Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 147, August 26th, 1914 online

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VOL. 147.

AUGUST 26, 1914.


An eclipse of the sun took place on Friday last. It is supposed to have
been an attempt on the part of the sun to prevent the Germans finding a
place in it.


South Africa has now declared with no uncertain voice that she intends
to fight under the British Flag, and the KAISER'S vexation on realising
that the money spent on a certain famous telegram was sheer waste is
said to have been pitiable.


We hear, by the way, that HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY is also extremely annoyed
that so many English people should be resuming their summer holidays at
the seaside. This is considered a slight on the power and ubiquity of
the German Navy.


Some idea of how well the secret of their ultimate destination was kept
even from the soldiers of our expeditionary force may be gathered from
the fact that their favourite song on arriving in France was "It's a
long way to Tip-per-ar-y."


The German newspapers no doubt perceive in this a reference to our Civil
War in Ireland.


We are glad that the lie about the cutting-up of the Black Watch has
been scotched. May they yet live to be "The Black Watch on the Rhine."


A gentleman writes to _The Observer_ to mention that an American
surgeon, on bidding him farewell the other day, remarked, "Blood is
thicker than water." This statement, coming from a medical man, who
ought to know, is extremely valuable.



_Daily Mail._

Yes, and now full of Turkey's coal.


The London Museum is open again. The Curator, we understand, would be
glad to add to his collection of curiosities any Londoner who is still
in favour of a small Navy.


The Devon and Somerset stag-hounds have stopped hunting, and there is
said to be a movement on foot among the local stags in favour of passing
a vote of thanks to a certain mad dog.


Which reminds us that that rare spectacle, a smile on the face of an
oyster, may now be seen. It has been decided that the Whitstable oyster
feast shall not be held this year.


The Duc D'ORLÉANS has sent back to the AUSTRIAN EMPEROR the collar of
the Golden Fleece which His Majesty conferred on him in 1896. One can
understand a Frenchman objecting to being collared by an Austrian.


It is, as is well known, an ill wind that blows no one any good. As a
result of the War the proceedings of the British Association are not
being reported at their usual length in our newspapers.


Another little advantage arising out of the War seems to have escaped
notice. Owing to the fact that such Germans as are left among us eat
much more quietly than formerly in order not to attract attention to
themselves, it is now possible to hear an orchestra at a restaurant.


The horse-race habit is, we suppose, difficult to shed. A newsvendor was
heard shouting the other day, "European War. Result!"


"An artist who called at a famous firm of etching printers," a
contemporary tells us, "found the men were away printing bank-notes." We
trust that they were authorised to do so.


"Cambridge public-houses," we read, "are to close at 9 P.M." Such dons
as are still up for the Long Vacation are said to be taking it gamely in
spite of the inconvenience of accustoming themselves to the new


Every day one has fresh examples of how the War is putting an end to our
internecine rivalries. For instance, _The Daily Mail_ is now issuing the
"Standard" History of the War.


Some of our contemporaries are referring to the Germans as "Modern
Huns." We would point out that, as a matter of fact, they are not real
Huns. They are wrong Huns.


"Thousands of young men without ties," complains a writer in _The
Express_, "remain indifferent to the call of their country." We are
afraid that this is true not only of those without ties, but also of
some who wear expensive cravats.

* * * * *

Illustration: FAIR LOOT.


* * * * *

"The idea is to make it possible for every individual to register
for himself a number at the General Post Office.... All you do is to
address him, say: '105051, care General Post Office,' and the
officials look up 05051's latest address and forward the letter."

We fear that this is just what they would do.

* * * * *

"The members of Caldicot Wesleyan Church Sunday School had their
annual summer tea on Tuesday in a field kindly lent by Mr. W. Howard
of Church Farm."

This comes under the heading "War Items" in _The Newport Evening Post_.
On applying to the Official Press Bureau, however, we were unable to
obtain from Mr. F. E. SMITH any confirmation of the rumour.

* * * * *

"The Chairman put the vote, and there being no answering cries of
'!' declared the vote carried _nemine contradicente_."

_Birmingham Daily Post._

After which the proceedings closed amid approving shouts of
"[Illustration of pointing finger]."

* * * * *

"A large firm of contractors to hotels points out that a prominent
form of waste is eating too much." - _Times._

Conversely, eating too much brings on a prominent form of waist.

* * * * *

Motto for debtors: _Moratorium, te salutamus._

* * * * *


[Every lover of England is bound to give what he can spare - and
something more - for the help of those who may suffer distress
through the War. Gifts to the National Relief Fund should be
addressed to H.R.H. The Prince of Wales, at Buckingham Palace.]

Come, all ye who love her well,
Ye whose hopes are one with hers,
One with hers the hearts that swell
When the pulse of memory stirs;
She from whom your life ye take
Claims you; how can you forget?
Come, your honour stands at stake!
_Pay your debt!_

By her sons that hold the deep,
Nerves at strain and sinews tense,
Sleepless-eyed that ye may sleep
Girdled in a fast defence; -
By her sons that face the fire
Where the battle-lines are set -
Give your country her desire!
_Pay your debt!_

He that, leaving child and wife
In our keeping, unafraid,
Goes to dare the deadly strife,
Shall he see his trust betrayed?
Shall he come again and find
Hollow cheeks and eyelids wet?
Guard them as your kith and kind!
_Pay your debt!_

Sirs, we should be shamed indeed
If the bitter cry for bread,
Children's cries in cruel need,
Rose and fell uncomforted!
Ah, but since the patriot glow
Burns in English bosoms yet,
Twice and thrice ye will, I know,
Pay your debt!

O. S.

* * * * *


_August 19th._

During this season of splendid weather you may be sure that we in
Totland Bay have not been idle. We swim, men, women and children, and we
perform great feats of diving from the moored rafts which the
authorities have kindly provided for that purpose. And we toil off on
the usual picnic parties and inhale great draughts of health as we lie
on our backs on the heather-clad slopes of the hill. But even while we
pursue these simple pleasures our thoughts are with the great warships
in their ceaseless vigil in the North Sea or with the gallant fellows
who slipped away under cover of the night and are now taking their place
in the fighting line with our French and Belgian friends. England, too,
it seems, can perform a great operation of war on sea and land, and can
do it with a swiftness, a precision and a silence that no other nation
could surpass. So we hold our heads high and are proud to reckon
ourselves the fellow-countrymen of JELLICOE and KITCHENER. We have begun
well. May we have strength and resolution to endure without faltering to
the end.

I am glad to say that the sewing brigade, which I mentioned in my last,
shows an ever-increasing activity. All good female Islanders are busy
about the manufacture of pyjamas for the soldiery. One of the marks of
patriotism amongst our ladies is the possession of a pair of pyjama
legs. No picnic party is complete without them. When the men light their
cigarettes the women bring out their pyjamas and add stitch upon stitch.
Pyjama legs are awkward things in a breeze, being apt to flap about, but
they are resolutely tucked round arms or otherwise restrained, and the
needle continues its deft work in spite of all difficulties. Pyjama
jackets, too, are of course made in the proper number, but they are not
so dramatic in their movements as the legs, and I have not noticed them
so much.

I revert once more to KITCHENER'S triumphant feat in transporting our
army to France. We are not very far from Southampton, whence some of the
troops must have sailed, but beyond the merest vague rumours we heard
nothing. One lady, a fortnight ago, had word from some one that a
Belgian _padre_ had seen trucks full of British soldiers in Belgium. A
gentleman had heard from a school friend of his daughter that
motor-'buses of the General Omnibus Company had been seen in Brussels in
all their bravery of scarlet, apparently bound (if their painted
announcements might be trusted) for Cricklewood _viâ_ Brussels with a
full complement of soldiery and stores. Another lady knew, she said,
that her nephew, an officer, had already sailed for an unknown
destination. These were the reports, and they left us all guessing.

I am still in trouble about my tame alien, the children's maid, Maria
Hasewitz. Her permit, obtained at Newport with some labour, authorises
her to reside at Totland, but not to move more than five miles from the
limits of that place. Having decided to leave Totland with family and
household on Monday I have suddenly been brought up against the stone
wall of Maria's alienship. It was obviously necessary to secure
permission for this forlorn German girl to travel home with us. The idea
of dropping Maria into the sea five miles from here could not be
entertained, in spite of the fact that she is technically an enemy. So I
applied, stating the facts, to the Chief Constable, who, with a
promptitude and a courtesy which I desire to acknowledge, sent a
sergeant to interview me. Struggling against that sense of general and
undefined guilt which the propinquity of a police officer always
inspires and striving to assume an air of frank and confident honesty, I
approached the sergeant and learnt from him that, this being a
prohibited area, the Chief Constable could not give the required
permission to travel without the express authority of the HOME
SECRETARY, to whom he begged to refer me. I urged that it would be a
profound relief to the Chief Constable to get rid even of an alien so
harmless as Maria; but this plea the sergeant at once put aside. I have
therefore written to the HOME SECRETARY. If he refuses I wonder what
will happen to Maria.

P.S. - The Home Office has replied authorising Maria to embark at Ryde
and land at Portsmouth. This is like telling a Londoner to embark at
Hull and land at Bristol on his way to Windsor. I have telegraphed.

_Later._ - The Home Office permits Maria to embark at Totland and land at
Lymington. All is at last well.

R. C. L.

* * * * *

Extract from "Notes from an Alsatian Valley" in _Chambers' Journal_: -

"As a last word about this charming country, may I point out its
advantages as a holiday playground? It offers attractions of many
kinds to the sportsman.... The climate ... remains singularly warm
right up to the end of October."

Rather _too_ hot a playground for holiday-makers just now.


* * * * *

Illustration: _Zealous Policeman (on German Spy duty, having got
motorist's name and address, etc., and received, in answer to his
further question, "And is this lady your wife?" a torrent of oaths very
much in the vernacular)._ "OH! PASS ALONG; YOU'RE A BRITISHER ALL

* * * * *


While cordially endorsing all the deserved tributes that have lately
been paid to the tact and loyalty of our daily Press, we venture to
express a hope that the practice of printing every kind of contradictory
war report will not become of universal application to other forms of

Imagine, for example, being confronted with this kind of thing in the
Cricket specials: -



A telegram from Canterbury, dated 11 A.M., Aug 18th, states that the
great match has actually begun. No details are given.


Rumour's Agency learns that the resistance of Kent has everywhere been
entirely overcome; no fewer than forty-three of the home side have been
dismissed for sixteen runs. Twenty-nine wickets fell before lunch.

_Maidstone, Aug. 19. [Delayed in transmission]_. - The team has arrived
in Canterbury. Captain TROUGHTON, in a stirring address, pointed out
that hostilities had been forced upon the county, which however would
not be found unprepared. The greatest enthusiasm prevails among the
team, who are in capital health. WOOLLEY especially was never in better


A private telegram received in Liverpool states that SHARP took
seventeen wickets for no runs in eleven minutes. Up to the time of going
to press this had not been officially confirmed.

_Dover._ - No credence is attached here to the reported success of
Lancashire. It is pointed out that in any case the figures given must be
greatly overestimated, not more than eleven men being employed on either
side. Most probably the casualties include both umpires and spectators,
and these losses would have no real effect on the game.

_Manchester._ - It is confirmed here that WOOLLEY has resigned.

_Canterbury, noon, Aug. 18. (From our Special Correspondent.)_ - At
last I am able to send you definite information. Amidst a scene of
breathless enthusiasm the two Captains prepared to toss. A roar of
cheering soon afterwards proclaimed that the coin had declared in favour
of - -

[Message breaks off here and has evidently been censored.]

Folkestone unofficial wires state that at lunch the scores stood - Kent
all out 463: Lancashire 14 for 2 wickets (both taken by WOOLLEY).


The Press Bureau have just issued a statement that no play has yet been
possible in the Kent v. Lancashire match on account of rain.

* * * * *

"Pingoism in Japan may be matched by Jingoism here." - _Pittsburgh

Pingoism should be carefully distinguished from pongoism.

* * * * *


The awful silence of the British virgil in the North Sea is unbroken

_Newcastle Daily Journal._

We are glad to see our old friend VIRGIL spoken of as British. It is, no
doubt, the writer's forcible way of indicating Italy's sympathy.


I have bought a war map. My newspaper told me to, and I did. It came
yesterday with a host of little coloured flags on pins.

Helen and I surveyed it critically.

"Why, it's only an ordinary map of Europe," she said disgustedly.

"It won't be," I said, "when we've stuck the flags in."

I removed a picture and pinned the map to the wall.

"First of all there's Belgrade," I said.

"Where?" asked Helen eagerly.

"Er, er - somewhere round here, I know.... I do believe they've forgotten
to put it in...."

Gladys (who is only ten) found it for us eventually, and we arranged a
very fine battle there with a river in between.

The Meuse was easier. We infested its banks with our hosts and fixed a
splendid array of troops all along the Franco-German frontier. Next we
invaded Germany and Austria from the other side with several Russian
armies and put some local troops to meet them. Without boasting, I think
I may say the result was very pretty. But to our dismay we found we had
a number of armies left. Helen said they must fight somewhere.

"You can't keep all those troops idle," she said. "Look at the waste of
good material."

"That's true," I admitted. "Perhaps my newspaper can help."

It did indeed contain enough rumours of battles to dispose of all our
flags and a few dozen besides, but at the same time it urged me to
accept unofficial statements with the greatest reserve. Mr. F. E. SMITH,
it declared (it was a Liberal print; such are the vicissitudes of war)
was the only reliable authority. Helen and I decided we could accept
information from him alone. But Mr. SMITH gave us no help. I was worried
for the moment, I admit; here were all these armies left in the envelope
with nowhere to go to.

Then I had an inspiration such as comes to a man but seldom in a
lifetime. The Fates should decide.

I pushed the furniture out of the way, led Helen to the other side of
the room, blindfolded her, and thrust a British army into her hand.

"The idea is to walk across the room without looking and stick it
somewhere on the map," I explained. "Scandinavia and the Peninsula are
out of bounds until we hear further from the KAISER. If you hit them you
have another prod."

Helen planted her army near Moscow. I took a Servian flag and planted it
in the North Sea.

The game was very exciting while it lasted. I consider that I won it by
placing a French force in the environs of Vienna, an extraordinarily
good move. My newspaper would have been glad of the suggestion, I am

Gladys was handicapped by her height, but, taking everything into
consideration, I think she arranged some quite nice struggles in Sicily
and the Principality of Monaco.

Wilkinson came in after dinner. He collects the latest rumours and edits
them really well. Usually Helen and I find it wise to accept all his
statements without a murmur, but yesterday I disagreed with him.

"I'm sorry," I said gently, "but I don't think you've got things quite
right. This is more like the position of things at present," and I waved
my arm in the direction of our war map.

When at last he regained speech he made some remarks which might have
given offence to people less sure of themselves than I.

"No," I said, "I do know the flags of the nations, and so does my wife.
But I must beg you to keep that map a secret. You see, I have a friend
in the inner circle who has given me some information of which the
outside world knows nothing. I can rely on your discretion, I am sure."

"Of course, my dear fellow." He seemed dazed and strangely silent. He
had one long last look at the map and departed muttering to himself: "A
Belgian fleet off the Outer Hebrides! French troops in Nijni Novgorod!!
A Montenegrin squadron menacing Mitylene!!!"

It is strange how strong the force of habit is. I went to the City as
usual to-day. At lunch I met Collins, who told me he had it on very good
authority that there was an Austrian fleet bombarding the forts along
the Mersey and that a combined force of French and Russians had crossed
the Dutch frontier from Arnheim and was advancing on Berlin.

I hurried home to record these new developments on my map, and was
compelled, through shortage of flags, to displace the Servian fleet from
the North Sea and Gladys's Belgian contingent from Monte Carlo.

* * * * *

Illustration: _German Bird._ "I SEE IT DOESN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT

* * * * *

Illustration: _The Hohenzollern (megaphonically)._ "TAKE COURAGE, MY

* * * * *


"500,000 copies of 'With the Flag to Pretoria' were sold a few days
after publication and thousands were disappointed." - _Advt._

* * * * *

Illustration: A FAUX PAS.

_London Hawker (addressing obvious Teuton)._ "WEAR YER FLAG, SIR."

* * * * *


Because beneath grey Northern skies
Some grey hulls heave and fall,
The merchants sell their merchandise
All just as usual;
Our cargoes sail for man's content
The same as yesterday,
And war-risk's down to 2 per cent.,
The underwriters say.

The clerks they sit with page and pen
And fill the desks a-row,
Because outside of Cuxhaven
There's them to make it so;
We go to lunch, as natural,
From one o'clock till two,
Because outside of Kiel Canal
There's those that let us do.

We check and add our pass-books up
Or keep our weekly Boards
Unhampered by the works of KRUPP
And all the KAISER'S swords;
At five o'clock we have our tea
And catch our usual bus -
So thank the LORD for those at sea
Who guard the likes of us.

* * * * *


The C.C.C.C. has been formed to provide for the wants of unpatriotic or
panic-stricken persons in all parts of the country.




HORS D'OEUVRES. - Ensure your _hors d'oeuvres_ by allowing us to turn
your bath into a sardine tank. Your basement too should make an
excellent oyster bed. We would flood it for you.

SOUPS. - The mock turtles we supply are quite tame, and while waiting to
be made into soup should keep your children amused. We also deliver
Salted Oxtail by the furlong. Send for patterns.

FISH. - Try one of our Frozen Whales and assure your fish course for the
next six months.

JOINTS. - Sheep-folds (with sheep) supplied at shortest notice to fit
your tennis court, or you might order one of our Handy Styes, which have
accommodation for half-a-dozen pigs (congenial company) and are suitable
for erection in a corner of any flat or private residence.

SWEETS. - Our "one ton" plum puddings placed in position on your premises
by our own cranes.

* * * * *


_A Grateful Customer writes_: - "Your transformation of my boudoir
into a hen-pen is quite admirable, and enables us to face the future
with complete calm. As your circular reminds us, one feels more
comfortable about one's country when one is safe oneself."

_Another writes_: - "Many thanks for prompt attention. The
night-nursery makes an excellent cow-house, and the two cows used
the passenger-lift with perfect success."

* * * * *


So long as the order is large enough we will execute it. No orders for
less value than £50 accepted.


Our Hoarding Department has prepared a neat stocking capable of holding
750 sovereigns. Please ask to see one.

* * * * *

All goods are delivered in our own heavily armoured pantechnicons.

A charming miniature White Feather, suitable for personal adornment,
will be presented to all customers.

Take no notice whatever of any warnings in the newspapers not to buy
largely. Think of yourselves. It is only you who matter. Buy now; buy

* * * * *

From the regulations governing special constables: -

"A special constable guilty of misconduct may be suspended from
duty, and, if so suspended, shall forthwith give up his warrant
card, truncheon, armlet, and whistle to the police officer
suspending him."

What tune must he whistle to him?

* * * * *

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Online LibraryVariousPunch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 147, August 26th, 1914 → online text (page 1 of 3)