Mr. Punch's History of the Great War Part 17

FRITZ: "It is indeed. I have to learn all the names of _all_ the countries that misunderstand the All-Highest."]

It is reported that ex-King Constantine is to receive 20,000 a year unemployment benefit, and Mr. Punch, in prophetic vein, pictures him as offering advice to his ill.u.s.trious brother-in-law:

Were it not wise, dear William, ere the day When Revolution goes for crowns and things, To cut your loss betimes and come this way And start a coterie of exiled Kings?

In the words of a valued correspondent (a temporary captain suddenly summoned from the trenches to the Staff), "there is this to be said about being at war--you never know what is going to happen to you next."

_August, 1917_.

With the opening of the fourth year of the War Freedom renews her vow, fortified by the aid of the "Gigantic Daughter of the West," and undaunted by the collapse of our Eastern Ally, brought about by anarchy, German gold and the fraternisation of Russian and German soldiers. The Kaiser, making the most of this timely boon, has once more been following in Bellona's train (her _train de luxe_) in search of cheap _reclame_ on the Galician front, to witness the triumphs of his new Ally, Revolutionary Russia:

But though she fail us in the final test, Not there, not there, my child, the end shall be, But where, without your option, France and we Have made our own arrangements in the West.

[Ill.u.s.tration: RUSSIA'S DARK HOUR]

It is another story on the Western Front, where the British are closing in on the wrecked remains of Lens, and the Crown Prince's chance of breaking hearts along "The Ladies' Way" grows more and more remote.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE OPTIMIST

"If this is the right village, then we're all right. The instructions is clear--'Go past the post-office and sharp to the left afore you come to the church.'"]

A recent resolution of the Reichstag has been welcomed by Mr. Ramsay MacDonald as the solemn p.r.o.nouncement of a sovereign people, only requiring the endors.e.m.e.nt of the British Government to produce an immediate and equitable peace. But not much was left of this pleasant theory after Mr.

Asquith had dealt it a few sledge-hammer blows. "So far as we know," he said, "the influence of the Reichstag, not only upon the composition but upon the policy of the German Government, remains what it always has been--a practically negligible quant.i.ty."

The Reminiscences of Mr. Gerard, the late German Amba.s.sador in Berlin, are causing much perturbation in German Court circles. In one of his conversations with Mr. Gerard, the Kaiser told him "there is no longer any International Law."

Little sc.r.a.ps of paper, Little drops of ink, Make the Kaiser caper And the Nations think.

The real voice of Labour is not that of the delegates who want to go to the International Socialist Conference at Stockholm to talk to Fritz, but of the Tommy who, after a short "leaf," goes cheerfully back to France to fight him. And the fomenters of cla.s.s hatred will not find much support from the "men in blue." Mr. Punch has had occasion to rebuke the levity of smart fashionables who visit the wounded and weary them by idiotic questions. He is glad to show the other side of the picture in the tribute paid to the V.A.D. of the proper sort:

There's an angel in our ward as keeps a-flittin' to and fro, With fifty eyes upon 'er wherever she may go; She's as pretty as a picture, and as bright as mercury, And she wears the cap and ap.r.o.n of a V.A.D.

The Matron she is gracious, and the Sister she is kind, But they wasn't born just yesterday, and lets you know their mind; The M.O. and the Padre is as thoughtful as can be, But they ain't so good to look at as our V.A.D.

Not like them that wash a teacup in an orficer's canteen, And then "Engaged in War Work" in the weekly Press is seen; She's on the trot from morn to night and busy as a bee, And there's 'eaps of wounded Tommies bless that V.A.D.

Our Grand Fleet keeps its strenuous, unceasing vigil in the North Sea. But we must not forget the merchant mariners now serving under the Windsor House Flag in the North Atlantic trade:

"We sweep a bit and we fight a bit--an' that's what we like the best-- But a towin' job or a salvage job, they all go in with the rest; When we ain't too busy upsettin' old Fritz an' 'is frightfulness blockade A bit of all sorts don't come amiss in the North Atlantic trade."

"And who's your skipper, and what is he like?" "Oh, well, if you want to know, I'm sailing under a hard-case mate as I sailed with years ago; 'E's big as a bucko an' full o' beans, the same as 'e used to be When I knowed 'im last in the windbag days when first I followed the sea.

'E was worth two men at the lee fore brace, an' three at the bunt of a sail; 'E'd a voice you could 'ear to the royal yards in the teeth of a Cape 'Orn gale; But now 'e's a full-blown lootenant, an' wears the twisted braid, Commandin' one of 'is Majesty's ships in the North Atlantic trade."

"And what is the ship you're sailin' in?" "Oh, she's a bit of a terror.

She ain't no bloomin' levvyathan, an' that's no fatal error!

She scoops the seas like a gravy spoon when the gales are up an' blowin', But Fritz 'e loves 'er above a bit when 'er fightin' fangs are showin'.

The liners go their stately way an' the cruisers take their ease, But where would they be if it wasn't for us with the water up to our knees?

We're wadin' when their soles are wet, we're swimmin' when they wade, For I tell you small craft gets it a treat in the North Atlantic trade!"

"An' what is the port you're plying to?" "When the last long trick is done There'll some come back to the old 'ome port--'ere's 'opin' I'll be one; But some 'ave made a new landfall, an' sighted another sh.o.r.e, An' it ain't no use to watch for them, for they won't come 'ome no more.

There ain't no harbour dues to pay when once they're over the bar, Moored bow and stern in a quiet berth where the lost three-deckers are.

An' there's Nelson 'oldin' is' one 'and out an' welcomin' them that's made The roads o' Glory an' the Port of Death in the North Atlantic trade."

[Ill.u.s.tration:

DOCTOR: "Your throat is in a very bad state. Have you ever tried gargling with salt water?"

SKIPPER: "Yus, I've been torpedoed six times."]

Parliament has devoted many hours of talk to the discussion of Mr.

Henderson's visit to Paris in company with Mr. Ramsay MacDonald to attend a Conference of French and Russian Socialists. As member of the War Cabinet and Secretary of the Labour Party he seems to have resembled one of those twin salad bottles from which oil and vinegar can be dispensed alternately but not together. The attempt to combine the two functions could only end as it began--in a double fiasco. Mr. Henderson has resigned, and Mr.

Winston Churchill has been appointed Minister of Munitions. Many reasons have been a.s.signed for his reinclusion in the Ministry. Some say that it was done to muzzle Mr. MacCallum Scott, hitherto one of the most pertinacious of questionists, who, as Mr. Churchill's private secretary, is now debarred by Parliamentary etiquette from the exercise of these inquisitorial functions. Others say it was done to muzzle Mr. Churchill.

Contrary to expectation, Mr. Churchill has succeeded in piloting the Munitions of War Bill through its remaining stages in double quick time.

Its progress was accelerated by his willingness to abolish the leaving certificate, which a workman hitherto had to procure before changing one job for another. Having had unequalled experience in this respect, he is convinced that the leaving certificate is a useless formality.

Food stocks going up, thanks to the energy of the farmers and the economy of consumers; German submarines going down, thanks to the Navy; Russia recovering herself; Britain and France advancing hand in hand on the Western Front, and our enemies fumbling for peace--that was the gist of the message with which the Prime Minister sped the parting Commons. "I have resigned," Mr. Kennedy Jones tells us, "because there is no further need for my services." Several politicians are of opinion that this was not a valid reason. A boy of eighteen recently told a Stratford magistrate that he had given up his job because he only got twenty-five shillings a week.

The question of wages is becoming acute in Germany too, and it is announced that all salaries in the Diplomatic Service have been reduced. We always said that frightfulness didn't really pay.

_September, 1917_.

Thanks to the collapse of the Russian armies and "fraternisation," Germany has occupied Riga. But her chief exploits of late must be looked for outside the sphere of military operations. She has added a new phrase to the vocabulary of frightfulness, _spurlos versenkt_ in the instructions to her submarine commanders for dealing with neutral merchantmen. As for the position into which Sweden has been lured by allowing her diplomatic agents to a.s.sist Germany's secret service, Mr.

Punch would hardly go the length of saying that it justifies the revision of the National Anthem so as to read, "Confound their Scandi-knavish tricks." But he finds it hard to accept Sweden's professions of official rect.i.tude, and so does President Wilson.

The German Press accuses the United States of having stolen the cipher key of the Luxburg dispatches. It is this sort of thing that is gradually convincing Germany that it is beneath her dignity to fight with a nation like America. And the growing conviction in the United States that there can be no peace with the Hohenzollerns only tends to fortify this view in Court circles. The Kaiser's protestations of his love for his people become more strident every day.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PERFECT INNOCENCE

CONSTABLE WOODROW WILSON: "That's a very mischievous thing to do."

SWEDEN: "Please, sir, I didn't know it was loaded."]

In Russia the Provisional Government has been dissolved and a Republic proclaimed. If eloquence can save the situation, Mr. Kerensky is the man to do it; but so far the men of few words have gone farthest in the war. A "History of the Russian Revolution" has already been published. The pen may not be mightier than the sword to-day, but it manages to keep ahead of it.

With fresh enemy battalions, as well as batteries, constantly arriving from Russia, the Italians have been hard pressed; but their great a.s.sault on San Gabriele has saved the Bainsizza plateau. The Italian success has been remarkable, but the Russian collapse has prevented it from being pushed home. On the Western front no great events are recorded, but the mills of death grind on with ever-increasing a.s.sistance from the resources of applied science and the new art of _camouflage_. Yet the dominion of din and death and discomfort is still unable to impair our soldiers'

capacity of extracting amus.e.m.e.nt from trivialities.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TRIALS OF A CAMOUFLAGE OFFICER

SERGEANT-MAJOR: "Beg pardon, sir, I was to ask if you'd step up to the battery, sir."

CAMOUFLAGE OFFICER: "What's the matter?"

SERGEANT-MAJOR: "It's those painted gra.s.s screens, sir. The mules have eaten them."]