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DAMN THE KAISER
The grit of the British Tommy is amazing, as told by a Swiss correspondent who found himself with fourteen soldiers in a barn. A huge German shell suddenly “found” the barn in the very center and wrecked it. It was pitch dark; the Swiss was seriously wounded and decided to lay still until help should come. Suddenly a voice spoke out of the dark:
“Anyone left here?”
“Right here, old chap,” came an answer.
“Ah.” Then silence, and in a few moments came: “Say, old man, think you could give me a bit of a lift. Seems both of my pins are gone.”
“Sorry, old chap,” came the answer. “Wish I could, but they found both of my hands.”
“Oh,” came the answer. Then, after a pause: “That’s a bit inconvenient, isn’t it?”
“Somewhat,” was the reply.
After a few moments:
“Hell of a rumpus, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, quite.”
“Well,” came the final word, “someone will come along and find us.”
And “someone” did.
FUN FOR THE MISSUS
A padre passing up and down among the wounded at a field hospital asked a wounded Jock whether he would like to dictate a letter home. The Jock assented. Thereupon the minister prepared to take down the letter, but found Jock tongue-tied and unable to begin.
“Come along, now!” said the padre kindly. “We must make a start. What shall I say?”
No reply.
“Shall I begin ‘My Dear Wife?’”
“Ay,” said Jock, “pit that doon. That’ll amuse her!”
GERMAN RESTITUTION
“Any restitution Germany offers to the Allies will be offered, you may be sure, in the spirit of Griggs.”
The speaker was Edward Hungerford, the advertising expert.
“Griggs and Miggs,” he went on, “were kidnapped by bandits and shut up in a cave.
“‘They’ll take every cent we’ve got on us,’ moaned Miggs. ‘Every blessed cent.’
“‘They will, eh?’ said Griggs, thoughtfully.
“‘They sure will.’
“Griggs peeled a ten-spot from his roll.
“‘Here, Miggs,’ he said, ‘here is that ten dollars I’ve been owin’ you for so long.’”
BUT DID CHARLEY TELL IT?
“Charley, dear,” said young Mrs. Torkins, “I have thought up a witticism for you to tell at the club.”
“Do I have to tell it?”
“Of course not. But you’ll miss a great chance if you don’t. It’s this: Baseball players ought to be put into the navy instead of the army. Go on; ask me ‘Why?’”
“Why?”
“So that they can steal submarine bases.”
LONG-DISTANCE FAREWELL
The word came that a company of soldiers in an Eastern camp would leave the next morning on a transport for France. One soldier came from Portland, Ore. Quickly he went to the public telephone pay station and put in a call for his mother. For an hour he paced back and forth before that booth, and then came the word “Portland is on the wire.” Slowly but impressively this boy in khaki dropped one hundred 25-cent pieces in the slot, and for a precious five minutes that boy heard his mother’s voice and she heard the good-by of her boy. Then, dripping wet from the nervous strain, he ran for his barracks to get ready for France and the trenches.
NINE GIRLS TOO MANY
He was a strikingly handsome figure in his uniform as he started out upon his round of farewell calls.
“And you’ll think of me every single minute when you’re in those stupid old trenches?” questioned the sweet young thing upon whom he first called.
He nodded emphatically. “Every minute.”
“And you’ll kiss my picture every night?”
“Twice a night,” he vowed rashly, patting the pretty head on his shoulder.
“And write me long, long letters?” she insisted.
“Every spare minute I have,” he reassured her, and hurried away to the next name on his list.
There were ten in all who received his promises.
When it was over he sighed. “I hope,” he murmured wearily, “there won’t be much fighting to do ‘over there.’ I’m going to be so tremendously busy.”
WHY NOT BOTH?
The adjutant was lecturing to the subalterns of the battalion.
“In the field,” he said, “it is now incumbent upon an officer to make himself look as much like a man as possible.”
Everybody laughed.
“That is, I mean,” he explained, “as much like a soldier as possible.”
ONLY GOOD GERMANS WERE LEFT
One of the brightest young business men of Pittsburgh enrolled as a volunteer and by his quick intelligence soon won an officer’s commission. He led his troops in the attack on Bouresches, and so hot was the fight that a major was sent from headquarters to learn the worst. He met the young officer coming out of the town with part of his company. The major happened to be a pompous gentleman, well known for his egotism. Having no faith in anyone to “finish a job,” he asked the young officer:
“What’s the condition of Bouresches?”
“In our hands, sir. I left a detachment to guard the town,” replied the young officer.
“Any boches left?” was the next question.
The young officer hesitated and then said:
“Yes, sir.”
A lurid interlude followed. “Did not your orders from me say that no Germans were to be left there?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the young officer.
“Then why in hell have you disobeyed my orders, hey?” asked the irate major.
The young Pittsburgher looked the major in the eye and replied: “The burying patrol has not arrived yet, sir.”
A BREEZY RETORT
The recruiting had been good and the orator of the occasion felt well satisfied with himself. It would be graceful, he thought, to speak a few concluding words to the crowd of men who had dedicated themselves to “king and country.”
“And what will you think when you see the flag of the empire standing out from its staff above the field of battle?” the speaker demanded, his face alight with patriotic fervor.
“Standin’ straight out, guv’nor?” a stolid recruit questioned earnestly.
“Why – er – yes!” the orator responded, in some confusion.
“I should think, then,” the future Tommy announced gravely, “that the wind was blowin’ ’ard.”
PATTING MISSOURI ON THE BACK
We’re glad to see that General Foch is studying this column for ideas to help speed up the winning of the war. A month or so ago we quoted a paragraph of Jack Blanton’s, advising General Foch that, while defensive fighting was all right for awhile, all the great battles of the world had been won by the armies which took the offensive. Yesterday’s papers quoted General Foch to the same effect. We’ve suspected all along that the unofficial boards of strategy in Paris, Mo., and other country towns knew lots more about the war-problems than anybody in Paris, France, and this proves it. —Kansas City Times.
YOU CAN’T BEAT SUCH BOYS
When the lad came to in the shell hole he thought at first somebody had emptied a bucket of warm water on his face and breast. But it happened to be blood from a nasty wound running down his cheek and along his chin. He’d not known, naturally, when it had happened. A little wabbly, he was reaching for his rifle when a field surgeon slid down the bank and confronted him.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
“Sure, why not?” was the reply.
“Why, man, you’re wounded!” the surgeon exclaimed.
The kid’s eyes flashed. “No, sir,” he said with a gory grin; “I was leaning against the German barrage when the Huns lifted it and I fell and cut my chin. That’s all. Please let me stay.”
HOW TO BE FUNNY IN WARTIME
This subject is discussed by W. H. Berry, an actor whose “High Jinks” has been going strong with London theater-goers.
“It is far more necessary for a comedian to get the laughs in time of war,” says Berry, “and I know that many of our comedians have worked their hardest on the nights when there was bad news in the papers.
“There are only a few subjects taboo, but they should be shunned absolutely. I object, for example, to a joke I heard not long ago about wounded soldiers who had to wear glass eyes. I consider such jokes offensive in the highest degree. As a wag of my acquaintance remarked the other day, ‘Some of these war jokes are too warful for words.’
“There are, however, certain subjects allied to the war on which I consider it perfectly legitimate to jest. There is the censorship. There are our pitchy streets at night time.
“For instance, I myself have perpetrated wheezelets’ on these topics in ‘High Jinks,’ of which the following are fair samples:
“‘Would you believe it, it’s so dark now in London that when I dined at the Carlton the other night I had to put luminous paint on my potatoes to stop myself putting them in the mouth of the gentleman next to me.
“‘It’s so dark that when I go to the opera I take a trained glow worm with me.
“‘He’s a wealthy man, indeed – he’s got a whole box of matches in his pocket.’”
NOW ON A WAR-BASIS
His Honor – “Rufus, didn’t you hear that you had to work or fight?”
Rufus – “Yaas, boss, I sho’ dun hyer dat. So I goes an’ gits married right away.”
HUMANITY IN WAR
During a fierce engagement on the Somme battlefield a British officer saw a German officer impaled on the barbed wire between the lines, writhing in anguish. The fire was heavy, but still the wounded man hung there. At last the Englishman could stand it no longer. He said quietly: “I can’t bear to look at that poor chap.” He went out under the storm of shell fire, released the sufferer, took him on his shoulders and carried him to the German trench. The firing ceased. Both sides watched the act with wonder. Then the commander in the German trench came forward, took from his own bosom the Iron Cross, and pinned it on the breast of the British officer.
FLATLY IMPOSSIBLE
“Yes,” said Simpkins, “I want to do my bit, of course, so I thought I’d raise some potatoes.”
“Well, I thought I would do that,” said Smith, “but when I looked up the way to do it I found that potatoes have to be planted in hills, and our yard is perfectly flat.”
THE FRATERNAL SIDE OF WAR
Jean is a typical French soldier: alert, daring; a keen, educated youth. He is equally at home with the German and the French languages, which accounts for what follows:
One dark night, shortly after midnight, Jean – on a solitary patrol – was lying just outside the wire, about ten meters from the German trench, listening to locate the sentries. There was a faint starlight. Suddenly a whisper came from beyond the wire, a low voice speaking in broken French:
“Why do you lie so quiet, my friend? I saw you crawl up and have watched you ever since. I don’t want to shoot you. I am a Bavarian.”
“Good evening, then,” Jean whispered back in his perfect German.
“So,” said the sentry, “you speak our language. Wait a moment, till I warn the rest of my squad, and I will show you the way through the wire; there are no officers about at this hour.”
Probably not one man in a thousand would have taken such a chance, but Jean did, and ten minutes later was standing in the trench in a German cloak and fatigue cap (in case of passing officers), chatting amiably with a much interested group of Bavarian soldiers. They gave him beer, showed him their dugouts, and arranged a whistle signal for future visits, before bidding him a regretful good night. “We are Bavarians,” they said; “we like and admire the French, and fight only because we must.”
NO TIME TO WASTE
Two soldiers caused some amusement at a golf course the other way. The first man teed up and made a mighty swipe, but failed to shift the ball. The miss was repeated no fewer than three times.
His pal was unable to stand it any longer.
“For heaven’s sake, Bill,” he broke out, “hit the bloomin’ thing. You know we have only four days’ leave.”
HER GENTLE COME-BACK
She was a sweet young thing, and having come down to see her soldier brother, who was on duty at that time, she was being taken round by his chum. She was, of course, full of questions.
“Who is that person?” she asked, pointing to a color sergeant.
“Oh! he shook hands with the king; that is why he is wearing a crown on his arm, you see!” replied the truthful man.
“And who is that?” she asked, seeing a gymnastic instructor with a badge of crossed Indian clubs.
“That is the barber; do you not see the scissors on his arm?”
Seeing yet another man with cuffs decorated with stars, she asked, “And that one?”
“Oh, he is the battalion astronomer; he guides us on night maneuvers!”
“How interesting!” replied the maiden, when seeing her companion’s badge, that of an ancient stringed instrument, she asked, “And does that thing mean you are the regimental liar?”
HIS MIND WAS WANDERING
“Anything I can do for you?” asked a surgeon as he passed the bed of a smiling but badly wounded soldier.
“Yes, doctor; perhaps you can tell me something I’d very much like to know,” answered “Sammie.”
“Fire ahead,” replied the doctor. “What is it?”
“Well, doctor, when one doctor doctors another doctor, does the doctor doing the doctoring doctor the other doctor like the doctor wants to be doctored, or does the doctor doing the doctoring doctor the other doctor like the doctor doing the doctoring wants to doctor him?”
THE SEX OF THE KILTIES
While some Scottish regiments were disembarking in France, several French officers were watching them. One observed: “They can’t be women, for they have mustaches; but they can’t be men, for they wear skirts.”
“I have it,” said another. “They’re that famous Middlesex regiment from London.”
PLAY BALL!
Sing a song of baseball,
Good old Yankee game;
Rain or shine, war or peace,
Play it just the same.
Out behind the trenches,
Swat the little pill,
Helps to boost the spirit
For swatting Kaiser Bill.
HE’D BEEN THERE HIMSELF
Two colored troopers in France called upon the Chaplain.
“Look here, Mr. Chaplain, we wants you for to settle an argument,” said one of them. “Dis here man says lots of saints were colored folks. Would you please tell me how many of dem ’postles were niggers?”
“None of them was a darky,” said the Chaplain.
“Well, Sir, that settles it. Dis man wanted me to believe that St. Peter was a nigger, and I just told him: ‘No, Sah, St. Peter was no nigger, ’cause I heard you say about St. Peter and dat rooster crowin’ twice. If St. Peter was a nigger I jest know dat rooster would never have a chance to crow a second time; no, Sah.’”
EIGHTEEN YEARS OF HOPE
A wife whose husband is on active service recently presented him with a bouncing baby boy. She wrote to ask him when he should get leave, and also when the war would be over. His reply was as follows:
“Dear Lucy: – I don’t know when I shall get leave or when the war will be over, but if the baby should be called up before I get leave, give him a parcel to bring out to me. Your loving husband, Bill.”
A NICKNAME THAT STUCK
The Post School for Soldiers gathered for the afternoon session. The teacher was the Chaplain. The lesson, he said, was about the adverb. “What is an adverb?” There was an eloquent silence. At last a weary voice ventured: “That’s a word that ends in ly. I learned that back in Missouri.”
“Can you give me a definition?” said the Chaplain.
“No, Sir.”
“Can you give me an example of an adverb?”
“Yes, Sir,” came the response; “Kelly.”
Some months afterward, while in camp overseas, the Chaplain addressed a sentry and inquired who was Corporal of the guard. And the answer came: “Kelly, the adverb, Sir.”
PAT WAS SMOKING
Scene: A smoking compartment in a British railway carriage.
Old Gent (to Pat going home to Monaghan on furlough) – “Young man, allow me to inform you that out of every ten cases of men suffering from paralysis of the tongue, nine are due to smoking.”
Pat – “Allow me to inform you, sir, that out of every ten men suffering from broken noses, nine are due to the habit of not minding their own business.”
FORGOT HIS LINES
The Canadians are credited with the story of the stupid Yorkshire sentry:
The first night he stood guard he hailed an approaching officer in proper form:
“’Oo goes there?”
“Canadian rifles.”
There was a moment of silence. Then the Yorkshireman repeated:
“’Oo goes there?”
“The Canadian Rifles,” was the impatient answer. More silence. Then the Yorkshireman again challenged:
“’Oo goes there?”
“The Canadian rifles, you qualified blighter,” shouted the enraged officer.
There was a long period of quiet while the Canadian watched the Yorkshireman’s obviously ready rifle. Then there was a moan from the sentry:
“Blowed if I hain’t forgot what to say next!”
SO THERE’S PLENTY OF IT
William Thaw, the young Pittsburgh millionaire who has done such wonderful flying in France, was being praised at a luncheon party.
“Mr. Thaw,” said a pretty girl, “is as brave as he is witty. I saw him make a splendid flight one day, and on his descent I said to him:
“‘Flying requires some special application, doesn’t it?’
“‘Oh, no,’ said he. ‘Any old kind of horse liniment will do.’”
LIVELY ENEMY
A company of very new soldiers were out on a wide heath, practicing the art of taking cover. The officer in charge of them turned to one of the rawest of his men.
“Get down behind that hillock there,” he ordered, sternly, “and, mind, not a move or a sound!”
A few minutes later he looked around to see if they were all concealed, and, to his despair, observed something wriggling behind the small mound. Even as he watched the movements became more frantic.
“I say, you there,” he shouted, angrily, “do you know you are giving our position away to the enemy?”
“Yes, sir,” said the recruit, in a voice of cool desperation, “and do you know that this is an anthill?”
NO REGRETS
A certain drill sergeant, whose severity had made him unpopular with his troops, was putting a party of recruits through the funeral service. Opening the ranks so as to admit the passage of the supposed cortege between them, the instructor, by way of explanation, walked slowly down the lane formed by the two ranks, saying, as he did so:
“Now, I’m the corpse. Pay attention.”
Having reached the end of the path, he turned round, regarding them steadily with a scrutinizing eye for a moment or two, then exclaimed:
“Your ’ands is right, and your ’eads is right, but you haven’t got that look of regret you ought to ’ave.”
TOO MUCH WASTED EFFORT
A squad of rookies, composed of various nationalities, mostly Italian, on being given the command “mark time!” all executed the command with the exception of one small dark-skinned son of Naples.
The sergeant asked him why he did not execute the movement and he replied:
“Donna wan to.”
“Why not?” sharply demanded the sergeant.
“Cause-a we walk-a like deuce and don’t-a get-a no place!”
MAD ENOUGH TO LICK ANYONE
Before entering the Army this rookie was a peaceful lad, but rising at 5:15 in the morning went against his principles. On this particular morning, as he fell in line by the light of the moon, his bunkie heard him mutter:
“It’s clear to me now. Why didn’t I think of that long ago?”
Bunkie (puzzled) – “What’s clear to you now?”
Rookie – “The reason why all great battles begin at daybreak.”
Bunkie – “Why?”
Rookie – “Because, when men have to get up that time, they feel so much like fighting.”
WORKING THE WAR
Bess: “That’s Mrs. Grabbit – she’s a great war-worker.”
Bob: “Indeed!”
Bess: “Yes; she’s married four of her daughters to soldiers.”
SANDY WAS SCOTCH
Sandy M’Tavish was a highly-skilled workman in a new aeroplane factory. It happened one day that he was asked if he would care to accompany the works aviator on one of his trial flights in a machine. Sandy, after some hesitation, agreed to do so.
During the flight the aviator asked how he was enjoying the trip.
“To tell the truth,” answered the Scot, “I wad rather be on the groun’.”
“Tut, tut,” replied the flying man. “I’m just thinking of looping the loop.”
“For heaven’s sake don’t dae that!” yelled the now very serious M’Tavish. “I’ve some siller in my vest pocket, an’ I micht lose it.”
BROWN WASN’T GREEN
Brown was transferred to another unit his adjutant wrote to the adjutant of the new regiment saying: “We are sending you Brown. He is a nice boy, but he has a shocking bad habit of betting on every conceivable subject. Try and choke him off.”
Brown arrived. At mess on the first night he sat next the colonel and, turning the conversation on India, made the astounding assertion that every white man who went there developed a curious green patch between the shoulder-blades. This rubbish annoyed the colonel. He said that he certainly had no green patch on his back. Brown, with all deference, offered to bet him ten pounds that he had! The bet was accepted by the indignant officer, and in the ante-room afterwards he pulled off his shirt. There was no patch. Brown apologized and paid up. Next day the adjutant wrote to Brown’s former regiment: “Brown turned up. * * * I think we have choked him off. Last night he bet the colonel, etc. * * * and lost.”
The reply came: “Thanks for yours. Before Brown left here he bet us ten pounds apiece all round the mess that he would make the colonel take off his shirt in the ante-room on the first night he arrived.”
