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22602.txt
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The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 150,
January 5, 1916, by Various, Edited by Owen Seaman
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 150, January 5, 1916
Author: Various
Editor: Owen Seaman
Release Date: September 14, 2007 [eBook #22602]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI,
VOL. 150, JANUARY 5, 1916***
E-text prepared by Malcolm Farmer, David King, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 22602-h.htm or 22602-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/2/6/0/22602/22602-h/22602-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/2/6/0/22602/22602-h.zip)
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 150
JANUARY 5, 1916.
The Whitefriars Press.
RESOLUTIONS.
I will not breakfast in my bed
With downy cushions at my head;
That would be very wrong--and so
Away the eggs and bacon go!
I will not read in bed at night
And burn the dear electric light;
Nor buy another costly hat;
Oh no! I'm much too good for that.
But I will rise before the dawn
And weed and cut and roll the lawn;
My border I will plant with veg,
Abundantly from hedge to hedge.
And all the day I'll practise thrift
And no more happily will drift
In deeper debt, as once, alas!
--But what an awful year I'll pass.
* * * * *
The Art of Sinking.
"Altogether we sank one gunboat, five steamers (one of 3,000
tons), and 17 large sailing ships, three trains, and one railway
embankment."--_Manchester Guardian._
* * * * *
Very Light Marching Order.
From a notice issued to recruits for the New Zealand Expeditionary
Force:--
"You should report wearing a pair of serviceable boots, and
bring with you your toilet outfit--no additional clothing is
required."
* * * * *
"In a conversation with members of the Press Mr. Ford said now
was the time for peace on the basis of the _status quo anti
bellum_."
_Scotch Paper._
He always spells it that way.
* * * * *
AN ILL-USED AUTHOR.
"I gather, Sir," remarked my fellow-traveller, after I had put away the
writing-block on which I had been jotting down the outline of an
article, "that you are a literary man, like myself?"
We were the only occupants of a compartment in a L. & N. W. R. carriage.
I had been too absorbed till then to notice his appearance, but I now
observed that he had rather unkempt hair, luminous eyes, and a soft hat.
"Oh, well," I admitted, "I write."
"But I take it that, whatever you write, it is not _poetry_," he said.
What led him to this inference I cannot say, but I had to confess that
it was correct.
"Still, even though you are not a Poet yourself, I hope," he said, "you
can feel some sympathy for one who has been so infamously treated as I
have."
I replied that I hoped so too.
"Then, Sir," said he, "I will tell you my unhappy story. At the
beginning of this War I was approached by certain Railway magnates who
shall be nameless. It appeared that they had realised, very rightly,
that their official notices were couched in too cold and formal a style
to reach the heart of their public. So they commissioned me to supply
what I may term the human touch. As a poet, I naturally felt that this
could only be effectively done through the medium of verse. Well, I rose
to the occasion, Sir; I produced some lines which, printed as they were
written, must infallibly have placed me at the head of all of my
contemporaries. But they were _not_ printed as they were written. In
proof of which I will trouble you to read very carefully the opening
paragraph of those 'Defence of the Realm Regulations' immediately above
your head ... Only the opening paragraph at present, please!"
I was somewhat surprised, but, thinking it best to humour him, I read
the first sentence, which was: "_In view of possible attack by hostile
aircraft, it is necessary that the blinds of all trains should be kept
down after sunset_," and gave him my opinion of it.
"Whether," he said, with some acerbity, "it is or is not as lucidly
expressed as you are pleased to consider, only the beginning of it is
mine. This is what I actually wrote:--
"'In view of possible attack
By hostile aircraft overhead,
'Tis necessary now, alack!
Soon as old Sol has sought his bed,
That those who next the window sit,
Though they'd prefer to watch the gloaming,
Should draw the blind, nor leave a slit,
Keeping it down until they're homing,
Else on the metals will be thrown
A glowing trail as from a comet,
And Huns to whom a train is shown
Will most indubitably bomb it!'
"That," he observed complacently, "is not only verse of the highest
order, but clearly conveys the reason for such precautions, which the
official mind chose to cut out. And now let me ask you to read the next
paragraph." I did so. "_At night-time when the blinds are drawn_" it
ran, "_passengers are requested before alighting to make sure when the
train stops that it is at the platform_."
"Which," he cried fiercely, "is their mangled and mutilated version of
this:--
"'At night-time when the blinds are drawn
(As screens against those devils' spawn,
Which love the gloom, but dread the dawn),
A train may be at standstill,
Then we request 'twill not occur
That some impatient passenger,
Whose nerves are in a chronic stir,
And neither feet nor hands still,
Without preliminary peep
Will forth incontinently leap,
Alighting in a huddled heap
To lie, a limp or flat form,
In some inhospitable ditch,
If not on grittier ballast, which
(The darkness far surpassing pitch)
He took to be the platform!'
"As to the next paragraph," he continued, "I don't complain so much,
though, personally, I consider '_Extract from Order made by the
Secretary of State for the Home Department_' a very poor paraphrase of
the resounding couplet in which I introduced him:--
"'Now speaks in genial tones, from heart to heart meant,
The Secretary for the Home Department!'
"I could have overlooked that, Sir, if they had retained the lines I had
written for him. But they've only let him speak the first four
words--'_Passengers in Railway Carriages_'--and then drivel on thus:
'_which are provided with blinds must keep the blinds covered so as to
cover the windows'_--a clumsy tautology, Sir, for which I am sure no
Home Secretary would care to be held responsible, and from which I had
been at some pains to save him, as you may judge when I read you the
original text:--
"'Passengers in railway carriages
Possess a sense which none disparages;
So those who are not perverse or froward
May be trusted to see that the blinds are lowered,
To cover the windows so totally
That no one inside can be seen, or see.
Mem.--This need not be done, as lately decided,
If blinds for the windows have not been provided.'
"But," he went on, "the deadliest injury those infernal officials
reserved for the last. If you read the concluding sentence, Sir, you
will observe that it begins: '_The blinds may be lifted in case of
necessity_!' (That, I need hardly say, is _entirely_ my own. There is a
sort of inspired swing in it, the true lyrical lilt with which even
red-tape has not dared to tamper! But mark how they go on): '_when the
train is at a standstill at a station, but, if lifted, they must be
lowered again before the train starts_.' And this insufferable bathos,
forsooth, was substituted for lines like these:--
"'The blinds may be lifted in case of necessity;
Thus, if the train at a station should halt,
And the traveller hears not its name, nor can guess it, he
Cannot be held to commit any fault,
Still farther be fined,
Should he pull up the blind
Out of mere curiosity: had he not looked
He might miss the station for which he had booked!'
"Well," he concluded, "that is my case. But I can never put it before
the public myself. My pride would not permit me. Though, if
someone--yourself, for instance--would present my claims to redress--"
I couldn't help thinking that he had been hardly treated, and so I
undertook to do what I could for him. He gave me his verses, also his
name, which latter I have unfortunately forgotten. However, I hope I
have redeemed my promise here in other respects.
There are times when I wonder uneasily whether he may not have been
pulling my leg. But, after all, he could have had no possible object in
doing that. Besides, if, the next time you travel by the L. & N.-W., you
will study the printed instructions in your compartment, I fancy you
will agree with me that they corroborate his statements to a rather
remarkable extent.
F. A.
* * * * *
A Christmas Trifle.
"Some stale sponge cake is cut in slices less than an inch
thick, and these are spread generously with jam and arranged on
a crystal dish, blanched and chopped with Clara and Jo and all
their young cousins."--_The Bulletin._
* * * * *
THE RUSH TO SALONIKA.
[Illustration: Wilhelm and Franz Joseph. "FERDIE, THE POST OF HONOUR IS
YOURS."
Ferdie. "YOU CAN HAVE IT."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Fair Hostess_ (_entertaining wounded soldier_). "And so
one Jack Johnson buried you, and the next dug you up again and landed
you on the top of a barn! Now, what were your feelings?"
_Tommy._ "If you'll believe me, Ma'am, I was never more surprised in all
my life."]
* * * * *
INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS.
It has come as an immense relief to all true lovers of peace to learn
that such German soldiers as have been taking part in the war on the
Italian frontier have previously resigned their positions in the
KAISER'S army and been re-enrolled under the Austrian flag, so that no
untoward incident may disturb the profound peace which exists between
Germany and Italy. All the same there are elements of possible danger in
the situation which should be carefully watched. We look forward to a
time when our gallant ally may be confidently expected to advance on to
German soil, and we think it would be well for the authorities at Rome
(unless the invading host is provided with Montenegrin uniforms) to
serve out beforehand a large number of tourist coupons, available over a
wide choice of different routes. This might avert the terrible
consequences that are likely to follow a breach of relations.
Of course it must be remembered that Italy has now signed on not to
enter into a separate peace, and no doubt the only true economy is to
make the present one go as far as possible, as it cannot be replaced.
Still, since the sinking of the _Ancona_ by a German crew (partially
whitewashed so as to look like Austrians), Italy's neutrality has become
of an extremely virulent order.
We need hardly say that President WILSON even on his honeymoon is
closely watching the situation and thinking over it very deeply, very
slowly and very calmly, hoping to discover hints for his own future
guidance. It is said that he feels himself being drawn more and more
into the vortex, and his attitude of passive belligerency may be
followed by one of aggressive non-interference. It is common knowledge
in Washington that if he can get no satisfaction on the _Ancona_
question he will either despatch a new note (which will be _almost_ an
ultimatum) or simply pass on and declare war on Albania.
Portugal (as the ancient ally of Great Britain), who has already been
involved in a scrap with German troops in Angola, is naturally deeply
exercised as to what are her present relations with Turkey. The matter
is an urgent one and might become crucial in the event of a Turkish
Zeppelin drifting in a fog over Portuguese territory.
The King of GREECE is said to have found a happy solution of his
difficulty about a Bulgarian invasion of Greece. The incoming forces are
to be provided with return tickets to Salonika and back, available only
for forty-five days, and containing a stipulation that the traveller may
not break his journey at any other point.
* * * * *
"FOR THIS RELIEF--"
(_Suggested by the poster commending a recent Revue as "the last word in
syncopation."_)
The days of our mourning are ended,
The lean years of famine are fled,
When, sick for a spoonful of aught that was tuneful,
We've sorrowed as over the dead
For Music, forlorn and unfriended,
Gone down into glimmerless gloom,
While rude "rag-time" revels were dancing a devils'
Tattoo on her tomb.
A new dawn of promise doth redden
The rim of our Stygian night;
Our bondage is breaking--O blessed awaking
To melody merry and bright!
My heart, long o'erloaded and leaden,
Now bounds to the blue like a bird;
The shadow has shifted; with paean uplifted
I hail that "last word"!
* * * * *
CHARIVARIA.
Leap Year Anticipations.--A fine spring is expected in France, Flanders
and Poland. If the weather is propitious a total eclipse will be visible
in Berlin and Vienna.
***
Asked by some American journalists where the Peace Conference would be
held, Dr. SVEN HEDIN is reported to have said, "Peace will be dictated
from Berlin." And so say all of us!
***
Relations between Potsdam and Sofia are said to be badly strained. Three
days after the Kaiser had issued his celebrated manifesto, "To my noble
and heroic Serbian people," FERDINAND in the Sobranje was publicly
denouncing the Serbians as obstinate, treacherous, and tyrannical. The
KAISER considers this conduct extremely tactless, and threatens, if it
continues, to spell Bulgarian with a "V."
***
All hitherto-published explanations of the threatened German attack on
the Suez Canal are hereby cancelled. The fact is that the KAISER'S fleet
is increasing so rapidly that it has outgrown its present accommodation.
***
During the visit of Mr. FORD'S Ark to Bergen the following notice was
posted up at the Grand Hotel:--"All members of the Henry Ford Peace
Expedition are requested to call for their laundry at the Grand Hotel,
Room 408, Tuesday evening after supper. This notice supersedes the
original plan to have the laundry delivered to each individual hotel."
It may also explain why the members of the expedition have since washed
their dirty linen in public.
***
Some of the pilgrims on the _Oscar II._ were much annoyed at the
prohibition of card-playing on board. "What is the use," they asked, "of
crying _Pax_ when there are none?"
***
Some strait-laced Conservatives, who were a little shocked to see the
announcement of "Mr. Balfour on the Film," were comforted on its being
pointed out to them that Mr. CHAPLIN set him the example.
***
A ten-year-old girl's essay on "Patriotism":--"Patriotism is composed of
patriots, and they are people who live in Ireland and want Mr. Redmond
or other people to be King of Ireland. They are very brave, some of
them, and are so called after St. Patrick, who is Ireland's private
saint. The patriots who are brave make splendid soldiers. The patriots
who are not brave go to America."
***
Lord KITCHENER, who has a choice collection of old china, has lately
added to it several fine specimens of Crown Derby.
***
So many Parliamentarians have recently requested the Treasury to stop
sending them their L400 a year that a slight change in the designation
of the others is suggested--P.M. (Paid Member) instead of M.P.
***
A soldier's letter: "DEAR SIS,--You ask what I want--well, for Heaven's
sake send us a barber! You never saw such heads in your life as we've
got.
Lovingly, Bob.
P.S.--Failing a barber send us a box of hair-pins."
***
Is it true that while the Cliff Hotel at Gorleston was blazing furiously
during the gale last week a zealous official went up to the unfortunate
proprietor and threatened him with pains and penalties for allowing a
naked light to be seen far out at sea?
***
We understand that since the entrance-fee was suspended and the
subscription reduced, the Automobile Club has increased its membership
so largely that the Committee are thinking of re-naming it the Omnibus.
***
A conversation in the trenches:--
_Private Dougal McTavish_ (_late of the Alberta Police_): "Mon, in ma
section 'tis aften fafty degrees below zero. But, bless ye, 'tis dry
cold, ye'll never feel it."
_L.C. Owen Tyrrell_ (_late of Carpentaria Telegraphs_): "Down-under it
is usually 125 in the shade. But thin it is dry heat, you are niver
sinsible of ut."
_Corpl. James Brown_ (_late Tram Conductor, Vancouver_): "In B.C. we
stake upon 312 to 314 rainy days in the year. But it is dry rain, it
don't wet you."
***
In an article on the employment of women as dentists, the writer says:
"A new charm has been added to the delights of dentistry." Optimist!
***
He also says that one lady "extracted 38 teeth from nine patients, and
showed little signs of fatigue from it, either." But what about the
nine?
***
We observe that Mr. PEARCE, the Commonwealth Minister of Defence, fell
while in his garden and broke two of his ribs, but are glad to learn
that his condition is not serious. The conjunction of a rib, a garden,
and a fall has in at least one previous case resulted in permanent
injury.
***
A martyr to insomnia threatens, unless the Government stops the
whistling for taxis, to let Mr. MCKENNA whistle for his.
***
Our men in the trenches are beginning to welcome the German gas-attacks.
They say there is nothing like them for keeping down the rats.
***
Suggested motto for the controversy between the headmasters as to the
publication of Public School Rolls of Honour--"Quot dominies tot
santentiae."
* * * * *
THE NEW LEAF.
[Illustration: Fancy portrait of Prussian poet preparing to write a Hymn
of Love--in case it should be wanted.]
* * * * *
Note.
The "Wingfield House" mentioned in the article "Cases," which appeared
in _Punch_ a fortnight ago, was a purely imaginary name and had nothing
to do with the Wingfield House, near Trowbridge, where a hospital has
for some time been established.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Juvenile War Lord._. "'Ere! Someone else 'ave a go--I'm
sick o' war. It ain't in reason ter expect a bloke ter be the Kaiser
three days running!"]
* * * * *
THE VINDICATION OF JIMMY.
In one corner of the school play-ground stood a small boy in deep
dejection, with his hands in his pockets, his lower lip trembling
slightly, whilst he strove to kick a hole in the ground with his right
toe. It was Jimmy--Jimmy in his hour of trial.
He wasn't going to blub, he wasn't going to do anything.
Suddenly he stopped kicking at the ground, as he remembered that his
mother had told him he must be careful of his boots now that the War was
on.
He took out of his pocket a match-box, the temporary home of a large
beetle--a buzzer, Jimmy called it--which had hitherto refused to eat
either grass or bran or Indian corn. His gaze then wandered to a hole in
his stockings, which he had mended by applying ink to the exposed part
of his skin.
From the opposite side of the playground came the tumultuous noise of
the calm deliberations of Form II.
Jimmy knew perfectly well that they were discussing him, and that in
time one of their number would be sent to inform him of the verdict and
sentence.
He expected that he would have to fight them all, one by one, and he
wondered how many blows he would be able to stand without returning
them, for to hit back was out of the question under the unfortunate
circumstances.
Jimmy wished they would get it over, for he was quite willing to undergo
any form of punishment they might decide upon, if only they would let
him know quickly. He hoped they wouldn't make the Biffer fight him, not
that he was afraid of the Biffer, but because it would be so hard to
keep himself from hitting back, and that he had decided not to do. You
see the Biffer was a new boy, and, for another thing, he wore a leather
strap round his wrist. On his very first day at school the Biffer had
volunteered the information that he once gave a boy such a biff on the
nose that he had sprained his wrist, and that ever since he had worn a
wrist strap, lest it should happen again. It was Jimmy who had
nick-named him the Biffer, and from that time the Biffer had sought
Jimmy's blood.
But Jimmy was not easy to quarrel with.
He was the acknowledged champion of Form II., and you had to commit
three offences before Jimmy would seriously consider you. At the first
offence you got a note with the one word "Beware!" written upon it; at
the second, another note with the word "Blood" written underneath a
skull and crossbones; and at the third you received a note with the word
"Deth," and underneath was the drawing of a coffin.
The Biffer had so far arrived at the second note.
Jimmy did hope they wouldn't choose the Biffer, for he could hear even
now the Biffer's yell when he had made that awful mistake which had
brought about the present deplorable situation.
Jimmy couldn't think how he had come to say what he did say; he could
have bitten off his tongue when he realised it; but it was too late--he
had said it.
He tried to think how it had all occurred, and the scene flashed again
before his mind. There was the master with his pointer resting upon the
Dogger Bank on the map of Europe.
"Who can tell me the name of this sea?" he had said, and Jimmy had
snapped his fingers and waved his arm about in his anxiety to catch the
master's eye. You see, it was so seldom, so very seldom, that Jimmy felt
he knew the right answer to any question, and the new experience was
intoxicating. The master too seemed to find it unusual, and he at once
turned to Jimmy and said, "Well, what is this sea called, then?" Jimmy,
full of the pride of knowledge, burst out with "The North Sea, Sir." Oh!
if he had only stopped at that; but in his desire to show how much he
knew he added without thinking the fatal words, "or German Ocean!"
In the shout of derision which had followed, Jimmy realised what he had
said, and felt himself falling, falling, falling....
Jimmy became aware that the noise on the opposite side of the playground
was ceasing, and soon, from the corner of his eye, he saw Jones minimus
detach himself from the crowd. "Half a mo'," he heard Jones minimus say;
"I want to get a knotted handkerchief," and he saw him hurry into the
school. As he emerged he flourished the knotted handkerchief, but when
delivering the verdict to Jimmy that he would have to run the gauntlet
three times to the tune of the knotted handkerchiefs of Form II., he
tried to smuggle into Jimmy's hands an exercise-book which he said Jimmy
could stuff up his back; it would stick there if Jimmy buttoned his
jacket, he said, and it would take the sting off a bit. Jimmy had to
bite his lip as he refused the exercise-book, and then with head erect
and lips no longer trembling he went forth to face the ordeal.
Form II. had arranged themselves in two ranks, facing one another, and
the knots in the handkerchiefs were firm and hard. "You have got to bunk
through and back again and then down again," said Jones minimus in a
hoarse whisper.
The Biffer was at the head of one rank, and had got his handkerchief
slung over his shoulder in happy readiness for the first blow.
"Are you ready? Go!" shouted Form II. in one voice.
At the word "Go!" Jimmy pulled his hands out of his pockets--he was glad
his mother wasn't there to see him--and with head still up and eyes to
the front he walked slowly up the double lines and as slowly down them.
The Biffer got in a good one, he got in two before Jimmy was out of
reach, and he then changed the handkerchief to his left hand in
readiness for the return journey. Arrived at the end of the lines, Jimmy
turned on his heel and began to walk even more slowly than at first.
But there was no sting in the blows this time; all the zest seemed to
have gone out of the affair; and, but for the whack the Biffer gave,
Jimmy never felt anything. The third time down was a farce, for, after
Jimmy had deliberately stopped opposite the Biffer in order to let him
have as many as his injured soul required, no one touched him. In fact
they were all shaking hands with Jimmy, who was now his smiling self
once more and ready to play with the best of them, when suddenly the
Biffer took it into his head to make a joke.
"Perhaps he _is_ a German," said the Biffer, and waited for the general
laugh to follow his sally.
But the laugh didn't come; instead there was a dead silence.
Who was the Biffer--a new boy at that--to call anyone a German?
Instinctively a ring was formed and the Biffer found himself in the
middle of it.
Jimmy took off his coat and gave it to Jones minimus, who danced for
sheer delight.
Jimmy had only one regret: the butcher-boy was not there to see him--the
butcher-boy who had expended so much time over him, had taught him the
upper cut, the under cut, every cut that the heart of a butcher-boy
delights in. The Biffer was very busy biffing the air with a rapid
circular motion of the arms, for Jimmy's fixed scowl and set of jaw
troubled him.
Oh, why wasn't the butcher-boy there to see that tremendous smack on the
nose the Biffer got? He would have felt amply rewarded.
No one had ever seen Jimmy fight like this, and Jones minimus shouted in
his joy, for the Biffer was outbiffed in every direction.
In vain did he cry "_Pax_," for Jimmy had not half relieved his
feelings, and there was no end to the dodges the butcher-boy had taught
him, each of which, he had said, meant sudden death.
"He's had enough, Jimmy," whispered Jones minimus. "I'm satisfied," he
added as the Biffer, who was lying on the ground, refused to get up and
have any more.
As the boys entered the class-room the next day there was the map of
Europe still hanging up in front of the class, and the very first
question that was asked by the master was, "Well, Jimmy, what is this
sea?"
"The North Sea or British Ocean, Sir!" said Jimmy, a reply that was
greeted with a rousing cheer by the whole of Form II.
* * * * *
A SECOND HELPING!
Our Bagdad force fell in a rut
At Ctesiphon; Turks made things hum.
We found that we had got to Kut,
Whilst Russians found a way to Kum!
Our men know not the word "defeat,"
They'll make it clear on Tigris plain
That, Russian-like, when they retreat,
'Tis but to cut and come again.
* * * * *
A TURKISH TROPHY.
(_A belated letter from Gallipoli._)
My dear ----, By this week's post I trust you will receive the long
promised trophy, to wit one Turkish headpiece procured by my own
personal exertions. As the story of its capture, though somewhat out of
the ordinary, has been passed over in stony silence both by the official
_communiques_ and "Our Special Correspondent" I shall endeavour to give
you a brief impression of the difficulties overcome as truthfully as my
sense of imagination will allow me. First of all I must draw a map:--
[Illustration:
A B British trench, with traverses.
C D Turkish trench, without.
E F Ditch
G British barricade.
H Turkish barricade.]
This should give you an idea of the English and Turkish lines at a point
where they are about eighty yards apart. Without going into details you
will see the English trench is of the superior pattern, as it has
traverses. I had to work in that technical term to show I know all about
it; I know another, "the berm," but I am not too sure about what that
is, and also I don't suppose I could draw a "berm" if I saw one. Anyway,
I know it's quite a good term connected with trenches, as I heard a
G.O.C. fairly strafe a subaltern, the other day, because he hadn't got a
"berm." Well, to refer to the map, you will observe that there is an old
ditch running between the two lines of trenches, and both sides have
advanced a certain distance along this ditch and have built barricades
about ten yards apart. Every day it is part of my job to take a
constitutional along our trenches, and after discussing the European
situation and the latest Budget with the various battalion commanders to
ask them whether there is any particularly obnoxious part of the
opposition line they would like me to salute with my battery. Usually
they say, "No, there's nothing in particular, but let's have a shoot all
the same; for example, there's a dog that barks abominably every night
opposite L 57. Couldn't you abolish him?" Incidentally we no longer give
our trenches names, such as Piccadilly, Rotten Row, but mere letters and
numbers; the reason being that one of the staff was picked up in a
fainting condition, having strolled down Park Lane and then found
himself, to his horror, in Peckham High Street. The shock--his own home
being in Baling Broadway--had proved too much for his constitution.
However, to refer back to the map once more, our barricade across the
ditch is a most convenient spot for observing artillery fire and as such
is frequently used by me. Unfortunately my view was always hasty and
badly interrupted by the attentions of a Turkish sniper behind their
barricade. This man's name was Ibrahim, and he was a Constantinople
cab-driver, married, with two children, both boys. You may be surprised
that we know so much about the enemy, but we live in such close
proximity that opposite the Lancashire Fusiliers a Turk named Mahomet,
who lives at No. 3, Golden Horn Terrace, told the reporter of _The
Worpington Headlight_ that for three years he had been suffering from
pains in the back--but that's another story. Incidentally Mahomet at
present inhabits a sniper's post surrounded by a perfect thicket of
barbed-wire, and I had a bright scheme for its removal. I got hold of a
trench catapult, an ingenious contrivance of elastic that hurls a bomb
some hundreds of yards, and placed in it a harpoon attached to a long
coil of rope. The idea was that on release of the catapult the harpoon
would be hurled in the air, the rope would neatly pay out, and then, as
soon as the harpoon had grappled Mahomet, all we would have to do would
be to haul on the rope and over would come the whole bag of tricks.
Unfortunately something went wrong, and the rope, instead of neatly
uncoiling, flailed round the trench like a young anaconda, and, catching
a harmless spectator by the leg, hurled him twenty feet in the air.
Immediately the opposition lines resounded like a rifle-booth at a
country fair. However our spectator descended unpunctured, and the only
damage done was to our vanity, when Mahomet threw over a message
attached to a stone to ask whether we would repeat the performance as he
and a pal had a bet on as to who was the best shot and wanted a human
aeroplane to judge.
But we have got a long way from Ibrahim. Ibrahim possessed the headpiece
I am sending you. I could not think of a method for obtaining it, as his
vigilance was deadly. However a bright thought struck me, and I
assiduously saved up my rum ration for a month. Then one bitter cold
night I tossed over the accumulation in a bottle wrapped up in an old
sock. Presently there resounded in the still air a pleasant bubbling
sound indicative of liquid being poured out of a glass receptacle, then
a deep sigh, followed by a profound silence. Inch by inch I crawled over
our barricade and slowly wormed my way along the ditch. At last I
reached the Turkish barricade and cautiously slid my hand over the top
until my fingers encountered Ibrahim's toque. Then I gave a gentle tug.
Horror! he had the flap down under his chin. Unmanned for a moment I
recovered, and I slowly slid my fingers down his hirsute neck and with a
gentle titillation slid the flap clear. Ibrahim merely stirred in his
sleep and resumed his slumbers. Triumphantly hugging the trophy to my
bosom I crawled back to our barricade.
The saddest part of the tale is yet to come. I had promised to procure
you a trophy unstained by association with human slaughter, but when the
day dawned there lay poor Ibrahim stiff and stark behind his barricade,
killed by a cold in his head.
* * * * *
[Illustration: PANTOMIME ANNOUNCEMENTS.]
* * * * *
"Message Boy Wanted for Butchery."
_Brechin Advertiser._
A lot of people are after that boy.
* * * * *
"Taxi driver who laid down Fare at Royal Hotel at 2.45 p.m. on
Christmas Day, would oblige by returning Gent's Umbrella to
Hotel."
_Aberdeen Journal._
We gather that it had been a wet morning.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Cyril_ (_eating his bread-and-jam--with not too much
jam_). "This is prepostrous--this war economy."]
* * * * *
HUNTIN' WEATHER.
There's a dog-fox down in Lannigan's spinney
(And Lannigan's wife has hens to mourn);
The hunters stamp in their stalls an' whinny,
Soft with leisure an' fat with corn.
The colts are pasturin', bold an' lusty,
Sleek they are with their coats aglow,
Ripe to break, but the bits grow rusty
And the saddles sit in a dusty row.
Old O'Dwyer was here a-Monday
With a few grey gran'fathers out for a field
(Like the ghostly hunt of a dead an'-done day),
They--an' some lassies that giggled an' squealed.
The houn's they rioted like the devil
(They ran a hare an' they killed a goose);
I cursed Caubeen, but he looked me level:
"The boys are away--so what's the use?"
The mists lie clingin' on bog an' heather,
Haws hang red on the silver thorn;
It's huntin' weather, ay, huntin' weather,
But trumpets an' bugles have beat the horn!
* * * * *
A Debt of Honour.
Mr. Punch ventures to plead on behalf of the nine hundred men of the
Royal Naval Division who were taken prisoners by the enemy in the
retirement from Antwerp. Less fortunate than those of the same Division
who were interned in Holland (for want of official information most
people imagine that all the missing were so interned), they lack the
necessities of life. Parcels of food are sent to them, fortnightly to
each man, as well as clothing and tobacco; and it is known that they
receive all that is sent. Mr. Punch begs his readers to help the fund
from which these simple comforts are provided, and to address their
gifts to Lady GWENDOLEN GUINNESS, at 11, St. James's Square, S.W.
* * * * *
From a report of Mr. LLOYD GEORGE'S speech:--
"The works of Ireland have been extremely helpful, and I am glad
to acknowledge that I have been extremely helpful."
_Manchester Guardian._
On this occasion the MINISTER OF MUNITIONS appears to have allowed
himself the privilege of "thinking aloud."
* * * * *
"_The Daily Mail_ will not be published to-morrow, and for that
reason we seize the occasion to-day of bidding our readers a
merry Christmas,"--_Daily Mail of December 24th._
And a very good reason too.
* * * * *
Seasonable.
"The Canadian Government has granted to Canadian troops oversea
and in training at home a Christmas allowance of one chilling."
_Provincial Paper._
* * * * *
"He much regretted that it was not possible to-day to
communicate the results of the Derby Report in any detail, or,
indeed, at all. The task had been one of stupendous bagnitude."
_Evening Standard._
Yes, but how big was the bag?
* * * * *
Two descriptions of the new Chief of the Imperial General Staff:--
"Of Scottish descent, and familiarly known to the Army as
'Jock,' he is one of the most remarkable soldiers of the time."
_Glasgow Evening Times._
"That he is known throughout the whole Army simply as 'Wullie'
is a sure token that the private soldier has taken him to his
heart."
_Glasgow Evening Citizen._
Won't the Germans be puzzled?
* * * * *
"Eddie Harvey (Fleetwood) and Ike Whitehouse (Barrow) went
through 15 rounds contest for L5 a side and a nurse, and Harvey
won on points."--_The People._
The stakes, we presume, were divided.
* * * * *
"A kid was born with monkey face and human skull at Saidapet on
the 13th instant."
_New India._
This is headed "A Curious Phenomenon." But is it? Some of our
neighbours' kids are just like that.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE NEW EDGE.]
* * * * *
LONDON AS USUAL.
("_Kelly's London Directory_" for 1916, a contemporary remarks, is very
much the same as the volume for 1915.)
Where, where are the signs of the raider
Who swam to our ken like a kite,
Who swore he had played the invader
And knocked us to bits in the night;
Who pounded these parts into jelly
From Mile End, he said, to the Mall?
For the man who should know (J. J. KELLY)
Can't spot 'em at all.
You may turn up the street that is Vigo
Or alight on the Lane that is Mark;
You may let your incredulous eye go
O'er each Crescent and Corner and Park;
You may hunt through the humblest of alleys
Or the giddiest haunts of the town,
And Kelly's, who're "safe" as the Palace,
Have got 'em all down.
So I sing to those equals in wonder,
Of BRADSHAW (the expert on trains),
Who have torn the Hun's fiction asunder--
That our City's a mass of remains;
Here's our proof that we're plainly not undone,
That, although every night she lies hid,
Our stolid undaunted old London
Still stands where she did.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Porter_ (_dug-out_). "Shall I put yer 'ockey-knockers in
the van, Sir?"]
* * * * *
STUDIES IN FRUSTRATION.
I.