Chapter XXXV

MY DEAR CHARLES,--Things go on here from day to day in a businesslike and orderly fashion, the comic relief being supplied by a temporary, very temporary, man from overseas, who has operated for a while at our telephone exchange. Most people, myself included, are overawed by the dignity and significance of our environment here; not so this Canadian. One of our very greatest was having words with his instrument the other evening. He supposed, wrongly, that his antagonist was a hundred kilometres away, and he adjusted his remarks and voice accordingly. Imagine his pain on being informed, from the exchange, in quite a cheerful and friendly tone, "I guess you're on the wrong string this time, Mister."

There is also, of course, that never-failing source of satisfaction, the military mess waiter. I think ours, the other night, excelled all starters in the art of ellipsis. Our meal was interrupted by a loud bump, crash, cataclysm and bang. We took it that two at least of the enemy's great offensives had begun, centralising on us and opening with the destruction of all our mess machinery, personnel and platter. Shortly afterwards Alfred, slightly flushed, came into the room. We asked him to let us know the worst. All we could get out of him was, "I must 'a' trod on a bit o' fat, Sir."

You will be touched, I am sure, by the pretty story now current concerning the earnest young subaltern and the Brigadier. The former was responsible for the training of an expert section, in no matter what particular black art; the latter called in person one morning to witness an experimental display. The apparatus was produced, the Brigadier inspected it delicately, and the section was fallen in, standing near by in an attitude of modest pride. From them the Brigadier eventually singled out a private to do a star turn; silence was enjoined while the subaltern should give the private the necessary detail orders. Now the subaltern was one of the many of us civilians who have a burning ambition not only to achieve perfection always, but also to maintain on all occasions a superlatively military bearing. Confronted by the private and expected to order him about, he hesitated, blushed and at last made it clear that he simply must, before beginning, have a few words apart in the General's private ear. With kindly toleration the General eventually conceded this, and it was then made more than apparent to him why it was that the earnest young subaltern was reluctant to give his orders to the private without some explanation in advance to the Brigadier. "The man's _surname_ is Bhyll, Sir," he whispered.

Red-hats may not always know much about life in the trenches, but they can tell you at first hand what strafing was like when there were no trenches to live in. You will perhaps care to hear of an adventure of the good old days, when men wandered about Flanders on their own, sometimes attaching themselves to English units, sometimes to French, and sometimes marching inadvertently with the Central Powers. Maps in those days didn't show you clearly which was your bit and which was the other fellow's, and many a time different parties, meeting in the dark, would be quite affable in passing, little knowing it was each other's blood they were after. My man, at the moment when we take up the narrative, was walking about in a wood, looking for a job. Half an hour earlier he had been busily engaged in a brisk battle, but, owing to his not keeping his mind on it, he'd got detached and now found himself in one of those peculiarly peaceful solitudes which only exist in the heart of the war zone. Whether the battle was over and, if so, who'd won it, he couldn't say. In fact, those being the early confused days, he didn't rightly know whether it had been a battle at all or just a little personal unpleasantness between himself and his private enemies. Everything appeared to be exactly as it should not be; he felt that he ought to be exhilarated with victory or depressed with defeat, exhausted or maimed, and not merely covered from top to toe with mud. He found himself walking along in a wood, just as he might do at home, smoking a cigarette and thinking that this would be a most convenient moment for a wash and a cup of tea. As he said, the very last thing he seemed to be at was war, when suddenly, climbing over a small ridge, he discovered himself face to face with a hostile sentry, and near him were, at repose, a knot of other equally repulsive Bosches.

It has struck everyone out here, sooner or later, that it is easy enough to do the thing if only one could know at the moment what is the thing to do. Here was a sentry whose whole recent education had been devoted to learning exactly how to deal with new and unwelcome arrivals. He was furnished for that very purpose with a rifle having a carefully sharpened bayonet at one end of it and a nice new bullet at the other. There he was, all prepared to deal with an emergency, and there was the emergency confronting him. Having had a good look at it, he contented himself with saying "_Halt! wer da?_" adding as an afterthought a threatening move forward.

On the other hand, here was our friend, young and vigorous, in full possession of all his faculties, too surprised to be even alarmed. His first tendency was to pass haughtily on or, at the most, to stop and tell the man to be more respectful when addressing an officer. His second was to call to mind, in a confused mess, all the brilliant and dashing things a hero of fiction would, without a moment's hesitation, have done in the circumstances. Lastly, it was borne in on him that this was indeed a German; that all Germans were, under the new arrangement, sworn to do in all Englishmen at sight, and that he himself was, beneath his mud, one of the last-named. Being rather the quicker-witted of the two, he had put in three thoughts to the other fellow's one; but the position showed no improvement in the result, and the enemy's second thought, slowly dawning, was obviously of a more practical and drastic nature. His undecided fidgeting with his rifle made this abundantly clear. No time was to be lost. Our friend realised dimly that at all costs he must conceal his nationality. This promised to be a matter of languages, never his strong point. But, there again, he was carefully prepared with a series of useful phrases in various tongues, which he had learnt up in small and inexpensive hand-books. The difficulty was to get on to the right one; his mind, having got him thus far, refused further assistance. Instead of furnishing him with the appropriate remark, it merely suggested to him a clearly defined picture of the outside of the text-book, particularly emphasizing the elegant but inept phrase, "One Shilling net at all Booksellers." And what was the use of that with the sentry's bayonet rapidly coming to the "On guard" position?

It's a long story, Charles, and it ended by our friend ingenuously stating by way of a seasonable ruse, "_Pardon, monsieur, je suis français._"

I'd prefer to leave it at that, but you are one of those detestable people who insist on going on after the climax. So I may as well tell you that at this point our friend's legs took to action on their own, no doubt remarking to themselves as they did so that this was but another instance of damned bad Staff work. I sometimes wonder whether possibly it isn't easier to be a limb than a brain.

Yours ever,
HENRY.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S POTTED FILMS. THE PASSIONATE DRAMA.

THE DEMON OF JEALOUSY.

* * * * *

* * * * *

LITERARY PITFALLS.

_The Chronicle_ publishes a most interesting letter received from Mr. G. B. BURGIN, who lately, if our memory serves us right, completed his fiftieth novel. He writes:--

"A hitch has arisen about the publication of my novel,
_The Rubber Princess_. It deals with an air raid on
London, etc., and it has been pointed out to me that if
it appears before the War is over it will probably be
suppressed, and that I shall be mulcted in pains and
penalties. I have therefore withdrawn it and substituted
(for the Spring), with Hutchinsons, _The Hut by the
River_, of which I have great hopes. It is a Canadian
romance, with a pretty love story and a nice little
mystery at the end."

It will, we are sure, be a consolation to Mr. BURGIN, to whose agility and versatility we desire to render our homage, to learn that he is not singular in his experience.

Only a few days ago we received a letter from Mr. Bimbo Posh, the famous Suffolk realist, recounting the circumstances which have led to the postponement of his eagerly-expected romance, _The Synthetic Sovereign_.

It appears that Mr. Posh, a man of a most scientific imagination, assigned the _rôle_ of hero in his story to a marvellous automaton. Unfortunately for him he was not content with generalities, but described the process by which this artificial superman was produced in such minute detail that his publishers realised that it might be positively prejudicial to our safety to make it known. The sequel had best be told in Mr. Posh's own pathetic words:--

"At first I was fearfully upset, though convinced by the
arguments of my publishers (Messrs. Longbow and
Green-i'-th'-Eye). But a happy inspiration seized me as
I was ascending the escalator at Charing Cross, and in
exactly a fortnight I had finished another novel,
entirely divorced from the present, entitled, _In Dear
Old Daffy-land_. It is an idyllic story of Suffolk in
the days of the Heptarchy, founded on an ancestral
tradition of the Posh family. It runs to about 60,000
words, and Mr. Longbow, who read it at a sitting, thinks
it the finest thing I have done."

Curiously enough, just as we go to press comes a letter from Miss Miriam Eldritch, apologising for the withdrawal of her volume of poems, _Attar of Roses_, in view of the fact that one of the leading establishments for the distilling of this perfume is in Bulgaria. Miss Eldritch, however, has proved fully equal to the occasion, for by a great effort she has composed, in little over one hundred hours, a cycle of one hundred lyrics, to which she has given the title, at once alluring and innocuous, of _Love in Lavender_.

* * * * *

"Perturbabantur Constantinopolitani Innumerabilibus sollicitudinibus."

["Constantinople is much perturbed."
_Daily Press._]

In flouting Zeus and Themis, his
Heart set on cheating Nemesis,
The Constantinopolitan
Now rues his impious blunders,
And fears approaching thunders
Trinitrotoluolitan.

* * * * *

"Gentleman's dark grey fur lined motor coat, fit fairly
big man, lined with about 150 selected natural musquash
skins, real Persian lamb collar, the property of a peer,
in the pink of condition."--_The Bazaar._

We trust his lordship will remain so in spite of the inclemency of the weather.

* * * * *

UNCLE SAM (_to JOB_). "SAY, PATRIARCH, THEY TELL ME YOU
HOLD THE WORLD'S RECORD FOR PATIENCE. WAL, WE CLAIM TO
HAVE GOT A MAN HERE THAT CAN KNOCK SPOTS OFF YOU!"]

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

(EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.)

THE LAST CHAPTER.

_House of Commons, Tuesday, 15th February._--After, on nomination of my revered master, Mr. Punch, representing Barkshire in the Commons during three reigns, under nine Parliaments, captained in succession by six Premiers, come to conclusion that I have earned the right to retire. Two ways of voluntarily vacating a seat. One by a call to the Lords. The other by application for Chiltern Hundreds. Not having heard anything about the Peerage, have adopted latter course. The MEMBER FOR SARK, loyal to the last, insists on following my example.

Accordingly, when House meets to-morrow, writs will be moved for elections to fill two vacancies. In ordinary times this would lead to interesting episode. Customary for the Chief Party Whip to move for writ to fill casual vacancies in his ranks. Would the Ministerial Whip or the Opposition Whip come forward to take preliminary step for elections consequent on retirement of the MEMBER FOR BARKS and the MEMBER FOR SARK?

The closest observer of Parliamentary procedure or comment is not sure whether in Party politics they are Liberals or Conservatives. Cannot indeed say on which side of the House they sit. As it happens there is at this doubly memorable date no division of parties, consequently no contending Whips. Writs for Barks and Sark will accordingly be appropriately moved by Whip representing united House.

Thirty-five years ago Barks first sent me to Westminster. Of Cabinet Ministers then seated on Treasury Bench none are alive to-day. GLADSTONE, just returned by overwhelming majority, was Premier; GRANVILLE, with consummate skill and dainty humour, led minority supporting Government in House of Lords; HARCOURT was at the Home Office; HARTINGTON, Secretary of State for War; CHILDERS at the Treasury; KIMBERLEY at the India Office; at the Irish Office FORSTER, with his rumpled hair, his rugged speech and his gruff manner, "the best Stage Yorkshireman of his time."

Much history has been made since that time. Procedure in the Commons has been revolutionised, with the result not only of accelerating ordinary business and leading to final issue controversies futilely raging for years, but radically altering personal tone and manner of Mother of Parliaments.

That is another story, too lengthy to be told here. Glad to know I was intimately acquainted with the House and, with rare exceptions, with the principal personages in either political camp through a long stretch of older, more picturesque time.

I close the Diary here, not because I am tired of writing it, nor, as continuous testimony indicates, because a generous public is tired of reading. But I am not disposed to linger superfluous on the stage. So I withdraw, carrying with me my little bag of tricks, the sententious Dog, the cynical SARK and the rest of the contents.

Henceforward some new form will be given to the "Essence of Parliament" which was created by SHIRLEY BROOKS, and enlivened by the hand of TOM TAYLOR.

_Business done._--TOBY, M.P.'S.

* * * * *

A DIRTY NIGHT.

THE night is starless, with a darkness so enveloping that it seems to possess palpability. As we reel westward in a smother of water the miracle of how any human being equipped with but five senses can find and keep his course in the chartless void that envelops us smites me afresh.

A longing for an atmosphere unimpregnated with petrol eventually sends me stumbling up the companion-way to the deck. Gripping the rail, I make my way forward, and, peering through the mirk, distinguish a huddled figure in a sou'wester. Aloof, detached, he steers the shrewdest, swiftest path ever carved through a wall of blackness on behalf of dependent fellow-creatures.

"A wild night," I shout.

He turns slightly and answers in a hoarse bellow, "The better for us, mister. Keeps the track clear. Ought to get in ahead o' time."

The yellow glare from our lights glances in broken splashes of colour over the waters, as the squat craft heaves and rolls with rhythmic regularity. From somewhere below comes the monotonous throb of the protesting engines. A red light gleams suddenly on our starboard, and I catch my breath. Æons pass, it seems, before a panther-like clutch at the wheel carries us aside in time to let the offender plunge drunkenly past. We were near enough to throw a biscuit on her deck. A swift exchange of badinage follows.

"Lost yer job o' puntin' coal-barges?"

"Yuss--they're usin' donkey-power instead. I give in your name 'fore I left, but they 'adn't a spare stable." After which, the immediate danger past, we plough our way down a blurred track on either side of which lurks Peril in a hundred grim and invisible shapes.

The temperature, already low, has begun to drop steadily, and a fine drizzle yields to a penetrating chilliness which finds its way to one's very marrow. I am glad of my heavy wraps, and inclined, indeed, to envy the huddled figure, whose coverings are still heavier. Inwardly I wonder what this clashing of the Nations has meant to him: whether he has wife and children; whether he keeps their portraits in some deep-buried pocket beneath that accumulation of clothing which engulfs him to the ear-tips.

I am still speculating when a second figure, moving with the easy gait of one whose feet have trodden many decks, climbs the companion-way and comes forward in leisurely fashion. The fellow is no stranger; already, as I came on board, I had a glimpse of that grizzled, masterful jaw and keen eyes. He peers past me towards his mate.

"Elf!"

"Yuss?"

"Seed anyfink o' young 'Arry lately?'

"Not me!"

"Well, I 'ear 'e done a bit in the lead-slingin' line at a place called Wipers, an' they've been an' stuck some sort o' French medal on 'is chest."

"Blighter owes me fourpence, anyway," roars Elf; and I infer that neither of them has a high opinion of 'Arry's character from the civilian point of view.

Follows an interval filled with small confused sounds--the staccato note of a bell, the soft thud of a passenger's body as he is jerked unexpectedly against the rail, the picturesque ripple of his expostulations with Providence.

A lamp, burning with unusual and illegal garishness, gives me light enough to examine my watch. It indicates the proximity of midnight. I realize that I am incredibly stiff and cold, and am tormented by visions of unattainable comforts.

At last I am conscious of a line of dimmed lights, of a distant roar of escaping steam, of a violent quivering motion that indicates the slackening of speed. We come to a sudden halt. The voice of Elf rises triumphant.

"Bill!"

"Yuss?"

"Two minutes arter!"

"Knowed we'd do it!"

And as I stumble blindly forth it is borne upon me that the last Ealing motor-bus has ended her journey with five minutes to spare.

* * * * *

"Egypt is placidly awaiting the event, with the absolute
conviction that the Turks and Germans will get the
boating of their lives in the Sinai Desert."--_Civil and
Military Gazette._

They certainly won't get it on the Suez Canal.

* * * * *

A MODEST SUGGESTION FOR A NEW HUNNISH CANTICLE.

"KAISER WANTS NEW NATIONAL HYMN."
"_Westminster Gazette_" _Heading._

"He shall have it."--_Mr. Punch._

GOD of our Fathers, God of old,
Who hast for us such sympathy,
Cast as Thou art in German mould,
Again we raise our voice to Thee:
Omnipotence, we need Thy hand
In air, on sea, canal and land!

The English (who, Thou knowest, hide
Contemptibly upon an isle)
No doubt on Thee have also cried,
According to their native guile;
Presumption could no further go
In those who plunged the world in woe.

Thou wouldst not hearken to a race
Possessed of that inhuman Fleet,
So cruel, arrogant and base,
So steeped in rancour and deceit.
'Twas they, remember, they alone,
Who forced this Burden on Thine own!

Bless, rather, us! our arms! our cause!
Pour on us Thy protecting love!
Sanction our fractures of Thy laws,
By U,s beneath, by Zeps above!
Relieve us in this dark impasse;
Bless all our efforts; bless our gas!

Deal gently with us should we tend--
Presuming as Thy favoured Race,
All flushed to own so great a Friend--
To dereliction into grace!
Deal gently with us, Lord, should we
Once deviate to decency!

And Him, from Whom such blessings flow,
Our WILHELM, first of Sons of Light,
Whose one ambition is to show
Mankind the rightfulness of Might;
Bless Him, and forward His device
To make an Earthly Paradise!

And should some other star up there
(For all the stellar space is Thine)
Demand Thy more immediate care,
And thus divert Thee from the Rhine,
Thou need'st but mention it, and He
Thy Viceroy hero will gladly be!

* * * * *

"WANT OF FOOD.

Salonika.

On returning to Salonika after an absence of a month, I
find the situation much relieved as a result of the
deportation of the enemy Consuls and the energetic
measures adopted to clear the town of the numerous pies
previously infesting it."--_Provincial Paper._

The headline seems justified.

* * * * *

"I bought a brochure, which explained that the Emperor
was not physically ill, but his metal condition was
upset owing to the war."

_Evening Paper._

Another allusion, we suppose, to the depreciation of the Mark.

* * * * *

"Lord Crewe and Lord Lansdowne have addressed the
following Whip to the members of the House of Lords: On
February 15 an address will be moved in the House of
Lords in answer to His Majesty's Speech. We venture to
express the hope that Your Majesty will find it possible
to attend in your place on that day."--_Yorkshire
Evening Post._

We have heard of the Sovereign People, but the Sovereign Peers are new to us.

* * * * *

"In the course of the match, Brelsford, the United
half-back, and Glennon, the Wednesday forward, were
ordered off the field for fighting. Upwards of 16,000
spectators witnessed the match."--_Birmingham Post._

Mr. Punch will gladly furnish any of the players, or eligibles amongst the 16,000 spectators, with the address of a field where fighters will certainly not be "ordered off."

* * * * *

"ANIMALS AND ZEPPELIN NOISES.

SIR,--The dat is affected by all sounds, according to
its weakness or its strength."

_Morning Paper._

We have often noticed the same thing about the cog.

* * * * *

"TYPIST and Shorthand Clerk.--Required at once for
invoicing a young lady, accustomed to the drapery trade
preferred."

_Daily Chronicle._

Not an easy post. Some young ladies are so unaccountable.

* * * * *

"Washington, Jany. 17.--Mrs. Emmeline Pankhurst the
suffragette leader now under parole in New York will be
formally admitted to the United States soon after her
papers reach Washington. President Wilson is opposed to
her execution."--_Bermuda Colonist._

A merciful man, this WILSON.

* * * * *

(The authorities have recommended that officers should
travel first-class.)]

* * * * *

A CONTROVERSY.

(_From Our Own Correspondent in America._)