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Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Volume 152 January 24 1917 by Various
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VOL. 152.
January 24th, 1917.
CHARIVARIA.
"They know nothing about the War in Greenland," said M. DANGAARD IENSEN to a contemporary, and now the Intelligence Department is wondering whether it didn't perhaps choose the wrong colour after all for its tabs.
The Governor of Greenland, giving evidence in the Prize Court last week, was greatly interested to learn that there was a well-known hymn, entitled "From Greenland's Icy Mountains." He was, however, inclined to think that the unfortunate reference to the rigorous nature of the climate would be resented by the local Publicity Committee, to whose notice he would feel it his duty to bring the matter when they were next thawed out.
Lord DEVONPORT has established his own Press Bureau, and it is rumoured that the Press Bureau is about to appoint its own Food Controller.
The American Line has advanced its First-Class fares by three pounds. It is hoped that this will effectually discourage Mr. HENRY FORD from visiting Europe for some time to come.
A telegram despatched from London on January 22nd, 1906, which contained a polling result of the General Election then in progress, has just been received by a Witham resident, who told the messenger there was no reply.
The German Union for the Development of the German Language have sent a petition to the CHANCELLOR, asking that in any future Peace negotiations the German language should be used. Will German frightfulness never cease?
"Anybody in the Carmarthen district," says the local medical officer, "can keep a pig in the parlour if they keep it clean." The necessity of keeping the parlour clean for the sake of its guest will be easily understood by those who appreciate the fastidious taste of the pig.
A Hungarian paper complains that the Government treats the War as if it were merely a family affair. This contrasts unfavourably with the more broadly hospitable attitude of the Allies, who have made it abundantly clear that so far as they are concerned anyone is welcome to join in and help their side.
The other day a Farnham bellringer, after cycling seventy miles, rang a peal of 5,940 changes. It is not known why.
Among the goods stolen from a Crouch Hill provision merchant's the other day were eight cheeses and ten hams. As the place was much littered it is thought that the cheeses put up a plucky fight.
The recent vagaries of the Weather Controller are said to be due to one of the new railway regulations, by which you are required to "Show all seasons, please."
Another Glimpse of the Obvious.
From the "Standing Orders" of a Military Hospital:--
"Officers confined to their beds will have their meals in their rooms."
Several others have been noticed to have a tile loose.
Is this quite kind to the subsequent speakers?
Lord HALSBURY must look to his laurels.
We infer that, in Mr. WRAGGE's opinion, the War will be over by then.
The Minimum.
Extract from a letter just received from H.Q. in France:--
"C.O.'s will take care that all ranks know that they must never parade before an Officer--Brigade, Regimental or Company--unless properly dressed, wearing at least a belt."
Our contemporary might have told us what he wore.
THE GOLFER'S PROTEST.
Among the shocks that laid us flat When WILLIAM loosed his wanton hordes There fell no bloodier blow than that Which turned our niblicks into swords; And O how bitter England's cup, In what despair the order sunk her That called her Cincinnati up When busy ploughing in the bunker!
Even with those who stuck it out, Bravely defying public shame, Visions of trenches knocked about Would often spoil their usual game; Rumours of victory dearly bought, Or else of bad strategic hitches, Disturbed their concentrated thought And put them off their mashie pitches.
What! Shall we sacrifice the scenes On which our higher natures thrive Just to provide the vulgar means To keep our lower selves alive? Better to starve Than suffer PROTHERO to till The British golfer's holy acres.
O.S.
PERSONAL PARS FROM THE WESTERN FRONT.
HAPPY C.-IN-C.--I saw the Commander-in-Chief to-day passing through the little village of X in an open car. He was very quietly dressed in khaki, with touches of scarlet on the hat and by the collar. I waved my hand to him and he returned the salute. It is small acts like this which endear him to all. I noticed that the Field-Marshal was not carrying his baton. Doubtless he did not wish to spoil its pristine freshness with the mud of the roads.
OF COURSE.--A friend in the Guards tells me that the new food restrictions do not affect the men in the trenches very seriously. Our brave soldiers are so inured to hardships by now that they willingly forgo seven-course dinners.
NOT STARVING.--While on the subject of food, the picture published on page 6 of to-day's issue refutes the idea that the Hun is starving. It represents the KAISER looking at some pigs. The KAISER can be distinguished by a x.
FASHIONS FOR MEN.--Now that mid-winter is with us it is quite a common event to meet fur-clad denizens of the firing line. Some of the new season's coats are the last word in chic, one which I noticed yesterday made of black goat, having pockets of seal coney with collar and cuffs of civet. The wearer's feet were encased in the latest style of gum boots, reaching to the thigh and fastening with a buckle. These are being worn loose round the ankle. A green steel helmet, draped in sandbag material, completed the costume. The field service cap was not being worn inside the helmet.
NUMBER NINE.--The Army doctors, so it seems, do not fully understand the delicate constitution of a friend of mine in the Blues, and sent him back to duty after dosing him with medicine, though he is suffering from pain in the foot. The medicine generally takes the form of a "Number Nine," the pill that cures all ills; but last time he went on sick parade they were out of stock, and he was given two "Number Fours" and a "Number One" instead. Rough-and-ready pharmacy. What?
WHERE TO LUNCH.--I am just off to lunch with my old pal, the Hon. Adolphus Lawrie-Carr, of the Motor Transport Section of the A.S.C. I have never seen him look better than he does now, in hunting stock and field boots, crop and spurs. He always gives one a first-class meal.
THE NEXT PUSH.--I had a most interesting conversation the other day with Alphonse, late of the Saveloy. He is on the G.H.Q. Staff in a position of high trust--something to do with the culinary arrangements, I believe--and is, of course, in the know. From what he told me confidentially I can assure all my countless readers that there will be fighting on the Western Front during 1917, and, in the words of Mr. Hilary Bullox, "If it is not prolonged until next year, the present year will certainly see the end of the War." More I cannot divulge.
Our Cautious Contemporaries.
"ANCIENT ORDER OF HIBERNIANS.
Just as if he were at home in dear old Ireland.
"Athens, Wednesday.
Yet there are some people who complain that the situation in Greece is not entirely clear.
A WAY NOT TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
"Hullo, old thing!" said Herbert gloomily; "lots of Congrats. Lucky devil, you," and he sighed unobtrusively.
I had forgotten that once upon a time Adela had refused to walk out with Herbert because of his puttees, which she said were so original that they distracted her attention from the way he proposed.
Remembering this now, I offered my cousin a sympathetic cigarette, which he, shaking himself free from care, accepted; after which he began to borrow ten pounds--an achievement which, I am proud to say, cost him nearly twenty minutes' hard labour.
Not so very long afterwards Adela and I had a honeymoon, followed by a picture-postcard from Herbert. He said he was sorry he hadn't been there to throw boots at us, but he was convalescing on the Cornish Riviera, the exact spot being marked with a cross; also one could not send money by postcard, but I was not to think he was forgetting about that fiver he had borrowed.
The first part of this document caused Adela to wonder vaguely if wounded officers ought to convalesce in chimney-pots, but the last words gave me some twinges of a more sincere alarm. Was Herbert's delusion a permanency, or merely a slip of the pen?
"Adela," I decided, "let's ask Herbert to dinner as soon as ever he leaves the roofs of the British Riviera."
Then one day, when I was writing letters in the Mess, he strolled in. "Hullo!" he said, "where's the C.O.? What?... Oh, thanks awfully, and ... Oh, I say, good Lord! I owe you three quid, don't I?" and he drifted out abstractedly.
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