Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, November 28, 1917

In Short

This November 28, 1917 issue of Punch, or the London Charivari is an illustrated weekly miscellany of political satire, domestic sketches, verse, and literary reviews published in wartime London. Rather than dwelling on trench warfare, its short pieces, fictional anecdotes, and mock news items capture the daily anxieties of civilians—from severe sugar shortages to bureaucratic blunders. It has endured as a vivid, candid snapshot of the British popular imagination during a historic crisis, showing how a society uses self-deprecating wit, parody, and lighthearted defiance to endure wartime deprivation and anxiety.

The Story

The issue opens with the "Charivaria" column, a rapid-fire collection of bite-sized satirical commentary on current events. It pokes fun at military mysteries, government ration mandates, the absence of basic supplies like matches and scissors, and the absurdities of wartime news coverage. From there, the text moves into satirical poetry addressing high-level military figures. A piece written from the perspective of Field Marshal von Hindenburg grumbles directly to General von Mackensen about General Julian Byng’s unexpected tank assault, complaining that British forces are refusing to play by traditional rules of trench warfare.

As the issue progresses, the focus shifts to internal army absurdities and home-front civil service mishaps. A long narrative sketch details the tribulations of a military "Literary Adviser" tasked with concocting distinct code names for army units. After accidentally terrifying fellow officers by rehearsing lists of nonsensical words in various regional accents, the adviser achieves ultimate victory by introducing clear, simple call signs that clear up the field communications network. Another contributor, writing under the well-known initials "A.A.M.," offers a lighthearted reflection on military paperwork and domestic life. After three years of signing endless army chits, he describes returning home to a tiny London flat with his wife, Celia, where they find immense delight in dropping letters into a long, noisy floor chute.

Wartime austerity and shortages form a recurring thread throughout the issue's middle sections. A humorous narrative describes a man outsmarting himself by panic-buying flannel and llama-wool socks, only to discover later that his haberdasher's supply was never actually running out. Verses mourn the strict rationing of sugar and reminisce about lost sweet treats, while short plays and country dialogues picture rural villagers navigating potato crops and local ministry demands.

Towards the back of the issue, formal commentary takes over. The "Essence of Parliament" column details heated political debates in the House of Commons over Allied war strategy, press criticism of Prime Minister Lloyd George, and the defeat of electoral reform measures. Theatre and book reviews offer cultural commentary, assessing patriotic stage plays like Loyalty alongside new memoirs and popular novels. The issue closes with editorial snippets, light verse, and humorous misprints collected from provincial newspapers.

How It Unfolds

The Front-Page Witticisms Brief, satirical blurbs mock government war measures, news reports, and civilian anxieties over food shortages and military secrecy.

The Generals' Lament A comic poem presents Hindenburg complaining to Mackensen about British tank tactics, setting a tone of irreverent defiance.

The Bureaucratic Tangle Narrative sketches poke fun at military operations, following a tongue-tied literary adviser assigning unit code names and an officer discovering the simple joy of a flat's mail chute.

Shortages and Panic Short stories and verses illustrate the home front's preoccupation with hoarding cloth, losing the very last match, and surviving sugar rationing.

Parliamentary Politics A report on House of Commons debates captures politicians squabbling over Allied councils, press leaks, and electoral reforms.

Cultural Reviews Staff critics evaluate contemporary London plays and newly published books, filtering wartime themes through lighthearted literary commentary.

The People

Because this volume is a periodical collection of short items rather than a continuous novel, its "people" consist of recurring satirical personae, public figures, and fictional archetypes representing wartime society:

• Field Marshal von Hindenburg: Depicted as a frustrated, rule-bound German commander who wants standard, predictable trench warfare. He is baffled and outmaneuvered by surprise British tank maneuvers, leaving him anxious about retreating toward the Rhine.
• The Literary Adviser: A frustrated writer turned army officer whose goal is to clean up chaotic military radio communication. Hindered by suspicious sentries and confused commanders while practicing code words aloud, he ultimately succeeds by creating unmistakable, simple call signs.
• The Military Narrator (A.A.M.): An exhausted soldier who wants nothing more than to stop signing official army charge-sheets and requisitions. He finds genuine domestic joy in his small London flat with his wife, Celia, obsessing over a noisy letter-box chute.
• The Hosier and Haberdasher: A opportunistic shopkeeper who plays on civilian fears of wartime scarcity to clear out his inventory. He convinces customers to hoard flannel and socks before revealing he has endless stockpiles hidden in the back.
• The Parliamentary Figures (Lloyd George & Asquith): Political leaders navigating a tense House of Commons. Lloyd George defends his fiery public speeches while Asquith delivers measured, polite criticism of Allied war management.

In Its Own Voice

"He loosed his beastly rows of tanks / And sent 'em wallowing through my wire; / For days and days he kept the lid / Hard down upon his low designs..."

Punch parodies German frustration over British armored tactics at the Battle of Cambrai.

"Instead of the usual cheery 'Good morning,' a major of a famous Highland regiment was scandalised by an elderly subaltern blethering out, 'Cannibal--Custard--Claymore--Caramel,' in an abominable Scotch accent."

The narrator describes the absurdity of a military code-maker testing out phonetic signals in the field.

"I still think that NAPOLEON ... took a perfectly correct view of his correspondence ... but then he Never had a letter-box which went Flipperty-flipperty-flipperty ... FLOP."

An army officer on leave finds childish delight in the small, everyday mechanics of posting domestic mail.

What It's Really About

Beneath its polished wordplay and topical ribbing, this issue explores how a society uses humor as an emotional shield during prolonged, exhausting conflict. Published in late 1917, when war weariness was acute, the text avoids deep tragedy or graphic violence, focusing instead on shared civilian annoyances—bureaucratic absurdities, ration limits, and missing household goods. It argues that maintaining a sense of proportion, irony, and absurdity is essential to preserving national sanity. By laughing at supply shortages, political posturing, and even enemy generals, the writers convert daily frustration into an act of collective resilience.

Why Read It Today

Modern readers interested in social history or early 20th-century humor will find this issue a fascinating primary document. It offers a rare, real-time glimpse into how ordinary Londoners experienced the First World War away from the front lines. Rather than presenting a sanitized historical summary, it reveals the immediate, everyday preoccupations of the era: panic-buying, food controls, news censorship, and parliamentarian drama.

Reading it today does come with mild difficulties. Much of the humor relies on deadpan references to forgotten 1917 political figures, local London news stories, and period-specific slang. Modern readers may occasionally need to look up historical context or push past dated social assumptions and period attitudes. However, the publication's charming prose, sharp rhythm, and timeless observations on human nature under stress make it a rewarding, breezy read. Anyone who enjoys classic British satire, military humor, or historical periodicals will appreciate its warmth, historical texture, and persistent wit.