Chapter 2

Sir Yutely Taryan, K.C.V.O., speaking for his own Government Department, said that in his opinion a great deal of nonsense was talked about art, both its educational value and its power of giving pleasure. Speaking for himself, even in normal times, he would rather see a picture gallery given up to living clerks than to dead canvases. If he had his way there should be no pictures but those that stimulated people to greater activity. He had, for example, never seen any beauty in WHISTLER'S portrait of his (WHISTLER'S) mother until it was reproduced as a War-savings poster, with words scrawled across it. A few of the placards which American business men pinned up in their offices, such as, "To Hell with Yesterday," were better than all the Old Masters.

Continuing, Sir Yutely said that he could not permit himself to accept the view that any privation was being suffered by our brave lads from overseas. From conversations that he had had with some of them he found that the only pictures that they knew anything of or cared about were those in the cinemas. From his own recollections of his only visit to the National Gallery some years ago he should say that these noble fellows were better outside that place than in. One painting that he saw there was so scandalous in its nudity that he blushed even now when he thought of it. Better far that our defenders from the Dominions should continue to walk up and down the Strand.

On the motion of the Chairman, who said that he thought the case for the Government and the continued closing of the galleries and museums had been adequately made out, the Commission adjourned _sine die_, and Lord HARCOURT, Sir SIDNEY LEE and Mr. WITT were left sharpening their pens.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE ARMY ORACLE.

I cannot conceal from myself that I am a great acquisition to the Army of Occupation. My knowledge of the language being far and away superior to that of any other British officer for miles around, I am looked upon by the natives as a sort of high military authority in whom they may have the privilege and the pleasure of confiding all their troubles. According to the intensity of their various desires I am addressed _crescendo_ as "Herr Ober-Leutenant," or "Herr Hauptmann," or "Herr Majeur," or "Herr Commandant." They always approach me in a becomingly servile attitude--cap or hat in hand--and await with obvious tension my weighty pronouncements. They hide round corners and wait behind doors or down narrow passages until I come past, and then they spring out on me.

"What about the coal we are burning? The electric light we are using? Who is going to pay?" "So-and-so's charlady, who was out obliging another lady, had a breadknife pinched while she was away from home. Was it one of my _Soldaten_, perhaps? Did I know anything about it, and if so, would I punish the evildoer and restore the implement?"

The village expert in calf-delivery wants to know whether, in the case of the happy event taking place after 9 P.M. (which it usually does), I would give him permission to leave his home after closing hours, so that he might assist at the function.

The local yokels of this spot and its neighbouring villages want to resume their bi-weekly choral society meetings but cannot reach the rendezvous until 8.45 P.M., which leaves them just a quarter-of-an-hour to have their practice and to take cover for the night. "Would the high-well-born be so fearfully gracious as to allow them to continue until 10 P.M.?"

To be suddenly taken unawares and to have such conundrums volleyed at you in a strange tongue is apt to be rather exhausting. However I have a reputation to live up to and must be as frightful as possible. I find the best thing to do is to refer them to the nearest notice-board, which reads:--

HALT!

VORSICHT!

ALLES VERBOTEN!!!

* * * * *

THE MUD LARKS.

The Visiting Brigadier cracked a walnut and glanced towards the General. "I wonder if you remember a French interpreter by the name of de Blavincourt, Sir? He was with you once, I believe."

The A.P.M. across the way paused in the act of tapping a cigarette on his case. "Little gunner man, wore red plush bags and a blue velvet hat? Yes, up in the salient in '17."

The General puffed three perfect smoke rings towards the chandelier (an accomplishment he had acquired thirty-five years previously at the "Shop" and was still proud of) and smiled. "De Blavincourt? why, yes, I remember him. He knew more about cooking than all the _chefs_ in Europe and taught my poisoner to make rations taste like food. Of course I remember him. Why?"

"Because he came my way just at the end of the War and had rather a curious adventure," said the Brigadier, stirring his coffee. "I thought you might be interested."

"I am," the General replied. "What happened?"

The Brigadier cleared his throat. "We were in front of Tournai at the time, scrapping our way from house to house through Faubourg de Lille, the city's western suburb. My Brigade Major stumped into H.Q. one afternoon looking pretty grim. 'We'd best move out of here, Sir,' said he, 'before we're wafted.'

"'What's the matter now?' I asked.

"'That unutterable little fool de Blavincourt has walked into Germany with a large scale-map in his hand, showing every H.Q. mess and billet.' He tapped a despatch from the forward battalion.

"De Blavincourt, it appeared, had been at work all the morning evacuating unfortunate civilians from the cellars. At noon or thereabouts he sidled along the wall, past a Lewis gun detachment that was holding the street. The corporal shouted a warning, but de Blavincourt sidled on, saying that he was only going to the first house round the corner to rescue some old women he heard were in it. And that was the last of him. Seeing that the Bosch opened fire from the said house seven minutes later his fate was obvious.

"It was also obvious what our fate would be if we continued in those marked billets, so we moved out, bag and baggage, into a sunken road near by and spent the night there in the rain and muck, and were most uncomfortable. What puzzled us rather was that the Hun did not shell our old billets that night--that is, nothing out of the ordinary. 'But that's only his cunning,' we consoled ourselves; 'he knows we know he knows, and he's trying to lure us back. Ah, no, old friend.'

"So we camped miserably on in that sunken sewer. He dropped a lucky one through a barn the same afternoon and lobbed a few wides over during the next night, but again nothing out of the ordinary.

"We were more and more puzzled. Then, just about breakfast-time on the second morning, in walks de Blavincourt himself, green as to the complexion and wounded in the arm, but otherwise intact. I leapt upon him, snarling, 'Where's that map?'

"'I got 'im, Sir,' he gulped, 'safe' (gulp).

"This was his story. He had remembered the corporal shouting something, but so intent on his work was he that he hardly noticed the warning until suddenly, to his horror, he perceived a party of Huns creeping out of a passage _behind him_. He was cut off! They had not seen him for the moment, so quick as thought he slipped into the nearest house, turned into a front room--a sort of parlour place--and crouched there, wondering what to do.

"He was not left wondering long, for the Bosches followed him into that very house. There was a small table in one corner covered with a large cloth. Under this de Blavincourt dived, and not a second too soon, for the Bosches--seven of them--followed him into that very room and, setting up their machine gun at the window, commenced to pop off down the street. Charming state of affairs for little de Blavincourt--alone and unarmed in a room full of bristling Huns with that fatal map in his possession.

"Sweating all over he eased the map out of his pocket and slowly and silently commenced to eat it.

"You know what those things are like. A yard square of tough paper backed by indestructible calico--one might as well try to devour a child's rag book.

"Anyhow that's what de Blavincourt did. He ate it, and it took him forty hours to do the trick. For forty hours day and night he squatted under that table, with the Huns sitting upon and around it, and gnawed away at that square yard of calico.

"Just before the dawn of the third day he gulped the last corner down and peeped out under the tablecloth. The Bosch on guard was oiling the lock of the machine-gun. Two more he could hear in the kitchen clattering pots about. The remaining four were asleep, grotesquely sprawled over sofas and chairs.

"De Blavincourt determined to chance it. He could not stop under the table for ever, and even at the worst that map, that precious map, was out of harm's way. He crept stealthily from his hiding-place, dealt the kneeling Bosch a terrific kick in the small of the back, dived headlong out of the window and galloped down the street towards our Lewis gunners, squealing, '_ Friend! Ros'bif! Not'arf!'_--which, in spite of his three years of interpreting, was all the English he could muster at the moment. The Huns emptied their automatics after him, but only one bullet found the target, and that an outer.

"'I weesh it vos t'rough my 'eart,' he told me later, tears rolling down his cheeks. 'Vot more use to me my life, hein? My stomach she is for ever ruin.'"

The General laughed. "Stout fellow for a' that."

"I grant you," said the Brigadier, "but a fellow should be stout along accepted lines. 'To Lieutenant Felix Marcel, Comte de Blavincourt, the Military Cross for eating his map.' No, Sir, it can't be done."

The Horse-master, who was helping himself to old tawny, nodded vigorously and muttered "No, by Jove, it can't."

"You speak with feeling, Coper," remarked the General.

"I do, Sir. I sat up the best part of three nights last March trying to write for official consumption the story of a fellow who seemed to me to qualify for the 'Stout' class. It was a wash-out, though; too absurd."

"Well, give the port a fair wind and let's have the absurdity now," said the General.

The Horse-master bowed to the command.

"I was with the Fifth Army last year when the wave swept us. We were fairly swamped for the moment and all nohow. One evening, retreating on my own line, I came upon some little village--can't remember the name just now, but you know the sort of thing--typical Somme hamlet, a smear of brick-dust with a big notice-board on top, saying, 'THIS IS LE SARS,' or 'POZIÈRES,' or whatever its name was. Anyway, in this village I found a Divisional H.Q., four Brigade H.Q.'s, and oddities of all sorts sitting one on top of t'other waiting for the next thing to happen. The next thing was a single wounded lancer who happened in about four in the morning with the glad tidings that Bosch tanks were advancing on us". Questioned further he admitted that he had only actually seen one and that in the dark. But it was the great-grandfather of all tanks, according to the chap; it stood twenty foot high; it 'roared and rumbled' in its career, and it careered by steam.

"It wasn't any manner of use assuring him that there wasn't a steam tank on anybody's front. He said there was, and we couldn't move him.

"'I saw steam coming from it in clouds,' be mumbled, 'and sparks and smoke.' Then he crumpled slowly on the floor, fast asleep.

"The Divisional General was properly mystified.

"'If only I had a single field-gun or even some gelignite,' he groaned; then turning to me, 'I must get the strength of this; it may be some new frightfulness the Hun is springing. You're an old horse-soldier, I believe? Well, jump on your gee and go scout the thing, will you?'

"I scratched together a rag and bobtail patrol of grooms and pushed off just before daybreak. Our people had the edge of the village manned with every rifle they could collect. A subaltern lying ear to earth hailed me as I passed. 'It's coming,' he called.

"A quarter of a mile further on I could hear the roaring and rumbling myself without lying on the road.

"Light was breaking fast, but there were wisps and shreds of fog blowing about which made observation exceedingly difficult. Still, observation I was out to get, so, spreading my bobbery pack, I worked closer and closer. Suddenly one of my patrol shrilled, 'There y'are, Sir!' and I saw a monstrous shape loom for a moment through a thinning of mist, and rock onwards into obscurity again.

"'It's an armoured car. I seed wheels under it,' gasped one groom. 'More like a blasted Dreadnought,' grunted another. 'Cheer-o, chaps, the 'Un fleet 'as come out.' But nobody laughed or felt like laughing; this mysterious monster, thundering westward wrapped in its barrage of fog, was getting on our nerves."

The Horse-master paused and carefully removed the long ash from his cigar.

"Then the mists rolled up and revealed what I at first took to be a walking R.E. dump, but secondly discovered to be a common ordinary domestic British steam-roller with 'LINCOLN URBAN DISTRICT COUNCIL' in dirty white lettering upon its fuel box, a mountain of duck-boards stacked on the cab roof, railway sleepers, riveting stakes and odds and ends of lumber tied on all over it. As I rode up an elderly head, grimy and perspiring, was thrust between a couple of duck-boards and nodded pleasantly to me. ''Ello,' it said, 'seen anythin' o' the lads?'

"I was too dumbfounded to say anything excepting that the lads were in the next village waiting for him.

"'Ah'm right glad o' that,' said he; 'been feeling a bit lonesome-like these last two days;' adding, in case I might not appreciate the situation, 'These yer Germans 'ave been after me, you know, Sir.'

"I replied that my only wonder was that they had not captured him long since.

"'Very nearly did once or twice,' he admitted, and wagged his elderly head; 'but t'owd lass is a great one to travel when she's sweet, an' ah've 'ad a lot o' luck pickin' oop these bits o' firin' along the road;' and he jammed a bunch of riveting stakes into the furnace.

"'Oh, ah reckon we're just keepin' ahead of 'em. Well, best be gettin' along now, s'pose. Good day to you, Sir.'

"He wrenched at a lever and 't'owd lass' rumbled off down the highway towards Albert, rearguard of His Britannic Majesty's Armies in the Field."

PATLANDER.

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* * * * *

* * * * *

MISTRESS AND MAID.

_(New Style)._

My wife burst into the room, her face aglow with the joy of success.

"Oh, George, isn't it simply splendid?"

"Absolutely top-hole, I am sure, my dear; but supposing you let me know what it's all about?"

"How silly I am," she murmured as she sank into a chair. "I quite forgot I had not seen you all day, and it happened just after you left for the office. You had not been gone five minutes when Jane came up and gave notice. I determined to be firm and told her she could go when she liked, and then I marched straight off to Mrs. Smith's Registry Office. I found the dear old thing just as amiable and ready to please as ever, but she told me I must not mind if the methods of her establishment were a bit changed. In the old days, you know, we used to sit in a small room and interview the servants she wanted places for. But now the position is reversed, and the servants interview you and ask you questions. I was told to go in and see a nice-looking girl. She was not a bit shy and, after asking me to take a chair, began to put questions--our income? your profession? what other servants we kept? wages? margarine or butter in the kitchen? etc.

"She seemed quite satisfied with everything until we came to the matter of her afternoons out. I said that two a week and every other Sunday was my usual custom, and that I hoped this would prove agreeable. She snapped me up at once and said she must have at least four, as well as the whole of every other Sunday.

"My heart sank, because I did not see how we could possibly give her all that, so I just said how sorry I was and got up to go--in fact I was half-way to the door--when she called me back and said, 'I like your face, and perhaps for the present two afternoons and the Sunday will be enough. If you will wait a minute I will have another talk to Mrs. Smith about you,' and off she went.

"It seemed ages before anyone came, and then old Mrs. Smith walked in, saying, 'I'm glad to tell you, Madam, that you have been approved of.'

"Isn't it too glorious, George? You and I have been approved of. We have got a situation."

* * * * *

"OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN--"

When, moved a few brief seasons back, To brave the battle's brunt, On Britain's shores I turned my pack And "somewhere" found a Front;

Said I; as in my tympanum I heard the cannon's roar, "'Twill be a wonder if I come Impervious through the War."

Yet bomb, shell, bullet and grenade Made no great hit with me; And now I'm--well, I've just been paid My war gratuity.

But at the sight of civil life, If "life" it can be called, With all its agonising strife, I simply stand appalled.

And "Oh!" in utter fear I cry, "How horrors never cease; 'Twill be a miracle if I Ever survive the Peace."

* * * * *

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

_Monday, March 24th_.--The Archbishop of CANTERBURY sought from the Government a clear statement of policy regarding the repatriation of enemy aliens, and incidentally paid a high tribute to the British Press, which, we were glad to hear, contains "nobody who desires to fabricate baseless statements."

He was supported by Lord LAMBOURNE, who as a member of the Advisory Committee knows all about aliens, and declared that "Repatriate them all" was a foolish cry, if it meant that we were expected to present Germany with the British wives and children of the dear deported.

Lord JERSEY, for the Government, desired to treat even Germans justly, but could not see why anyone should wish in these times to increase our alien population. His speech did not please a batch of noble sentimentalists, drawn from both sides, but seemed to give great satisfaction to Lord LINCOLNSHIRE, who quoted with approval the brave words on the subject uttered by the LORD CHANCELLOR at the General Election, before his style had been mollified by the Woolsack.

In the Commons Mr. BONAR LAW regretfully explained that it was impossible for the Government to do anything to reduce the high prices now being charged for furniture in the East End. His own experience as a Cabinet-maker has been entirely confined to the West End.

Nor could the Government take any direct steps to ameliorate the overcrowding on the Underground railways. But, as it was stated that large quantities of leather are still being purchased on Government account, there are hopes that more accommodation for strap-hangers may shortly be available.

_Tuesday, March 25th_.--The Lords spent three hours of almost unrelieved gloom in discussing the financial condition of the country. On that old problem of the economists, "What is a pound?" Lord D'ABERNON delivered an erudite discourse, from which I gathered that it was at present about ten shillings and still shrinking. The only comfort is that at that rate the National Debt has already been halved.

Lord MILNER made a fairly cheerful speech in the circumstances; but I hope that potential strikers will not take too literally his observation that the one thing most needed at the present moment was "economy of national energy."

Mr. CHURCHILL came down heavily upon Sir DONALD MACLEAN'S attempt to delay the adoption of compulsion in the new Military Service Bill. When rather more than half of Europe was seething with unrest, which might require military intervention, it would be fatal to let our army disappear; yet the right hon. gentleman seemed to think that everyone ought to be disarmed except LENIN and TROTSKY.

For the first time since 1914 private Members had an evening to themselves. They utilised it in endeavouring to obtain from the Government a direct statement of its future fiscal policy. On Imperial Preference Mr. BONAR LAW was quite explicit; the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER was already considering how to incorporate it in the next Budget. As to the Government's fiscal policy generally it had already been outlined in the PRIME MINISTER'S letter to himself, and would be definitely declared as soon as the time was ripe--a cautious statement which, as was perhaps intended, left Free Traders and Protectionists still guessing.

_Wednesday, March 26th_.--After Lord DESBOROUGH'S vivacious attack upon the Cippenham Motor Depot, it is doubtful whether anyone could have enabled the Government to wriggle out of the demand for an independent inquiry. At any rate Lord INVERFORTH was insufficiently agile. The innumerable type-written sheets which he read out laboriously may have contained a complete reply to Lord DESBOROUGH'S main allegations, even if they included no refutation of the stones of the bricks imported by the hundred thousand into a district containing some of the best brick-earth in the country, or of the four pounds a week paid for the services of a railway pensioner aged ninety-two. But as hardly anyone could hear the recital it created little impression.

The Ministry are evidently unwilling to stake their political lives on Mr. CHURCHILL'S approval of the project, for Mr. BONAR LAW announced that the Government Whips would not be put on for the forthcoming division on the subject.

Mr. G. ROBERTS furnished an interesting analysis of the nine shillings now charged for a bottle of whisky. Three-and-sixpence represents the cost of the spirit plus pre-war taxation. The other five-and-sixpence is made up of interest to manufacturers, insurance and rent; increased price of bottles and corks; margins of profit to blenders and bottlers, merchants and other traders; and increase of taxation. By some oversight nothing appears to have been charged for the extra water, but no doubt this will be remedied in the next Budget.

_Thursday, March 27th._--To those who remember the debates on the Parliament Act, _circa_ 1911, it was amusing to hear Lords CREWE and BUCKMASTER complaining of the unceremonious manner in which the Lords' amendments to the Rents Bill had been treated in "another place;" and being entreated not to pick a quarrel with the Commons by those ancient champions of the Upper Chamber, Lord CURZON and the LORD CHANCELLOR.

The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER announced the names of the Royal Commissioners who are to consider how the income-tax can be improved. Several Members complained that there is only one woman among them, and that, pending their report (expected some time next year), the glaring anomaly by which husband and wife are regarded for taxable purposes as a single entity is apparently to be continued. The idea of presenting Mr. CHAMBERLAIN with a box for _The Purse Strings,_ in the hope that it would convert him, has unfortunately been frustrated by the withdrawal of the play.