Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Katherine Ward, and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 147.
December 30, 1914.
CHARIVARIA.
ABDUL the D--d is said to feel it keenly that, when the British
decided to appoint a Sultan in Egypt, they did not remember that he
was out of a job.
***
Meanwhile ABBAS Pasha is reported to have had a presentiment that he
would one day be replaced by KAMEL Pasha. It is said that for some
time past he would start nervously whenever he heard the band of a
Highland regiment playing "The Kamel's a-coming."
***
We have very little doubt that the German newspapers are publishing
photographs of Whitby Abbey, and claiming the entire credit for its
ruined condition.
***
It remained for _The Times_ to chronicle the Germans' most astounding
feat. It happened at Hartlepool. "A chimney nearly 200 feet in height,
on the North-Eastern Railway hydraulic power-station, was," our
contemporary tells us, "grazed by a projectile about 100 yards above
its base."
***
The Archbishop of YORK, who was one of the KAISER'S few apologists, is
said to feel keenly that potentate's ingratitude in selecting for
bombardment two unprotected bathing-places in his Grace's diocese.
***
It is widely rumoured that WILHELM is conferring a special medal on
the perpetrators of this and similar outrages, to be called the
Kaiser-ye-Hun medal.
***
Some of the German newspapers have been organising a symposium on the
subject of how to spend the coming Christmas. Herr ARTHUR VON GWINNER,
director of the Deutsche Bank, is evidently something of a humourist.
"More than ever," he says, "in the exercise of works of love and
charity." We rather doubt whether the Herr Direktor's irony will be
appreciated in high quarters.
***
A message from Amsterdam says that there are signs in Berlin of
discontent with the German Chancellor and his staff, and patriots are
calling for a "clean sweep." The difficulty, of course, is that, while
there are plenty of sweeps in Germany, it is not easy to find a clean
one.
***
"Immediately after his arrival at Rome," says _The Liverpool Echo_,
"Prince Buelow proceeded to the Villa Malte, his usual residence at
Rome, where he will stay until he takes up his quarters at the
Caffarelli police." Our alleged harsh treatment of aliens fades into
insignificance by the side of this!
***
General Baron VON BISSING, the Governor-General of Belgium, has
informed a German journal that the KAISER has "very specially
commanded him to help the weak and oppressed in Belgium." By whom, we
wonder, are the Belgians being oppressed?
The same journal announces that General VON DIEDENHOFEN, the commander
at Karlsruhe, has issued a proclamation expressing his "indignation at
the dishonourable conduct" of three German Red-Cross Nurses who have
married wounded French prisoners. It certainly does look like taking
advantage of the poor fellows when they were more or less helpless.
***
We hear that considerable ill-feeling has been caused in certain
quarters of Paris by a thoughtless English newspaper calling the
Germans "the Apaches of Europe."
***
A German critic has been expatiating on the trouble we must have
in feeding an Army with so many different tastes and creeds.
Commenting on this, _The Evening Standard_ says: "This is not a
surprising matter from our point of view, but the German cast-iron
system does not lend itself either in thought or practice to
adaptability." Some people, we believe, imagine the Germans feed,
without exception, on Pickelhauben.
***
A little while ago the Germans were claiming our SHAKSPEARE. We now
hear that a forthcoming production at His Majesty's Theatre has set
them longing, in view of the scarcity of the metal, for our
_Copperfield_.
***
Mr. THOMAS BURT, M.P., Father of the House of Commons, has decided to
resign his seat in Parliament. This does not however mean that the
House will be left an orphan. Another father will be found at once.
***
It is rumoured that, after the War is over, a statue is to be erected
to the Censor at Blankenberghe, in Belgium.
***
A tale from the Front. "The enemy are continuing to fortify the coast,
Sir," said the subaltern. "I don't care if they fiftify it," roared
his commanding officer; "it'll make no difference." This shows the
British spirit.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "BUT YOU AREN'T TALL ENOUGH."
"WELL, CAN I GO AS A DRUMMER-BOY?"
"I'M AFRAID YOU'RE TOO OLD FOR THAT."
"WELL, THEN--DASH IT ALL! I'LL GO AS A MASCOT."]
* * * * *
A Sensational Statement.
"General Smuts stated that there were in the field at the
present time, not including those training, more than ----
men."--_Daily Telegraph._
This is headed "South Africa's Forces," and may have been an actual
piece of news until it reached the Censor.
* * * * *
Another Impending Apology.
We read beneath a photograph in _The Graphic_:--
"Miss PAULINE PRIM--the cat in the Aldwych Pantomime, as she
is in real life."
* * * * *
The Troubles of Neutrality.
From a recent Geography Examination paper:--
"Holland is a low country: in fact it is such a very low
country that it is no wonder that it is damned all round."
* * * * *
A correspondent writes:--
"It is to be hoped that nothing further will be heard of these
various proposals to intern the KAISER at St. Helena. One
would have thought that there had been quite sufficient
desecration already of places of historic interest."
* * * * *
THE WAR-LORD'S NEW YEAR'S EVE.
KAISER, what vigil will you keep to-night?
Before the altar will you lay again
Your "shining armour," and renew your plight
To wear it ever clean of stain?
Or, while your priesthood chants the Hymn of Hate,
Like incense will you lift to God your breath
In praise that you are privileged by fate
To do His little ones to death?
Will Brother HENRY, knowing well the scene
That saw your cruisers' latest gallant feat,
Kneel at your side, and ask with pious mien
A special blessing on the fleet?
Will you make "resolutions?"--saying, "Lo!
I will be humble. Though my own bright sword
Has shattered Belgium, yet will I bestow
The credit on a higher Lord.
"What am I but His minister of doom?
The smoke of burning temples shall ascend,
With none to intercept the savoury fume,
Straight upward to my honoured Friend."
Or does your heart admit, in hours like these,
God is not mocked with words; His judgment stands;
Nor all the waters of His cleansing seas
Can wash the blood-guilt from your hands?
Make your account with Him as best you can.
What other hope has this New Year to give?
For outraged earth has laid on you a ban
Not to be lifted while you live.
O. S.
* * * * *
UNWRITTEN LETTERS TO THE KAISER.
NO. XII.
(_From the EX-SULTAN OF TURKEY._)
MY BROTHER,--There are many who in these days gnash their teeth
against you and pursue with malice and reproach the words you utter
and the deeds you perform, so that verily the tempests of the world
beat about your head. It may please you, therefore, to know that there
is one man at least whose affectionate admiration for you has suffered
no decrease, nay, has rather been augmented a hundredfold by the
events of the past half-year. Need I say that I am that man?
It is true that I have been shorn of my honours and privileges, that I
live in exile as a prisoner and that the vile insulters of fallen
majesty compass me about. I who once dwelt in splendour and issued my
commands to the legions of the faithful am treated with contumely by a
filthy pack of time-servers, and have nothing that I can call my own
except, for the moment, the air that I breathe. Oh, for an hour of the
old liberty and power! It would amuse me to see the faces of ENVER and
of my wretched brother MOHAMMED as I ordered them to execution--them
and their gang of villainous parasites. By the bowstring of my
fathers, but that would be a great and worthy killing! Pardon the fond
day-dreams of a poor and lonely old man whose only crime has been that
he loved his country too well and treated his enemies with a kindness
not to be understood by those black and revengeful hearts.
I remember that in the old days there were not wanting those who
warned me against you. "Beware," they said, "of the GERMAN EMPEROR. He
will use you for his own purposes, and will then cast you aside like
an orange that has been squeezed." But I paid no heed to their jealous
imaginings, and I had my reward. Not, indeed, that you were able to
save me when the wicked burst upon me and cast me down. The stroke was
too sudden, and you, alas, were too far. But the memory of our
delightful friendship is still with me to sustain and comfort me in my
tribulations. I still have some of the letters in which you poured out
your heart to me, and when melancholy oppresses me I take them from my
breast and read them over and over again.
It is a joy to me to know that there is a firm alliance between my
brave Turks and your magnanimous soldiers. I doubt not that Allah, the
good old friend of the Turks, will continue to bless you and give you
victory after victory over your enemies. It is no less a joy to learn
how gloriously and how sagaciously you are conducting this war. They
tell me that your ships have bombarded the coast towns of England, and
that five or six hundred of the inhabitants have fallen before your
avenging shells. What matters it that these towns were not fortified
in the strict and stupid sense, and that there were many women and
children amongst those you slew? The towns _were_ fortified in the
sense that they were hostile to your high benevolence, and as for
women and children you need not even dream of excusing yourself to
_me_. These English are no better than Armenians. It is necessary to
extirpate them, and the younger you catch them the less time they have
for devising wickedness against the Chosen of Allah. As for women,
they need hardly be taken into account. In all these matters I know by
your actions that you agree. You must proceed on your noble course
until the last of these infidels is swept away to perdition.
May I condole with you on the loss of your four ships of war by the
guns of the British Admiral STURDEE? That was, indeed, a cowardly
blow, and it is hard to understand why it was allowed.
Farewell then, my Brother. Be assured again of the undying friendship
and admiration of the poor exile,
ABDUL HAMID.
* * * * *
KILL OR CURE.
[_Reports continue to reach us from our brave troops in the
field that they "never felt fitter," are "in the best of
spirits," and so forth._]
Have you a bronchial cough, or cold,
And is your ailment chronic
Past every sort of cure that's sold?
We'll tell you of a tonic.
Just wing our agents here a wire
And book "A Fortnight Under Teuton Fire."
Do you admit with anxious mind
Your liver's loss of movement,
And that in consequence you find
Your temper needs improvement?
Then leave awhile your stool or bench
And try our "Month Inside a Flooded Trench."
Are you a broken nervous wreck,
Run short of red corpuscles,
Painfully scraggy in the neck,
And much in need of muscles?
Come to us now--for now's your chance--
And take our "Lively Tour Through Northern France."
* * * * *
[Illustration: DISHONOURED.
CAPTAIN OF THE _EMDEN_. "DIRTY WORK!"]
* * * * *
THE REAL HERO OF THE WAR.
There is an impression about that among the candidates for the
position of real hero of the war KING ALBERT might have a chance; or
even Lord KITCHENER or Sir JOHN FRENCH. But I have my doubts, after
all that I have heard--and I love to hear it and to watch the
different ways in which the tellers narrate it: some so frankly proud,
some just as proud, but trying to conceal their pride. After all that
I have heard I am bound to believe that for the real hero of the war
we must look elsewhere. Not much is printed of this young fellow's
deeds; one gets them chiefly by word of mouth and very largely in club
smoking-rooms. In railway carriages too, and at dinner-parties. These
are the places where the champions most do congregate and hold forth.
And from what they say he is a most gallant and worthy warrior.
Versatile as well, for not only does he fight and bag his Bosch, but
he is wounded and imprisoned. Sometimes he rides a motor cycle,
sometimes he flies, sometimes he has charge of a gun, sometimes he is
doing Red Cross work, and again he helps to bring up the supplies with
the A.S.C. He has been everywhere. He was at Mons and he was at
Cambrai. He marched into Ypres and is rather angry when the Germans
are blamed for shelling the Cloth Hall, because he tells you that
there was a big French gun firmly established behind it, and only by
shelling the building could the enemy hope to destroy that dangerous
piece of ordnance. He saw something of the bombardment of Rheims and
he watched the monitors at work on the Belgian coast.
And not only does he perform some of the best deeds and often get
rewarded for them, but he is a good medium for news too. He hears
things. He's somewhere about when General ---- says something of the
deepest significance to General ----. He knows men high up in the War
Office. He refers lightly to KITCHENER, and staff officers apparently
tell him many of their secrets. He speaks quite casually and
familiarly of WINSTON and what WINSTON said yesterday, for he often
has the latest Admiralty news too. It was he who had the luck to be in
the passage when Lord FISHER and another Sea Lord executed their
historic waltz on the receipt of the news of STURDEE'S coup. I don't
pretend that he is always as worthy of credence as he was then; for he
has spread some false rumours too. He was, in fact, one of the busiest
eye-witnesses (once or twice removed) of the triumphant progress of
millions of Russians through Scotland and England some months ago. He
is not unaware of the loss of battleships of which nothing has yet
been officially stated. In fact, his unofficial news is terrific and
sometimes must be taken with salt. But denials do not much abash him.
He was prepared for them and can explain them.
His letters are interesting and cover a vast amount of ground. They
are sometimes very well written, and in differing moods he abuses the
enemy and pities them. He never grumbles but is sometimes perplexed by
overwork in the trenches. He hates having to stand long in water and
has lost more comrades than he likes to think about. One day he was
quite close to General JOFFRE, whom he regards as a sagacious leader,
cautious and far-sighted; another day he was close to Sir JOHN FRENCH,
and nothing could exceed the confidence which his appearance kindled
in him. On the morning of the KING'S arrival at the Front he was
puzzled by the evolutions of our air scouts, who seemed to have gone
mad; but it turned out that they were saluting HIS MAJESTY. Some of
his last letters were from the neighbourhood of Auchy and described
the fighting for the canal. He is a little inconsistent now and then,
and one day says he has more cigarettes than he can smoke, and the
next bewails the steady shortage of tobacco. As to his heroic actions
he is reticent; but we know that many of the finest deeds have been
performed by him. He has saved lives and guns and is in sight of the
V.C.
And what is his name? Well, I can't say what his name is, because it
is not always the same; but I can tell you how he is always described
by those who relate his adventures, his prowess, his news, his
suspicions and his fears. He is always referred to as "My son."
"My son," when all is said, is the real hero of the war.
* * * * *
It is all very well to warn the British public (naturalised or
otherwise) against supporting and comforting the enemy, but it might
have more effect if those in authority set the example.
"The British Government declares that in the event of the
Austrian Government being in need of funds, Great Britain is
ready to provide them."--_Japan Chronicle._
"King George has sent a warmly-worded telegram of congratulation
to the new Sultan of Turkey."--_Sunday Chronicle._
Paragraphs such as these, for instance, do not provide the proper
inspiration.
* * * * *
"There are increasing rumours of serious fiction between the
Austrians and the Germans."--_Natal Times._
Their _forte_, however, is humorous fiction.
* * * * *
R. G. A.
Over the hills where the grey hills rise
Smoke wreaths climb to the cloudless skies,
White in the glare of the noonday sun,
Climbing in companies, one by one,
From the strong guns,
The long guns,
That wake with break of day
And dutifully drop their shells a dozen miles away.
Far beneath where our airmen fly,
Slowly the Garrison guns go by,
Breaking through bramble and thorn and gorse,
Towed by engines or dragged by horse,
The great guns,
The late guns,
That slowly rumble up
To enable Messrs. VICKERS to converse with Messrs. KRUPP.
Garrison cannon is never swift
(Shells are a deuce of a weight to lift);
When they are ready to open shop,
Where they are planted, there they stop,
The grey guns,
The gay guns,
That know what they're about,
To wait at fifteen hundred yards and clear the trenches out.
4.7's and 9.4's,
Taking to camping out of doors;
Out of the shelter of steel-built sheds,
Sleeping out in their concrete beds--
The proud guns,
The loud guns,
Whose echo wakes the hills,
And shakes the tiles and scatters glass on distant window-sills.
Little cannon of envious mind
May mock at the gunners who come behind;
Let them wait till we've lined our pets
On to the forts and the walls of Metz;
The siege guns,
The liege guns,
The guns to batter down
The barricades and bastions of any German town.
Though there be others who do good work,
Harassing German, trouncing Turk,
Let us but honour one toast to-day--
The men and the guns of the R.G.A.!
The vast guns,
The last guns,
When Spring is coming in,
To roll down every Eastern road a-booming to Berlin!
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE TEMPTATIONS OF A SOLDIER.
_Fond Mother (who has just seen her son, a very youthful subaltern,
off to the front)._ "I GOT HIM AWAY FROM HIS FATHER FOR A MOMENT
AND SAID TO HIM, 'DARLING, DON'T GO TOO NEAR THE FIRING-LINE, WILL
YOU?'"]
* * * * *
NEW YEAR NOVELTIES.
THE STRATEGIST'S MUZZLE.--For use in the Home--the Club--the Railway
Train. Fitted with best calf leather gag--easily attached--efficiency
guaranteed, 4_s._ 11_d._ With chloroform attachment for violent cases,
8_s._ 11_d._ BELLOC size, 22_s._ 6_d._
Recommended by the Censor.
THE ALLIES' MUSICAL BOX.--Beautifully decorated in all the national
colours. A boon to organizers of war concerts. Plays all the National
Anthems of the Allies simultaneously, thus allowing the audience to
keep their seats for the bulk of the evening. A blessing to wounded
soldiers and rheumatic subjects. 10_s._ 11_d._ carriage paid.
THE COIN DETECTOR.--This ingenious little contrivance rings a bell
once when brought within a yard of silver coins and twice when in the
proximity of gold coins. Absolutely indispensable to collectors for
Relief Funds. 2_s._ 11-1/2_d._ post free.
Testimonial from Lady Isobel Tompkins:--
"Since using your invaluable detector in my collecting work I
understand that there has been quite a run on the banks and
post-offices in this neighbourhood for postal orders and the new
notes. With the addition of an indicator of paper-money your machine
would be perfection."
HAPPY FAMILIES.--The game of the season--with portraits of all our
political leaders. Any four assorted leaders of different views make a
happy family. 10-1/2_d._
Mr. KEIR HARDIE says:--"I never knew a more aggravating game."
GERMAN HAPPY FAMILIES.--Intensely amusing; peals of laughter come from
the table when one asks for Mr. Kayser, the butcher; Mr. Prince, the
looter; Mr. Tirpitz, the pirate, 10-1/2_d._
BURKE'S NORMAN BLOOD.--The presentation book of the season. Invaluable
to the newly naturalised. 3_s._ 6_d._ net.
* * * * *
From certain Regimental Orders we extract the following:--
"There is no objection to the following being written on the
Field Service Post Card: 'A merry Christmas and a happy New
Year.'"
All the same, the danger of conveying news to the enemy must not be
overlooked. Many German soldiers, we hear, are under the impression
that it is still August, and that they will be in Paris by the
beginning of September.
* * * * *
"In the early hours of Wednesday morning, what is supposed to
have been a traction engine when proceeding southward, struck
the west side of the parapet with great force."--_Alnwick
Gazette._
When proceeding northward it has more the appearance of a sewing-machine.
* * * * *
THE WATCH DOGS.
X.
MY DEAR CHARLES,--I write on Christmas Day from a second-grade
Infants' School, the grade referring obviously to the school and not
to the infants. We sit round the old Yule hot-water pipe, and from the
next classroom come the heavenly strains of the gramophone, one of
those veteran but sturdy machines which none of life's rough usages
can completely silence or even shake in its loyal determination to go
on _and keep on going on_ at all costs. Having duly impressed "Good
King Wenceslas" upon us, it is now rendering an emotional waltz, of
which, though now and then it may drop a note or two, it mislays none
of the pathos.
It was a present to the Mess; intended for our entertainment in the
trenches, though I cannot think who was going to carry it there. The
tune serves to recall the distant past, when we used to wear silk
socks and shining pumps, to glide hither and thither on hard floors,
and talk in the intervals, talk, talk, talk with all the desperate
resource of exhausted heroes who know that they have only to hang on
five more minutes and they are saved. Suppose we had by now been in
those trenches and had been listening to this obstinate old box slowly
but confidently assuring and reassuring us that there is and was and
always will be our one-two-three home in the one-two-three,
one-two-three West! I can see the picture; I can see the tears of
happiness coursing down our weather-beaten cheeks as we say to
ourselves, "Goodness knows, it's uncomfortable enough here, but thank
heaven we aren't in that ball-room anyway."
In a corner of this room is a bridge-four. The C.O. is sitting in an
authoritative, relentless silence. His tactical dispositions have been
made and they are going to be pushed through to the end, cost what it
may to the enemy or his own side. His partner is Second-Lieutenant
Combes, deviously thinking to himself with all the superior knowledge
of youth, "What rotten dispositions these C.O.'s do make!" but
endeavouring to conceal his feelings by the manipulation of his face
and a more than usually heavy interspersion of "Sirs" in his
conversation. The enemy are ill-assorted allies: Captain Parr, a
dashing player of great courage and very ready tongue, and Lieutenant
Sumners, one of those grim, earnest fighters whom no event however
sudden or stupendous can surprise into speech. This latter is a real
soldier whose life is conducted in every particular on the lines laid
down in military text-books. He asks himself always, "Is it
soldierly?" and never "Is it common-sense?" He is at present in
trouble with his superior officer for having frozen on to his ace of
trumps long after he should have parted with it. But those text-books
say, "Keep your best forces in reserve," and so the little trumps must
needs be put in the firing line first.
As to the other officers of your acquaintance, each is making merry,
as the season demands, in his own fashion. One is studying, not for
the first time, a map on the wall showing the inner truth of the
currents in the Pacific; another is observing, for his information
and further guidance, the process of manufacture of lead pencils
as illustrated by samples in a glass-case. Others are being more
jovial still; having exhausted the pictures and advertisements of
the sixpenny Society papers, they are now actually reading the
letter-press. The machine-gun officer, as I gather from his
occasional remarks, is asleep as usual.
And now the gramophone has ceased; but, alas! Captain d'Arcy has
begun--on the piano. As I write, the scheme of communication
between his right and his left flanks has broken down. Like a
prudent officer, he suspends operations, gives the "stand-fast!" and
sends out a cautious patrol to reconnoitre the position. He even cedes
a little of the ground he has gained. Glancing at his music, I must
admit that he is in a dangerous situation, heavily wooded in the
treble, with sudden and sharp elevations and depressions in the bass,
and the possibility of an ambush at every turn. His reconnoitring
party returns; he starts to move forward again with scouts always in
advance. He halts; he advances again and proceeds (for he too is a
trained soldier) by short rushes about five bars at a time.... At
last the situation develops and he pauses to collect all his
available forces and get them well in hand. I can almost hear the
order being passed along the line--"Prepare to charge"--almost
catch the bugle-call as his ten fingers rush forth to the assault,
forth to death or glory, to triumph or utter confusion.... As to what
follows, I have always thought the rally after a charge was an
anticlimax, even when it consists of a rapid "Rule Britannia!"
passing off evenly, without a hitch.
I find, looking round my fellow-officers, that I have omitted the
final touch, the last stirring detail to complete the picture of the
soldier's hard but eventful life. In the one easy, or easy-ish, chair
sits the Major, that gallant gentleman whose sole but exacting
business in life it is to gallop like the devil into the far distance
when it is rumoured that the battalion will deploy. He sits now at
leisure, but even at leisure he is not at ease: silent, with every
nerve and fibre strained to the utmost tension, he crouches over his
work. He is at his darning; ay, with real wool and a real needle he is
darning his socks. The colour of his work may not be harmonious, but
it is a thorough job; he has done what even few women would do, he has
darned not only the hole in his hosiery but his left hand also.
As for the men, they have been dealt with by a select body under the
formidable title of the Christmas Festivities Committee. It has
provided each man with a little beer, a lot of turkey and much too
much plum pudding. Having disengaged the birds into their separate
units, it has then left the man to himself for the day, thus showing,
in my opinion, a wise discretion rarely found in committees, even
military committees.
Yours ever,
HENRY.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Visitor._ "COULD YOU TELL ME WHAT TIME THE TIDE IS UP?"
_Odd job man._ "WELL, SIR, THEY DO EXPECK 'IGH WATER AT
SIX; BUT THEN YOU KNOW WOT THESE 'ERE RUMOURS ARE NOWADAYS."]
* * * * *
"Exchange, charming country parish, North Yorks. Easy distance
sea. Income safe."--_Advt. in "Guardian."_
Yes, but what about the rectory?
* * * * *
[Illustration: GREAT EXPECTATIONS.
HOW MABEL PICTURED HER BIG BROTHER'S ARRIVAL FOR WEEK-END
LEAVE FROM THE FRONT.]
* * * * *
THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL.
I rode into Pincher River on an August afternoon,
The pinto's hoofs on the prairie drumming a drowsy tune,
By the shacks and the Chinks' truck-gardens to the Athabasca
saloon.
And a bunch of the boys was standing around by the old Scotch
store,
Standing and spitting and swearing by old Macallister's door--
And the name on their lips was Britain--the word that they spoke was
War.
War!... Do you think I waited to talk about wrong or right
When I knew my own old country was up to the neck in a fight?
I said, "So long!"--and I beat it--"I'm hitting the trail
to-night."
I wasn't long at my packing. I hadn't much time to dress,
And the cash I had at disposal was a ten-spot--more or less;
So I didn't wait for my ticket; I booked by the Hoboes' Express.
I rode the bumpers at night-time; I beat the ties in the day;
Stealing a ride and bumming a ride all of the blooming way,
And--I left the First Contingent drilling at Valcartier!
I didn't cross in a liner (I hadn't my passage by me!);
I spotted a Liverpool cargo tramp, smelly and greasy and grimy,
And they wanted hands for the voyage, and the old man guessed he'd
try me.
She kicked like a ballet-dancer or a range-bred bronco mare;
She rolled till her engines rattled; she wallowed, but what did I
care?
It was "Go it, my bucking beauty, if only you take me there!"
Then came an autumn morning, grey-blue, windy and clear,
And the fields--the little white houses--green and peaceful and
dear,
And the heart inside of me saying, "Take me, Mother, I'm here!
"Here, for I thought you'd want me; I've brought you all that I
own--
A lean long lump of a carcass that's mostly muscle and bone,
Six-foot-two in my stockings--weigh-in at fourteen stone.
"Here, and I hope you'll have me; take me for what I'm worth--
A chap that's a bit of a waster, come from the ends of the earth
To fight with the best that's in him for the dear old land of his
birth!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Lady in black._ "Our Jim's killed seven Germans--and he'd
never killed _ANYONE_ before he went to France!"]
* * * * *
THE PEACE-MAKER.
The Anonymous War is not to be followed by an Anonymous Peace. I have
Twyerley's own authority for this statement.
I may go farther and make public the interesting fact that Twyerley
himself has the matter in hand, and readers of _The Daily Booster_
will at an early date receive precise instructions how and where to
secure Part I. of The History of the Peace before it is out of print.
It is well known that all publications issuing from that Napoleonic
brain are out of print within an hour or two of their appearance, but
Twyerley takes precautions to safeguard readers of _The Booster_
against any such catastrophic disappointment.
In approaching the Peace problem at this stage Twyerley is displaying
his customary foresight. The military authorities frustrated
Twyerley's public-spirited attempt to let the readers of _The Booster_
into the secret of General JOFFRE'S strategy--ruthlessly suppressing
his daily column on The Position at the Front. He has resolved that
the diplomatists shall not repeat the offence; he will be beforehand
with them.
If Twyerley had been listened to in times of peace there would have
been no war; the fact is undeniable. Since war has come, however, the
danger of a patched-up peace must be avoided at all costs. In order
that there shall be no mistake Twyerley has prepared a map of
Europe-as-it-must-be-and-shall-be or Twyerley and his myriad readers
will know the reason why. (The map is presented gratis with Part I. of
the History and may also be had, varnished and mounted on rollers, for
clubs and military academies.)
Twyerley at work upon the map is a thrilling spectacle. With his
remorseless scissors he hovers over Germany and Austria in a way that
would make the two KAISERS blench. Snip! away goes Alsace-Lorraine and
a slice of the Palatinate; another snip! and Galicia flutters into the
arms of Russia.
The History is to be completed in twenty-four parts, if the Allies'
plenipotentiaries possess the capabilities with which Twyerley credits
them; but he has prudently provided for extensions in case of need.
Anyway, whether the Treaty of Peace be signed in twelve months or
twelve years, the final part of the History will go to press on the
morrow.
Armed with the History, readers of _The Booster_ will be able to
follow step by step the contest in the council-chamber, when it takes
place. They will be able to paint the large white map with the special
box of colours supplied at a small additional cost. That, as Twyerley
justly observes, is an ideal means of teaching the new geography of
Europe to children. Even the youngest member of a household where the
History is taken regularly will be in a position to say what loss of
territory the KAISERS and Turkey must suffer. (Twyerley had some idea
of running a Prize Competition on these lines but was reluctant to
embarrass the Government.)
Several entire chapters will be devoted to "Famous Scraps of Paper"
from NEBUCHADNEZZAR to the Treaty of Bucharest. Illustrations of
unique interest have been secured. For instance, the Peace of
Westphalia carries a reproduction of the original document, portraits
and biographies of the signatories, and a statistical table of the
Westphalian ham industry. Similarly, the Treaty of Utrecht is
accompanied by a view of that interesting town and several pages of
original designs for Utrecht velvet.
Thus, what Twyerley calls "the human interest" is amply catered for.
The section "International Law for the Million" presents its subject
in a novel tabloid form, as exhaustive as it is entertaining. I know
for a fact that an army of clerks has been engaged at the British
Museum for some weeks looking up the data.
Following the part which contains concise accounts of every European
nation from the earliest times, comes "Points for Plenipotentiaries,"
occupying several entire numbers. Here is where the genius of Twyerley
shines at its brightest, and personally I think that the British
representatives at the Peace Congress should be provided beforehand
with these invaluable pages. With Twyerley at their elbows, so to
speak, they should be equal to the task of checkmating the wily
foreigner.
I wish the KAISER could see Twyerley scissoring his territory to
shreds!
* * * * *
A VOICE IN THE NIGHT.
I dislike many things--snakes, for example, and German spies, and the
income tax, and cold fat mutton; but even more than any of these I
dislike William Smith.
As all the world knows, special constables hunt in couples at nights,
a precaution adopted in order that, if either of the two is slain in
the execution of his duty, the other may be in a position to report on
the following morning the exact hour and manner of his decease, thus
satisfying the thirst of the authorities for the latest information,
and relieving his departed companion's relatives of further anxiety in
regard to his fate.
William Smith is the special constable who hunts with me. As to whom
or what we are hunting, or what we should do to them or they would do
to us if we caught them or they caught us, we are rather vague; but we
endeavour to carry out our duty. Our total bag to date has been one
Royal Mail, and even him we merely let off with a caution.
Three days ago, by an unfortunate coincidence, William Smith overtook
me at the end of the High Street, just as our sergeant was coming
round the corner in the opposite direction. At sight of the latter we
halted, dropped our parcels in the mud, stiffened to attention and
saluted. The last was a thing we ought not to have done, even allowing
for his leggings, which were (and are still) of a distinctly
upper-military type. But in the special constabulary your sergeant is
a man to be placated. His powers are enormous. He can, if he likes,
spoil your beauty sleep at both ends by detailing you for duty from 12
to 4 A.M.; or, on the other hand, he can forget you altogether for a
fortnight. Thus we always avoid meeting him if possible; failing that,
we always salute him.
"Ha!" exclaimed our sergeant.
We shuddered, and William Smith, who is smaller than myself, tried to
escape his gaze by forming two deep.
"What the devil are you playing at?" growled our sergeant. Though one
of the more prominent sidesmen at our local church, he has developed
quite the manner of an officer, almost, at times, I like to think, of
a general officer. William Smith formed single rank again.
Our sergeant took out his notebook. "I'm glad I happened to meet you
two," he said.
We shivered, but otherwise remained at attention.
"Let me see," he went on, consulting his list, "you are on together
again to-morrow night at 12."
It was the last straw. Forgetting his rank, forgetting his leggings,
forgetting the possibilities of his language, forgetting myself, I
spoke.
"I protest," I said.
The eyes of our sergeant bulged with wrath, pushing his pince-nez off
his nose and causing them to clatter to the pavement. But a special
constable is a man of more than ordinary courage. "Allow me," I
murmured, and I stooped, picked them up and handed them back to him.
"Explain yourself," he muttered hoarsely.
"For the past three months," I said, "I have endured fifty-six of
the darkest hours of the night, cut off from any possibility of
human aid, in the company of William Smith, a conversational
egoist of the lowest and most determined type. Throughout this
period he has inflicted on me atrocities before which those of the
Germans pale into insignificance. During the first month he described
to me in detail the achievements and diseases from birth upwards of
all his children--a revolting record. He next proceeded to deal
exhaustively with the construction and working of his gramophone,
his bathroom geyser, his patent knife-machine and his vacuum
carpet-cleaner; also with his methods of drying wet boots, marking his
under-linen, circumventing the water-rate collector and inducing
fertility in reluctant pullets. This brought us to the middle of
November. Finally, during the last four weeks he has wandered into
the ramifications of his wife's early-Victorian family tree, of
which we are still in the lower branches.
"I cannot retaliate in kind. I have no children, poultry, pedigree
wives, nor any of the other articles, except boots and shirts, in
which the soul of William Smith rejoices. There is but one remedy open
to me, and of this, unless you detail me for duty with someone else, I
propose to avail myself at the first convenient opportunity. I shall
kill William Smith."
I stopped and saluted again.
And then a wonderful thing happened. I discovered that beneath our
sergeant's military leggings there still beat the rudiments of a human
heart. Yes, as I looked at him I saw his softened eyes suffused with
sympathetic tears.
"My poor fellow!" he said in a broken voice.
It was too much. I sank to the pavement, saluting as I fell, and knew
no more. When I recovered consciousness in hospital I found in the
pocket of my coat an envelope containing the following: "Promoted to
the rank of corporal and invalided for three weeks, after which you
will take duty with your chauffeur."
William Smith and I have severed diplomatic relations. It is better
so.
* * * * *
REJECTED OFFERINGS.
MY DEAR _Mr. Punch_,--In these first few days after Christmas many of
your readers are no doubt faced, as we have been, with a problem which
is quite new to them. I hope they took the precaution--as we did--to
write and explain to all likely givers (1) that this was no year for
the exchange of Christmas gifts among grown-up people who have no need
for them; (2) that it was the opinion of all right-thinking persons
that no such gifts should be sent, and (3) that consequently they were
sending none and hoped to receive none.
That is all right as far as it goes, but the problem remains of what
is to be done with those people who can't be stopped? We have had
several painful instances of this sort. The stuff has arrived, the
usual sort of non-war stuff, some of which must have cost quite a lot
of money, of which it may with truth be said, "your King and Country
need you." How were these things to be dealt with, since we felt that
we could not keep them?
We found that no general treatment could be applied; we have had to
sort them out into groups, before deflecting them into the proper
courses.
_Books_ to hospitals. In this case the matron is asked to acknowledge
them direct to the original giver.
_Smoking Accessories_ (such as the newest pipe-filler and match-striker
and cigarette-case-opener and pouch-unfolder and cigar-holder-grip),
to the nearest male Belgian; and
_All other portable presents_ to the nearest female Belgian. (These
two classes may be neatly acknowledged in the columns of the _Courier
Belge_.)
_All larger presents_ (of the motor-car, pianola and sewing-machine
variety) to be sold by auction for the National Relief Fund. Marked
catalogue of the sale to be sent to the giver in proof of their safe
arrival.
Yours, etc.,
AN ORDINARY ENGLISHMAN.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Officer (instructing recruits in signalling)._ "DIDN'T
YOU GET THAT MESSAGE?"
_Recruit._ "YES, SIR: 'THREE TAUBS AND A ZEPLIN COMIN' OVER THE 'ILL.'"
_Officer._ "THEN WHY THE DEUCE DIDN'T YOU SEND IT ON?"
_Recruit._ "WELL, SIR, I COULDN'T 'ARDLY BELIEVE IT."]
* * * * *
"The Surveyor reported that the owners of the manure heaps by
the Recreation Ground Tennis Courts had by now been covered
over with seaweed, etc., thus complying with the Council's
wishes."--_Barmouth Advertiser._
We hope this will be a lesson to them.
* * * * *
The usual formula for beginning a letter is thus neatly rendered by a
Hottentot Boy:--
"As I have a line to state just to let you know that I am
still soluberious under the superiority of the Supreme-Being,
hoping to hear the same likewise from you."
We recommend it very heartily as a good opening for New Year's Eve
correspondence.
* * * * *
THE IMPERIAL INFANTICIDE.
It was a mighty Emperor
Of ancient pedigree
Who said, "The future of our race
Lies on the rolling sea!"
And straightway laboured to fulfil
His royal guarantee.
And when the Day had dawned, for which
He long had toiled and planned,
Unto his Grand High Admiral
He issued his command:
"Go forth, and smite the enemy
Upon his native strand."
Sailing by night and veiled in mist,
His swiftest ships of war
Rained death on two defenceless towns
For half an hour or more,
Till they had slain and wounded babes
And women by the score.
The Fatherland was filled with joy
By this heroic deed;
It gloated o'er the slaughtered babes
Of Albion's hated breed;
And Iron Crosses fell in showers
On those who'd made them bleed.
But honest neutrals everywhere
Were sickened and dismayed;
The Turk, not squeamish as a rule,
No special glee betrayed;
And even Mr. BERNARD SHAW
Failed to defend the raid!
Then more in sorrow than in wrath
The EMPEROR made moan:
"Though martyred and misunderstood
I tread my way alone,
At least I have the sympathy
Of God on His high throne."
Then from the pillar and the cloud
Came accents clear and plain:
"The Massacre of Innocents
Passes the guilt of CAIN;
And those who sin with HEROD earn
His everlasting stain."
* * * * *
Two announcements at Hereford:--
"Cathedral Service, Sunday, Dec. 13th.
Preacher: Rev. H. M. Spooner.
Baptist Chapel.
Lecture: 'Slips of Speech and Trips in Type.'"
"Yes," said the President of New College on his way to the Cathedral,
"I know something about slips of speech, but what _are_ tips in
tripe?"
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE NEW ARMY TO THE FRONT.]
* * * * *
THE NEXT?
BOMBARDMENT OF LITTLE SHRIMPINGTON BY THE GERMAN FLEET.
(_Extract from a Report by the German Admiral._)
_Battle-cruiser_ "_Von Herod_."
SIR,--With regard to the recent magnificent and hoch-compelling
exploit of the Imperial Squadron I have the honour to report as
follows:--
Our battle-cruisers sighted the strongly-fortified sea-coast town of
Little Shrimpington about 12.45, and at once opened a devastating
fire. A hostile abbey, situated in a commanding position at the cliff
top, and quite unmistakable (as at Whitby), was the first to fall. The
shelling of this edifice, to which I learn that the Christians attach
considerable importance, for some reason that I am unable to
comprehend, cannot fail to produce lively satisfaction among our brave
allies at Constantinople.
Next turning our guns upon the golf links, in fifteen rounds we put
out of action a nine-hole course for ladies. Much confusion was
observed here amongst the enemy; the presence of troops being proved
by the movement of several bodies in bright scarlet. It is conjectured
from this that the supply of khaki is already exhausted.
Magnificent execution was done upon the extensive sand castles with
which the foreshore was covered, and for which indeed it is renowned
throughout the island. Our heavy armament was in every case enabled to
demolish these, at the same time slaughtering the children and nurses
responsible for them. It is to be admitted however that at a more
favourable season of the year the execution here, good as it was,
would have been considerably better.
Altogether some five hundred shells were fired, as recently at
Scarborough, and there can be no doubt that the enemy's casualties, in
women especially, must be very considerable. In addition, he is known
to have lost heavily in bathing-machines, and several super-rowing
boats were seen to sink at their moorings.
Throughout the action the entire absence of any return fire had a most
heartening effect upon the personnel of the Imperial fleet, who were
thus enabled to work under what may be called conditions ideal to the
German fighting spirit. I cannot refrain from expressing my sense of
how greatly the magnificent result of the action was due to the
patriotic foresight of my chief officer, Fire-direktor Von Ketch, who,
having met with a motor accident when touring in England so lately as
last spring at the gates of Shrimpington Hall, had the good fortune to
be the guest for several weeks of the Frau Squire and her daughters.
Not only was the information thus obtained of the greatest assistance
in the general conduct of the operations, but we were enabled to place
our first six-inch shell exactly on the dining-room of the Hall at an
hour when the occupants were almost certainly assembled for lunch.
The entire action occupied twenty-five minutes, and concluded with the
approach of the British patrol, when, acting in accordance with the
dictates of Imperial policy, we ran like hares. So satisfactory has
been this glorious and civilian-sanguinary encounter that our brave
fellows are now eager to try conclusions with the bath-chairs of
Bournemouth or the lobster-pots of Llandudno. It is indeed with true
sentiments of fraternal pride that the Imperial Navy is now able to
place the torn fragments of the Hague Convention beside those of the
Treaties so gloriously deleted by our brothers of the Imperial Army.
I have the honour to be, Sir, etc., etc.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _First Urchin (to Captain who has just bought a new
motor-horn)._ "CARRY YER PARCEL, COLONEL?"
_Second ditto (in a hoarse whisper)._ "GARN! CAN'T YER SEE 'E'S A
BUGLER?"]
* * * * *
"Note.--A kilometre is, roughly, five-fifths of a
mile."--_Newcastle Evening Chronicle._
The Press Bureau, while not objecting....
* * * * *
VICTORINE.
Victorine, our new general, is a Belgian refugee. She was naturally
somewhat broken in spirit on first entering our establishment, but as
the days went by she became happier, and so enterprising and
ingratiating that we hastened to smother in its infancy a shameful
doubt as to whether or not we had introduced into our sympathetic
bosoms a potential viper. Morning, noon and night there was continuous
scrubbing, polishing and beeswaxing; at all moments one was meeting a
pink and breathless Victorine, and the house echoed to an interminable
stream of information in the French tongue.
At mealtime, the verdict having been duly pronounced on each
successive dish, Victorine would stand by while we ate, and unburden
herself confidentially. 'Mon mari' (Jean Baptiste, a co-refugee who
had searched all London for a place as _valet de chambre_) was lightly
touched upon. Belgium was described in glowing terms, a land of
wonders we had not dreamt of.
"Miss will not believe me, but when first we arrive in England all the
world cries, 'Oh! regard then the little sheep!' For Mademoiselle must
know that in Belgium the sheep are high and big as that" (Victorine
sketches in the air the dimensions of a good-sized donkey). "Monsieur
mocks himself of me? Monsieur should visit my _pays_ where dwell the
sheep of a bigness and a fatness to rejoice the heart, and whose wool
is of a softness incredible; Monsieur would not then smile thus in his
beard." Victorine assumes an attitude of virtuous indignation,
disturbed by the ringing of the telephone bell.
"I save myself," she murmurs.
Through the half-open door we hear as usual only scraps of dialogue,
all on one side, and very unsatisfying.
"Alloa! J'ecoute! Madame, je ne parle que le francais--hein?" Long
pause. "Alloa! Alloa!" Victorine rattles the instrument impatiently.
"Ah! ca y est! Si Madame desire que j'appelle Miss----? Quel nom?
Hein? Meesus Tsch--arch--kott. Mon Dieu----"
Victorine lays down the receiver and comes back flushed into the
room.