Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3826/Our Guy
We feel just a little hurt that the Police have not prohibited our village bonfire. Why shouldn't Zeppelins come to Little Pilswick? Why should an arrogant metropolis monopolise everything? Still we hid our mortification and the Guy Committee met as usual in the saloon bar of the "Bull."
In the first instance Prodgers moved that the celebration be dropped, and that all material already collected be given to the Belgian refugees. It was pointed out to him that a gift of two empty tar-barrels and half-a-dozen furze bushes, though meant in all kindness, might prove embarrassing to any relief committee. Besides, we are happy in the entertainment of two Belgian families, and the feeling was that the sight of an uncultured fire would cheer them. So Prodgers was temporarily crushed. Then came the all-important question of the guy.
Mr. Flodden, the landlord, began the discussion. "Last year we'd Lloyd George, but we can't have no politics now, though he's—well, I wish I could tell him what he is. Year before we'd the Squire for stopping up that footpath, but he's in the Yeomanry now, so he's barred."
"The Kaiser!" cried Jenkins. "Have him with mailed fists holding up a torn scrap of paper."
"No, the Crown Prince," suggested Webb. "Every-one would know him if we put a silver spoon in each hand and hung a silver coffee-pot round his neck."
"De Wet," proposed Cobb.
"Had him twelve year or more ago," said the landlord. "De Wet's off."
A fierce controversy now ensued between partisans of the Kaiser and the Crown Prince. Prodgers argued ably that it was much worse to destroy a cathedral than to steal plate; whilst Unwin, the jobbing builder, declared that the damaging of a cathedral gave work to a very deserving class of men, and said he would very much rather see the parish church-tower knocked down than the Vicar's spoons stolen. At last feeling ran so high it was decided to put the matter to the vote. Five voted for the light-headed Kaiser, five for his light-fingered heir. All eyes turned on the landlord to see which way his casting vote would go.
"Friends all," said Mr. Flodden, "we've kep' ourselves respectable in this village. Even our guys have been respectable, though, mind you, that Lloyd George—well, if it wasn't war-time, I'd say he come precious near the line. Now what's the good of us letting ourselves down to burn these 'Uns ? What about old Guy Fawkes? I grant you he wanted to blow up the 'Ouses of Parliament; but, if there was licensing bills in those days, I don't blame him. I say stick to old Guy and be respectable."
It was carried unanimously.
Somewhere in his rush from theatre to theatre of the war a message will reach the Kaiser. The hatred of a world may flatter him, but the cold, chilling contempt of Little Pilswick will pierce to his very heart.