Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/476
TO BELGIUM IN EXILE.
Lines dedicated to one of her priests, by whose words they were prompted.
Weeping your beauty marred and torn,
Your children tossed upon the spears,
Your altars rent, your hearths forlorn,
Where Spring has no renewing spell,
And Love no language save a long Farewell!
Whose price—for so in God we trust
Who saw them fall in that blind swirl
Of ravening flame and reeking dust—
The spoiler with his life shall pay,
When Justice at the last demands her Day.
Lettered in blood too deep to fade,
Take courage! Never in our hands
Shall the avenging sword be stayed
Till you are healed of all your pain,
And come with Honour to your own again.
O. S.
UNUSUAL BUSINESS IN THE COPSE.
Sir,—It would appear that some irregular occurrence is disturbing the ordinary course of events, destroying habits and annihilating old associations. But we get so little news of the outside world in our rural retreat that I have not yet learnt what is taking place.
For as many years as I can remember, on my return to take up my residence in Littledown Copse each April, I have found a pleasant-looking gentleman awaiting me among the dead leaves in an attitude of expectancy, with his hand to his ear. No matter how early in the month I have come, or whether the day has been wet or fine, this amiable and homely individual has been there, and at my first call of greeting he has rubbed his hands together with glee, looked at his watch and made notes in his pocketbook. I understand that it has been his further custom to confide to his friends, through the columns of the principal London newspapers, that I have returned to my Spring residence, dignifying what is after all a simple event in a manner most gratifying to myself.
This year, to my great disappointment, my friend was not awaiting me at Littledown Copse, and in reply to my calls there was not so much as a rustle of the leaves. I looked for him in vain until May 1st, when he arrived in the company of another. His companion was an ordinary person who had little of the appearance of a nature-lover, and my friend himself had altered; his beard was trimmed, and he looked almost muscular. Both were attired strangely in grey-green clothing, with a band of bright red on the left arm stamped with the initials "G. R." which, with its colour, gave it the appearance of a letter-box. I was glad to see my old friend, and gave a cry of welcome.
"Hark! the cuckoo!" said his companion.
"Keep down, you fool," said my old friend crossly; "that's no cuckoo. I bet you a shilling it's one of their scouts giving warning that we've been heard among these confounded rustling leaves."
As they fell on their faces behind some bushes I saw to my alarm that each of them was armed with a rifle. I deemed it advisable therefore to hold my peace. But I cannot shake off the conviction that there are strange influences at work.
Your obedient Harbinger.
DIFFICILIS DESCENSUS.
Scene.—A London suburb in the quiet of early morning. After a very foggy night a disabled Zeppelin drops down into the middle of a deserted side-street. The Commander and crew alight and hoist white flag.
Commander (to crew). Fellow-heroes and victims of harsh circumstance, there is nothing left us but to surrender to brutal and superior force.
[A milk-boy, on his early round, comes up and looks on with interest.]
Commander. Boy, we are Germans; our brave ship is wrecked; we are cold and hungry and wish to surrender.
Boy (grinning). Garn! Who'r' yer gittin' at?
[Local Policeman, on beat-duty, appears on scene.]
Policeman. Now then, move along there.
Commander. Unhappily, Herr Policeman, so to do we are not able; our brave craft is destroyed; we are Germans; we are cold and hungry and wish to surrender.
Policeman (doubtfully). How am I to know you're Germans? You'll have to prove it. We've heard these yarns before.
Commander. Herr Gott! How can we prove it? Look at the mark of our craft—"Z 199."
Policeman. Oh, those motor-car numbers are easily faked.
Commander. Donnerwetter! How can I make you understand that we are Germans, Germans with bombs? We want to surrender. We are cold and hungry and thirsty.
Policeman. I ain't a relieving-officer, and, anyhow, you're not allowed to beg in this neighbourhood. You'd better move on.
Commander (in despair). Where are the barracks? Where is the office of the military staff? Where is the bureau of the high-aircraft-over-commandant?
Policeman. There ain't no such things hereabouts.
Commander. Himmel! what a country! In Germany there is no difficulty about being arrested.
Policeman. But what am I to arrest you for? There's no one to give you in charge. I can't arrest you unless you're charged. You'd better go and see the Sergeant at the police-station—second to right, third to left and straight on.
[Commander and crew prepare to depart, leaving wreck of Zeppelin in road.]
Policeman. Hi! you can't leave that thing here; you must move it or you'll be run in for obstructing traffic in a public street.
Commander (joyfully). Then, thank God, that is what we will do. We gladly refuse to remove it. We will obstruct the traffic. Now you must arrest us.
Policeman. That's all right! You come along with me to the station. Why didn't you say what yer little game was before?
[Exeunt all, well pleased with themselves.]
Ragtime on the Church Organ.
"The party made their way to the vestry for the remaining formalities, to the accompaniment of the strains of Mendelssohn's Wedding March from the organ, intersected by the Military Overture in C by the same master."—Stoke Newington Recorder.
"Assistant-Mistress required immediately for duration of the war, for Singing, Drill and general Form work. Salary £100, rising by annual increments of £10 to a maximum of £140."—Advertisement in "The Spectator."
Applicants for this post should be warned that the prospect of reaching the maximum is decidedly precarious.