Book: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, June 27, 1917
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 152, June 27, 1917
_Mueller._ Oh, he! I'm tired to death of his speeches and his prancing
about. Again I say I don't care who hears me. We have done enough for
glory; isn't there something we can do for peace?
_Schultze._ No, nothing--and you know it. It is more likely we shall end in
prison if we talk like this.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "I WARN YOU, SIR! THE DISCOURTESY OF THIS BANK IS BEYOND ALL
LIMITS. ONE WORD MORE AND I--I WITHDRAW MY OVERDRAFT."]
* * * * *
"NAVAL APPOINTMENTS.
"ROYAL NAVAL RESERVE.
"Mr. J.R. MACDONALD entered as Skipper (temp.)"--_The Times._
If this is how the Government hopes to get the Member for Leicester to
Petrograd there is still the difficulty of enlisting a crew (temp.)
* * * * *
"Successful raids were carried out by us during the night east of
Lagnicourt (two or three metres south of Bullecourt)."--_Evening Times
and Echo._
For the sake of precision we could have wished that the measurement had
been worked out to inches.
* * * * *
"Thousands on foot and in every kind of vehicle visited the grisly
relic. A Sunday school teacher marched the girls of her class to the
place. Some 80ft. of her nose-end is stuck aslant in the air."--_Daily
Mail._
Not every woman is so well-equipped for showing contempt of the enemy.
* * * * *
"Wanted, Coachman-Chauffeur, 'Over-land' Car (Protestant), over
military age."--_Londonderry Sentinel._
Whatever its religion a car of this age must be almost past praying for.
* * * * *
"The sort of women who literally make ducks and drakes of their duty as
the family administrator."--_Spectator._
Having regard to the high price of poultry might not the new
Food-Controller get these women to explain how they do it?
* * * * *
THE BUFFER'S VINDICATION.
I haven't fought, I haven't dug, I've worn no special caps,
Too little has my country, sure, had from me;
_But_ I've never talked of "strafe-ing" anyone for any lapse,
And I've never called a fighting man a "Tommy."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Old Soldier_ (_trying to "swing the lead"_). "WELL, SIR, I
CAN'T NEITHER EAT, SLEEP NOR DRINK, SIR."
_M.O._ (_in a spasm of enthusiasm_). "MY GOOD MAN! THE ARMY WANTS A
BATTALION LIKE YOU!"]
* * * * *
THE WATCH DOGS.
LXII.
MY DEAR CHARLES,--I've become so artful these days in disguising identities
under assumed names that I'm hanged if I can remember myself which of my
people is which. Still I daresay your own memory isn't too good, so we'll
call him Ross this time, and trust to luck that that is what we called him
last time. He is that one of my friends and fellow sinners who was plugging
along nicely at the Bar in 1914, and was just about to take silk, when he
changed his mind, came to France and got mixed up in what he calls "this
vulgar brawl on the Continent." After nearly three years of systematic
warfare in the second line he has at last achieved the rank of full
lieutenant, which is not so bad for a growing lad of forty-five; and is
running one of those complicated but fascinating side-shows which, to
oblige Their Exigencies, we have to label Queer Trades, and leave at that.
Whether his department is or is not making history it is certainly one
which calls for a vast amount of special knowledge in its _personnel_.
Ross, having been at the Bar, knows nothing and knows that he knows
nothing, but is able to pretend to know just enough to keep his end up with
Thos. J. Brown, who, disguised as a corporal, really runs the business.
"Our Mr. Brown," as Ross calls him, is one of those nice old gentlemen who
wear large spectacles and cultivate specialist knowledge on the intensive
system. Owing to his infallibility in all details and upon all occasions he
was much sought after in peace time by the larger commercial houses. When
War broke out our Mr. Brown disdained peace. He made at once for the Front;
but his aged legs, though encased in quite the most remarkable puttees in
France, were found to be less reliable than his head, and he was held up on
his way to the trenches and diverted to the stool of Ross's office.
He began by putting some searching and dreadfully intelligent questions to
Ross; dissatisfied with Ross's answers, he concentrated his mind on the
business for twenty-four consecutive hours, at the end of which period he
was the master of it in more senses than one. Since that time Ross has
ensured the efficient running of his office by keeping out of it when it is
busy. When for appearance sake he has to be there he does as his Mr. Brown
tells him, and never wastes the latter's time by arguing.
In the Army, all fleas have bigger fleas upon their backs to bite 'em. Were
this not so somebody would have to act upon his own responsibility, and
that, as you will admit, would make war an impossibility. Accordingly in
every department there is a series of authorities, starting with "other
ranks" at the bottom, proceeding in an ascending scale of dignity and
worth, and disappearing through a cloud of Generals into an infinite of
which no man knoweth the nature. Thus, with Ross's business (to take the
tail end of it) the letter which the Corporal writes the Lieutenant signs
on behalf of the Major. It is when the Major wants to do something more
active that trouble arises. Let us take an incidental matter of
administrative detail for example, setting it forth, as all military
matters should be set forth, in paragraphs, separately numbered:--
1. Lt. Ross possessed a bicycle, motor, one. No. 54321 L/Cpl. Burt
possessed feet, two, only. Ross had no occasion, ability or disposition to
ride a motor bicycle. No. 54321 could neither do his business nor enjoy
life afoot. Accordingly, No. 54321 rode the bicycle, while, for the
purposes of what is known to better people than ourselves as Establishment,
Ross owned it. But that was in the good old days, before Traffic and Police
and all the Others interested themselves.
2. The first thing Traffic did was to say that all owners of motor bicycles
must own cards, and produce them when demanded. That was easy: No. 54321
got the card. Then Police issued some vague but menacing literature with
regard to the fate of people who stole other people's property or failed to
stick to their own. There was no difficulty about this; Ross publicly
fathered the thing.
3. Traffic, issuing new cards, said next that all owners of cards must also
own bicycles. Realising the quandary, Ross was for saying he wouldn't play
any more, but would declare a separate peace. His Mr. Brown however got up
a long and intricate correspondence, at the end of which Ross was still
owner and No. 54321 was still rider; both had cards, and all the
authorities had, unknowingly, made themselves parties to the fraud.
Suddenly the Major declared his intention of putting the whole of Ross's
establishment (including bicycle) on what he called a satisfactory basis by
a series of orders which he proposed to draft himself. Ross, always ready
to be put on a satisfactory basis by anybody, took note of the draft, and
laid it before his Mr. Brown. The latter was aghast, and proved, by
infallible reasons, the fatal results which would follow if the matter was
stirred up. Ross made a careful note of the reasons, and laid them before
the Major. The Major explained gently that discipline was discipline. And
so Ross went to and fro between the two, until the Major said, "Really,
Ross!" and his Mr. Brown said, "I'm very sorry, Sir, but there it is;" and
yet Ross couldn't sack his Major, and he couldn't break away from his Mr.
Brown.
He was between the Devil and the Deep Sea. What was he to do about it?
Well, he just told the Deep Sea to keep calm a little longer, and went and
waited outside the Devil's Mess. He saluted and asked the Devil if he'd
care to come for a walk, and, the latter consenting, he led him to the Deep
Sea. Then, when the Devil himself had been introduced to the Deep Sea
itself, Ross slipped off and left them in his office to fix it up between
themselves.
Ross dined with the Major that night, and the latter said he wasn't feeling
at all well. The way Ross's Mr. Brown had licked his thumb and the
lightning speed with which he had turned up exactly the right
correspondence, office minute or Routine Order, had nearly given the Major
heart disease. Besides, he'd lost the argument. "I was too heavily
handicapped from the start," said he, "by not being in a position to lick
_my_ thumb or to stick _my_ pencil behind my ear."
It was a good idea to introduce the Major and Mr. Brown, wasn't it,
Charles? The Major says he was the first to suggest it, and Ross is careful
to leave the credit with the Major, because he is sure that the idea really
originated in the fertile and masterful brain of his Mr. Brown.
Yours ever,
HENRY.
* * * * *
[Illustration: MISS DAISY DIMPLE, THE REVUE FAVOURITE, SELLS FLAGS.]
* * * * *
ANOTHER IMPENDING APOLOGY.
From a South African Parish Magazine:--
"Many thanks to the Rev. ---- and the Rev. ---- for coming to St. ----
during the past month. The Rector went off to Clifton and Park Town,
and enjoyed the change almost as much as the congregation."
* * * * *
"A bird flew into Willesden Court yesterday and perched above the
magistrate's head.
"Alderman Pinkham: 'It's not often we 'get the bird' on the bench.'"
But the "Beak" is there all the time.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS: LATEST INVERSION.
{CONSERVATISM, LIBERALISM, LABOUR.}
"DON'T FORGET, DEAR LADY, WHEN THE TIME COMES, THAT IT
WAS _I_ WHO GAVE YOU THE APPLE."]
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
_Monday, June 18th._--Arising out of the dethronement of TINO a cloud-burst
of questions descended upon Lord ROBERT CECIL, who took refuge under a
wide-spreading umbrella of official ignorance. Mr. LYNCH was annoyed
because his question whether the Allies would oppose the foundation of a
Greek Republic was dismissed as "hypothetical," but Lord ROBERT assured him
that there was "nothing abusive" in the epithet. But is that so? Suppose he
were to describe Mr. LYNCH as a "hypothetical statesman"?
A detailed history of a Canterbury lamb, from its purchase in New Zealand
at 6-3/8_d._ a pound to its sale to the British butcher at 10-1/2_d._, was
given by Mr. GEORGE ROBERTS. He threw no light, however, on the problem why
it should double in price before reaching the consumer. This is engaging
the anxious consideration of Lord RHONDDA, who declares that there is no
adequate economic reason why Little Mary should have only a little lamb.
In the House of Commons as in a music-hall you can always get a laugh by
referring to "the lodger." Whether the lodger, who is considered quite good
enough to vote for a mere Member of Parliament, should also be allowed a
voice in the election of really important people like town councillors was
the theme of animated discussion. It ended ultimately in the lodger's
favour, with the proviso that the apartments he occupies should be
unfurnished. On such niceties does the British Constitution depend.
_Tuesday, June 19th._--Mr. BALFOUR received a warm welcome from all
sections of the House on making his first appearance after his return from
America. Even the ranks of Tuscany, on the Irish benches, could not forbear
to cheer their old opponent. Besides securing American gold for his
country, he has transferred some American bronze to his own complexion, and
has, if anything, sharpened his faculty for skilful evasion and polite
repartee by his encounters with Transatlantic journalists.
In the course of the daily catechism on the subject of air-raids Mr.
MACMASTER inquired, "Why is it that Paris appears to be practically immune,
while London is not?" The answer came, not from the Front Bench, but from
the Chair, and was delivered in a tone so low that even the Official
Reporter failed to catch it. That is a pity, because it furnishes a useful
hint for Ministers. In future, when posed with futile or embarrassing
questions about the War, let them follow the SPEAKER'S example, and simply
say, "You must ask the KAISER!"
[Illustration: THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR.
_Sir Frederick Smith._ "WHAT'S THE GOOD OF STRUGGLING?"]
[Illustration: _Literary Dame_ (_at bookstall_). "HAVE YOU ANY BOOKS BY
THAT RISING YOUNG NOVELIST, LORD HUGH CECIL?".]
In a perfectly free division, in which Ministers and ex-Ministers were
mixed up together in both Lobbies, woman's right to be registered as a
Parliamentary elector was affirmed by 385 votes to 55. Some capital
speeches were made on both sides, but if any of them turned a vote it was
probably the cynical admission of the ATTORNEY-GENERAL that he was as much
opposed to female suffrage as ever, but meant to vote for it because it was
bound to come. This probably had an even greater effect upon the average
Member, who is not an idealist, than the nutshell novelette in which Lord
HUGH CECIL lightly outlined the possible future of the female politician.
_Wednesday, June 20th._--Military metaphors come naturally to the Duke of
MARLBOROUGH. Yet I cannot think he was happily inspired when, in reminding
the farmers of their duty to put more land under the plough, he compared
the compulsory powers of the Board of Agriculture to a sword in its
scabbard, and hoped there would be no necessity to rattle it. Everybody
knows that the sword in question is a converted ploughshare, and that it
rests with the War Office to turn it back again.
Last night fifty-five Members resisted Votes for Women. By this afternoon
twenty-five of them had so far changed their minds as to protest against
the limitation of the privilege to women over thirty. Major ROWLAND HUNT,
convinced that women would soon vote themselves into the House, expressed a
naive preference for "young 'uns."
_Thursday, June 21st._--During Sir EDWARD GREY'S long tenure of the Foreign
Secretaryship he rarely visited the House of Commons more than twice a
week. Until his voyage to the United States, Mr. BALFOUR was even less
attentive to his Parliamentary duties and left most of the "donkey-work"--
if one may so describe the business of answering the questions of curious
Members--to Lord ROBERT CECIL. Since his return Mr. BALFOUR has developed a
new zest for this pastime, and to-day for the third time in succession
appeared in his place. Everybody is pleased to see him there, except
perhaps the curious Members aforesaid, who find him even more chary of
information than his deputy. Had not the PRESIDENT of the United States
said something about Alsace-Lorraine? ventured Corporal LEES-SMITH. Mr.
BALFOUR, fresh from the White House, blandly replied, "I do not propose to
discuss President WILSON'S Notes."
The notion, prevalent at the beginning of the War, that every German waiter
was an emissary of the KAISER, only awaiting "The Day" when he should
return to take a full revenge for meagre gratuities, still subsists in
certain minds. Mr. BROOKES was manifestly disappointed when Dr. MACNAMARA
assured him that the aeronaut captured in the recent raid was not, as he
supposed, one of these returned Ganymedes, but was making his first
appearance on English soil.
* * * * *
"A small fire at a variety theatre burnt some dresses all up, but the
revue went on as usual."--_Berrow's Worcester Journal._
No need to worry over little things like that.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Long-suffering Sergeant._ "WE GOT ANOTHER ARF-HOUR TO GO
YET. _I_ DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH YER."
_Rookie_ (_suggestively_). "THERE'S SOME TREES OVER THERE, SERGEANT."
_Sergeant._ "YES, I KNOW. BUT THERE AIN'T ANY ROPES."]
* * * * *
TO FIELD-MARSHAL SIR DOUGLAS HAIG.
JUNE 19TH, 1917.
Sir, though in dealing with the strong and straight
Of sentiment one cannot be too thrifty,
Still, after reading your despatch--the date
Chimes with your birthday, _aetat_ six-and-fifty--
A humble rhymer, though denied by fate
Possession of the high poetic "giftie,"
May yet express the hope it won't displease you
To see yourself as one plain person sees you.
Some call you cold, because you are not prone
To bursts of eloquence or flights of feeling;
You do not emulate the fretful tone
Of those who turn from boastfulness to squealing;
Your temperament, I am obliged to own,
Is not expansive, Celtic, self-revealing;
But some of us admire you none the less
For your laconic simple truthfulness.
No doubt you would provide far better "copy"
To the industrious drivers of the quill
If you were more emotional and sloppy,
More richly dowered with journalistic skill;
To make despatches blossom like the poppy
You never have essayed and never will;
In short, you couldn't earn a pound a week
As a reporter on _The Daily Shriek_.
Frugal in speech, yet more than once impelled
To utter words of confidence and cheer,
Whereat some dismal publicists rebelled
As premature, ill-founded, insincere--
Words none the less triumphantly upheld
By Victory's verdict, resonantly clear,
Words that inspired misgiving in the foe
Because you do not prophesy--you _know_;
Steadfast and calm, unmoved by blame or praise,
By local checks or Fortune's strange caprices,
You dedicate laborious nights and days
To shattering the Hun machine to pieces;
And howsoe'er at times the battle sways
The Army's trust in your command increases;
Patient in preparation, swift in deed,
We find in you the leader that we need.
* * * * *
"The temperature in Berlin yesterday was 131 degrees Centigrade, which
is the highest temperature since 1848."--_Daily Dispatch._
Equal to about 268 degrees Fahr. and quite hot enough to keep the Imperial
Potsdam boiling.
* * * * *
"A correspondent who knows a great deal about the coat trade says there
is going to be great difficulty in obtaining coal during the coming
winter."--_Torquay Times._
This will confirm the belief that the shortage of fuel is not unassociated
with the vested interests.
* * * * *
"We, on the other hand, are just as much entitled, under any sane code
of morals, to bombard Kerman towns as to shoot German soldiers on the
field."--_The Globe._
We think, however, that the inhabitants of these Persian towns might
reasonably object to such vicarious reprisals.
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)
Our moorland novelists are of two schools. One of them depicts the dwellers
on these heights as a superior race, using a vocabulary half Biblical, half
minor-poetic, in which to express the most exalted sentiments; the other
draws a picture of upland domesticity comparable to that found in a cage of
hyenas. Mr. HALLIWELL SUTCLIFFE, though he is too skilled an artist to
overdo the colouring, inclines (I am bound to say) so much towards the
former method that I confess to an uneasy doubt, at times, whether any
human families could maintain existence on the same plane of nobility as,
for example, the _Holts_ in his latest romance, _Lonesome Heights_ (WARD,
LOCK). These _Holts_ were a race of farmer-squires, and in the book you see
their development through two generations: the masterful old man and his
twin sons. This is all the tale; a simple enough record, but full of the
dignity and beauty which make the reading of any story by this author a
refreshment to irritated nerves. Towards the end some space is devoted to
the fight to abolish child-labour in the dale mills; there is also a
scandal, and the fastening of blame upon the wrong brother; no very great
matter. It is for such scenes as that of the death of old _Holt_, and his
last words to the horse that has thrown him, that _Lonesome Heights_ will
earn its place on your library list.
* * * * *
_The Dice of the Gods_ (HEATH, CRANTON) is not, as the title suggests,
something rather thrilling in the way of romantic fiction, but one of those
dispassionate novels in which the author, through the medium of his
puppets, gently scourges the follies of society. _William van der Beck_,
whose fictional house of clay very obviously clothes the spiritual essence
of the author, Mr. LUCIAN DE ZILWA, returns to his native Colombo with a
liberal education, to find that the life and thought of the strange
Indo-European bourgeoisie to which he belongs by birth present no alluring
features. In point of fact the ambitions and hypocrisies, pretences and
prejudices of the Cingalese "burgher" with the tell-tale finger-nails are
merely those of Bristol or Amsterdam evolved under Colonial conditions.
_Jack van der Beck_, for example, the pompous medical ass with a
flourishing practice among the local nabobs, can be found in every
provincial town in Europe. _The Dice of the Gods_ has no plot worthy of the
name, but Mr. DE ZILWA has both satire and philosophy at his command, and a
flair for atmosphere. His scenery and "props" too will be new even to the
most hardened novel-reader. He paints a vivid Oriental background with
which the semi-Western civilization of his characters alternately blends
and contrasts rather effectively.
* * * * *
Mr. TRESIDDER SHEPPARD'S _The Quest of Ledgar Dunstan_ (DUCKWORTH) is one
of those half-sequels of which, while it remains true that You Can Start
Here, you will get a better grip with some previous knowledge of the
earlier story about the same people. Not that your hold upon the present
book will, even then, be other than slightly precarious. For my own part I
seldom met anything so elusive. I freely grant that it is original,
thoughtful and provocative, but the effect it produces is rather like that
of _Jaberwocky_ upon _Alice_ ("It fills me with ideas, only I don't know
what they are!"). At first one seemed in for a comedy of disillusion.
_Ledgar_ and _Mary_, united, are met with in the process of living
unhappily ever after. This is clear enough, human (unfortunately) and
amusing. It was, for one thing, _Mary's_ habit of misquotation that got
upon _Ledgar's_ nerves. "Alas, poor Garrick!" was one of her typical
lapses. Nor was _Ledgar_ himself more of a success with _Mary_, who found
him (and here my sympathies went over to her) lacking in force and
coherence. But as _Mary_ eloped with somebody else at the end of part one
she hadn't my prolonged experience of _Ledgar's_ incomprehensibility. Nor
did the question of his semi-lunatic friend worry her, or the whole problem
of what, if anything, was the motive of the book. Eventually he is shown
pairing off with his earlier love, _Winnie_; and I am bound to say that she
too has my sympathy. I should sum up by saying that the analysis of
introspective egotism, however subtly done, can make at best only an
exasperating story.
* * * * *
In _By the Waters of Africa_ (ROBERT SCOTT) Miss NORMA LORIMER has
described her British East African travels in a series of letters, in which
she shows a very real sense of style and a delightful assumption of her own
unimportance. To people suffering from the books of travellers who seem
more anxious to air themselves than to give impressions of the countries
through which they have passed, it will be a pure relief to find an author
who suppresses herself and really gets on with her business. Thanks to her
friends, whose kindness she frankly acknowledges, Miss LORIMER was able to
see native life under conditions impossible to a less privileged traveller,
and she misses no feature in it that is either humorous or enlightening. It
is a model book of its kind, valuable up to a certain point and always
pleasant to read. Some of the author's adventures might easily have excused
a reckless use of notes of exclamation. But only once does she give way to
this weakness, and this I pardon her, for I should always use one myself on
the eve of starting for the Mountains of the Moon.
* * * * *
[Illustration: NEW SPORTS FOR OLD.
SNAIL-STALKING IN THE SUBURBS.]
* * * * *
FOR THE HONEYMOON?
"Lady wants quiet summer accommodation; near bees."--_Scotsman._
* * * * *
[Illustration: Epilogue]
MR. PUNCH IN RUSSIA.
In the last Epilogue, where Mr. Punch was described as paying a call upon
our brave soldiers in a German prison-camp, I confessed that I didn't
understand how he got there in the body. To-day I have to report a far
simpler enterprise. This time he has merely been on a mission to Russia.
Anybody can do that, unless the Sailors' and Firemen's Union mistake him
for Mr. RAMSAY MACDONALD and no one has yet made this error in respect of
Mr. Punch.