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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 159.
DECEMBER 29, 1920
CHARIVARIA.
No newspapers were published on Saturday, Sunday or Monday. We did not
begrudge them their holiday, but we do think _The Daily Mail_ might
have issued occasional bulletins respecting the weather at Thanet, as
we consider three days is too long to keep their readers in suspense.
* * *
The most popular indoor game this winter seems to be
Battledore-and-Juttlecock.
* * *
A woman informed a London magistrate last Tuesday that her husband
thrashed her at Easter, Whitsuntide and on August Bank Holiday.
Our thoughts were constantly with her during the recent Yuletide
festivities.
* * *
Readers should not be alarmed if a curious rustling noise is heard
next Saturday morning. It will be simply the sound of new leaves being
turned over.
* * *
In view of the possible increase of their salaries it is not the
intention of Members of Parliament to solicit Christmas-boxes.
Householders, therefore, should be on their guard against men passing
themselves off as M.P.s.
* * *
Our attention is drawn to the fact that the latest photograph of Mr.
LLOYD GEORGE shows him to be smoking a cigar with the band on. We can
only say that CROMWELL wouldn't have done it.
* * *
Our magistrates appear to be made of poor stuff these days. A man
named SNAIL was last week summoned before the Feltham magistrates
for exceeding the speed limit, yet no official joke was made.
Incidentally, why is it that Mr. Justice DARLING never gets a real
chance like this?
* * *
A New York policeman has been arrested in the act of removing a safe
from a large drapery store. It is said that upon being seen by another
policeman he offered to run and fetch a burglar.
* * *
Mme. DELYSIA has been bitten by a dog in New York. The owner's
defence, that the animal had never tasted famous dancer before, is not
likely to be accepted.
* * *
Like a soothing balm just before the old year dies comes the
intimation from Mr. LOVAT FRASER that there is a bright side to
things.
* * *
With reference to the opening of the pantomime season it is reported
that a couple of new jokes have been found nesting in a Glasgow
theatre.
* * *
Psychologists are inclined to attribute the recent night stampede of
sheep in the Midlands, when thousands of them jumped their hurdles,
to the influence of a large number of people concentrating on a
well-known remedy for sleeplessness.
* * *
It is stated that rabies does not exist in Ireland. Our opinion is
that it wouldn't be noticed if it did.
* * *
Very few English Christmas customs, we hear, are prevalent out
in Russia. We have always felt that the custom of clients giving
Christmas-boxes to their executioners will never become very popular.
* * *
It is rumoured that the repeated assassinations of General VILLA have
made it necessary for him to resign his position as Permanent Chief
Insurgent to the State of Mexico.
* * *
_The Morning Post_ has remarked that nowadays the Eton boy is often
reduced to travelling third-class. It is hoped to persuade Sir ERIC
GEDDES to disguise himself as an Eton boy during the holidays to see
how it feels.
* * *
It is now admitted that the plum-pudding which was badly mauled by a
small boy in the Hoxton district on Christmas Day began it by inviting
his assailant to "come on."
* * *
D'ANNUNZIO is reported to be coming to a more reasonable frame of
mind. Apparently he is disposed to allow Italy a certain measure of
independence.
* * *
People step out into the road and never look to right or left, says a
London coroner. This makes things far too easy for motorists.
* * *
Dr. A. GRAHAM BELL recently told a Derby audience how he invented the
telephone. We note that he still refuses to say why.
* * *
We are informed that, on and after the 1st of January, Mr. CHURCHILL
cannot undertake to refute the opinions of any writer who has not been
officially recognised as a best seller.
* * *
A scientist has succeeded in putting a pea to sleep with
electro-magnetism. The clumsy old method of drowning it in a plate of
soup should now be a thing of the past.
* * *
General TOWNSHEND says that with seventy thousand men he could
have conquered half Asia. But then he might have lost Mr. HORATIO
BOTTOMLEY.
* * *
What we want now is something to make the world safe for those who
made the world safe for democracy.
* * *
There is now on the market a new patent contrivance which gives
warning when the contents of an oven are on the point of burning. We
have secured a sample, but unfortunately our cook still relies on her
sense of smell.
* * *
"Leather is now much cheaper," we read. Yet we have noticed no drop in
the price of restaurant steak.
* * *
On January 1st the Ministry of Munitions will enter upon its second
year of winding up.
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR GOGGLERS.
_First Girl in grandmotherly spectacles (to second ditto)._ "HOW
FRIGHTFULLY OUT OF DATE THAT WOMAN IS. FANCY--LORGNETTES!"]
* * * * *
THE HAPPY HOOTS.
Yes, it is nearly twelve now. In ten minutes we shall hear the
bells--I mean the hooters. I wonder if there were hooters when
TENNYSON wrote those popular lines about ringing in the New Year. Very
likely he didn't hear them if there were, as there's nothing to show
that he ever really stayed up late enough to see the New Year in. It's
a pity, because the hooters would have fitted in to that poem most
beautifully. The hooting idea is just what is wanted to give a
dramatic contrast to the sugary ringing business.
"Ring out the false, ring in the true"
doesn't _convince_ somehow; it's too impartial. One doesn't say to the
footman, "Show the Rector up, please, and show this blackmailer out,"
even at the Lyceum. One says, "_Kick_ this black-hearted hound out,"
and the footman realises then that you have something against the
fellow. Just so one doesn't gather from the above line that the poet
has any strong preference as between the false and the true, except
that there is no good rhyme to "the false," unless you can count
"waltz"; but what about--
_Hoot_ out the old, ring in the new;
_Hoot_ out the false, ring in the true?
Magnificent! There's some sting in that; it "gets over," and it brings
the whole poem into harmony with modern practice.
Come on, we'd better have another dance before the great moment. I
wonder if TENNYSON ever saw the New Year in at two guineas a head. I
don't expect so. For that matter it's the first time we've done it at
an expensive public "Revel" ourselves; but then this is the first year
we've been absolutely bankrupt. Up till now we've been rather well
off, and have celebrated cheaply at home. Do you realise that this is
our wedding-day? I believe you'd forgotten; women never remember these
things. Yes, it's six years.... Six years. And this is the first year
we've been bankrupt. All the same, as I say, it's the first year we've
come out and had a jolly good supper. Reckless? Yes, I'm afraid we
are. But we've caught it from the Government.... However, to-morrow
we'll start a new cheque-book.
Have you made your resolutions yet? I have. Do you remember this time
last year? You said you'd keep accounts, and I said I wouldn't smoke
so much. And all the year through our resolution has never wavered.
I've got evidence of that. Look at my diary. Here we are:--
_January 1st._--G. started keeping accounts. Gave up smoking.
And here we are again:--
_March 20th._--G. started accounts.
_March 29th._--Knocked off smoking.
That shows it was no mere flash-in-the-pan, doesn't it?
And we _went on_ like that. Look at this:--
_June 6th._--Gave up smoking.
_June 7th._--Only one pipe since yesterday.
_June 30th._--Cut myself down to four pipes a day.
_July 1st-9th._--G. keeping accounts; knocked off smoking.
But I wonder why I kept writing it down. Even in September, you see, I
wasn't taking it for granted:--
_September 29th._--Quarter-Day. Not smoking this quarter. G. began new
system of accounts.
It looks like bragging, doesn't it? But I don't think I can have meant
it that way. Still, it is rather marvellous, when you come to think of
it--here we are, after all these months, twelve of them, and we still
stick doggedly to the same unswerving resolution. Nothing can alter
it. That's what I call tenacity of purpose.
You don't think I'm serious? But I am. I'm just as serious as I was
last year. This year I _shall_ give up smoking. Only I think you ought
to give up your hot-water bottle in sympathy. You won't? No, I know
you won't. You're a slave of the bottle, you see. It doesn't do you
any harm? Oh, yes it does. It makes your backbone flabby, and it makes
you susceptible to colds, and it gives you chilblains, and, anyhow,
it's morally pernicious, because it's an _indulgence_.... If I'd known
you were a hot-water-bottle woman before we were married.... However,
we needn't go into that. But if you won't give up your bottle I shan't
give up smoking after all.
Look, they're opening the windows. We shall all catch cold. Can you
hear anything? I can hear those people eating. What a draught! Can
you hear anything? I can hear the eaters quite plainly now. Here comes
Father Christmas. I believe he is going to give us all gifts.
Can you hear anything yet? I have been given a diary. What have you
got? Another diary? Is yours for 1921? So is mine. How dull! Christmas
will be on a Sunday next year, I see. So will our wedding-day. I hope
you'll remember it this time. And they have arranged for the Spring to
begin on March 21st. Think of it! Spring--in less than three months!
There they go.
Hoot out, wild hooters, to the wild sky!
What a jolly noise! Much better than bells, really much more accurate
as an expression of one's feelings. There's a sort of "faint but
pursuing" note about it. And that's how I feel, rather. It was a
dreadful year, really, wasn't it?--that last one, I mean. No money,
no clothes--nothing but rates and dentists and small accounts
respectfully submitted for our esteemed favour. One long crisis....
But we kept the flag flying. This year----
Hallo! somebody's going to recite. What do you think it will be?
You'll never guess. Yes, you're quite right.
Ring out a slowly-dying cause
And ancient forms of party strife.
That sounds like a bit of Government propaganda. Disgraceful, I call
it. If I was a Wee Free----
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners----
That's a hit at somebody, too, I shouldn't wonder. Somebody must
have written a topical verse for the occasion. Those people are still
eating. I expect they are doing Hog-money, or whatever it is....
Are you still as obstinate as ever about that hot-water bottle? Very
well, then, I shall now have the first smoke of the New Year. Oh, no;
we 've got to do _Auld Lang Syne_ first. I never _can_ smoke while I'm
singing.
"Should auld acquaintance...." Do you know any of the people here? No?
Do you ever want to see any of them again? No? Never mind, they've
all paid a lot of money to hold our hands; let them have their
money's worth.... "A right gude willie-waucht...." Waiter! One large
willie-waucht, please, and a small pint stoup.... Do you realise that
this is the only night in the year when you can get a willie-waucht at
this hour? What a world!
Six years. Do you see that nice couple over there? I bet they haven't
been married as long as we have. And I bet they're not so bankrupt.
This is going to be a dreadful year. I can see that at once. But we'll
keep the flag flying.
Ah, here come the willie-wauchts. Thank you, waiter.
Well, my dear--a cup of kindness with you. Here's luck!
A. P. H.
* * * * *
NATURAL HISTORY ON THE FOOTBALL FIELD.
"St. Columb's Court and North-End met at The Farm, when
St. Columb's Court were the victors by three goats to
one."--_Irish Paper._
* * * * *
"Harry ---- (19), described as a comedian, was bound over in
£5 for six months under the rug, the property of Hilda ----."
_Provincial Paper._
It seems that HARRY was not the only comedian in court.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A BOXING NIGHTMARE.
THE GOOD FAIRY GEORGINA. "I WAVE MY WAND--UTOPIA DOTH APPEAR ...
(_extemporising_) SOMETHING'S GONE WRONG. O DEAR! O DEAR! O DEAR!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Post-War Sportsman._ "THE HOUNDS MEET ON THE LAWN
TO-MORROW, MY DEAR. WE MUST GIVE THEM A STIRRUP-CUP."
_Wife._ "I HOPE THE CHEF KNOWS HOW TO MAKE IT. IF NOT I SUPPOSE
CLARET-CUP WOULD DO?"]
* * * * *
ELIZABETH'S CHRISTMAS.
"I've always thort 'ow I'd love to 'ave a reel nice Christmas,"
remarked Elizabeth--"a jolly proper kind o' one, you know, 'm."
"Don't you find Christmas a pleasant time, then?" I inquired.
"Well, you see, 'm, I bin in service ever since I was turned fifteen,
an' you know wot Christmas in service is. An extry tip, I will say,
but a lot of extry work to go along with it--and wot washin' up!
Some'ow it orl seems so different in books an' on the pictures."
She sighed as she spoke and a look that was almost human crept into
the arid region of her countenance. A feeling of compunction swept
over me. Was it possible that this poor simple girl concealed depths
of conviviality in her nature and a genial disposition which I, in
common with all her former employers, had carelessly overlooked? I
will admit that this unexpected phase in Elizabeth's character touched
and interested me.
"Elizabeth," I cried in a sudden glow of enthusiasm, "you shall have
your jolly Christmas--I will provide it. You shall have your turkey,
plum-pudding, mince-pies, crackers, mistletoe and all the rest of
it." _Cheeryble_ in his most beneficent mood could not have felt more
expansive than I did just then. "You can invite your friends; we shall
not be at home, so you will have the place to yourself."
"Lor!" she ejaculated. "D'ye reerly mean it, 'm?"
"I do, Elizabeth. Let me know the sort of Christmas you've always
longed for and I'll see that you get it."
She drew up her lank form and her face shone. "Well, 'm, I don't know
where you get 'em, but for one thing I've often thort as 'ow I'd like
to 'ave a festlebord."
"What's that?" I asked, puzzled. "Is it in the Stores' list?"
"I don't know, 'm, but there's always a lot about it in the books.
When the Squire's son comes 'ome repentant at Christmas-tide they
always gathers round a festlebord and rejoices."
I began to see light. "You mean a 'festal board'?"
"That's wot I sed, 'm."
"Well, you shall have one, Elizabeth, I'll see to that. I'd let you
have a Squire's son as well, but unfortunately the only ones I know
are not repentant--as yet. And now tell me which of your friends you
would like to invite."
"There's my sister-in-lor 'ud like to come--'er that I 'aven't been
on speakin' terms with for five years--but she shan't. An' my friend
isn't comin'; I'll see to that arter the things she sed about me to my
young man's cousin--sorcy baggage! As for my two aunts they don't set
foot under the same roof as me arter the way----"
"Never mind about the people you're not inviting," I broke in; "we
don't need a list of them. Who do you want to come?"
"Well, there's Mrs. Spurge, the char--a real nice lady, as you know,
'm. Then I'd like to arsk Polly, the sister of the cook wot lives in
the 'ouse at the corner with red 'air; an' there's Mary Baxter. An'
isn't it lucky my sailor-brother will be 'ome for the first time in
ten years? Can 'e come too, 'm? 'E's been round the world twice."
"In that case, Elizabeth, he certainly ought to be invited. He may
even have returned home repentant, so you will be able to rejoice at
the festal board in proper style."
"Oh, 'm, isn't it luverly? I won't 'arf have a beano this Christmas.
Wot a time we'll 'ave, _wot_ a time!"
* * * * *
For my part I did not pass a very blithesome Christmas. Henry's aunt,
who invited us, is rich, but she is also dull, and several times I
found myself rather envying Elizabeth. While Aunt Jane nodded in her
chair, Henry and I pictured those boisterous revels of Elizabeth and
her friends, their boundless mirth, their unrestrained gaiety. We
imagined them too gathered round the sailor-brother, listening with
rapt delight as he told them stories of the far-off wonder-lands he
had known. Henry sighed then and said there were times when he envied
the so-called lower classes their capacity for enjoyment.
When we returned home Elizabeth greeted us with beaming countenance.
"I 'ope you 'ad a good time," she said; "I know _I_ 'ad."
"Then it really was as nice as you thought it would be, Elizabeth?"
"It was first-rate, 'm. Leastways orl went well until arter dinner,
when we begins chippin' each other and ends in 'avin' a few words.
My sailor-brother started it by chaffin' Polly about 'er red 'air an'
arskin' why she didn't cut it orf, an' she told 'im then that if 'e'd
such an objection to red she wondered 'e didn't cut 'is own nose orf.
Arter that one thing led to another; we took sides an'----"
"Oh, Elizabeth, you don't mean to say you quarrelled?" I interrupted
sorrowfully.
"Oh, no, it wasn't quarrellin', 'm--just bargin', you know. Any'ow it
ended in Polly an' Mary an' my brother goin' off early. I was chilly
to Mrs. Spurge owin' to 'er 'avin' said that she didn't believe my
sailor-brother 'd ever been further than Wapping in a coal-barge.
I shouldn't 'ave spoke to 'er again that evenin' if the book 'adn't
brought us together again friendly, like."
"What book?" I asked, bewildered.
"One of yours that I got out of the study, 'm. Oh, _wot_ a book!
Sorter ghost story in a manner o' speakin'. I laughed an' I cried over
it, turn about. So did Mrs. Spurge. You see we read bits out to each
other--kep it up till three o'clock in the mornin', we did. It was
luverly!"
"And what was the book called?" I inquired.
"It's called _A Christmas Car'l_, 'm, by Mr. DICKINGS. Why didn't
nobody tell me about it afore? It's far better 'n the pictures. 'Just
like 'eaven,' Mrs. Spurge said."
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, Elizabeth."
"It's the 'appiest Christmas I ever 'ad, 'm. That there Mr. Dickings
is a one! 'E do know wot's wot in festlebords."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Patient._ "MY MISSIS SENT ME FUR A BOTTLE O' MEDICINE
FUR ME CORF. SHE SAYS IT KEEPS HER AWAKE O' NIGHTS. I SAYS, 'YOU'VE
NOBBUT TO LIE AWAKE. I'VE GOT TO LIE AWAKE AN' CORF.'"]
* * * * *
HOW, WHY AND WHAT.
_(Being the Tragedy of the Conscientious Inquirer who fell among
Philistines.)_
There was an old man who said, "How
Can I link the To-Be with the Now?"
But they said, "Poor old thing!
You've been reading Dean INGE,
And you're _not_ high enough in the brow."
But in spite of this check he said, "Why
Is my Ego the same as my I?"
So they put him to bed
And placed ice on his head
till the cerebral storm had passed by.
Now I'm told he is asking them, "What
Use has psycho-analysis got?"
And they answer, "N.E.
If you're not an M.D.,
Or a novelist minus a plot."
* * * * *
"A cargo of 800 German pianos arrived at the Tyne from Hamburg
on Saturday."
_Daily Paper._
Another key industry in danger.
* * * * *
[Illustration: UNFINISHED DRAWING FOR "PUNCH" BY THE LATE F. H.
TOWNSEND.
THE FIGURE OF THE LITTLE GIRL WAS SKETCHED ON THE MORNING OF HIS
DEATH. THE LEGEND WHICH THIS PICTURE WAS TO ILLUSTRATE IS NOT KNOWN.]
* * * * *
MAYBIRDS.
I can see some justification for keeping peacocks, especially if
you have shaven lawns and terraces and sundials, though sundials, I
imagine, are rather a nuisance now-a-days, because of the trouble of
having them reset for summer and winter time. Peacocks at any rate are
beautiful, and, if their voices are apt in England to become a little
hoarse, that is only because they screech when the weather is going to
be bad.
The pheasant is also a useful and beautiful fowl. One may put down
bread-crumbs to attract the pheasant to one's garden when he is alive,
or to one's plate when he is dead.
But I can see no justification whatever for keeping maybirds, for
they are neither useful nor beautiful. Perhaps you do not know what
a maybird is. I have five maybirds. I have them because people here
would keep saying to me, "Look at the price of fresh eggs, and how
much nicer it is to have your own." It is a curious thing about the
country that people are always giving one disinterested advice in
the matter of domestic economy. In London it is different. In London
people let you take a twopenny bus ticket to Westminster instead of
walking across the Park, and go to ruin in your own sweet way. They
rather admire your dash. But in the country they tell you about these
things.
So I went to a man and confessed to him my trouble about fresh eggs.
"I see," he said; "you want maybirds."
"No, I don't," I said; "I want hens."
"It's the same thing," he told me. "How many would you like?"
"Five," I said. I thought five would be an unostentatious number and
make it clear that I was not trying to compete with the wholesale
egg-dealers.
He segregated five maybirds and explained their points to me.
It appeared that one of them was a Buff Orpington and three were white
Wyandottes and one had no particular politics. I should say now that
it was an Independent. It has speckles and is the one that keeps
getting into the garden.
I asked him when the creatures would begin to enter upon their new
duties, and he said they would do so at once.
"What is their maximum egg-laying velocity?" I inquired.
"They'll lay about three eggs a day between them," he said, "these
five birds."
"Why between them?" I enquired. But I consented to buy his birds, and
he said if I liked he would run round to my garden at once and run up
a hen-house and a hen-run for me. "Run" seemed rather a word with him.
I said, "Yes, by all means."
He came round that evening and hewed down an apple-tree under the
light of the moon to make room for the maybird-run, and in the morning
he brought a large roll of wire-netting, and the next day he built a
wooden house, and the day after that he brought his five maybirds,
and the day after that he came round and asked for some cinders. He
sprinkled these all over the enclosure, and I watched him while he
worked.
"What is that for?" I asked.
"They want something to scratch in when they run about," he explained.
"Exercise is what they need."
"They seem to be scratching already, but they don't seem to be
running," I said. "Wouldn't it have been better to put a cinder-track
all round the edge and train them to run races round it?"
He said that he hadn't thought of that, but I could try it if I
liked. Then he gave me a bag of food, which he said was particularly
efficacious for maybirds, and produced his bill.
All this happened about a month ago, and for the last four weeks the
principal preoccupation of my household has been the feeding of these
five birds. I have had to lay a gravel-path from the aviary to the
back premises in order to sustain the weight of the traffic. Huge
bowls of hot food are constantly being mixed and carried to them,
without any apparent consciousness on their part of their reciprocal
responsibilities. What I mean to say is that there are no eggs. The
food which they eat resembles Christmas-pudding at the time when it is
stirred, and I have suggested that a sixpence should be concealed in
it every now and then--sixpence being apparently the current price of
an egg--in order to indicate the nature of our hopes.
I have made other valuable suggestions. I have suggested putting an
anthracite stove in their sitting-room, and papering the walls
with illustrations representing various methods of mass production,
ordinary methods having failed. I notice that cabbages are suspended
by a string across the top of the parade-ground in order that the
birds may obtain exercise by springing at them. The cabbages are
eaten, but I do not believe that the birds jump. I believe that they
clamber up the wire with their claws, walk along the tight-rope and
bite the cabbage off with their teeth.
Sometimes, as I think I have mentioned, the one with speckles escapes
into the garden, and I have several times been asked to chase it home.
Nothing makes one look more ridiculous than chasing an independent
maybird of no particular views across an onion bed. The rest of the
animals appear to spend most of their time in walking about the run
with their hands in their pockets looking for things on the ground.
But every now and then one or other of them makes the loud cry which
is usually associated with successful egg-production; the whole
household troops beaming with anticipation along the gravel-path; and
it is then discovered that the Buff has knocked one of the Whites off
her perch, or that one of the Whites has scratched a cinder on which
the Buff had set her eye, or that the Independent member has made a
bitter speech which is deeply resented by the Coalition. But there are
no eggs.
About a week ago the corn which apparently forms a part of the
necessary nourishment of maybirds, and is kept in an outhouse, was
attacked by rats. I was told that I must do something about this. I
buttered some slices of bread with arsenic and laid them down on the
outhouse floor. The rats ate the bread and arsenic and went on with
the corn. Unless a great improvement is manifested in the New Year I
have decided to butter the maybirds with arsenic and place them in the
outhouse too.
EVOE.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Nurse._ "LITTLE GENTLEMEN, MASTER ERIC, LEAVE THE LAST
MINCE-PIE TO THEIR SISTERS."
_Generous Little Girl._ "O NURSE, DO LET HIM BE A LITTLE CAD."]
* * * * *
CYCLONE IN THE CHANNEL ISLANDS.
"Meteorological Notes.
Harbour Office, Jersey. Wind - E.W.E. - Strong Breeze."
_Jersey Paper._
* * * * *
"To get away, the man must have jumped from a height of about
ten feet to the ground, then across a garden, and over a wall
about eight feet high into a laneway."--_Irish Paper._
Some "lep," as they say in Ireland.
* * * * *
"In the House of Lords on Saturday, the expiring
Lords Continuance Bill [was] read a third time and
passed."--_Provincial Paper._
Trust the Peers for looking after themselves.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Child (saying prayers_). "GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY
BREAD-AND-BUTTER."
_Governess._ "NO, DEAR--NOT BUTTER." _Child._ "MARGE, THEN."]
* * * * *
LETTERS I NEVER POSTED.
CONCERNING GOOD RESOLUTIONS.
TO THE GIRL AT THE EXCHANGE.
The New Year is upon us and with it comes the determination to mend
our bad habits and make serious efforts to turn over a new leaf.
Perhaps you have already thought of this and have made some good
resolutions; perhaps, on the other hand, you cannot think of anything
amiss that needs correcting. In this case will you let me help you_?_
In every other respect you may be perfection, but as an exchange
operator, which is the only capacity in which (alas!) I know you, you
are often lacking. I have no doubt that you are charming in private
life and that we should get on famously if we met at dinner; but you
have an irritating way of giving me the wrong number, which I do most
cordially hope you will lose during 1921. When I protest, you merely
say you are sorry, but what I suggest is that an ounce of careful
listening at first is worth tons of sorrow later. Kingston doesn't
really sound a bit like Brixton, and yet yesterday, when I asked for a
Kingston number, you put me at once on to the same number in the other
suburb. Constantly when I say I want 2365 you give me 2356. To give
you your due you are always, I will admit, sorry; but....
Another thing. Sometimes, when you ring me up and I answer, all you
do is to ask, "Number, please," as though I had rung you. (It is then
that I feel most that I should like to wring you.) When I reply, "But
you rang me," you revert to your prevailing regretful melancholy and
say, "Sorry you were troubled," and before I can go deeply into the
question and discover how these things occur you ring off. Can't
you make an effort during 1921 not to do this? Let it be a year of
gladness.
Sometimes I am perfectly certain you don't ring up the number I want
until after you have asked me once or twice if they have answered.
Isn't that so? "I'll ring them again," you say with a kind of resigned
adventurousness; but, knowing as I do that they have been waiting for
my call, I am not taken in. But what I want to know is--what were you
doing instead of ringing up at first? I suppose that these secrets
will never be penetrated by the ordinary subscriber outside the sacred
precincts; but I wish you would give me fewer of such problems to
ponder during the year that is coming.
P.S.--Have you ever considered, with proper alarm, what would happen
to a cinema story if a wrong number were provided by the operator, or
if any delay whatever occurred? This should make you think.
TO A RACING JOURNALIST.
I suggest that you should include among your good resolutions for the
New Year the decision not to allow your readers to participate in your
special information as to which horse will come in first. Tell them
all you like about yesterday's sport, but dangle no more "security
tips" before their diminishing purses. If they must bet--which
of course they must, as betting is now the principal national
industry--let them at least have the fun of selecting the "also-ran"
themselves.
TO MANY AN EDITOR.
In contemplating your 1921 programme of regeneration could you not
make a vow to dispense with all headlines that ask questions? Probably
you never see the paper yourself and therefore have no feeling in the
matter, but I can assure you that the habit can become very wearisome.
"Will it freeze to-day?" "Can Beckett win?" "Will Hobbs reach his
3,000 runs?" "Are the Lords going to pass the Bill?" Won't you make an
effort to do without this formula? It is futile in itself and has the
unfortunate effect of raising what surely are undesirable doubts as to
whether journalists are any more sensible than their readers.
TO ONE EDITOR IN PARTICULAR.
No comic hats in 1921, please.
TO THE P.M.G.
There is, as everyone (except possibly Mr. AUSTEN CHAMBERLAIN and the
cynic who professes to hate letters so much that he wishes that they
cost a shilling a-piece to send) will agree, one good resolution which
above all others you should concentrate upon for 1921, and that is
to get back our penny postage. With so many comparatively unnecessary
things still untaxed, it never should have been sacrificed.
TO A PORK BUTCHER.
Among the problems of this latter day of discontents few are more
pressing than speculating as to why sausages and pork-pies have so
degenerated. Under the malign influence of Peace, sausages have become
tasteless and pork-pies nothing but pies with pork in them; the crust
chiefly plaster-of-Paris, and the meat not an essential element, soft
and seductive and fused with the pastry, but an alien assortment of
half-cooked cubes. I can understand that after a great war a certain
deterioration must set in, but I fail to see why sausages and
pork-pies, if made at all, should not be made as well as ever,
especially as you get such a long price for them. Couldn't
you--wouldn't you--try in 1921 to make them with some at least of the
old care?
TO A CABINET MINISTER.
Might not a vow against writing for the papers be rather a nice one to
observe during 1921? It is quite on the cards that one's duties to
the State (not too inadequately paid for) ought to be sufficiently
exacting to preclude journalism at all. There's a question of dignity
too, although I hesitate to drag that in.
TO THE CHIEF OF THE POLICE.
Couldn't you (I hope I am addressing the right gentleman) arrange that
before 1921 becomes 1922--twelve whole months--a simple device is made
for taxis by which a square of red glass can be slipped over one
of the lamps at night to indicate that the cab is free? I'm sure
it wouldn't really be difficult, and the comfort of London would be
enormously increased.
TO A TAXI-DRIVER.
You will perhaps note what I have just said to the Chief of the
Police. If you had any interest in your work you would, of course,
long since have fixed up something of the kind for yourself. But let
that pass. All I am suggesting to you as a 1921 amendment is that you
should bank in a more accessible part of your clothing. Waiting for
change in this weather (especially with the flag still down) can be an
exasperating experience. Won't you make a resolution during the coming
year to keep your money nearer the surface?
E. V. L.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Neighbour (bearer of message, to billiard
enthusiast)._ "YOU'RE WANTED AT 'OME, CHARLIE. YER WIFE'S JUST
PRESENTED YER WITH ANOTHER REBATE OFF YER INCOME-TAX."]
* * * * *
HOW TO DEAL WITH WINDBAGS.
"The address was punctured throughout with cheers."--_West
Indian Paper._
* * * * *
"There would be a grand dinner and music, and
splendidly-dressed ladies to look at, and things to eat that
strangely twisted the girls' paws when they tried to tell
about them," _Weekly Paper._
Mem.--Never try to talk the deaf-and-dumb language after dinner.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Profiteer (to his wife)._ "PRETTY MIXED LOT AT THIS
HOTEL. 'ERE COME SOME MORE O' THEM PRE-WAR BLIGHTERS."]
* * * * *
THE BARKER THAT MISSED FIRE.
On hearing a shuffle of feet in the porch and the clearing of little
throats, I exclaimed, "Those carols again!" If between "those" and
"carols" I inserted another word, I withdraw it.
I went into the hall and barked like a dog.
I have often said that, if anyone could earn a hundred pounds a week
on the stage by barking like a dog, I could. Children like to come to
my house to tea merely for the thrill of listening to my imitation. I
used to flatter myself that I could bark like a dog even better than
NELSON KEYS can imitate GERALD DU MAURIER.
I hardly gave the carol-singers time even to mention Royal David's
city before I barked. Instantly one pair of little feet scuttled away
towards the gate; then a voice called, "Don't be silly, Alfy; come on
back."
Two small girls stood at the front-door as I opened it. One of them
smiled up at me and said, "He thinks he's going to be bit." She
appeared to be amused by the idea. Down by the gate was a small
muffled figure carrying a Chinese lantern. "Come on back, Alfy,"
she called again, "and let's sing to the gentleman. You see," she
explained to me in confidence, "he's got addleoids and can't sing
loud, so we let him hold the lantern."
I was beginning to feel sorry that I had played a trick on such
inoffensive children and was about to assure them that my savage
bull-terrier was safely locked up in the kitchen when the brave little
lass began chattering again.
"My dad keeps dogs--all sorts," she told me, "and sells them to
gentlemen. So I'm used to dogs." Then she turned once more to the
lantern-bearer and commanded, "Now come on and sing, Alfy. It ain't a
dog at all; it's only the gentleman trying to make a noise like one."
* * * * *
"Rod Iron Red Mail Bird, year old; good breed;
16s."--_Provincial Paper._
We fancy it must be an armour-clad rooster of this species
that, crossed with a Plymouth Rock, was responsible for the
reinforced-concrete chicken that we met at dinner the other night.
* * * * *
"When once the exchanges of the world have righted
themselves--and that is bound to come about sooner or
later--then will follow such a reaction in the trade of
the country that will exceed the expectations of the most
sanguinary optimist."--_Trade Paper._
We think this must be intended as a hit at TROTSKY.
* * * * *
NEW RHYMES FOR OLD CHILDREN.
THE OYSTER.
The oyster takes no exercise;
I don't believe she really tries;
And since she has no legs
I don't see why she should, do you?
Besides, she has a lot to do--
She lays a million eggs.
At any rate she doesn't stir;
Her food is always brought to her.
But sometimes through her open lips
A horrid little creature slips
Which simply will not go;
And that annoys the poor old girl;
It means she has to make a pearl--
It _irritates_, you know;
So, crooning some small requiem,
She turns the thing into a gem.
And when I meet the wives of Earls
With lovely necklaces of pearls
It makes me see quite red;
For every jewel on the chain
Some patient oyster had a pain
And had to stay in bed.
To think what millions men can make
Out of an oyster's tummy-ache!
A. P. H.
* * * * *
"AT ---- HALL, ST. JOHN'S WOOD, TUES., BY AUCTION, STOCK OF A
FURRIER.--CATS. FREE." _ADVT. IN DAILY PAPER._
A CASE OF ADDING INSULT TO INJURY.
* * * * *
[ILLUSTRATION: MICAWBER AND SON.
SENILE OPTIMIST. "AND TO YOU, MY BOY, I BEQUEATH--MY LIABILITIES. MAY
YOU BE WORTHY OF THEM!"
JUVENILE DITTO. "THAT'S ALL RIGHT, SIR. SOMETHING'S SURE TO TURN UP!"]
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
[ILLUSTRATION: AT THE MILLENNIUM STORES.
_MR. LLOYD GEORGE (CHAIRMAN)._ "YOU'VE WORKED SPLENDIDLY UP TO
CHRISTMAS, AND IF YOU'LL PUT YOUR BACKS INTO IT FOR THE NEW YEAR TRADE
I'LL SEE IF I CAN'T GIVE YOU A GOOD LONG HOLIDAY IN THE AUTUMN."
_Mr. BONAR LAW (Manager)._ "OR SOME OTHER TIME."
MR. BONAR LAW, MR. LLOYD GEORGE, MR. SHORTT, MR. CHAMBERLAIN, MR.
NEAL, SIR ERIC GEDDES, SIR ROBERT HORNE, MR. CHURCHILL.]
_Monday, December 20th._--As the result of being tossed backwards and
forwards between the two Houses the Government of Ireland Bill had
already lost most of its awkward corners. The last two were rounded
off to-day, when the Government secured that Southern Ireland should
have three years, instead of two, in which to make up her mind whether
to accept or refuse the proffered Parliament, and that in the meantime
only a joint resolution of both Houses should prevent the Act from
coming into operation. Lord MIDLETON pressed hard for a retention
of the Lords' veto, but was thrown overboard by Lord CREWE, who was
greatly impressed by the LORD CHANCELLOR'S reminder that within three
years there must be a General Election.
In the Commons Sir ROBERT HORNE performed his customary Monday dance
among the fiscal egg-shells. He declined to give an estimate as to
the number of British workmen unemployed owing to the importation
of German goods--"no man who breathes could do it"--and judiciously
evaded acceptance of Sir FREDERICK HALL'S suggestion that one reason
why Teuton manufacturers were snapping up Dominion contracts was that
their employés worked eleven hours a day.
The close of one of the longest and weariest sessions on record finds
the Government in a penitent mood. How long will it last? The
PRIME MINISTER told one of his supporters that he hoped next year's
programme would be less exacting, and immediately promised another
measure dealing with dumping and exchange; and when Sir F. BANBURY
helpfully suggested that the surest way to avoid an Autumn Session
would be to introduce fewer Bills Mr. BONAR LAW turned on him with the
retort that "a surer way would be to introduce none."
An amusing duel between well-matched opponents took place over
liquor control. Mr. MACQUISTEN, whose voice, at once insinuating
and penetrative, has been likened to a corkscrew, urged that the
_bonâ-fide_ frequenters of public-houses should be consulted in the
settlement of the drink regulations. The present arrangement, in his
view, was like entrusting the regulation of the Churches to avowed
atheists. Lady ASTOR made full use of her shrill treble in retorting
that it was the "victims"--by which apparently she meant the wives
of Mr. MACQUISTEN'S _protégés_--who ought to have the last word.
She herself had it in the series of incredulous "Oh's!"--uttered
_crescendo_ on a rising scale and accompanied by appropriate
gesture--with which she received Mr. MACQUISTEN'S confident assertion
that the working-men's clubs are the enemies of "the Trade."
Supplementary Estimates produced a good deal of miscellaneous
information. On the Vote for Road Transport Colonel MILDMAY attacked
the system of tar-spraying and told a melancholy story of a cow that
skidded with fatal results. He was backed up by Sir F. BANBURY, who
said that he had found the ideal pavement in soft wood and awakened
memories of an ancient jest by suggesting that something might be done
if he and the MINISTER OF TRANSPORT were to put their heads together.
_Tuesday, December 21st._--Sir WILLIAM DAVISON thundered against the
Home Office for not taking steps to prevent the desecration of the
Nelson Column by the delivery of seditious speeches. Sir JOHN BAIRD
explained that it was impossible to know beforehand what sort of
speech was going to be delivered. But his critic would have none of
this paltry excuse. "Did not the regulations provide," he boomed,
"that the objects of the meetings must be specified?" Fortunately for
the Minister, who had nearly been blown off the Treasury Bench, Mr.
HOGGE came to the rescue. "Is it not a fact," he inquired, "that the
monument was erected to a man who turned a blind eye to orders?"
The strange case of Lord ROTHERMERE and the Committee on Public
Accounts was further investigated. The Committee had reported that a
certain stationery contract for the Air Ministry had been extravagant
and improper. The AIR MINISTER at the time was the noble Lord who has
lately been so eloquent about "squander-mania," but he has since, in
a letter to the Press, declared that he never signed or initialled
the order. Lieut.-Colonel ARCHER-SHEE and Mr. ORMSBY-GORE sought the
opinion of the Treasury on the transaction, and Mr. BALDWIN replied
that it was certainly usual for a Minister to be held responsible for
his expenditure, and that if subordinate officials were thrown over by
their chiefs it would be bad for the Service.
The Lords' amendments to the Commons' amendments to the Lords'
amendments to the Government of Ireland Bill were agreed to. Sir L.
WORTHINGTON-EVANS thought to improve the occasion by a neat little
speech expressing goodwill to Ireland, and, much to his surprise,
found himself in collision with the SPEAKER, who observed that this
was not the time for First Reading speeches.
It was rather hard on Lord PEEL, as the grandson of the great Sir
ROBERT, to have to sponsor the Dyestuffs Bill. He frankly described it
as "a disagreeable pill." Lord EMMOTT and other Peers showed a strong
disinclination to take their medicine, but Lord MOULTON said that the
chemists--naturally enough--were all in favour of it, and persuaded
the House to swallow the bolus.
In the course of an eleventh-hour effort to destroy the Agriculture
Bill Lord LINCOLNSHIRE described the PRIME MINISTER'S Christmas motto
as _Tax Vobiscum_; and the success of his jape served as a partial
solace for the defeat of his motion.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Old Sea-dog (to nervous passenger)._ "ROLL? SHE _CAN_
ROLL! D'YE SEE THEM MARKS ON THE WALL? THAT'S OUR FEET."]
* * * * *
A WARNING FROM THE SKY.
[The latest form of mascot is a trinket-model of the sign of
the zodiac under which one was born.]
'Twas Caution bade me: "Think a while;
Calm thought may prove your saviour;
You've only seen her gala style
And very best behaviour;
What though her form's divinely planned
And rightly you adore it,
Her character's an unknown land,
You'd better first explore it."
But such exploring baffled me--
She had, to my vexation,
No younger brother I could fee
For stable information--
Until at last I noted (worn
Mid baubles weird and various)
A mascot which announced her born
Beneath the sign Aquarius.
An ancient tome declared how this
Implied that, though a beauty,
The girl was careless, slack, remiss
And negligent of duty;
I stilled in time my cardiac stir
And ceased my adoration,
Thanking my lucky stars and her
Explicit constellation.
* * * * *
AT THE PLAY.
"PETER PAN."
_Peter Pan_, the play, must by now have long overtaken the age of
_Peter Pan_, the boy; but, like him, it never grows any older. The
cast may change, but that seems to make hardly any difference. The new
_Peter_ (Miss EDNA BEST) is as good as any of them. Graceful of shape
and lithe of limb, he is still essentially a boy, the realised figure
of BARRIE'S fancy; a little aloof and inscrutable; romantic, too, in
his very detachment from the sentiment of romance that he provokes.
Miss FREDA GODFREY, the new _Wendy_, would have seemed good if we had
not known better ones. To be frank, she looked rather too mature for
the part; she needed a more childlike air to give piquancy to her
assumption of maternal responsibilities. It was pleasant to see Mr.
HENRY AINLEY unbend to the task, simple for him, of playing _Captain
Hook_ and _Mr. Darling_. One admired his self-control in refusing to
impose new subtleties upon established and sacred tradition.
Of familiar friends, age has not withered the compelling charms of Mr.
SHELTON'S _Smee_, nor, in the person of Mr. CLEAVE, has custom staled
the infinite futility of _Slightly_. I was glad, too, to find Miss
SYBIL CARLISLE back in the part of _Mrs. Darling_, which she played
most appealingly.
The lagoon scene was cut out this year; perhaps it was thought that
there is enough lagoon in London just now. I could more willingly have
spared the business of _Mr. Darling_ and the kennel, the one blot in
the play. My impression of this grotesquerie has not changed since I
first saw _Peter Pan_.
Among new impressions was a feeling that the domestic details of
the First Act are a little too leisurely, so that I appreciated the
impatience of my little neighbour for the arrival of _Peter Pan_,
whose acquaintance she had still to make. Also from the presence of
children in my party I became conscious how much of the humour of
the play--its burlesque, for example, of the stage villain--is only
seizable by children who have grown up. BARRIE wrote it, of course, to
please the eternal child in himself, but forgot now and then what an
unusual child it was.
O. S.
* * * * *
On Wednesday, January 5th, 1921, at 3.30 and 8 P.M., in the Hall of
the Inner Temple, the "Time and Talents" Guild will give a series of
"Action Tableaux," dramatised by Miss WILSON-FOX, in illustration of
the history of Southwark and Old Bermondsey from Saxon times to
the present day. There will be singing, in character, by the Stock
Exchange Choir. The profits will go in aid of the Settlement in
Bermondsey, which has been carried on for twenty-one years among the
factory girls by members of "Time and Talents," and to-day includes
a Hostel, Clubs, a Country Holiday Fund and a cottage in the country.
Applications for tickets may be made to Miss WILSON-FOX, 17, De Vere
Gardens, Kensington, W. 8.
* * * * *
THE GREAT RESOLVE.
["When _Chu Chin Chow_ reaches its 2,000th representation on
the 29th, it will have run for 1,582 days, 26 days longer than
the War." _Sunday Times._]
Behind its pendent curtain folds
We know not what the future holds;
We only know that worlds have gone
Since _Chu Chin Chow_ was first put on.
Mid all our stress and strife and change
This strikes me as extremely strange;
I think when plays go on like this
There ought to be an artistice.
But, when we have another war
After the peace we've toiled so for,
And empires break and thrones are bust
And nations tumble in the dust,
And culture, rising from the East,
On tottering Europe is released,
And Chinamen at last shall rule
In Dublin, Warsaw and Stamboul,
Soon as the roar of cannon ends
And all men once again are friends,
I must fulfil my ancient vow
And go and visit _Chu Chin Chow_.
* * * * *
ST. CECILIA OF CREMONA.
_Punch_ has no desire to plunge into the controversy which has arisen
over the employment of women in professional orchestras, especially as
the cause has already been practically won, and here, at any rate, the
saying, "What Lancashire thinks to-day England will think to-morrow,"
has failed to justify itself. The example of Manchester is not being
followed in London, and what is deemed advisable for the Free Trade
Hall in one city is not to dominate the policy of the Queen's Hall in
the other.