Chapter 1

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 159.

DECEMBER 15, 1920.

CHARIVARIA.

Apparently the official decision not to issue Christmas excursion tickets for journeys of less than one hundred miles will inflict some inconvenience on the public. Several correspondents point out that they will be obliged to travel further than they had intended.

* * *

A newspaper correspondent describes CHARLIE CHAPLIN as being an amusing companion in private life. We always suspect a popular comedian of having his lighter moments.

* * *

"For twenty years," says a contemporary, "Superintendent Spencer of Scotland Yard has been watching the King." We hasten to add that during all that time HIS MAJESTY has never done anything to excite suspicion.

* * *

This year's Oxford and Cambridge Rugby match is said to have been the most exciting in the memory of the oldest undergraduate.

* * *

According to _The Daily Express_ twenty-five thousand Government officials are on strike in Austria. People are asking why we can't have this sort of thing in England.

* * *

Official kissing at Presidential functions is now discontinued in France and visitors must shake hands in future. These curtailed amenities are still an improvement on the Mexican custom of exchanging revolver shots.

* * *

"Hats," says _The Times_' fashion correspondent, "are worn well on the head." We have always regarded this as the best place to wear a hat on.

* * *

White spats are to be fashionable this winter, we read. In muddy weather, however, the colour-scheme may be varied. Only the other day we saw one gentleman wearing a beautiful pair of Dalmatians.

* * *

So many singers want to run before they can walk, says Mr. BEN DAVIES. With some singers whom we have heard, the ability to dodge as well as run would be an advantage.

* * *

Loud cheers were given, says a Bolshevist wireless message, when LENIN left Petrograd for Moscow. We can well believe it.

* * *

The Bolshevists now forbid men to walk through the streets with their hands in their pockets. Hands in other peoples' pockets every time is their motto.

* * *

A palpitating writer in a Sunday paper asks if the summit of English life is being made a true Olympus or a rooting-ground for the swine of EPICURUS. Judging by the present exorbitant price of a nice tender loin of pork, with crisp crackling, we should say the former.

* * *

A West Norwood man who described himself as a poet told the magistrate that he had twice been knocked down by a motor-cyclist. Our opinion is that he should have given up poetry when he was knocked down the first time.

* * *

Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL cannot be in two places at once, says _The Bristol Evening News_. All the same it is a dangerous thing to put him on his mettle like that.

* * *

Many people remain oblivious of the approach of Christmas until the appearance of mistletoe at Covent Garden. We don't wait for that; we go by the appearance in _The Daily Mail_ of a letter announcing the discovery of primroses in Thanet.

* * *

Measures to arrest the subsidence of the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral have again become imperative. The cause assigned is the depressing effect of the DEAN.

* * *

Of several hats caught up in a recent whirlwind it was observed that the one with the largest circulation was a "Sandringham."

* * *

A judge has decided that it is _ultra vires_ for a municipal body to run a public laundry. Apparently this is to remain a monopoly of the Royal Courts of Justice.

* * *

"The telephone," we are told, "was cradled in a dead man's ear." As far as we can ascertain the other end of ours is still there.

* * *

Seventy is suggested by the London County Council as the age limit at which coroners should retire. Complete justice cannot be done as long as there is anything in the shape of identity of interest between the coroner and the corpse.

* * *

"The natural position of the eyeballs in sleep," says a correspondent of _The Daily Mail_, "is turned upwards." The practice of leaving them standing in a tumbler of water all night should be particularly avoided by light sleepers.

* * *

We are asked to deny the rumour that the POET LAUREATE is entitled to draw the unemployment donation.

* * * * *

* * * * *

Theatre-Fashions in Malta.

"The House was full to its utmost capacity, the elegant night dresses and toilettes of the ladies presenting a fine aspect."--_Malta Paper_.

* * * * *

"Ye Olde ---- Hotel. Hot and Cold Sheets." _Daily Paper_.

Produced, we assume, by a water-bottle (h. and c.).

* * * * *

"THE DRY CHAMPAIGN IN SCOTLAND. POLLING IN EDINBURGH."

_Provincial Paper_.

Judging by the results, the Scots seem still to prefer the local vintage.

* * * * *

There was a young high-brow of Sutton Who lived on hot air and cold mutton; He knew not of GROCK, But he idolized BROCK (I don't mean the sculptor, but CLUTTON).

* * * * *

TO THE LION OF LUCERNE.

TINO, before you went away To crouch behind a sheltering Alp, How strong the limelight used to play About your bald, but kingly, scalp! And now, emerging from the shelf (A site where Kings are seldom happy), You must be pleased to find yourself Once more resilient on the _tapis_.

Over your past (Out, damnéd spots!) With lavish bucketfuls you paint The whitewash on to clean its blots And camouflage the Teuton taint; From WILLIAM and the family tie Protesting your unbridled freedom, "I know you not, old man," you cry, "Fall to your prayers--you badly need 'em!"

For Athens, to your great content, Calls you to be her guiding star (Only a paltry one per cent Wanted to leave you where you are); And you've agreed to take it on, Jumped at the prospect Fate discloses, And thought, "With VENEZELOS gone, Life will be one long bed of roses."

But mark the oversight you made, Forgetting, while you waxed so fat, That England, whom you once betrayed, Might have a word to say to that; Might, if for love of your fair eyes Greece should decide again to wobble, Conceivably withdraw supplies And cut her off with half an obol.

Roar loud, O Lion of Lucerne! But lo, upon Britannia's shore Another Lion takes his turn And gives a rather louder roar; Meaning, "It doesn't suit my views To subsidise two sorts of beano, And Greece will therefore have to choose Between her tummy and her TINO."

O. S.

* * * * *

ABOUT GOLF.

Golf is obviously the worst game in the world. I doubt indeed whether it is a game at all.

It is played with a ball, about which, though I could say much, I will say little. I will not decide whether it should have a heart of oak or a heart of gold, whether it should go through a 1·6-inch ring or a plate-glass window, whether it should sink like the German Navy or float like the British. Enough, if not too much, has been said about the standard ball.

Golf is also played with a number of striking implements more intricate in shape than those used in any other form of recreation except dentistry. Let so much be agreed.

Now, quite plainly, the essential idea underlying all games played with a ball, whether a club, stick, mallet, bat or cue be added or no, is that some interference should take place with the enemy's action, some thwarting of his purpose or intent. In Rugby football, to take a case, where no mallet is used, it is permissible to seize an opponent by the whiskers and sling him over your right shoulder, afterwards stamping a few times on his head or his stomach. This thwarts him badly. The same principle applies, though in a milder form, to the game of cricket, where you attempt to beat the adversary's bat with your ball, or, if you have the bat, to steer the ball between your adversaries, or at least to make them jolly well wish that you would.

Even with the baser and less heroic ball games, like croquet and billiards, where more than one ball is used at a time, action inimical to the interests of the opponent's ball is permitted and encouraged. Indeed in the good old days of yore, when croquet was not so strictly scientific, a shrewd sudden stroke--the ankle shot, we called it, for, after all, the fellow was probably not wearing boots--well, I daresay you remember it; and I have once succeeded in paralysing the enemy's cue arm with the red; but this needs a lot of luck as well as strength, and is not a stroke to be practised by the beginner, especially on public tables.

We come then again to golf, and see at once that, with the miserable and cowardly exception of laying the stymie, there is no stroke in this game that fulfils the proper conditions which should govern athletic contests involving the use of spherical objects with or without instruments of percussion.

And yet we read column after column about fierce encounters and desperate struggles between old antagonists, when as a matter of fact there is no struggle, no encounter at all. Against no other ball game but golf, unless perhaps it be roulette, can this accusation be laid. Ask a man what happened last Saturday. "I went out," he says, rather as if he was the British Expeditionary Force, "in 41; but I came home"--he smiles triumphantly; you see the hospital ship, the cheering crowds--"in 39." Whether he beat the other fellow or not he hardly remembers, because there was in fact no particular reason why the other fellow should have been there.

Golf matches ought to be arranged, and for my part I shall arrange them in future, as follows:--

_He._ Can you play on Saturday at Crump?

_I._ No, I'm not playing this week.

_He._ Next week then?

_I._ Yes, at Blimp.

_He._ I can't come to Blimp.

_I._ Well, let's play all the same. Your score this week at Crump against mine next week at Blimp, and we'll have five bob on it.

I'm not quite sure what his retort is, but you take my point. It is manifestly absurd to drag the psychological element into this cold-blooded mathematical pursuit. After all that England has done and come through in the last few years, is a man in baggy knickerbockers, with tufts on the ends of his garters, going to be daunted and foiled just because a man in slightly baggier knickerbockers and with slightly larger tufts on his garters has hit a small white pellet a little further than he has? Hardly, I think.

That is why, when I read long letters in the principal daily papers about the expense of this so-called game, and calculations as to whether it can be played for less than twenty-five shillings a time, I am merely amused. In my opinion, if the relatives of members of golf-clubs cannot afford to support them, these institutions should either be closed or the inmates should be provided with some better game, like basketball. That is what I feel about golf.

All the same, if Enderby really thinks and believes that, because in a nasty cross-wind I happened to be slicing badly and didn't know the course and lost a ball at the twelfth, and he holed twice out of bunkers and certainly baulked me by sniffing on the fifteenth tee, and laid a stymie, mark you, of all places at the seventeenth, that I can't beat him three times out of five in normal conditions and not with that appalling caddy ---- well, I suppose one must do one's best to relieve a fellow-creature of his hallucinations, mustn't one?

EVOE.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

OUR HEAVY-WAITS.

Our Boxing Correspondent sends us the following gloomy forecast. We have pointed out to him that Mr. COCHRAN has recently made a definite contract for a meeting between DEMPSEY and CARPENTIER. Our Correspondent replies that this does not affect his attitude, and urges us to publish his predictions of further delay. We do so under protest.

_Paris, December 22nd, 1920._--M. DESCHAMPS (CARPENTIER'S Manager) denies all knowledge of any agreement with Mr. COCHRAN.

_New York, December 24th, 1920._--Mr. C. B. COCHRAN says that DESCHAMPS must be dotty. He (C. B.) is returning by the _Mauretania_ to-morrow.

_London, April 17th, 1923._--As Mr. COCHRAN and M. DESCHAMPS have not yet come to an agreement the fight for the World's Heavy-Weight Championship is indefinitely postponed. JOE BECKETT meets Bombardier WELLS to-night at the Circle.

_London, April 18th, 1923._--Since the days of JIM CORBETT no more polished exponent of the fistic art has graced the ring than our Bombardier Billy. Thunders of applause greeted his appearance in the "mystic square" last night. He flashed round his ponderous opponent, mesmerising him with the purity of his style, the accuracy of his hitting, the brilliance of his foot-work. He held the vast audience spell-bound. BECKETT won on a knock-out in the second round.

_London, August 11th, 1924._--Mr. LOVAT FRASER in a powerful article (written _entirely_ in italics) in _The Daily Mail_ points out the fearful tension the peace of Europe is undergoing through the continued differences between Messrs. COCHRAN and DESCHAMPS, and demands to know what the PREMIER is doing about it.

_London, August 24th, 1924._--Mr. LLOYD GEORGE, acting under Mr. LOVAT FRASER'S orders, has gone to Lympne (kindly lent by Sir PHILIP SASSOON), where he will be joined by Mr. COCHRAN, M. DESCHAMPS and M. MILLERAND.

_London, September 30th, 1924._--The whole civilised world will rejoice to hear that the differences between Mr. C. B. COCHRAN and M. DESCHAMPS have at last been amicably settled. The great fight for the world's heavy-weight championship is fixed to take place at Olympia on November 17th. DEMPSEY is to receive £100,000, CARPENTIER £75,000.

_London, October 4th, 1924._--It appears that Olympia was already booked for November for _The Daily Mail's_ Ideal Pyjama Exhibition, and Mr. C. B. COCHRAN has to-day issued a _communiqué_ to the Press Association to the effect that the contest will be held definitely in Sark (Channel Islands) on December 23rd. He has hired the entire Cunard and White Star Fleets for the day, and those who cannot find standing room on the island will be provided with seats and telescopes in the ships' riggings. All will be welcome at fifty guineas a head.

_New York, October 6th, 1924._--DEMPSEY denies that he is meeting CARPENTIER on December 23rd. He laughs at the idea of fighting for £100,000.

"Heaven knows I am not mercenary," he says, "but there's such a thing as a living wage."

_London, October 7th, 1924._--Mr. C. B. COCHRAN, in an interview granted to our reporter yesterday, says that he has done with fight-promoting for ever and will in future concentrate on performing seals.

_London, October 10th, 1924._--A sensation was caused at the Circle last night when an old man jumped unannounced into the ring and offered to fight anyone living to a finish for five pounds and a pint of beer for the sheer fun of the thing. The disturber, who was obviously out of his senses, was quickly removed. His identity has not so far been established, but he is thought to be a fighter of the old school escaped from confinement.

No authoritative announcement has been made as to who will assume Mr. COCHRAN'S extensive boxing engagements, but rumour is busy with the name of Mr. MALLABY-DEELEY.

_New York, January 31st, 1925._--Mr. W. BRADY, the veteran fight-promoter, has signed up J. DEMPSEY and GEORGES CARPENTIER to meet at Havana, Cuba, on Easter Monday, 1925. DEMPSEY will draw £200,000, CARPENTIER £150,000.

_New York, February 8th, 1925._--Following Mr. W. BRADY'S announcement, Mr. TEX RICKARDS (promoter of the JEFFRIES-JOHNSON contest) has now come forward, stating that DEMPSEY and CARPENTIER have signed a contract with him to fight at Nome, Alaska, on Shrove Tuesday, for a quarter-of-a-million each.

_New York, February 19th, 1925._--Mr. C. B. COCHRAN, who arrived on the _Aquitania_ this morning, says that the two champions have contracted to meet under his management at Tristan d'Acunha on Good Friday for half-a-million each and a percentage on the popcorn and peanut sales.

_New York, March 3rd, 1925._--With the view of lifting the national depression consequent on the hitch in the world's championship arrangements, Mr. HENRY FORD, whose successes as a mediator are celebrated, is labouring to bring about a conciliatory meeting between the rival promoters.

_New York, July 12th, 1925._--Mr. HENRY FORD'S efforts, fortified by the prayers of the Rev. WILLIAM SUNDAY, have at length borne fruit. Messrs. BRADY, COCHRAN and RICKARDS have consented to talk matters over. The White House has been placed entirely at the disposal of the promoters, their families, secretaries, legal advisers, etc.

_Washington, D.C., July 20th, 1925._--Mr. HENRY FORD'S "Peace Party" has not proved an unqualified success. Battle royal broke out among the delegates at noon yesterday. Messrs. BRADY, COCHRAN and RICKARDS have been taken to hospital, but are not expected to recover. The White House is in ruins.

THE GREAT FIGHT.

_Geneva, July 4th, 1960._--The fight for the Heavyweight Championship of the World, held under the auspices of the League of Nations, took place yesterday before a gigantic crowd. DEMPSEY, who now wears a flowing white beard, was wheeled into the ring in a bath-chair. CARPENTIER, now wholly bald, appeared on crutches and was seconded by two trained nurses and his youngest grandson. Both champions were assisted to their feet by their supporters, shook hands and immediately clinched. In this clinch they remained throughout the entire round, fast asleep. At the opening of the second round they attempted to clinch again, but missed each other, overbalanced and went to the mat. Neither could be persuaded to get up, and consequently both were counted out.

It is therefore impossible to say who won or who lost, and the Heavyweight Championship of the World remains as open a question as ever.

PATLANDER.

* * * * *

* * * * *

EVE VICTORIOUS.

"Aren't girls funny, Uncle Alan?" said Christopher.

"Christopher," I answered, "girls are the very dickens. You can't trust 'em. Never have anything to do with girls, my boy."

"I'm not going to," said Christopher.

This is what we said to each other afterwards. If either of us had thought of it before---- But that's the usual way, of course.

* * * * *

Christopher and I were sitting by the fire. We were very peaceful and happy together, pretending to look at a book but really doing nothing at all.

Then Dorothy came into the room. Dorothy is Christopher's cousin and six years old. Not that her age matters--six, sixteen or sixty, they are all the same.

"What are you doing?" inquired Dorothy.

"Nothing," murmured Christopher contentedly.

"I wanted you to come and play with me."

Christopher shuffled uneasily and I came to the rescue.

"Not now, Dorothy," I said; "we are too comfortable. Come and have a look at this book with us."

Dorothy looked at me as though she had just realised my presence.

"I want Christopher to come and play with me," she repeated.

Christopher has a fine old-fashioned idea of a host's duty to his guests. He stifled a yawn and slid from my knee.

"All right, Dorothy," he said. "What shall we play?"

Dorothy skipped like a young lamb. "Hide and Seek," she sang. "I'll go and hide. Don't look till I call."

She danced gaily and triumphantly out of the room.

Now I don't mind being snubbed and I certainly shouldn't trouble about a spot of a child who ought to have been kept in the nursery. Of course it's ridiculous even to begin explaining, isn't it? The thing's obvious. No, I felt that Dorothy should be taught a lesson; that is all. I thought it would be good for her.

"That settles Dorothy," I said deliberately. "Now we can go on reading."

"But she wants me to go and look for her," explained Christopher.

"Then let her want," I said shortly. "We can't always be---- Christopher, we'll have a game with Dorothy. We'll stop where we are and let her look for herself."

Christopher chuckled. "She'll be awfully angry," he said uncertainly.

"Good!" said I.

"Cooee!" came a voice from the far-away. We laughed guiltily to ourselves and settled down in the chair. The scheme proceeded according to plan.

After sundry shrieks and screeches and whistles Dorothy grew impatient and adopted bolder tactics.

"You can't find me," she called hopefully.

I felt that it was time for a little encouragement.

"I wonder where she can be?" I said loudly.

There was a long silence. At last Dorothy grew desperate. "Look under the armchair in the hall," she called.

Christopher and I smiled to ourselves. Then suddenly we heard her creeping towards the door. I blame Christopher for what followed.

"She's coming," he whispered excitedly. "Let's hide."

There was no time to think. We slipped rapidly under the table. A ridiculous thing to do, of course; so undignified. I kick myself when I think of it, but at the time---- Well, it was Christopher's fault for getting excited. So there we were squashed under the table when the door opened and Dorothy appeared.

"I don't believe----" she began, and then stopped. "Why, they're not here," she gasped. And then Christopher spoilt everything by spluttering. I strangled him at once and we hoped that Dorothy hadn't heard. We saw her legs standing very still by the door. Then they moved quickly round the table to the fireplace. Christopher and I held our breaths and waited. We saw that Dorothy was pulling our chair round to face the fire. Then she sat herself in it and all we could see was the back of the chair.

There was a great silence. Christopher and I looked at each other and decided that something must be done.

I cleared my throat quietly. "Cooee!" I fluted.

Dorothy began to sing a hymn in a loud voice.

And then Cecilia came into the room.

Now Cecilia is Christopher's mother and my sister. You will understand that neither Christopher nor I would care to appear ridiculous in front of her. So we kept quiet.

"Hallo, Dorothy," said Cecilia; "all by yourself? Where's Christopher?"

"I'm reading Christopher's book," said Dorothy, ignoring the question. "May I?"

"Of course, dear," said Cecilia, sitting down. There was a lot more silence. It grew very hot and uncomfortable under the table.

"What shall we do, Uncle?" whispered Christopher.

"Come on," I said desperately. We crawled out and stood up.

"What on earth----" began Cecilia.

I managed a watery smile. "_Here_ we are," I said to Dorothy.