Kitabı oku: «Funny Stories Told by the Soldiers», sayfa 5
PARDONABLE MISTAKE
Captain Jones was a very round-shouldered and eccentric officer.
On a particularly dark night in Egypt, while practicing his company in outpost duty, he approached one of the sentries who failed to halt him.
In a great rage the officer demanded of the now trembling sentry the reason why he had omitted to challenge him.
“If you please, sir,” stuttered the confused soldier, “I thought you was a camel.”
HE WAS REAL MAD ABOUT IT
Two privates met the other morning near the canteen, which, from the fact that a monkey was kept on the counter, was popularly known as the “Monkey House.”
“Halloa, Jack,” said the first. “You look a bit off this morning.”
“Yes, Bill,” replied Jack. “I haven’t the price of a wet.”
“Neither have I,” replied Bill; “but I think I know how to get a couple of pints. Come into the Monkey House.”
They entered the canteen and Bill called for two pints. While the barman’s back was turned Bill hit the monkey a clout on the head, which caused the animal to scream out.
“What was that for?” asked the barman, wrathfully.
“Not the first time he has done that,” shouted Bill, angrily.
“Done what?” asked the barman.
“Why, picked up my shilling and swallowed it,” replied Bill.
“Well,” said the indignant barman, “why didn’t you tell me before you hit the monkey? There’s your two pints and your sevenpence change. And don’t you interfere with my monkey again.”
HE KNEW WHERE THEY WERE
The scene was a cinema palace, as they call ’em in England, where the Somme battle-pictures were being flickered.
As the Warwickshires were seen going over the top to the attack, an excited Birmingham man exclaimed, triumphantly: “What about your Highland regiments now?”
As luck would have it, there was a short, bandy-legged Scot in a kilt within hearing.
He flared up and replied: “What about oor Hielant regiments? Why, they are keepin’ back the Germans while your men are gettin’ their photographs took.”
JUST A BIT OF TRENCH REPARTEE
Australian Soldier (to American) – “You Yanks think you’ve done a lot, but you forget we Australians have been at the game for four years.”
“Well, what have you done, anyway?”
“Done? We’ve been at Gallipoli, Mesopotamia, the plains of Bethlehem, and – ”
“The plains of Bethlehem?”
“Yes; I slept a week there myself.”
“Well, I guess that was a busy week for the shepherds watching their flocks!”
NOT MENTIONABLE IN SOCIETY
“I know you have pet names for the big guns, but what do you call the shells?”
“Depends, ’ow close you are to where they burst, mum!”
NOW SHE KNOWS WHY
She had intently watched the soldier for some time. Then she ventured: “The chin strap, I suppose, is to keep your hat on, my man?”
“No,” replied Yank, “it’s to rest the jaw after answering questions.”
INTERCEPTED WAR MESSAGES
A wire from Secretary of War Baker: “Discuss no war news in front of horses. They carry tails.”
Cable from King George to the President: “Send me over 5,000 sewing machines, we want to hem the Germans on the border.”
From King George: “Must have $5,000,000; if it can’t be had any other way get it from the waiters at the Waldorf.”
Stone wires: “If war breaks out I’ll stand behind the army.”
Cable from Russian general: “Over a million pairs of pajamas at once; Russian army ready to retire.”
Wire from Empress of Germany to Queen Mary (sent collect): “Am sitting on my veranda crocheting; would like to have you join me – Nit.”
From the Czar of Russia: “It’s pretty tough to be seated on the throne one minute and thrown on your seat the next.”
WHAT MOTHERS ALWAYS SAY
“Remember, my son,” said his mother as she bade him good-by, “when you get to camp try to be punctual in the mornings, so as not to keep breakfast waiting.”
FASHION NOTE FROM THE FRONT
“Where are you going?” asked one rookie of another.
“Going to the blacksmith shop to get my tin hat reblocked.”
ONE GERMAN WE FORGIVE
The following story which is going the rounds of the Continental papers, including even those of Austria, must make the Germans gnash their teeth.
A German and a Dane met recently in Schiller’s house in Weimar. As they stood gazing reverently on the scene the German, swelling with pride, remarked to his fellow-visitor:
“So this is where our national poet, Schiller, lived.”
“Pardon me,” said the other; “not national, but international.”
“How so?” asked the German, with surprise.
“Why, consider his works,” the Dane replied. “He wrote, ‘Mary Stuart’ for the English, ‘The Maid of Orleans’ for the French, ‘Egmont’ for the Dutch, ‘William Tell’ for the Swiss – ”
“And what did he write for the Germans, pray?” broke in the other. Pat came the Dane’s answer:
“For the Germans he wrote, ‘The Robbers.’”
EQUINE “NOW I LAY ME”
Tommy (to the “charger” he has borrowed during a week-end leave after it has been down three times in ten minutes) – Wot! On yer knees agen? Go on – get on with it – “Bless Pa and Ma an’ make me a good ’orse. Amen.”
ONE BRITISH ATROCITY
The “Swanky” One – “I’m smoking a terrible lot of cigars lately.”
The Other (with conviction) – “You’re right, if that’s one of them!”
NEVER MIND THE NAME
How to pronounce some of the names of the towns which the Americans get into puzzles the boys, so they have their own pronunciation. Thus, when they captured Seringes, it became Syringe, and Fismes became Fiz. When Fismettes was taken, the battalion commander went back to report, made several assaults upon its pronunciation and finally said:
“Well, I can’t tell you what town it is, but I’ve taken the damned place, anyhow.”
FRENCH IN THE TRENCH
Tommy (to Jock, on leave) – “What about the lingo? Suppose you want to say ‘egg’ over there, what do you say?”
Jock – “Ye juist say ‘Oof.’”
Tommy – “But suppose you want two?”
Jock – “Ye say, ‘Twa oofs,’ and the silly auld fule wife gies ye three, and ye juist gie her back one. Man, it’s an awfu’ easy language.”
SCOTCH PROVISIONS
Captain John Stevenson met a recent arrival from the “auld countree” and speedily got into a chat with him over conditions there. The new arrival told feelingly of the terrible toll of war on the fair land of Scotia, the sad tales of young men killed and maimed, the sufferings of the families left behind. His was a right sad tale in every way.
“Wy, man, we’re jist plum distrackit wi’ it,” he concluded.
“And I suppose the war has caused the price of provisions to go up in Scotland as well as everywhere else?” commented Captain Stevenson with sympathy.
“Aye, man, ye’re richt,” agreed the visitor. “Proveesions have gone up saxpence the bottle.”
VERY LIKE MOSES
The conditions in the trenches were dreary in the extreme after the drenching and long-continued rainfall, but the irrepressible spirits of the “Pals” were not yet entirely quenched when the order came to leave the trenches.
“Hurry up out of this, my gallant soldiers,” was the cheery call of the sergeant to his waist-deep and rain-sodden men.
“Soldiers!” came the derisive answer from one of them. “I’m not a soldier; I’m a blooming bulrush!”
THEY FIXED YOU, WILLIE
“We played fool,” declared the Crown Prince “I see it now.”
“Huh?”
“We had the whole world to pick a fight with.”
“Well?”
“And look at the crowd we picked out.”
SAFETY FIRST
Messages had come to the office of a great illustrated paper that Zeppelins were approaching London.
The editor at once summoned his staff of photographers.
“Now, boys, we’ve got to have a picture of this Zepp. We were badly beaten on the last. The moment it approaches I want every man to rush to the roof with his camera and stay there, whatever happens, until he gets a picture. Let me know directly you get it. You’ll find me under the heap of coal bags in the right-hand corner of the lower cellar!”
NO SUGAR IN HEAVEN
First Tommy (as he reads the local paper sent from home) – “O, Bill, what do you think of it? They’re issuing a list in Blighty of the people what are going to do without using any more sugar!”
Second Tommy (eagerly grasping the paper and straining his eyes to find the list of names) – “Where did you see, it Harry?”
First Tommy – “Why, there” (pointing to the death column).
YOU CAN’T DO THIS IN BATTLE
The military maneuvered. All the afternoon the attackers had attacked and the defenders defended, with conspicuous lack of incident or bravery. Operations were beginning to drag horribly when the white flag went up.
The officer in command of the attackers stared in amazement.
“A flag of truce!” he exclaimed. “What do they want?”
The sergeant-major endeavored to cover up a smile.
“They say, sir,” he reported, “that, as it’s tea time, they’d like to exchange a couple o’ privates for a can of condensed milk – if you can afford it.”
NOW IT’S “ALL DUNN”
An Irish recruit named Dunn was arranging to let his friends know where he was when on active service.
“If I go to France,” he said, “I shall sign my letter F. Dunn; to Egypt, E. Dunn.”
“When the war is over and you come home, what will you sign?”
“We’re Dunn!”
“Well done,” shouted his friends.
A LAST FAREWELL
Private Doolan was six feet three inches in his socks. Beside him the sergeant on duty was a bantam.
“Head up there, Doolan!” he cried. Doolan raised his head.
“Up higher,” shouted the little sergeant.
“There, that’s better. Don’t let me see you with your head down again.”
“Am I to be always like this?” asked Doolan, staring away above the little man’s head.
“You are.”
“Then I’ll say good-bye to ye, sergeant, for I’ll never see ye again.”
TOO MODEST BY FAR
During a camp parade of the buglers recently an Irish corporal was in charge. He was asked by the commanding officer if all the buglers were present: He replied: “No, sorr, wan man absent.”
“Well, then,” said the officer, “go and find him and ask him what he has to say for himself.”
A few minutes later Pat came running back. “Shure, sorr,” he cried, “and weren’t we a pair of duffers not to know it? It wor meself. Bedad, sorr, Oi forgot to call me own name entoirely.”
ANOTHER WAR CASUALTY
“You don’t seem to feel so enthusiastic as usual about speech-making.”
“Well,” answered Senator Sorghum, “times have changed and it isn’t so easy for a man in a silk hat and a frock-coat to stand out before a lot of men in khaki uniforms or overalls and assert that he is saving the country all by himself.”
PREACHER HAD A SCOOP
An editor in the Far West dropped into church for the first time in many years. The minister was in the very heart of the sermon. The editor listened for a while, and then rushed to his office.
“What are you fellows doing? How about the news from the seat of war?”
“What news?”
“Why, all this about the Egyptian Army being drowned in the Red Sea. The minister up at the church knows all about it, and you have not a word of it in our latest. Bustle round, you fellows, and get out an extra-special edition.”
THERE IS TIME FOR BOTH
One industrious war-gardener is pictured as working busily and reflecting on the virtue of raising his own food-supply.
“If everybody grew his own vegetables and ate less meat,” he soliloquized, “we’d put old Bill on the bum in a hurry. This is tough work, but I’ll stick to it if it kills me. I’m with Hoover on this.”
At this point a fine assortment of earthworms was unearthed. The digger’s reflections immediately shifted to a shady stream and the final scene shows him happily fishing.
“Oh, well,” he reflects to soothe his conscience, “vegetables or fish; it’s all the same to Mr. Hoover.”
THEY DO SOUND ALIKE
“Now,” said the Colonel, looking along the line of recruits, “I want a good smart bugler.”
At that out stepped a dilapidated fellow who had a thick stubble of black beard.
“What!” said the colonel, eying him up and down. “Are you a bugler?”
“Oh, bugler!” said he. “I thought you said burglar.”
NO TIME TO SAY ALL OF IT
“So,” sobbed Ilma Vladoffovitchskioffsky, “Ivan Nine-spotski died in battle. You say he uttered my name as he was dying?”
“Part of it,” replied the returned soldier – “part of it.”
NO MAIL TO HADES
Willie Hohenzollern (after Berlin fell) – “But, mein friendt, I want to write a letter to papa.”
Yankee Guard – “Nothin’ doin’, Heinie. We don’t have asbestos stationery around here.”
MORE TO THE PURPOSE
Officer – “So you captured a thousand Germans by just calling across No Man’s Land. What did you do – promise them a square deal if they surrendered?”
Yankee Private – “No; I promised them a square meal.” —Life.
WHAT WE MAY EXPECT NOW
The war was over and the new woman was fully developed. Gone were the petticoats and faldelals. Women aimed at being rational in character and dress.
In such an after-the-war household Mr. Bigboy was washing out baby’s bottle when his wife came down dressed for going out.
“Are you going out?” whined Mr. Bigboy.
“Yes,” said his wife, patting his cheek. “It’s the big meeting at the lodge.”
“Then – then,” said the man, and his lips trembled, “if you’re not in by 11 o’clock I’ll – I’ll go home to father.”
EIGHT MILES FOR HIM
A story is told of a German spy who was captured within the English lines in France. An English Tommy was detailed by his commander to march the German four miles back of the lines and there shoot him. After marching through mud and water for four miles, all tired out and rain soaked, the pair finally reached the four-mile point. The German was exasperated by this time and blurted: “Vot’s the idea of marching me four miles through mud and rain to be shot?”
“My word,” the English Tommy said. “What are you kicking about? Think of me. I gotta walk back!”
NO FIGHTING FOR HIM
One of the recruiting canvassers in an English provincial town was a well-known magistrate. In most cases he succeeded in obtaining the promises he wished, but at last he knocked at one cottage-door which was opened to him by a sturdy son of the soil.
“My man,” said the magistrate, in his most persuasive tones, “are you willing to fight for your King and country?”
“No, I beant, sir,” was the prompt reply. “An’ I be surprized at you askin’ me for to do it. Two years ago come next month you yourself fined I twenty shillings for fighting wi’ Bill Smith, and you said it wor wicked to fight, an’ I promised you as I wouldn’t repeat the offense, an’ allus kept my word.”
HOW HUNS TICKLED THEMSELVES
Berlin, April – There is no question that terrible damage was caused in London by the latest Zeppelin raid. The commander of the Zeppelin L-10 has brought back with him to Germany a sketch which he made while he was flying over the British metropolis. It clearly shows the houses of Parliament in flames and Sir Edward Grey running along Piccadilly with his coat-tails afire. The sketch has been warmly commended by art and military critics.
’TWASN’T HIS FAULT
An English girl gave General Pershing quite a jolt while he was in London. She had been placed at his disposal as the driver of his automobile. One day he said to his girl driver:
“Can you please come for me here at the War Office at 6 o’clock?”
“Yes, General,” answered the girl.
At six o’clock, military-like, the General was on the steps awaiting his car.
At three minutes past six it swung to the curb. The General, with his eyes a-twinkle, said to the girl, as he took out his watch: “You are three minutes late.”
“That should hardly count with you, General,” was the instant answer. “You are three years late.”
VERY GOOD, PUNCH
A Chertsey pig-breeder has been granted total exemption. The pen, it seems, is still mightier than the sword. —Punch.
HE KNEW ABOUT COWS
Mrs. Parker – “Now, young man, why aren’t you at the Front?”
Young Man (milking cow) – “’Cos there ain’t any milk that end, missus!”
WILLING TO TREAT
Examining Surgeon – “Have you any scars?”
Rookie Marine Applicant – “No, sir; but I have some cigarets in my coat over there.”
AND FULL OF TABASCO
“Are they seasoned troops?”
“They ought to be. They were first mustered in by their officers, and then peppered by the enemy.”
CAUSE FOR DEPRESSION
“No, my ’usband ain’t killed, Mrs. Marks. No sooner did I put all the kids in mournin’, even to Biby in the pram, when I gets a telegram a sayin’ ’e’s alive and well. Yes, an’ all this expense for nothin’.”
“Wot a crool shame!”
ENOUGH TO WARRANT EXEMPTION
Recruiting Officer – “How about joining the colors? Have you anyone dependent on you?”
Motorist – “Have I? There are two garage owners, six mechanics, four tire dealers, and every gasoline agent within a radius of 125 miles.”
CHANGED HIS TUNE
Cockney Tommy (surveying fat German soldier who, being brought in a prisoner, still has his hands up): “Blow me if this ain’t the old blighter who used to play, ‘I fear no foe in shining armor’ dahn ahr street.”
FROM HIS POINT OF VIEW
It is, of course, well known that Sir Douglas Haig is a soldier first, last and all the time, regarding all other professions as of quite negligible importance, a trait in his character which lends point to the anecdote.
He was, it appears, inspecting a cavalry troop, and was particularly struck with the neat way in which repairs had been made in some of the saddles.
“Very good work,” he remarked to the troop sergeant-major. “Who did it?”
“Two of my troopers, sir,” was the reply.
“You’re fortunate to have two such expert saddlers in your troop,” said Haig.
“As a matter of fact, sir,” was the reply, “they’re not saddlers, in civil life being lawyers.”
“Well,” ejaculated Sir Douglas, “how men who can do work like that could have wasted their lives over law I can’t imagine!”
THOSE PET NAMES FOR OFFICERS
A very tall, thin lieutenant reported in Flanders to a Canadian battalion commanded by a bald, elderly colonel. After a few days he approached his commander and asked permission to air a grievance.
“I wish you would use your influence, sir, to restrain my platoon from referring to me as ‘Legs,’” he said.
“Sure, my lad, sure,” replied the Colonel solemnly, “if you’ll use yours to stop my whole battalion calling me ‘Old Baldy.’”
TOO MUCH HARVARD
“That ’ere Yank’s an educated toff from ’arvard,” said Tommy Atkins, leaning on his spade. “I’m jolly well weary of ’is learnin’, too, that I am. We’re ordered to throw up trenches along the Marne, and as ’e picks up ’is spade, th’ bloomin’ college blighter says, says ’e: ‘Well, Tommy, come on; it looks like we’re infra dig!’ And wot I says is: Blarst a college education, anyhow, eh?”
WOULDN’T INSULT THE JACK
On a road in Belgium a German officer met a boy leading a jackass, and addressed him in heavy jovial fashion as follows:
“That’s a fine jackass you have, my son. What do you call it?.. Albert, I bet!”
“Oh, no, officer,” the boy replied quickly. “I think too highly of my King.”
The German scowled and returned: “I hope you don’t dare to call it William.”
“Oh, no, officer. I think too highly of my jackass.”
ONE WAY TO GET EVEN
Here is a story our wounded boys have brought back from the front about Sir Douglas Haig.
Sir Douglas was in a great hurry to get to a certain place. He found his car, but the chauffeur was missing. So Sir Douglas got in the car and drove off by himself. Then the driver appeared and saw the car disappearing in the distance.
“Great Scot!” cried the driver, “there’s ’Aig a-driving my car!”
“Well, get even with him,” said a Tommy, standing by, “and go and fight one of ’is battles for him.”
“HONEY” DRAWS THE LINE
I’ve beamed when you hollered, “Oh, Girlie!”
I’ve hopped when you bellowed, “Oh, say!”
I’ve fallen for “Dearie” and “Missus,”
And everything else till today.
But there’s one thing that’s got to be different,
From now till the Great War is done —
Unless you’re prepared for a riot,
You’ve got to quit calling me “Hun!”
WILLING TO EXPLAIN
Staff Colonel – “Your reports should be written in such manner that even the most ignorant may understand them.”
Sergeant – “Well, sir, what part is it that you don’t understand?”
CAUSE FOR ANNOYANCE
The latest example of English as she is spoken comes from Egypt, where a native interpreter, who had overstayed his leave, wrote the following letter to his chief:
“My absence is impossible. Someone has removed my wife. My God, I am annoyed.”
SHE KNEW HIS MERITS
Her son had enlisted, and she was a proud old woman as she harangued a knot of friends on the village street. “Jarge always done ’is duty by me, ’e did, an’ now ’e’s doin’ ’is duty by King an’ country,” she said. “I feel right down sorry for them Germans, to think of ’im goin’ into battle with ’is rifle in ’is ’and and ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ on ’is lips.”
“Poor Germans, indeed!” exclaimed one of the audience. “Pity’s wasted on ’em! P’r’aps you ’aven’t ’eard of their cruelties?”
“P’r’aps I ’aven’t,” agreed the old lady. “An’ p’raps you ’aven’t ’eard Jarge sing.”
