Issue: 423 / December - Charterhouse | World War I Memorial

THE
Carthusian jtiterarg Supplement
Content*.
P<: lie
My Impressions of the Field Day
Then and Now
October 2nd, 1921
The Beggar's Opera
A Dream
Art of Classical Quotation
Voces Carthusianae
Smith Mine.'Definitions
The Old Boy
Camouflage
The apparel oft proclaims the man
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(By Paulus).
This is not intended to be screamingly funny, nor
is it intended to be a military chronicle of field operations. All I hope to achieve is to give a fairly
graphic description of the Field Day on October 19th,
from the point of view of the ordinary Carthusian,
not of the well trained " cadet."
'' The day dawned bright and clear, and I jumped
out of bed . . . . ;" that is the proper way to begin
a story, but, unfortunately, it is untrue. It was
drizzling in a very melancholy fashion, and I turned
over and thanked heaven that we had half-au-hour
longer in bed than usual. But as the rain continued
an awful terror assailed us. Would we be haled into
School after all ? But there was one comforting
thought: all the masters had fled with the dawn to
London or other delectahle spots, far from the School,
thus showing great common sense and greater consideration.
However, after breakfast the rain stopped, and in
due time we found ourselves at Armoury, equipped in
Marching Order, ha^ ersack on back (vide Battn.
Orders, dated April 1st, Section X, Para. : Z 13).
There a scene of martial enthusiasm unfolded itself
to our eyes. Commands were yelled, whole books of
Field Service Message Forms distributed, maps hurled
about, showers of orders and " schemes " given away
free. White hat bands were also given out, with
strict injunctions not to use them for pocket handkerchiefs ! At last the platoon commanders, groaning
under the weight of the free literature they bad
accumulated, gave the word, and we marched in grand
style through the School to " Green."
Here the Commanding Officer reviewed his army,
mounted on a prancing charger. We then moved off
in column of something or other (in fours, anyway),
past the eagle eye of the Headmaster, past thepatronising smiles of the .Housemasters, past the
admiring crowd of new boys in college suits, with
their hashboooks under their arms, under the archway,
down the hill and round the corner. The great
adventure had begun !
How I loved that march ! I am really growing
quite a soldier boy. The pleasure of striding along
with my fellows, of changing step every time an
N.C.O. yelled it out wrong, of halting and falling
out in a muddy ditch, all combined to make me feel
really sorry when we reached Wonersh Common (Map
reference—Oh help, I've forgotten how to work them
out already !) and we had to halt and fall out for a
long rest.
After a while the cart arrived with the lunch baskets,
which were distributed in proper military style : two
men from each house march up smartly, stand smartly
at attention, two paces forward march, seizing the
basket by numbers—one—two, etc ! I deeply sympathise with the house who opened their basket before
the command was given to the Battalion, all the more
deeply because the Court Martial is soon to be held,
and it is not certain whether they will be shot at dawn
or merely expelled.
One or two other Colleges rolled up, and all the
officers had a consultation; they all smoked too, the
nasty brutes, just to tantalize us, of course! Then the
rumour flew round the ranks: our opponents were
Epsom College and Guildford Grammar School. What
if we came into collision with Guildford ? Again,
should we see the gallant and debonair figure of Sergt.
gtent—as you were—Sergt.-Major Stent, V.C., (that
is hia new title at Guildford), the man who won the
DECEMBER,. 1921.]
War, finest fellow in the British Army! It is
rumoured that every Platoon Commander told O ff a
section of fast runners and good bayonet fighters to
deal with this magnificent soldier, should occasion
arise.
Then the actual " operations " began, but they were
quite the dullest part of the day. Tramping up the
same old hill, with the usual halts ; wandering
aimlessly over the heath, taking an occasional shot at
a far distant enemy ; never even catching sight of
Guildford Grammar School and their fine " SergeantMajor."
I came in for one bit of fun at the end, a really
first-class charge, with Charterhouse " wurp" and
guttural snarl all included
But the umpire took
care that the darling enemy should not get hurt.
Halting us about a yard from their "trench " with one
magnificent gesture, like a London policeman controlling traffic, he suggested to the enemy that they
should retire, and then let us occupy their position !
He got quite nasty with one of our Platoon Commanders, who gallantly pursued the enemy, warming
them up with a small cane, and yelling eminently
suitable epithets at them.
"A Company" never saw the battlefield. They
pretended to be fed up, but it was all put on. They
had a jolly slack time, they were able to digest their
fizzy lemonade in peace, and they gripped all the first
'buses home, and went back in slate while we were
fighting for them.
The funniest thing of all was the end, when the
remnants of B and C Company started marching back.
Every 200 yards we would meet one empty 'bus, halt
smartly, fall out so many files, and proceed. The
inhabitants of Shalford watched the dwindling column
with great amusement, and we had just got through
thai charming rustic vilhige, when the last 'bus rolled
up and took the last party home, tired but happy, not
knowing or caring" whether or not. we had won a
glorious victory.
Place: " Unter den Linden," Berlin.
Time: Spring, 1914.
(The Kaiser watches his Household Troops parade.)
In all the world there is no sight so fair
As manhood at its best : and I behold
The flower of all my peerless army here,
Super-superlative, beyond compare
A miracle of stalwart soldiery.
And as each point of silver and of steel
On helm and uniform reflects the ami,
239
THE CARTHUSIAN.
So all these loyal souls but mirror Me
T l i e i r Sun and War-Lord. I could rule the world
With such a sword !
Peace-Kuiser am I called
E'en by my foes ; yet I foresee an hour
When Heav«n .shall ssiy : " Thy flag must be unfurled,
" For War must come t h a t henceforth Wars may cease ! "
Not mine the will ; but . . . . when that day shall dawn,
M.y splendid sword shall flash from out its sheath
And carve a path to Universal Peace !
So Wilhelm mused : there was no angel near
To whisper " Amerongen " in his ear.
, 1921.
Summer-Time, born in the blossoming,
We bury to-night with sadness :
Straight from the Sun, on radiant wing
He came his royal gift to bring,
The boon of a lengthened evening,
An hour of daylight gladness,
Michaelmas daisies, dewy-wet,
Their tears o'er his grave are weeping;
Dahlias' glories, uoigeous yet
Pale sweet roses and mignonette,
Fragrant with love and love's regret,
Make fair his place of sle?ping.
We can face the shortening days again
Through the light of the Past behind u s :
Brave the blast and the driving rain,
A u t u m n ' s chill and Winter's pain,
For Summer has forged a golden chain
And its shining links still bind us.
Written by Mr. Gay.
London, William Heineruann.
15/-.
The publication of this book has already been
announced in The Carthusian, but it deserves a fuller
notice than the three lines accorded to it in October.
For it embodies Claud Lovat Fraser's view of what
a book should be like; and further, Mr. John
Drinkwater's preface has converted it into a memorial
of the artist whose loss is so widely and so affectionately
deplored. The preface however is the least satisfying
part of the book : it errs a little on the side of sententiousness, though there is a delightful paragraph
describing the conversion of Fraser, the artist in his
studio, into Fraser, the early Victorian beau. But how
can Mr. Drinkwater permit himself so strange an
expression as " a little down and oat ? " You might as
well talk of being " slightly killed."
240
THE CARTHUSIAN.
Next comes Eraser's own note on the scene and
costumes at Hammersmith. Here he lifts the veil in
a manner that is truly delightful OH the way that an
artist, a real artist, tackles the problem of stage production. We learn that the scene at the Lyric is a
" shameless reductio ad absurdum of Palladio's magnificent scene at Vicenza." But when Fraser tells us
that Palladio and Gay have much to forgive, we
contradict him without hesitation. Fraser's contributions do not end with the preface : there are his watercolour drawings, admirable in themselves and admirably
reproduced; there are numbers of fascinating head
and tail pieces; finally there is the cover. This last
makes it one of the books destined to lie always on a
table : it is too comely a thing to hide in a shelf. The
back is black, the sides bright yellow, the labels are
purplish and green, and if you think the combination
sounds garish, get a copy and see. The printing of
words and music (for all the tunes are here) is beyond
reproach.
To talk of the play itself is outside our scope, but if
there is anyone who does not know the facts, we may
add that it is all but 200 years old ; that the original
suggestion of it came from so big a man as Swift; that
it was neglected or frowned upon throughout the nineteenth century (except, we are told, at one remote
village in the Cotswolds) ; and that after reappearing
at Hammersmith in June, 1920, it looks as if it would
run till its bicentenary occurs in 1928. The piece has
another link with Charterhouse which must not go
unmentioned. The music, a dangerous rival of Sullivan's,
was written or arranged to popular airs of the day by
Dr. Pepusch, the old Berliner who, at an advanced age,
became organist of Charterhouse and held the post till
his death, in his 86th year, in 1752. You may still
see his engraved portrait in the room where the choir
leave their overcoats on Founder's Day. He seems to
have been a stiff old pedant who made it the object of
his life to persuade the world that the music of the
eighteenth century ought only to be that of the seventeenth over again, and he called the great Handel " a
good practical musician." But when Gay turned to
him, he threw pedantry to the winds,—and he has
his reward.
The book is altogether a thing to possess, and any
Carthusian who can touch his godfather for fifteen
shillings at Christmas should make it his own. Or
try for a guinea, and you can get the score of the
opera as well.
[DECEMBER, 1921.
I dreamt once that books oomfi to life in the night,
If you wish to hear more, pray read what I write:
T was sitting at work in my study one night—it was half-past
eleven or so,
When (I must have been dozing) my Liddell Sf Scott rushed
at me and dealt me a blow,
And then bound me, with help from my Lewis Sf Short (they
held it a capital je.->t),
A n d they said i was charged with a serious crime and declared
I was under arrest!
I'd assaulted, it seemed, an innocent book, in a wild fit of folly
and rage;
My victim was Virgil's Aeneid, Boole II (introduction and
notes, T. E. Page).
I remembered it now, and was seized with remorse, though
I'd had provocation enough ;
For I'd learnt all my rep. for once in a way—taken ages to
master the stuff,
When at last, far too late, I was told the sad news, that I'd
learnt the wrong lines after all,
Then [ started improving my shooting at goal —the unfortunate Page was the ball !
Meanwhile, to my horror, the Liddell Sf Scott and the Lewis 8f
Short, one each side,
Were proceeding to drag rne to Curtis's shop (that's the place
where I had to be tried) ;
And I struggled my hardest, but all was in vain ; my
opponent's superior weight
Was successful o'er all my endeavours, and so I went quietly
waiting my fate.
The familiar shop was arranged as a Court, and the books
were assembled around ;
Every sort and condition of book I perceived, some dowdy,
some beautifully bound.
There were novels and hymn books, and Classics and French,
The Spectator and Strand Magazine ;
In fact there was every conceivable kind and description of
book ever seen.
Now His Honour the Judge (Tod Sf Longworth's Unseens) took
the comfiest chair in the place,
(That's the one in which Sh—ttle is usually f o u n d ) with a
scowl on his honourable face ;
And beside him he had, to advise and assist, the two Grammars
of Bryant fy Lake,
Who, throughout the proceedings, kept giving advice, which
the judge never wanted to take.
In a shelf by his side was the jury : the sight made me wish
I could sink through the floor ;
They consisted entirely of books I had learnt from experience
to shun and abhor.
There was Pierre Noziere,
The G.P. was there
And Gontes <Je la Guerre,
(Hear the Modern side swear);
And St. Mark and the Ants,
Aristophanes (Headlam)
Both cram f u l l of facts;
Nigh sent me to Bedlam .There was Wilson fy Hedley, Hall fy Stevens, Part I
To add to the medley,
(I have practically done)—
Then TueJcey 8f Nayler
There was French without Tears,
(I grew paler and paler) ;
And twelfth and last (cheers ! )
Next (try not to stammer)
A much hated tome,
Came Sonnenschein's Grammar; Bryant's History of Rome,
DECEMBER, 1921.]
THE
CARTHUSIAN.
The proceedings that followed T will not describe—just to
think of them now makes me sigh ;
The attack was conducted by Butcher's Demosthenes—I'd not
a word to reply.
Then the jury found " Guilty " without hesitation : the Judge
being called on to make
A pronouncement concerning the sentence, was found to be
fighting with Bryant 8f Lake ;
Bnt recovering his dignity sentenced me sternly and in his
most terrible tone,
" To be locked in a cell by a Kelly's Key, and have nothing to
eat but a Bohn ! "
My brain was a-whirl as his Lordship spoke,
I fainted in terror and then T awoke.
I am always being told that the art of Classical
Quotation is dying out. For the benefit of the
Modern Side, therefore, I append a few quotations from
Virgil, Horace, and others, with suggestions for their
possible application: —
Of a Master who, by letting you raise a cut, has
enabled you to work off arrears of neglected banco :
" Unus qui nobis cimetando restituit rem." Vrnoir,.
To an offender whose invincible excuses have been
foiled :—
" Sic notus Ulixes ? " VlRon,.
Of a P. T. fiend :—
.
" Motus doceri gandet." HORACE.
Of the H. M. at calling over :—
" Cuncta supercilio moventis." HORACE.
To those about to raise a cut off Mr. Porter: —
" Si per invisum mora ianitorem
fiet, abito."
HORACE.
Of one on his way to Green Room:—
" Atqui sciebat quae sibi barbarus
Tortor pararet," HOIIACK.
To one who has been caught with a translation :—
" Quid ait futurum eras, fuge quaerere."
From a Master to a boy with bright socks :—
" Persicos odi, puer, apparatus." HORACE.
One who has survived Tidworth to a shirker :—
" Angustarn amice pau periem pati
robustus acri militia puer
Condisoat."
HOKACE.
Of Vlth Classical on Monday morning :—
" Datur liora quieti." VIRGIL.
To the Editor of The Carthusian :—
" Cup me tot male perderes poetis ? " CATULLUS.
241
An idler's complaint on failing in repetition :—
" Omnia quae ingratae perierunt credita menti." CATULLUS.
Of one with whom cabbage at lunch did not agree :—
" Mala gramina pastus."
Of "C"'s effusion in the last number of The
Carthusian:—
" Facit indignatio versum."
JUVENAL.
No. 6.
(The characters in this article, to use a journalistic
phrase, are purely
fictitious
).
SCENE.—A large hall packed with empty chairs. There is a
stage at one end covered with more chairs and a
variety of music stands. The walls are decorated
with a number of pictures. A noise like a storm at
sea is plainly audible. The noise increases. Suddenly
the doors on either side of the room burst open and
a stream of tearing, biting, stamping, rending
humanity sweep into the hall.
CHORUS. Double up, let's grip these two
school monitors,
absolutely useless, as far as I can
Stop bricking
behind
that row of chairs, they're much more
squashed ; haven't got a sound bone in my
head. If
I have any more of your beastly
ham, absolutely
uneatable.
[The Ghorus, numbering some four or five hundred, are
at last safely packed in their appointed places, and
they proceed to make themselves as comfortable as
circumstances will allow'].
CHORUS, I say, lend me one of your cushions, this seat is
terribly
drunk, absolutely rolling
in my pocket,
don't grip them all
smoking, so they were all
fried and served up hot
on his portfolio, but he was
never caught
in the deep field, awfully bad luck,as he
had only two more to make to get his
shooting colours.
[By this time the audience are thoroughly impatient,
and cheer on the least provocation. An elderly matron
enters amid a whirlwind of applause. She blushes
a deep crimson and the noise is redoubled],
CHORUS. Do look at old
carburettar, and there wasn't a
village within
inches, or he would certainly have won
the
hopping with legs raising sideways, do you give
the halt on the left
hand, and it was terribly cut
about
turn, so he had to back
ache like anything.
[The Choir and Orchestra have been collecting meanwhile on the stage and add their noise to that of the
rest. There is a loud tapping and a voice is heard].
VOICE. "The Orchestra will now play . . . "
[The end of the sentence is drowned by stupendous, cheers,
as a belated Master enters majestically with a large
spread tie flaming on his stiff shirt front. Meanwhile
the Orchestra has been let loone. The deafening note
of the Tenor Trombone rends the air. The Conductor
brandishes his stick fiercely at the defaulter, who,
mistaking the sign, redoubles his efforts, and goes
full steam ahead].
242
[DECEMBER, 1921.
THE CARTHUSIAN.
BLDERLY LADY [in tJie front row, armed with ear-trumpet],
" Matilda, when are they going to begin P "
MATTLPA [similarly armed]. " I don't know, my dear."
FRANTIC HOUSEMASTER. " Heavens above ! What on earth
has happened to the first Clarinet? OOOO —oo—oo.
It'll drive me mad in a minute."
His WIPE. Yes, my dear, but hasn't Mrs. Winkle got on a
lovely dress ?
[Exit Housemaster}.
A DISINTERESTED VOICE AT THE BACK. "As I was saying, I
don't think he's got an earthly. His fielding is absolutely
rank, and he can't hold a bat in his hands without
dropping it; as for his bowling . . . ! (eloquent pause.)
ANOTHER VOICE. I know. Rotten !
A THIRD VOICE, Look here ! even if you don't want to listen
yourself, you needn't spoil a good concert for other
fellows.
IST VOICE. Switch off !
[The Orchestra suddenly stops altogether, which is very
remarkable. However, the Trombone, which has
led from the start, always wishing to have the last
word, spoils the whole effect by emitting a long, defiant
bray at least a bar after the end. The Conductor gits'
down and mops his forehead ivith a large silk handkerchief. A terrible shout, as of a thousand cows
straining at rich grass just beyond their reach, fills
the air. The audience are applauding, they continue
to do so for the next ten minutes till the Orchestra
are compelled to perform again. At last the encore
and the subsequent cheering are over"].
A VOICE. " The Choir will now sing . . . [Huge applause].
[The Choir do sing~\.
CHORUS. Did you catch the name of this piece?
of toffee,
topping stuff, only
2d. a pound. You see the labour
for digging them up is so
charming ; he's a dear
little 'bus.
[The concert is at last over. Tumultuous cheering breaks
out, and there is a sudden frantic stampede over the
chairs for the various doors].
CHORUS. Jolly good concert, don't you t h i n k ?
Yes' I
liked the first thing the Orchestra played the best
excellent show, what ?
the best concert I ever remember
Didn't the Choir sing toppingly ? [Exeunt].
MODERN SIDERS are those who are known to do no
work and seem to do no banco.
CLASSICAL V!TH is an amateur Olympus, excluding
perhaps Hercules, and certainly Yenus.
MAURITIUS.
®U>
Where now the portly citizen
Strolls slowly to and fro,
A slender, eager, restless boy
Ran, forty years ago.
And where the green grass damps the feet,
(Sing softly here, and low),
The Captain scored his Century,
Just forty years ago.
Where now a faintly curious smile
Kecalls an old post te ;
And dares to name that iron law
A Curiosity ;
Where Gods of high Olympus threaten'd
Pains we whispered low,
To those who broke Carthusia's code
Of forty years ago !
Where now the sparse and grizzled hair
Spreads thinly o'er the crown,
A head of well-anzora'd locks
Gleamed forth a sunny brown.
And where the glossy hat protects
The scalp from winds that blow,
The strong breeze cooled the heated brow
Some forty years ago.
Perchance upon some mossy bank,
(With mackintosh below)
The glory of those vanished days
May shine again and glow.
Perchance some heart beats boyishly,
(And long may it beat so),
Behind some graceful waist-coat's curve,
As forty years ago.
F. K. S.
MASTERS are an unfortunate necessity from whom
must be extracted the maximum of amusement and
the minimum of hostility.
CORPS is the defensive equipment of an Englishman
in case of Peace.
SHOP is the first cousin of internal disorder.
CHOIR is a devotional implement for penetrating
congregational stupor.
FOOTBALL is a device of the devil for the display of
man's baser nature. So are reports and shop.
ENTKRTATNMENTS comprise latent boredom, patent
merriment, and blatant hooliganism.
It was the eve of the King's birthday parade, an
event which had formed the topic of conversation in
every mess in Palestine for months past from G.H.Q.
to the " poor benighted infantry," between which, as
everybody knows, there is a great gulf fixed, designed
to prevent the pasasge from one to the other not so
much of individuals as of the information they might
carry with them.
The poor infantryman, a foot-slogging Lazarus, was
indeed " tormented in the flame " of expectation but a
DECEMBER, 1921.]
243
THE CAKTHDSIAN.
careful sythesis of every possible and impossible rumour
left us with little more than the knowledge, permitted to
us officially at the llth hour, that we were to show our
respect for His Majesty's birthday by a general advance
all along our lines. But of the point, direction and
objective of the parade, we were as ignorant as, truth
to tell, we were intended to be : it is doubtful whether
even so much information would have been vouchsafed
to us had it not been impossible to conceal from us " a
certain liveliness" in our back areas.
The object of this caution was to disguise from Limaii
vou Sanders, who was directing operations against us,
not, indeed, the fact of our coming offensive—for that
was impossible—but the puint of our line at which the
main blow was to be struck. Indications certainly
pointed to our right flank, which was thrown back
almost on Jerusalem, rather than our left, where our
trenches, a dozen miles north of Jaffa, ran through
some sandhills to the sea and overlooked the Vale of
Sharon. It seemed obvious that before any general
advance could be made, the whole line must be straightened and a considerable advance therefore be made on
our right flank, through the difficult and mountainous
country north of Jerusalem.
This was, at all events, the idea which General
Allenby was at some pains to foster among the Turks;
and, to this end, his chief task was to conceal the movement of troops from right to left which was necessary
in order to give an army, not much stronger numerically
than its opponents, overwhelming superiority at the
point of attack. All marching therefore was done with
the utmost possible rapidity and by night; and the
troops involved came without their tents which were
left standing where they were with a fleet of Motor
lorries running empty along the usual routes of supply,
raising clouds of dust for the enemy aviators to photograph at their leisure.
Arrived at the coast it was imperative to hide the
new divisions. The infantry gave little trouble: you
can stow away an infantryman in any odd hole, but a
horse naturally expects to be better treated, besides
being bigger; and so it seemed as if providence had
designed for the purpose the countless acres of orange
trees whose dark green leaves formed an impenetrable
screen from the prying eye of the Hun aviator, whose
constant flights over our lines, apparently unresisted,
annoyed the poor soldiers who were not told and could'nt
be expected to guess, the designs of the higher command.
But the Hun can hardly be congratulated on the use he
made of the opportunities so obligingly afforded him;
almost his last reconnaissance reported " some regrouping of cavalry units apparently in progress behind the
enemy's left flank: otherwise nothing to report," while
G.H.Q. moved up^to Bir Salem, figured as " infantry
camp, two battalions " !
One problem, however, still remained. The secret
of the advance might be kept from the British
Officer; it might even be kept from the enemy's
aeroplanes: but how could it be prevented from
leaking out in a place like Jerusalem ? And here
General Allenby, perhaps deciding to make a virtue of
necessity, perhaps making one of those bold ventures
of faith which distinguish the great commander,
decided almost on the eve of the attack, to take the
city into his confidence. So he called together the
leaders of " all kindreds, nations and languages " who
to this day make every street corner of the Holy City
reminiscent of the first Pentecost; and with soldierly
directness told them the outlines of his plan for attacking
in force on the extreme right of our line : he reminded
them that the British had delivered them from the
Turk and asked them to show their gratitude by each
one giving a solemn promise to respect his confidence.
The solemn promise given, Mullah and rabbi, patriach
and priest hurried to their homes; in an hour all
Jerusalem was whispering the details of the intended
British offensive on the right; but a few hours more
and trusty spies were earning handsome fees for retailing them in the Turkish lines and it was not long
before Von Sanders at his Headquarters in Nazareth
was congratulating himself on the success of his intelligence in settling the question of which flank the
British would select for their autumn offensive.
When therefore our attack was delivered with
crushing force on the extreme left of our line, it may
be questioned whether our enemies or our " too much
protesting" friends were the more surprised at the
speed with which General Allenby had changed his
mind!
0ft proclaim* Hje man*
From Hamlet, ACT I, SCENE III.
Albert Cholmondely Montague Jones was, when he
first entered the School, an entirely different sort of
person from what you would expect him to have been
judging from the sort of person that ho is at the
present time.
This sentence is rather involved and complicated and
generally mixed up, but it is well worth reading twice,
since when once grasped, it will put you in full possession
of the main facts of the case. Put plainly it means
that A. 0. M. Jones is not what he wa§, or rather wag
THE CARTHUSIAN.
244
not what he is, at any rate so far as appearances are
concerned.
When he had been a member of the School for half
a quarter or so he was frequently mistaken for
(«.) a buttery boy
(6.) a Charterhouse violet.
The reasons for this were many and sundry, but
were chiefly owing to his mode of dress. The following
points, commencing at the head and continuing downwards, were those which used to strike the wandering
eyes of casual observers most noticeably.
His unbrushed hair had every appearance of a young
forest after having undergone a long period of drought.
A dirty collar was kept in place around his dirty neck
by—(no, not such superfluous luxuries as studs) but by
a bedraggled remnant of a tie immediately causing one
to think of an ancient bootlace, which having snapped,
had been retied. Such things as tie pins and handkerchiefs were likewise looked upon as unnecessary details.
His coat was out at elbows, and wrinkled by reason of
the weight and number of the articles which he carried
about in his pockets. His trousers looked as though
they had been previously worn by many generations
of elder brothers. His footwear consisted of boots,
each pair being as badly in need of blacking and
repairs as the others (if not more so). In short he
had a negligee appearance.
Picture him as he was then and look at him as he
is now. What a contrast! The untidy scallywag of
yesterday and the sleek elegant finished article as now
on view.
And yet, on taking a closer look there is some
similarity. What can it be ? His hair is all that one
could desire and might easily be mistaken for a roller
skating rink or some such other well polished surface.
So well groomed and oiled is it that it is questionable
1921.
if it ever needs brushing at all. His tie is an elaborate
creation of black silk. Not only has he a tie pin in
his collar, but another pins the aforesaid tie to his
shirt. His two buttoned coat is beyond reproach and his
trousers are possessed of an everlasting crease. Rainbow lined socks, which clash with many brilliant and
bright coloured handkerchieves, showing at many
unexpected places, are visible above his beautiful brogue
shoes, the zenith of the bootmaker's art.
Where then, does the similarity come in ? I cannot
tell. And yet he is still frequently mistaken for
(a.) a buttery boy
a Charterhouse violet.
R.
MY DEAB MR. LlTEEAltY EDITOE,
On reading your last number I felt that some response
to " C " was my bounden duty. At last I can feel with
Thallus or Purius and Aurelius, whose villainies inspired
Catullus to deathless verse I feel I have done my duty in
securing for the world a piece of satire that in its rhythmic
perfection out-Horaces Horace, and in its tensity of feeling
out- Juvenals Juvenal. Who but so great a poet could make
" confessing " and " lesson " a convincing rhyme ? I am
bound to confess that I am not a sufficiently advanced
student in casuistry or rhetoric to follow all the plot of
such an emblazoned outburst. But I feel bound to disappoint my outspoken opponent by declaring that my poor
lines were not intended as a vicious attack on the greatest
Carthusian, who by the way, would be the last to accept
them in such spirit. In a word, I would express apologies
to F.D.L. for being involved in such a petty literary quibble,
defiance to " 0," and sympathy for the world at large, at
being bored by our rival Muses.
I remain, Sir,
Yours contrapuntally,
rttermtm
Printed for t
[DlCIMBBE,
Proprietors by A. LINDSET, Moas Lane, declaiming
EICAEDO.