Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 159, November 24, 1920
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 159, November 24, 1920
Transcriber's note:
The original has a number of inconsistent spellings and punctuation.
Five corrections have been made for obvious typographical errors; these,
as well as one doubtful spelling, have been noted individually in the
text. All notes are surrounded by braces {}.
Text in italics in the original is shown between _underlines_;
superscript (one instance in this book) is marked by a caret (^).
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 159
NOVEMBER 24, 1920.
CHARIVARIA.
No sooner had the League of Nations met at Geneva than news came of the
pending retirement of Mr. CHARLIE CHAPLIN. We never seem to be able to
keep more than one Great Idea going at a time.
* * *
"Have you read Mrs. Asquith's Book?" asks an evening paper
advertisement. "What book?" may we ask.
* * *
"In our generation," says Dean INGE, "there are no great men." It is
said that Sir ERIC GEDDES will not take this lying down.
* * *
Since the Gloomy Dean's address at Wigmore Hall it is suggested that the
world should be sold to defray expenses while there is yet time.
* * *
"What is wanted to-day," says Mr. H. M. RIODEN, "is a Destruction of
Pests Bill." "Jaded Householder" writes to say that when this becomes
law anybody can have the name of his rate-collector.
* * *
"M. RHALLIS, the new Greek Premier," says _The Evening News_, "is a
regular reader of _The Daily Mail_." We had felt all along he was one of
us.
* * *
"Dendrology," says a contemporary, "is an admirable pursuit for
women." We seem to remember, however, that one of the earliest female
arboriculturists made a sad mess of it.
* * *
According to the U.S.A. Bureau of Standards the pressure of the jaw
during mastication is eleven tons to the square inch. If this is
propaganda work on behalf of the United States' bacon industry we regard
it as particularly crude.
* * *
A Sioux City millionaire is said to have paid two hundred pounds for a
goat. He claims that it is the only thing in Iowa that has whiskers and
isn't thirsty.
* * *
"Mr. Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone, has just visited
Edinburgh, his birthplace, after an absence of fifty years," says a news
item. We can only say that if he invented _our_ telephone he had reason
to keep away.
* * *
"After all," says an evening paper, "the Coalition is only human." _The
Times_, however, is not quite so sure about it.
* * *
It is said that Mr. BOTTOMLEY is about to make a powerful announcement
to the effect that the present year will be nearly all over by
Christmas.
* * *
In connection with the Ministry of Health Bill, we read, not a penny
of additional expenditure or expense will fall on the ratepayer or
taxpayer. People are now wondering whether the Government thought of
that one themselves.
* * *
Balls made of newspapers soaked in oil are said to be a good substitute
for coal. It seems as if newspapers are determined to get a good
circulation somehow.
* * *
Cars that run into four figures were to be seen at many stands at the
recent Motor Show. In the ordinary way motor-cars run into as many
figures as get in their way.
* * *
It appears that the man who was knocked down in Charing Cross Road by
a motor-scooter was one of the middle class, and so could not afford to
have it done properly by a motor-car.
* * *
It is rumoured that a Radical paper is about to offer a prize of one
hundred pounds for the best design for a _Daily Mail_ halo.
* * *
A man charged at the Guildhall admitted that he had been convicted
sixty-seven times. Indeed it is understood that he has only to say
"Season" to be admitted to any police-court.
* * *
"Pussyfoot beaten," announces a headline. We hear, however, that he
intends to have another try when the water-rate is not quite so high.
* * *
A Streatham youth has been fined ten shillings for causing a disturbance
by imitating a cat at night. He said everything would have gone off well
if somebody had not made a noise like a policeman.
* * *
"All men are cowards," declares a lady-writer in a weekly journal. Still
it should be remembered that one of us married the lady who is now known
as "Mrs. Grundy."
* * *
In describing a storm a local paper recently stated that waves seventy
feet high lashed themselves to fury against the rocks. We have always
been given to understand that waves never exceed fifteen feet, but we
suppose everything has gone up since the War.
* * *
"When is the Government going to commence operations in connection
with the Channel Tunnel?" asks a correspondent in a daily paper. We
understand that unless the English homing rabbit, recently released at
Calais, puts in an appearance on this side once again, the idea will be
abandoned as impracticable.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "SHALL I DUST THE BRICKY-BRACK, MUM?"
"NOT TO-DAY, NORAH. I DON'T THINK WE CAN AFFORD IT."]
* * * * *
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
"Head Laundress wanted, titled lady."
_Irish Paper._
This is what results from washing dirty linen in public.
* * * * *
"L'AMITIE FRANCO-ANGLAISE
UN TELEGRAMME DU ROI GEORGE I^ER A M. MILLERAND."
_Le Figaro._
The attention of the POSTMASTER-GENERAL should be drawn to the unusually
long delay in delivery.
* * * * *
"The Rat Catcher then said 'Look behind.' I looked behind, and
there on the seat was strapped a larger cake. This contained 145
live rodents."--_Local Paper._
And now the pie with the four-and-twenty blackbirds must also take a
back seat.
* * * * *
BELLES OF THE BALL.
A football eleven composed of work-girls from a Lancashire factory
recently journeyed to Paris to play a team of French female footballers.
With women forcing an entry into the ranks of minor professions, such
as the Law and Politics, it is doubtful if even the sacred precincts of
professional football can now be considered safe, and Mr. Punch wonders
if he may soon find himself reading in the Sporting Columns of the Press
paragraphs something in the nature of the following:--
Kitty Golightly, who has the reputation of being one of the fastest
young women seen in London this season, has now definitely thrown in
her lot with the Tottenham Hotstuff. Her forward work is likely to cause
something in the nature of a sensation.
* * *
The dropping of Hilda Smith from the League team of Newcastle United has
been much criticised by football enthusiasts throughout the country. We
are, however, in a position to state that there has been trouble between
Hilda Smith and the Newcastle Directors for some time past. It appears
that Newcastle's brilliant full-back objected to wearing the Newcastle
jersey, on the plea that its sombre colour-scheme did not suit
her complexion. She pointed out that Fanny Robinson, the Newcastle
goal-keeper, wore an all-red jersey and that, as the shade chosen was
most becoming to anyone with dark hair, she (Hilda Smith) claimed the
right to wear red also. The Newcastle Directors replied that under the
laws of the Football Association the goal-keeper is required to wear
distinctive colours from the rest of the team. That being so, Hilda
Smith would only consent to turn out in future on condition that she
should play in goal, and as the club management would not agree to
displacing Fanny Robinson the only thing to be done was to leave Hilda
Smith out of the side entirely.
* * *
What would have been a very serious misfortune to the team chosen to
represent England in the forthcoming International against Wales has
only just been averted. But for the common-sense and good feeling of all
concerned, Dolly Brown, the English captain, might have found herself
assisting the Welsh side instead of her own country's eleven. Not
long ago this brilliant back became engaged to a Welsh gentleman from
Llanfairfechan and the wedding had been fixed for Thursday next. Under
the present state of the British Constitution a married woman takes on
the nationality of her husband, and had the marriage been solemnized
before the International Match on Saturday Dolly Brown would have been
ineligible for England and available for Wales. On this being pointed
out to her she at once consented to postpone her marriage, like the
patriotic sportswoman she is, and in the meantime legislation is to be
rushed through both Houses of Parliament to alter the absurd state of
the law and retain for England the services of one of the finest backs
that ever fouled a forward.
* * *
Mr. Ted Hustler, the popular chairman of the Villa North End Club, has
been away from home for some days, rumour being strong in his native
city that he has gone to Scotland after Jennie Macgregor. On our
representative calling at Mr. Hustler's house this morning to inquire if
it really were true that Mr. Hustler has for a long time had his eye on
Jennie Macgregor, Mrs. Hustler, the charming wife of the chairman, was
understood to reply that she would like to catch him at it.
* * *
The regrettable incident at Stamford Bridge on Saturday last, when
Gertie Swift was sent off the field by the referee, is to our mind yet
another example of the misguided policy of the League management. Gertie
Swift was strongly reprimanded by Mr. G. H. Whistler, the official in
charge of the match, for an alleged offence. Gertie Swift retorted. Mr.
Whistler warned her. Gertie again retorted. Mr. Whistler then ordered
Gertie to retire from the game. Whilst we quite agree that a referee
must exercise a strong control it is perfectly obvious that no
self-respecting woman player is going to allow any mere man to have
the last word; and the sooner the Football Association realise this and
dispense with the services of all male referees the better for the good
of the game.
* * *
Our arrangements for a full report of the English Cup Final are now
completed. Our fashion experts are to journey to London with both teams,
and a detailed description of the hats and travelling costumes worn by
the players will appear in an extra special edition of this paper. We
understand that the two rival elevens are to turn out in silk jumpers
knitted in correct club colours by the players' own fair hands during
the more restful periods of their strenuous training.
* * * * *
A CASUAL FAMILY.
"Small house or flat required; one child (off hand); any
district."--_Daily Paper._
* * * * *
INCREASED OUTPUT.
(_A comparative study of incentives to labour._)
The miner's _role_ is not for me;
These manual jobs I always shun;
In the bright realm of Poesy
My thrilling daily task is done.
My songs are wild with beauty. This is one.
Yet has the miner, not the bard,
A life that runs in pleasant ways;
His labour may be pretty hard,
But, when compared with mine, it _pays_.
Scant the reward of my exhausting days.
I bear no grudge. I don't object
To watch his wages soaring high,
If, as I'm told, we may expect
To see him resolutely ply
His task with greater vigour. So must I.
Up, Muse, and get your wings unfurled!
My rhymes at double speed must flow;
Now, from this hour, the astonished world
Must see my output daily grow.
And why? I want some coal--a ton or so.
Coal is my greatest need, the crest
And pinnacle of my desires;
And as I toil with feverish zest
'Twill be the dream of blazing fires
That spurs me to my labour and inspires.
I wonder if the miner too
Has visions in his dark abyss
Which urge him on to hack and hew
That he may so achieve the bliss
Of buying great and deathless songs (like this).
* * * * *
COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.
Notice in a Canadian book-shop:--
"It often happens that you are unable to obtain just the book
you want. We specialise in this branch of book-selling."
* * * * *
"Observing a straw stack on fire opposite her house a woman
removed her baby from the bath and poured the bath water on to
the flames."--_Evening Paper._
What we admire is her presence of mind in first removing the baby.
* * * * *
"Mr. and Mrs. John ---- wish to return grateful thanks to all
who so kindly contributed to their late great loss by theft."
_Local Paper._
Always be polite to burglars. You never know when they may call again.
* * * * *
We understand that Smith minor, who in an examination paper wrote
_margot_, instead of _margo_, as the Latin for "the limit," has been
reprimanded severely by his master.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
_MR. PUNCH'S HISTORY OF THE GREAT WAR_
Self-praise, it used to be held, is no recommendation; but that was
before the War. The War has altered so many things that it may have
altered this too, and self-praise be the best recommendation of all. Mr.
Punch hopes so, because he wants to indulge for the moment in extolling
one of his own products; he wishes, in short, to urge upon all his
readers the merits of "Mr. Punch's History of the Great War." Everything
is here, in very noteworthy synthesis; the tragedy and the comedy
inextricably mingled, as they must ever be, but as by more formal
historians they are not.
Such is Mr. Punch's opinion on Mr. Punch's own book, which is no formal
history of the War in the strict or scientific sense of the phrase; no
detailed record of naval and military operations. Rather it is a
mirror of varying moods, reflecting in the main how England remained
steadfastly true to her best traditions; a reflex of British character
during the days of doubt and the hours of hope that marked the strenuous
and wearying days of the War.
All ages and classes come into the picture--combatants and
non-combatants, young and old, men and women. And Mr. Punch's pencil
plays a part at least equal to that of his pen, the record of each month
being generously supplied with cartoons and illustrations by famous
_Punch_ artists. Into these pages has been compressed just what we need
to remember about the War, and we are reminded of things which we had
already forgotten. Here is the tragedy and the pathos of the Great
War--even the comedy of those great years of undying memory.
No more popular history of the War has been written; it has been
eulogised everywhere, for it is a book that every citizen of the Empire
should read and be proud to possess. As a Christmas gift it is ideal,
and will be gladly welcomed not only by those at home, but also by
those in Canada, Australia, India, South Africa, and other parts of our
far-flung Empire, whose gallant sons shared the horrors and the victory
of those four-and-a-half years.
[Illustration: THE OPTIMIST.
"If this is the right village, then we're all right. The instructions is
clear:{missing colon in original} Go past the post-office and sharp to
the left afore you come to the church."]
* * * * *
_AN IMMORTAL STORY_
[Illustration: OUR MAN.
With Mr. Punch's Grateful Compliments to Field-Marshal Sir DOUGLAS HAIG.
["_Punch_," _November 29th_, 1918.]
"Mr. Punch's History of the Great War" is a History we can all read, and
all _should_ read, for here is the record of the heroes who added to
the glories of our blood and State--a roll that is endless--wonderful
gunners and sappers, and airmen and despatch riders, devoted surgeons
and heroic nurses, stretcher-bearers and ambulance drivers. "But Mr.
Punch's special heroes are the Second-Lieutenants and the Tommy who went
on winning the War all the time, and never said that he was winning it
until it was won."
To read this book will help us to realise the great debt, unpaid and
unpayable, to our immortal dead and to the valiant survivors, to whom we
owe freedom and security.
It is "a corrective record," says _The Times_, "not only of what
happened 'over there,' but of what people were saying and feeling at
home"; while _The Morning Post_ remarked: "Here Mr. Punch is the nation,
deftly wielding the weapon of ridicule that has helped to kill so many
enemy tyrants."
_THIS MOST ACCEPTABLE GIFT COSTS 10S. 6D. NET_
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* * * * *
[Illustration: THE LAST STRAW.
THE CAMEL DRIVER. "NOW, WHICH HUMP HAD THIS BETTER GO ON?"
THE CAMEL. "IT'S ALL THE SAME TO ME. IT'S BOUND TO BREAK MY BACK
ANYHOW."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Old Josh (who has just purchased stamp)._ "WOULD YER
MIND A-STICKIN' OF IT ON FOR ME, MISSIE? OI BAIN'T NO SCHOLARD."]
* * * * *
UNAUTHENTIC IMPRESSIONS.
III.--SIR ERIC GEDDES.
Which is boyhood's commonest ambition, to run away to sea or to be
something on a railway line? And how few, when they are grown up, find
that they have realised either of these desires! The present Minister
of Transport has freely confessed to his intimates that more than once,
when he was floating paper-boats in his bath or climbing a tree in the
garden to look out for icebergs from the crow's-nest, he felt in his
child's heart that water was the ultimate quest, the adventure, the
gleam. And yet for many a long year railways entranced and enslaved him.
Often he would sit for hours, forgetful of the griddle cakes rapidly
being burnt to a cinder, and gaze at the puffs of steam coming from the
spout of the kettle or the quick vibrations of its lid, planning in his
mind some greater and better engine that should be known perhaps as The
Snorting Eric, and be enshrined in glass on Darlington platform.
Once, when he had bought a small model stationary engine and the
methylated spirit lamp had by some accident set fire to the carpet, he
was found after the conflagration had subsided standing serenely amongst
the wreckage. When challenged as to its cause, "I cannot tell a lie," he
replied calmly; "I did it with my little gadget." A few months later
he and the present Ambassador of Great Britain at Washington had
constructed a double line of miniature tracks, which connected all the
rooms on the ground floor of the house and considerably interfered
with the parlourmaid's duties. It was known to the family as the Great
Auckland Railway. Another favourite hobby of the young engineer was to
lie on his back and watch the spider spin her web, comparing the results
with a railway map of Great Britain. It was seldom that he went to bed
without having learnt at least a page of _Bradshaw_ by heart.
Going from strength to strength this apparently dreamy lad had climbed
the giddy rungs of fame until, at the outbreak of war, he stood with the
ball at his feet and the title of Deputy General Manager of the N.E.R.
It was he who had invented the system whereby the handle of the heating
apparatus in railway carriages could be turned either to OFF or ON
without any consequent infiltration of steam, thereby saving passengers
from the peril of death by suffocation. It was he who, thumping the
table with an iron fist, had insisted vehemently that caged parrots
travelling in the rack should, if capable of speech, be compelled to pay
the full fare. It was he who effected one of the greatest economies that
the line had ever known by using rock-cakes which had served their term
of years in the refreshment-room as a substitute for the keys which hold
the metals of the permanent way in their chairs.
In the summer of 1914 he was about to adopt a patent device for
connecting the official notices in compartments with gramophones
concealed under the seats in such a way that when humourists had by dint
of much labour made the customary emendations, such as "IT IS DANGEROUS
TO LEAP OUT OF THE WINDOWS," "TO STOP THE RAIN PULL DOWN THE CHAIN" and
"TO EAT FIVE PERSONS ONLY," a loud and merry peal of laughter should
suddenly hail the completed masterpiece.
Armageddon supervened, and the rest of Sir ERIC GEDDES' career is
history. When a new and sure hand was needed at the Admiralty, Mr. LLOYD
GEORGE was not long in making the only suitable choice. Sir ERIC GEDDES'
bluff hearty manner, positively smacking, despite his inland training,
of all that a viking ought to smack of, had long marked him out as the
ideal ruler of the King's Navy, and his name was soon known and feared
wherever the seagull dips its wing. Underneath the breezy exterior
lay an iron will, like a precipitate in a tonic for neurasthenia, and
scarcely had he boarded the famous building in Whitehall and mounted his
quarter-deck (Naval terms are always used at the Admiralty, the windows
being called "port-holes" and the staircases the "companion") than
victory began to crown the arms of the Senior Service.
But peace no less than war finds an outlet for the energies of the old
sea-dog, and the veriest hint of a railway strike finds him ready
with flotillas of motor lorries in commission and himself in his flag
char-a-banc, aptly named the Queen of Eryx, at their head. Lever,
marlin-spike or steering wheel, it is all one to the brain which can
co-ordinate squadrons as easily as rolling-stock, to the man who is now
sometimes known as the Stormy Petrol of the Cabinet. Yet even so the
sailor is strongest in him still. It is not generally known that Sir
ERIC has already cocked his weather eye at our inland waterways as an
auxiliary line of defence in case of need. Experience has taught him
that it is even now quicker to travel, let us say, from Boston (Lincs.)
to Wolverhampton, by river and canal than by rail, and the future may
yet see Thames, Trent and Severn churned to foam by motor barges of
incredible rapidity, distributing the nation's food supplies.
This is one of the things that the Ministry of Transport has, so to say,
up its sleeve, and is alone a sufficient answer to those who suggest
that this Ministry has outlived its hour. There is a grim Norse spirit
amongst its officials, inspired perhaps by their chieftain's name, and
already the plans for a first-class Pullman galley are under way. As
LONGFELLOW sings:--
"Never saw the wild North Sea
Such a gallant company
Sail its billows blue;
Never, while they cruised and quarrelled,
Old King Gorm or Blue Tooth Harold,
Owned a ship so well apparelled,
Boasted such a crew."
K.
* * * * *
"Mr. P. G. H. Fender, the Surrey cricket captain who has gone
out with the M.C.C. team to Australia, is preparing a book on
the tour, for which he has chosen the title of 'Defending the
Ashes.'"--_Weekly Paper._
Quite the proper function for a FENDER.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Tailor (to yokel who has brought suit back)._ "WHAT'S
WRONG? DON'T THEY FIT?"
_Yokel._ "OH, AY, THEY _FIT_ ALL RIGHT, BUT (_pointing to
fashion-plates_) WOT'S USE O' THEY PICTURES IF YOU BAIN'T GOIN' TO BIDE
BY UN."]
* * * * *
ELFIN TENNIS.
Once in a fold of the hill I caught them--
All by my lone was I--
Out on the downs one night in Autumn,
Under a moonlit sky.
There on a smooth little green rectangle
Sparkled the lines of dew;
Over the court with their wings a-spangle
Four little fairies flew;
Skeleton leaves in their hands for racquets
(All in a ring around
Brownies and elves in their bright green jackets
Watched from the rising ground).
Then, as I crept up close for clearer
Sight of the Fairy Queen,
_Oberon_, throned on a toadstool near her,
Carolled out "Love fifteen."
Over a net of the fairies' knitting
(Fine-spun gossamer thread)
Smallest of tiny puff-balls flitting
Hither and thither sped.
So for a minute I watched them, shrinking
Low in the gorse-bush shade;
Then, like a mortal fool unthinking,
Shouted aloud, "Well played!"
Right in the midst of an elfin rally
Sudden I stood alone;
Far away over the distant valley
Fairies and elves had flown.
* * * * *