Funny Stories Told by the Soldiers

ZOOLOGICAL MONSTROSITY

When certain soldiers from the antipodes were in New York a little while ago, a woman was heard to say to another:

“There goes one of them Australians.”

“How do you know?”

“You can tell by the Kangaroo feathers in his hat.”

NOT WANTED ANYWHERE

“This can’t be hell – there are no Germans here.”

“Yes, it is; but the regular people put up such a kick, we built an annex for them.” —Life.

THERE WAS A PAIR OF THEM

A private of a well-known regiment, who was always wanting leave on some excuse or other, applied at the orderly room and asked his commanding officer if he might have a few days’ leave, as his wife was ill and had sent him a letter asking him to come at once.

But his commanding officer, getting tired of his always wanting leave, said: “This is strange, Private Cheek, as only this morning I received a letter from your wife, saying she did not want you to see her any more, so hoped I would not grant you leave.”

Private Cheek – “Then I suppose I can’t have leave, sir?”

Commanding Officer – “No, you cannot.”

Private Cheek (turns as he gets to the door) – “Sir, may I compliment you?”

Commanding Officer – “Yes, certainly; on what?”

Private Cheek – “In having two such lovely liars in the regiment, because I’m not married at all.”

NOT AS INTENDED

Queen Mary sent a beautiful bouquet that had been presented to her to a soldiers’ hospital. To show their appreciation, the inmates commissioned one of their number to stand at the hospital gate the following morning, holding the gift, when the queen passed. He did so – with rather unexpected results. Queen Mary, seated in her car, saw the soldier standing there, bouquet in hand, and assuming that he wished to present it to her, she reached out and took it. After she had thanked him, her car passed on.

The soldier stood quite dumfounded – then recovering his speech, he said: “Well, she’s pinched ’em.”

CHEERING NEWS

War Correspondent in France – “My editor seems very disappointed; what news can I send to cheer him up?”

Soldier – “Write and tell him you’ve been killed in action.”

WHY THIS DELAY?

Ensign Paul Perez, formerly well known to the screen, is back from another trip to Europe with a brand new seasick story. An amateur navigator making his first trip across is the victim and the first day out he was in the throes of the mal-est mal de mer extant when the ship surgeon visited him in his stateroom.

“What’s the matter?” was the latter’s callous query.

“O-o-oh,” was the only response as the young navy man rolled over in agony.

“Come, get up,” derided the surgeon, grinning unfeelingly. “The ship’s been submarined and will sink in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?” the sick man protested feebly. “Can’t you make it any sooner?”

PERHAPS YOU HAVE WONDERED

A doughboy is an American soldier, and American soldiers, infantrymen, artillerymen, medical department, signal corps sharps, officers and men alike, all are called doughboys. Our cartoonist is one, so is General Pershing.

The term “doughboys” dates back to the Civil War when army wit was aroused by large globular brass buttons on infantry uniforms. Somebody (he must have been a sailor) dubbed the buttons “doughboys” because they reminded him of the boiled dumplings of raised dough served in ships’ messes and known to all sailors as doughboys. Originally it referred only to an enlisted infantryman, but the A. E. F. applies it to all branches and all grades of the service. —The Stars and Stripes.

NO CREEDS IN WARTIME

A strict Baptist mother visited her son in one of the cantonments on a recent Sunday. She was deeply solicitous that her boy should receive proper religious instruction.

“Is there a Baptist preacher in camp?” asked the mother. The son did not know, but he would inquire. Yes, one was to hold a service that afternoon and give an address in a Y. M. C. A. hut. The two went and heard an inspiring address on how Christ is always the comrade of all men who fight for righteousness, even when they are not conscious of his presence.

The mother was delighted and after the service told the preacher how happy she was that her son could hear such good Baptist doctrine.

“But, madam,” said the speaker, “I am not a Baptist; I am an Episcopalian.”

Thus are all denominational lines being battered down in the camps.

BUT IT’S MEN WHO PAY THEM

“It is remarkable that so many women should be working.”

“Women have always worked,” replied Miss Cayenne. “The principal difference just now is that they are working away from home and getting paid for it.”

ACQUIRING WIFELY ARTS

Harold, the only son of a wealthy widowed mother, was drafted, and duly arrived at the camp where he was to receive instruction in the manly art of warfare. Imagine his surprise and chagrin when he was detailed to what is known as K. P. duty (“Kitchen police” duty). In this he became quite proficient, however, as one of his letters shows:

“Dear Mother: – I put in this entire Christmas day washing dishes, sweeping floors, making beds and peeling potatoes. When I get home from this camp I’ll make some girl a mighty fine wife!”

THE NERVE OF THE COOK

One mess in the British front line was the envied of all the neighborhood units because it enjoyed fresh vegetables every day. The cook was often asked about it. “We get them from a garden near by,” he always said. At last the supply ceased. The mess soon asked why. “We’ve had all there were,” said the cook, “except a few that were right on the edge of the Boche trench.” Then it turned out that he had gone out every night into “No Man’s Land” and gathered green vegetables from a garden which ran right down to the German front line.

FOOD WILL WIN THE WAR

Sandy and Pat were discussing the war economies of their respective landladies.

“Indade,” said Pat, “the other day Oi saw that wumman O’Grady countin’ the paes to put in the broth.”

“Och,” replied Sandy, “where I am the landlady melts the margarine an’ paints it on yer bread wi’ a brush!”

GIVING THEM A SEND-OFF

He was a wounded soldier who was traveling in a train. At a point on the line where it ran parallel with the road he saw a brand-new territorial battalion marching up to the front. He stuck his bandaged head out of the door and yelled, “Are you dahn-hearted?” The Terriers, from the colonel to the smallest drummer, shouted, “No-o-oh!” The wounded man replied: “Well, you d – d soon will be when you get in those trenches.”

DON’T BELIEVE ALL YOU HEAR

Private A – “Some funny things hev happened in this war. I heard of a bloke the other day who lost his right hand and didn’t know it till he tried to take a package of fags out of his pocket!”

Private B – “That’s not so bad; but I heard of a bloke who got his head shot off and didn’t know it till he tried to scratch it!”

YOU’VE SEEN THEM

Dasher – “I don’t believe the war-films we saw last night were taken at the front.”

Mrs. Dasher – “Of course they were; didn’t you notice the bullet-holes at the end of each reel?” —Puck.

PLACING THE BLAME

A sergeant and a private were out sniping. The private was troubled with a cold, and was continually sneezing, which rather annoyed and put the sergeant’s shots off their mark.

“Confound you, Coldhead,” yelled the enraged sergeant at last, “you made me miss again.”

“Well, I didn’t do nothing, sergeant,” exclaimed the private, amazed.

“Yes, you did. It was your blinkin’ sneeze.”

“I didn’t sneeze,” again protested the private.

“Of course you didn’t,” roared the sergeant. “It’s the first bloomin’ time you’ve missed, and – I allowed for it, you chump!”

PROOF POSITIVE

A “Jack Johnson” had exploded with a deafening roar, and Murphy, wiping his eyes clear of mud with his respirator, looked round to see Clancy, his chum, lying very still.

“Spake to me, Terence!” he whispered. “Are ye alive or dead?”

“Dead!” faintly murmured Clancy.

“What a liar the man is!” soliloquized Murphy, much relieved.

Then Clancy sat up.

“Ye know I must be dead, Murphy,” he said, “or it isn’t the likes of you would be calling me a liar!”

CARBOLIC STARTED THIS

J. F. Hartz, of Detroit, the dean of the American Surgical Trade Association, said at the fiftieth annual convention in New York:

“The war has kited the price of carbolic acid up to $1.65 a pound – it sold before the war at 9 cents a pound. The hospitals that use carbolic now have to be as economical and sparing as old Josh Lee.

“Old Josh Lee was a miser, and he breakfasted every morning on oatmeal. To save fuel, he cooked his week’s supply of oatmeal on Sundays. This supply, by the time Saturday came round, was pretty stiff and tough and hard to down.

“One Saturday morning old Josh found his oatmeal particularly unappetizing. It had a crust on it like iron. He took a mouthful of the cold, stiff mixture – then he half rose, thinking he’d have to cook himself some eggs.

“But he hated to give in. He hated to waste that oatmeal. So he took out the whisky-bottle, poured a generous glass, and setting it before his plate, he said:

“‘Now, Josh, if you eat that oatmeal you’ll get this whisky; and if you don’t, you won’t.’

“The oatmeal was hard to consume, but Josh, with his eye on the whisky, managed it. Then, when the last spoonful was gone, he grinned broadly, poured the whisky back into the bottle again, and said:

“‘Josh, my son, I fooled you that time, you old idiot!’”

BY JOVE, QUITE RIPPING

Everybody who has been in Epsom has seen the big gates on which are perched two stone dogs. An American officer saw them recently for the first time.

He approached a native with a joke on his lips, expecting to see it fall flat, as he had been taught would be the case. “When do they feed these dogs?” he asked.

“When they bark,” said the Epsomite, and now this particular American is more of an admirer of Englishmen than ever.

FROM SANTA CLAUS IN WASHINGTON

At one stage of the war Uncle Sam’s steamers crossing the Atlantic had enormous stars and stripes painted on both sides of their hulls, bow and stern, and between these flags the space was occupied by the ship’s name. At night brilliant lights illuminated the whole gaudy color scheme. A steamer so decorated was signaled by a British cruiser, “What ship is that?” The reply came: “United States mail steamer So-and-So.” Said the cruiser: “Thanks. Thought you were a Christmas tree out of season.” – London Opinion.

THIS BEATS ALL

A young French officer, speaking of bravery on the field of battle, tells this story on himself: “I was in front of my section at night, when suddenly, about ten feet away, I saw a line of enemy riflemen. I told my men to lie down. Then I looked closely, and very clearly made out moving helmets. With my men behind me we all suddenly arose and charged. I went ahead and, revolver in hand, I threw myself forward, shouting in German with all my strength: ‘Surrender! You are prisoners!’ only to find that we had charged several rows of beet stalks with their heads nodding in the wind.”

PAT WAS STRINGING HIM

“Well, Pat, my good man, what did you do?” inquired a patronizing stranger of the Irishman back in London on leave, with his arm in a sling.

The stranger’s air annoyed Pat, who blandly said:

“Faith, an’ I walked up to one of them an’ cut off his feet.”

“Cut off his feet! Why not his head?”

“Sure, an’ that was already cut off.”

ANOTHER HUN ATROCITY

An officer recently on leave brought home and gave to a lady a bottle of eau de cologne found in a German colonel’s dugout.

She was at a dinner party shortly afterwards, exhibited it, and she and other ladies dabbed their faces with the perfume.

The room became very warm, and soon they were horrified by the appearance of black stains on their features.

The stuff was a hair dye, which only developed its color when heated. The worst of it was the stains did not disappear for some days.

KNEW HIM WELL

First Tommy – “Here’s a nice letter for a fellow to receive! The scoundrel who wrote it calls me a blithering idiot.”

Second Tommy – “What’s his name?”

First Tommy – “That’s just what I’d like to find out; but there’s no signature.”

Second Tommy – “Don’t you recognize the writing? It must be somebody who knows you.”

ENOUGH TO MAKE A KING LAUGH

A gallant British officer, granted leave, went to London to get married, and upon his arrival was very much astonished to receive a summons from the King to an “audience” at five o’clock in the afternoon. He was married at four o’clock, and so, after the ceremony, he drove to Buckingham Palace, and said to his bride: “Now, if you will wait in the carriage I won’t be more than half an hour. These audiences are always very perfunctory and brief.”

When he was received by the King he found, however, that he was quite alone, was received most informally, and that His Majesty was very keen to know of the officer’s exploits and movements at the front. Then, before the officer was aware how time had flown, His Majesty said: “We have dinner in half an hour and of course you will stay. The ladies will want to hear your story.”

The officer had not the courage to tell the King that his bride of an hour had already been waiting in the carriage for three hours, and so, finding no chance to send word out to her, he remained for dinner. The dinner was very leisurely served, there was much talk about the front, and it was after ten o’clock when the party broke up. The officer was on edge to leave, when the King said: “You will be shown to your room, and tomorrow morning I shall have something to give you.”

The officer thanked him, and, as he was going to his room, he called one of the equerries of the household to him and confided to him his dilemma. Within five minutes there was a knock at the officer’s door, and when he opened it the King stood there fairly convulsed with laughter. “My dear chap,” said the King, “why didn’t you tell me? Of course it was hard on you and your lady, but really this is the best joke I’ve heard for a long time.”

The bride was found, brought in, and under the King’s and Queen’s graciousness any feelings toward her new husband and his hosts which she may have had in her carriage wait of six hours melted away; and the happy bridal couple spent their marriage night at Buckingham Palace.

TOO SLEEPY TO BE SCARED

All Paris is laughing over the sangfroid of a young married midinette on the occasion of an air raid on Paris.

The heroine resides on the top story of a large apartment house, and when the warning was given was sound asleep.

The concierge, finding that she did not descend to the underground shelter, raced upstairs and banged at the door.

After repeated hammerings he woke the lady up, and called to her to immediately descend to the basement as a raid was on and she was in great danger on the top floor.

The reply he got was:

“Go away and let me sleep. My husband is in the trenches. Do you think he gets into a dugout every time a shell falls? Why should I, therefore, be frightened of an air raid?”

SHE UNDERSTOOD WOMEN

He wanted to buy a Christmas present for his girl back home, so that she could show it to all the other girls, and destroy their peace of mind because it had come from France. He knew just what he wanted, too, but every time he thought of going into the shop and trying to ask in French for the thing he wanted he got red behind the ears. He had gone over the top in the past, unafraid, but he couldn’t do this.

At last, when his leave was up, he went into the canteen and asked the Y. M. C. A. woman there to make the purchase for him. He gave her the address and hoped it wouldn’t be too much trouble to send the package.

“Of course it wouldn’t,” said the Y. M. C. A. woman, who buys dozens of such gifts each week. “I’ll enjoy it. I’ll see that the package goes all right, and, if you like, I’ll write her a little note, too, telling her how well you’re looking.”

“That will be nice,” said the private. He counted out the money, a generous amount. Still he lingered, and it was evident that he had something else on his mind.

“Anything else I can do for you?” asked the woman.

“It’s like this,” began the private, hesitatingly. He stopped, swallowed, and started all over again. “Please be careful what you say in that note, won’t you, ma’am? You see – my girl – she’s funny about some things – she might think – well, you know how women are!” finished the private wisely.

“I’ll tell you what,” said the American woman. “I’ll tell her I enjoyed meeting you because I have a son in the army myself. Will that do?”

“That will be fine,” said the private heartily. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it, only you know how women are.” He smiled at her understandingly, saluted, turned and went out.

WELL, THAT WAS HIS COMPANY

First Officer – “What was the joke about Lieutenant Footle?”

Second Officer – “Why, the Major’s wife said she’d be glad of his company at her house on Wednesday, and the silly ass took all his men along.”

SPOIL OF WAR

The proudest Yankee in the whole advancing army that entered Saint Mihiel was the driver of a motor truck who, when he came within five miles of the town, discovered a little girl, four years old, with a doll in her arms, sitting by the road, crying. The American immediately stopped the truck, gathered the little one in with her doll, put her on the seat of honor at his left, and thus drove into the town, to the joy of the Yankee soldiers when they discovered her. No one has claimed the little one and she is still the mascot of the company, as happy as a lark and, of course, literally spoiled to death by the worshiping soldiers, who give her so many sweets that the poor little one is sick about once a week. Then the boys take her to the base hospital and, after a day, she is back again as well as ever.

CHEERFUL NEWS FROM ‘OVER THERE’

It’s a shame to do it, but public safety impels us to expose the sergeant who is palming off his Mexican border service ribbon as an American croix de guerre, thereby raising his own holdings of “amourique Amerique” stock in the eyes of petite Madélon.

Even so, sleeping on the rocks has its advantages, for in the rosy days of the future when friend wife turns the lock on our late nocturnal home-coming, we can curl up on the front porch with sleepful abandon.

And when we are in the parlor with our best girl telling her of the great rôle we played in the world-safe-for-democracy drama, we’ll not mind it a bit if the passing guard orders, “Camouflage those lights!”

So many Yanks are over here now that there is scarcely room to house them, thereby creating the necessity of extending the eastern frontier of this domain of Foch, Pershing, et al.

To our exchange desk has recently come a copy of the Kriegszeitung, the official organ of the Seventh German Army. The most we can say for the sheet is that it is Boche and bosh.

What gets us guessing is how this daylight-saving plan works out in the land of Eskimos, but we suppose all they have to do is to get up six months earlier each morning.

Elsie Janis danced so gracefully that, after she had alighted from a perfectly stunning flip-flop, a doughboy in the third row was heard to remark: “Just like a wheelbarrow I saw in the air after a high explosive hit near it.”

Our staff correspondent who made the trip to Paris is recovering from a rather severe headache.

Cursed be the mule whose braying is like unto the whistling of a shell. —The Ohio Rainbow Reveille, Official Organ, 166th Infantry, Somewhere in France.

HE KNEW WHAT TO USE

A sergeant standing at a window in the barracks saw a private pass in full-dress uniform, with a bucket in his hand in the act of fetching water from the pump.

Sergeant – “Where are you going?”

Private – “To fetch some water, sir.”

Sergeant – “Not in those trousers, surely?”

Private – “No, sir; in the bucket.”

THEY CAN’T WORK THIS ANY MORE

A manufacturer in Switzerland who had been in the habit of purchasing many of his supplies in Germany before the war recently met a German commercial traveler with whom he had been accustomed to trade. The man smilingly offered his wares, but he was met with a peremptory refusal.

“Is it because I am a German that you refuse to give me an order?”

“Certainly,” said the Swiss.

“Have you had reason to complain of the way I have executed your orders in the past? You have not, have you? Very well, then, if you are friendly to France that is no reason why you should go against your own interests. You know very well that the goods you get of me will cost you at least twice as much if you buy them of French makers.”

“I know that, but I will make a sacrifice.”

The Boche traveler was not discouraged. “You are making a mistake,” he remarked. “If you do business with us I will give you what no one in France can give you.”

“Very likely.”

“You have no doubt relatives who are French soldiers.”

“Certainly.”

“Listen to me,” said the Boche, interrupting him. “There is, perhaps, one who has the misfortune to be a prisoner in our country. Give me your usual order, tell me the name of the prisoner, one, no more, and I swear to you that I will secure his release as permanently disabled.”

The salesman was asked to repeat his offer. He did so, and the merchant said: “Very well; I will try you to see whether you keep your word.”

“Try me and see,” answered the German.

The manufacturer gave the order so ardently desired, and furnished the traveler with the name and address of one of his nephews who was a prisoner in Prussia. A week later the nephew arrived in Switzerland, with a number of prisoners who were totally disabled, astounded at his liberty, because he was perfectly well! —Ladies’ Home Journal.

IMPORTANT INFORMATION WANTED

Officer – “Now, Private Jenkins, I am going to give you a very responsible job. Under our advanced trench is a large mine. I want you to stay there, and when the mine goes up I want you to blow this whistle. Now, do you clearly understand?”

Private Jenkins – “Well, there’s one thing I’m not certain of, sir. When do I blow the whistle – going up or coming down?”

THAT WAS THE HYMN NUMBER

A soldier got mixed recently. He tells about it in a letter home: “They put me in barracks; they took away my clothes and put me in khaki; they took away my name and made me ‘No. 575;’ they took me to church, where I’d never been before, and they made me listen to a sermon for forty minutes. Then the parson said: ‘No. 575, art thou weary, art thou languid?’ and I got seven days in the guardhouse because I answered that I certainly was.”

TEMPORARY