Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. 148, January 27, 1915 online

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VOL. 148.

JANUARY 27, 1915.


"Herts are doing well," reports Lord CAVAN in a letter from
the Front received at Stevenage. Herts, in fact, are trumps.

* * *

In Germany it is now said that the KAISER will receive Calais
as a birthday present. In France, however, it is said that it will be
Pas de Calais.

* * *

The English governess whose book Messrs. CHAPMAN AND HALL have
just published says of the KAISER: - "When he made a witticism
he laughed out aloud, opening his mouth, throwing back his head
slightly with a little jerk, and looking one straight in the eyes." It
seems a lot of trouble to take to intimate that one has made a joke,
but no doubt his hearers found it helpful.

* * *

Further details of the battle off the Falkland Islands are now to
hand. VON SPEE, the German Admiral, it seems, ordered "No
quarter" - to which our men retorted, "Not half."

* * *

An _Express_ correspondent reports from Belgium that the Germans now
have a number of monitor-like vessels at Zeebrugge which have only one
large gun and "sit low in the water." We trust our Navy may be relied
upon to make them sit lower still.

* * *

With regard to the occupation of Swakopmund the _Vossische Zeitung_
now says that this proceeding of war in South-West Africa is without
significance. It seems rather churlish of our contemporary not to point
this out until we have had the trouble of taking the place.

* * *

A Berlin despatch announces that Dr. WEILL, the member of
the Reichstag who entered the French army, has been deprived of his
German nationality. We fear that Dr. WEILL omitted some of the

* * *

We cannot blame the EX-KHEDIVE for assuming that his life is
of value. He is to direct operations in Egypt from Geneva.

* * *



These headlines are regrettable. They make it possible for the Germans
to say, "What's the good of giving him full liberty if he does not
enjoy it?"

* * *

On more than one occasion lately the Special Constables have bean
called out only to kick their heels for a considerable time at the
local police station. There is some grumbling as to this, it being felt
that they might have been told, anyhow, to bring their knitting with

* * *

_The Glasgow Evening Times_ must not be surprised if it loses a few
subscribers among the members of the R.A.M.C. owing to the following
answer to a correspondent in its issue of the 15th inst.: - "'18'
(Falkirk) - Delicate lads are of little use in the Army. You might try
the Royal Army Medical Corps."

* * *

With reference to the action brought by Sir HIRAM MAXIM to
restrain an alleged nuisance from noise and vibration caused by a firm
of builders, our sympathy certainly went out to the defendants, for who
could have guessed that the inventor of the famous machine-gun would
have a rooted objection to noise?

* * *

The new West London Police Court was opened last week, and is
pronounced by its patrons to be both handsome and comfortable - a place,
in fact, in which no one need feel ashamed to be seen. There is even a
writing desk in the dock for the use of prisoners. When so many of them
write memoirs for the Yellow Press this is a little convenience which
will be much appreciated.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "SPECIAL" ETIQUETTE.


* * * * *


(_Lines addressed to their Master._)

If I were asked what gives me most amaze
Among your signs of mental aberration,
I should select, from several curious traits,
Your lack of commonplace imagination.

You seem to think, if once you win the day,
You justify your means; it won't much matter
What laws of man you broke to get your way,
What rules of chivalry you chose to shatter.

Is that your reading in the glass of Time?
And has your swollen head become so rotten
That you suppose success could cancel crime,
Or murder in its triumph be forgotten?

Man shall not live, O King, by bread alone,
Though spiced with blood of innocent lives for leaven;
He must have breath of honour round him blown
As vital as the very air of Heaven.

What should it serve you, though your end were won
And earth were made a mat to wipe your boot on,
If every decent race beneath the sun
Spits for contempt upon the name of Teuton?

O. S.

* * * * *


It is only proper that an agitation should be on foot to compel the
Government to take measures to prevent a further rise in the cost of
bread, the food of the people.

But what is the Government prepared to do to remedy the present
deplorable dearth in the food of the people's thinkers - fish?

Scientists, statisticians, fishmongers and other authorities tell us
that for the development of the human brain there is nothing to compare
with fish. Indeed, one has only to glance at the throng assembled in
any popular fish-bar of a night to realise that the people of our
country are alive to their need in this respect.

Consider what this shortage of fish must mean in the development of the
intellectual life of the people of this country. How can we expect our
parcels to be delivered intelligently, our gas-fittings to be adjusted
properly, our bulbs to be planted effectively, if our carmen, our
plumbers, our jobbing gardeners, and so forth, are deprived of their
daily bloater or bloaters, as the case may be?

How can we hope that Mr. H. G. WELLS, Mr. ARNOLD
BENNETT or even Lord KITCHENER himself will continue to
guide the nation effectively with the fish course obliterated from the

What is the use of the Poet Laureate to the country if Billingsgate
is inactive? And without Billingsgate how can our half-penny morning
papers adjust their differences, or illuminating discussion among
intellectuals be maintained?

How much longer will _The Spectator_ and _The Church Times_ be worth
reading if the present scarcity of fish continues? Is a Hampstead
thinkable without halibut?

A marked deterioration has already been noted in the quality of the
discourses of the senior curate at one of our suburban churches. We may
be capturing trade, and the position of our banks may be wonderfully
sound; but against that must be recorded the lamentable fact that in
a certain town in the Home Counties last week only twenty-two people
attended a widely announced debate on the subject, "Have Cinema
Pictures a more refining influence upon the Poor than Classical Poetry?"

* * * * *


(_As seen from Berlin._)

[The Socialist _Vorwärts_, which takes considerable pains to correct
the mistakes of its contemporaries, solemnly rebukes journals which,
it says, have described the Scots Greys as "the Scottish Regiment of
the Minister Grey." - _The Times._]

The desperate straits of the British are indicated by the statement
that it has become necessary for what is called in England the "senior
service" to take a hand in recruiting the junior, _i.e._ the British
Army. We learn that the naval gunnery expert, Sir PERCY SCOTT,
has raised a regiment known as Scott's Guards.

It illustrates the difficulty which the British have in raising
recruits, that the Government, now that it has acquired the railways,
is ruthlessly compelling even the older servants to join the army.
One section of these men, who hitherto have been occupied with flag
and whistle, and have never been mounted in their lives, are being
enlisted in a special battalion known as the Horse Guards, while, as
the authorities themselves admit, the railways furnish whole regiments
of the line. The War Office has even made up a force from the men who
drive KING GEORGE'S trains, under the title of the Royal

The British commemorate their generals in their regiments. For
instance, the name of the Duke of WELLINGTON is carried by
the West Riding Regiment, which, as its name indicates, is a cavalry
regiment; and the Gordon Highlanders - the Chasseurs Alpins of the
British army - were founded to preserve the name of the late General

The curious practice of bathing the body in cold water at the beginning
of day, which is compulsory in the British army, is an old one, and
is said to have been inaugurated by a royal regiment which even
to-day commemorates the beginning of the odd habit in its title of

* * * * *


(_Which are said to be rung by order occasionally to announce some
supposed German victory._)

The Bells of Berlin how they hearten the Hun
(_O dingle dong dangle ding dongle ding dee_);
No matter what devil's own work has been done
They chime a loud chant of approval, each one,
Till the people feel sure of their place in the sun
(_O dangle ding dongle dong dingle ding dee_).

If HINDENBURG hustles an enemy squad
(_O dingle dong dangle ding dongle ding dee_),
The bells all announce that the alien sod
Is damp with the death of some thousand men odd,
Till the populace smiles with a gratified nod
(_O dangle ding dongle dong dingle ding dee_).

If TIRPITZ behaves like a brute on the brine
(_O dingle dong dangle ding dongle ding dee_),
The bells with a clash and a clamour combine
To hint that the Hated One's on the decline,
And the city gulps down the good tidings like wine
(_O dangle ding dongle dong dingle ding dee_).

The Bells of Berlin, are they cracked through and through
(_O dingle dong dangle ding dongle ding dee_),
Or deaf to the discord like Germany too?
For whether their changes be many or few,
The worst of them is that they never ring true
(_O dangle ding dongle dong dingle ding dee_).

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE DISSEMBLERS.




* * * * *


Every morn we met together
On our journey up to town,
Guyed the Government and weather,
Ran all other nations down;
And, whenever (very seldom)
Strangers' visages were seen,
With indignant looks we quelled'em
On the 9.17.

But to-day there's none remaining
To bestow the crushing glance.
Down in Surrey Smith is training,
Brown is somewhere out in France;
Going through his martial paces,
Jones is billeted at Sheen;
Strangers seize the sacred places
On the 9.17.

But when once, the struggle ended,
Men resume their normal toil
There will be one final, splendid
Battle fought on English soil;
And the populace enraptured
From their evening Press shall glean:
"Heavy fighting; seats recaptured
On the 9.17."

* * * * *


"Nowhere," says a contemporary, "is the influence of the War more
apparent than in the publishers' lists." We venture to anticipate a few
items that are promised for this time next year: -

For Lovers of Bright Fiction. NEW GERMAN FAIRY TALES. Selected
from the Official Wireless. 550 pp., large quarto, 10_s._ 6_d._ The
first review says, "Deliciously entertaining ... powers of imagination
greatly above the ordinary. The story of "Hans across the Sea, or the
Eagles in Egypt," will make you rock with laughter."

Important new work on Ornithology. BRITISH BIRDS, BY ONE WHO GOT
THEM. Being the experiences of a Slacker in the prime of life
during the Great War. Crown octavo, 6_s._ Profusely illustrated with

CIVILIAN LIFE FROM WITHIN. The author, Mr. Jude Brown, has
(for good reasons fully explained in the preface) remained a civilian
during the past year. He is thus in a position to speak with authority
upon a phase of life which most of his contemporary readers will either
have forgotten or never known. Just as Service novels in the past used
to appear full of the most absurd technical errors, so to-day many
books that profess to deal with civilian life are disfigured by every
kind of solecism. Mr. Brown, however, writes not as a gushing amateur
but as one who knows. Order early.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Nephew._ "I'M READING A VERY INTERESTING BOOK,


* * * * *

In a Good Cause.

_Mr. Punch_ begs to call the attention of his readers to a sale which
will take place at CHRISTIE'S, on February 5th, of pictures by
members of the Royal Society of Painters in Watercolours. The entire
proceeds will be divided between the two allied societies, the Red
Cross and the St. John Ambulance. The pictures are on exhibition at
Messrs. CHRISTIE'S, who are bearing all expenses and charging
no commission.

* * * * *

A Birthday Wish: Jan. 27th: -

A toast to the KAISER from wives and from mothers,
"May he be as happy as he has made others."

* * * * *

"We have the further intelligence that 80 Turkish transports have been
sunk by the Russians in the North Sea. This last piece of information
lacks official confirmation."

_Dublin Evening Mail._

This continued official scepticism about the Russians is very

* * * * *

"Sandringham is fifty miles due east of Yarmouth." - _Liverpool Echo._

Rather a score off the KAISER, who didn't realise it was a
submarine job.

* * * * *

"Our Correspondent at Washington reports that the Press of the Eastern
United States is unanimous in excoriating the German Air Raid." - _The

If only they would excoriate the Zeppelins themselves.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Manager_ (_to dragon_). "WHAT'S THE MEANING OF


* * * * *



JIMMY had been saving up his pocket-money and his mother had
begun to get rather anxious; she thought he must be sickening for

He was. It was for a dog, any dog, but preferably a very fierce
bloodhound. He had already bought a chain; he had to have that because
the dog he was going to buy would have to be held in by main force; it
would have to be restrained.

But he didn't have to buy one after all; he had one transferred to him.

You see Jimmy was helping at a kind of bazaar in aid of the Belgian
Refugees Fund. He had volunteered to help with the refreshment stall.
There is a lot of work about a refreshment stall, Jimmy says. His work
made him a bit husky, but he stuck to it and so it stuck to him.

He was very busy explaining the works of a cake to a lady when a
man came up with something under his arm. It was a raffle. You paid
threepence for a ticket, and would the lady like one?

The lady said she already had two tea-cosies at home; but the man
explained that it was not a tea-cosy, it was a dog.

A dog! Perhaps a bloodhound! Jimmy trembled with excitement. Only
threepence for a ticket, and he had a chance of winning it.

It seemed a faithful dog, Jimmy thought. It had a very good lick, too;
it licked a sponge-cake off a plate, and would have licked quite a lot
more from Jimmy's stall if it had had time.

Jimmy came third in the raffle.

But the man whose ticket won the dog said he didn't care for that kind
of breed, by the look of it, and gave way in favour of the next.

The next man said he wasn't taking any shooting this year, and he stood
aside. The dog was Jimmy's!!

With trembling hands he fastened on the chain - to restrain it. Then
he asked the man whose ticket had won the raffle if it was really a
_prize_ bloodhound.

The man looked at the dog critically, and said it was either a prize
bloodhound or a Scotch haggis; at any rate it was a very rare animal.

Jimmy asked if he would have to have a licence for it, but the man
said it would be best to wait and see what it grew into. All good
bloodhounds are like that, Jimmy says.

Jimmy ran all the way home: he couldn't run very fast, as the
bloodhound tried to slide on its hind legs most of the way, it was so

Jimmy knows all about bloodhounds, how to train them. He is training
his to track down German spies, amongst other things.

He knows a way so that if you say something - well, you don't exactly
say it, you do it by putting your tongue into the place where your
front tooth came out and then blowing - a really well-trained bloodhound
will begin to shiver, and the hair on the back of his neck will go
up. You then go and look for someone to help you to pull him off the
German's throat, and ask the German his name and address, politely.

Jimmy taught his bloodhound to track clothes by letting it smell at a
piece of cloth. It brought him a lot of clothes from nearly a quarter
of a mile away. They were not the light clothes though, and Jimmy had
to take them back. The woman wanted them - to wash over again, she said.
She doesn't like bloodhounds much.

Jimmy says you ought to have the blood of the victim on the cloth.

Jimmy has trained his bloodhound to watch things. It is very good at
watching. It watched a cat up a tree all one night, and never left off
once: it is very faithful like that. And it bays quite well, without
being taught to. It bayed up to four hundred and ten one night, and
would have gone past that but a man opened a window and told it not to.
He sent it a water-bottle to play with instead.

Jimmy's bloodhound is a splendid fighter. It fought a dog much bigger
than itself and nearly choked it. The other dog was trying to swallow
it, and Jimmy had to pull his dog out.

Jimmy says he has only once seen his bloodhound really frightened. It
was when it followed Jimmy up into his bedroom, and saw itself in the
mirror in the wardrobe. Jimmy says it was because it came upon itself
too suddenly. It made it brood a great deal, and Jimmy had to give it a
certain herb to reassure it.

Jimmy takes it out every day, searching for German spies. It goes round
sniffing everywhere - in hopes. It is a very strong sniffer and full of
zeal, and one day it did it.

A man was looking at a shop-window, where they sell sausages and pork
pies. He was studying them, Jimmy says. Jimmy says he never would have
guessed he was a German spy if his bloodhound hadn't sniffed him out.
It walked round the man twice, and in doing so wrapped the chain round
the man's legs. Jimmy says it was to cut off his retreat. The man moved
backwards and stepped on the bloodhound's toe, and the bloodhound began
to bay like anything. Jimmy says it showed the bloodhound was hot upon
the scent.

It then sniffed a piece out of the man's trousers.

There was another man there; he was looking on and laughing. He said to
Jimmy, "Pull in, sonny; you've got a bite."

But he stopped laughing when the German spy tripped up and fell on top
of the bloodhound; for the German spy shouted out, "Ach, Himmel!" The
man who was looking on shouted, "What ho!" and put all the fingers of
both hands into his mouth and gave one terrific whistle. The bloodhound
held on tightly underneath the German, baying faithfully, till the
policeman came and forced them apart. The German spy never said
anything to the policeman or to the man or to Jimmy, but it seemed he
couldn't say enough to the bloodhound. He kept turning round to say
things, as they came into his head, on his way to the police-station.

Jimmy asked the German if he could keep the piece of cloth his
bloodhound had sniffed out.

Jimmy has made the piece of cloth into a kind of medal with a piece of
wire, and has fastened it to the bloodhound's collar. Jimmy says if he
gets a lot of pieces of cloth like this he is going to make a patchwork
quilt for the bloodhound.

Jimmy's bloodhound is hotter than ever on the trail of German spies.

If you are good you shall hear more of it another time.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Nervous Subaltern_ (_endeavouring to explain the


* * * * *


As this happened over a month ago, it is disclosing no military
secret to say that the North Sea was extraordinarily calm. It was
neither raining nor sleeting nor blowing; indeed the sun was actually
visible, an alcoholic-visaged sun, glowing like a stage fire through
a frosty haze. From the cruiser that was steaming slowly ahead, with
no apparent object beyond that of killing time, the only break to be
seen in the smoky blue of the sea was the dull copper reflection on
one-half of its wake; and that somehow attracted no comment from the
man on the look-out. Bits of flotsam nevertheless, however harmlessly
flotsam, were recorded on their appearance in a penetrating mechanical
sing-song, with a strong Cockney accent, as were the occasional
glimpses of the shores of Norway.

All that could manage it were on deck, enjoying the unusual freedom
from oilskins. The captain was assuring the commander that the safest
way of avoiding a cold was to sit in a draught with a wet shirt on; a
marine was having a heated argument with a petty officer as to whether
the remnants of the German Navy would be destroyed or taken over at the
end of the War; the torpedo-lieutenant was telling the A. P. what jolly
scenery there was from here if only one could see it, and pronouncing
his conviction that it was mere beef and not real reindeer that they
had given him for lunch at the hotel up the fjord; while the A. P.
was mentally calculating the chances of the old man's coming down
handsomely enough to allow his honeymoon to run to Norway when the war
was over.

"Periscope on the port bow, Sir!" It disappeared in the spray of
half-a-dozen shells, and emerged unharmed for an instant before it
dipped; but a rapidly-forming line of torpedo-bubbles showed that the
submarine too had seen, and had made answer after its fashion.

People who ought to know assure us that the truly great often regret
their days of obscurity; certainly the captain now wished that he were
still merely the lieutenant-commander of a T.B. Then he could have
turned nearly parallel to the course of the torpedo, and tried for a
ram. With the heavier and slower ship there was no room or time for
such a manoeuvre; it was full speed ahead or astern. The torpedo was
well-aimed, and, seeing from its track that it would meet their course
ahead, he rang full speed astern. The ship quivered distressingly, and
the water boiled beneath her stern. There was nothing left to do but
wait and trust to the propellers.

Ranks and ratings alike clustered to the side, watching those bubbles
with a curiously dispassionate interest; but for the silence they might
have been a crowd of tourists assembled to see a whale. One low "Six
to four against the torpedo" was heard; and a sub with a pathetically
incipient beard asked for a match in a needlessly loud tone. The
bubbles drew near, very near, and were hidden from all but one or two
beneath the bow; hands gripped the rails rather tightly, and then once
more the line of bubbles appeared, now to the starboard. Men turned and
looked at each other curiously as if they were new acquaintances; one
or two shook hands rather shamefacedly; and the sub who had asked for a
match found that his cigarette wanted another.

And from the look-out, in the same mechanical sing-song, came "Torpedo
passed ahead, Sir!"

* * * * *


["Mr. Stanley Cooke will begin his tour with _Caste_ at the Royal,
Salisbury, on Monday. The old piece, we understand, has been altered
so as to allow of references to current events in the War. Sam

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Online LibraryVariousPunch or the London Charivari, Vol. 148, January 27, 1915 → online text (page 1 of 4)