Various - Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 159, November 3, 1920
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 159, November 3, 1920
I think it's that right shoulder of yours ...
A. P. H.
* * * * *
=Our Candid Candidates.=
From an election address:--
"Should I get returned as your representative you will have no
cause for regret when my term of office expires."--_Provincial
Paper_.
* * * * *
"The strike of the mechanical staff of the 'Karachi Daily Gazette'
has ended."
_Evening Paper_.
We wondered why everybody looked so pleased in London that day.
* * * * *
"Since her treatment with the monkey gland Miss Ediss has received
enough complimentary nuts to stock a market garden. An ornate
basket of monkey nuts fills a prominent place in her room, and
two cocoanuts tied up with coloured ribbon strike the eye of the
visitor."--_Sunday Paper._
In that case we shall postpone our intended visit until Miss EDISS is
herself again.
* * * * *
[Illustration: =MANNERS AND MODES.=
NOW THAT MEN'S ATTIRE IS SO COSTLY WHY NOT TAKE A LEAF FROM THE
LADIES' BOOK OF FASHION AND LET THE TAILORS HAVE DRESS PARADES OF THE
LATEST DESIGNS?]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE CULT OF FACE-READING.
'_Erb_ (_a cinema habitue_). "SEE WOT 'E'S SAYING, EM'LY? '_E'S STILL
AT THE OFFICE AND WON'T BE ABLE TO GET 'OME TO DINNER_."]
* * * * *
=THE CONSPIRATORS.=
VI.
MY DEAR CHARLES,--I was talking to the Editor the other day about this
correspondence of ours which we are conducting in the public Press,
thus saving the twopenny stamps and avoiding the increased cost of
living which is hitting everyone else so hard.
"This ought to be put a stop to," said he.
"That is just what I have been saying since 1918," I replied; "but the
question is what to do about it? When you get down to it, the word
'Bolshevist' is but the Russian for 'advanced Socialist,' and there is
nothing to prevent Socialists, whether they be advanced or retarded.
How then are you going to put a stop to Bolshevism?"
"I was thinking of the correspondence," the Editor replied.
So I stopped talking to him and sat down to write my last letter to
you on the subject.
To resume: In the summer of 1918 the German War Lords began to have
their doubts of a Pax Germanica and saw signs rather of a Wash-out
Germanicum. Things looked ill with them, so they consulted their
doctor, a certain person who called himself "Dr. Help-us" by way of a
jest. He proved more successful as a business man, however, than he
was as a humourist. He advised that the "War of World Conquest" was
not likely to produce a dividend, because its name was against it.
Cut out "Imperialism"; substitute another word, with just as many
syllables and no less an imposing sound, "Proletariat"; call the thing
"Class Warfare"; advertise it thoroughly and attract to it all the
political egoists of disappointed ambition in the various countries of
the enemy, and the German War Lords would find it no longer necessary
to crush all existing nations, since all existing nations would then
set about to crush themselves.
The idea was voted excellent, and the trial run in Russia gave
complete satisfaction.
But not all countries were so immediately susceptible to the idea of
a World Revolution. Victory hath its charms and does not predispose a
people to complain; so where the Masses (invested with a capital "M"
to flatter their vanity and secure their goodwill) were victorious and
content they were to be made to believe by advertisement that with
a little trouble they could become even more victorious and more
content. The KAISER and Imperialism had been disposed of; it only
remained to get rid of Capitalism and Charles. The subterranean
campaign was developed, and that is what our conspirators have since
been so brisk and busy about.
That was the programme; but it is a programme which required money.
And so at last to the Chinese Bonds.
Oh, those Chinese Bonds! How some people abroad have learned to curse
the very mention of them these last many months! I don't know where
that tiresome man, LITVINOFF, first got them from, but my poor
friends, whose business all this is, were running after them at least
ten months ago. Sometimes they were in Russia, sometimes they showed
up in Denmark, sometimes they got scent of them in Germany, and I am
told it is the merest fluke that the Bonds did not come to Switzerland
for the winter sports. And wherever they turned up they were always
just on their way to England; either they had a poor sense of
direction or, being bad sailors, were afraid of the crossing. There
was never any knowing in what corner of the earth they would next be
appearing; in fact the only country which those Chinese Bonds seemed
to have successfully avoided was China.
The first time we heard of them, I will admit that we were thrilled.
They gave a touch of reality to an otherwise over-hairy and
unconvincing narrative of conspiracy. The second time we were told of
them we were pleasurably moved. So it was true, after all, about those
Chinese Bonds?
The third time we heard of them we were satisfied; the fourth time we
heard of them we were indifferent; the fifth time bored, the sixth
time irritated, the seventh time infuriated, and the eighth time
we said to our informant, "Now look you here. We appreciate the
excitement of your mysterious presence and the soothing effects of
your hushed voice, and as long as you care to go on revealing your
secrets we will listen. You may speak of finance and you may even
touch upon British bank-notes forged by the Soviets; you may go so far
as to divulge some new forms of script involved, getting as near as
even, say, Japanese Debentures; but if you so much as mention China or
its Bonds to us again we will wrap you up in a parcel and post you
to Moscow with a personal note of warning to LENIN as to your inner
knowledge and the dangerous publicity you are giving it."
For ourselves we wrote many a learned treatise on the subject and sent
many a thousand memos home to those authorities near to whose hearts
the welfare of those Bonds should be. And after many months of this
correspondence someone in the what-d'you-call-it office suddenly
sat up and took notice and wrote to us as follows: "His Majesty's
Principal Secretary of State for Thingummy has the honour to inform
you that rumours have reached his ears concerning the existence of
certain bonds, alleged to be Chinese, in the hands of Bolshevist
agitators coming or intending to come to this country. You are
requested to ascertain and report what, if anything, is known of these
Chinese Bonds."
I could have made a story for you of the uses to which the Bonds were
put in other countries and newspapers as well as your own. But that
painfully honest journal, _The Daily Herald_, has anticipated me.
And anything more you want to know about the conspiracies or the
conspirators you may now, as I judge from reading your Press,
experience for yourself. So upon that these letters may end. I would
like to have concluded by a protestation that, in making these frank
statements as to the working of, and against, the Conspirators, I
personally draw no pecuniary benefit of any sort, not a sovereign,
not a bob, not a half-penny stamp. It is perhaps better, however, to
anticipate discovery by owning up to the fact that my frankness is
being paid for at so many pence per line.
Yours ever, HENRY.
(_Concluded_.)
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Nervous Party_. "ARE YOU SURE THAT LOBSTER'S ALL
RIGHT?"
_Fishmonger_ (_on his dignity_). "QUITE RIGHT, SIR. IF IT ISN'T WE
SHALL BE HERE TO-MORROW."
_Nervous Party_. "YES--BUT SHALL _I_ BE HERE TO-MORROW?"]
* * * * *
EPITAPH FOR A PROFESSOR OF TANGO:
"_Nihil tetigit quod non ornavit_."
* * * * *
THE CAGE.
He stood in the packed building, a small lonely figure, pathetic in
the isolation that shut him off from the warm humanity of the watching
crowd.
He felt weak, ill, but he struggled to bear himself bravely. He could
not move his eyes from the stern white face that seemed to fill all
the space in front of him. About that cold minatory figure, which was
speaking to him in such passionless even tones, clung an atmosphere of
awe; the traditional robes of office lent it a majesty that crushed
his will.
He knew he was being addressed, and he strove to listen. His brain was
a torrent of thoughts. And so his life had come to this. It was indeed
the final catastrophe. That was surely what the voice meant--that
voice which went on and on in an even stream of sound without meaning.
Why had he come to this--in the flower of his life to lose its
chiefest gift, Liberty?
Up and down the spaces of his brain thought sped like fire. The people
behind--did they care? A few perhaps pitied him. The others were
indifferent. To them it was merely a spectacle.
Suddenly into his mind crept the consciousness of a vast silence. The
voice had stopped. The abrupt cessation of sound whipped his quivering
nerves. It was like the holding of a great breath.
He gathered his forces. He knew that the huge concourse waited. A
question had been put to him. It seemed as if the world stood still to
listen.
He moistened his lips. He knew what he had meant to say, but his
tongue was a traitor to his desire. What use now to plead? The
soundlessness grew intolerable. He thought he should cry aloud.
And then--
"I will," he said, and, looking sideways, caught the swift shy glance
of his bride.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _The Master Plumber_. "I'VE NEVER SEED A BLOKE TAKE SO
LONG OVER A JOB IN ALL ME LIFE. THAT LAD'LL GO FAR."]
* * * * *
=NEW RHYMES FOR OLD CHILDREN.=
THE SPONGE.
The sponge is not, as you suppose,
A funny kind of weed;
He lives below the deep blue sea,
An animal, like you and me,
Though not so good a breed.
And when the sponges go to sleep
The fearless diver dives;
He prongs them with a cruel prong,
And, what I think is rather wrong,
He also prongs their wives.
For I expect they love their wives
And sing them little songs,
And though, of course, they have no heart
It hurts them when they're forced to part--
Especially with prongs.
I know you'd rather not believe
Such dreadful things are done;
Alas, alas, it is the case;
And every time you wash your face
You use a skeleton.
And that round hole in which you put
Your finger and your thumb,
And tear the nice new sponge in two,
As I have told you _not_ to do,
Was once his _osculum_.
So that is why I seldom wash,
However black I am,
But use my flannel if I must,
Though even that, to be quite just,
Was once a little lamb. A. P. H.
* * * * *
=HOW TO MISS THE MISSING LINK.=
We understand that an expedition will shortly leave the United States
for Central Asia in search of the Missing Link. "Aeroplanes, motor
cars, camels, mules and all means of locomotion found suitable will
be used by the anthropologists, archaeologists and other scientists"
taking part.
We predict that an enterprise so opposed to all the traditions of
exploration is doomed to failure. We cannot doubt that the Missing
Link possesses a sense of smell keen enough to detect a camel or a
Ford car while yet afar off. His regrettable elusiveness is more
likely to be established than overcome when he beholds mules and
anthropologists, attended by aeroplanes and motor-cars, and possibly
whippet-tanks, motor-scooters and phrenologists. Even if there are
only nine or ten of each variety it will be enough to ensure that the
adventurers miss the Link after all.
Another aspect of the expedition should be borne in mind. The progress
through the jungle of such vehicles and personnel would cause
something like consternation among the larger fauna, whose limited
intelligence might reasonably fail to distinguish the procession from
a travelling menagerie. In these days of unrest is it right, is
it expedient, thus to stir up species hatred? It would be indeed
deplorable if the present quest were to be followed by a search party
got up to trace the missing Missing Link expedition.
Surely the old methods of the explorer are still the best. Simply
equipped with an elephant-rifle and a pith helmet, let him plunge into
the bush and be lost to sight for a few years. Whereas the Missing
Link may be relied on to remain resolutely beneath his rock at the
sight of a sort of a Lord Mayor's Show wandering among the vegetation,
the spectacle of a simple-looking traveller in the midst of the lonely
forest would rather encourage the creature to emerge from its place of
retreat.
Then nothing would remain but for the explorer to advance with
out-stretched hand (preferably the left), and exclaim, "The Missing
Link, I presume?"
* * * * *
[Illustration: A CLOSE CORPORATION.
EX-SERVICE MAN (_unemployed_). "IF YOU'RE SO SHORT OF LABOUR, WHY
DON'T YOU TAKE ME ON?"
TRADE UNION OFFICIAL. "MY GOOD FELLOW, BRICKLAYING REQUIRES YEARS AND
YEARS OF APPRENTICESHIP."
EX-SERVICE MAN. "SO DOES SOLDIERING; BUT THEY WEREN'T SO PARTICULAR
WHEN THERE WAS WORK TO BE DONE AT THE FRONT."]
* * * * *
=ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.=
_Monday, October 25th_.--Sir PHILIP LLOYD-GREAME, the newest recruit
on the Treasury Bench, already answers Questions with all the
assurance of the other LLOYD G. His readiness in referring the
inquisitive to other Departments and in declining to go beyond
his brief--witness his modest refusal to discuss in reply to a
Supplementary Question the possibility of imposing a tariff in this
country--suggests that somewhere behind the SPEAKER'S chair there must
be a school for Under-Secretaries where the callow back-bencher is
instructed in the arts and crafts required in the seats of the mighty.
For this purpose I can imagine no better instructor than the
ATTORNEY-GENERAL, who combines scrupulous politeness with an icy
precision of language. Take, for example, his treatment of Mr.
PEMBERTON BILLING'S defiant inquiry if it would now be "compatible
with the dignity of the Government" to say that there had never been
any intention to bring the War-criminals to trial. "No," replied Sir
GORDON HEWART in his most pedagogic manner, "it cannot be compatible
with anyone's dignity to make a statement which is manifestly untrue."
[Illustration: A GOVERNMENT RECRUIT.
Sir PHILIP LLOYD-GREAME.
_Parliamentary Secretary to the Board of Trade._]
This week was to have been devoted, _de die in diem_, to getting on
with the Government of Ireland Bill. But the malignant sprite that has
hitherto foiled every effort to pacify Ireland again intervened, and
the House found itself called upon to discuss the Emergency Powers
Bill. The measure is a peace-time successor to D.O.R.A. (who in the
opinion of the Government is getting a little _passee_) and, perhaps
naturally, met with little approval. Mr. ASQUITH, while admitting
that something of the kind might be required, took exception to the
vagueness of its drafting. "What is 'substantial'?" he inquired.
"Ask them another!" Mr. WILL THORNE joyfully interjected. "What is
'substantial'?" repeated the EX-PREMIER; whereupon the Coalition with
one voice replied, "WILL THORNE."
[Illustration: SOMETHING "SUBSTANTIAL." Mr. WILL THORNE.]
With consummate skill the PRIME MINISTER managed to get the House out
of its hostile mood and to satisfy the majority, at any rate, that
the measure was neither provocative nor inopportune, but a necessary
precaution against the possibility that "direct action" on the part
of extra-Parliamentary bodies might confront the country with the
alternatives of starvation or surrender.
_Tuesday, October 26th_.--In these troublous times the House gladly
seizes the smallest occasion for merriment. There was great laughter
when Colonel YATE, the politest of men, inadvertently referred to Sir
ARCHIBALD WILLIAMSON as "the right honourable gent," and it broke
forth again when, in his anxiety to make no further slip, he addressed
him _tout court_ as "the right honourable."
There are some fifty thousand British soldiers in Ireland, costing
over a million pounds a month. But Mr. CHURCHILL took the cheery view
that after all they had to be somewhere, and would cost nearly as much
even in Great Britain.
They would cost a good deal more in Mesopotamia, where we have a
hundred thousand troops (British and Indian), and the cost is two
and a half millions a month. Sir WILLIAM JOYNSON-HICKS could not
understand why we should spend all this money "merely to hand the
country back to the rebels." Mr. CHURCHILL said he had heard nothing
about handing the country back to the rebels; from which it may be
inferred either that he is not admitted into all the secrets of the
Cabinet or that he draws a distinction between "rebels" and "persons
who object to British rule."
The Press campaign in favour of a nickel three-halfpenny coin has not
succeeded. In Mr. CHAMBERLAIN'S opinion it would not be a coin of
vantage. Among his objections to it may be the extreme probability
that the present Administration would promptly be nicknamed (I will
not say nickel-named) "the Three-half-penny Government."
Owing to a number of concessions announced by the HOME SECRETARY the
Emergency Powers Bill had a fairly smooth passage through Committee.
Objections were still raised to making an Emergency Act permanent--it
_does_ sound rather like a contradiction in terms--but the
ATTORNEY-GENERAL skilfully countered them by pointing out that it was
only the framework of the machinery, not the regulations, that would
be permanent. One can imagine the bold bad baron who set up a gallows
to overawe his villeins comforting objectors with the remark that
after all it was merely a framework--quite useless without a rope.
[Illustration: THE BOLD BAD BARON.
_Sir Gordon Hewart_. "MERELY A FRAMEWORK--QUITE USELESS WITHOUT A
ROPE."]
_Wednesday, October 27th_.--Much pother in the Lords because the FIRST
COMMISSIONER OF WORKS had set up a Committee to advise him with regard
to the preservation of ancient monuments, including cathedrals and
churches, without first consulting the ecclesiastical authorities.
Lord PARMOOR moved a condemnatory resolution, and His Grace of
CANTERBURY, after renouncing Sir ALFRED MOND and all his works,
declared that, so far as religious edifices were concerned, the
proposed Committee was a superfluity of naughtiness with which he
personally would have nothing to do. Lord LYTTON, with that delightful
free-and-easiness which characterises the attitude of our present
Ministers towards their colleagues, observed that he could have
sympathised with the objectors if it were really intended to place
cathedrals under Sir ALFRED'S care; but it wasn't;--so why all this
fuss? Lord CRAWFORD, while sharing the Opposition's dislike of
restorers, from VIOLLET-LE-DUC to the late Lord GRIMTHORPE, could
not admit that in this matter the Office of Works had been guilty of
anything worse than a want of tact. Lord PARMOOR insisted on going
to a division, and carried his motion by 27 to 17. Despite this
shattering blow the Government is said to be going on as well as can
be expected.
[Illustration: A PILLAR OF THE CHURCH.]
What happened at Jutland? After four years' cogitation the Admiralty
does not appear to have emerged from the state of uncertainty into
which it was plunged by the first news of the battle. In February
last Mr. LONG announced that the official report would be published
"shortly," but then the German sailors began to publish _their_
stories, and these not very unnaturally differed from the British
accounts. So now My Lords have decided to leave Sir JULIAN CORBETT'S
_Naval History of the War_ to unravel the tangle and inform Lords
JELLICOE and BEATTY (who, according to Sir JAMES CRAIG, are quite
agreeable to the proposal) exactly what they and their gallant seamen
really did on that famous occasion.
_Thursday, October 28th_.--There being no Labour Party in the House
of Lords the Emergency Powers Bill passed through all its stages in
a single sitting. Even Lord CREWE did not challenge its necessity in
these troublous times, but Lord ASKWITH was a little alarmed at the
possibility that "an unreasoning Home Secretary"--as if there could
ever be such a monster!--might be over-hasty to issue Orders in
Council, and so exacerbate an industrial dispute.
A long list of "reprisal" Questions--mercifully curtailed by the
time-limit--was chiefly remarkable for Sir HAMAR GREENWOOD'S emphatic
declaration that he was not going to accept the statements even of
English newspaper correspondents against the reports of officials "for
whom I am responsible and in whom I have confidence."
Assuming that the House of Commons is, as it ought to be, a microcosm
of the population, it will be some time before this country goes
"dry." Members of all parties pressed upon the PRIME MINISTER the
necessity of relaxing the regulations of the Liquor Control Board.
His suggestion that an informal Committee should be set up to make
recommendations to the Government was received with cheers, and there
was much amusement when Mr. BOTTOMLEY and Lady ASTOR, who do not,
I gather, quite see eye to eye on this subject, promptly nominated
themselves for membership.
As the PRIME MINISTER is popularly supposed to be not averse from
appearing in the limelight, especially when there is good news to
impart, it is pleasant to record that he left to Sir ROBERT HORNE the
congenial task of announcing that an agreement had been reached with
the Miners' Federation, and that the coal-strike was on the high road
to settlement. The terms, as stated, seemed to be satisfactory to
all parties, and the only mystery is why the negotiators should have
required the stimulus of a strike before they could arrive at them.
* * * * *
THE DOWNING OF THE PEN.
A little difference of opinion on the moral aspect of strikes which
has been ventilated in _The Daily News_ has caused one correspondent
to write: "Let us suppose that Mr. SILAS HOCKING regards the serial
rights of one of his novels as worth L250. Suppose I offer him L100.
What does he do? He withholds his labour; and quite right too!"
But does this analogy go far enough? It would be a simple matter, for
which we might easily console ourselves, if the author in question
merely withheld his own labour. But if he followed modern strike
tactics he would do more.
Calling in aid the services of his brother JOSEPH, he would endeavour
by peaceful persuasion to induce Mrs. ASQUITH, Mr. ARNOLD BENNETT,
Mrs. ELINOR GLYN, Mr. COMPTON MACKENZIE and others to withhold their
labour also. Picketing would follow, and London would be stirred to
its depths by the news that Sir HALL CAINE was on duty outside the
establishment of _The Sunday Pictorial_, and that Miss ETHEL M. DELL
was in charge of the squad on the doorstep of the Amalgamated Press.
Sympathetic strikes would develope. The newspaper-vendors would rise
and demand that _The Daily Mirror_ feuilleton be suppressed, thus
plunging the country into an agony of suspense, and railwaymen would
cease work at the sight of any passenger immersed in the most recent
instalment of the _Home Bits_ serial story.
Mr. W. W. JACOBS would address mass meetings at the Docks, and Mr.
HILAIRE BELLOC would embark on a resolute thirst-strike. At the same
time daily newspapers would compete in offering solutions of the
problem. One would say, "For goodness' sake give him the extra paltry
one hundred and fifty pounds and let the country get on with its
work;" and another would suggest a compromise at one hundred-and-fifty
guineas, conditional upon the author's output.
Far from the simple withholding of his labour by a single novelist,
such a turmoil would ensue as would not only shake our intellectual
life to its foundations, but would keep the PRIME MINISTER engaged in
the exploration of interminable vistas of avenue.
* * * * *
=Mixed Education.=
"Formerly a student at Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford, her husband is
a Fellow of Balliol College."--_Local Paper._
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Prospective Sitter_ (_with unconventional past_). "I
ALWAYS THINK YOU GET SUCH WONDERFUL CHARACTER INTO YOUR PORTRAITS."
_Artist_. "GLAD TO HEAR THAT. I ALWAYS TRY TO MAKE MY SUBJECTS'
PORTRAITS A MIRROR OF THEIR PAST LIVES."]
* * * * *
=THE SUBSTITUTE.=
[Sweets are replacing alcohol.--_Vide Papers passim_.]
As more and more the god of wine
Grows faint from want of tippling,
Nor round his path the roses shine,
Nor purple streams are rippling;
As usquebaugh and malt and hops
No longer much entice us,
We crown anew with lollipops,
With peppermints, with acid drops,
The nobler Dionysus.
