Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 159, December 29, 1920
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 159, December 29, 1920
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 159.
DECEMBER 29, 1920
CHARIVARIA.
No newspapers were published on Saturday, Sunday or Monday. We did not
begrudge them their holiday, but we do think _The Daily Mail_ might
have issued occasional bulletins respecting the weather at Thanet, as
we consider three days is too long to keep their readers in suspense.
* * *
The most popular indoor game this winter seems to be
Battledore-and-Juttlecock.
* * *
A woman informed a London magistrate last Tuesday that her husband
thrashed her at Easter, Whitsuntide and on August Bank Holiday.
Our thoughts were constantly with her during the recent Yuletide
festivities.
* * *
Readers should not be alarmed if a curious rustling noise is heard
next Saturday morning. It will be simply the sound of new leaves being
turned over.
* * *
In view of the possible increase of their salaries it is not the
intention of Members of Parliament to solicit Christmas-boxes.
Householders, therefore, should be on their guard against men passing
themselves off as M.P.s.
* * *
Our attention is drawn to the fact that the latest photograph of Mr.
LLOYD GEORGE shows him to be smoking a cigar with the band on. We can
only say that CROMWELL wouldn't have done it.
* * *
Our magistrates appear to be made of poor stuff these days. A man
named SNAIL was last week summoned before the Feltham magistrates
for exceeding the speed limit, yet no official joke was made.
Incidentally, why is it that Mr. Justice DARLING never gets a real
chance like this?
* * *
A New York policeman has been arrested in the act of removing a safe
from a large drapery store. It is said that upon being seen by another
policeman he offered to run and fetch a burglar.
* * *
Mme. DELYSIA has been bitten by a dog in New York. The owner's
defence, that the animal had never tasted famous dancer before, is not
likely to be accepted.
* * *
Like a soothing balm just before the old year dies comes the
intimation from Mr. LOVAT FRASER that there is a bright side to
things.
* * *
With reference to the opening of the pantomime season it is reported
that a couple of new jokes have been found nesting in a Glasgow
theatre.
* * *
Psychologists are inclined to attribute the recent night stampede of
sheep in the Midlands, when thousands of them jumped their hurdles,
to the influence of a large number of people concentrating on a
well-known remedy for sleeplessness.
* * *
It is stated that rabies does not exist in Ireland. Our opinion is
that it wouldn't be noticed if it did.
* * *
Very few English Christmas customs, we hear, are prevalent out
in Russia. We have always felt that the custom of clients giving
Christmas-boxes to their executioners will never become very popular.
* * *
It is rumoured that the repeated assassinations of General VILLA have
made it necessary for him to resign his position as Permanent Chief
Insurgent to the State of Mexico.
* * *
_The Morning Post_ has remarked that nowadays the Eton boy is often
reduced to travelling third-class. It is hoped to persuade Sir ERIC
GEDDES to disguise himself as an Eton boy during the holidays to see
how it feels.
* * *
It is now admitted that the plum-pudding which was badly mauled by a
small boy in the Hoxton district on Christmas Day began it by inviting
his assailant to "come on."
* * *
D'ANNUNZIO is reported to be coming to a more reasonable frame of
mind. Apparently he is disposed to allow Italy a certain measure of
independence.
* * *
People step out into the road and never look to right or left, says a
London coroner. This makes things far too easy for motorists.
* * *
Dr. A. GRAHAM BELL recently told a Derby audience how he invented the
telephone. We note that he still refuses to say why.
* * *
We are informed that, on and after the 1st of January, Mr. CHURCHILL
cannot undertake to refute the opinions of any writer who has not been
officially recognised as a best seller.
* * *
A scientist has succeeded in putting a pea to sleep with
electro-magnetism. The clumsy old method of drowning it in a plate of
soup should now be a thing of the past.
* * *
General TOWNSHEND says that with seventy thousand men he could
have conquered half Asia. But then he might have lost Mr. HORATIO
BOTTOMLEY.
* * *
What we want now is something to make the world safe for those who
made the world safe for democracy.
* * *
There is now on the market a new patent contrivance which gives
warning when the contents of an oven are on the point of burning. We
have secured a sample, but unfortunately our cook still relies on her
sense of smell.
* * *
"Leather is now much cheaper," we read. Yet we have noticed no drop in
the price of restaurant steak.
* * *
On January 1st the Ministry of Munitions will enter upon its second
year of winding up.
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR GOGGLERS.
_First Girl in grandmotherly spectacles (to second ditto)._ "HOW
FRIGHTFULLY OUT OF DATE THAT WOMAN IS. FANCY--LORGNETTES!"]
* * * * *
THE HAPPY HOOTS.
Yes, it is nearly twelve now. In ten minutes we shall hear the
bells--I mean the hooters. I wonder if there were hooters when
TENNYSON wrote those popular lines about ringing in the New Year. Very
likely he didn't hear them if there were, as there's nothing to show
that he ever really stayed up late enough to see the New Year in. It's
a pity, because the hooters would have fitted in to that poem most
beautifully. The hooting idea is just what is wanted to give a
dramatic contrast to the sugary ringing business.
"Ring out the false, ring in the true"
doesn't _convince_ somehow; it's too impartial. One doesn't say to the
footman, "Show the Rector up, please, and show this blackmailer out,"
even at the Lyceum. One says, "_Kick_ this black-hearted hound out,"
and the footman realises then that you have something against the
fellow. Just so one doesn't gather from the above line that the poet
has any strong preference as between the false and the true, except
that there is no good rhyme to "the false," unless you can count
"waltz"; but what about--
_Hoot_ out the old, ring in the new;
_Hoot_ out the false, ring in the true?
Magnificent! There's some sting in that; it "gets over," and it brings
the whole poem into harmony with modern practice.
Come on, we'd better have another dance before the great moment. I
wonder if TENNYSON ever saw the New Year in at two guineas a head. I
don't expect so. For that matter it's the first time we've done it at
an expensive public "Revel" ourselves; but then this is the first year
we've been absolutely bankrupt. Up till now we've been rather well
off, and have celebrated cheaply at home. Do you realise that this is
our wedding-day? I believe you'd forgotten; women never remember these
things. Yes, it's six years.... Six years. And this is the first year
we've been bankrupt. All the same, as I say, it's the first year we've
come out and had a jolly good supper. Reckless? Yes, I'm afraid we
are. But we've caught it from the Government.... However, to-morrow
we'll start a new cheque-book.
Have you made your resolutions yet? I have. Do you remember this time
last year? You said you'd keep accounts, and I said I wouldn't smoke
so much. And all the year through our resolution has never wavered.
I've got evidence of that. Look at my diary. Here we are:--
_January 1st._--G. started keeping accounts. Gave up smoking.
And here we are again:--
_March 20th._--G. started accounts.
_March 29th._--Knocked off smoking.
That shows it was no mere flash-in-the-pan, doesn't it?
And we _went on_ like that. Look at this:--
_June 6th._--Gave up smoking.
_June 7th._--Only one pipe since yesterday.
_June 30th._--Cut myself down to four pipes a day.
_July 1st-9th._--G. keeping accounts; knocked off smoking.
But I wonder why I kept writing it down. Even in September, you see, I
wasn't taking it for granted:--
_September 29th._--Quarter-Day. Not smoking this quarter. G. began new
system of accounts.
It looks like bragging, doesn't it? But I don't think I can have meant
it that way. Still, it is rather marvellous, when you come to think of
it--here we are, after all these months, twelve of them, and we still
stick doggedly to the same unswerving resolution. Nothing can alter
it. That's what I call tenacity of purpose.
You don't think I'm serious? But I am. I'm just as serious as I was
last year. This year I _shall_ give up smoking. Only I think you ought
to give up your hot-water bottle in sympathy. You won't? No, I know
you won't. You're a slave of the bottle, you see. It doesn't do you
any harm? Oh, yes it does. It makes your backbone flabby, and it makes
you susceptible to colds, and it gives you chilblains, and, anyhow,
it's morally pernicious, because it's an _indulgence_.... If I'd known
you were a hot-water-bottle woman before we were married.... However,
we needn't go into that. But if you won't give up your bottle I shan't
give up smoking after all.
Look, they're opening the windows. We shall all catch cold. Can you
hear anything? I can hear those people eating. What a draught! Can
you hear anything? I can hear the eaters quite plainly now. Here comes
Father Christmas. I believe he is going to give us all gifts.
Can you hear anything yet? I have been given a diary. What have you
got? Another diary? Is yours for 1921? So is mine. How dull! Christmas
will be on a Sunday next year, I see. So will our wedding-day. I hope
you'll remember it this time. And they have arranged for the Spring to
begin on March 21st. Think of it! Spring--in less than three months!
There they go.
Hoot out, wild hooters, to the wild sky!
What a jolly noise! Much better than bells, really much more accurate
as an expression of one's feelings. There's a sort of "faint but
pursuing" note about it. And that's how I feel, rather. It was a
dreadful year, really, wasn't it?--that last one, I mean. No money,
no clothes--nothing but rates and dentists and small accounts
respectfully submitted for our esteemed favour. One long crisis....
But we kept the flag flying. This year----
Hallo! somebody's going to recite. What do you think it will be?
You'll never guess. Yes, you're quite right.
Ring out a slowly-dying cause
And ancient forms of party strife.
That sounds like a bit of Government propaganda. Disgraceful, I call
it. If I was a Wee Free----
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners----
That's a hit at somebody, too, I shouldn't wonder. Somebody must
have written a topical verse for the occasion. Those people are still
eating. I expect they are doing Hog-money, or whatever it is....
Are you still as obstinate as ever about that hot-water bottle? Very
well, then, I shall now have the first smoke of the New Year. Oh, no;
we 've got to do _Auld Lang Syne_ first. I never _can_ smoke while I'm
singing.
"Should auld acquaintance...." Do you know any of the people here? No?
Do you ever want to see any of them again? No? Never mind, they've
all paid a lot of money to hold our hands; let them have their
money's worth.... "A right gude willie-waucht...." Waiter! One large
willie-waucht, please, and a small pint stoup.... Do you realise that
this is the only night in the year when you can get a willie-waucht at
this hour? What a world!
Six years. Do you see that nice couple over there? I bet they haven't
been married as long as we have. And I bet they're not so bankrupt.
This is going to be a dreadful year. I can see that at once. But we'll
keep the flag flying.
Ah, here come the willie-wauchts. Thank you, waiter.
Well, my dear--a cup of kindness with you. Here's luck!
A. P. H.
* * * * *
NATURAL HISTORY ON THE FOOTBALL FIELD.
"St. Columb's Court and North-End met at The Farm, when
St. Columb's Court were the victors by three goats to
one."--_Irish Paper._
* * * * *
"Harry ---- (19), described as a comedian, was bound over in
L5 for six months under the rug, the property of Hilda ----."
_Provincial Paper._
It seems that HARRY was not the only comedian in court.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A BOXING NIGHTMARE.
THE GOOD FAIRY GEORGINA. "I WAVE MY WAND--UTOPIA DOTH APPEAR ...
(_extemporising_) SOMETHING'S GONE WRONG. O DEAR! O DEAR! O DEAR!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Post-War Sportsman._ "THE HOUNDS MEET ON THE LAWN
TO-MORROW, MY DEAR. WE MUST GIVE THEM A STIRRUP-CUP."
_Wife._ "I HOPE THE CHEF KNOWS HOW TO MAKE IT. IF NOT I SUPPOSE
CLARET-CUP WOULD DO?"]
* * * * *
ELIZABETH'S CHRISTMAS.
"I've always thort 'ow I'd love to 'ave a reel nice Christmas,"
remarked Elizabeth--"a jolly proper kind o' one, you know, 'm."
"Don't you find Christmas a pleasant time, then?" I inquired.
"Well, you see, 'm, I bin in service ever since I was turned fifteen,
an' you know wot Christmas in service is. An extry tip, I will say,
but a lot of extry work to go along with it--and wot washin' up!
Some'ow it orl seems so different in books an' on the pictures."
She sighed as she spoke and a look that was almost human crept into
the arid region of her countenance. A feeling of compunction swept
over me. Was it possible that this poor simple girl concealed depths
of conviviality in her nature and a genial disposition which I, in
common with all her former employers, had carelessly overlooked? I
will admit that this unexpected phase in Elizabeth's character touched
and interested me.
"Elizabeth," I cried in a sudden glow of enthusiasm, "you shall have
your jolly Christmas--I will provide it. You shall have your turkey,
plum-pudding, mince-pies, crackers, mistletoe and all the rest of
it." _Cheeryble_ in his most beneficent mood could not have felt more
expansive than I did just then. "You can invite your friends; we shall
not be at home, so you will have the place to yourself."
"Lor!" she ejaculated. "D'ye reerly mean it, 'm?"
"I do, Elizabeth. Let me know the sort of Christmas you've always
longed for and I'll see that you get it."
She drew up her lank form and her face shone. "Well, 'm, I don't know
where you get 'em, but for one thing I've often thort as 'ow I'd like
to 'ave a festlebord."
"What's that?" I asked, puzzled. "Is it in the Stores' list?"
"I don't know, 'm, but there's always a lot about it in the books.
When the Squire's son comes 'ome repentant at Christmas-tide they
always gathers round a festlebord and rejoices."
I began to see light. "You mean a 'festal board'?"
"That's wot I sed, 'm."
"Well, you shall have one, Elizabeth, I'll see to that. I'd let you
have a Squire's son as well, but unfortunately the only ones I know
are not repentant--as yet. And now tell me which of your friends you
would like to invite."
"There's my sister-in-lor 'ud like to come--'er that I 'aven't been
on speakin' terms with for five years--but she shan't. An' my friend
isn't comin'; I'll see to that arter the things she sed about me to my
young man's cousin--sorcy baggage! As for my two aunts they don't set
foot under the same roof as me arter the way----"
"Never mind about the people you're not inviting," I broke in; "we
don't need a list of them. Who do you want to come?"
"Well, there's Mrs. Spurge, the char--a real nice lady, as you know,
'm. Then I'd like to arsk Polly, the sister of the cook wot lives in
the 'ouse at the corner with red 'air; an' there's Mary Baxter. An'
isn't it lucky my sailor-brother will be 'ome for the first time in
ten years? Can 'e come too, 'm? 'E's been round the world twice."
"In that case, Elizabeth, he certainly ought to be invited. He may
even have returned home repentant, so you will be able to rejoice at
the festal board in proper style."
"Oh, 'm, isn't it luverly? I won't 'arf have a beano this Christmas.
Wot a time we'll 'ave, _wot_ a time!"
* * * * *
For my part I did not pass a very blithesome Christmas. Henry's aunt,
who invited us, is rich, but she is also dull, and several times I
found myself rather envying Elizabeth. While Aunt Jane nodded in her
chair, Henry and I pictured those boisterous revels of Elizabeth and
her friends, their boundless mirth, their unrestrained gaiety. We
imagined them too gathered round the sailor-brother, listening with
rapt delight as he told them stories of the far-off wonder-lands he
had known. Henry sighed then and said there were times when he envied
the so-called lower classes their capacity for enjoyment.
When we returned home Elizabeth greeted us with beaming countenance.
"I 'ope you 'ad a good time," she said; "I know _I_ 'ad."
"Then it really was as nice as you thought it would be, Elizabeth?"
"It was first-rate, 'm. Leastways orl went well until arter dinner,
when we begins chippin' each other and ends in 'avin' a few words.
My sailor-brother started it by chaffin' Polly about 'er red 'air an'
arskin' why she didn't cut it orf, an' she told 'im then that if 'e'd
such an objection to red she wondered 'e didn't cut 'is own nose orf.
Arter that one thing led to another; we took sides an'----"
"Oh, Elizabeth, you don't mean to say you quarrelled?" I interrupted
sorrowfully.
"Oh, no, it wasn't quarrellin', 'm--just bargin', you know. Any'ow it
ended in Polly an' Mary an' my brother goin' off early. I was chilly
to Mrs. Spurge owin' to 'er 'avin' said that she didn't believe my
sailor-brother 'd ever been further than Wapping in a coal-barge.
I shouldn't 'ave spoke to 'er again that evenin' if the book 'adn't
brought us together again friendly, like."
"What book?" I asked, bewildered.
"One of yours that I got out of the study, 'm. Oh, _wot_ a book!
Sorter ghost story in a manner o' speakin'. I laughed an' I cried over
it, turn about. So did Mrs. Spurge. You see we read bits out to each
other--kep it up till three o'clock in the mornin', we did. It was
luverly!"
"And what was the book called?" I inquired.
"It's called _A Christmas Car'l_, 'm, by Mr. DICKINGS. Why didn't
nobody tell me about it afore? It's far better 'n the pictures. 'Just
like 'eaven,' Mrs. Spurge said."
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, Elizabeth."
"It's the 'appiest Christmas I ever 'ad, 'm. That there Mr. Dickings
is a one! 'E do know wot's wot in festlebords."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Patient._ "MY MISSIS SENT ME FUR A BOTTLE O' MEDICINE
FUR ME CORF. SHE SAYS IT KEEPS HER AWAKE O' NIGHTS. I SAYS, 'YOU'VE
NOBBUT TO LIE AWAKE. I'VE GOT TO LIE AWAKE AN' CORF.'"]
* * * * *
HOW, WHY AND WHAT.
_(Being the Tragedy of the Conscientious Inquirer who fell among
Philistines.)_
There was an old man who said, "How
Can I link the To-Be with the Now?"
But they said, "Poor old thing!
You've been reading Dean INGE,
And you're _not_ high enough in the brow."
But in spite of this check he said, "Why
Is my Ego the same as my I?"
So they put him to bed
And placed ice on his head
till the cerebral storm had passed by.
Now I'm told he is asking them, "What
Use has psycho-analysis got?"
And they answer, "N.E.
If you're not an M.D.,
Or a novelist minus a plot."
* * * * *
"A cargo of 800 German pianos arrived at the Tyne from Hamburg
on Saturday."
_Daily Paper._
Another key industry in danger.
* * * * *
[Illustration: UNFINISHED DRAWING FOR "PUNCH" BY THE LATE F. H.
TOWNSEND.
THE FIGURE OF THE LITTLE GIRL WAS SKETCHED ON THE MORNING OF HIS
DEATH. THE LEGEND WHICH THIS PICTURE WAS TO ILLUSTRATE IS NOT KNOWN.]
* * * * *
MAYBIRDS.
I can see some justification for keeping peacocks, especially if
you have shaven lawns and terraces and sundials, though sundials, I
imagine, are rather a nuisance now-a-days, because of the trouble of
having them reset for summer and winter time. Peacocks at any rate are
beautiful, and, if their voices are apt in England to become a little
hoarse, that is only because they screech when the weather is going to
be bad.
The pheasant is also a useful and beautiful fowl. One may put down
bread-crumbs to attract the pheasant to one's garden when he is alive,
or to one's plate when he is dead.
But I can see no justification whatever for keeping maybirds, for
they are neither useful nor beautiful. Perhaps you do not know what
a maybird is. I have five maybirds. I have them because people here
would keep saying to me, "Look at the price of fresh eggs, and how
much nicer it is to have your own." It is a curious thing about the
country that people are always giving one disinterested advice in
the matter of domestic economy. In London it is different. In London
people let you take a twopenny bus ticket to Westminster instead of
walking across the Park, and go to ruin in your own sweet way. They
rather admire your dash. But in the country they tell you about these
things.
So I went to a man and confessed to him my trouble about fresh eggs.
"I see," he said; "you want maybirds."
"No, I don't," I said; "I want hens."
"It's the same thing," he told me. "How many would you like?"
"Five," I said. I thought five would be an unostentatious number and
make it clear that I was not trying to compete with the wholesale
egg-dealers.
He segregated five maybirds and explained their points to me.
It appeared that one of them was a Buff Orpington and three were white
Wyandottes and one had no particular politics. I should say now that
it was an Independent. It has speckles and is the one that keeps
getting into the garden.
I asked him when the creatures would begin to enter upon their new
duties, and he said they would do so at once.
"What is their maximum egg-laying velocity?" I inquired.
"They'll lay about three eggs a day between them," he said, "these
five birds."
"Why between them?" I enquired. But I consented to buy his birds, and
he said if I liked he would run round to my garden at once and run up
a hen-house and a hen-run for me. "Run" seemed rather a word with him.
I said, "Yes, by all means."
He came round that evening and hewed down an apple-tree under the
light of the moon to make room for the maybird-run, and in the morning
he brought a large roll of wire-netting, and the next day he built a
wooden house, and the day after that he brought his five maybirds,
and the day after that he came round and asked for some cinders. He
sprinkled these all over the enclosure, and I watched him while he
worked.
"What is that for?" I asked.
"They want something to scratch in when they run about," he explained.
"Exercise is what they need."
"They seem to be scratching already, but they don't seem to be
running," I said. "Wouldn't it have been better to put a cinder-track
all round the edge and train them to run races round it?"
He said that he hadn't thought of that, but I could try it if I
liked. Then he gave me a bag of food, which he said was particularly
efficacious for maybirds, and produced his bill.
All this happened about a month ago, and for the last four weeks the
principal preoccupation of my household has been the feeding of these
five birds. I have had to lay a gravel-path from the aviary to the
back premises in order to sustain the weight of the traffic. Huge
bowls of hot food are constantly being mixed and carried to them,
without any apparent consciousness on their part of their reciprocal
responsibilities. What I mean to say is that there are no eggs. The
food which they eat resembles Christmas-pudding at the time when it is
stirred, and I have suggested that a sixpence should be concealed in
it every now and then--sixpence being apparently the current price of
an egg--in order to indicate the nature of our hopes.
I have made other valuable suggestions. I have suggested putting an
anthracite stove in their sitting-room, and papering the walls
with illustrations representing various methods of mass production,
ordinary methods having failed. I notice that cabbages are suspended
by a string across the top of the parade-ground in order that the
birds may obtain exercise by springing at them. The cabbages are
eaten, but I do not believe that the birds jump. I believe that they
clamber up the wire with their claws, walk along the tight-rope and
bite the cabbage off with their teeth.
Sometimes, as I think I have mentioned, the one with speckles escapes
into the garden, and I have several times been asked to chase it home.
Nothing makes one look more ridiculous than chasing an independent
maybird of no particular views across an onion bed. The rest of the
animals appear to spend most of their time in walking about the run
with their hands in their pockets looking for things on the ground.