punch january 1941

PUNCH OR The London Charivari—January 15 1941 Price Sixpence Published every Wednesday

MOTOR UNION INSURANCE CO. LTD.ALL CLASSES OF INSUKANCB TRANSACTS*

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VOLUME

COA^LVv.

JANUARY 15

1941

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January 15 1941

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PUNCH or The London Charivari

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IV PUNCH or The London Charivari

From a 2nd Lieut.—2j(iil40.

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January 15 1941

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January 15 1941 PUNCH or The London Charivari

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VI PUNCH or The London Charivari January 15 1941

UDMINIllll ON UTIVI SERflCl

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A.C.I9

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Vol. CC No. 5209

LONDON CHARIVAR

January 15 1941

CharivariaIn Eire there is no rationing, no Purchase Tax and no It isn't true that Dr. Goebbels has lost interest in Italy,

black-out. In any other country this would be regarded He does let the Rome radio sink one of our ships now andas peace. then.

"Japan is planning drastic" steps in regard to China— Hitler's answer to President Roosevelt's broadcaststeps that will surprise the world," says a Tokyo spokesman. was expected to take the form of a cosy Fireside Shriek

Such as declaring war? from Berchtesgaden.

VEST

A doctor declares thatthere arc fewer people withbandy legs. Either that orit's too cold for shorts.

Many of Hitler's shocktroops are said to be teetotalers. This has led tothe rumour that the invasion wll be made onwater-wagons.

"Locked m WithA Gho.st

Weekly Paper's Cover AnnouncemerU.It must become monotonous.

EveryFriday "

We understand that on the conclusion of hostilitiesbetween Great Britain and Germany, Eire will immediatelydeclare war ujjon both countries in defenceof her neutrality.

-a

A German radio speakerprotested because Britishairmen had attached tags tobombs dropped on Berlinreading "A Happy NewYear." Come, come! Wearc sure they didn't mean it.

"Protest to Berlisn."

Daily Paper.But will Berlisn?

Photographs together with cartoons of Hitler have beendistributed in Holland to show how unjust foreign cartoonists are to the Fuehrer. Dutchmen now realize that thephotographs are hardly exaggerated at all.

A critic refers to a famous grand opera soprano who wasinvariably flat. That is not the characteristic build of agrand opera soprano.

52 PUNCH or The London Charivari January 15 1941

W^.

!." 'liii,®wiMiarijiw^V%V'«iV • "liV'iill

"I'/i hef a shilling you don't know the way to WinchesterI

I SAY, did you read poor oldAnsaldo's misery-talk?

Read what ?The Woe - Speech. By Signor An-

saldo.Who's he ?One of the Doochy's principal

j'appers.Now, look here, old boy, don't make

fun of the Wops. It isn't done. It's likehitting a baby.

My dear follow, I'm with you, ofcourse. I wouldn't say a word aboutthe military doings. Appalling fonn.In fact I don't think it's very decentof us to count the prisoners.

Especially as, most unfairly, we seemto have concentrated a grossly superiorforce in the desert and attacked the enemywithout much warning.

Too un - English. But the point

Little Talks

about the Woe-tp-the-Wop speech isdifferent. You didn't read it?

Can't remember. One swallows somany ihunderbolts these days.

Well, there was a series of sentencesbeginning " Woe !"

" Whoa" t Addressed to the Army ?No! Woe! W-o-E. Addressed to

civilians. It reminded me of Jeremiah.This sort of thing:

"Woe to all those who on thissunny winter afternoon have notgiven a single thought to what isgoing on in the Marmaric "The what ?The Marmaric.What's that ? A liner ?No. I gather it's "that strip ofAfrica

between the desert and the sea,hammered by artillery, attacked bytanks "

Too inconsiderate.Yes. This was the afternoon of

Bardia Day. We won't, as you rightlysuggest, unkindly crow over the Woptroops. But what an extraordinarything for this Ansaldo creature to say-to the civilians—on such a day! "Allthose who have not given a singlethought to what is going on" I

Very odd.Hardly sounds like a nation cemented

in blood and iron and what-not to theDoochy's right elbow—docs it?

No. Sounds more like the chaps ofsome decadent "pluto-democracy."

Exactly. And there's a lot more.Listen. "Woe to all those in theirtwenties who, in their usual cafe ortheir usual haunt, have not felt a burning desire to be down there "

Dovm' where 1

January 15 1941 PUNCH or The London Charivari 53

Wait. "... down there with thedefenders of Port Bardia to give thema hand and hold fast with them!"

Bui this is staggering. I thought everybody was in the Wop Armed Forces,beginnii^ with those in their teens.

So did I. We've heard of nothingelse for years.

Then how can there he chaps in theirtwenties hanging about their usualhaunts ?

I expect there's a Schedoolo diOecupatris Riservatis.

But how very democratic and banal!Quite. Well, here's some more:

"Woe to those in their fortiesNothing about the thirties ?Not that I can see. Maybe Ansaldo's

one of the thirties. "Woe to those intheir forties who, in the pleasures oftheir homes and families, have not felt,if even for a second, a manly regretthat they can no longer carry a rifle asin the spring of their youth !"

Stranger and stranger. Do you meanto say that after forty a Wop can't carrya rifle ? What a country ! Why, thisdecadent old island is full offorty-fellowscarrying rifles—and carrying them,sometimes, a darn sight better than thespring-boys! Why, at the age offifly—

He doesn't say anything about thefifties.

Well, I do. At the age offifty IHe goes on: "Woe to all those who,

on "

1 say, at the age of fifty I passed A1for the Navy !

Nonsense IYes 1 did. And no hanky-panky

either. Passed clean through sixenormous doctors I And big beefy boysbeing turned douni right and left !

Jolly good, oldBeen on the water ever since the war

began and never missed a day for sickness yet!

Awfully interesting, old fellow, but

Well, howmany teetotalers offifty—Shall we go on with Ansaldo, dear

old boy? He says next: "Woe to allthose who "

" Woe to all those who keep good winefrom strong men with wicked taxes !"

He doesn't say that. He says: "Woeto those who, on hearing the communiques in these last few days, havenot felt their hearts suffocate withanxiety and curiosity, while they \\erepassing their time at a football matchor some more or loss stupid film!"

Extraordinary ! I thoughtstupid fdmsweren't allowed in Fascist Wopland.

Exactly. I thought everything wasokey-doke and tiddley-pi. I thoughtall the films and everything wereselected_and disinfected by the Top

Wop himself, assisted by one or twosons-in-law in his Cabinet.

If not, what has the Top Wop beendoing all these twenty years ? One canunderstand his making a mess of theArmy or the Navy

Now, then! No unworthy impoliteness, please.

All's well. But at least, one thought.,he had Home Affairs well in hand. Heis, I suppose, Home Secretary ? AndMinister of Infoi-mation ? And President of the Board of National Morale ?

So I presume. Ho is, I believe, incharge of every Ministry unless thecontrary is shown.

Verywell. Then what has hebeenListen. "Woe to all those who,

hearing such a bulletin issued to-day,can still go about their humdrumlittle affairs and their humdinm littleamusements in their usual way, andwho do not feel it their duty, while thebattle of Bardia is raging, to pass fiveminutes in silence in the secret of theirhearts!"

I think I rather like poor old Ansaldo."None of these are ""None of these is " Surely?No. It's "None of these a.reltalia'ns."

You couldn't say "None of these isItalians!"

Of course not. I should say : "Noneof these is an Italian "

Well, anyhow, he saysWhat d'you mean—" Well, anyhoiv" ?

You can't skate away like that !Anyhow, Ansaldo says: "None of

these "What a world !

"None of these are Italians worthy

of the name. In their petty arroganceand egoism they delude themselves ifthey think that they can go on livinglike this, remote from any discomfort,whileothers are figliting a war to whichthey do not even give a thought."

"In their petty arrogance and egoismthey delude themselves if they think thatthey can go on living like this ..." Iwo^er if the Top Wop heard that.

I agiee with you. I think poor oldAnsaldo is on the right lines. "It is awarning," he says," to all Italians, bothrich and poor, leaders or subordinates."Leaders or subordinates.

It's the worst thing said about theTop Wop yet.

Yes. What a picture! A nationbadly organized for one thing—youngpeople sitting about at cafes, haunts,films and

"Stxipid" films.Yes. Stupid films and football

matches—who ought to be in the army.Waste of man - power — failure todevelop the national resources. A raceso worn-out and lacking in true virilitythat every man's too old at forty tocarry a rifle.

And so lacking in unity, morale,co-ordination and what-not tlwi at theheight of a super-super-crisis a lot ofthem sit about,' remotefrom discomfort,'and 'don't givea single thought' towhat'sgoing on! What a picture! What acountry !

And what, as you reasonably inquired just now, has the Top Wop gotto show for the last twenty years ?

The Italian stoker, old boy. Secondto none. A. P. H.

He was growing at a tremendous rate at this period*


WannaninglooThe customer who came up to the counter of the.

snack-bar was small and round. He uore a boulcrhat pushed far back on his head and his face was

flushed with an excitement unusual at 1.45 p.m. He beganto make the ordinary preparations for consuming the mostimcomfortable kind of meal ever devised by the fertile brainof man. He climbed slowly (but successMly after one ortwo false starts) on to a very high stool, took off his hat andgloves, and placed them carefully on the vacant high stoolat his right hand. With equal care he propped his umbrellaagainst the polished woodwork between his knees. By anerror of judgment he had placed his hat and gloves not inthe centre but on the edge of the right-hand stool. Theyfell off on to the sanded floor.

By a second error he had failed to balance his umbrellain a precisely perpendicular attitude. This also fell to thefloor.

Paying no attention to preliminary'set-backs, he put bothelbows on the counter and staring hard (but a little toohard) at the barman in white overalls who was polishing aglass, he said in a loud voice:

'' Wannaningloo."The barman's forehead WTinkled slightly, but hp allowed

himself no other sign of astonishment. He put down theglass and gave the customer a menu-card on which three-quarters of the promised dishes had been crossed out withan indelible pencil.

The customer turned the card upside-down and studiedit carefully for several seconds. He then looked for sometime at the back of it, on which nothing was written at all.He put it down and said again in a slightly louder voice:

" Wannaningloo."There seemed to be some prospect of an impasse. The

customer, however, was not without further mental

" Whenever I think 1 've done enough knittingfor a bitthey go and call up another age-group."

resources. Turning half round, he placed a hand affectionately on the shoulder of his fellow-martyr on the left-handstool whose feet had been smartly rapped a moment beforeby the subsiding umbrella. "You're olo friend mine," hesaid. "Very ole friend mine. Tellim I wamianingloo.Teliim I waimaningloo at once."

Fear of undeserved publicity fought for a moment withtact in the victim's mind. He was not without experience,presumably, of ancient friendship in snack and other bars.He chose the wiser course.

"Have a nice plate of cold tongue like I'm having," hesaid cajolingly. "A nice plate of cold tongue and a nicepickle or two."

" Or a nice piece of ham," said the barman, now spealdngfor the first time.

It is not known whether, without nicety, the Britishpublic would ever" condescend to eat anything at all.

The customer shook his head slowly but with greatdecision.

"Slike this," he said earnestly and as though endeavouringto explain a simple proposition to imbeciles—"slike this.Out Egypt sand. Out Libya sand. You know Libya. Olefriend mine knows Libya. Out Libya no houses, nothingbut sand. Army doesn't want houses. Good old army gotHitler's pal on the run. Army doesn't want houses.Ostriches don't want houses. Lay eggs in sand. Well thenIgland. Always bo an Igland. You'11 bear mc out alwaysbe an Igland. You're ole friend mine bear me out."

His ole friend bore him out."Swat I meant," he continued. "Igland not lilce Egypt.

Igland like Iceland this time year. Have to have houses.Can't hve sand."

Desirous, ai)parently, of demonstrating this tremendoustruth, the customer made a sudden sweep with his disengaged hand, and in doing so knocked the glass whichthe barman had been polishing off" the counter. Theincident diverted his attention immediately.

"Sbroken," he said solemnly.This also was undeniably true. The glass was in fragments.

Other customers, dropping from their perches, edged nearerand became interested in the subtleties of the discourse.The manager himself hovered uneasily in the rear. Thespeaker slipped down from his own high stool not on to thefloor but on to his hat. He groped for it, found it, set thebattered structure on his head, and turned round to addressthe company at large. "Swat I meant," he repeatedemphatically. "Out Egypt sand. Out Libya sand. OutIgland snow. Goveriunent ought provide ingloos wintertime Iglishman want houses. Ingloos made snow."

The manager took his arm and steered him poUtcdy tothe suing-door. A waiter retrieved his sand-covered glovesand his dusty umbrella. He seemed contented, like onewho has fulfiiled a mission. "Ole friend manager," he saidimpressively as he passed out into the leaden afternoon,"unstand me perfectly. Wannaningloo."

"He's all I'ight," said somebody near the pay-desk."Had his office bombed to bits last night. Nothing thematter with him." Evoe.

Political Antics

"Meanwliile M. Bonnet, Foreign Minister in the Deladior Government, was asking to bo roeeivetl by Marshal Petain and Laval,having fallen between two stools, was kicking his heels in Paris."

Daily Paper.

punchorTheLondonChahivaiu—January151941'

PIAJ^^crjLoj!'jDoir

||

iLUf^wVAji^^ja

'TWIXTREITHANDWREN

"Charming,SirChristopher1Andnowwhereshallweputthepowerstations,thecommunalrestaurants,theairports,thebusdepots,theoverheadcross-roads,themultiplestores,themunicipalbathsandtheB.B.C.?"

56 PUNCH *or The London Charivari January 15 1941

"You WOULD have a rockery on the shelter; now we can't find the entrance,'

WE are admittedly fighting forthe preservation of democracy.When therefore one comes

across little portions of it preserved asbeautifully as flies in aspic, as per-'manently as quails in amber, it givesone quite a sense of achievement. Itis indeed gratifying to realize, forinstance, that after fifteen months ofwar several Government Departmentscan still spend more time over shufflingthe responsibility for doing a small jobon to one another than it would takeany one of tliom to do the darn thing.A real breath from the past.

Lieutenant Spanner (about whosemap-printing lorry running amok inErance I told you last year) is the heroof tliis particular story. After beingDunkirked he found himself in cliargeof a big building in the South ofEngland in which his famous machineand several others were busily printingmaps. (For no ascertainable reason

Wheels of WarLieutenant Spanner Defeats Democracy.

this particular job came under theMinistry of Agriculture and Fisheries.Don't ask we why!) The building wasnew and large and white, but it wasnot till one day he found CorporalGadget laboriously stripe-painting asentry-box just outside it for fear of

'"'ostile observances, Sir, so givingaway the position of our printingshop," that it occurred to him that itwould be more effective perhaps tohave the building itself camouflaged.So he wrote to the Ministry of Foodand Fish, and there the matter shouldhave ended.

But, thank heaven for the si^iritof democratic England, it didn't. Itmerely began.

Tlie Mini.stry wrote bacik by return—well, say within two weeks—and saidthat the actual building belonged tothe Office of Works: their responsibility, not ours . . . frightfully sorryand all that. So Spanner \^ote the

Office of Works. The 0. of W.,a cagey lot at the best of times,realized at once that if they weren'tpretty careful they might actuallyhave to do the job. By way ofexploringavenues of escape they tentativelyasked, for a start, what was in thebuilding. They Avere of course prepared to go on asking questions forweeks in the hope of getting a cue foran exit line, but they drew lucky rightaway, for the reply naturally was"Printing machines." Delightedly theysaid: "Ah! but that's the business ofHis Majesty's Stationery Office," andreturned happily to their noimal work—whatever the heck that is!

The Stationery Office, however,were also old hands at the game. Theysaid in effect: "Printing machines?Nothing to do with us. \Vc do all ourpi-inting." So back Spanner wrote tothe Office ofWorks, who, stiU preparedto leave no stone unturned to avoid


having to do anything, were nowluckily inspired to ask what the devilthe printing macliines were, printingthere ?

Restraining an impulse—for severalweeks had passed and Spanner wasgetting impatient—to reply "Counterfeit pound-notes," he wrote back"Military maps," whereupon the Officeof Works, beaming all over its face,was able to reply that it would appearthat such fell within the purviewof the War Office, who undoubtedlywould accept responsibility for camouflaging the building in which theirmaps were printed: indeed, if properly •handled, they might even go so faras actually to have it done, thoughperhaps that was taking rather too rosya view of the situation.

Wearily Spanner wote to the WarOffice. The War Office, being naturallybusy with a war, hadn't time for landscape work. They said curtly that itwas the business of the Ministry underwhich Lieutenant Spanner's work fell.He should ap2)ly to the Ministry ofFood and Fish.

Thus in a bare two months the wheelhad turned full circle. A lesser manmight have left it there and eitheri-esigned his commission, or gone downto the local to get drunk, or shot himself. Or even all three. Or he mighthave scrounged the paint, done the jobhimself, and got court-martialled forexceeding his duty. Spanner, however,did none of these things. He remembered that quite a number of his majjswere supplied to and used by the AirForce, who, with the Navy and theWigan Town Council, were about theonly 2)eople of importance who hadn'tyet been dragged into the business.

So he vTote to the Air Ministry, whoreplied in due course (ten days) thatthey were hurt, amazed and indeedrather outraged at the suggestion thatthey should undertake the respon-sibiUty of camouflaging a whole largebuilding belonging to someone elsejust because they hajrpened to haveused a few maps printed therein.Spanner, they said, with the misguidedidea of being helpful, should ajrply tothe Tilinistry of Food and Fish.

Spanner tJiereupon played his lastcard. He remembered how his uncle,a celebrated Back-Bencher, had toldhim the only way to get anything donein a democracy was to take someoneout to lunch. Quite frequently it didn'tmatter who, as long as the lunch wasgood: somethhig invariably resulted.There was a certain je ne sais quoiabout a lunch. Spanner's uncle said,which started things working.

So Spanner mobilized his financialresources and then rang up the only

friend he happened to have in theAil- Ministry and asked him to lunch.The friend, having recovered from hissurprise, accepted heartily and madeit the following day, apparently afraidlest Spanner should change his mindor discover that he was confusing himwith someone else.

Sparmer lushed him up to the bestthat his club and rationing couldachieve, and then said that he'd beenthinking of reporting something to theAir Jlinistry but diffii't know whetherit was important enough.

"Toll us what it is, old man!" saidthe friend genially, from out of twobobs'-worth of cigar-smoke, from abovetwelve bobs'-worth of lunch, and frombehind three bobs'-worth of old brandy."I might be able to help, old man!Do anything for you, old man!"

Spaimer thereupon explained thatdown his u'ay he had noticed a largenew white building which he rathersuspected the German raiders wereusing as a landmark. It was vm-doubtedly clearly visible at night andcertainly he had observed that theyalways changed course when directlyover it.

"Most important!" said the other,and added quickly: "But don't botherto write to the Air Ministry! /'Umention it in the right quarter." Forin spite of the free lunch he thoughthe might as well have what creditwas going. "It certainly onght to becamouflaged," he said warmly. "Onething, thougli: what about the peojdewho own the place ? Would they object,do you thinlc, if we wanted to do it?"

Demurely Spanner replied that hethought they wouldn't mind, if tactfully approached.

The very next day an Air Ministryofficial descended on Spanner. Hespoke round the subject for some while—the general effects of bombing, the

manner in which the Germans foundtheir way: landmarks, and so on—andat last very diffidently pointed out thatit was faintly possible the buildingunder Spanner's care might be so used.Perhaps it would be as well to be onthe safe side—"camouflage it, youknow. Of course we'd do it ourselves,"he added hastily.

Spanner hummed and hawed. Hehad no authority to give permission.The building was very nice and brightas it was. He rather liked the effecthimself. He might get into trouble.He must think it over. . . .

It was then twelve-thirty and theAir Ministry official, under the impression he was a mine of low cunning,said; "Perhaps you'd come out tolunch with me and we'll discuss itfurther?"

This of course was all that Spaimerhad been waiting for, because he didn'tsee why he should be down a lunch indoing someone else's work.

He ate and drank to as near hisoriginal outlay as possible, and finallyhe was persuaded, over the final threebobs'-worth of old brandy, to let theAir Ministry camouflage his map-printing building. The fellow told himhe'd really been very decent about itand he wished more people would seethings in the proper way.

But the whole thing has heartenedSpanner considerably. And, indeed,all of us. Democracy cannot perishfrom this earth. ... A. A.

Nasty Shock

"By this tirao wo wore unconsciouslytaking it for granted that the fight was ovor,and we wore congratulating oui-selves on thefact that we were still alive.

"We were soon disillusioned."

From "I Was Graf Spee's Prisoner.'"

" Yes, I know — there was a warning and the shopclosed before the 'All-Clear.'"


'I'll soon knock the rest off when my lumbago is better.'

Mr. Tootle and Mrs. Tootle

There was once aclerk named Albert Tootle whowas also what is known as a bit of a stick in the mudbecause he always pushed his pen and never pushed

himself.

He was married and he also had rheumatism but he didntmind the rheumatism.

Well one evening Mi's. Tootle said Is there anything inthe paper Albert ? so ho naturally said No dear nothing soshe said Why are you reading it then ? He said Well it issomething to look at so she said Well arcnt I something?and he said You certainly are. She said I can rememberthe time when you couldnt take your eyes off me so he saidWell I can remember the time when I couldnt take my eyesoff cream buns but do I worry about them now? Mrs.Tootle said No so he said Well there you are then.

Mrs. Tootle said Did you see that picture of that coupleat that swanky wedding dont they look happy? so Mr.Tootle said Ah but looks arent everything. Mrs. Tootlesaid Anyway she looks attractive and do you know why?

Naturally Mr. Tootle didnt say anything because everyhusband knows that when his wife says And do you knowwhy? she means Listen you poor boob while I tell you.So Mrs. Tootle said Well her clothes are made to fit butmine are only made to sell so Mr. Tootle said Has thecoal come ?

Mrs. Tootle said You never listen to me so he said I canusually hear what youre saying without listening so shesaid Well I dont know why I married so he said Anywayit is some consolation to know that wo both think along thesame lines. Mrs. Tootle said Do you know I havent got athing to wear? so Mr. Tootle said Then youd better puta bit more coal on the fire.

Mrs. Tootle said Well if clothes make the man they makethe woman too so Mr. Tootle said No dear if they make the

woman they break the man so Mrs. Tootle said Well I musthave some new things so he said Well get some then.

So Mrs. Tootle breathed hard and said Listen when awoman gets some new clothes the shop assistant writes theprice on a piece of paper called a bill and then the customerpays the bill and it is an old English custom to pay billswith money so IVIr. Tootle said Indeed how interesting.Mi'S. Tootle said Yes and it is an even older custom forhusbands to give money to their wives for such purposes soMr. Tootle said Oh well there is no need to make a fetish oftradition.

Mrs. Tootle said For two pins I would go homo to Motherso Mr. Tootle said Well it may take me a little time to findthem dear so dont you wait I will send them on to you.

Mrs. Tootle said Mrs. Smiths husband has bought her afur coat and Mrs. Browns husband has bought her a furcoat and even Mrs. Robinsons husband has bought her afur coat but what the so and so have you bought roe ? soMr. Tootle said Well dear I gave you a tin of tobacco forChristmas so she said Yes for you to smoke so he said Yesdear but it is the thought that counts.

So Mrs. Tootle said Anyway you make me sick, meaningthat Mr. Tootle did not meet with her unqualified approval,because youre not a bit like all the other husbands we know.She said Why do they earn more money than you do ? soMr. Tootle said They dont earn more they just get paid mpre.Mrs. Tootle said Well if only you would get on I \vould callyou darling even when we didnt have visitors so Mr.Tootle said I shall be quite satisfied if you call me whenevera meal is ready but I see I shall have no peace until youhave a fur coat so I vill do my best to get on.

So next morning Mr. Tootle went to his employer andsaid Excuse me Mi". Rivet but how did you get to be boss ?so Mr. Rivet said Oh I just stepped into dead mens shoesbut actually I wanted to be a triangle player in an orchestra.So Mr. Tootle went to the clerk who was senior to him andsaid Are you feeling ill old man? and the clerk said Nowhy ? so^Ii'. Tootle said Oh nothing because the clerk only-got five pounds a year more anjnvay.

So Mr. Tootle went to his bank manager and said Canyou teU me the secret of success? and the bank managersaid Yes punctuality and diligence but you must excuseme now because I got in late this morning and I want toget away early to take my wife to a matinee I always wantedto be an actor good morning.

So Mr. Tootle went to his greengrocer who made what isknown as a pretty penny and he asked him how he got on.The greengrocer said Well I useter push a barrer but therewasnt no room for improvement seein as it was a narrerbarrer so I opened this ere shop ere but I reckon Id avemade more of a go of bein a pharmacootical chemist.

Well wherever Mr. Tootle went everyone gave himdifferent advice. Some said You must have push and somesaid You must have pull but they all seemed to think theywould have been better off if they were what they wcrent.

When Ml'. Tootle got home IVks. Tootle said Well haveyou got my fur coat? so Mr. Tootle said No dear so Mrs.Tootle said Then I shall go home to Mother. But of courseshe hadnt any money to pay the fare and Mr. Tootle hadnteither so he said Well dear Im afraid you will have to waituntil I have got on before you can afford to leave me fornot getting on is my meal ready?

Well while he was eatmg his meal Mr. Tootle wasimmersed in the newsiiaper which is a shocking habit ofhusbands at mealtimes and is responsible for wive.s sayingI dont believe what I see in the paper when he suddenlysaid Listen dear there is an interview on page two with amillionaire and he says he owes everything to his wife sofrom now on I will owe the housekeeping money to you and


•' Weighs 'imself every night and every mornin' regular."

then I shall soon have plenty of money why are you wavingthat chair about?

Well after the neighbours had finished calling to ask whatall the row was about and after Mrs. Tootle had explainedto them that the bump on Mr. Tootles head was only a sortof bump of wisdom Mr. Tootle said By jove if every manthinks he could make a better job of the other fellows jobthan the other fellow can why shouldnt he paj' for having ashot at it? So he put advertisements in papers saying DoYou Yearn For Success? Doesnt The Boss Even Call YouMister? Learn A Now Profession. Join The Tootle TutorialCollege Today If Not Sooner. Correspondence Courses inEverything And If You Cant Even Read Or Write SendUs A Postcard And We Will Teach You Free Of Charge.

Well Mr. Tootle had a lot of replies and before long jazzpianists were being taught banldng by bank clerks who wereonly paying half fees because they were teaching jazzpianists who were only paying half fees because they wereteaching bank clerks how to be jazz pianists and so on.

And Mr. Tootle made a lot of money out of letting peopleteach each other so he bought Mrs. Tootle a fur coat andthey soon moved to a much larger house and were friendlywith a lot of other successful business men and their wivesand they all played bridge and golf and had the best seatsat the theatre and so on.

So one day Mr. Tootle said to Mrs. Tootle Well dear areyou satisfied with me now ? and would you believe it Mrs.Tootle said No darling. Mr. Tootle said Well why not? soMrs. Tootle said The trouble with you is that youre justlike all the other husbands we know why in heavens namecant you be a little different ?

So after that Mr. Tootle gave up trying to please Mrs.Tootle because he realized the truth of the old saying Plusca change plus cest la meme chose which means You mayride on a bike You may ride in a carriage But women arcwomen And marriage is marriage.

In HospitalWATCHING the doctor

Listen through a stethoscopeAt the manly chest of

Bed Number Three,I thought: Could we but listenTo the heart's emotionsAs well as its pulsations,

How diverting it would be!

Number Three's heart

Would warble a love-songFor any gay young V.A.D.

Who happened to be nigh,While the heart of Number TenWould sound a fanfareFor the small dark Sister

With the bird-like eye.

As for my heart,It has its momentsOf exaltation.

Of joyous peals.Of bells a-ringing.Of bells a-singing—In honour of anyone

Who brings me my meals.A. W. B.

Brownshirts* Washing Taken In

" Dutch traitors to give laundatory talks regarding Nazis onHaw-Haw ' lines."—Scottish Paper.


Dreams Walking"T GOULD have swom I was awake all the time," said

I Upfoot.I " One very often can could have," said Cogbottle,

"if you understand me."The end of the road do\rn which they had been walking

proved to be blocked with barbed wire. Cogbottle said"Damn, I forgot this. Wo shall have to go all the wayback. Or no, we could cut across the field here perhaps."

As they turned Upfoot said "Living in a Defence Areainterrupts the amenities of life to an astonishing degree."

"There's a war on," said Cogbottle."I admit it. I wasn't exactly complaining. I was

merely observing with some surprise," Upfoot said. " There'sbeen a pill-box at the end of our road for nearly six monthsnow, but I still find myself within an ace of walking slapinto it every time I go near it in the dark."

"The fundamentally, shall we say, unnatural characterof defences against an invasion of an unprecedentedkind " Cogbottlc began.

Upfoot said in a brisk tone "Yes, of course. One has tocope with them all by trial and error, I see that."

"If they're unexpected to u^," said Cogbottle, "howmuch more "

"I grasp your point . . . But what I was saying was, Icould have svom I was awake all the time."

"When?""I told you: when that sentence came into my head.

I realize of course I must have been dreaming, but I couldhave sworn "

"What was it again?""The sentence ? It was a question. ' Would it have been

cheques if I'd been a nurse?' And the odd thing is, I don'tImow whether it was cheques vdth a q, or Czechs with acapital C z."

"I wouldn't say that was very important, myself,"Cogbottle said.

"My dear chap, I don't pretend any of it's important.1 'm merely describing what occurred as a matter of interest.It's quite a usual thing to discuss, isn't it, the sentences thatcome to one in dreams ? Nobody claims they 're important."

"The psycho-analysts " Cogbottle began."Never mind them. I—oh, confound it, here we are again."They had reached another wall of barbed wire.

" It's merely that they will not take the chill offthe hurgmdy."

"We just have to follow this down till we get to anopening, I take it," said Cogbottle.

"At least we can see the sea," said Upfoot."Inadequate compensation on a day like this. If you

ask me, I think it's about time we saw a sentry."Upfoot said "I should regard that as even less adequate

compensation."They plodded for some distance and then Cogbottle said

suddenly "My last dream-sentence, or the last one Irecorded, was a line of verse: 'Confusion fills the cellar ofthe monkey-nut brigade.'"

"Very neat," said Upfoot. "Nevertheless, a state ofaffairs I find it difficult to envisage."

"Oh, if you must envisage everything. The other nightin the News there was some stuff about the Quisling partyin Norway, 'some of whom,' this is what the announcer said,'were formerly well-knovm members of the Oslo underworld.'How do you envisage them? I suppose it's because I wasnever in Norway, but I can't envisage any underworld inOslo at all, let alone picture any well-known members of it.Can you?"

"Bright, clean, cheerful, tidy Norway, no litter in thestreets " ,

"Exactly. Completely out of key. Where was I?""You were telling me about the monkey-nut brigade,"

Upfoot said."Oh yes. An interesting concept, don't you think? I

am always interegted to note," Cogbottle went on, "howremarkably creative I am in dreams. It's impressive sometimes. I realizeperfectly wellit's a dream and I feelpleaseduith myself for putting in so many unexpected details,even while I'm taking part as an actor in the scene "

A sentry appeared from behind a shrub and said "Hey!""That's no way to challenge," Upfoot said dis

approvingly.Cogbottle said to the sentry "Can't we come along here

either?""You ought not to be within two hundred yards of here,"

declared the sentry. "Didn't you see the notice?""What notice?"The sentry pointed."Oh, we didn't come all the way down there," said

Upfoot. "We came across there.""Ah," said the sentry. "That would be how you missed

it. You come up kind of behind it, see? Identity cards ?"They produced them."All," said the sentry, handing them back. "You been

lucky, let mo tell you.""Lucky?""There's mines buried along where you come," said the

sentry. "You might have set 'em off easy. Was youdreaming?". "You might call it that," said Cogbottle.

"You better go right back along the path," said thesentry. "And keep to the path."

Upfoot said "Just to please you." R. M.

Mr. Punch on Tour

The Exhibition of the original work of Modex-n PunchArtists will be on view at the Public Art Gallery, Hanley,Stoke-on-Trent, from January 18th to February 15th.Admission will be free.


Tm minutes jet to black-out, Fred.'

Ballade of Military InadequacyThe trumpet speaks, and voices strangely clear

Bid me parade. Go tell them I refuse;Or, if you deem such answer too severe,

Say I am sick, and will they please exeuse?If then thoy weep, as grief-distraught to lose

Its chiefest glory from their marshalled line,Parade I will, but in my bathing-shoes.

I cannot get my ruddy boots to shine.

Till late I hoped some splendid high career;My brain was rich in many a dazzling ruse

Should make von Keitel pale with sudden fearAnd give old Hess a dose of double blues;But Gort to Brooke has breathed the fatal news.

And Brigadiers repeat it where they dine:"The foremost fence his worthless mount eschews;

He cannot get his ruddy boots to shine."

A myriad motives urge men to appearThus dimly-shod: Smith does it to amuse;

Du Parcq informs mo he delights to hearOur C.S.M. articulate his views;And Hughes has pledged his mother (Mrs. Hughes)

Who charged him o'er a bowl of cowslipwine,

"Shine you no boot, my son, no matt<;rwhose."

I cannot get my ruddy boots to shine.

Envoi

Sergeant, in vain poor mortal man pursuesPerfection's wraith, and tends an empty

shrine.

Yo% cannot meditate the thanlcless Muse;/ cannot get my ruddy boots to shine.

Punch or The London Charivari—January IS 1041

DRAMATIC MOMENTS

OR THE GRUESOME TRAGEDY OF BENITO MACBETH

"Is that a digger that I see behind me?"


>

Mr. PUNCH'S HOSPITAL COMFORTS FUND(Registered under the War Cliaritios .^ct, 1940)

This Fund, wliich was originally started in order to purchase supplies of raw material anddistribute them to Voluntary Working Parties for the Hospitals, has already sent out a

very large quantity of Knitting Wool, Unbleached Calico and Veltex, as well as many othermaterials of all varieties, to be made up into comforts for the wounded.

The number of casualties now caused by the indiscriminate bombing of London and ourother great cities has made it necessary to extend the operation of our Fund to the provisionof medical and surgical supplies for civilian hospitals.

At the same time the severity of winter is causing a renewed demand on behalf of allthe Services—especially amongst the men whose duty lies in exposed situations—for Balaclavahelmets, gloves, mittens, wooUen waistcoats, and the like.

Mr. Punch, in expressing his very sincere gratitude for the generous help already givenby subscribers, renews therefore his appeal both for the sake of the Fighting Services and ofcivilians who have suffered from the ruthless barbarity of the enemy, in the hope that plentyof supplies may be available for all now that the hardest and coldest weather has set in.

Though we know well that these are days of great financial difficulty, we yetask you, those who can, to send some donation, large or- small, according to yourmeans, to PUNCH HOSPITAL COMFORTS FUND, 10 Bouverie Street, London, E.C.4.


-T M-

'i

" There, Antonio,. I toldyou this road would only take us back into Greece again.'

What This War is DoingA UNT EMMA, from Little Fiddle-l\ on-tho-Green, wrote to Laura in

/ m London and said that it wasmore than kind of dear Laura to havesent her a book-token for her birthday.She looked forward to choosing her bookwhenever Uncle Egbert had enoughpetrol to drive in to Fiddle Magna.

Then she wrote a good deal aboutotlier things, approving the Greeks andsaying that the Italians she wellremembered at Sta. Margherita in1903 had been quite unlike this presentlot, and that Lord Halifax was the veryman she had herself chosen, in her o^vnmind, for America, and that she hadheard on good authority that Mussolini was not at all pleased with the waythings were going.

The last page of the letter was concerned with the evacuees in the village,the evacuees in Aunt Emma's ownhouse, the evacuees at her sister'shouse in Northumberland, and thefirst lot of evacuees, 'way, 'way back in1939, long since gone to Wales.

Across the top of the front page

Aunt Emma made a rather illegiblereference to some bomb or other.

The postscript that one has quitecome to look for in any letter of AuntEmma's was this time running horizontally along the side of the last pagebut two.

" PS.—Do tell me of a book tochoose. One that I shall like."Laura, whose whole idea had been

that Aunt Emma should do this partof the job herself, said that it would bedifficult enough to find any book forAunt Emma, and practically impossiblewhen it came to one that she'd like.

However, there were three ratherthin Spring Publishing Season Catalogues in the paper-salvage bag, andthese Laura recovered; and a moreutterly discoxiraging lot, she said, she'dnever met, because the publishingtrade was simply not catering forpeople of Aunt Emma's kind.

One just knew she wouldn't wantAbominable Europeans or Capital:Whence and How ? nor even Civilization Crumbles.

What Aunt Emma needed was anovel with a love-interest but no sex,a hap})y ending and yet a touch ofrealism, and, above all, nice people.

As Laura said. Aunt Emma mightjust as well have asked for Hitler'shead on a chargerat once. One couldn'toffer her a novel that the publishersthemselves described as a bitter andoutspoken indictment of the wholesocial system, or one that gave apoignant and entirely realistic description of the last Great Plague and a forecast of the next one that might shortlybe expected to break out here.

And she wouldn't really care aboutthe life-story of a sensitive, intelligent,artistic, idealistic, communistic boyand his slow but inevitable progress tothe gallows through eight hundred andforty-seven pages of small print.

Then what, Laura asked herself,about poetry? Not that Aunt Emmaliked poetry, although apt to quote"The curfew tolls the knell of partingday" almost every time she does theblack-out.


"But 1 was colkctin* 'em for your Spitfire Fund."

But the poetry was very Europeantoo, and mostly about Capitalism(bad) and Communism (good), andAunt Emma's views are known to bein direct opposition to this.

Besides, she would—Laura feltcertain—disapprove of poetry that hadno capital letters and no rhymes, butthat had got words—especially some ofthem.

Books on gardening, which wouldhave been a safe choice before the war,now contained nothing about rareAlpine rock-plants or how to make aheath-garden in the shrubbery, butdwelt on potatoes and onions and thetremendous value of the sugar-content

in beetroot. And Laura said that AuntEmma could learn all about thatpractically every time she turned thewireless on, or else read about it in theWoman's Page of any newspaper.

Time, therefore, passed—the Blitzkrieg came and went, and came again,and the Italians just went—and stillLaura hadn't told Aunt Emma whatbook to choose.

Then she got another letter fromAunt Emma, saying that she wassending no Christmas presents thisyear, but was enclosing a little cheque,and the evacuees were well, and sowere the ones at Aunt Emma's sister'shouse in Northumberland, and the

ones in the village; and the ones inWales were reported to be well too.

PS.—Laura would like to know thatAunt Emma had got a most interestingbook with the book-token so kindlysent her for her birthday. It wascalled Hitler's Cauldron and was allabout the decay of humanity.

And Laura said it simply shows howthis war isn't going to leave any of uswhere it found us. Not even AuntEmma. E. M. D.

Dress Rehearsal

CAN'T stage my tableaux in themiddle of a lot of balloons," saidMiss Goodbody.

"Makes it look kind of pretty, to myway of thinking," said the Sergeant.

"Not %vith angels," said Miss Good-body.

"Surrealist," said the Corporal."Don't you worry. Miss, it'll all be

out of your way by to-morrow," saidthe Sergeant. "Why, bless you, thedance begins at ten to-night; therewon't be a balloon left in the place byquarter past."

"We didn't really expect to find yousoldiers here when we were lent the hallfor our dress rehearsal," went on MissGoodbody.

"Must get it ready for our danceto-night," said the Sergeant. "Got tokeep the men busy."

"Because of our morale," said theCorporal.

"Since you are here, you might lenda hand with these ladders," panted theVicar. ". . . and the piano . . . backagainst the wall . . . you can get mostof the legs on to a level bit of stagehere . . . that's champion, lads!"

"Seems a bit unsteady. Sir, all thesame," said the Sergeant. "Rocks upand dovni."

"Mrs. Gentry won't mind; she'ssuch a splendid musician,"^ panted theVicar. "Now I wonder where all themusic can have got to ?"

"I did see some music in the organ-loft," said Mrs. Gentry.

"I'd better go and see," said theVicar.

"Shall I go?" said Mrs. Gentry."Now then, children, up you go!

Kings to the right of the stage,shepherds to the left, angels on theladders," said IMiss Goodbody. "Giftsin a pile in the middle."

"The knob has come oSt the top ofmy crown," said Desmond Ball.

"My wings keep 8lii)ping," saidGreta Bloggs.

"All the wings keep slipping," saidMrs. Gentry.

1


"Well, if you think you can thinkof a better way " said MissGoodbody.

"Tighter," said the Sergeant."Or you could do away with them

altogether and just paint wings behindthe angels on the backcloth," said theCorporal.

"That might be rather effective,"said Miss Goodbody.

"I believe Pitoeff would have doneit," said the Corporal.

"In a formal pattern," said MissGoodbody—"if we had anybody to dothem."

"I'll paint them for you," said theCorporal.

"I don't believe the Vicar would like

it," said Mrs. Gentry. "After all, themen are having a dance here to-night.Angels all over the place ... it doesn'tseem very suitable."

"Bless you, mum, the men won'tknow they are angels," said theSergeant. "You haven't seen theCorporal here paint. Modernistic. Ifthe men notice anything at all,they'll think it's Spitfires," said theSergeant.

"We managed to get a stage riggedup for you in the end, you see, MissGoodbody," said Mrs. Gentry. "It'snot up to much, I am afraid, but considering the carpenter couldn't let ushave any planks . . ."

"Very nice indeed," said Miss Good-body. "And we seem to be managingsomehow, in spite of all those bumps. .But a curtain and footlights I reallythink wo must have."

"Actually the Coloneland I are ratherproud of it," said Mrs. Gentry. "Weliad to go round to every house in thevillage for wood, and beg, borrow, orsteal it."

"I suppose one mustn't expect toomuch in war-time," said Miss Good-body.

"The trouble with these artisticpeople is that they always expect otherpeople to do all the spade-work, andafterwards they step in and got all thecredit," whispered Mrs. Gentry.

"The music wasn't in the organloft," panted the Vicar.

"Please, Miss, what shall I do if mynose starts to tickle ?" asked GaryWilkins.

"Oh, dear, now I come to think of it1 believe I must have left it in thedrawing-room," said Mrs. Gentry.

"I can't blow it through this beard,"said Gary WiUiins.

"I'll just run across and fetch it,shall I?" said the Vicar.

"No, you really must let me go thistime," said Mrs. Gentry.

"For goodness' sake don't sniff,anyway," said Miss Goodbody.

"It's under the window-seat in thedrawing-room," said Mrs. Gentry. "Orcould I have taken it upstairs to mybedroom ?"

"Perhaps Colonel Gentry will helpme to find it," said the Vicar.

"The Colonel wondered if 'There'llAlways Be an England' could be addedto the programme, " said Mrs. Gentry.

"'The Woodpecker's Song,'" pipedGreta Bloggs.

"And there's 'Auld Lang Syne,'"said the Sergeant.

"Or one of Rachmaninoff's Preludes," said the Corporal.

"I don't think I could quite manage. . ." said Mrs. Gentry.

"This one's easy," said the Corporal."We don't want to hear it now,"

said Miss Goodbody."Perhaps the Corporal would prefer

to do the music himself," said Mrs.Gentry.

"If it would be a help," said theCorporal.

"That's settled then," said MissGoodbody.

"Once an arrangement has beenmade I always think it is best to stickto it," said Mrs. Gentry.

"Or there's this thing of Tchaikow-sky," said the Corporal.

"Do you ladies mind if I turn on thewireless for a minute, just to see if it'sworking ?" shouted the Sergeant.

"The Colonel, always says it'shopeless to change horses in midstream," shouted ^Irs. Gentry.

"There are seven dead notes, andit's half a tone out of tune," shoutedthe Corporal.

"It seems all right, doesn't it?"shouted the Sergeant. "I'll just leaveit on for a minute."

"Miss, the elastic's come off myhalo," shrilled Greta Bloggs.

"Colonel Gentry says there's nomusic in the house," yelled the Vicar.

"How on earth can I be expectedto concentrate?" screamed Miss Good-body—"I mean with all these balloonsabout?"

"This is where I came in," murmuredthe Corporal.


At the Revue

"DrvEBSiON No. 2" (Wyndham's)

Everybody who goes to thetheatre at all likes to talk aboutpast greatness and to debate therival merits of divas long ago. Nodoybt there have been giants andgoddesses and strangely gifted sonsand daughters in that world oflight which comes from lime, buthave any, I wondered as I watchedMr. Faejeon's revue, done quiteso many different and such delightfully contrasted things as MissEdith Evans ? She sits with equalease at the high tables of Comedyand Ih'agcdy. Nobody can saythat there is a typical Evans part.Viola and Rosalind, Cleopatra andMiUamant, Lady Bracknell and LadyUttencord — to mention a mere.sextette out of a score of superbcreations — what a company ofbright-shiners they have been! Andnow Miss Evans, playing hostessin the revue at Wyndham's, beginsand ends the show, and offers herown interludes, as Queen Elizabethaddressing her Commons, as asmart, foolish, modern lady goingforth to a military encounter, andas a Cockney Miss in war-time.Here, indeed, is diversity in diversion. Could any of the greatlionesses of the historic stage havegambolled so ?

The second "Diversion" is verynearly a new revue altogether. Nowlet those go who never went before, andthose who went—now let them go themore. One or two old friendsremain in the programme, because they have well earnedtheir place. These seem tojustify the producers' constancy by showing up betterthan ever. Such, for example,arc Miss Evans's excursion tothe hop-fields and Miss JoyceGrenfell's devastating invasion of a Mayfair canteenfwhere the art of "Going FromIt" is practised mth the maximum of grace and with thevery genius of self-extricationfrom the toils of sink andcounter. Miss Gricnfell nowadds a trip to the local library,where she discusses and dispenses Gems of Literature withthe special brand of benign andbright-eyed idiocy which onceshe employed in her first exquisite address to the womenof the parish. The topic thenwas Useful and Acceptable

Gifts, which, by the way, might bo asummary of Miss Grenfell's ownequipment in the art of entertaining.

Miss Dorothy Dickson pursuesPhilomel in Berkeley Square, takes herheart, along with her cavity, to the

AN EXPERT AT MAKINGWORK

OTHERS

Miss Joyce Gbenfell

dentist; and delightfully joins with Mr.Walter Crisham and Mr. BernardMiles in a devastating skit forlisteners .called "Lo, Gang!" Mr.

Crisham here proves himself to be aRoland for a Vic Oliver. Mr. Mileshas his big occasion in a bucolicmonologue. This kind of turn usedto bo appallingly boring when it wasperformed by tow-haired comedians

in smocks who eternally suckedstraws, looked daft twice over,and spoke the species of Mummer-set accent which was supposed bythe profession to infest the ^rholeof England from Willesden Greento Widdecombe Fair.

Mr. Miles, driving into the heartof Herts, does indeed wear .anantiquated uniform as a "card"of those Home Counties whichhad not yet ceased to be countyand become all homes. But his

character-study emerges from thereal village, not the theatricalcostumier's. It is affectionate aswell as authentic. He presents thecanny cottager who has a twinklein his eye and knows all the loreof the village. The result is noaddition to the sad company ofgaping Clod-polls, but an accuratepicture of a piece of rural nature.

Mr. Farjeon does not rctly ona major comedian to cany hisrevue along: Miss Evans has noopposite number in that sense.But Ml'. Crisham and Mr. Milescan cleverly assist her: so canMr. Peter Ustinov, who on thisoccasion shows three men aboutto present Kiny Lear—the foreigngenius who groans and takes

time, the Left-wing Cockney producerwho surveys this bourgeois businesswith a modern scorn, and a veryprecious gentleman determined never

to be precious. This is grandfun, but is it everybody's ?Mr. Ustinov wll have to keephis eye more on the street andless on the stage in order todiscover his future themes.Continual assistance comesfrom Miss Vida Hofe and MissJoan Sterndale Bennett,who are discovered in the seahabited in the ample anddemure modes favoured byour grandmothers for sjjortivt^immersion. Does any of it failto be first - rate ? Possibly aturn at the piano, but not ofcourse Miss Eisinger, whosohigh notes and high spiritsare again the top of musicaldiversion. I. B.

AIMING HIGH

Ma. Walter Crisham, Miss DoRoTnv DioksonAND Mb. Bernard Mii.e3

" Ao Revoir, 1940."Advt. in " Glasgow Herald.'"

This is going top far, Mr. Dunne


An Incident on theSectorON the night ofAnthrax's incident

I he was paired wth ColonelMumblethorpe. It usually works

out that way because the otherwardens are so much more skilful thanpoor old Anthrax in evading a dutywith the Colonel. They left the Post at2200 hours, proceeding at a brisk pacein a westerly direction, the Colonelleading, of course. At 2207 hours acouple of H.E.s landed on. the golf-course and Anthrax pointed out thatthis had been a frequent occurrence oflate. Perhajjs, as there had been somany H.E.s there, they might find alittle Delayed Action if they looked ?

"Not interested in nature-study,"rumbled the Colonel. " Only thing thatconcerns us is an incident on oursector. What was that?"

"Shrapnel," said Anthrax, hurriedlypulling his steel helmet over his forehead uliile the rest of him tried tocrawl mider the shelter too.

"Stuff and nonsense! Who wouldbe shelling us on our o\vn doorstep?How many times must I tell you .thatack ack splinters are not shrapnel,Anthrax! What was that?"

" Shrap—Ack ack splinters, Colonel.""Wrong again. Down on your face,

man!"Down went the Colonel and down

went Anthrax. The Colonel followed adevious route because he had on anewly cleaned boiler-suit, and wishedto keep the contact area wth .theground as small as possible. Besides healways had to pause and tuck in histummy beforehand. Anthrax, therefore, won handsomely, but was disqualified by the Colonel for falling onhis civilian duty I'cspirator.

"You could be ciimed for that,"grumbled the Great Man. "Wantondamage to Government property.Have you counted nine? "

"Seven, eight, nine—^yes," saidAnthrax. "We can get up now."

'' Pest take it!" answered the Colonel."We can't go on like this, continuallyfalling down and getting up again,which is much worse. Good gracious!That was a terrible clatter. Anthrax!Was it on the sector?"

Receiving no reply, the Colonel navigated towaids the recumbent Anthraxand asked for recognition signals.

"Remember me to the boys at F.G,"said Anthrax faintl}' from beneatha large round object. "I've got adirect hit."

"Curious," ruminated the Colonel."You don't look too bad from here.What's that thing over your face?"

HIS USUAL SEAT

Anthrax made a tentative ex]3lora-tion vith his hand and removed theshield-iike article which obscured hisvision. He sat up and felt round it.

"It's about a couple of foot indiameter I" he announced with pride." Gosh, what a souvenir!"

The Colonel could scarcely concealhis annoyance at the fact that it hadhit Anthrax and not himself, particularly as Anthrax had suffered noserious damage.

"Give it to mc," he said sharply."We must take it to the Post at once.We've had a very narrow squeak."

"You mean I have," said Anthrax,on the verge of mutiny. "/ '11 take itto the Post."

The Patrol turned and set off for

Headquarters, Anthrax keeping hissouvenir to the wall side to preventthe Colonel from making a suddensnatch. When they arrived they woreno longer on speaking terms, and theColonel took advantage of Anthrax'sunwieldy load to slij) in first and makethe report. He sti-uck a personal noteat once, and had just reached thepoint where he had dodged the objectwith great presence of mind whenAnthrax brought it into the lightedroom. There was a short silence, andthen the Colonel hastily resumed hisstory.

"Don't know whose it is," he said."Must have been caught in a gust ofwind. Poor old Anthrax xvould get inthe way of a dust-bin lid, wouldn't he ?"


SPEAKYOUR WEIGHT

cftVfUWL4-

SPEAKYOUR WEIGHT

Our Booking-Office(By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks)

Portrait in Pastel

Sm George Arthur has written many excellent biographies. His sketch of the Prime Minister is hardlymore than a pleasant tinting from the coloured bounty ofhis own recollections, of events long familiar as chapters ina life-story tliat to-day is taking on the qualities (^"'history.It requires nearly half of Sir George's study—Concemir^Winston Spencer Churchill (Heinemann, 6/-)—to containthe record, with the relevant cross-references to his ownacquaintances and experiences, as far as the end of theBoer War, while Armistice Day is reached with only sometwenty pages in hand. The author traces the developmentof the troublesome boy into the junior officer who dares tohave opinions, and still more astoundingly dares to expressthem in moving prose, and he considers with feelings whichby now have beoomc almost complete approval thespectacle of the thnistful son of virile pai-ents outragingsedentary Party members to follow the call of his ancestryas a cut-and-thrust politician. If in so small compass therecan be no real study of the statesman fully accomplished,undoubtedly here is plenty, in spite of some surprisingomissions, for the reader who merely tvants to be reminded,pleasantly and without fatigue, of the long adventures bywar and wandering, by Parliament and high office—themany arduous ways through which Mr. Churchill hasadvanced towards the heavens.

Klosterberg to the Rescue

It is to bo hoped that no one will be misled by an obviouslynaive plot into underestimating the amount of creativeenergy that has gone to the making of Pilgrim and thePhanix (HAmLTON, 8/-). Here you have, it seems, a youngnovelist choosing her theme, as a sound Elizabethan playwright might have chosen his, purely for its, so to speak,vehicular opportunities. Miss Marjorie Scott Johnston,a spiritual alchemist testing the debris of the "rid for

gold, portrays a baroque monastery on the Gejman-S\\issAustrian frontier after Xho Anschluss', sends a bus-load ofAnglo-Saxon tourists to look roimd; cuts them off, by alandslide, from the plain below; and involves them in thecloister's final and perhaps greatest work of Christiancharity—the speeding of Hitler's victims over the mountain passes. There is plenty of time between hairbreadthescapes and hideous capturesfor the monastery, the villageand the visitors to take stock of their respective positionstowards the end of the old regime and (possibly) thebeginning of the new. So pretty a wit at the service of sohigh a seriousness renders Miss Johnston's next book amatter of the happiest speculation.

English Bread for English PeopleConsidering how much they have to eat of it, the English

clvT -1 fr\ IjrOtlCl.are curiously indifferent to the quality of theirUnless you bake at home, you have to content yourselfwith a waterlogged white loaf from which the vital germ ofthe wheat has been carefully extracted, to be replaced—ifit is replaced—by synthetic "vitamins" in the bread or asupplementaryration of patent food. That the question ofEnglish bread is essentially a question of English wheat,one of the main factors in the great problem of the healthof the land and the health of the people, is the maincontention of Corn Country (Batsford, 10/6). Foundedlargely on Loi-d Lymington's classic Famine in England,Mr. 0. Henry Warren's book is a history of English corn-growingas it has been, as it is and (tentatively) as it mightbe. He is not out for subsidies. He is out for subsistencefarming in which wheat and the by-products of wheatwould necessarily play a large part. His text, with itsdelightful pictures and somewhat haphazard arrangement,rather embroiders than develops its theme. But itsaccount of traditional modes of cultivation is especiallypainstaking and valuable.

Many Motives

Earl Wych in Mr. E. R. Punshon's thriller. Ten StarClues (Gollancz, 7/6), is, like the elderly nobleman in LittleLord Fauntleroy, stern, commanding and stiff with familypride. Ho too has a fair-haired (though adult and better-barbered) heu-. When the story begins a usurper to theearldom—and a very inferior piece of work too—has justturned up from America and is interviewing the familylawyer. Right-minded readers will back the fair and

J I

iilliii

-i

"•i••S H


ac f Vs! n q

ATt>

TcmVoriol (^iwn^ himself away la proprietor of coal-heap). " CJould you lend us a bucket of coal until it 'a dakk I "

Claude E. Sheppcraon, January 20th, 1915.

arrogant Ralph a,ga,inst the craven jBer/ra?^,but they will notknow the result of the contest until the rivals, the countess,the absent-minded vicar, an "unknown" and four otherpeople have all been suspected of the earl's murder. Sophy,the timid and determined young companion of the countess,is star-turn among the suspects, and her scene with the ChiefConstable—wliose fatherly warning is taken so literally thatshe refuses to answer any que.stions at all, and counters hisgrumble about being forced "to draw our own conclusions"with a gentle "I expect they'll be all wrong"—is one ofthe funniest that have crept into detective fiction. But it isall very well done and the murderer is very hard to find.

France in Retreat

Mr. C. Denis Freeman and Mr. Douglas Cooper, tliejoint authors of The Road to Bordeaux (Cresset Press, 8/6),were living in Paris during the German offensive in May oflast year. They joined the French army as ambulancedrivers and early in June were on active service behind the

line at Soissons as members of a unit in which they werethe only Englishmen. Their narrative, vivid and detailed,covers rather less than four weeks, and in that time mi-questioning confidence in victory had given way to utterbewilderment which continually struggled against the ideaof defeat. The German advance was so rapid that hospitalsequipped as bases became in a day front-line dressing-stations and passed into enemy hands, while new receivingcentres farther back were organized and evacuated almostbefore they had been filled. All roads were choked withpanic-stricken fugitive civilians. At first there seemed tobe authorities who issued orders. In the end there were noorders and soldiers and refugees were mingled in a humanchaos, moving slowly southwards. Propagandists, as onehas heard, did their best at this grim moment to spreadanti-British feeling. Our 'two authors encountered nothingbut extreme friendliness, but they mention a "luxuryrefugee," a Scotsman, who gave a very different account ofhis experiences. But it may be supposed that no luxuryrefugee v" viewed with much favour. '


The Education of an Artilleryman'OST people, I suppose, have at

one time or another seen afield-gun, or, if they have not

seen one, are at any rate theoreticallycapable of distinguishing a field-gunfrom, say, a train. In many wayswe are an enlightened people to-day.Fifty years ago, when I was a youngartilleryman, much confusion existedm the public mind about artillery.Some held one view, some another,while even those who held bothviews often expressed grave doubts."Whither Artillery? " was a favouritetitle for leading articles. That therewas some reason for this will, I think,be made clear by the story I haveto tell.

When I first volunteered for theartillery I had not an inkling thatthere was any connection betweengunnery and mathematics. I hadalways imagined that the gun wassimply pointed at the target, loaded,and fired, and that the target was theneither mis.sed or not hit. The ideaappealed to me strongly. That waswhy I joined the artillery. But I wasquite wrong. Endless calculations werenecessary, I found, before the guncould be fired or the target missed.Angles had to be measured, degreesregistered, cube roots found. The gunplatforms were littered with log-tables,T-squares, compasses, spectroscopes,among which we gunners stumbledabout as though in a laboratory, oftensinking do^vn in sheer weariness uponsome battered spirit-level, until recalled to a sense of duty by thestentorian voice of Lance-BombardiorHuskisson.

It is only fair to say that all this wasan innovation. In the old days gunswere manned by simple men who hadnever heard of trigonometry but whojust fired the guns and hoped for thebest. If they hit the target they weresui*prised, but they never thought oflooking for reasons. Then some timeabout the year 1880 someone at theWar Office heard—by what chance isnot recorded—of a thing called trigonometry. It was discovered that tliistrigonometry could be applied togunnery. From that moment nothingwas the same. The order went out toevery artillery unit in the Empire—"Use Trigonometry." Then began theissue of millions of log-tables, milUonsof protractor's, millions of pencil-sharpeners. That very few gunnersknew even how to use the pencil-sharpeners was quite beside the point.

M'The Army authorities, perhaps ashamedof their former indifference, insisted ontrigonometry at all costs.

Such was the position when I firstjoined up. Frankly I was disgusted.And it was perhaps ty|)ical that of allthe gun-teams in Snabbington CampI should find myself in the gun-teamof which this same Lance-BombardierHuskisson was in chai'ge. The wordTrigonometry was to him the mostbeautiful in our language. He sleptwith log-tables under his pillow. Atdinner he cut his meat into triangles.He had a spirit-level fixed to his bed.

I reahzed even then that there wassomething unhealthy about all thistrigonometry. For one thing, it neverseemed to produce the desired effects.In the old days, I imagine, the shell,when fired, did at least go in the generaldirection of the target. But when wefired a shell we never had the faintestidea where it would go. We shouldhardly have been surprised if one dayit had remained stationary in the air,or if the shell had fired the gun insteadof the gun the shell. There was obviously something WTong somewhere.

I was a young man of great intellectual curiosity. When I eventuallywent home on leave I took a book oflog-tables with me. I had alreadydetermined what to do. I had a friendin my native village—a neglectedgenius who even as a boy had beena Uttle wliite-haired old man with ajjiercing eye and steel-rimmed spectacles. Even in those days he hadinventions to his credit which, had hehad a financial backer, would certainlyhave reduced him to beggary. Amongother things he had invented anumbrella which would not open andwhose spokes therefore could not getinto anybody's eyes. He, if anyone, Ithought, could clear up my difficulties.

I was right. I had no sooner toldhim my story and sho\vn him the bookof log-tables than I noticed a puzzledlook appear on his face.

"But these are quite unlike any log-tables I've ever seen," he objected."For instance, what's all this about'Forks, soldiers', eating, for the purpose of,' and 'Bedsteads, soldiers',invisible' ?"

I explained gently that nothing inthe Ai'my is quite the same as incivilian life—a principle which, Ibelieve, holds good to this day. Heshook his head.

"I suppose you haven't got an Armyspirit-level on you ?" he asked.

As it happened, I had not. But aweek later, when I returned to camp,I managed to purloin one and sent itoh to him. Ho wrote back at once tosay that he had examined the instrument and- that no spirit-level filledwith weak tea could be expected towork properly.

All became clear to me. Someone atthe War Office must have blundered.Somewhere some papers must havegot mixed up. It was not trigonometryas such that was at fault so much asArmy trigonometry. Hoping for quickpromotion, I pointed this out to Lance-Bombardier Huskisson one morning atgun-drill. I was promptly placed underclose arrest.

I was released, as it happened, theday before some important man(fiuvreswere to take place. We were going outwith the guns, and were even going tobe allowed to demolish some derefictstables in a neighbouring hamlet. TheCommanding Officer of the East-Western Area was to be present-, andLance - Bombardier Huskisson wasnaturally determined to give of hisbest. He had, I believe, secretly toldoff several men the night before toremove certain parts of the masonryof the stables, so that at the merefiring of the gun the structure wouldcollapse.

The great day arrived. We reachedour gun position. The order camedoAvn from the Battery Commander—"Fire!" It was a scene of frenziedactivity. Men rushed hero and therewith shde-rules, laying trails of pov^dcrand tripping over clinometers andparalleloscopes. Lance-BombardierHuskisson consulted his log-tablesmadly. After about an hour the gunwas fired. We waited breathlessly.To our surprise, the whole piece ofordnance, platform and all, rose slowlyinto the air and disappeared.

Lance-Bombardier Huskisson bithis hp. It was obvious that we hademei'ged from the domain of puremathematics into astrophysics, or evennecromancy.

Of course an inquiry was held intothe whole thing. But the missing field-gun was never found. Presumably ithad. got into the Fourth Dimension.Lance-Bombardier Huskisson lost hisstripe, and shortly afterwards newlog-tables were issued and an entirelynew system of trigonometry made itsappearance. Army trigonometry isof course still slightly different fromcivilian, but not as different as all that.


SSI

RV! PLOOR

"And there's a mysterious little room here, Gyles, that I can't get to the bottom of.'


IN war-time, as you know, there arccars and cars. There are camouflaged cars and there are cars with

hardly any petrol; and it's the secondkind I want to tell you about. Not thatthe war has anything to do with thiskind of car, beyond causing it to havehardly any petrol.

This kind of ear is usually a sort ofgreyish-black, or it may be greyish-maroon, or greyish-navy-blue, but it ismost often greyish-black, except whenit has just been cleaned, when it isplain black for about eighteen hours,during which time the people it belongsto go round telling each other that theydidn't realize they had a black car.Inside it is bro^vn, with a piece ofcarpet on the floor at the back, andsometimes at the front, and underneath this carpet are a sixpence, somecigarette-ends and a yellow duster.

A car has two or four doors; if it hastwo, the front seats bend in half andthe people getting into the back climbover them after, of courae, the peoplewho were sitting in the front seats liavegot out, and after the person in thefront left-hand seat has offered to getin the back, instead of one of the peopleabout to get in, and has had tlie offerrefused. This is because there is a rulethat, whether the front seats bend inhalf or not, three of the people in a carmay all offer to change seats with oneanother after they have decided wherethey are going to sit; the fourth person,the one in the front right-hfind seat, hasto drive and is exempt from this rule.

When once the four peopleare sittingin this kind of car, and the driver hastold them how tlie doors shut, there isanother rule about the windows. Theperson driving opens the right-handwindow, because this has something todo with the actual driving, but the restof the people have to settle which ofthe other three windowslet in a draughtand which let in the air. The answerdepends partly on how well thesepeople know one another and partly onif anyone is holding a dog. Tor thereis yet another rule that a dog travellingin a car always puts its head out of thewindow; no one has found out why,and it is doubtful if it matters, anyway.

The dashboard of a ear is veryinteresting, because—besides a lot ofdials which show whether the car isgoing or standing still, how many miles

The Carit has been since the flgures showingthe mileage were last twiddled back tonought, and so on—it has a clock. Thisclock may say ten past four, five tonine, or any other time, just like anordinary clock; but while an ordinaryclock says ten past four when it isreally five past four, the clock on thedashboard of a ear says ten past fourwhen it is really twenty jjast one. Sometimes this sort of clock never says anything but ton past four; this is becauseno one knows where it winds up. Indeedno one has ever found this out yet,which makes it very interesting that aclock on a dashboard should go at all.

There is an ash-tray on the left-handside of the dashboard, and the interesting thing about this is that if you canget at the inside of oneyou will find itis full of cigarette-ends; getting at theinside means jerking the ash-tray out ofits socket and spilling the cigaiette-ends on the floor, and yet next timeyou do it it will be full all over again.

Under the dashboard of a car thereis a shelf; or sometimes there arc twopigeon-holes, one each side. On thisshelf, or in these pigeon-holes, you willfind, starting at the front, a tobacco-pouch and a packet of soap-flakes andthe bit you screw on to the bottom

ofa toi'ch, with a spring sticking out;further back you will flnd quite a nicerightr-hand glove and some pieces ofgreen tape, and further back still theshopping-list. No one knows whathappens after a shopping-list, but itis fairly safe to say there will be something, because no one has ever takeneverything out of the shelf under adashboard.

Thereare some pocketson the insideof the doors of a ear, by the way, butthese are rather disappointing, becausethey are used mostly for keeping theduster in, in between finding it under thecarpet on the floor and losing it again;though you may find a typed envelopewith some times of trains written on theback. But now for the people in the ear.

It has often been noticed by thepeople sitting at the back of a ear thatthey feel as if they had hired the car;if there is a looped strap, like the onesill first-class railway compartments, tohold on to, they feel it oven more. Ithas often been noticed by the people inthe front that the peojile at the backaren't saying much. If there are twopeople at the back the people in thefront don't do anything about it; butif there is only one person, as theresometimes is, then the person in thefront left-hand scat will feel impelledto turn round and say "All right ?"This has the effect of making the personat the back, who was only doing a bitof thinking and enjoying the change,feel a faint sense of grievance: nothingyou can lay your finger on, just an ideathat the world is against j'ou. But ifthe person at the back is jammed upne.xt to a suitcase this doesn't happen;the person at the back feels importantand unselfish, and the person saying"All right ?" recognizes this and says itin the right sort of voice. I should addthat if there is only one person in thefront, in the right-hand seat, then theear probably is hired and there is noneof this silly business.

I'm not going to say anything aboutdriving a car, but I would like tomention those people who get out ofthe front left-hand scat and help thedi'iver to back in and out of the spacesbetween other cars by sort of scoopingthe air with their hand and shouting"Whoa!" or "You'll do!" That'sall; I just wanted to mention them,I don't know why.

NOTICE.—Contributions or Communications re<iuiring an answer should be accompajiied by a stamped and addressed Enveloiro or Wrapper.Articles. Shctchcs. Drawings, etc.. published in PUNCH is specifically reserved to the Proprietors tUroiitfhout the countries signatory to the

IJIiRNE CONVENTION, the U.S.A.. and the Argentine. Reproiluctioiis or imitations o( any of these are liierefore expressly forbidden. The Proprietors will, however, alwaysconsider any request from authors of literary contributions for permission to reprint.

CONDITIONS OF SALE AND SUPPLY.—This periodical is sold subject to the followinfi conditions, namely. Uiat it shall not. without the written consent of the publisherslirst Kiveii, he lent, resold, hired out, or otUenviso disposed of by w.iy of Tr.nde except at the full retail price of Bd.: and that it sh^l not be lent., resold, hired out or otherwise dis-l>oscd of in a mutilated condition or in any unauthorised cover by way of Trade; or affixed to or as part of any piiblicatioa or advcrtlsiniJ. literary or pictorial matter whatsoever.

January 15 1941 PUNCH or The London Charivari

"We don't know if you know ^ interesting facts aboutbabies, but most people seem '' '* '/ agreed that it's all quitea business. Take perambulators, # for instance—there^s a business

for you. Now perambulators (let's call them J prams if you like) are one of the

few things connected with babies where the Uion' rests entirely with you. You can

decide onthedesign, how manyyou will have, thedateofarrival, andwhathappens when it's wet. But

what we are coming to is this; all modern prams have one thing in common —tubular steel handles.

It wasn't always so. At one time prams were very cumbersome and heavy things. But pram

manufacturers were among the first people to see how steel tubes pRooucrs tro

could make a better job and save money too. You haven't got

any babies in your business, have you, that need weaning on to

steel tube ? Manyproud manufacturers can heartily recommendit.

STEEL TUBES ADVISORY CENTRE aston-Birmingham-England

Manufacturers {particularly those concentrating on export business) who needadvice or information on any job where steel tubes might help, will findthe Steel Tubes Advisory Centre ready to assist in every possible way.

THtS TIME BY

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Vll

VIU

What doIdo...

if I carry a

torch in the

black-out ?

I mask off or paint cut the glassof the torch so that only a circle oflight the size of a halfpenny shows.I dim the remaining light withone thiclmess of newspaper — orpaint in the case of "fountain-pen " torches.

I must point my torch downwards. I do not use it to stopbuses or trams, nor flash it towardsoncoming traffic.

Whether there is an " alert" on

or not, I use my torch as little aspossible — particularly when leaving the cinema or theatre wherethere is risk of a number of lightsshowing together, which may helpraiders.

These rules do not apply tohooded ARP handlamps if I amdoing work for which such lampsare permitted by the police.

Cut this out—*and keep it!

Issued by The Ministry of InformationSpace presented to the Nation

by the Brewers' Society

—EMPIRE POSTAGE STAMPS-Tlie balance of a very fino collection ofllritisU litii|tirc- Po^tafic -Sininiis — fromMonist.'rrnt to Zanzibar—oiTcrcil by or«lcrof Jl. CI. rnlmc-f. Kmi., will be sold at theBOND STREET STAMP AUCTIONS

on Monday, January 20th, at 12 noon.OtitiilitRUL'n, with uratis.

The World's I.cadin,S t a m |i Auctioneer,

131-137, New Eond Street, LONDON, W-1.And at New York.

DR. BARNARDO'S HOMESfted, clothe and train

8 , 2 5 OUoys and Girls.

PLEASE HELP!Chcqucs,elc.,crossoci.p.-iyable'Dr. Barn.trJo'sHomes,* should be sent to 4 EarnarJo liuuso.Stepney Causeway, London, £.1.


viorrv

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first

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free • • • •Without a very, verylargereserveofstock,it would be impossible to provide thesort of ready - for •wear service thatMoss Bros, offer.And that is the onlyreason why threemonths after the advent of the purchasetax, we can still

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January 15 1941

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I believe you loveyour Murray's

more

than me!"jy/fEN who smoke Murray's•^7-*_MeIlowMixture wouldn't^ve It up for love or money II here never was such a grandtobacco. There never /las been,for the hundred years andmore that Murray's has beenonsale. It smokes coolly, burnsevenly, doesn't dry up in thepouch or go to dust —and hasa flavour all its own. Try anounce of Murray's and see |what you've been missing! Askyour tobacconist for Murray'sMellow Mixture—i/8d. anounce. Murray Sons & Co.Ltd., Belfast.

Murray's Mellow Mixture can besentduty_ free to H.M. Forces overseas.Minimum parcel 2lbs.. 15/.post free.

MELLOW M/XrUAE

' Mondays dinn«.neeas

«o*VvsWj«

THII

To give your dishes new delight,\nd quidly find keen appetite

IX

A mixed drinkwithout

/

is like potatoeswithout salt

0 Angostura Bitters bring out theflavour, sharpen the zest and addinfinitely to the piquancy ofeverymixed drink.

^ Asimple testwill demonstrate thispoint: try a cocktail first vnihoutand then with a dash ofAngosturaBitters. You will immediatelynotice thedifference... thesubtle,appetising reUsh of the secondcompared with the first.

1Every Club, Mess and Bar ofthe knowledgeable World hasAngostura Bitters: most Bartenders needno prompting to adda few dashes of " Angostura " tothe mixed drinks and cocktailsthey serve. It isa wise plan, however, always to say, « with a dasiiof 'Angostura', please": in thisway, you make sure your drink isas near perfect as it can be

.•90"

\

ANorfolk Wof MedoH'St

HELP THESE

MEN

In Peaceand War, for 117 years,the Life-boat Service has beenmaintained by the generosityof the British Public.

Do not fail these men now

when the calls upon them arefive times as many.

Answer their call to you bysending us a contribution.

BOYAL NATIONAL

LIFE-BOAT INSTITUTIONLife-Boat House. Boreham Wood, Herts.

HIE liARI. OP IIABROWIIY. HOM. TREASURER,LT--COL. C. R. SAmlRTIIWAlTl'., O.H-lt., SlXRErARY

PERSONAL

Major quartered in Irak wishes lo knowthe Coptic for " A box of King bix 8d.

Cigars, please."DOREXCELLENT—whicii means merelythat Rubber Gloves and other burgical

products bearing the name Durex arcexcellent. From your Chemist.TAMAR INDIEX—the lozenge laxative

that never fails. Safe for children. Uponto gastric sufferers. 60 years reputation.3/- box.' Chemists and Stores.PSORIASIS-ECZEMA ended while you

sleep. Write RIDALEX Chemists Ltd..Dent. PN, 242, Lytham Road, Blackpool.CARTERS BLUE BOOK—War Edition

Post Free from Carters Tested SeedsLtd., Rayncs Park, London, S.W.20.

RAINING FOR THE FUTURE. Usespare time now to best advantage by

studying for a Ixjndon University Degrees-open to all without residence. UniversityCorrespondence College provides experttuition by post. Highly qualificti tutors.I^w fees, instalments. Prospectus from theRegistrar, 39. Burlington House, Cambridge.Memorials. Consult the Bir

mingham GUILD LTD. regardingappropriate Memorials in Stone, Wood orMetal. Grosvenor St. West, Birmingham, 16.

S


The lifetime of a typewriterdepends as much on the ^ay it is serviced

• as on the amount itis used. The ImperialService ensures thatyou get themaximum

• value and efficiency from each machine.

ImperialTypeivriter Service

every imperial agent givesFULL IMPERIAL SERVICE

ImperialTypewriter Co. Lid-

Leicester

?HERE LS AnImPERIAL AGENT IN EVERY LARGE TOWN

Me ping to

January 15 1941

new rheumatismTREATMENT:

A SPA AT HOME!By Dr. Oulftno'"*

It is generally agreed by my con-Irores—all of them specialists m thetreatment of rheumatic disorderthatrheumatism, sciatica ana lumbagoaremore quickly relieved byspawatercures than by any other treatment.

In 'Alkia Saltrates' there are reproduced the essential medicinalprinciples ofseven farnous spawaters,including those of Vichy, Carlsbadand Aix-les-Bains.

A teaspoonfufof *Alkia Saltratcsdissolved in a tumbler of warm waterelves the same benefits as longcuresatContinentalspas. ' Alkia Saltratcsact at once in the relief of backacheand lumbago, and after the first fewdays even the most long-standingrheumatism will yield to the treatment.

There is no finer prescription forkeeping the body healthy year mand year out, and for preventingthe distressing ailments which oftentake hold in middle life. AlkiaSaltratcs'mav be-obtained from anychemist at 3/3d. per bottle (plusPurchase Tax).

A Fine British Cigar is be^rthan a cheap Havana

INTERME/ZZOSElcg.lnl sliniSi Incii

illuMi.TiDelicate aroma end

csarming fl.ironr.

A Sample Box of25forlCi9 postpaid.

GREEN'S LTD.,Cigar Importers.

13 & 38, Royal Exchange,CornhUI, London, E.C.3

SMALL

LARGE /PACKET fc'I

ski"

in the National inceresc

empty your packet atthe time of purchaseand leave it wit/j yoi/y

^9'": svoi'- Liyinsi® A ra H

.itid J' i-icat*,. iiijiiii -

Tobscconist^ t.0

PUNCH or The London CharivariJanuary 15 1941

ATimely Pick me up'Biscuto

more useful piS-mtup when^ôu'fedyou need one-and its ?ood TJc° /cS

M'ViriE& PRICE"icestive biscuitsBy A4c^,r,e s ^ „ i c e

NEWTON CHAMBERS fr CO LTD

do^

I'm smoklna

Thiee NunsI)

reAN OZ

EMPIRE BLEND

/oTotu

tA0f<eôre eccrmmUca/ALSO ORIGINAL BLEND 1'10 AN OUNCE

Issued by Stephen Mitchell & Son, Branch of The Imperial Tobacco Co. (of GreatT.N.468b Britain & Ireland), Ltd., St. Andrew Square, Classow.

THORNCLIFFE^ÎRONWORKS SHEFFIELD

Punch or The London Charivari—January 15 1941

%

''Ihave at last'! said M- Micawber'''an immediate prospect of

, something brilliant turning up."

The brightest anticipations of Micawber —the supreme optimist — have been realised inthe Mazda Lamp, which gives more light forless money than any earlier type of lamp.

r

MAZDA LAMPS STAY BRIGHTER LONGER.

BECAUSE OF THE WONDERFUL NON-SAG FILAMENTMAZDA COILED-COIL LAMPS G^ UP TO so%MORE LIGHT THAN ORDINARY GAS-FILLED LAMPS

MADE IN RUGBY, ENGLAND

Tht British Tkonison-Housion Compuiiy Ltd., Crown House, Aldtoych, London, iV.C.2, 42-21 /3769

Printed in Eneland by Messrs, Bradbury. Agncw & C«., Limited, at IS-'iO. Phcenii Place. Mount Pleasant. W.C.I, and published by them weekly, with occasional additional issues,at ID.Bouvorio Street, London. E.C.4. Distributed in Canada by The MacLean Pubiishme Company Limited, 481. University Avenue, Toronto 2, Ontario.—Wbdnesdav, January IS. 1D41.

punch january 1941

Art & Photos

hlieei vapex

london charivari w

greatcoat service

annum canada

supply ol punch

f loi gns

london charivari u1

london charivarijanuary