * * * *
=Commercial Candour.=
From an Indian trade-circular:--
"All our goods are guaranteed made of the best material and equal
to none in the market."
* * * * *
"The approach of the storm was heralded by a magnificent display
of, for a time, almost intermittent lightning."--_Pall Mall
Gazette_.
Followed, it may be presumed, by well-nigh interrupted peals of
thunder and nearly occasional downpours of rain.
* * * * *
"One always feels humiliated when one is stumped about a quite
common thing.... All you could see a little way iff was that they
were very dwarg and very thick, and the peculiar coloul baffled
us...."
_A Country Diary in "Manchester Guardian."_
Stumped we may be by the above, but humiliated--never!
* * * * *
=PETHERTON'S PUBLICATIONS.=
A glance at a well-known publisher's window, during a recent visit
to London, provided me with material for a little possible quiet
amusement, and with this end in view I penned the following:--
DEAR MR. PETHERTON,--When up in town the other day I was surprised and
delighted to notice in Messrs. Egbert Arnwell's window two works of
yours, one on Bi-Metallism and the other on the Differential and
Integral Calculus. Nothing but the prices (really low ones for such
works) prevented my purchasing a copy of each book at once.
I cannot resist writing to congratulate you on the publication of
these volumes, which will, I am sure, add to the instruction if not
to the gaiety of nations. Of course I knew--and have had the most
complete olfactory proofs--that you were a chemist of at least strong
views, but had no idea that your range of knowledge was so extensive
as it apparently is.
With renewed congratulations,
Believe me, yours sincerely,
HENRY J. FORDYCE.
By the way, what is a calculus? Could one be obtained in Surbury, or
would it be necessary to order from the Army and Navy Stores?
This brought forth:--
SIR,--I greatly regret that my latest publications should have caught
your eye, and look on your congratulations as a studied insult.
I should hardly expect a person of your (as I imagine) limited
intellect to know anything about the scientific subjects which
interest me, but I feel sure that you are perfectly aware that the
calculus is abstract and not concrete.
Had you tried to convey sincere congratulations to me I could have
borne the infliction with resignation, but I strongly object to such
flippant impertinences as are contained in your communication.
Faithfully yours,
FREDERICK PETHERTON.
I felt this was a good start, and so put out more bait:--
DEAR PETHERTON (I wrote),--Sorry you couldn't accept my letter in the
spirit, etc.
I've had such a priceless idea since I wrote to you last, and it is
this. I propose that we start a Literary Society in Surbury. I'm
certain the Vicar would join in. Mr. Charteris, of the Manor, too
would, I feel confident, welcome the idea. Dr. Stevenson, the only
one to whom I have broached the subject, got keen at once, and the
Gore-Langleys and others could no doubt be counted on--say a dozen
altogether, including you and myself. I append a short list of
suggested contributions, which will give some idea of the range of
subjects which might be tossed into the arena of debate:--