Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 153, Aug. 22, 1917 - Various
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 153.
AUGUST 22, 1917.
[Illustration: A POULTRY-FANCIER, HEARING THAT DEFENCES AT THE FRONT ARE
SOMETIMES DISGUISED AS HEN-HOUSES, DETERMINED TO REVERSE THE PROCESS.
BEING A BIT OF AN ARTIST HE DISGUISED HIS HEN-HOUSE BY GIVING IT A
WARLIKE APPEARANCE. THE ENEMY WAS STRICKEN WITH PANIC.]
* * * * *
CHARIVARIA.
Eighty-eight policemen were bitten by dogs in 1913, but only forty-four
in 1915, says _The Daily Mail_, and quotes a policeman as saying that
"dogs are not half so vicious as they used to be." The true explanation
is that policemen no longer taste as good as in the old rabbit-pie days.
***
Recent heavy rain and the absence of sunshine have, it is stated, caused
corn in Essex to sprout in the ear. This idea of portable allotments is
appealing very strongly to busy City men.
***
Feeling about the Stockholm Conference is changing a little, and several
people suggest that Mr. RAMSAY MACDONALD might be sent as a reprisal.
***
Sixty-seven children were recently lost on one day at New Brighton. The
fact that they were all restored to their parents before nightfall
speaks well for the honesty of the general public.
***
The German authorities have further restricted the foods to be supplied
to dogs, and German scientists are now trying to grow dachshunds with a
shorter span.
***
"We have a Coal Controller, but where is the coal?" plaintively asks a
contemporary. There is no satisfying the jaundiced Press.
***
A well-dressed female baby a month old has been found under the seat of
a first-class compartment in a train on the Chertsey line. Several
mothers have written to congratulate her upon her courageous and
unconventional protest against the fifty per cent. increase in railway
fares.
***
A Glasgow woman has been fined a guinea for trying to enlist in the
Irish Guards. Only the Scottish Courts carry pride of race to these
absurd lengths.
***
It is announced that the recent increase in the price of bacon was
sanctioned by the FOOD CONTROLLER. The news has given great satisfaction
to law-abiding consumers, who bitterly resented the unauthorised
increases (upon which this is a further increase) that were made under
the old _regime_.
***
A dress made from banana skins is now being exhibited in London. It is,
we believe, a _neglige_ costume, the sort of thing one can slip on at
any time.
***
"If you had let the boy eat it, it would have punished him a great deal
more than I can," said the North London magistrate to a man who was
prosecuting a boy for stealing an unripe pear. It is a splendid tribute
to the humanity of our stipendiary magistrates that the heroic offer of
the boy to accept the greater punishment was promptly refused.
***
A workman at Kinlochleven, Argyllshire, found a live crab in a pocket of
sand at a depth of more than ten feet. On being taken to the
police-station and shown the "All Clear" notice the cautious crustacean
consented to go straight home.
***
At a flower-day sale at Grimsby one thousand pounds was paid by a local
shipowner for a blue periwinkle. In recognition of his generosity no
charge was made for the pin.
***
A Vienna telegram states that the Emperor KARL has handed the Grand
Cross of St. Stephen to the GERMAN CHANCELLOR. The latter quite rightly
protests that Herr BETHMANN-HOLLWEG is the real culprit.
***
From Scotland comes the news that an inmate of a workhouse has received
an income-tax form to fill in. This is considered to be but a foretaste
of the time when all income-tax papers will have to be addressed to the
workhouses.
* * * * *
In a Gloucester meadow, Lieutenant JAGGARD has picked a mushroom
weighing ten ounces and measuring twenty-seven inches in circumference.
Eyewitnesses describe the gallant officer's enveloping movement as a
really brilliant piece of single-handed work.
***
The Prussian Military Press Bureau, among its other fantasies, has
discovered with horror that Calais has been leased to England for
ninety-nine years. Our own information is that the situation is really
worse than that, the lease being granted alternatively for ninety-nine
years "or the duration of the War."
***
An official statement points out that the work of the National Service
Department is continuing without interruption pending the appointment of
a new Director-General. It appears that the members of the staff have
expressed a desire to die in harness.
* * * * *
IDYLLS OF THE KING OF PRUSSIA.
A FRAGMENT.
So spake Sir GERARD (U.S.A.) and ceased.
Then answered WILLIAM, talking through his hat:
"When first the heathen rose against our realm,
That haunt of peace where all day long occurred
The cooing of innumerable doves,
I hailed my knighthood where I sat in hall
At high Potsdam the Palace, and they came;
And all the rafters rang with rousing _Hochs_.
"So to my feet they drew and kissed my boots
And laid their maily fists in mine and sware
To reverence their Kaiser as their God
And _vice versa_; to uphold the Faith
Approved by me as Champion of the Church;
To ride abroad redressing Belgium's wrongs;
To honour treaties like a virgin's troth;
To serve as model in the nations' eyes
Of strength with sweetness wed; to hack their way
Without superfluous violence; to spare
The best cathedrals lest my heart should bleed,
Nor butcher babes and women, or at least
No more than needful--in a word, behave
Like Prussian officers, the flower of men.
"I bade them take ensample from their Lord
Of perfect manners, wearing on their helms
The bouquet of a blameless Junkerhood,
And be a law of culture to themselves,
Though other laws, not made in Germany,
Should perish, being scrapped. For so I deemed
That this our Order of the Table Round
Should mould its Christian pattern on the spheres,
Itself unchanged amid a world new-made,
And men should say, in that fair after-time,
'The old Order sticketh, yielding place to none.'"
So be. Whereat that other held his peace,
Seeming, for courtesy, to yield assent.
But, as within the lists at Camelot
Some temporary knight mislays his seat
And falls, and, falling, lets his morion loose,
And lights upon his head, and all the spot
Swells like a pumpkin, and he hides the bulge
Beneath his gauntlet lest it cause remark
And curious comment--so behind his hand
Sir GERARD's cheek, that had his tongue inside,
Swelled like a pumpkin....
O. S.
* * * * *
THE STOCKING OF PRIVATE PARKS.
As I came out on to the convalescents' verandah my brother James looked
up from his paper.
"Did I ever tell you about a certain Private Parks?" he asked. "He was
with me in Flanders in the early days. He came out with a draft and
lasted about two months. Rather a curious type. Very superstitious. If a
shell narrowly missed him he must have a small piece to put in his
pocket. If while standing on a duck-board he happened to be immune while
his pals were being knocked out he would carry it about with him all day
if possible. On one occasion he was very nearly shot for
insubordination, because he would go out into No-man's-land after a
flower which he thought would help him.
"Not that his superstition was purely selfish. Once, when he had had two
particularly close shaves during the day, he insisted upon sleeping
outside the barn where we were billeted. 'I'm absolutely certain to have
a third close shave,' he said, 'and if I'm in the billet someone will
get it.'
"The Corporal let him lie down in the farmyard, but a little later he
crept up the road about fifty yards to make things more certain."
"And I suppose the barn was hit and he escaped?" I put in, feeling that
I had heard this story before.
"You don't know Private Parks," said James. "About two o'clock in the
morning a shell fell on the road not ten yards from him. Bits of it must
have made a pattern all round him, but not one hit him, and when he'd
picked himself out of the ditch he went back to the billet, knowing all
was then safe.
"Then one day when we were in the front line there came up with the mail
a parcel for Private Parks. I was near when he opened it. When he saw
the contents he gave a sigh and a curious resigned expression came over
his face.
"'What's she sent you?' I asked.
"'It's from my old aunt, Sir,' he said. 'It's a stocking.' 'Only one?'
'Yes,' he said with great solemnity. 'The other one's been pinched?' I
asked. 'No, Sir. The parcel's not been opened. It simply means that I
shall lose a leg to-day,' he added. He wasn't panicked at all. But, as
to reassuring him, I might as well have argued with a tank.
"We'd had a very quiet time, but that evening the Hun put over a pretty
stiff bombardment. We stood to, but we all thought it was only a little
extra evening hate, except Private Parks. He kept saying, 'They're
coming across,' till we told him not to get the wind up. But he hadn't
got the wind up. Only he knew they were coming.
"And they did come. Just after it was dark they made a biggish raid and
got into our front trench a little to our right. We started bombing
inwards, but the slope of the ground was awkward, and they seemed to be
having the best of the fun.
"Then Parks jumped up on to the parapet with a pail of bombs and ran
along. He fairly got among them, and by the time he was hit in the right
leg they were mostly casualties or prisoners. I saw him on the stretcher
going back. He was in some pain, but he smiled, and said, 'One stocking
will be enough now, Sir.'"
"Very extraordinary," I began, but James stopped me.
"I haven't finished," he said. "When about three months later I went
down to Southmouth Convalescent Camp, almost the first man I saw was
Private Parks. He was still on crutches, but _he had two legs_. I
greeted him, and then I couldn't resist saying, 'What about the
stocking?'
"'I'll tell you, Sir,' he said. 'For a week after I was wounded it was a
toss up whether they took the leg off or not. Then a parcel arrived for
me. It was the other stocking. My aunt had discovered that she had left
it out. That evening the surgeon decided that they need not amputate. I
knew they wouldn't, of course, as soon as I received the parcel.'"
James had really finished this time, and after a moment's reflection I
said, "I wonder if that's true."
"Do you flatter me?" he asked.
"I don't know about that. Not with intent," I said, "though it would
really be more to your credit if you'd made it up."
"As a matter of fact," said James, "I did make it up. It was suggested
to me by the heading to a letter in this paper--'The Stocking of Private
Parks,' though that appears to be upon quite a different subject.
Something agricultural, I gather."
* * * * *
"By a comparison of the wet and dry bulb registrations the dew
point and the humility of the atmosphere is determined."
_Banbury Guardian_.
In the first week of August, at any rate, the atmosphere had no reason
to swank.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE INTRUDERS.
AMERICAN EAGLE (_to German Peace Doves_). "GO AWAY; I'M BUSY."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Chatty Waiter (to visitor growing stouter every day_).
"I'M SURE, SIR YOUR STAY HERE IS DOING YOU GOOD. WHY, YOU'RE TWICE THE
GENTLEMAN YOU WERE WHEN YOU CAME."]
* * * * *
A LETTER FROM NEW YORK.
Dear ----,--We got here safely, with the usual submarine scares _en
route_, but apparently no real danger. Vessels going westward from
England are not much the U-boats' concern, nor are the U's, I guess,
particularly keen on wasting torpedoes on passenger ships. What they
want to sink is the goods.
Anyway, we got here safely. It is all very wonderful and novel, and the
interest in the War is unmistakable; but what I want to tell you about
is an experience that I have had in the house of one of the leading
picture collectors here--and the art treasures of America are gradually
but surely becoming terrific. If some measure is not passed to prevent
export, England will soon have nothing left, except in the public
galleries. Of course, for a while, America can't be so rich as if she
had not come into the War, but she will be richer than we can ever be
for a good many years, while the steel people who make the implements of
destruction at Bethlehem will be richest of all. What my man makes I
cannot say, but he is a king of sorts, even if not actually a Bethlehem
boss, and the Medici are not in it! I have introductions to all the most
famous collectors, but, hearing of his splendours, I went to him first.
Well, I sent on my credentials, and was invited to call and inspect the
Plutocrat's walls. You never saw anything like them! And he refers to
his collection only as a "modest nucleus." He has agents all over the
world to discover when the possessors of certain unique works are
nearing the rocks. Then he offers to buy. As his wealth is unlimited,
and sooner or later all the nobility and gentry of England, France,
Italy and Russia will be in Queer Street, his collection cannot but grow
and become more and more amazing. He even had the cheek to send the
Trustees of the National Gallery a blank cheque asking them to fill it
up as they wished whenever they were ready to part with TITIAN'S
"Bacchus and Ariadne." Though he calls himself a patriot, directly the
War is done he will make overtures to Germany. There is a Vermeer in
Berlin on which he has set his heart, and another in Dresden.
I could fill reams in telling you what he has. But I confine myself to
one picture only, which he keeps in a room by itself. I am not so
foolish as to pretend to _know_ anything, but to my eyes this picture
was nothing whatever but the Louvre's "Monna Lisa."
That being of course impossible, "What a wonderful copy!" I said.
"You may indeed say so," replied my host.
I looked at it more closely, even applying a pocket magnifying-glass.
"There was not a contemporary duplicate?" I inquired. "Could LEONARDO
have painted two?"
The Chowder King, or whatever he is called, smiled inscrutably. "No
doubt he _could_," he said. "But perhaps," he continued, "you have not
seen the Louvre picture since it was put back after the theft?"
"Not to examine it closely," I replied.
He laughed softly and led the way to the door.
Now what I want to know is, is it possible that--?
This terrible thought has been haunting me day and night.
I have asked many Americans to tell me about this collector and his
methods, but I can get no exact information. But it seems to be agreed
that he would stick at nothing to get a coveted work beneath his roof.
If I have many more such shocks as he gave me I shall give up paint
altogether and specialise in photography or the three-colour process.
Anyway, it is God's own country, and I will tell you my further
adventures as I have them. Tomorrow I am to attend a reception at the
White House to hear ELLA WHEELER WILCOX recite an Ode at the President.
Yours, X. Y. Z.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Mr. Green_. "IT DOESN'T SEEM TO ME TO LOOK QUITE RIGHT."
_Artist (engaged solely on account of shortage of labour)._ "WELL, SIR,
THE PANEL WAS A BIT ON THE LONG SIDE, BUT I THOUGHT I'D SPUN THE
LETTERING OUT VERY NICE."]
* * * * *
THE MUD LARKS.
_Time_--NIGHT.
SCENE.--_A shell-pitted plain and a cavalry regiment under canvas
thereon. It is not yet "Lights out," and on the right hand the
semi-transparent tents and bivouacs glow like giant Chinese lanterns
inhabited by shadow figures. From an Officers' mess tent comes the
tinkle of a gramophone, rendering classics from "Keep Smiling." In a
bivouac an opposition mouth-organ saws at "The Rosary." On the left hand
is a dark mass of horses, picketed in parallel lines. They lounge, hips
drooping, heads low, in a pleasant after-dinner doze. The Guard lolls
against a post, lantern at his feet, droning a fitful accompaniment to
the distant mouth-organ. "The hours I spent wiv thee, dear 'eart,
are-Stan' still, Ginger--like a string of pearls ter me-ee ... Grrr,
Nellie, stop kickin'!" The range of desolate hills in the background is
flickering with gun-flashes and grumbling with drum-fire--the Bosch
evensong.
A bay horse (shifting his weight from one leg to the other)._
Somebody's catching it in the neck to-night.
_A chestnut_. Yep. Now if this was 1914, with that racket loose, we'd be
standing to.
_A gunpack horse_. Why?
_Chestnut_. Wind up, sonny. Why, in 1914 our saddles grew into our backs
like the ivy and the oak. In 1914--
_A black horse_. Oh, dry up about 1914, old soldier; tell us about the
Battle of Hastings and how you came to let WILLIAM'S own Mounted
Blunderbusses run all over you.
_A bay horse_. Yes, and how you gave the field ten stone and a beating
in the retreat to Corunna. What are your personal recollections of
NAPOLEON, Rufus?
_Chestnut_. You blinkin' conscripts, you!
_Black._ Shiss! no bad language, Rufus--ladies present.
_Chestnut_. Ladies, huh. Behave nice and ladylike when they catch sight
of the nosebags, don't they?
_A skewbald mare_. Well, we gotta stand up for our rights.
_Chestnut_. S'truth you do, tooth and hoof. What were you in civil life,
Baby? A Suffragette?
_Skewbald_. No, I wasn't, so there.
_Bay_. No, she was a footlights favourite; wore her mane in plaits and a
star-spangled bearing-rein and surcingle to improve her fig-u-are; did
pretty parlour tricks to the strains of the banjo and psaltery.
_N'est-ce pas, cherie?_
_Skewbald_. Well, what if I did? There's scores of circus-gals is
puffect lydies. I don't require none of your familiarity any'ow, Mister.
_Bay_. Beg pardon. Excuse my bluff soldierly ways; but nevertheless take
your nose out of my hay-net, please.
_A Canadian dun_. Gee! quit weavin' about like that, Tubby. Can't you
let a guy get some sleep. I'll hand you a cold rebuff in the ribs in a
minute. Wazzer matter with you, anyhow?
_Tubby_. Had a bad dream.
_Black_. Don't wonder, the way you over-eat yourself.
_Bay_. Ever know a Quartermaster's horse that didn't? He's the only one
that gets the chance.
_Skewbald_. And the Officers' chargers.
_Voice from over the way_. Well, we need it, don't we? We do all the
bally head-work.
_Bay_. Hearken even unto the Honourable Montmorency. Hello, Monty there!
Never mind about the bally head-work, but next time you're out
troop-leading try to steer a course somewhat approaching the straight.
You had the line opening and shutting like a concertina this morning.
_An iron-grey_. Begob, and that's the holy truth! I thought my ribs was
goin' ivery minnut, an' me man was cursin' undher his breath the way
you'd hear him a mile away. Ye've no more idea of a straight line, Monty
avic, than a crab wid dhrink taken.
_Monty_. Sorry, but the flies were giving me gyp.
_Canadian dun_. Flies? Say, but you greenhorns make me smile. Why, out
West we got flies that--
_Iron-grey_. Och sure we've heard all about thim. 'Tis as big as
bull-dogs they are; ivery time they bite you you lose a limb. Many a
time the traveller has observed thim flyin' away wid a foal in their
jaws, the rapparees! F' all that I do be remarkin' that whin one of the
effete European variety is afther ticklin' you in the short hairs you
step very free an' flippant, Johnny acushla.
_A brown horse_. Say, Monty, old top, any news? You've got a pal at
G.H.Q., haven't you?
_Monty_. Oh, yes, my young brother. He's got a job on HAIG'S personal
Staff now, wears a red brow-band and all that--ahem! Of course he tells
me a thing or two when we meet, but in the strictest confidence, you
understand.
_Brown_. Quite; but did he say anything about the end of the War?
_Monty_. Well, not precisely, that is not exactly, excepting that he
says that it's pretty certain now that it--er--well, that it will end.
_Brown_. That's good news. Thanks, Monty.
_Monty_. Not a bit, old thing. Don't mention it.
_Iron-grey_. 'Tis a great comfort to us to know that the War will ind,
if not in our day, annyway some time.
_Canadian dun_. You bet. Gee, I wish it was all over an' I was home in
the foothills with the brown wool and pink prairie roses underfoot and
the Chinook layin' my mane over.
_Iron-grey_. Faith, but the County Cork would suit me completely; a
roomy loose-box wid straw litter an' a leak-proof roof.
_Tubby_. Yes, with full meals coming regularly.
_A bay mare_. I've got a two-year-old in Devon I'd like to see again.
_Monty_. I've no quarrel with Leicestershire myself.
_Gunpack horse_. Garn! Wot abaht good old London?
_Chestnut_. Steady, Alf, what are you grousing about? You never had a
full meal in your life until Lord DERBY pulled you out of that coster
barrow and pushed you into the Army.
_Tubby_. A full meal in the Army--help!
_Brown_. Listen to our living skeleton. Do you chaps remember that
afternoon he had to himself in an oat-field up Plug Street way? When the
grooms found him he was lying on his back, legs in the air, blown up
like a poisoned pup. "Blimy," says one lad to t'other, "'ere's one of
our observation bladders the 'Un 'as brought down."
_Chestnut_. I heard the Officer boy telling the Troop Sergeant that he'd
buy a hay-stack some day and try to burst you, Tubby. The Sergeant bet
him a month's pay it couldn't be done.
_Tubby_. Just because I've got a healthy appetite--
_Brown_. Healthy appetites aren't being worn this season, Sir--bad form.
How are the politicians' park hacks to be kept sleek if the troop-horse
don't tighten his girth a bit? Be patriotic, old dear; eat less oats.
_Chestnut_. That Mess gramophone must be red-hot by now. It's been
running continuous since First Post. I suppose somebody's mamma has sent
him a bottle of ginger-pop, and they're seeing life while the bubbles
last.
_Monty_. Yes, and I suppose my young gentleman will be parading
to-morrow morning with a _camouflage_ tunic over his pyjamas, looking to
me to pull him through squadron drill.
_Iron-grey_. God save us, thin!
_A Mexican roan. Buenas noches!_
_Gunpack horse_. Hish! Orderly Officer. 'E's in the Fourth Troop lines
nah; you can 'ear 'im cursin' as he trips over the heel shackles.
_Monty_. Hush, you fellows. Orderly Officer. _Bong swar_.
* * * * *
_Once more heads and hips droop. They pose in attitudes of sleep like a
dormitory of small boys on the approach of a prefect. The line Guard
comes to life, seizes his lantern and commences to march up and down as
if salvation depended on his getting in so many laps to the hour. From
the guard-tent a trumpet wails, "Lights out."_
PATLANDER.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Venus_. "HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN IN THE ARMY?"
_Mars_. "OH, ABOUT THREE CHEQUE-BOOKS."]
* * * * *
HYMN FOR HIGH PLACES.
In darkened days of strife and fear,
When far from home and hold,
I do essay my soul to cheer
As did wise men of old;
When folk do go in doleful guise
And are for life afraid,
I to the hills will lift mine eyes
From whence doth come mine aid.
I shall my soul a temple make
Where hills stand up on high;
Thither my sadness shall I take
And comfort there descry;
For every good and noble mount
This message doth extend--
That evil men must render count
And evil days must end.
For, sooth, it is a kingly sight
To see God's mountain tall
That vanquisheth each lesser height
As great hearts vanquish small;
Stand up, stand up, ye holy hills,
As saints and seraphs do,
That ye may bear these present ills
And lead men safely through.
Let high and low repair and go
To where great hills endure;
Let strong and weak be there to seek
Their comfort and their cure;
And for all hills in fair array
Now thanks and blessings give,
And, bearing healthful hearts away,
Home go and stoutly live.
* * * * *
"Classical Master for endurance of war wanted."--_Scotsman_.
Humane letters are very sustaining.
* * * * *
"MARCHING ON!
"The council of the Chippewa tribe of North American Indians, by
a two to one majority, have accorded the suffrage to their
squaws."--_The Vote_.
As SHAKSPEARE was on the point of saying, "Suffrage is the badge of all
our tribe."
* * * * *
THE SPOIL-SPORT.
["The Town Clerk of Colwyn Bay informs us that the fish caught
there the other day by two youths was a dogfish and not a shark,
as reported, and that its size was much
overestimated."--_Manchester Guardian_.]
O gallant youths of Colwyn Bay,
With what unmitigated rapture
Did I peruse but yesterday
The story of your famous capture!
Alone ye did it, or at least
'Twas next to being single-handed;
No other helped to catch the beast,
No strength but yours the monster landed.