PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Volume 148, January 13th, 1915.
edited by Owen Seamen

CHARIVARIA.

"The enemy is not yet subdued," announced the Kaiser in his New Year's address to his troops. It is gratifying to have this rumour confirmed from a source so unimpeachable.

Prince Buelow is finding himself de trop at Rome. "Man wants but little here, Buelow," he is being told.

"Stick it!" it may be remembered, was General von Kluck's Christmas message as published in a German newspaper. The journal in question is evidently read in Constantinople, for the Turks are now stated to have sent several thousand sacks of cement to the Egyptian frontier with which to fill up the Suez Canal.

After all, it is pointed out, there is not very much difference between the reigning Sultan of Turkey and his predecessor. The one is The Damned, and the other The Doomed.

With reference to the "free fight" between Austrians and Germans in the concentration camp at Pietermaritzburg, which Reuter reported the other day, we now hear that the fight was not entirely free. Several of the combatants, it seems, were afterwards fined.

The latest English outrage, according to Berlin, was done upon the German officer who attempted to escape in a packing-case. It is said that he has been put back in his case, which has been carefully soldered up, and then as carefully mislaid.

Another typical German lie is published by the Frankfurter Zeitung. Describing the First Lord this sheet says:—"Well built, he struts about elegantly dressed...." Those who remember our Winston's little porkpie hat will resent this charge.

An awfully annoying thing has happened to the Vossische Zeitung. Our enterprising little contemporary asked three Danish professors to state in what way they were indebted to German science, and they all gave wrong answers. They said they were also indebted to English science.

"HOUNDS IN A WORKHOUSE."

Daily Mail.

It was, of course, inevitable that the hunts should suffer through the war.

The Evening Standard has been making enquiries as to the effect of the War on the membership of the various Clubs. The report from the Athenæum was "The War has not affected the club at all." Can it be that the dear old fellows have not heard of it yet?

"Business as usual" is evidently Paraguay's motto. They are having one of their revolutions there in spite of the War.

The Tate Gallery authorities have now placed the pictures they value most in the cellars of that institution, and the expression on the face of any artist who finds his work still on the wall is in itself a picture.

Gallant attempt by a member of the British Expeditionary Force to do justice to all his New Year's gifts.]

Famous Lines.

"After plying regularly for nearly twenty-five years between Vancouver, Victoria and the Orient, the last few months of excitement must have brought back to the memory of her old timbers—if they happen to be sentient, as Kipling would almost have one believe—the famous line, 'One crowded hour of glorious life is worth a cycle of Cathay.'"

News-Advertiser (Vancouver, B.C.)

"P. B.—It is a pleasure to read your stirring lines entitled 'To Berlin'; they possess the twin merits of being vigorous and timely. We should make an alteration in title, calling them simply 'To Berlin.'"

Great Thoughts.

No, don't thank us. Our advice is always at the disposal of young writers.

ENGLISH LINES FOR ENEMY CALENDARS.

For the Kaiser—

"La Belle France sans merci

Hath thee in thrall."

For the Emperor of Austria, after the rout in Serbia—

"'But what good came of it at last?'

Quoth little Peter, king."

For the Commander of the Western Campaign—

"Of all the towns that are so far

There's none so far as Calais."

For General Von Moltke (retired)—

"Then was I like some watcher on the Rhine

When a new plan is forced into his ken."

For the Sultan of Turkey—

"He will hold me when his friendship shall have spent its novel force

Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse."

For the Imperial Chancellor—

"Oft had I heard from Edward Grey."

WAR ETIQUETTE.

Answers to Correspondents.

Materfamilias (Manchester).—No, it is not necessary for you to wear a dressing-gown for dinner out of compliment to your wounded guests' pyjamas; if you wear your best tea-gown they will not know the difference.

Sweet and Twenty (Surbiton).—I do not think your mother could object to your tucking up your charming wounded officer for the night as long as you don a Red Cross cloak over your evening attire. It is not usual to kiss these wounded heroes unless you or they are under seventeen or over seventy.

Veronica (Ventnor).—I think the right size of photograph for your second cousin to take with him to the Front depends on its subject: cabinets are usual for dogs, horses and female first cousins; carte size for parents and male relatives; but from the tone of your letter and from the fact that you are only his second cousin, I think there are but two alternatives: boudoir size, or a dainty miniature in a leather case for the pocket, such as can be obtained at Messrs. Snooks for the modest sum of ten guineas.

"Germans and Austrians at Loggerheads."

Daily Paper.

Another of these Polish towns.

"PUNCH" IN THE ENEMY'S TRENCHES.

[To the officer whose letter, reproduced in The Daily Telegraph, after reporting the irregular exchange of Christmas gifts between our men and the enemy, goes on to say:—"In order to put a stop to a situation which was proving impossible, I went out myself after a time with a copy of 'Punch,' which I presented to a dingy Saxon in exchange for a small packet of excellent cigars and cigarettes.">[

A Scent of truce was in the air,

And mutual compliments were paid—

A sausage here, a mince-pie there,

In lieu of bomb and hand-grenade;

And foes forgot, that Christmastide,

Their business was to kill the other side.

Then, greatly shocked, you rose and said,

"This is not my idea of War;

On milk of human-kindness fed,

Our men will lose their taste for gore;

All this unauthorized good-will

Must be corrected by a bitter pill."

And forth you strode with stiffened spine

And met a Saxon in the mud

(Not Anglo-) and with fell design

To blast his joyaunce in the bud,

And knock his rising spirits flat,

You handed him a Punch and said, "Take that!"

A smile upon his visage gleamed.

Little suspecting your intent,

He proffered what he truly deemed

To be a fair equivalent—

A bunch of fags of local brand

And Deutschodoros from the Vaterland.

You found them excellent, I hear;

Let's hope your gift had equal worth,

Though meant to curb his Christmas cheer

And check the interchange of mirth;

I should be very glad to feel

It operated for his inner weal.

For there he found, our dingy friend,

Amid the trench's sobering slosh,

What must have left him, by the end,

A wiser, if a sadder, Bosch,

Seeing himself with chastened mien

In that pellucid well of Truth serene.

O. S.

UNWRITTEN LETTERS TO THE KAISER.

No. XIII.

(From Grand Admiral von Tirpitz.)

All Gracious Lord,—It is no pleasant life in these days to be a sailor, especially if one happens to be an Admiral responsible for the organisation and direction of a great Fleet. This morning, for instance, just as I was drinking my early cup of coffee there comes me in my servant bearing a letter: "Will your Excellency have it now?" he says, "or will you wait till you have gathered more strength as the morning goes on?" and with that the old sea-dog smiles a just perceptible smile.

"Is it from ——?" I say, leaving out the name.

"Yes," he answers, "it is from ——. It is the seventh in three days. It will assuredly be some pleasant wish for the New Year. The Lord Great Admiral is, indeed, fortunate in having so high a well-wisher. I myself have no such luck, being only——"

"It is enough," I say, for I knew that he was about to tell me once more that he was only a poor orphan and that his wife's temper being of a bitter complaining nature had driven him from his home many years ago. It is a long story and he spares not the smallest detail in telling it, nay, rather he takes delight in showing how, in spite of his own worthiness, destiny has with express malice singled him out from his fellows to be trodden upon at all those moments when he had a right to look for ease and enjoyment. This morning I was in no humour to listen to it, so I ordered him to lay the letter down and to go about his business. When he had departed I opened the letter, which was a useless proceeding, for I already knew it was from your all-highest Self, and, without reading it, I could have written down its contents word for word. Notwithstanding this, I received the letter and read it with the respect that is due to such a communication, and I now proceed in all humility to answer it.

And first I will tell your Majesty that what you ask I cannot promise to do. You want me to provoke a fleet action under the best conditions so that we may be sure of smashing up the British and securing eternal glory for ourselves. These things are, no doubt, splendid, but they are not done by waving a wand. In securing conditions the enemy also has something to say, especially when he is much stronger than we are, so much so that, wherever we can put one ship, he can put at least two ships of equal power. And sailors have to consider the sea, the wind, the fog and a thousand other things that the landsman cannot understand. To bombard Scarborough and Whitby and to kill women and children may be all very well for once in a way, but even for that once it was not so glorious a feat that your Majesty will wish to inscribe it amongst the battle-honours of our Navy. I may whisper to your Majesty, moreover, that in face of a brave and resourceful foe these showy excursions are not without risk, and it was only by the skin of their teeth that your ships escaped into home waters after they had flung their shells into the two undefended coast-towns.

Next, you want your foreign commerce restored. I cannot do that. It is a misfortune of war that if your enemy has a bigger fleet he can wipe away your foreign trade. If your Majesty did not wish it to be so it would have been better not to go to war. I presume your Majesty couldn't wait, lest the Russians should construct strategic railways and the French provide themselves with boots (which I understand they have now procured in great quantities), but there it is; and after all we might not have been better off for waiting, since these English rascals showed a most bloodthirsty determination always to have a bigger Fleet than ours, no matter what we did. And so our poor commerce must have disappeared in any case. For an Empire like ours that is, I am informed, a great misfortune, though, for my own part, it has not hitherto affected me. On the other hand the scattering of ships like the Emden and von Spee's squadron, in order to destroy the enemy's commerce has only led to one conclusion, and that has been the bottom of the sea. All this is vexing, but it must be endured, and an occasional success with a submarine, though agreeable at the moment, does not substantially alter it.

Finally, as to the Russian Fleet, how, I ask, can we be expected to gain a victory over ships which hide themselves away in the Baltic in so mean a manner, and show no desire for the delight of battle? They have no consciousness of the fact that war-ships were intended for warfare.

Your Majesty is good enough to impute blame to me. Some part of this, I do not doubt, belongs to me. The rest, as is right, I will pass on to poor old Ingenohl and to Prince Henry, and shall ask them to guess whence it originally came.

I am Your Majesty's most humble
Von Tirpitz.

THE BREAKING OF THE SPELL.

STEINBACH, JANUARY 3, 1915.

Study of a lady who, during a Zeppelin scare, has fled to the cellar and thinks that, after all, it was a cowardly thing to do.

THE TOURIST.

Dear Chloe, how often my cravings

To winter abroad I've suppressed,

Well knowing my limited savings

Would last but a fortnight at best;

In vain have the posters adjured me

To sojourn in Monte or Rome,

In vain has Herr Baedeker lured me ...

I have wintered at home.

But now, half the "ads" I set eyes on

Suggest—and I jump at the chance—

I should widen my mental horizon

By touring through Belgium and France;

They hint at abundance of shooting

With guns that are Government made,

Till the minor excitements of Tooting

Are cast in the shade.

Each tripper, it seems, will be guided

By leaders of courage and skill;

Free bedding and board are provided;

Expenses are little, or nil;

A welcome delightfully hearty,

And sport that at least is unique,

Await every man of the party....

We leave in a week.

Good-bye, then, old dear, for the winter;

Expect me in London by May

(Unless a stray bullet or splinter

Should lead to a trifling delay);

From rumours—of which there are plenty—

I gather the fun will begin

At Calais, whence, Deo volente,

We tramp to Berlin.

NEW METHODS OF FRIGHTFULNESS.

["The Siberians have refused to have their beards cut, saying that the shagginess frightens the Germans." No doubt the adaptable enemy will not be behindhand in this method of warfare.]

The Frighten-em-to-Death's-Head Hussars, in their brilliant charge yesterday, were greatly aided by the fact that, before going into action, they had burnt-corked their faces. The effect upon the moral of the enemy was disastrous, the terrified troops flying in confusion.

The 1914 conscripts, who, as is well known, have yet to go into action, must not be supposed to be lying idle; they are being rendered irresistible by a severe training in the use of the grimace, which is likely to take the place of the bayonet as a means of clearing enemy trenches. The Crown Prince himself has frequently given instruction to the troops, although, in the interests of the men, it has been found necessary for the demonstrations to be carried on through sheets of smoked glass.

Krupps have largely abandoned the manufacture of big guns, and have now laid down plant for the construction of five million masks of a hideousness without parallel. Samples tested by the Black Pomeranians prove that any one of these masks has the power to drive a force of a thousand men into instant and complete insensibility.

With regard to the new crop reports, it must be remembered that fields hitherto intended for the growing of wheat and barley have, under a new order from the Imperial War Department, been planted with roots for the manufacture of the terrifying turnip-ghosts now required by the German army.

THE LAST LINE.

VI.

Our uniform—or, if that is too military a word, our academical costume—is officially announced to be "grey-green," the colour of the sea at 7.30 in the morning, when you decide that you have forgotten your towel and had better have a hot bath quietly at home. I don't know how invisible we shall be as soldiers, but anchored off the Maplin Sands we should deceive anybody. Where are the Buoys of the Old Brigade? Ah, where indeed! Even as marines we should have our value.

Luckily, we have been practising amphibious warfare for some time. The camp is mostly under water, and when the "Fall-in" is sounded we do it quite easily. The "Emerge" is not so easily obeyed. But there were drier days in December, and on one of these I made a curious discovery.

We were having a field-day, and my side of the battle was advancing in sections under shell-fire over fairly flat country. Every now and then, however, we came to a small hill or group of hills. There seemed to be no human reason for it, and I suggested to my section that we were on the track of some new kind of mole.

"No," said James, "those are bunkers."

We looked at each anxiously and tapped our foreheads.

"It's a golf-course," he persisted.

I could not allow dangerous talk of this kind to go on.

"Silence in the ranks," I said sternly.

A little later, when we were halted, an old, old man, the Nestor of the section, asked if he might speak to me.

"Certainly, my lad," I said.

"I think he du be right," he said, indicating James; "I've heerd tell on 'un. Great-great-grandfayther used to play."

Another man said that he had seen an old print of the game in a shop, but he thought it was called Ludo.

And then, in a most curious way, I had the sudden feeling that I myself had played the game in some previous existence—when I was a king in Babylon, perhaps, and James was a Christian caddie. It was most odd. When we got back to camp, I spoke to him about it.

"On Boxing Day, James," I whispered, "one might pursue one's researches in this matter. I should like to find out the truth about it. We might meet at——h'r'm! To the left, to two paces, ex-tend!" I added this loudly for the benefit of our platoon commander who was passing, and James (who in ordinary life extends two paces to the front) withdrew slowly into the darkness.

I won't refer to what happened on Boxing Day; one does not talk about these things. But I must tell you of its unfortunate sequel.

Last week, in the course of a route-march, we were suddenly turned on to distance-judging. I had never done this before, and a remote and lonely tree, half-hidden in the mist, conveyed nothing definite to me.

"What do you think?" I asked James.

"A drive and a mashie, about."

"S'sh," I said warningly. However, I determined to act on the suggestion. Remembering Boxing Day I allowed eighty yards for James's drive, and thirty-five for a mashie off the socket. Total, 115. It looked more, but the mist was deceptive. However, when the results were read out, the distance was given as 385 yards, and James, if you please, had said 350!

Let us leave this painful subject and turn to signalling. We are getting a little more proficient. Every message we send now starts properly with prefix, service instructions, code time, and so on, and the message itself gets in as many hyphens, horizontal lines, fractions and inverted commas as possible. Here, for instance, is the beginning of a thrilling message (sent to the Editor of The Times) which I was receiving last Sunday.

"Fore-warned being fore-armed Lieut. Z. SMITHSON, 21st Foot on the Przemysl-Rzeszow-Olkusz road, with £3 9s. 7½d. in his pocket (interest on 5½% DEBENTURES at 97—brokerage 1/8th) proceeded at 9.25 P.M. to ——"

At this point the "Fall-in" sounded and we had to stop. I never heard what happened to Lieut. Smithson. My own theory is that he murdered Emma and put the blame on Lt.-Col. St. George, D. S. O., who only had three-and-a-half per cents, and had never seen the girl before. Perhaps the matter will be cleared up when the War is over.

But it was a sad blow to us to be told in a lecture that same afternoon that despatch-riding has proved to be much more useful than signalling at the Front. It had an immediate effect on James, and the advertisement in The Times beginning "Wanted to Exchange a pair of blue-and-white silk flags (new) for motor-bicycle," is generally supposed to be his.

"And all the time I've spent on signalling has been wasted," he said indignantly.

"Not wasted, James. Your silhouette as you signalled an 'i' has made many a wet day bright. Anyway, it's no excuse for not coming to bayonet drill. That won't be wasted."

James made some absurd excuse about wanting to improve his shooting first.

"One is more independent with the bayonet," I assured him. "The Government doesn't like us as it is, and it's not going to waste much ammunition on us. But once you've tied the carving-knife on to the end of your umbrella, there you are."

"Well, I'll think about it," said James.

But I have heard since that he had already attended one class; and that in the middle of it James the solicitor advised James the soldier not to proceed further with the matter.

"Your time," said James the solicitor, "will be better spent on the range—where you can lie down."

And James the soldier made it so.

A. A. M.

DIPLOMACY.

[What would happen if we modelled our business affairs on the Yellow Book, Blue Book, White Book, Orange Book and Grey Book]

1. From Alfred Midgely, Office Manager, to James Henry Bullivant (Managing Director of Bullivants, Limited, Drysalters), temporarily abroad.

I hear from an absolutely trustworthy source that our town traveller, Mr. Herbert Blenkins, is thinking of giving notice. I have the honour to suggest that this merits the immediate attention of Your Excellency.

2. From J. H. B. to A. M.

Blenkins cannot be allowed to leave at this juncture. You should make a démarche towards the Office Boy, endeavour to ascertain from him whether pourparlers might not be opened with the Senior Typist in the direction of her using her influence with the Book-keeper to learn whether Blenkins' purpose is in the nature of an ultimatum or a ballon d'essai.

3. From A. M. to J. H. B.

Mr. Blenkins has presented his note. I have the honour to enclose a copy. The Office Boy is absent for a few days attending the obsequies of his grandmother. I have telegraphed to his home in the sense of your despatch. No reply has come, and I have the honour to await Your Excellency's further orders.

4. From J. H. B. to A. M.

It is imperative that there should be no delay in this matter. You should obtain the address of the office-boy's grandfather, and call upon him to learn whether he will agree to exert his grandparental influence in the direction already outlined.

5. From J. H. B. to Uncle Edward, Brother Theodore and Cousin Bob, co-Directors.

I enclose copies of correspondence relative to the Blenkins' crisis, which is rapidly assuming a gravity which I cannot affect to view with indifference. I beg you to proceed immediately to Midgely, and support his endeavours with the united weight of your diplomatic abilities.

6. From A. M. to J. H. B.

I learn from a sure source that the Office-Boy's grandmother has already died three times. The grandfather is alleged to be non compos mentis. Mr. Blenkins is mobilising his office papers. This is highly significant.

7. From A. M. to J. H. B.

Further to my despatch of this morning, I have the honour to report that Mr. Robert Bullivant suggests that we should offer Mr. Blenkins another twenty pounds a year and have done with it. Mr. Theodore Bullivant is firmly opposed to any diplomatic weakness at this juncture, in view of possible demands from the Book-keeper, whom we suspect of a secret entente with Mr. Blenkins. Your Excellency's uncle demands peace at any price. Should I take the unprecedented step of making a direct approach to Mr. Blenkins?

8. From J. H. B. to A. M.

No. The resources of Diplomacy must first be exhausted. In view of the urgency of the crisis, I authorise you to pass over the Office Boy and open pourparlers with the Senior Typist with a view to obtaining a mise en demeure from Blenkins.

9. From A. M. to J. H. B.

The Senior Typist has met with a reverse from an experimental hair-dye, and will not be visible for a week.

10. From J. H. B. to A. M.

Approach the Book-keeper.

11. From A. M. to J. H. B.

I have the honour to surmise that no definite purpose will be achieved through the diplomatic channel of the Book-keeper. He states that he prefers to keep himself to himself. Mr. Blenkins has already asked for his office cuffs, and a final severance of relations is imminent. I have not yet handed him his cuffs, which I have ventured to sequestrate on the ground that they are spotted with our ink.

12. From J. H. B. to A. M.

Retain the cuffs pending diplomatic action from Mr. Theodore.

13. From J. H. B. to Brother Theodore.

I enclose copies of correspondence relative to Blenkins' attempt to claim possession of our ink-spots. If in your opinion this constitutes a casus belli, I beg you to approach him with such menaces as are not inconsistent with the continuance of diplomatic relations.

14. From T. B. to J. H. B.

In view of the gravity of the crisis, I have taken legal opinion. If the cuffs were not only spotted with our ink, but were also clipped with our scissors, then they are ipso facto and ad hoc to be considered as neutral territory within the meaning of the Statutes of International Office Law.

15. From J. H. B. to A. M.

You should immediately ascertain, through the proper channels, if and (or) when and (or) how Blenkins clipped the cuffs. In the meantime you will convey to him that we should not be disposed to view with indifference any attempt on his part to violate the frontiers of neutral territory.

16. From A. M. to J. H. B.

Blenkins has gone!

17. Chorus of the Diplomats.

The resources of Diplomacy were strained to the uttermost.

REVEILLE.

Sergeant. "Now, then, turn out! Show a leg, you blankety landlubbers!"

LETTERS TO HAUPTMANN.

[Gerhart Hauptmann, the German dramatist and poet, has nominated Lord Curzon as Viceroy of England when it becomes a German province.]

If you'd trample on the Briton

And secure his just abasement,

Well, I think you might have written

First to me.

(Signed) Roger Casement.

If only as a recompense

For my expenditure of jaw

And anti-British "common-sense,"

Why not yours truly,

Bernard Shaw?

Would you avoid a bad rebellion?

The man for you is

Charles Trevelyan.

Since all the Dublin Corporation

Protest against my resignation,

My long experience vice-regal

Might mollify the German eagle

If he should nest on College Green.

Yours amicably,

Aberdeen.

Believe me, Curzon's haughty hand

Would lie too heavy on the land;

No, to appease the British Isles

Appoint yours truly,

William Byles.

I fear the freedom-loving British

Under Lord Curzon might grow skittish;

Far better knit the nations twain

Under a more pacific reign:

For instance, Brunner's; he's beyond

Reproach. Yours ever,

Alfred Mond.

Curzon, I own, is not a noodle,

But his demeanour is too feudal;

Try Alfred Mond: he is a stunner,

Affectionately yours,

John Brunner.

As I am still without a seat,

I'm not unwilling to compete

For any post in which there's scope

To preach humanitarian hope.

You might, of course, secure elsewhere