absolutely. I object, for example, to a joke I heard not long ago about
wounded soldiers who had to wear glass eyes. I consider such jokes
offensive in the highest degree. As a wag of my acquaintance remarked
the other day, ‘Some of these war jokes are too warful for words.’
“There are, however, certain subjects allied to the war on which I
consider it perfectly legitimate to jest. There is the censorship.
There are our pitchy streets at night time.
“For instance, I myself have perpetrated wheezelets’ on these topics in
‘High Jinks,’ of which the following are fair samples:
“‘Would you believe it, it’s so dark now in London that when I dined at
the Carlton the other night I had to put luminous paint on my potatoes
to stop myself putting them in the mouth of the gentleman next to me.
“‘It’s so dark that when I go to the opera I take a trained glow worm
with me.
“‘He’s a wealthy man, indeed—he’s got a whole box of matches in his
pocket.’”
NOW ON A WAR-BASIS
His Honor—“Rufus, didn’t you hear that you had to work or fight?”
Rufus—“Yaas, boss, I sho’ dun hyer dat. So I goes an’ gits married
right away.”
HUMANITY IN WAR
During a fierce engagement on the Somme battlefield a British officer
saw a German officer impaled on the barbed wire between the lines,
writhing in anguish. The fire was heavy, but still the wounded man
hung there. At last the Englishman could stand it no longer. He said
quietly: “I can’t bear to look at that poor chap.” He went out under
the storm of shell fire, released the sufferer, took him on his
shoulders and carried him to the German trench. The firing ceased.
Both sides watched the act with wonder. Then the commander in the
German trench came forward, took from his own bosom the Iron Cross, and
pinned it on the breast of the British officer.
FLATLY IMPOSSIBLE
“Yes,” said Simpkins, “I want to do my bit, of course, so I thought I’d
raise some potatoes.”
“Well, I thought I would do that,” said Smith, “but when I looked up
the way to do it I found that potatoes have to be planted in hills, and
our yard is perfectly flat.”
THE FRATERNAL SIDE OF WAR
Jean is a typical French soldier: alert, daring; a keen, educated
youth. He is equally at home with the German and the French languages,
which accounts for what follows:
One dark night, shortly after midnight, Jean—on a solitary patrol—was
lying just outside the wire, about ten meters from the German trench,
listening to locate the sentries. There was a faint starlight. Suddenly
a whisper came from beyond the wire, a low voice speaking in broken
French:
“Why do you lie so quiet, my friend? I saw you crawl up and have
watched you ever since. I don’t want to shoot you. I am a Bavarian.”
“Good evening, then,” Jean whispered back in his perfect German.
“So,” said the sentry, “you speak our language. Wait a moment, till
I warn the rest of my squad, and I will show you the way through the
wire; there are no officers about at this hour.”
Probably not one man in a thousand would have taken such a chance, but
Jean did, and ten minutes later was standing in the trench in a German
cloak and fatigue cap (in case of passing officers), chatting amiably
with a much interested group of Bavarian soldiers. They gave him beer,
showed him their dugouts, and arranged a whistle signal for future
visits, before bidding him a regretful good night. “We are Bavarians,”
they said; “we like and admire the French, and fight only because we
must.”
NO TIME TO WASTE
Two soldiers caused some amusement at a golf course the other way. The
first man teed up and made a mighty swipe, but failed to shift the
ball. The miss was repeated no fewer than three times.
His pal was unable to stand it any longer.
“For heaven’s sake, Bill,” he broke out, “hit the bloomin’ thing. You
know we have only four days’ leave.”
HER GENTLE COME-BACK
She was a sweet young thing, and having come down to see her soldier
brother, who was on duty at that time, she was being taken round by his
chum. She was, of course, full of questions.
“Who is that person?” she asked, pointing to a color sergeant.
“Oh! he shook hands with the king; that is why he is wearing a crown on
his arm, you see!” replied the truthful man.
“And who is that?” she asked, seeing a gymnastic instructor with a
badge of crossed Indian clubs.
“That is the barber; do you not see the scissors on his arm?”
Seeing yet another man with cuffs decorated with stars, she asked, “And
that one?”
“Oh, he is the battalion astronomer; he guides us on night maneuvers!”
“How interesting!” replied the maiden, when seeing her companion’s
badge, that of an ancient stringed instrument, she asked, “And does
that thing mean you are the regimental liar?”
HIS MIND WAS WANDERING
“Anything I can do for you?” asked a surgeon as he passed the bed of a
smiling but badly wounded soldier.
“Yes, doctor; perhaps you can tell me something I’d very much like to
know,” answered “Sammie.”
“Fire ahead,” replied the doctor. “What is it?”
“Well, doctor, when one doctor doctors another doctor, does the doctor
doing the doctoring doctor the other doctor like the doctor wants to
be doctored, or does the doctor doing the doctoring doctor the other
doctor like the doctor doing the doctoring wants to doctor him?”
THE SEX OF THE KILTIES
While some Scottish regiments were disembarking in France, several
French officers were watching them. One observed: “They can’t be women,
for they have mustaches; but they can’t be men, for they wear skirts.”
“I have it,” said another. “They’re that famous Middlesex regiment from
London.”
PLAY BALL!
Sing a song of baseball,
Good old Yankee game;
Rain or shine, war or peace,
Play it just the same.
Out behind the trenches,
Swat the little pill,
Helps to boost the spirit
For swatting Kaiser Bill.
HE’D BEEN THERE HIMSELF
Two colored troopers in France called upon the Chaplain.
“Look here, Mr. Chaplain, we wants you for to settle an argument,” said
one of them. “Dis here man says lots of saints were colored folks.
Would you please tell me how many of dem ’postles were niggers?”
“None of them was a darky,” said the Chaplain.
“Well, Sir, that settles it. Dis man wanted me to believe that St.
Peter was a nigger, and I just told him: ‘No, Sah, St. Peter was no
nigger, ’cause I heard you say about St. Peter and dat rooster crowin’
twice. If St. Peter was a nigger I jest know dat rooster would never
have a chance to crow a second time; no, Sah.’”
EIGHTEEN YEARS OF HOPE
A wife whose husband is on active service recently presented him with a
bouncing baby boy. She wrote to ask him when he should get leave, and
also when the war would be over. His reply was as follows:
“Dear Lucy:—I don’t know when I shall get leave or when the war will be
over, but if the baby should be called up before I get leave, give him
a parcel to bring out to me. Your loving husband, Bill.”
A NICKNAME THAT STUCK
The Post School for Soldiers gathered for the afternoon session. The
teacher was the Chaplain. The lesson, he said, was about the adverb.
“What is an adverb?” There was an eloquent silence. At last a weary
voice ventured: “That’s a word that ends in ly. I learned that back in
Missouri.”
“Can you give me a definition?” said the Chaplain.
“No, Sir.”
“Can you give me an example of an adverb?”
“Yes, Sir,” came the response; “Kelly.”
Some months afterward, while in camp overseas, the Chaplain addressed a
sentry and inquired who was Corporal of the guard. And the answer came:
“Kelly, the adverb, Sir.”
PAT WAS SMOKING
Scene: A smoking compartment in a British railway carriage.
Old Gent (to Pat going home to Monaghan on furlough)—“Young man, allow
me to inform you that out of every ten cases of men suffering from
paralysis of the tongue, nine are due to smoking.”
Pat—“Allow me to inform you, sir, that out of every ten men suffering
from broken noses, nine are due to the habit of not minding their own
business.”
FORGOT HIS LINES
The Canadians are credited with the story of the stupid Yorkshire
sentry:
The first night he stood guard he hailed an approaching officer in
proper form:
“’Oo goes there?”
“Canadian rifles.”
There was a moment of silence. Then the Yorkshireman repeated:
“’Oo goes there?”
“The Canadian Rifles,” was the impatient answer. More silence. Then the
Yorkshireman again challenged:
“’Oo goes there?”
“The Canadian rifles, you qualified blighter,” shouted the enraged
officer.
There was a long period of quiet while the Canadian watched the
Yorkshireman’s obviously ready rifle. Then there was a moan from the
sentry:
“Blowed if I hain’t forgot what to say next!”
SO THERE’S PLENTY OF IT
William Thaw, the young Pittsburgh millionaire who has done such
wonderful flying in France, was being praised at a luncheon party.
“Mr. Thaw,” said a pretty girl, “is as brave as he is witty. I saw him
make a splendid flight one day, and on his descent I said to him:
“‘Flying requires some special application, doesn’t it?’
“‘Oh, no,’ said he. ‘Any old kind of horse liniment will do.’”
LIVELY ENEMY
A company of very new soldiers were out on a wide heath, practicing the
art of taking cover. The officer in charge of them turned to one of the
rawest of his men.
“Get down behind that hillock there,” he ordered, sternly, “and, mind,
not a move or a sound!”
A few minutes later he looked around to see if they were all concealed,
and, to his despair, observed something wriggling behind the small
mound. Even as he watched the movements became more frantic.
“I say, you there,” he shouted, angrily, “do you know you are giving
our position away to the enemy?”
“Yes, sir,” said the recruit, in a voice of cool desperation, “and do
you know that this is an anthill?”
NO REGRETS
A certain drill sergeant, whose severity had made him unpopular with
his troops, was putting a party of recruits through the funeral
service. Opening the ranks so as to admit the passage of the supposed
cortege between them, the instructor, by way of explanation, walked
slowly down the lane formed by the two ranks, saying, as he did so:
“Now, I’m the corpse. Pay attention.”
Having reached the end of the path, he turned round, regarding them
steadily with a scrutinizing eye for a moment or two, then exclaimed:
“Your ’ands is right, and your ’eads is right, but you haven’t got that
look of regret you ought to ’ave.”
TOO MUCH WASTED EFFORT
A squad of rookies, composed of various nationalities, mostly Italian,
on being given the command “mark time!” all executed the command with
the exception of one small dark-skinned son of Naples.
The sergeant asked him why he did not execute the movement and he
replied:
“Donna wan to.”
“Why not?” sharply demanded the sergeant.
“Cause-a we walk-a like deuce and don’t-a get-a no place!”
MAD ENOUGH TO LICK ANYONE
Before entering the Army this rookie was a peaceful lad, but rising at
5:15 in the morning went against his principles. On this particular
morning, as he fell in line by the light of the moon, his bunkie heard
him mutter:
“It’s clear to me now. Why didn’t I think of that long ago?”
Bunkie (puzzled)—“What’s clear to you now?”
Rookie—“The reason why all great battles begin at daybreak.”
Bunkie—“Why?”
Rookie—“Because, when men have to get up that time, they feel so much
like fighting.”
WORKING THE WAR
Bess: “That’s Mrs. Grabbit—she’s a great war-worker.”
Bob: “Indeed!”
Bess: “Yes; she’s married four of her daughters to soldiers.”
SANDY WAS SCOTCH
Sandy M’Tavish was a highly-skilled workman in a new aeroplane factory.
It happened one day that he was asked if he would care to accompany the
works aviator on one of his trial flights in a machine. Sandy, after
some hesitation, agreed to do so.
During the flight the aviator asked how he was enjoying the trip.
“To tell the truth,” answered the Scot, “I wad rather be on the groun’.”
“Tut, tut,” replied the flying man. “I’m just thinking of looping the
loop.”
“For heaven’s sake don’t dae that!” yelled the now very serious
M’Tavish. “I’ve some siller in my vest pocket, an’ I micht lose it.”
BROWN WASN’T GREEN
Brown was transferred to another unit his adjutant wrote to the
adjutant of the new regiment saying: “We are sending you Brown. He
is a nice boy, but he has a shocking bad habit of betting on every
conceivable subject. Try and choke him off.”
Brown arrived. At mess on the first night he sat next the colonel and,
turning the conversation on India, made the astounding assertion that
every white man who went there developed a curious green patch between
the shoulder-blades. This rubbish annoyed the colonel. He said that he
certainly had no green patch on his back. Brown, with all deference,
offered to bet him ten pounds that he had! The bet was accepted by the
indignant officer, and in the ante-room afterwards he pulled off his
shirt. There was no patch. Brown apologized and paid up. Next day the
adjutant wrote to Brown’s former regiment: “Brown turned up. * * * I
think we have choked him off. Last night he bet the colonel, etc. * * *
and lost.”
The reply came: “Thanks for yours. Before Brown left here he bet us ten
pounds apiece all round the mess that he would make the colonel take
off his shirt in the ante-room on the first night he arrived.”
ANYTHING TO GET AWAY
A soldier was pleading with his O. C.
“You are always on leave,” exclaimed the officer. “What on earth do you
want special leave for now?”
“My sister’s baby going to be vaccinated, sir.”
“And what has that got to do with you?”
“She’s my sister, sir,” explained Tommy, with a hurt look.
“What, the baby?”
“No, sir, the baby’s sister’s my brother—I mean I’m the mother’s
baby—er—the father’s my sister. No, I mean—”
“You mean,” broke in the O. C., angrily. “What do they want you for?
That is the point.”
“For a godmother, sir.”
NATURALLY WISHED TO SEE HER
Private McGuire, lying in hospital, was very fractious. He pointedly
refused to take a second dose of medicine, which was inordinately
nasty. Several smiling nurses bent over him and urged him to be good.
“Come,” pleaded one, “drink this and you’ll get well.”
“And rosy, too!” chimed in a second.
M’Guire visibly brightened, and actually sat up in bed.
After surveying the pretty group, he inquired, eagerly, “What wan o’
yez is Rosy?”
ZEPPELINITIS
Mr. Meek was not very well, and the doctor had advised him to take a
glass of beer occasionally “for his stomach’s sake.”
“It can’t be done, doctor; it can’t be done,” said Mr. Meek. “Although
there is a barrel of beer in the cellar, my wife insists on my being
teetotal for the duration of the war.”
“Tut, tut,” said the doctor, as he took his leave; “you must invent a
way to overcome your wife’s scruples; an easy matter enough, surely?”
A few days later the medical man received a visit from Mrs. Meek, who
was greatly concerned as to the state of her husband’s health. “I
am afraid, doctor,” she said, “that the poor man has had a nervous
breakdown. He’s continually fancying that he can hear Zeppelins,
and goes to hide in the cellar; besides which he often appears to be
somewhat strange and aggressive in his manner.”
PALESTINE VS. PURGATORY
In a small village in Ireland the mother of a soldier met the village
priest, who asked her if she had had bad news.
“Shure, I have,” she said. “Pat has been killed.”
“Oh, I am very sorry,” said the priest. “Did you receive word from the
War Office?”
“No,” she said, “I received word from himself.”
The priest looked perplexed, and said, “But how is that?”
“Shure,” she said, “here is the letter, read it for yourself.”
The letter said: “Dear Mother—I am now in the Holy Land.”
DON’T ALL SPEAK AT ONCE
The American Red Cross has inaugurated so many different kinds of
bureaus since its arrival in France, that it is difficult to enumerate
them or to know what their duties consist of, but its newest bureau,
according to the last issue of the Bulletin, appears to be dabbling
in matrimonial matters. The following paragraph is taken from the
Red Cross Bulletin, showing that anything might be called for at the
headquarters:
“Wanted—An American husband.”
“No kidding. It’s a fact. If you are an eligible young man of American
nationality who wants a wife but cannot find anybody that wants to
marry you, apply to the office of the Secretary General.
“The office of the Secretary General has not become a matrimonial
agency, but received a letter from a French woman in which the writer
extolled her excellent qualities and asked that she be found an
American husband.”
WELL SEASONED
A soldier in hospital, on recovering consciousness, said:
“Nurse, what is this on my head?”
“Vinegar cloths,” she replied. “You have had fever.” After a pause.
“And what is this on my chest?”
“A mustard-plaster. You have had pneumonia.”
“And what is this at my feet?”
“Salt-bags; you have had frost-bite.”
A soldier from the next bed looked up and said:
“Hang the pepper-box to his nose, nurse, then he will be a cruet.”
NOT TO BE DONE
A certain soldier always looked on the dark side of things. One day a
friend tried to cheer him.
“Why don’t you do as the song says, ‘Pack all your troubles in your
old kitbag, and smile, smile, smile’?”
“I tried that once,” he said, sadly, “but the Quartermaster didn’t have
enough kitbags.”
UNCERTAIN TRAIN SCHEDULE
A soldier was waiting for the Muddleton train, the only one of the day.
After he had waited for an unreasonable time the porter hove in sight.
“How long will I have to wait,” the soldier asked, “for that bally
train?”
“How long have you got?” asked the porter, with apparent irrelevance.
“Fourteen days.”
“Well,” said the porter, “you’d better walk.”
REAL STRATEGY
A young but distinguished major on furlough was visiting a house where
the family consisted of several eligible daughters. The good lady of
the house was quick to notice that one of her daughters seemed to be
making a favorable impression on her visitor. So before he took his
departure the artful mother whispered to him: “There’s a story going
the rounds, major, that you are going to marry my daughter Hilda. What
shall I say?”
“Just say, my dear madam, that your charming and beautiful daughter
refused me,” was the tactful reply.
HE KNEW THE BREED
A young British private was on night guard at a lonely outpost in
France, when suddenly he heard the tramp of an advancing regiment.
“Halt!” he called. “Who goes there?”
“Irish Fusiliers.”
“Pass, Irish Fusiliers, all’s well.”
Silence reigned for some minutes and then he heard another regiment
advancing. “Halt! Who goes there?”
“London Scottish.”
“Pass, London Scottish, all’s well.”
For some time there was silence, and then another regiment was heard.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“None of your d—— business!”
“Pass, Canadians, all’s well.”
DESERVED PROMOTION
“Don’t keep calling me ‘general.’ I’m only a colonel.”
“’Scuse me, boss. I ain’t disputin’ yo’ word, but any military gent’man
dat gives dis old waiter a dollar tip is jes natcherly a ‘gen’ral.’”
MIXED HER DATES
The Khaki Gentleman: “Do you love me, darling?”
She: “Yes, Jack, dear.”
The Khaki Gentleman: “Jack! My name’s Harold!”
She (who has numerous admirers—one for each day of the week): “Oh, yes,
of course! I keep thinking this is Saturday!”
HOOVER, GOD AND THREE OTHERS
A boy who had a habit of leaving food on his plate was told by his
nurse that Mr. Hoover would get after him.
“Well, that makes five,” despondently said the boy.
“Five?” asked the nurse. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” was the answer, “I’ve always had to mind daddy and mother and
Aunt Mary and God, and now here comes along Mr. Hoover.”
IT TAKES FIFTEEN YEARS, SON
A young recruit, fresh from a New Hampshire farm, sat watching a group
of men in camp, engaged in the usual pastime—“the great American game.”
After watching the game silently for a time he inquired: “Is that poker
you fellows are playing?” On being informed that it was, he volunteered:
“Well, I’ll be darned! I’ve been watching this game carefully for about
fifteen minutes, and I don’t believe I thoroughly understand it yet.”
AW, BE A SPORT, HUBBY
Mrs. Will Irwin, speaking of women’s wartime costumes, said at a
Washington Square tea:
“The more immodest fashions would disappear if men would resolutely
oppose them.
“I know a woman whose dressmaker sent home the other day a skirt that
was, really, too short altogether. The woman put it on. It was becoming
enough, dear knows, but it made her feel ashamed. She entered the
library, and her husband looked up from his work with a dark frown.
“‘I wonder,’ she said, with an embarrassed laugh, ‘if these ultra-short
skirts will ever go out?’
“‘They’ll never go out with me,’ he answered in decided tones.”
NOT ON THE PROGRAM
When the wealthy Mrs. Beldon came to visit her son at his post, the
gallant Lieutenant was so pleased that he arranged a theater party in
honor of his mother. Officers and their ladies were in all the boxes.
When the Lieutenant glanced over the audience he saw that every one
was looking at his box. Women held handkerchiefs to their faces and
men shook with laughter. Then he noticed that his mother, who held in
one gloved hand a fan, rested the other arm upon the rail of the box.
Her free hand, she thought, reposed on the lower rail, but in reality
it rested upon the bald pate of an old man who sat in the box below.
The old gentleman apparently was in agony, but he was very patient.
Suddenly the audience started to applaud and the officer’s mother, in
total abstraction, affectionately patted that poor bald head, which
suddenly arose in crimson rage and left the theater.
WHERE HIS AUTHORITY BEGAN
A tired column of troops clambered down a rocky ledge and went into
camp beside a delightful little pool of water. The commanding officer
immediately placed his sentry at the pool. Soon more soldiers scrambled
down the ledge and a tired Lieutenant quickly prepared for a plunge
into that pool. But he was met with a sharp command from across the
pond:
“Halt!”
“What are your orders?” said the Lieutenant.
“Sir,” came the answer, “my orders are to prevent all officers,
soldiers, and natives from bathing in that pool. The water is reserved
for the coffee for supper.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before I stripped?”
“Sir, I have no orders to prevent any man from stripping.”
A TENNYSONIAN TODDY
It was bitterly cold. Captain Price was officer of the day. It was
necessary for him to inspect the guard after midnight, and, fearful of
the influenza, he sought prevention in hot toddy. Fate decreed that he
should be reported drunk on duty. Now, the men in the troop thought
much of their genial Captain. They petitioned McSweeny, orderly to the
troop commander, to go to the court-martial and swear to anything, but
to be sure to clear the Captain. So it came to pass that McSweeny
appeared as a witness. The Judge Advocate said he must swear to the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Then he thundered:
“Do you know the accused?”
“Yes, Sir,” came the answer, “he is my troop commander, Captain Price.”
“Did you see the accused on this date?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What was the condition of the accused?”
“The Captain was sober, Sir.”
“The testimony reads that he was intoxicated.”
“No, Sir.”
“It is further stated that you helped the accused to his quarters.”
“No, Sir; I went over to the quarters with the Captain.”
“It is said that you helped the accused into his bunk.”
“No, Sir: I took off his boots.”
“Did the accused say anything that would lead you to suspect that he
was intoxicated?”
“No, Sir; he only said one thing.”
“What was that?”
“When I was leaving, Sir, he said: ‘McSweeny, call me early. I am going
to be Queen of the May.’”
WHY REMIND THEM OF IT?
Terry O’Neill was steward on an army transport. Before the mess call
sounded Terry always visited the different staterooms. Pushing the
door ajar, he would say to the officers: “Gentlemen, do you wish me to
throw your luncheon overboard, or will you do it yourselves?”
HE’D HEARD HER SING
“And did you have a good crossing?” asked the friend of the adventurous
lady who had just returned from France.
“Oh, a most terrible crossing, terrible. The most awful storm I’ve
ever been in. Yet I wasn’t a bit afraid. The other passengers were in
a panic running all over the boat, till at last the captain, who had
heard that I was a singer, asked me to sing to them and quiet them, and
I did. And all the time I was singing the heavy seas were running.”
“I don’t blame ’em!” growled her father. “I don’t blame those heavy
seas a bit.”
WHY FRANCE WON