Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 159, November 17, 1920
V >> Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 159, November 17, 1920Well, we had better go home. I shan't buy any more cars to-day. And
we won't go up to the gallery; there is nothing but oleo-plugs and
graphite-grease up there. That sort of thing spoils the romance.
Ah, here is dear Jane again! What a pity it was---- Hallo, they have
come back--the two nice herrings. They are bargaining--they are
beating him down. No, he is beating them up. Go on--go on. Yes, you
can run to that--_of course_ you can. Sell those oil shares. Look at
her--_look_ at her! You can't leave her here for one of the bloaters.
He wavers; he consults. "Such a lovely colour." Ah, that's done it! He
has decided. He has bought. She has bought. They have bought. Hurrah!
A. P. H.
* * * * *
THE PREMIER'S METAPHORS.
Some time ago the PREMIER beheld the sunrise upon the mountains, and
now he has plunged his thermometer into the lava to discover that the
stream is cooling--indicating comfort, let us hope, to any who may be
buried beneath it. Only by an oversight, we understand, did he omit to
mention in his speech at the Guildhall that the chamois is once more
browsing happily among the blooming edelweiss.
But in continuing his lofty metaphors Mr. LLOYD GEORGE will find
himself confronted by no small difficulty when dealing with the
glacier. What can he say that the glacier is doing? It must do
something. A glacier is of no rhetorical value if it merely stays
where it is. One may take in hand the ice-axe of resolution and the
alpenstock of enterprise and pull over one's boots the socks of
Coalition, but the glacier remains practically unchanged by these
preparations. It would be of little use to declare that its uneven
surface is being levelled by the steam-roller of progress and its
crevasses filled in by the cement of human kindness, because
the Opposition Press would soon get scientists, engineers and
statisticians to establish the absurdity of such a claim. And to
announce that the glacier is getting warmer would create no end of
a panic among the homesteads in the valley. Unless he is very, very
careful Mr. LLOYD GEORGE may make a grave slip in negotiating the
glacier.
Then the "awful avalanche" has not yet been dealt with. A few helpful
words on the direction this is likely to take and the safest rock to
make for when it begins to move might be welcomed by the PREMIER'S
followers. He may argue that it is folly to meet trouble half-way,
but on the other hand, if he does not speak on this subject soon, the
opportunity may disappear. Let him avoid the glacier if he chooses; he
cannot (so we are informed) escape the avalanche.
* * * * *
[Illustration: =TREATING UNDER PROHIBITION.=
"HELLO, OLD FRIGHT--HAVEN'T SEEN YOU FOR AGES!"
"WE MUST HAVE ONE." [entering SHIRT MAKER'S Establishment]
"WHAT'S YOURS?" "THINK I'LL HAVE A COLLAR."
"TWO COLLARS, PLEASE--SEVENTEENS." "CHEERIO!"
"NOW YOU MUST HAVE ONE WITH ME. WHAT ABOUT AN EVENING SHIRT?" "NO, NO,
IT'S TOO EARLY." "THE SAME AGAIN, THEN?" "WELL, PERHAPS A SOFT ONE
THIS TIME."
"SAME AGAIN, PLEASE--ONLY SOFT."
"BYE-BYE! SEE YOU AGAIN SOON."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Magistrate._ "BUT, MR. GOLDSTEIN, WHY DO YOU HAVE YOUR
HOUSE AND YOUR BUSINESS IN YOUR WIFE'S NAME?"
_Mr. Goldstein._ "WELL, YOU SEE, I'M NOT A BEESNESS MAN."]
* * * * *
THE SAYINGS OF BARBARA.
The man who sets out to expose popular fallacies or to confound
time-honoured legends is bound to make enemies.
The latest legend I have been privileged to explore is not the product
of superstition and slow time, but a deliberately manufactured growth
of comparatively recent origin. It is concerned with Barbara, not the
impersonal lady who figures in the old logic-book doggerel, but an
extremely live and highly illogical person to whom for half a decade I
have had the honour to be father. It is also concerned with Barbara's
Aunt Julia and, in a lesser degree, with Barbara's mother.
From the time (just over three years ago) when Barbara first attempted
articulate speech I have been bombarded with reports of the wonderful
things my daughter has said. In the earlier years these diverting
stories, for which Julia was nearly always cited as authority, reached
me through the medium of the Field Post-Office, and, being still
fairly new to fatherhood, I used proudly to retail them in Mess, until
an addition was made to the rule relating to offences punishable by a
round of drinks.
On my brief visits home I would wait expectantly for the brilliant
flashes of humour or of uncanny intelligence to issue from Barbara's
lips, and her failure during these periods to sustain her reputation
I was content to explain on the assumption that I came within the
category of casual visitors. But I have now lived in my own home for
over a year, and Barbara and I have become very well acquainted. She
talks to me without restraint, and at times most engagingly, but
seldom, if ever, does she give utterance in my hearing to a _jeu
d'esprit_ that I feel called upon to repeat to others. Nevertheless
until a few days ago I was still constantly being informed--chiefly
by Barbara's aunt and less frequently by her mother--of the "killing"
things that child had been saying. I grew privately sceptical, but had
no proof, and it was only by accident that I was at last enabled to
prick the bubble.
Julia (who besides being Barbara's aunt is Suzanne's sister) had come
to tea and was chatting in the drawing-room with Suzanne (who besides
being Julia's sister is Barbara's mother and my wife) and Barbara
(whose relationship all round has been sufficiently indicated).
The drawing-room door was open, and so was that of my study on the
opposite side of the passage, where I was coquetting with a trifle
of work. The conversation, which I could not help overhearing, was
confined for the most part to Julia and Barbara, and ran more or less
on the following lines:--
_Julia._ Where's Father, Babs?
_Barbara._ In the libery.
_Julia._ Working hard, I suppose?
_Barbara._ Yes.
_Julia._ Or do you think he's sleeping? (_No answer._) Don't you think
father's probably asleep half the time he's supposed to be working?
_Barbara._ Probly. What you got in that bag?
_Julia._ I expect that big armchair he sits in is just a weeny bit too
comfy for real work.
_Barbara._ I've eated up all those choc'lates you did bring me.
_Julia._ Perhaps we'll find some more presently. Do you think Father
writes in his sleep?
_Barbara._ Yes, I fink he does.
_Julia._ Listen to her, Suzie. I expect really he only dreams he's
working. Don't you, Babs?
At this point I thought it advisable, for the sake of preserving
the remnants of my parental authority, to come in to tea. Julia was
handing Barbara a packet of chocolate, and greeted me with an arch
inquiry as to whether I had been busy writing. I replied with a hearty
affirmative.
"You ought to hear what your daughter has been saying about you," said
Julia.
"Oh, and what does Barbara say?" I asked.
"She says that when Father sits in that stuffy little room of his he
usually writes in his sleep. She really does take the most amazing
notice of things, and the way she expresses herself is quite weird."
"So Barbara says I write in my sleep?"
"Yes, you heard her, didn't you, Suzie? Oh, and did I tell you that
the other day, during that heavy thunderstorm, she said that the
angels and the devils must be having a big battle and that she
supposed the angels would soon be going over the top?"
"Come here, Barbara," I said.
Barbara, who at her too fond aunt's request had been granted the
privilege of taking tea in the drawing-room, stuffed the better half
of a jam sandwich into her mouth and came.
"Do you see those rich-looking pink cakes?" I asked her. "You shall
have one as soon as we've had a little talk."
"The biggest and pinkiest one?" demanded Barbara.
"Yes. Now tell me--don't you think that people ought always to speak
the truth, and to be especially careful not to distort the remarks of
others?"
"Yes. Can I have the one with the greeny thing on it?"
"Certainly, in a minute. And don't you think that women are much more
careless of the truth than men?"
"Yes. Can I----"
"Do you love your Aunt Julia?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Cos she always has got choc'lates in her bag."
"But don't you think it's much more important to have the truth in
your heart than chocolates in your bag?"
"Yes. Now can I have my pink cake?"
I released and rewarded her, and Julia prepared to speak her mind.
Fortunately, however, just at that moment my brother Tom, who is
Barbara's godfather, came in.
"Why, what a big girl we're getting!" he observed to Barbara in his
best godfatherly manner. "I suppose we shall soon be going to school?"
"Oh, no, not yet awhile," I interposed. "The fact is she's already
far too forward, and we think it a good thing to keep her back a bit.
You'd never believe the amazing remarks she makes. Just now, for
instance, we happened to be discussing the comparative love of truth
inherent in men and women, and Barbara chipped in and told me she
thought women were far more careless of the truth than men."
"Good heavens!" said Tom, who is a bachelor by conviction. "She
certainly hit the nail on the head there."
"Yes, and she added that she herself prized truth above chocolates."
"It sounds almost incredible," gasped Tom.
"Doesn't it? But ask Julia; she heard it all. And Julia will also tell
you what Barbara remarked about my work."
But Julia, who was already gathering her furs about her, followed up
an unusual silence by a sudden departure.
From what Suzanne has since refrained from saying I am confident that
I've broken the back of one more legend, and saved Barbara from the
fate of having to pass the rest of her childhood living up (or down)
to a spurious halo of precocity.
* * * * *
[Illustration: =AN INCENTIVE TO VIRTUE.=
_Small Boy_ (_much impressed_). "THE TICKET-COLLECTOR SAID 'GOOD
EVENING' TO DAD."
_Mother._ "YES, DEAR, HE ALWAYS DOES. AND PERHAPS, IF YOU'RE GOOD,
HE'LL SAY THE SAME TO YOU--WHEN YOU'VE TRAVELLED ON THIS LINE FOR
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS."]
* * * * *
Another Impending Apology.
"DEPARTURE OF THE LIEUT.-GOVERNOR.
ENTHUSIASTIC SCENES."
_Channel Islands Paper._
* * * * *
"Indeed, it is simple to understand why the Canadian portion of
the audience almost rise from their seats when Fergus Wimbus, the
'Man,' says, 'Canada is the land of big things, big thoughts, bing
hopes."--_Provincial Paper._
Not forgetting the "Byng Boys" either.
* * * * *
MUSICAL CARETAKERS.
["A LADY is willing to give a thoroughly-good HOME to a GRAND
PIANO (German make preferred), also a COTTAGE, for anyone going
abroad."--_Morning Paper._]
A GRAMOPHONE of small to medium age can be received as p.g. in select
RESIDENTIAL HOTEL. Young, bright, musical society. Separate tables.
* * * * *
WILL any LADY or GENTLEMAN offer hospitality on the Cornish Riviera
for the winter months to an EX-SERVICE CORNET suffering from chronic
asthma (slight)?
* * * * *
BAG-PIPES (sisters) in reduced circumstances owing to the War, seek
sit. as COMPANIONS or MOTHER'S HELPS, town or country.
* * * * *
From a list of forthcoming productions:--
"THEATRE ROYAL, ----. Boo Early."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Old Lady._ "AND HOW IS YOUR DEAR MOTHER, TO-DAY?"
_Child of the Period._ "OH, SHE'S ROTTEN."]
* * * * *
YARNS.
When the docks are all deserted and the derricks all are still,
And the wind across the anchorage comes singing sad and shrill,
And the lighted lanthorns gleaming where the ships at anchor ride
Cast their quivering long reflections down the ripple of the tide,
Then the ships they start a-yarning, just the same as sailors do
In a hundred docks and harbours from Port Talbot to Chefoo,
Just the same as deep-sea sailormen a-meeting up and down
In the bars and boarding-houses and the streets of Sailor-town.
Just the same old sort of ship-talk sailors always like to hear--
Just the same old harbour gossip gathered in from far and near,
In the same salt-water lingo sailors use the wide world round,
From the shores of London river to the wharves of Puget Sound,
With a gruff and knowing chuckle at a spicy yarn or so,
And a sigh for some old shipmate gone the way that all men go,
And there's little need to wonder at a grumble now and then,
For the ships must have their growl out, just the same as sailormen.
And they yarn along together just as jolly as you please,
Lordly liner, dingy freighter rusty-red from all the seas,
Of their cargoes and their charters and their harbours East and West,
And the coal-hulk at her moorings, she is yarning with the best,
Telling all the same tales over many and many a time she's told,
In a voice that's something creaky now because she's got so old,
Like some old broken sailorman when drink has loosed his tongue
And his ancient heart keeps turning to the days when he was young.
Is it but the chuckling mutter of the tide along the buoys,
But the creak of straining cables, but the night wind's mournful noise,
Sighing with a rising murmur in among the ropes and spars,
Setting every shroud and backstay singing shanties to the stars?
No, the ships they all are yarning, just the same as sailors do,
Just the same as deep-sea sailors from Port Talbot to Chefoo,
Yarning through the hours of darkness till the daylight comes again,
But oh! the things they speak of no one knows but sailormen.
C. F. S.
* * * * *
[Illustration: =WORTH A TRIAL.=
ULSTERMAN. "HERE COMES A GIFT-HORSE FOR THE TWO OF US. WE'D BEST NOT
LOOK HIM TOO CLOSE IN THE MOUTH."
SOUTHERN IRISHMAN. "I'LL NOT LOOK AT HIM AT ALL."
ULSTERMAN. "OH, YOU'LL THINK MORE OF HIM WHEN YOU SEE THE WAY HE MOVES
WITH ME ON HIS BACK."]
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
_Monday, November 8th._--To allay the apprehensions of Sir JOHN REES
the PRIME MINISTER informed him that the League of Nations can do
nothing except by a unanimous decision of the Council. As the League
already includes thirty-seven nations, it is not expected that its
decisions will be hastily reached. Now, perhaps, the United States
may think better of its refusal to join a body which has secured the
allegiance of Liberia and of all the American Republics save Mexico.
The daily demand for an impartial inquiry into Irish "reprisals" met
with its daily refusal. The PRIME MINISTER referred to "unfortunate
incidents that always happen in war"--the first time that he has used
this word to describe the situation in Ireland--and was confident that
the sufferers were, with few exceptions (Mr. DEVLIN, who complained
that his office had been raided, being one of them), "men engaged in a
murderous conspiracy." He declined to hamper the authorities who were
putting it down. Taking his cue from his chief, Sir HAMAR GREENWOOD
excused his lack of information about recent occurrences with the
remark that "an officer cannot draw up reports while he is chasing
assassins." Tragedy gave way to comedy when Lieutenant-Commander
KENWORTHY observed that the proceedings were "just like the German
Reichstag during the War." "Were you there?" smartly interjected
General CROFT.
[Illustration: OBERLEUTNANT KENNWUeRDIG INSPECTS THE REICHSTAG
(IN THE IMAGINATION OF GENERAL CROFT).]
The Government of Ireland Bill having been recommitted, Sir
WORTHINGTON EVANS explained the Government's expedient for providing
the new Irish Parliaments with Second Chambers. Frankly admitting that
the Cabinet had been unable to evolve a workable scheme--an elected
Senate would fail to protect the minority and a nominated Senate would
be "undemocratic"--he proposed that the Council of Ireland should be
entrusted with the task.
Having regard to the probable composition of the Council--half Sinn
Feiners and half Orangemen--Colonel GUINNESS feared there was no
chance of its agreeing unless most of them were laid up with broken
heads or some other malady. Sir EDWARD CARSON, however, in an
unusually optimistic vein, expressed the hope that once the North was
assured of not being put under the South and the South was relieved of
British dictation they would "shake hands for the good of Ireland."
The clause was carried by 175 to 31.
[Illustration: "TWO BY TWO."
SIR E. CARSON AND MR. DEVLIN.]
On another new clause, providing for the administration of Southern
Ireland in the event of a Parliament not being set up, Mr. ASQUITH
declared that "this musty remainder biscuit" had reduced him to
"rhetorical poverty." Perhaps that was why he could get no more than
ten Members to follow him into the Lobby against it.
[Illustration: THE OLD SHEEP-DOG.
_Mr. ASQUITH._ "TUT-TUT! TO THINK THAT I COULD ONLY ROUND UP TEN OF
'EM!"]
_Tuesday, November 9th._--In supporting Lord PARMOOR'S protest against
the arrest, at Holyhead, of an English lady by order of the Irish
Executive, Lord BUCKMASTER regretted that there was no one in the
House of Lords responsible for the Irish Office, and consequently
"they were always compelled to accept official answers." A strictly
official answer was all he got from Lord CRAWFORD, who declared that
the arrest had been made under the authority of D.O.R.A., and gave
their Lordships the surely otiose reminder that "conditions were not
quite simple or normal in Ireland just now."
Mr. SHORTT has formed his style on the model of one of his
predecessors in office, who used to be described as the Quite-at-Home
Secretary, and he declined to share Colonel BURN'S alarm at the
prevalence of revolutionary speeches. Hyde Park, he reminded him, had
always been regarded as a safety-valve for discontented people. Even
Mr. L'ESTRANGE MALONE'S recent reference to Ministers and lamp-posts
did not at that moment disturb him.
The new Ministry of Health Bill had a rather rough passage, and, if
the voting had been in accordance with the speeches, it would hardly
have secured a second reading. Particular objection was raised to the
proposal to put the hospitals on the rates. Mr. MYERS, however, was
sarcastic at the expense of people who thought that "rates and taxes
must be saved though the people perished," and declared that there was
plenty of war wealth to be drawn upon.
Lieut.-Colonel HURST objected to the term "working-class" in the Bill.
It would encourage the Socialistic fallacy that the people of England
were divided into two classes--the leisured class and the working
class; whereas everybody knew that most of the "leisured class" had no
leisure and many of the "working-class" did no work.
_Wednesday, November 10th._--The Peers welcomed Lord BUXTON on his
advancement to an earldom, and then proceeded to discuss the rights
of the inhabitants of Heligoland. Having been handed over to Germany
against their will in 1890, they hoped that the Treaty of Versailles
would restore them to British nationality. On the contrary the Treaty
has resulted in the island being swamped by German workmen employed in
destroying the fortifications. Lord CRAWFORD considered that the new
electoral law requiring three years' residence would safeguard the
islanders from being politically submerged, and wisely did not enter
into the question of how long the island itself would remain after the
fortifications had disappeared.
In the Commons the INDIAN SECRETARY underwent his usual Wednesday
cross-examination. He did not display quite his customary urbanity.
When an hon. Member, whose long and distinguished Indian service began
in the year in which Mr. MONTAGU was born, ventured to suggest that
he should check Mr. GANDHI'S appeals to ignorance and fanaticism,
he tartly replied that ignorance and fanaticism were very dangerous
things, "whether in India or on the benches of this House."
Mr. STEWART expressed anxiety lest under the new arrangements
with Egypt the Sudan water-supply should be subjected to Egyptian
interference. Mr. HARMSWORTH was of opinion that for geographical
reasons the Sudan would always be able to look after its own
water-supply; _vide_ the leading case of _Wolf_ v. _Lamb_.
_Thursday, November 11th._--The PRIME MINISTER was in a more
aggressive mood than usual. Mr. DEVLIN, who was noisily incredulous as
to the existence of a Sinn Fein conspiracy with Germany in 1918, was
advised to wait for the documents about to be published. To make
things even, an ultra-Conservative Member, who urged the suspension
of Mr. FISHER'S new Act, was informed that the PRIME MINISTER could
conceive nothing more serious than that the nation should decide that
it could not afford to give children a good education.
Any doubts as to the suitability of Armistice Day for the Third
Reading of the Government of Ireland Bill were removed by the tone of
the debate. The possibility that the "Unknown Warrior" might have been
an Irishman softened the feeling on both sides, and though Mr. ADAMSON
feared that the Bill would bring Ireland not peace but a sword, and
Mr. ASQUITH appealed to the Government to substitute a measure more
generous to Irish aspirations, there was no sting in either of their
speeches. The PRIME MINISTER, while defending his scheme as the best
that could be granted in the present temper of Southern Ireland, did
not bang the door against further negotiations; and Sir EDWARD CARSON
said that Ulstermen were beginning to realize that the Parliament
thrust upon them might be a blessing in disguise, and expressed the
hope that in working it they would set an example of tolerance and
justice to all classes. Barely a third of the House took part in the
division, and no Irish Member voted for the Third Reading, which was
carried by 183 votes to 52; but, having regard to the influence of the
unexpected in Irish affairs, this apparent apathy may be a good sign.
After thirty-five years of acute strife, Home Rule for Ireland is, at
any rate, no longer a party question.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "NOW, SERIOUSLY, MR. WIGGINS, CAN YOU RECOMMEND THE
LAMB THIS WEEK?"
"WELL, MA'AM, IT ALL DEPENDS WHAT YOU WANT IT FOR. IF YOU WERE
THINKIN' OF EATIN' IT, SPEAKIN' AS MAN TO MAN, I SHOULD SAY 'NO.'"]
* * * * *
Jones minor wants to know if the letter "T," used to designate the new
super-bus, stands for "TARQUINIUS."
* * * * *
THE GREAT IDEA.
Perkins has got hold of a brilliant idea. He explained it to me in the
Tube yesterday.
"Our little world," he said, "is turned topsy-turvy."
"Knocked absolutely sideways," I replied.
"Those who were rich in the old days," said Perkins, "haven't two
sixpences to rub together, and the world's workers are rolling in
Royces and having iced meringues with every meal. What follows?"
"Indigestion," I said promptly.
"Everybody," he said, ignoring my _jeu d'esprit_, "feels like a fish
out of water, and discontent is rife. The newly-poor man wishes he had
in him the stuff of which millionaires are made, and the profiteer
sighs for a few pints of the true ultramarine Norman blood, as it
would be so helpful when dealing with valets, gamekeepers and the
other haughty vassals of his new entourage. And that is where my
scheme comes in. There are oceans of blue blood surging about in the
veins and arteries of dukes and other persons who have absolutely no
further use for such a commodity, and I'm sure lots of it could be had
at almost less than the present price of milk. So what is to prevent
the successful hosier from having the real stuff coursing through the
auricles and ventricles of his palpitating heart, since transfusion is
such a simple stunt nowadays?"
"And I suppose," I said, "that you would bleed him first so as to make
room for the new blood?"
"There you touch the real beauty of my idea," said Perkins. "The
plebeian sighs for aristocratic blood to enable him to hold his own in
his novel surroundings; the aristocrat could do with a little bright
red fluid to help him to turn an honest penny. So it is merely a case
of cross-transfusion; no waste, no suffering, no weakness from loss of
blood on either side."
I gasped at the magnitude of the idea.
"I'm drawing up plans," Perkins continued, "for a journal devoted
to the matter, in which the interested parties can advertise their
blood-stock for disposal, a sort of 'Blood Exchange and Mart.' The
advertisements alone would pay, I expect, for the cost of production.
See," he said, handing me a slip of paper, "these are the sort of ads.
we should get."
This is what I read:--
"Peer, ruined by the War, would sell one-third of arterial contents
for cash, or would exchange blood-outfits with successful woollen
manufacturer.--5016 Kensington Gore, W.