It was the opening of the new Parliament of 1919 A.D.
They had got IT.
If you can't guess what they had got you must be obtuse.
The great procession of Women M.P.'s formed in Trafalgar Square. Behind
them were the ruins of the National Gallery (the work of the immortal Miss
Podgers, B.Sc.); before them were the fragments of the Nelson Column (Miss
Tunk's world-famous feat).
The free fight concerning the leadership of the procession was settled by
the intervention of mounted police. They decided that all the would-be
leaders should march abreast with two armed policemen between each pair of
them to prevent casualties by the way. So the head of the procession
started off sixty abreast down Whitehall.
It was a magnificent spectacle. All the M.P.'s wore green-and-white wigs
because it was the fashion, and in addition green-and-white whiskers to
assert their equality with men. Each processionist carried a model of her
greatest work. There was Mrs. Spankham with a superb model of Westminster
Abbey--its petrolling had been the greatest stroke in convincing the voters
of the pure motives of the feminists. Miss Sylvia Spankham bore aloft the
City Temple, Miss Christabel Spankham the Albert Hall, whilst Mrs. Lawrence
Pothook waved triumphantly a lovely representation of King's Cross Station.
Magnificent too was Mrs. Drummit riding astride a fire-engine as an emblem
of peace and goodwill.
The crowd viewed the procession with awed silence, only breaking into
cheers when Miss Blithers, blushing modestly, held up a cardboard
representation of the Albert Memorial she had nitro-glycerined. Miss Bliggs
marched triumphantly in a bishop's mitre bearing a pastoral staff, in
recognition of her great feat in forcibly feeding a wicked bishop who had
written a letter to the Press against forcible, feeding. Misunderstood by
the crowd was Mrs. Trudge, who wheeled a perambulator containing two
babies. The onlookers thought that Mrs. Trudge was about to take her
innocent offspring to the House of Commons, and those out of hat-pin range
murmured, "Shime," "Give the kids a chawnce." They did not know that Mrs.
Trudge was no base slave of man, that she had no children of her own, and
that the wax babies she wheeled in the perambulator merely indicated that
she was the heroine who had doped a nursemaid with drugged chocolate and
abducted a Cabinet Minister's twins.
Unhappily Miss Bolland also passed unidentified, though she held a
cardboard tube aloft. Not even a taxi-driver cheered as the intrepid lady
passed who had blown up the electrical-generation station of the Tubes and
made London walk for a month. There too was Mrs. Tibbs, brave in her
misfortunes. She had missed her election by one vote just because, when she
came to the booth to vote for herself, lifelong habit had been too strong
for her and she had phosphorused the ballot box.
An unfortunate breeze from the river played havoc with the processionists'
whiskers, and one or two of the weaker spirits in the ranks argued that
some of the Government offices in Whitehall ought to have been left
standing for protection--at any rate till the procession was over.
On they went, each of the twenty leaders in front explaining how SHE had
led the movement to triumph. On the top of the fire-engine Mrs. Drummit
danced a futurist dance, symbolic of the subjection of man. At last they
reached the portals of the House. The leaders broke into a run to secure
front places on the Government benches.
"Stop," cried a police superintendent, rushing from the building.
"The days of man's tyranny are over!" shouted twenty voices together.
"Maybe," said the police superintendent, "but some of 'em are catching up
to you. They've dynamited the Houses of Parliament, and if you go inside
you'll pop like roasted chestnuts."
And as they watched the flame the leaders realised the sad fact that they
had not left a building standing in London roomy enough for a Parliament.
* * * * *
Commercial Candour.
"---- Tooth Brushes are so constructed that the bristles get right
into the smallest crevices of the teeth. Moreover the bristles
positively won't come out."--_Advt. in "London Opinion."_
That has sometimes been our bitter experience.
* * * * *
The Choir Inaudible.
"The chorus gave ample evidence of having made great strides since
their last appearance in public, all the items for which they were
responsible being well sustained and rendered in first-class style.
Special mention should be made, however, of their rendering of 'A
Spring Song,' which was given in quite a professional manner, the
chorus dispensing with both music and words, and the audience evinced
their appreciation of this really fine effort by long continued
applause, to which the chorus responded by repeating it."
_Avalon Independent._
There would probably be no words to the applause and very little music; so
the chorus could easily repeat it.
* * * * *
[Illustration: GIFT FOR GIFT.
GENERAL BOTHA. "WELL, I SUPPOSE ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER; WE MUST
GIVE HIM A WARM RECEPTION."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE BRUTE AGAIN.
_Weary Hostess._ "YES, I'VE BEEN HAVING SUCH TROUBLE WITH BABY. EVERY NIGHT
I HAVE TO GET UP ABOUT TWENTY TIMES, GETTING HIS THINGS----"
_Visitor._ "WHY DON'T YOU MAKE YOUR HUSBAND DO SOMETHING?"
_Hostess._ "OH, I DAREN'T WAKE MY HUSBAND; IF I DO HE ALWAYS DRINKS BABY'S
MILK."]
* * * * *