Chapter 1

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 156.

MARCH 12, 1919.

CHARIVARIA.

The spread of influenza is said to be greatly assisted by "germ-carriers." We can't think why germs should be carried. Let 'em walk.

***

According to _The Sunday Express_ a young American named Frisco states that he invented the Jazz. There was also a murder confession in the Press last week.

***

"Whitehall," says a Society organ, "has succumbed to the Jazz, the Fox-trot and the Bunny-hug." It still shows a decided preference, however, for the Barnacle-cling.

***

A man charged at the Guildhall with being drunk said he was suffering from an attack of influenza and had taken some whisky. Yes, but where from?

***

We understand that the heading, "Whisky for Influenza," which appeared in a daily paper the other day, misled a great number of sufferers, who at once wrote to say that they were prepared to make the exchange.

***

It is good to know that a perfectly noiseless motor car has been produced. Even that nasty grating sound experienced by pedestrians when being run over by a car is said to have been eliminated.

***

Shrove Tuesday passed almost unheeded. Even the pancake thrown to the boys at Westminster School in the presence of the KING and QUEEN appeared to fall flat.

***

We are glad to learn that the little Kensington boy who was tossed by a huge pancake on Shrove Tuesday is stated to be going on nicely.

***

Five hundred and twenty-seven pounds of American bacon have been declared unfit for food by the Marylebone magistrate. Why this invidious distinction?

***

"A man," says Mr. Justice KUNKEL of Pennsylvania, "has full rights in his own home against everyone but his wife." It is surmised that his Honour never kept a cook.

***

We are informed that the dispute between the Ministry of Labour and the Irish Clerical Workers' Union has been settled by the latter name being changed to the "Irish Clerical Employees' Union."

***

Mr. LLOYD GEORGE is said to favour the creation of a new Order for deserving Welshmen. The revival of the Order of the Golden Fleece is suggested.

***

A writer in a ladies' journal refers to the present fashion of "satin-walnut hair." We have felt for some time that mahogany had had its day.

***

Charged at Hove with bigamy a soldier stated that he remembered nothing about his second marriage and pleaded that he was absent-minded. A very good plan is to tie a knot in your boot-lace every time you get married.

***

A sorry blow has been dealt at those who maintain we are not a commercial race. "You gave me prussic acid in mistake for quinine this morning," a man told a chemist the other day. "Is that so?" said the chemist; "then you owe me another twopence."

***

For the benefit of those about to emigrate we have pleasure in furnishing the exclusive information that very shortly there will be big openings in America for corkscrew-straighteners.

***

We are now able to state that the wedding of Princess PATRICIA and Commander RAMSAY passed off without a hymeneal ode from the POET LAUREATE.

***

We understand that a lady operator who was impudent to the District Supervisor on the telephone the other day would have been severely reprimanded but for her plea that she mistook him for a subscriber.

***

It is reported that the paper shortage is soon to be remedied. In these days of expensive boots this should be good news to people who travel to and from the City by Tube on foot.

***

We hear privately that one of our leading dailies has fixed April 14th as the date on which its office "correspondent" will first hear the note of the cuckoo in Epping Forest.

***

Several suspicious cases of sickness are reported among the aborigines of New South Wales. It is not yet known whether they are due to influenza or to the native custom of partaking heavily of snakepie on the eve of Lent.

***

Nottingham will hold its six hundred and fifty-eighth annual Goose Fair this year, and a local paper has made a distinct hit by stating that it is "the oldest gathering of its kind except the House of Commons."

***

President EBERT, according to the _Frankfort Gazette_, is to have a Chief Master of Ceremonies. One of his first duties, in which he will have the advice of prominent musicians, will be to fix an authorised style of eating _Sauerkraut_ which shall be impressive yet devoid of ostentation.

* * * * *

_First Taxi_. "WHATEVER 'AVE YER GOT THEM TOGS ON FOR, ALBERT?"

_Second ditto_. "ALWAYS DRESS FOR SUPPER DOWN TOWN NOWADAYS, OLD BEAN."]

* * * * *

"A woman's sphere was her own home, that she should earn her own living was inimical to domestic happiness; it was almost contra bonus morus, which is a very serious thing indeed."--_Scots Paper_.

It certainly would be for Smith mi. if he said it in class.

* * * * *

"The speaker of the evening was Dr. Charles ----, a full-blooded Sioux Indian, and the only full-blooded literary man among the North American Indians."--_American Paper_.

We could spare some of our full-blooded, literary men if there is a shortage in America.

* * * * *

MONUMENTS OF THE WAR.

Let those who fear lest Memory should mislay Our triumphs gathered all across the map; Lest other topics--like the weather, say, Or jazzing--should supplant the recent scrap; Or lest a future race whose careless lot Lies in a League of Nations, lapped amid Millennial balm, be unaware of what (Largely for their sakes) we endured and did;--

Let such invite our architects to plan Great monumental works in steel and stone, Certain to catch the eye of any man And make our victories generally known; Let a new bridge at Charing Cross be built, In Regent Street a deathless quadrant set, And on them be inscribed in dazzling gilt:-- "IN CASE BY INADVERTENCE WE FORGET."

Or, eloquent in ruin unrestored, Leave the Cloth Hall to be the pilgrim's quest, Baring her ravaged beauty to record The Culture of the Bosch when at his best; At Albert, even where it bit the ground, Low let the Image lie and tell its fate, Poignant memento, like our own renowned ALBERT Memorial (close to Prince's Gate).

For me, the tablets of my heart, I ween, Sufficiently recall these fateful years; I need no monument for keeping green All that I suffered in the Volunteers; Therefore I urge the Army Council, at Its earliest leisure, please--next week would do-- To raze the hutments opposite my flat, That still impinge on my riparian view.

O.S.

* * * * *

A PAIR OF MILITARY GLOVES.

It was in Italy, on my way home from Egypt to be demobilised, that I decided to buy a pair of warm gloves from Ordnance.

After being directed by helpful other ranks to the A.S.C. Depot, the Camp Commandant's Office and the Y.M.C.A., I found myself, at the end of a morning's strenuous walking, confronted by notices on a closed door stating that this was the Officers' Payment Issue Department; that this was the Officers' Entrance to the Officers' Payment Issue Department; that smoking was strictly prohibited; and that the office would re-open at 14.00.

I went away to lunch.

At 14.01 I knocked out my pipe conscientiously and entered. From 14.01 to 14.50 I watched a Captain of the R.A.F. smoking cigarettes and choosing a pair of socks, and studied notices to the effect that this was the Officers' Payment Issue Department; that only Officers were permitted to enter the Officers' Payment Issue Department; that smoking was strictly prohibited; and that the office would close at 16.00.

At last I heard the B.A.F. man explain that, by James, he had an appointment at three, and would return, old bean--er, Corporal--in the morning to see about those dashed socks. The Corporal behind the counter blew away a pile of cigarette ash and regarded me distrustfully.

"Only one pair of gloves left, Sir," he said. "Gloves, woollen, knitted, pairs one, one-and-tenpence."

"Thank you very much," I said. "They'll do nicely. I'll take them now."

But of course I didn't. At 15.00 was in another building, watching another Corporal make out an indent in quadruplicate for gloves, woollen, knitted, officers, for the use of, pairs one. At 15.05 I was in another building, getting the indent stamped and countersigned. At 15.12 I was in another building, exchanging it for a buff form in duplicate. At 15.20 I re-entered the Issue Department and went through the motions of taking up the gloves.

"Excuse me, Sir," said the Corporal, skilfully sliding them away; "you must first produce your Field Advance Book as a proof of identity."

"I'm afraid I haven't a proper Field Advance Book," I explained. "You see, in Egypt, where I come from--that is, I was attached, you know, to the--well, in short, I haven't a proper Field Advance Book, as I said before. But I have here an A.B. 64 issued in lieu thereof--they do that in Egypt, you know--and I have my identity discs, my demobilisation papers, my cheque-book--oh, and heaps of other things which would prove to you that I am really me. Besides, my name is sewn inside the back of my tunic. _And_ my shirt," I added hopefully.

"If you haven't a Field Advance Book, Sir," said the Corporal coldly, "your only course is to obtain a certificate of identity from the Camp Commandant."

"But, look here, Corporal," I protested, "it would take me a quarter-of-an-hour to get to the Commandant's office and another quarter to get back. I'm sure I couldn't get a certificate of identity under an hour and a-half. It is now twenty-five past three. You close at four. To-morrow morning at five ac emma I entrain for Cherbourg.... You see how impossible it all is, Corporal."

"Sorry, Sir," said the Corporal. "I'm not allowed to issue the gloves without your Field Advance Book or a certificate of identity."

"But what am I to do?" I asked weakly. "Think, Corporal, how cold it will be across Italy and France without gloves. I've been in the East for over four years, and I might get pneumonia and die, you know."

"I should try the Camp Commandant, Sir," he said. "It may not take so long as you think."

* * * * *

At 15.41 I was outside the Camp Commandant's office with my A.B.64, identity discs, demobilisation papers and cheque-book ready to hand, and my tunic loosened at the neck.

At 15.42 I entered the office with some diffidence.

At 15.43 I was outside again, dazed and a little frightened, with a certificate of identity in my hand. It was the fastest piece of work I have ever known in the Army. And I might have been Mr. GEORGE ROBEY in disguise for all they knew in the office--or cared.

* * * * *

"Sorry, Sir," said the Corporal in the Officers' Payment Issue Department at 15.59, "the gloves were sold to another officer while you were away."

ONE OF THE _PUNCH_ BRIGADE.

* * * * *

ON HALF RATIONS.

"Two officers will be received as paying guests. Comfortable home. Treated as _one_ of the family."--_Daily Paper_.

The italics emphasize our own feeling with regard to this niggardly arrangement.

* * * * *

"V.A.D.--Required for Shell-shock Hospital under B.R.C.S., Piano, Billiard Table and Gramophone. Will any hospital closing down and having same for sale, kindly communicate with Secretary."--_Times_.

We do not know what sort of work the V.A.D. is expected to do under the piano and billiard table, but we presume that her consent would be required, and that she would not be sold, so to speak, over her own head.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

ON THE RHINE.

I.

"Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, I am a bold and infamous Hun, I am, I am."

We are obliged to repeat this continually to ourselves in order to present the stern and forbidding air which is supposed to mark our dealings with the inhabitants. For, look you, we have usurped the place of the Royal Jocks on the "right flank of the British Army," and are on outpost duty, with our right resting on the bank of the Rhine, while in front the notice-boards, "Limit of Cologne Bridgehead," stare at us.

No longer are we the pleasant, easy-going, pay-through-the-nose people that we were. No longer does our daily routine include the smile for Mademoiselle, the chipping of Madame, or the half-penny for the little ones. No, we steel ourselves steadily to the grim task entrusted to us, and struggle to offer a perfect picture of stolid indifference to anybody's welfare but our own. "Fee-fi-fo-fum."

What does Thomas think of it all? Well, to tell the truth, I haven't caught him thinking very much about it. Gloating seems foreign to his nature somehow, and I don't think he will ever make a really good Hun. He is rather like a child who for four years has been crying incessantly for the moon. Having got it, he says, "Well, I'm glad I've got it; now let's get on with something else," and takes not the slightest interest in the silly old moon he has acquired with so much trouble.

There are two things to which he cannot quite accustom himself: not being allowed to fraternize with the inhabitants and the realisation that his laboriously acquired knowledge of the French language is no longer of any avail. He will never quite get over the former of these two disabilities, but he is coping courageously with the latter. For instance, in place of the "No bon" of yesterday, "Nix goot" now explains that "Your saucepan I borrowed has a hole in it; please, I didn't do it." For the rest, change of environment makes very little difference to him. Given a cooker, a water-cart and the necessary rations, a British oasis will appear and be prepared to flourish in any old desert you like.

No, I am wrong. There is another difficulty which as yet he has not been able entirely to overcome. I cannot describe the consternation which came over the Company when I informed them that there was no longer any need to scrounge; in fact, I forbade it. At first they thought it was just a Company Commander's humour and paid it the usual compliments of the parade; but when they found I was serious they were simply appalled. It was as if I had taken the very spice out of their existence. Not to be able to go out and "win" a handful of fuel for the evening's fug and for the brewing of those unwholesome messes in the tin canteen? Bolshevism itself could not have propounded a more revolutionary principle. Heartbroken some of the old soldiers came to me afterwards. "What are we to do, Sir?" they said. "We only go on guard four hours in sixteen; we must do something the rest of the time." Sternly I bade them think of scrounging as a thing of the past--a thing of glorious memory only to be spoken of round the fires at home. If they wanted anything in the meantime to add to their material comfort they were to come to me for it.

For let me tell you, all you demobilised wallahs who know only those countries where the necessities of life were matters of private enterprise--let me tell you that in this village, if I say that I require coal, _coal is here_, and with it the Bürgermeister inquiring politely if my needs are satisfied. We must have beds? The spare beds of the village are forthcoming. If we want baths for the men, our Mr. Carfax, who speaks a language which the inhabitants pretend to understand, goes round to the householders and explains the necessity. Should there be any difficulty he explains further that it would be _much_ better, don't they think, and _much_ more convenient if the men visited the houses, rather than that baths should be carried to some central place? It is invariably found to be preferable for all concerned.

Bathing has now become a pleasure to all, except, perhaps, to Nijinsky, our Pole from Commercial Road, East. On being presented (for the first time, I gather) to a first-class bathroom with geyser complete, he evinced signs of great uneasiness. In fact he seemed to think that this was making a parade of a purely private matter. The Sergeant-Major, being called in, exhorted him to "get in and give the thing a trial," at which Nijinsky flung up his hands in characteristic fashion and said, "Vell, it's somethink fur nothink, anyhow," and they left him to it. The rest of the story is concerned with his turning off the water in the geyser and leaving the gas on, of a loud explosion and the figure of Nijinsky, fat and frightened, fleeing through the main street dressed in an Army towel. Subsequently I heard him expressing forcibly a fixed determination never, _never_ to be persuaded against his will again.

Oh, yes, it is a wonderful thing to be a Hun. Every day we go about telling one another what Huns we are and how we love our hunnishness. And yet, you know, as a matter of fact, I don't believe all our efforts amount to anything really; they wouldn't deceive a child--and in fact they don't. For ever since we came here one can't help noticing that the little tiny natives have acquired an extraordinarily good imitation of Tommy's salute, and, though Subalterns and Sergeant-Majors may go about gnashing their teeth and wearing expressions of frightful ferocity, still the youngsters grin fearlessly as they raise their tiny fingers. They know it isn't real. They know a Hun when they see him all right; what child doesn't?

And I caught our Mr. Carfax picking one of them up from the gutter the other day and soothing its tears with the baby-talk of all nations. I told him he was fraternising abominably and was not being a true Hun.

"Well," he said, "you can't leave a child yelling in a puddle, can you?"

And, damn it, you can't, so what's the use of trying to be hunnish?

L.

* * * * *

* * * * *

RAPID PROMOTION.

From a Parliamentary report:--

"Colonel Seely mentioned ... Major-General Seely said ... General Seely, replying ..."--_Daily Chronicle_.

* * * * *

"The canonical proceedings for the beatification of Pope Pius IX. and Christopher Columbus have been definitely abandoned. As the result of a very close investigation, it was decided that these two candidates lacked certain necessary qualifications; Pius IX. had signed death sentences and Christopher Columbus was held responsible for massacres."--_Sunday Paper_.

This news, we understand, has caused a painful impression at Amerongen.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE GREAT COLD-CURE DEBATE.

In view of the prevalence of colds and the varying counsels given to their patients by our leading so-called healers, a mass meeting of doctors and public men was recently convened, with the hope that some useful results might follow.

None did.

The Chairman in his opening remarks said that colds were at once the commonest complaints to which human beings were subject and the least understood by the faculty. It was scandalous that so little serious attention should be paid to them by physicians. A scientific investigator should be as proud of discovering a preventive for colds as a scheme of wireless telegraphy. But it was not so. Researchers were applauded for compounding new and more deadly explosives and poisonous gas, while the whole mystery of colds remained unplumbed. The situation was scandalous. (Loud sneezes.)

Letters were read, among others, from Lord NORTHCLIFFE, Mr. SNOWDEN and Sir JOHN SIMON, all saying that from recent experience they could affirm that an equable cold temperature was conducive to the avoidance of catarrh. In short, an excellent means of escaping cold was to be out in the cold.

A representative of the Board of Trade said that all that was necessary to avoid colds was to keep fit and not approach infection. Having offered this very practical advice the speaker gathered up his papers and left the room.

Sir Septicus Jermyn, the famous physician, urged that the best preventive for colds was to keep warm. One should wear plenty of thick clothing and especially cover the neck and throat. A respirator was an excellent thing. He even went so far as to recommend earflaps to his patients, with beneficial results. A night-cap was also a great help.

Sir Eufus Hardy, the famous physician, protested that colds were for the most part negligible. People took them much too seriously. The best treatment was to be Spartan--wear the lightest clothes, abjure mufflers, and, whenever you could find a draught, sit in it.

Mr. BERNARD SHAW said that all this cold-catching was nonsense. He personally had never had a cold in his life. And why? Because he lived healthily; he wore natural wool, retained his beard, ate no meat and drank no wine. Lunatics who wore fancy tweeds, shaved, devoured their fellow-creatures and imbibed poisonous acids were bound to catch cold. Resuming his Jaeger halo, Mr. SHAW then left.

Sir Bluffon Gay, the famous physician, stated that in his experience colds were necessary evils which often served useful ends in clearing the system. For that reason he was against any treatment that served to stop them. The "instantaneous cold cures" which were advertised so freely filled him with suspicion. Colds should be unfettered.

Mr. Le Hay Fevre, K.C., representing the Ancient Order of Haberdashers, said that he was in entire agreement with the last speaker. Colds should be allowed to take their course. Nothing was so bad as to check them.

Sir Romeo Path, the famous physician, asserted that colds were far more serious things than people thought. As a matter of fact there was no such thing as a cold pure and simple; colds were invariably manifestations of other and deeper trouble. His own specific was a long period of complete rest and careful but not meagre dieting, followed by change of air, if necessary travel to the South of France. (Loud coughs and cheers.)

Mr. Bolus, K.C., representing the Chemists and Druggists' Union, said that it was felt very strongly that the seriousness of colds should not be minimised, but that foreign travel was an error. No malady was so much helped by the timely and constant employment of remedies at home. He trusted that the remarks of the last speaker would speedily be contradicted by a competent authority.

Sir Consul Tait, the famous physician, held that alcohol was the greatest provocative of colds; aspirin was their greatest enemy.

Sir Tablloyd George, the famous physician, observed that a glass of hot whisky and lemon-juice on going to bed was a sovran remedy. Aspirin was to be avoided, but quinine had its uses.