Chapter 1

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 156.

January 22, 1919.

CHARIVARIA.

The huge waterspout observed off Guernsey last week "travelling towards France" is believed to have been making for the Peace Conference.

***

The Captain of a Wilson liner on being torpedoed ate his pocket-book to prevent his sailing instructions from falling into the hands of the Germans. The report that the ex-Kaiser has whiled away the time at Amerongen by chewing up three copies of the German White Book and one of Prince LICHNOWSKY'S Memoirs is probably a variant of this story.

***

"Our chief hope of control of influenza," writes Sir ARTHUR NEWSHOLME of the Local Government Board, "lies in further investigation." Persons who insist upon having influenza between now and Easter will do so at their own risk.

***

Writing to a provincial paper a correspondent asks when Mr. PHILIP SNOWDEN was born. Other people are content to ask "Why?"

***

"We think it prudent to speak with moderation on all subjects," says _The Morning Post_. There now!

***

We mentioned last week the startling rumour that a Civil Servant had been seen running, and a satisfactory explanation has now been issued. It appears that the gentleman in question was going off duty.

***

According to the _Malin_, the Bavarian PREMIER told a newspaper man that the Bavarian revolution cost exactly eighteen shillings. This seems to lend colour to the rumour that Dr. EISNER picked this revolution up second-hand in Russia.

***

"Springfield and Napsbury Lunatic Asylums," says a news item, "are to be known in future as mental hospitals." Government institutions which have hitherto borne that title will in the future be known simply as "Departments."

***

A German sailor, who is described as "twenty-seven, 6 ft. 9½ in.," has escaped from Dorchester camp. A reward has been offered for information leading to the recapture of any part of him.

***

The servant question is admittedly acute, but whether sufficiently so to justify the attitude of a contemporary, which deals with the subject under the sinister title, "Maxims for Mistresses," is open to doubt.

***

The case of the North Country workman who voluntarily abandoned his unemployment grant in order to take a job is attributed to a morbid craze for notoriety.

***

As a result of the engineers' strike and the failure of the heating apparatus, we understand that Government officials in Whitehall have spent several sleepless days.

***

We gather that the mine reported to have been washed up at Bognor turns out to be an obsolete 1914 pork pie--but fortunately the pin had been removed.

***

_The Daily Express_ tells us that a crowd of new monkeys have arrived at the Zoo. We are pleased to note this, because several of the monkeys there were certainly the worse for wear.

***

A contemporary anticipates a boom in very light motor cars at a hundred and thirty pounds each. They are said to be just the thing to carry in the tool-box in case of a breakdown.

***

A sensation has been caused in Scotland, says _The National News_, by the passing of a number of counterfeit Treasury notes. As we go to press we learn that most of the victims are going on as well as can be expected, though recovery is naturally slow.

***

Mr. WILLIAM LE QUEUX is said to be very much annoyed at the wicked way in which Russia has been appropriated by other writers.

***

Much regret is felt at the news that the recent outbreak of Jazz music is not to be dealt with at the Peace Conference.

***

Is gallantry dying out? We ask because _Tit Bits_ has an article entitled, "Women Burglars." We may be old-fashioned, but surely it should be "Lady Burglars."

***

On the last day for investing in National War Bonds, a patriotic subaltern was heard at Cox's asking if his overdraft could be transferred to these securities.

***

"The market price of radium to-day," says a Continental journal, "is £345,000 an ounce." In order to avert waste and deterioration, purchasers are advised to store the stuff in barrels in a large dry cellar.

***

Mr. Punch does not wish to boast unduly of his unique qualities, but up to the time of going to press he had made no offer for Drury Lane Theatre.

***

In view of the recent newspaper articles on spiritualism, several prominent persons are about to announce that they have decided not to grant any interviews after death.

***

Liverpool Licensing Justices have urged the Liquor Control Board to take steps to prevent the drinking of methylated spirits by women. It is suggested that distillers should be compelled to give their whisky a distinctive flavour.

***

"A box of cigarettes was all that burglars took from the Theatre Royal, Aldershot," says a news item. There is something magnificently arrogant about that "all."

***

"Saying 'Thank you' to a customer," says a news item, "a Wallasey butcher fell unconscious." In our neighbourhood it used to be, until quite lately, the customer who fell unconscious.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE CAREER.

My dear James,--Ere long the military machine will be able to spare one of its cogs--myself. Yes, James, soon you will once again see me in my silk hat, cerise fancy vest and brown boots (among other garments). I think I shall have brass buttons on all my coats for the sheer joy of seeing them without let or hindrance grow green from lack of polish. I shall once again train my hair in graceful curling strands under (respectively) the south-east and south-west corners of my ears. If I meet my Brigadier in the street I shall notice him or not just according to my whim of the moment. But, James, I shall have to work for my living. There's the rub.

I must say the Army tries to help one. Somebody or other has issued a whole schedule of civil occupations to assist me in my choice of a career. It offers an embarrassment of riches.

Take the "A's." I was momentarily attracted by _Air Balloon Maker_. It sounds a joyous job. Think of the delight of sending forth these delicate nothings inflated and perfect. My only fear is that I should destroy the fruits of my own labour. One touch of my rough hands is always inimical to an air-balloon. And if you know of any more depressing sight than a collapsed air-balloon, all moist and incapable of resurrection, for heaven's sake keep it to yourself.

_Allowance Man_ (_brewing_) sounds hopeful. My only question is: Does an _Allowance Man_ (_brewing_) fix his own allowance (brewed)?

Am I slightly knock-kneed or am I not? Do write me frankly on the subject. You have seen me divested of trousers. Because if I am then I don't think I will try my luck as an _Artist's Model_.

_Athlete_.--Ha! I feel my biceps and find it not so soft. It's a wearing life, though. Is there such a thing as an _Athlete_ (_indoor_)? You know my speed and agility at Ludo.

I flatter myself I have musical taste, but _Back and Belly Maker_ (_piano_) I consider vulgar--almost indecent, in fact. Such anatomical intimacy with the piano would destroy for me the bewitchment of the Moonlight Sonata.

There is something very alluring about _Bank Note Printer_. I see the chance of continuing the Army trick of making a living without working for it. Surely a _Bank Note Printer_ is allowed his little perquisites. Why should he print millions of bank notes for other people and none for himself? I can imagine an ill-used _Bank Note Printer_ very easily becoming a Bolshevist.

_Barb Maker_ (_wire_) I do not like. I have too many unpleasant memories of the Somme. It is a hideous trade and ought to be abolished altogether.

If I am wrong correct me, but isn't the prime function of a _Bargee_ to swear incessantly? Not my forte, James. What you thought you heard that day in 1911, when I missed a six-inch putt, was only "Yam," which is a Thibetan expression meaning "How dreadfully unfortunate!" I knew a Major once--but that's for another article.

Beneath the heading "Bat" I find _Bat Maker_ (_brick_) and _Bat Maker_ (_tennis_). Under which king, James? Anyway, I hate a man who talks about a "tennis bat." He would probably call football shorts "knickers."

I am favourably inclined towards _Bathing Machine Attendant_ (why not _Bathing Mechanic_, for short?) What a grand affair to ride old Dobbin into the seething waves and pretend he was a sea-serpent! Confidentially, there are lots of people to whose bathing-machines I would give an extra push when I had unlimbered their vehicles and turned Dobbin's nose again towards the cliffs of Albion.

My pleasure in stirring things with a ladle nearly decided me to train as a _Bean Boiler_; but I fear the monotony. Nothing but an endless succession of beans, with never a carrot to make a splash of colour nor an onion to scent the steamy air. And, James, I have a friend who is known to all and sundry as "The Old Bean." Every bean I was called upon to boil would remind me of him, whom I would not boil for worlds.

Here is something extraordinarily attractive--_Black Pudding Maker_. You know black puddings. I am told that when you stew them (do not eat them cold, I implore you!) they give off ambrosial perfumes, and that after tasting one you would never again touch _pèche Melba_. But as a _Black Pudding Maker_ should I become nauseated?

Almost next door comes _Blood Collector_. Wait while I question the Mess Cook ... James, I cannot become a Black Pudding maker. The Mess Cook tells me that _Blood Collector_ and _Black Pudding Maker_ are probably allied trades. How dreadful!

How about _Bobber?_ Does that mean that I should have to shear my wife's silken tresses? Cousin Phyllis has appeared with a tomboy's shock of hair, and she says it "has only been bobbed." By a "bobber"? I would like to wring his neck. But if _Bobber_ has something to do with those jolly little things that dance about on cotton machines (aren't they called "bobbins"?) I will consider it.

I have not even finished the "B's." A glance ahead and other enchanting vistas are revealed. For instance, _Desiccated Soup Maker, Filbert Grower_ and (simply) _Retired_.

This Schedule is splendid in its way, but why can't they be honest? They must know that lots of us in our great national army are in ordinary life just rogues and vagabonds. The Schedule ignores such honest tradesmen. How is a respectable tramp to know when his group is called for demobilisation if he is not even given a group? What a nation of prigs and pretenders we are!

Yours ever, WILLIAM.

* * * * *

_AUTRES TEMPS, AUTRES MOEURS._

My baker gives me chunks of bread-- He used to throw them at my head; His manners, I rejoice to state, Have very much improved of late.

My butcher was extremely gruff, And sold me--oh, such horrid stuff; But I observe, since Peace began, Some traces of a better man.

I find my grocer hard to please In little things like jam or cheese; Now that the men are coming back His scowl, I think, is not so black.

My coalman is a haughty prince No tears could move or facts convince; But tyrants topple everywhere And he too wears a humbler air.

My milkman was a man of wrath As he came down the garden path; But, since the Hohenzollern fell, I find him almost affable.

And what is this? My greengrocer (A most determined character) Approaches--'13 style--to say, "What can I do for you to-day?"

* * * * *

"GERMAN CONSTITUTION.

Bill Disposing of Old Prussia."

_Manchester Guardian_.

Tit for tat; Prussia had already disposed of Old BILL.

* * * * *

"Mr. Cecil Harmswirth has vacated his iffict in the 'gardtn suburb' at 0. Downing Strtet."--_Daily Mail_.

To the evident consternation of Carmelite Street.

* * * * *

"'I am an A.B.C. girl,' said a passenger to _The Daily Mirror_, 'and have been eleven hours on my feet. If a get a seat in the Dulwich omnibus, I shall have another hour's standing before I get to my house.'"--_Daily Mirror_.

It seems to be high time that the omnibus company adopted the railway regulation, "Passengers are requested not to put their feet on the seats, etc."

* * * * *

* * * * *

F. E.

_A SIMPLE BIOGRAPHIC RECITATIVE BASED ON THE TONIC SOL-FA NOTE OF MI._

In ante-bellum days, ah me, when I a stuffman used to be, and proudly pouched a junior's fee, the _Law List_ styled me "Smith, F.E." Oh, how my place seemed small for me; not that I scorned the stuffman's fee, but stuffy courts did not agree with me. I dearly longed to be respiring often, fresh and free, the breath that was the life of me, so I became a live M.P. And, lest the spacious H. of C. should fail to hold sufficiently the lot of air respired by me, said I, "A soldier I will be--not one of Foot (that's Infantry), nor yet the reg'lar Cavalry, for barrack-life will not suit me, yet ride I must the high gee-gee;" so I decided straight to be an officer of Yeomanry. Drilling the troopers on the lea, the vent I craved for gave to me. Moreover, on my high gee-gee I learned what galloping could be.

Those back-bench days! Ah me, ah me, rude Members christened me "F.E." And even _Punch_, in kindly glee, once on a time, did picture me a prowling beast, beside the sea, all spotted o'er with signs, "F.E." That patronymic thus will be preserved for immortality. Newspapers, too, I chance to see sometimes apply that name to me.

Although I found smart repartee, shot forth from back seats, gave me glee, still I aspired to climb the tree, so with restrained temerity I donned a gown of silk, i.e. became a fully-fledged K.C. Then, after able A.J.B. was shunted by his great party and A.B.L. assumed the see, the latter's finger beckoned me to face direct the enemy. Anon the KING created me a member of his own P.C.

And then "the active life" for me, as Galloper to "Gen'ral" C., the loyal Ulsterman, to free from acts of Irish devilry. I thanked "whatever gods may be" for training with the Yeomanry!

Then came the war with Germany. Alas, again I sighed, "Ah me," and viewed the aspect gloomily, for I was then in apogee from all that mighty company that domineered the H. of C. A. ruled the roast, not A.J.B. But happy thought, that company of muddlers held one hope for me--my constant pal of Yeomanry, the smashing, dashing WINSTON C.; result--the Censorship for me. But not for long. The fresh and free and open air was calling me, so off I went across the sea to join the fighting soldiery. But soon there came a call for me, and back I came across the sea to be His Majesty's S.-G.

What next was I? Eureka! "_The_ Right Hon. _Sir_ F.E. SMITH, K.C."

Then came the storm. Sir EDWARD C. threw up his job and let in me, before I scarce could laugh, "He, he!" to be His Majesty's A.-G. That wasn't bad, I think, for me--a mild young man of forty-three!

Next came "the quiet life" for me. I held my tongue, but drew my fee and eke my A.-G. salary. Not e'en the great calamity that overtook A.'s Ministry and raised the wizard, D.L.G., to offices of high degree disturbed my sweet serenity. Nor did I jib when Sir R.B. FINLAY took on unblushingly the job that seemed cut out for me. Unwilling _he_ his weird to dree! _I_ whispered, "Mum's the word for me!"

Now, after waiting patiently, as fits a man of my degree, the Woolsack cries aloud for me, and soft and soothing it will be to my whole frame and dignity. And unto those who wish from me to know what will the ending be of my august biography, I answer in a minor key and classic language, "Wait and see!"

* * * * *

TRANSFORMATION.

My house, which I am trying to let, is a modest little affair in the country. It has a small meadow to the south and the road to the north. There are some evergreens about the lawn. The kitchen garden is large but most indifferently tended; indeed it is partly through dissatisfaction with a slovenly gardener that I decided to leave. The nearest town is a mile distant; the nearest station two miles and a half. We have no light laid on except in a large room in the garden, where acetylene gas has been installed.

I am telling you these facts as concisely as I told them to the agent. He took them down one by one and said, "Yes." Having no interest in anything but the truth, I was as plain with him as I could be.

"Yes," he said, "no gas anywhere but in garden-room."

"Yes, small paddock, about two acres, to the south."

"Yes, one mile from nearest town."

I was charmed with his easy receptivity and went away content.

A few days later I received the description of the house which the agent had prepared for his clients. Being still interested in nothing but the truth I was electrified.

"This very desirable residence," it began. No great harm in that.

"In heart of most beautiful county in England," it continued. Nothing very serious to quarrel with there; tastes must always differ; but it puts the place in a new light.

"Surrounded by pleasure-grounds." Here I was pulled up very short. My little lawn with its evergreens, my desolate cabbage-stalks, my tiny paddock--these to be so dignified! And where do the agents get their phrases? Is there a Thesaurus of the trade, profession, calling, industry or mystery? "Garden" is a good enough word for any man who lives in his house and is satisfied, but a man who wants a house can be lured to look at it only if it has pleasure-grounds: is that the position? Does an agent in his own home refer to the garden in that way? If his wife is named Maud does he sing, "Come into the pleasure-grounds"?

"Surrounded," too. I was so careful to say that the paddock and so forth were on one side and the road on the other.

I read on: "Situated in the old-world village of Blank." And I had been scrupulous in stating that we were a mile distant--situated in point of fact in a real village of our own, with church, post-office, ancient landau and all the usual appurtenances. And "old world"! What is "old world"? There must be some deadly fascination in the epithet, for no agent can refrain from using it; but what does it mean? Do American agents use it? It could have had no attraction for COLUMBUS. Such however is the failure of our modernity that it is supposed to be irresistible to-day. And "village!" The indignation of Blank on finding itself called an "old world village" will be something fierce.

None the less, although I was amused and a little irritated, I must confess to the dawnings of dubiety as to the perfect wisdom of leaving such a little paradise. If it had all this allurement was I being sensible to let others have it, and at a time when houses are so scarce and everything is so costly? Had I not perhaps been wrong in my estimate? Was not the sanguine agent the true judge?

I read on and realised that he was not. "One mile from Blank station." Such a statement is one not of critical appraisement but of fact or falsity. The accent in which he had said, "Yes, two and a-half miles from the station," was distinct in my ear.

I read further. "Lighted by gas;" and again I recalled that intelligent young fellow's bright "Yes, gas only in the garden-room."

What is one to do with these poets, these roseate optimists? And how delightful to be one of them and refuse to see any but desirable residences and gas where none is!

But it was the next trope that really shook me: "Well-stocked kitchen-garden." Here I ceased to be amused and became genuinely angry. The idea of calling that wilderness, that monument of neglect, "well-stocked." I was furious.

That was a week ago. Yesterday I paid a flying visit to the country to see how things were going and how many people had been to view the place; and my fury increased when, after again and for the fiftieth time pointing out to the gardener the lack of this and that vegetable, he was more than normally smiling and silent and dense and impenitent.

"You say here," he said at last, pulling the description of the house from his pocket and pointing to the words with a thumb as massive as it is dingy and as dingy as it is massive--"you say here 'well-stocked kitchen garden.'" _You!_

And now I understand better the phrases "agents for good" and "agents for evil."

* * * * *

* * * * *

From an official circular:--

"If the man in question happens to be a seaman, he will be included on A.F.Z.8 in the figures appearing in the square of intersection between the horizontal column opposite Industrial Group 2 and the vertical column for Dispersal Area Ib."

Yet there are people who still complain of a want of simplicity in the demobilisation regulations.

* * * * *

STAGES.

1914.

Mr. Smith (of Smith, Smith and Smith, Solicitors) sat in his office awaiting his confidential clerk. There was a rattle as of castanets outside the door. It was produced by the teeth of the confidential clerk, Mr. Adolphus Brown.

Mr. Smith was a martinet ...

1915.

Second-Lieutenant A. Brown was drilling his platoon. There was a rattle as of castanets. It was produced by the teeth of the platoon.

Adolphus was a martinet ...

1916.

The raiding, party hurled itself into the trench, headed by an officer of ferocious mien. There was a rattle as of castanets. It was produced by the teeth of the 180th Regiment of Landsturmers, awaiting destruction.

Adolphus fell upon them ...

1917.

Captain A. Brown, M.C., on leave, sat by his fireside. There was a rattle as of castanets. It was produced by the teeth of Adolphus, Junior.

Daddy had changed ...

1918.

Major A. Brown, D.S.O., M.C. (on permanent Home Service) was awaiting the next case. There was a rattle as of castanets. It was produced by the teeth of No. 45012 Private Smith (of Smith, Smith and Smith, Solicitors), called up in his group and late for parade.

Adolphus was famous for severity ...

1919.

Mr. (late Major) Adolphus Brown stood outside the door of Mr. (late No. 45012) Smith (of Smith, Smith and Smith, Solicitors). There was a rattle as of castanets ...

On which side of the door?

Both.

* * * * *

"Mr. Ian Macpherson, the new Chief Secretary for Ireland, posed specially yesterday for the _Sunday Pictorial_. He has a difficult task to face."--_Sunday Pictorial_.

Let us hope they will keep the portrait from him as long a possible.

* * * * *

"Three new telephone lines have been laid between London and Paris, and it is now possible to pick up a telephone in Downing Street and speak directly to Mr. Lloyd George at any time."--_Daily Chronicle_.

Immediately on the appearance of the above a long queue formed in Downing Street. Further telephones are to be installed to meet the rush. Some of the messages to the PREMIER, we understand, have been couched in very direct language.

* * * * *

A TRAGEDY OF OVER-EDUCATION.