Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Volume 152 June 27 1917 by Various Seaman Owen Editor

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Editor: Owen Seaman

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

VOL. 152

JUNE 27TH, 1917

CHARIVARIA.

The favourite reading of the Sultan of TURKEY is said to be criminal literature. A gift-book in the shape of a new Life of the KAISER is about to be despatched to him.

KING ALEXANDER of Greece originally proclaimed that he would "carry out his father's sacred mandate." But when it was pointed out to him that, if this was really his desire, an opportunity of following in his father's footsteps would doubtless be granted him, he tried again.

During the last air raid we are told that the employees of one large firm started singing "Dixie Land." We feel, however, that to combat the enemy's aircraft much sterner measures must be adopted.

Writing of the recent Trentino offensive, Mr. HAMILTON FYFE says that several Austrian forts captured by the Italians were built of solid ice. It is time that London had some defences of this character.

The arrival of ex-KING TINO at Lugubrioso, on the Swiss-Italian frontier, has been duly noted.

The LORD MAYOR of London has decided in future to warn the City of impending air raids. Ringing the dinner-bell at the Mansion House, it is thought, is the best way of making City men take to their covers.

A new epidemic, of which "bodily swellings" are the first symptom, is reported by the German papers. And just when the previous epidemic of head-swellings was beginning to subside.

A Marylebone boy, arrested for forgery, told the police that he had made two complete ?1 notes out of paper bags. Is this the paper-bag cookery of which we have heard so much?

A market gardener told the Enfield Tribunal that a conscientious objector whom he had employed was found asleep at his work on two successive days. People with highly-strung consciences very rarely enjoy this natural and easy slumber.

The American scientist who claims to have invented a substitute for tobacco cannot have followed the movement of the age. We have been able to obtain twopenny cigars in this country for years.

An applicant who said he had six children has been given six months' exemption. A member of the Tribunal remarked that the exemption would mean one month for each child. This great discovery proved too much for the poor fellow, who is said to have collapsed immediately.

A new ship is being fitted out for Captain AMUNDSEN, who is to proceed shortly with an Arctic exploration party. In case he should discover any new land, arrangements have been made to hold a flag-day for the inhabitants, if any.

Judging by the latest reports the Stockholm Conference is like the gun that they didn't know was loaded.

Because his wife accused him of not loving her, a farmer of Husavik, Manitoba, assaulted her with a pen-knife just to show that he did.

Special "storm troops"--men picked for their youth, vigour and daring, to carry out counter-attacks--are now a feature of the German Armies. Even our ordinary British soldiers, who are constantly compelled to take these brave fellows prisoners, bear witness to the ferocity of their appearance.

Taxes on watering-places, it is announced, will be a feature of the new French Budget. It is feared that this will bear hardly on breweries and dairies.

We are not permitted to publish the name of the Foreign Office official who strolled into a Piccadilly Bar last week and ordered a Clam-Martinic cocktail.

According to a report of the National Physical Laboratory the Tower of London is moving towards the Thames. The hot weather is thought to have something to do with it.

The Board of Agriculture advises the killing of all old cocks and hens. Lively competition between the railway refreshment rooms and the tyre factories should ensure a satisfactory price.

The announcement that there will be no more Sunday music at the Zoo has been received with satisfaction by the more conservative residents, who have always complained that the presence of a band tended to reduce the place to the level of a mere circus.

A well-known inn at Effingham having changed its name from the Bl?cher to the Sir Douglas Haig, it is further suggested that the name of the village should be changed to Biffingham.

HOW TO CURE A WOUND.

TITLE AND HALF-TITLE PAGES.

ALGY.

Algy, it must be admitted, is no Adonis, but at least there is something in his great round pudding-face and his cheery idiotic smile which gives one the impression of a warm and optimistic nature.

Algy is humble and not ambitious; but for all that he is doing his bit, just as you and I are doing. He never goes on strike, and if he had any money, which he never does have, I know he would invest it in War Loan. Above all he is not a food-hog; not for him the forbidden potato or the millionaire's beer--no! Against all luxuries Algy has resolutely steeled his voluminous tummy. He has turned into the strictest of teetotalers, and, though a glass of Scotch may bring a wistful look into his eyes, yet he remains captain of his soul, unbroken as ST. ANTHONY.

His job is war-work of the steeliest order, such as very few men would care to undertake. All for the cause he stands, day after day, with a little band of comrades, facing uncomplainingly the most terrible buffetings, so that men may learn from him how to strike terror into the heart of the Hun.

Needless to remark, he is beloved by all the Tommies who inflict such pain upon the region of his gaudy blue waistcoat; he never seems to care and never grouses, but beams down on them undaunted with that quaint old grin of his.

'Twas a great and solemn day when we installed him. Conspicuous by his horrible suit of reach-me-downs, supported on one side by the sergeant-major, on the other by the sergeant, he was led gently but firmly out of his billet and initiated into his honourable task.

Algy has but one grievance. He wants badly to sport a few golden stripes on his cuff. He is modest and does not push himself forward, but as he has several times been severely wounded be thinks it only fair that he should receive the coveted distinction. But the authorities will not grant his simple request because, they say, he has shed no blood.

He has outlived all his compeers; lesser men may succumb but Algy goes on. One day, I suppose, he will meet the common fate; but may that sorry day be far ahead. For we could ill spare our Algy--our dear old bayonet dummy!

Nothing to boast about.

THE BAN ON RACING.

We are said to be fighting for all that we hold sacred. Yet there is nothing that is held more sacred in every cottage home throughout the land than the Preservation of our Bloodstock. Let us not deceive ourselves. It is our supremacy in Bloodstock alone that makes possible the governess car, the milk van, the brewer's dray, the very plough itself. These are fundamental facts.

It has been suggested that, in order to avoid the assembling of frivolous crowds in war-time, races might be run in private. But that is quite impracticable. Only on the public racecourse can the lofty virtues of our British Bloodstock be displayed. The exciting presence of the crowd is absolutely essential to tune up its nerve and temper. Already our Bloodstock has suffered cruelly from gaps in the Grand Stand.

Then again there are some who actually complain that petrol is consumed in large quantities by those attending race meetings. Are we to put new heart into our enemies by letting it be known that we are short of petrol?

And finally there are some who so little understand the qualities of the Thoroughbred as to suggest that gambling should be stopped in war-time. The horse, unlike the Cabinet, is intelligent. Can he be expected to exhibit his priceless qualities of speed and stamina if no one puts his money up?

I need say no more. Such flippant legislation is bad enough at any time; during the Armageddon period it is little short of treason. One wonders when our Government will begin to realise that we are at war.

I am, Yours helpfully, as usual, STATISTICIAN.

THE DIARY OF A CO-ORDINATOR.

Standing on his head, we suppose.

Extract from a report of a sermon by Father BERNARD VAUGHAN:--

Perhaps it would be wiser to refer the matter to the FOOD-CONTROLLER.

JUST SAILORS.

Betty, having made an excellent breakfast, thank you, slipped from her chair and sidled round the table to me. Her father's guests are, naturally and without exception, Betty's slaves, to do with as she deems best. To her they are known, regardless of age, either by their Christian names or as "Mr. --er." I had enjoyed the privilege of her acquaintance for five years, but was still included in the second category.

Betty has an appealing eye, freckles, and most fascinating red-gold hair, and on the morning of which I write, after preparing the attack with the first, she gently massaged my face with the second and third, the while insinuating into my own a small hand not innocent of marmalade. Betty is seven or thereabouts. "Mr. --er," she said, "what shall we be to-day?"

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