Mr. Punch's History of the Great War Part 12

"This War has ceased to become an occupation befitting a gentleman--gentleman, that is, of the true Prussian breed. It was a happy and honourable task so long as it consisted of civilising the world at large with high explosive, poisonous gas and burning oil, and the world at large was not too ready to answer back. To persist in this stern business, in face of the foolish and ign.o.ble obstinacy of the adversary, required great courage and strength of mind; but the Prussian is essentially courageous and strong. Things came to a pretty pa.s.s, however, when the wicked adversary made himself some guns and sh.e.l.ls and took to being stern on his own. People who behave like that, especially after they have been conquered, are not to be mixed with--anything to keep aloof from such. One had to leave Combles, one had to leave Thiepval, one may even have to leave Bapaume to avoid the pest; these nasty French and English persons, with their disgusting tanks, intrude everywhere nowadays." The German engineer is being hoist with his own petard:

Yet you may suck sweet solace from the thought That not in vain the seed was sown, That half the recent havoc we have wrought Was based on methods all your own; And smile to hear our heavy batteries Pound you with imitation's purest flatteries.

Yet, at best, this is sorry comfort for the Kaiser.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE REJUVENATING EFFECT OF ZEPPELINS]

It is not a picnic for the men in our front line. Reports that the situation is "normal" or "quiet" or "uneventful" represent more or less correctly what is happening at G.H.Q., Divisional Headquarters, Brigade Headquarters, or even Battalion Headquarters. They represent understatement to the _n_th when applied to the front trenches. But listen again to the "Watch-dog." He admits that some of our diamonds are not smooth, but adds "for myself I welcome every touch of nature in these our warriors. It is good to be in the midst of them, for they thrive as never before, and their comforts are few enough these wet b.l.o.o.d.y days."

The Crown Prince, after seven months of ineffective carnage before Verdun, has been giving an interview to an American ex-clergyman, representing the Hearst anti-British newspapers, in which he appears in the light of a tender-hearted philanthropist, longing for peace, mercy, and the delights of home-life. Mr. Lloyd George, in an interview with an American journalist, has defined our policy as that of delivering a "knock out" to Prussian military despotism, a pugilistic metaphor which has wounded some of our Pacificists. Our Zeppelin bag is growing; Count Zeppelin has sworn to destroy London or die, but now that John Bull is getting his eye in, the oath savours of suicide.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

THE SUNLIGHT-LOSER

KAISER (as his sainted Grandfather's clock strikes three): "The British are just putting their clocks back an hour. I wish I could put ours back about three years."]

The Allies have presented an ultimatum to Greece, but Mr. Asquith's appeal to the traditions of ancient h.e.l.las is wasted on King Constantine, who, if he had lived in the days of Marathon and Salamis, would undoubtedly have been a pro-Persian. As for his future, Mr. Punch ventures on a prediction:

Tino, if some day h.e.l.las should arise A phoenix soaring from her present cinders, Think not to share her pa.s.sage to the skies Or furnish purple copy for her Pindars; You'll be in exile, if you don't take care, Along with brother William, Lord knows where!

A couple of months ago, on the occasion of sharks appearing on the Atlantic coast of the U.S.A., it was freely intimated at the fas.h.i.+onable watering-places that there was such a thing as being too proud to bathe.

Now a new and untimely irritant has turned up off the same sh.o.r.es in the shape of U-boats. Their advent is all the more inconsiderate in view of the impending Presidential Election, at which Mr. Wilson's claim is based on having kept America out of the War.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

COMRADES IN VICTORY

Combles, September 26th

POILU: "Bravo, mon vieux!"

TOMMY: "Same to you, mate."]

Members have returned to St. Stephen's refreshed by seven weeks' holiday, and the Nationalists have been recruiting their energies, but unfortunately nothing else, in Ireland. By way of signalising his restoration, after an apology, Mr. Ginnell handed in thirty-nine questions--the fruits of his enforced leisure. The woes of the interned Sinn Feiners who have been condemned to sleep in a disused distillery at Frongoch have been duly brought forward and the House invited to declare that "the system of government at present maintained in Ireland is inconsistent with the principles for which the Allies are fighting in Europe." The system of administration in Ireland is, and always has been, inconsistent with any settled principles whatsoever; but to propose such a motion now is equivalent to affirming that Ireland is being treated by Great Britain as Belgium and Poland and Serbia have been treated by Germany. Mr. Redmond made no attempt to prove this absurd thesis, but when he demanded that martial law should be withdrawn and the interned rebels let loose in a Home-ruled Ireland--while the embers of the rebellion were still dangerously smouldering--he asked too much even of that amicable and trustful beast, the British Lion. Mr. Duke is not exactly a sparkling orator, but he said one thing which needed saying, namely, that Irishmen ought to work out a scheme of Home Rule for themselves, and lay it before Parliament, instead of expecting Englishmen to do their work for them and then complaining of the result. In the division-lobby the Nationalists received the a.s.sistance of some forty or fifty British Members, who supported the motion, Mr. Punch suspects, more out of hatred of the Coalition than of love for Ireland. But they were easily out-voted by British Home Rulers alone. The impression left by the debate was that the Nationalist Members had a great deal more sympathy with the Sinn Feiners than they had with the innocent victims of the rebellion.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

MOTHER: "Come away, Jimmy! Maybe it ain't properly stuffed."]

The need of a War propaganda at home is ill.u.s.trated by the answers to correspondents in the _Leeds Mercury_. "Reasonable questions" are invited, and here is one of the answers: "T.B.--No, it is not General Sir William Robertson, but the Rev. Sir William Robertson Nicoll who edits _The British Weekly_." But then, as another journal pathetically observes, "About nine-tenths of what we say is of no earthly importance to anybody." Further light is thrown on this confession by the claim of an Islington applicant for exemption: "Once I was a circus clown, but now I am on an evening newspaper."

We are grateful to Russia for her efforts, but, as our artist shows above, the plain person is apparently uncertain as to the quality of our Ally.

We are glad to learn that, on the suggestion of Mr. Asquith, the Lord Mayor's banquet will be "of a simple nature." Apropos of diet, an officer expecting leave writes: "My London programme is fixed; first a Turkish bath, and then a nice fried sole." History repeats itself. A fried sole was the luxury which officers who served in the Boer War declared that they enjoyed most of all after their campaigning.

_November, 1916._

Francis Joseph of Austria has died on the tottering throne which has been his for nearly seventy years. In early days he had been hated, but he had shown valour. Later on he had shown wisdom, and had been pitied for his misfortunes. It was a crowning irony of fate which condemned him in old age to become the dupe and tool of an a.s.sa.s.sin. He should have died before the War--certainly before the tragedy of Sarajevo.

The British Push has extended to the Ancre, and the Crown Prince, reduced to the position of a p.a.w.n in Hindenburg's game, maintains a precarious hold on the remote suburbs of Verdun. Well may he be sick, after nine months of futile carnage, of a name which already ranks in renown with Thermopylae.

As the credit of the Crown Prince wanes, so the cult of Hindenburg waxes.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

HINDENBURGITIS; OR, THE PRUSSIAN HOME MADE BEAUTIFUL]

Monastir has been recaptured by the Serbians and French; but Germany has had her victories too, and, continuing her warfare against the Red Cross, has sunk two hospital s.h.i.+ps. Germany's U-boat policy is going to win her the War. At least so Marshal Hindenburg says, and the view is shared by that surprising person the neutral journalist. But in the meantime it subjects the affections of the neutral sailorman to a severe trial.

King Constantine, however, remains unshaken in his devotion to German interests. He has also shown marked originality by making up a Cabinet exclusively composed of University Professors. But some critics scent in his action a hint of compulsory Ministerial Service, and predict Labour troubles.

At home we have to note the steady set of the tide of public opinion in favour of Food Control. The name of the Dictator is not yet declared, but the announcement cannot be long postponed. Whoever he may be, he is not to be envied. We have also to note the steady growth on every side of Government bungalows--the haunts (if some critics are to be believed) of the Great Uncombed, even of the Hidden Hand. The men of forty-one were not wanted last March. Mr. Lloyd George tells us that they are wanted now, or it would mean the loss of two Army Corps. The Germans, by the way, appear to be arriving at a just conception of their relative value. Lord Newton has informed the Lords that the enemy is prepared to release 600 English civilian prisoners in return for some 4,000 to 7,000 Germans. Parliament has developed a new grievance: Ministers have confided to Pressmen information denied to M.P.'s. And a cruel wrong has been done to Erin, according to Mr. Dillon, by the application of Greenwich time to Ireland, by which that country has been compelled to surrender its precious privilege of being twenty-five minutes behind the times. The injustice is so bitter that it has reconciled Mr. Dillon and Mr. Healy.

The Premier has hinted that if the House insisted on having fuller information than it receives at present another Secret Session might be held. When one considers the vital problems on which Parliament now concentrates its energies--the supply of cocaine to dentists, the withholding of pictures of the Tanks, etc.--one feels that there should be a Secret Session at least once a week. Indeed, if the House were to sit permanently with closed doors, un.o.bserved and unreported, the country might be all the better for it.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

A STRAIN ON THE AFFECTIONS

NORWEGIAN (to Swede): "What--you here, too. I thought you were a friend of Germany?"

SWEDE: "I was."]

It is the fas.h.i.+on in some quarters to make out that fathers do not realise the sacrifice made by their sons, but complacently acquiesce in it while they sit comfortably at home over the fire. Mr. Punch has not met these fathers. The fathers--and still more the mothers--that he knows recognise only too well the unpayable nature of their debt.

They held, against the storms of fate, In war's tremendous game, A little land inviolate Within a world of flame.

They looked on scarred and ruined lands, On sh.e.l.l-wrecked fields forlorn, And gave to us, with open hands, Full fields of yellow corn;

The silence wrought in wood and stone Whose aisles our fathers trod; The pines that stand apart, alone, Like sentinels of G.o.d.

With generous hands they paid the price, Unconscious of the cost, But we must gauge the sacrifice By all that they have lost.

The joy of young adventurous ways, Of keen and undimmed sight, The eager tramp through sunny days, The dreamless sleep of night,

The happy hours that come and go, In youth's untiring quest, They gave, because they willed it so, With some light-hearted jest.

No lavish love of future years, No pa.s.sionate regret, No gift of sacrifice or tears Can ever pay the debt.

Yet if ever you try to express this indebtedness to the wonderful young men who survive, they turn the whole thing into a jest and tell you, for example, that only two things really interest them, "Europe and their stomachs"--nothing in between matters.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PAT (examining fare): "May the divil destroy the Germans!"

SUB: "Well, they don't do you much harm, anyway. You don't get near enough to 'em."