Various - Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 159, September 22, 1920
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 159, September 22, 1920
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 159.
September 22nd, 1920.
CHARIVARIA.
"'Strike while the iron is hot' must be the motto," says a business
man. Mr. SMILLIE, on the other hand, says that it doesn't so much
matter about the iron being hot.
* * *
A curious story reaches us from the Midlands. It appears that it had
been decided to call out the workmen in a certain factory, but the
strike-leader had unfortunately mislaid his notes and could not
remember their grievance.
* * *
Mr. C.B. COCHRAN has decided to have nothing further to do with the
promotion of boxing-matches owing to the way in which contracts are
continually being broken. It has since been reported that several of
our leading professional boxers are endeavouring to arrange a farewell
disappointment.
* * *
Mr. EVANS, the American golf champion, has invented a new putter. We
appreciate America's effort, but all the same we cannot forget her
apathy toward the League of Nations.
* * *
Last week the largest number of Alpinists ever assembled met on the
top of the Matterhorn. If this sort of thing goes on it is quite
likely that the summit will have to be strengthened.
* * *
Colder weather is promised and the close season for Councillor CLARK
should commence about October 1st.
* * *
"The ex-Kaiser," says _The Western Morning News_, "goes in daily
fear of being kidnapped." This is said to be due to the presence at
Amerongen of an enterprising party of American curio-hunters.
* * *
A headline in a weekly paper asks, "What will Charlie Chaplin Turn out
this Year?" "His feet," is the answer.
* * *
The language at Billingsgate, according to Sir E.E. COOPER, is much
better than it used to be. Fish porters invariably say "Excuse me"
before throwing a length of obsolete eel at a colleague.
* * *
In the event of a miners' strike arrangements have been made for the
staff of the Ministry of Transport to sleep at the office. It would be
more wise, we think, if they remained wide awake.
* * *
A feature of the new motor charabanc will be the space for passengers'
luggage. This is just what is wanted, as it so easily gets broken even
if the corks don't come out.
* * *
A message from Allahabad states that the appointment of Mr. WINSTON
CHURCHILL as Viceroy of India would be very popular. Unfortunately
they omit to say where it would be popular.
* * *
"Drink is Scotland's greatest sin," said a Prohibitionist speaker at
Glasgow. The gentleman does not seem to have heard of haggis.
* * *
Asked what he would have, a Scotsman, taking advantage of its high
price, replied, "A small petrol, please."
* * *
The National Gallery with its three thousand pictures is practically
priceless, we are informed. This probably accounts for the fact that
the hall-porter invariably takes visitors' umbrellas as security.
* * *
What is now wanted, says a contemporary, is a good spell of fine
weather. We feel that no good can be done by rubbing it in like this.
_The Daily Mail_ is doing its best.
* * *
We understand, by the way, that _The Daily Mail_ has definitely
decided not to offer a prize of a hundred pounds for a new world, but
to leave the matter entirely in the hands of Mr. LLOYD GEORGE.
* * *
The Astronomical Correspondent of _The Times_ suggests that the new
star may have been produced through a sun being struck by a comet.
This raises the question as to whether suns ought not to carry rear
lights.
* * *
There is some talk of a series of week-end summers being arranged for
next year.
* * *
"If necessary I will walk from John-o'-Groats to Land's End,
distributing propaganda literature all the way," announced a
well-known strike agitator at a recent conference. Personally we do
not mind if he does, provided that when he reaches Land's End he
continues to walk in the same direction.
* * *
According to a weekly journal the art of camouflage played a most
important part in recent naval warfare. It is, of course, quite an
open secret that the Naval authorities are aware that one of our
largest Dreadnoughts is somewhere in a certain English harbour, but,
owing to the excellence of its camouflage, they have not yet been able
to locate it.
* * *
We now learn that it was merely through an oversight that the pit
ponies did not record their votes at the strike ballot.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "WHO'S BILL 'IGGINS PLAYIN' FOR THIS SEASON?"
"OH, 'E AIN'T SIGNED ON YET, BUT WE'VE OFFERED HIM FIRST SUCK AT THE
LEMON."]
* * * * *
=The Journalistic Touch.=
"Shamming death, he moaned loudly."
_Irish Paper._
* * * * *
=Our Critics.=
"'The Seven Deadly Sins.' Frederick Rogers.
This is a subject that Mr. Rogers is eminently fitted to
explore."--_Review of Reviews._
* * * * *
"Tenor wanted, to join bass; must have voice."--_Scotch Paper._
Some people are so exacting.
* * * * *
"Bride in apricot."--_Daily Paper._
A new significance is added to the calculation of one's fruit
stones--"This year, next year, some time, never."
* * * * *
THE ASHES.
[A final salutation to the M.C.C. team, from one who is destined
to perish in the event of a coal strike.]
O ship that farest forth, a greater _Argo_,
Unto the homeland of the woolly fleece,
Soft gales attend thee! may thy precious cargo
Slide over oceans smoothed of every crease,
So as the very flower, or pick,
Of England's flanneled chivalry may not be sick!
And thou, O gentle goddess Hygieia,
Hover propitious o'er the vessel's poop;
Keep them from chicken-pox and pyorrhoea,
Measles and nettle-rash and mumps and croup;
See they digest their food and drink,
And land them, even as they leave us, in the pink!
Thou, too, whose favour they depend so much on
(Fortune, I mean) in this precarious game,
Oh let there be no blob on their escutcheon,
Or, if a few occur, accept the blame;
Do not, of course, abuse thy powers;
We'd have the best side win, but let that side be ours.
Summer awaits them there while we are wheezing
By empty hearths through bitter days and black;
Yet we rejoice that, though we die of freezing
And cannot get cremated, all for lack
Of coal to feed our funeral pyres,
Still "in our ashes [yonder] live their wonted fires."
O.S.
* * * * *
THE MINISTRY OF ANCESTRY.
"As you are aware," said a prominent official of the Ministry of
Ancestry, "although our department has only been in existence for a
few months the profits have enabled the Government to take twopence
off the income-tax and to provide employment for thousands of
deserving clerks dismissed, in deference to public opinion, from other
Government offices."
"Yes. Could you tell me how this brilliant scheme came into being?"
"The Chinese knew and practised it for centuries. Here the credit for
its re-discovery must be assigned to Sir Cuthbert Shover, who, owing
to handsome contributions to necessary funds, combined, of course,
with meritorious public service during the War, was offered a
baronetcy. He refused it for himself, but accepted it for his aged
father, thereby becoming second baronet in three months. He deplored
the fact that his grandfather was no longer eligible for the honour.
Then we saw light. Why should the mere accident of death prevent us
from honouring a man if his family were prepared to contribute towards
the country's exchequer? But these letters will give you a clearer
insight into the working of the department."
The first letter was addressed to Miss Cannon, at Maidstone:--
"DEAR MADAM,--We have no hesitation in advising you to have a
bishop in your family. Few purchases give greater satisfaction.
If, as you say, your late maternal grandfather was curate of
Slowden, and was, as far as you are aware, a man of exemplary
character, we could make him a bishop without delay. Your home
being in Kent, it occurs to us that the see of Carlisle would suit
the Right Reverend Prelate best. The cost of the proceedings,
including a pre-dated _Conge d'Elire_, would be eight hundred
guineas. An archbishopric would be slightly more expensive and, in
our opinion, less suitable."
"Amazing," I said.
"But so simple. Here is a letter from a man who wants to have had
forbears in the Navy. We say:--
"'Naturally it would have been an advantage for your son, whom you
destine for the Navy, to have had relations in that service. But
it is not too late to remedy this defect.
"'By virtue of the powers conferred upon us by Act of Parliament
(Ancestry Act, 1922), we are prepared to give your sometime
great-great-uncle William, who, according to family tradition,
always wanted to go to sea, a commission in the Navy, and the
rank of lieutenant, together with appointment to any ship of the
line--with the exception of the _Victory_--which fought under Lord
NELSON. The making out the commission will be put in hand on the
receipt of your cheque for three hundred guineas.'"
"Do you always give satisfaction?"
"Occasionally we have to disappoint people. For instance, this letter
to a lady at Plymouth:--
"'We fear we cannot grant your request to reserve a berth on the
_Mayflower_ for your delightful ancestress, Mrs. Patience Loveday.
The _Mayflower_ is already overcrowded, and, owing to some
ill-feeling raised in America, we decided to resign all interest
in the vessel. Should you desire some other form of Puritan
distinction how would you like to provide yourself with a
non-juring clergyman as an ancestor? We could present any suitable
departed member of your family to a Crown living, and supply
you with an order of ejectment, dated the anniversary of St.
Bartholomew's Day, 1662.'"
"Judging from the address on this letter, 'X. O'Finny, Esq.,' your
jurisdiction extends to Ireland?"
"Yes, Mr. O'Finny wants some persecuted ancestors. We offer to supply
him with a member of his family condemned to be beheaded by order of
QUEEN ELIZABETH, price one thousand, which includes a replica of the
Great Seal of England; or, to have another member shot by order of
CROMWELL, at half the price; or a sentence of hanging in '98. This
would be three hundred only. We advise him to take the complete set at
a reduction, and have no doubt we shall come to terms."
"Have you anything more expensive?" I asked timidly.
"Rather. Here is our answer to Lord--better not give the name,
perhaps; the creation is recent. He wished for a Crusader, but we
explained that the Crusades were not under Government. We offer to
introduce his family name into our authorised supplement to the
Domesday Book for five thousand pounds. I call it cheap at the money.
Now what can we do for you?"
"I must think it over," I stammered.
"Do. You will come back. Pair of Colours, now, for a
great-great-grandfather. How would that suit you? Only five hundred.
Or a place at Court in the Regency? Or, if you wish good business
connection, a directorship of the East India Company? The whole of the
past lies before you. Give your children a fair start in life, that
is what we say. Money is good, education is better, but distinguished
ancestry is best of all."
* * * * *
=Stitches in Time.=
"The breeches on the line between Sini and Jhursagudha have now
been repaired."--_Civil and Military Gazette._
* * * * *
"The King has given Mr. William Armstrong, Director of Criminal
Intelligence of the Shanghai Municipal Police, authority to wear
the Insignia of the Fourth Class of the Order of the Excellent
Crop, conferred on him by the President of the Republic of China,
in recognition of valuable services."--_Times._
We understand that extreme shortness of hair is not the hall-mark of
the Chinese criminal world.
* * * * *
[Illustration: UNDER A CLOUD (WITH A GOLDEN LINING).
COMRADE LANSBURY. "THANKS TO MY FAITHFUL BROLSKI NOT A DROP HAS
TOUCHED ME."
[_Loud crows from "Daily Herald" bird._]]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Horrified Sister_ (_to small artist_). "MABEL, YOU'RE
SURELY NOT SUCKING YOUR BRUSH WHEN YOU'RE PAINTING TOADSTOOLS?"]
* * * * *
KINGS AND QUEENS.
There are thirty-six of them in all, ranging from WILLIAM I., who
is "severe," to VICTORIA, who is just "good." I first made their
acquaintance in childhood, when my grandmother gave them me with the
laudable object of teaching me history. Each is a little wooden block
signifying a monarch. On one side there is a portrait showing the
face, collar and upper portion of torso of the monarch in question;
on the other side there is written a single word summing up his whole
character.
By means of these royal blocks I was brought up to a sound historical
sense based on religion and morality. At the age of seven I could
and did boast that I knew the innermost souls of all the monarchs
of England. I could say their dates by heart, often doing so during
sermon time on Sundays, with a grace and ease that only lifelong
acquaintance with royalty could have bred. I was even able to triumph
through that tricky period between the death of EDWARD III. and the
accession of ELIZABETH. I wonder if the late Lord ACTON was as learned
at that age: I am sure he could not say his dates backwards. I could.
It has always surprised those who have endeavoured to teach me
history that my youthful brain should be so strongly grounded in
the historical tradition of over half a century ago. Yet all the
historians of modern England could not shake me in my faith. To me
QUEEN VICTORIA was no "panting little German widow," as our latest
searcher after truth has affirmed, but the august lady who listened
entranced to the beautiful poems of Lord TENNYSON and invented
electricity and the tricycle. In consequence I was considered a
counter-revolutionary, if not bourgeois. My essays were deemed
dangerously reactionary. At Oxford I once found my tutor burning one.
This shows the value the authorities attach to my work. It is too
dangerous to live; it is burnt.
I venture to think, however, that my work, based as it is on the
most respectable principles, will survive long after my tutors have
subsided into a permanent state of death in life. Like SHAKSPEARE and
the present Government I am for all time.
It is easy to see how I came to acquire this stability of thought,
owing as I do my early training to the kings and queens of England,
who are nothing if not stable. They are my acknowledged guardians and
to them I turn in all difficulties. Only a year ago they came to my
aid in a most awkward predicament. It was my lot to fill up army
forms; of what variety I cannot remember save that they were of a
jaundicy colour and connected with the men's demobilisation. On these
documents I was expected to enter, besides the usual details as to
religion and connubial felicity, the character of each man in a
single word. I at once marshalled my wooden royalties before me
in chronological order and proceeded to deal with the squadron in
rotation.
The first name on my list was that of the disciplinary sergeant-major.
It was with a glow of pride that I registered him with WILLIAM I.
as "severe." The designation of Tonks, the Mess waiter (whom we had
discovered on the night the bomb fell on the aerodrome making a home
and a house of defence in the cookhouse stove), as "heroic"
was distinctly happy. It was perhaps unfortunate that the
quartermaster-sergeant, an austere man from Renfrew, should have
found, on perusing his demobilisation card, that he was to be handed
down to posterity as "avaricious." I was also sorry to find the padre,
usually so broad-minded, in a nasty temper about the character given
to his batman, who was, he assured me, the only pious man in the
squadron and in private life a dissenting minister. "Dissolute"
certainly was on the face of things inappropriate, but then it was
no fault of mine that the merriest of English monarchs should have
appeared at the moment when I was filling up the papers of a minister
of religion.
The light that my wooden monarchs throw on history is both interesting
and, to a modern, precious. For instance, the designation of the first
Angevin king as "patriotic" will surprise many readers of the late
Bishop STUBBS. "Patriotic" is a wide term and may be applied to almost
anything from after-dinner flag-wagging to successful juggling with
Colonial stocks and shares; yet there are few who would have described
it as the besetting virtue of HENRY I. But it was; his little block
says so.
JOHN, again, was "mean." I am sorry, for, though in some respects
blameworthy, he had many agreeable traits. His views on the honesty of
his baronage are most entertaining. He was something of a wit, a good
judge of food and wine, and would have made an excellent Fellow of an
Oxford college. It is much to be regretted that he was mean.
Poor HENRY VI. is "silly." This is a hard judgment on the pioneer of
the movement against low backs in evening frocks, but doubtless he was
silly in other things.
Some of my monarchs had the most excellent characters. EDWARD I. was
"just," GEORGE IV. "courteous," OLIVER CROMWELL "noble"--a sad blow
for the White Rose Club. Our younger monarchs were particularly
attractive persons, and it is a pity that they did not live long
enough to display their qualities. EDWARD VI. was "amiable," while
EDWARD V., like all with expectations from their uncle, was "hopeful."
Poor child! he had need to be.
I am pained however that CHARLES II. was "dissolute." It was what
HENRY VIII. dissolved the monasteries for being--the impertinent old
polygamist! For my part I love CHARLES for the affection that he bore
little dogs, for the chance saying on Sussex hills that this England
was a country well worth fighting for. Alas! that he should have been
dissolute.
Best of all my friends is GEORGE III. He is portrayed with a jolly red
nose and a mouth that positively yawns for pudding. His character,
which is his chief glory, is "benevolent." Who would not rejoice to
have been the object of his regal philanthropy? SAMUEL JOHNSON himself
did not hesitate to accept the bounty of this kindly monarch, though,
while his predecessor reigned, the great lexicographer had defined a
pensioner as "a state hireling" paid "for treason to his country."
Such are my friends the kings and queens of England. Happy the child
who has such majesty to be his guardian spirit. To him life will be
a pomp, where vulgar democracy can have no part, and death a
trysting-place with old comrades--the child for whom
"The kings of England, lifting up their swords,
Shall gather at the gates of Paradise."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _The Super-Tramp._ "MADAM, IF YOU HAVE ANY MORE OF THAT
PIE YOU GAVE ME THIS MORNING I SHOULD BE PLEASED TO PAY FOR IT."]
* * * * *
A HOME FROM HOME.
(_An actual incident_.)
My fancy sought no English field,
What time my holiday drew near;
I felt no fond desire to wield
The shrimping net of yesteryear;
I found it easy to eschew
All wish to hear a pierrot stating
His lust to learn the rendezvous
Of flies engaged in hibernating.
Beyond the Channel I would range
(I called it "cross the rolling main")
And there achieve the thorough change
Demanded by my jaded brain;
It might be that an alien clime
Would jog a failing inspiration,
Buck up a bard and render rhyme
Less difficult of excavation.
A thorough change? Ah, barren quest,
Foredoomed to fail ere half begun!
Though left behind, my England pressed
In hot pursuit of me, her son;
London was brought again to view
By hordes of maidens out for pillage,
When from the train I stepped into
A flag day in an Alpine village.
* * * * *
WIRE AND BARBED WIRE.
This was the telegram that, after much hesitation, I had written out
at the side desk in the post-office and carried to the main desk to
despatch:--
Pactolus, London.
St. Vitus carburetter stammer tyre scream Sanguine.
You will observe that it is unintelligible. Decoded, it meant that I,
whose betting pseudonym is Sanguine, wished to invest with Messrs.
Lure, commission agents (not bookmakers, no, not for a moment),
whose telegraphic address is "Pactolus, London," a sum of ten pounds
(carburetter) on a horse called St. Vitus to win (stammer), and twenty
pounds (tyre) for a place (scream). I had done this for various
reasons, none really good, but chiefly because every paper that I had
opened had urged me to do so, some even going so far as to dangle a
double before me with St. Vitus as one of the horses. Nearly all had
described St. Vitus as a nap, setting up the name not only in capitals
but with a faithful asterisk beside it.
Having an account with Messrs. Lure and a liking now and then to
indulge in a little flutter over a gee (I am choosing my words very
carefully) I had decided, after weighing the claims of all the other
runners, to take the advice of the majority and back the favourite,
although favourites acclaimed with stridency by the racing experts
of the Press in unison have, I knew, a way of failing. In betting on
races, however, there are two elements that are never lacking: hope
against hope and an incomplete recollection of the past.
Having written out the telegram I took it to the main counter, to the
section labelled "Telegrams," and slipped it under the grating towards
the young woman, who, however, instead of dealing with it, continued
to tell an adjacent young woman about the arrangements that she and a
friend had made for their forthcoming holidays at Herne Bay.
The nature of those who have little flutters on gees is complex. The
ordinary man, having written out his telegram, on whatever subject
it may be--whether it announces that he will arrive before lunch and
bring his clubs with him, or that, having important business to detain
him at the office, he will not be home to dinner--gets it through
as soon as possible. He may be delayed by the telegraph girl's
detachment, but he would not be deterred. He would still send the
telegram. But those who bet are different. They are minutely sensitive
to outside occurrences; always seeking signs and interpreting them as
favourable or unfavourable as the case may be; and refraining from
doing anything so decisive as to call the girl to order. Their game
is to be plastic under the fingers of chance; the faintest breath of
dubiety can sway them. I had been in so many minds about this thirty
pound bet, which I could not really afford, that there was therefore
nothing for it, after waiting the two minutes that seemed to be ten,
but to tear up the message, in the belief that the friendly gods again
had intervened. For luck is as much an affair of refraining as of
rushing in.
I therefore withdrew quietly from the conversation and scattered the
little bits on the floor as I did so. But I did not leave the office.
Instead, I went to the side desk again and wrote another telegram,
which, with the necessary money (an awful lot), I pushed through the
grating, where the girls were still talking. My second telegram had
no reference to horses--I had done with gambling for the day--but ran
thus:--
Postmaster-General, London.
Suggest you remind telegraph clerk on duty at this hour at this
post-office that she perhaps talks a shade too much about Herne
Bay and gives public too little consideration.
The girl, having ceased her chatter, took the telegram and began
feverishly to count the words. Then her tapping pencil slowed down and
her brows contracted; she was assimilating their meaning. Then, with a
blush, and a very becoming one, she looked at me with an expression of
distress and said, "Do you really want this to go?"
"No," I said, withdrawing the money.
"I'm sorry I was not more attentive," she said.
"That's all right," I replied. "Tear it up."
And I came away, feeling, with a certain glow of satisfaction not
unmixed with self-righteousness, that I had done something to raise
the post-office standard and to ensure better attention. But the joke
is that, if I had myself received better attention, I should have lost
thirty pounds, for St. Vitus was unplaced. This story must therefore
remain without a moral.
E.V.L.
* * * * *
=Notice in a Shop Window.=
"Hats made to order, or revenerated."