PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 152.

March 7th, 1917.

CHARIVARIA.

"A motor car repairer," says Mr. Justice BRAY, "is like a plumber. Once you get him into the house you cannot get him out."... Unless, of course, you show him a burst bath pipe, when he will immediately go out to fetch his mate.

According to Herr WILDRUBE, a member of the Reichstag, Germans should "rejoice at the departure of Mr. GERARD and his pro-Entente espionage bureau." They have some rubes in the U.S.A., but nothing quite so wild as this.

An historical film, called "The Discovery of Germany," is being exhibited widely through the Fatherland under the auspices of the Government. A further discovery of Germany—that she has been fatally misled by her rulers—has not at present received the approval of the Imperial House.

The German Army authorities have issued an urgent warning to the public not to discuss military matters. Their own communiqués are to be taken as a model of the right kind of reticence.

An American film syndicate have overcome their difficulty in finding a man to take the place of CHARLIE CHAPLIN. They have decided to do without.

In Vienna, so as not to infuriate the indigent poor, tables are no longer placed near the window of the dearer restaurants. Similar establishments in Germany for the same reason were long ago made sound-proof.

We note that German and Turkish diplomats have been engaged in conference for the purpose of drawing the two countries closer together. Any little pressure from outside (as on the Tigris and the Ancre) is doubtless welcome as contributing to this end.

"The right way to dissipate the submarine nightmare" is how a contemporary describes the new restrictions on imports. The embargo on tinned lobster should certainly have that effect.

A museum is to be established at Stuttgart "to interest the masses of the people in overseas Germans and their conditions of life." Several Foreign Governments, it is understood, have expressed their willingness to supply specimens in any reasonable quantity.

Lively satisfaction is being expressed among members of the younger set at the appointment of Mr. ALFRED BIGLAND, M.P., as Controller of Soap. They are now discussing a resolution calling for the abolition of nurse-maids, who are notorious for using soap to excess.

A Bill has been introduced into the House of Lords with the object of admitting women to practise as solicitors. The raising of the statutory fee for a consultation to 6s. 8¾d. is also under consideration.

At Old Street Police Court a man charged with bigamy pleaded that when a child he had a fall which affected his head. It is not known why other bigamists do it.

At Haweswater, Westmoreland, some sheep were recently dug out alive after being buried in a snow-drift forty days. It is thought that a morbid fear of being sold as New Zealand mutton caused the animals to make a supreme struggle for life.

A lady correspondent of The Daily Telegraph suggests that tradesmen should economise paper by ceasing to send out a separate expression of thanks with every receipted bill. A further economy is suggested by a hardened creditor, who advocates the abolition of the absurd custom of sending out a quarterly statement of "account rendered."

Beer bottles are now said to be worth more than the beer they contain, and apprehension is being felt lest the practice shall develop of giving away the contents to those who consent to return the empty bottles.

Difficulty having been found in replacing firemen called up for military service, the Hendon Council, it is rumoured, are requesting the residents not to have any conflagrations for the present at least.

Mr. JOHN INNS, of Stevenage, has just purchased the whole parish of Caldecote, Herts; but the report that he had to do this in order to obtain a pound of sugar proves incorrect.

NOTICE.

In order to meet the national need for economy in the consumption of paper, the Proprietors of Punch are compelled to reduce the number of its pages, but propose that the amount of matter published in Punch shall by condensation and compression be maintained and even, it is hoped, increased.

It is further necessary that means should be taken to restrict the circulation of Punch, and on and after March 14th its price will be Sixpence. The Proprietors believe that the public will prefer an increase of price to a reduction of matter.

Readers are urged to place an order with their Newsagent for the regular delivery of copies, as Punch may otherwise be unobtainable, the shortage of paper making imperative the withdrawal from Newsagents of the "on-sale-or-return" privilege.

In consequence of the increase in the price of Punch the period covered by subscriptions already paid direct to the Punch Office will have to be proportionately shortened.

APOLOGY OF A WARRIOR MINSTREL.

Lucasta, don't be cruel

If my bewildered lyre

Amidst such stores of fuel

Seems reft of sacred fire.

For if you know what France is

You know how it is hard

To blend, as in romances,

The warrior with the bard.

The troubadours of story

Knew no such woes as we,

Whose hopes of martial glory

Are built on F.A.T.[¹]

With songs and swords and horses

They learned their careless rôle,

While we are sent on courses

That starve the poet's soul.

With gay anticipations

They feasted ere a fight,

But we in calculations

Wear out the chilly night.

And if some hour of leisure

Permits a lyric mood

My wretched Muse takes pleasure

In nothing else but food.

Thus when I am returning

Ice-cold from some O.P.,

And in the East is burning

Aurora's heraldry,

That spark she fails to waken

With which of yore I glowed,

Who, fain of eggs and bacon,

Tramp ravening down the road,

Aware, with self-despising,

Which interests me most—

The silvery mists a-rising

Or marmalade and toast.

Such are the War-bard's passions—

Rank seedlings of a time

That chokes with maths and rations

The bursting buds of rhyme.

Footnote 1: Field Artillery Training. [(return)]

A ROMANCE OF RATIONS.

"Not like to like, but like in difference."

"The Princess."

I have always misjudged Victorine—I admit it now with shame. While other girls have become engaged—and disengaged quite soon after—she has remained unattached and solitary. As I watched the disappointed suitors turn sadly away I put it down to pride and self-sufficiency, but I was wrong. I see now that she always had the situation well in hand.

As for Algernon, he is the sort of man who writes sonnets to lilies and butterflies and the rosy-fingered dawn—this last from hearsay as he really knows nothing about it. He is prematurely bald and suffers from the grossest form of astigmatism, and I thought that no woman would ever love him. I never dreamt that Victorine had even noticed he was there.

One day I heard that they were engaged. It was too hard for me to understand.

On the third morning I went to see her.

"Victorine," I said, "you have never loved before?"

"Never," she assented softly.

"Now, this man you have chosen—you do not care overmuch for lilies and butterflies and rosy-fingered dawns?"

"Not overmuch," she admitted sadly.

"Then what is it brings you together? What strange link of the spirit has been forged between you? To speak quite plainly, what do you see in him?"

"Yesterday we lunched together, and two days before that he got here in time for breakfast."

"And the engagement still holds?" I am no optimist.

"Before that we dined. Yes, I do not exaggerate. It was my suggestion. One sees so much unhappiness now-a-days, and I wished to be quite sure we were suited to one another."

"And you are convinced of the sincerity of the attachment?"

"Why, I feel for him as Mother does for the knife-and-boot boy, and Uncle Stephen for the charlady. We cannot be separated. It would be monstrous."

I ceased to be articulate. Victorine suddenly became radiant.

"We must always be together—at any rate for the duration of the War, you see. I eat under my meat and he is over. In flour and sugar—oh, how can I confess it?—I exceed. He is far, far below his ration. Apart we are failures; together we are perfect. We both saw it at once."

I realised suddenly the inevitability of this mutual bond.

"So marriage is the only thing?" I asked; but I was already conquered.

She assented with a regal air.

As I went away I saw a new and strange beauty in the problem of Food Shortage.

SONGS OF FOOD PRODUCTION.

IV.

The Farmer's Boy (New Style).

The Hun was set on making us fret

For lack of food to eat,

When up there ran a City man

In gaiters trim and neat—

Oh, just tell me if a farm there be

Where I can get employ,

To plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O,

And he a farmer's boy,

And be a farmer's boy.

"In khaki dight my juniors fight—

I wish that I could too;

But since the land's in need of hands

There's work for me to do;

Though you call me a 'swell,' I would labour well—

I'm aware it's not pure joy—

To plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O

And be a farmer's boy,

And be a farmer's boy."

The farmer quoth, "I be mortal loth,

But the farm 'tis goin' back,

And I do declare as I can't a-bear

Any farming hands to lack;

So if you've got grit and be middlin' fit

An'll larn to cry, 'Ut hoy!'

And to plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O,

You shall be a farmer's boy,

You shall be a farmer's boy."

Bold farmers all, obey the call

Of townsfolk game and gay!

And you City men put by the pen

And hear me what I say:—

Get straight enrolled with a farmer bold,

And the Hun you'll straight annoy,

If you plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O

And be a farmer's boy,

And be a farmer's boy.

The Sex-Problem Again.

"FOR SALE.—A 3-year-old Holstein gentleman cow."—Canadian Paper.

"A Liverpool master carter told the Tribunal that the last 'substitute' sent him for one of his men backed a horse down a tip and landed him in an expense of £50."—Yorkshire Evening Post.

Many men have lost more by backing a horse on a tip.

A Bare Outlook.

"THINGS YOU HAVE GOT TO DO WITHOUT.
CLOTHES AND FOOD."—Daily Sketch.

This seems to bring the War even closer than the PREMIER intended.

MORE OR LESS.

The fleet of Dutch merchantmen which has been sunk by a waiting submarine sailed, it now appears, under a German guarantee of "relative security": and the incident has been received in Holland with a widespread outburst of relative acquiescence. Germany, in the little ingenious arrangements that she is so fond of making for the safety and comfort of her neighbours, is so often misunderstood. It should be obvious by this time that her attitude to International Law has always been one of approximate reverence. The shells with which she bombarded Rheims Cathedral were contingent shells, and the Lusitania was sunk by a relative torpedo.

Neutrals all over the world who are smarting just now under a fresh manifestation of Germany's respective goodwill should try to realise before they take any action what is the precise situation of our chief enemy. He has (relatively) won the War; he has (virtually) broken the resistance of the Allies; he has (conditionally) ample supplies for his people; in particular, he is (morally) rich in potatoes. His finances at first sight appear to be pretty heavily involved, but that will soon be adjusted by (hypothetical) indemnities; he has enormous (proportional) reserves of men; he has (theoretically) blockaded Great Britain, and his final victory is (controvertibly) at hand.

But his most impressive argument, which cannot fail to come home to hesitating Neutrals, is to be found in his latest exhibition of offensive power, namely, in his (putative) advance upon the Ancre.

Realism.

From a cinema announcement:—

"The management regret that 'The Lost Bridegroom' missed the boat on Sunday."—Guernsey Evening Express.

A Family Affair.

From an account of a "gift sale":

"Alderman —— advised the Committee to sell the donkey in the evening, when there would be a lot present."—Provincial Paper.

More Impending Apologies.

I.

"Mr. —— writes from New Cross:—'Sir,—I was pleased to see that you do not intend increasing the price of 'The Daily News,' and hope that you will not have to reconsider your decision. If necessary I, for one, would be quite content with four pages only."—Daily News.

II.

"The nurses who have a seven minutes' walk to their home quarters, have never had a rude word said to them, 'even,' she added, 'when they have had too much to drink.'"—Daily Province (Vancouver, B.C.).

"THE FREEDOM OF THE SEA."

HOLLAND. "YOU'VE TAKEN A GREAT LIBERTY WITH ME."

GERMANY. "OF COURSE I HAVE. I'M THE APOSTLE OF LIBERTY."

THE SOLACE.

Mr. William Wood, grocer, of Acton, was very tired. And no wonder, for not only had he lost his two assistants, both having been called up, but the girls who had taken their places were frivolous and slow. Moreover his errand boy had that day given notice. And, furthermore, the submarine campaign was making it every day more difficult to keep up the stock, and the rise in prices meant anything but the commensurate increase of profit of which he was accused by indignant customers.

Mr. Wood, therefore, was not sorry when, the shutters up, he could retire to his sitting-room upstairs and rest. His one hobby being reading, and his favourite form of literature being Lives and Letters, he had normally no difficulty in dismissing the shop from his mind. He would open the latest memoir from the library and lose himself in whatever society it reconstructed, political for choice. But to-night the solace could not so easily be found. For one thing, he had no new books; for another, the cares of business were too recent and too real.

He sank into his armchair, covered his eyes with his hand, and pondered.

Then suddenly he had an idea. If there were no letters of the Great to read, he would himself write to the Great and thus escape grocerdom and worry. If he were not a person of importance, he would at least pretend to be, and thus be comforted.

Seating himself at the table and taking up his pen, he composed with infinite care the following chapter from a biography of himself:—

The year 1916 was a comparatively uneventful one in the life of our hero. The principal events were the marriage of his youngest daughter with the son of the Bishop of Brighton and the rebuilding of The Towers after the fire. Perhaps the most important of his new friends were the Archbishop of CANTERBURY and Sir HEDWORTH MEUX, but unfortunately Sir HEDWORTH has not kept any of the letters. Nor is there much correspondence; but a few letters may be printed here, all testifying to the multifarious interests of this remarkable man, who not only knew everyone worth knowing, but projected himself into their careers with so much sympathy and keenness. The first is to the then Prime Minister:—

To the Right Hon. H.H. ASQUITH, M.P.

MY DEAR ASQUITH,—This is only a line to remind you that you lunch with me at the Primrose Club on Monday at one o'clock. I have asked two or three friends to meet you, all good fellows. With regard to that matter on which you were asking my advice, I think that the wisest course at present is (to use the phrase, now a little stale, which I invented for you) to wait and see. Let me say that I thought your speech at the Guildhall a fine effort. Kindly remember me to the wife and Miss ELIZABETH, and believe me,

Yours sincerely,

WILLIAM WOOD.

P.S.—I wish you would call me William. I always think of you as Herbert.

To the Earl of ROSEBERY.

MY DEAR ROSEBERY,—It is a great grief to me to have to decline your kind invite to Dalmeny, but there is an obstacle I cannot overcome. My youngest daughter is to be married next week to the son of the Bishop of Brighton, a most well-bred young fellow with perfect manners. Nothing but the necessity of my presence at the feast of Hymen could deprive me of the pleasure of seeing your country place. Do not stay away too long, I beg. The town is dull without you.

I am, dear ROSEBERY,

Yours most affectionately,

WILLIAM WOOD.

To Mr. RUDYARD KIPLING.

MY DEAR KIPLING,—Just a line to say how much I admire your poem in this morning's Times. You have never voiced the feeling of the moment with more force or keener insight. But you will, I am sure, pardon me when I say that in the fifty-eighth stanza there is a regrettable flaw, which could however quickly be put right. To me, that fine appeal to Monaco to give up its neutrality is impaired by the use of the word "cope," which I have always understood should be avoided by good writers. "Deal" has the same meaning and is a truer word. You will, I am sure, agree with me in this criticism when you have leisure to think it over.

Believe me, my dear KIPLING,

Yours sincerely,

WILLIAM WOOD.

To His Grace the Archbishop of CANTERBURY.

MY DEAR ARCHBISHOP,—That was a very delightful dinner you gave me last night, and I was glad to have the opportunity of meeting Lord MORLEY and discussing with him the character of MARLBOROUGH. While not agreeing with everything that Lord MORLEY said, I am bound to admit that his views impressed me. Some day soon you must bring her Ladyship down to The Towers for a dine and sleep.

I am, my dear Archbishop,

Yours cordially,

WILLIAM WOOD.

To Lord NORTHCLIFFE.

MY DEAR ALFRED,—You cannot, I am sure, do better than continue in the course you have chosen. What England needs is a vigilant observer from without; and who, as I have so often told you, is better fitted for such a part than you? You have all the qualities—high mobility, the courage to abandon convictions, and extreme youth. If you lack anything it is perhaps ballast, and here I might help you. Ring me up at any time, day or night, and I will come to you, just as I used to do years ago when you were beginning.

Think of me always as

Yours very sincerely,

WILLIAM WOOD.

To Sir ARTHUR WING PINERO.

MY DEAR PINERO,—I am glad you liked my suggestion and are already at work upon it. No one could handle it so well as you. I write now because it has occurred to me that the proper place for Lord Scudamore to disown his guilty wife and for her impassioned reply is not, as we had it, the spare room, but the parlour.

I am, dear old fellow,

Always yours to command,

WILLIAM WOOD

Having written thus far, Mr. William Wood went to bed, perfectly at peace with himself and the world.

Friend (to Professor, whose lecture, "How to Stop the War," has just concluded). "CONGRATULATE YOU, OLD MAN—WENT SPLENDIDLY, AT ONE TIME DURING THE AFTERNOON I WAS RATHER ANXIOUS FOR YOU."

Professor. "THANKS. BUT I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN SO CONCERNED ON MY BEHALF."

Friend. "WELL, A RUMOUR DID GO ROUND THE ROOM THAT THE WAR WOULD BE OVER BEFORE YOUR LECTURE."

THE GREAT BETRAYAL.

'Twas night, and near the Boreal cliff

The monarch in seclusion lay,

A wondrous human hieroglyph,

Worshipped from Chile to Cathay;

When lo! a cry, "Sire, up and fly!

The pirate ships are in the bay!"

"Begone, ye cravens," straight replied

The monarch with his eyes ablaze;

"No pirate on the ocean wide

Can fright me, for I know their ways.

Shall I do less in times of stress

Than soldiers who have earned My praise?

"Yet stay," he paused awhile, and then—

"Let messengers the country scour

On pain of death forbidding men

To speak, in hut or hall or tower,

Of what I said this night of dread,

Or where I spent its darkest hour."

Swift flew the minions to obey;

The wearied monarch slumbered late;

Yet, in the Capital next day,

Writ large upon his palace gate,

A mighty scroll to every soul

Blazoned the words that challenged Fate.

The monarch's rage surpassed all bounds

When of this treachery he read;

A price of several million pounds

Was placed upon the miscreant's head;

But sceptics jibe—an odious tribe—

And swear that he will die in bed.

A New Way to Pay Old Debts.

"The Inventor of British and American Patents is desirous to Sell or License to Manufacturers, &c., &c.... The above Inventor and Patentee will be greatly obliged if anyone that he owes money to will forward the amount not later than this month, otherwise he will not acknowledge after."—Financial Times.

"LITTLE WAR PICTURES.
A NOBLE ARMY OF OPTIMISTS IN TRANCE."—Straits Times (Singapore).

We wish our pessimists would join them.

THE WATCH DOGS.

LVII.

My Dear Charles,—St. John, in 1914 a light-hearted lieut., advancing and retiring with his platoon as an all-seeing Providence or a short-spoken Company Commander might direct, and in 1915 a Brass-hat with a vast amount of knowledge and only a hundred buff slips or so to write it down on, is now Second in Command of his regiment. He tells me he is encamped with his little lot on the forward slope of a muddy and much pitted ravine. On the opposite slope are some nasty noisy guns, and at the bottom of the ravine are the cookers.

When, after much forethought, he has found something to do and has begun doing it, there is a cry of "Stand clear!" and, with that prudence which even an Englishman will learn if you do not hustle him but give him a year or two to find by experience that care should sometimes be taken, all get to earth. The guns fire; the neighbourhood heaves and readjusts itself, and a man may then come out again. By the time, however, he has collected his senses and his materials there is another "Stand clear!" and back he must go to earth. This is what is technically known as Rest.

It was not good enough for one of the battalion cooks. No man can do justice to a mess of pottage by lying on his belly at a distance and frowning at it. After many movements to and fro, he eventually said be damned to guns and "Stand clears;" stood on the top of his cooker (there was nowhere else to stand), and, holding a dixie lid in his hand and bestowing on the contents of the dixie that encouraging smile without which no stew can stew, defied all the artillery of the B.E.F. to do its worst. It did.

The cook recovered to find himself among his dixies, frizzling pleasantly and browning nicely in certain parts. Even so, professional interests over-came any feeling of personal injury. Rising majestically, he stepped down and advanced upon the nearest gun crew. "Now you've done it, you blighters!" he shouted, waving an angry fist at them. "You've been and gone and blown all the pork out of the beans."

The same man went on holiday to the neighbouring town, which is in reality an ordinarily dull and dirty provincial place, but to the tired warrior is a haven of rest and a paradise of gaiety and good things. Here he came into contact with the local A.P.M. in the following way. The latter was in his office after lunch, brooding no doubt, when in came a French policeman greatly excited in French. There was, it appeared, promise of a commotion at the Hotel de Ville. A British soldier had got mixed up in the queue of honest French civilians who were waiting outside for the delivery of their legal papers. There were no bi-linguists present, but it had been made quite clear to the Britisher that he must go, and it had been made quite clear by the Britisher that he should stay. Always outside the Hotel de Ville at 2.30 of an afternoon was this queue of natives, each waiting his turn to be admitted to the joyless sanctum of the Commissaire, there to receive those illegible documents without which no French home is complete. Never before had a British soldier fallen in with them, and, when requested to dismiss, showed signs of being obstreperous.

The A.P.M. buckled on his Sam Browne belt and prepared for the worst, which he assumed to be but another example of the frailty of human nature when suddenly confronted with unaccustomed luxuries. When he got to his prey he found him not quite in the state expected. Usually at the sight of an A.P.M. a soldier, whatever the strength of his case, will express regret, promise reform, and make ready to pass on. This one stood his ground; on no account would he leave the queue. He explained to the A.P.M. that he was too used to the manifold and subtle devices of people who wanted to snaffle other people's places in queues. He was however quite prepared to parley, and was only too glad to find a fellow-countryman, speaking the right language and having the right sense of justice, to parley with.

He said he had taken his proper place in the line, with no attempt to hustle or jostle anyone else. He meant to do no one any harm, and he was prepared to pay the due price, in current French notes, whatever it might be. But having got his place by right he refused to give it up to anyone else, be he French or English, Field Officer or even gendarme. He had been excessively restrained in resisting the unscrupulous attempts of the gendarme to dislodge him. If he had made any threat of knocking the gendarme down he had not really intended to take that course. The threat was only a formal reply to the gendarme's proposal to stick a sword through his middle.

He was, he said most emphatically, not drunk. If the A.P.M., in whom he had all confidence, would occupy his place in the queue and keep it for him, he would demonstrate this by a practical test. In any case he ventured to insist on his point. Without claiming any special privileges for a man fighting and cooking for his country, he claimed the right of any human being, whatever his nationality, to witness any cinema show which might be in progress.

The underlying good qualities of both nations were evidenced in the sequel. When the A.P.M. had interpreted the matter the gendarme insisted on an embrace, and the cook permitted it. Later, I have reason to believe, they witnessed a most moving cinema play together, but not in the Commissaire's office at the Hotel de Ville.

Yours ever,

HENRY.

CHILDREN'S TALES FOR GROWN-UPS.

I.

CAUSE AND EFFECT.

It hadn't rained for forty days and forty nights.

"The reason it doesn't rain," said the guinea-fowl, "is that the barometer is very high."

But no one listened to her.

"The reason is," said the duck with the black wings, "that the pond is nearly empty. When the pond is empty it doesn't rain."

"It's the hen-house," said the black hen. "Whenever the roof drips there is rain."

"It is certainly the hen-house," said all the hens.

"It comes from the trees," said the turkey. "The leaves drip and then there is rain, and the more they drip the heavier it rains."