Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3824/The Great Shock
(Or a tragic result of Armageddon as gleaned from the Evening Press.)
No more the town discusses
The Halls and what will win;
Now stifled are the wags' tones
On Piccadilly's flagstones,
And half the motor-buses
Have started for Berlin.
New eyes to war adapting
We stare at the Gazette;
Yon eager-faced civilian,
When posters flaunt vermilion
And boys say "Paper, capting,"
Replies "Not captain—yet."
"Remains," I asked, "no station
Of piping peace and sport?
Oh yes. Though kings may tumble,
No howitzers can rumble,
No sounds but cachinnation
Can boom from Darling's Court.
"That garden of the Graces
Can hear no cannon roar;
From that dear island valley
No bruit of arms can sally,
But men must burst their braces
With laughter as of yore.
"While dogs of war are snarling
His wit shall sweep away
Bellona's ominous vapour;"
Therefore I bought a paper
To see what Justice Darling
Happened to have to say.
In vain his humour sortied,
In vain with spurts of glee
Like field-guns on the trenches
He raked the crowded benches;
My evening print reported
No kind of casualty.
No prisoner howled and hooted,
No strong policemen tore
With helpless mirth their jackets,
There was not even in brackets
This notice: "(Laughter—muted
In deference to the war.")