Mr. Punch Awheel: The Humours of Motoring and Cycling by J. A. Hammerton (reading tree TXT) 📕

Who is the happy road-deer? Who is he

That every motorist should want to be?

The Perfect Automobilist thinks only of others. He is an Auto-altruist.

He never wantonly kills anybody.

If he injures a fellow-creature (and this will always be the fellow-creature's fault) he voluntarily buys him a princely annuity. In the case of a woman, if she is irreparably disfigured by the accident, he will, supposing he has no other wife at the time, offer her the consolation of marriage with himself.

He regards the life of bird and beast as no less sacred than that of human beings. Should he inadvertently break a fowl or pig he will convey it to the nearest veterinary surgeon and have the broken limb set or amputated as the injury may require. In the event of death or permanent damage, he will seek out the owner of the dumb animal, and refund him fourfold.

To be on the safe side with respect to the legal limit, the Perfect Automobilist confines himself to[Pg 110] a speed of ten miles per hour. He will even dismount at the top of a steep descent, so as to lessen the impetus due to the force of gravity.

If he is compelled by the nature of his mission to exceed the legal limit (as when hurrying, for instance, to fetch a doctor in a matter of life or death, or to inform the Government of the landing of a hostile force) he is anxious not to shirk the penalty. He will, therefore, send on a swift messenger to warn the police to be on the lookout for him; and if he fails to run into any trap he will, on returning, report himself at all the police-stations on his route, or communicate by post with the constabularies of the various counties through which he may have passed.

At the back of his motor he carries a watering-cart attachment for the laying of dust before it has time to be raised.

Lest the noise of his motor should be a cause of distraction he slows down when passing military bands, barrel organs, churches (during the hours of worship), the Houses of Parliament (while sitting), motor-buses, the Stock Exchange, and open-air meetings of the unemployed.

If he meets a restive horse he will turn back and go down a side road and wait till it has passed. If all the side roads are occupied by restive horses he will go back home; and if the way home is similarly barred he will turn into a field.

He encourages his motor to break down frequently; because this spectacle affords an innocent diversion to many whose existence would otherwise be colourless.

It is his greatest joy to give a timely lift to weary pedestrians, such as tramps, postmen, sweeps, and police-trap detectives; even though, the car being already full, he is himself compelled to get out and do the last fifty or sixty miles on foot.

He declines to wear goggles because they conceal the natural benevolence of the human eye divine, which he regards as the window of the soul; also (and for the same reason he never wears a fur overcoat) because they accentuate class distinctions.

Finally—on this very ground—the Perfect Automobilist will sell all his motor-stud and give the proceeds to found an almshouse for retired socialists.

Obliging Horseman (of riverside breeding). "Ave a tow up, miss?"

[Pg 111]

Cyclist. "Why can't you look where you're going?"

Motorist. "How the dickens could I when I didn't know!"

[Pg 113]

Middle-aged Novice. "I'm just off for a tour in the country—'biking' all the way. It'll be four weeks before I'm back in my flat again."

Candid Friend. "Ah! Bet it won't be four hours before you're flat on your back again!"

[Pg 114] THE LAST RECORD (The Wail of a Wiped-out Wheelman) Air—"The Lost Chord"

Reading one day in our "Organ,"

I was happy and quite at ease.

A band was playing the "Lost Chord,"

Outside—in three several keys.

But I cared not how they were playing,

Those puffing Teutonic men;

For I'd "cut the record" at cycling,

And was ten-mile champion then!

It flooded my cheeks with crimson,

The praise of my pluck and calm;

Though that band seemed blending "Kafoozleum"

With a touch of the Hundredth Psalm.

But my joy soon turned into sorrow,

My calm into mental strife;

For my record was "cut" on the morrow,

And it cut me, like a knife.

A fellow had done the distance

In the tenth of a second less!

And henceforth my name in silence

Was dropt by the Cycling Press.

I have sought—but I seek it vainly—

With that record again to shine,

Midst crack names in our Cycling Organ,

But they never mention mine.

It may be some day at the Oval

I may cut that record again,

But at present the Cups are given

To better—or luckier—men!

[Pg 115]

THE MOTOR-BATH

Nurse. "Oh, baby, look at the diver!"

[Pg 116] A SONG OF THE ROAD

Tinkle, twinkle, motor-car,

Just to tell us where you are,

While about the streets you fly

Like a comet in the sky.

When the blazing sun is "off,"

When the fog breeds wheeze and cough,

Round the corners as you scour

With your dozen miles an hour—

Then the traveller in the dark,

Growling some profane remark,

Would not know which way to go

While you're rushing to and fro.

On our fears, then, as you gloat

(Ours who neither "bike" nor "mote"),

Just to tell us where you are—

Tinkle, twinkle, motor-car.

"Motor Body."—"One man can change from a tonneau to a landaulette, shooting brake, or racing car in two minutes, and, when fixed, cannot be told from ANY fixed body."—Advt. in the "Autocar."

The disguise would certainly deceive one's nearest relations, but as likely as not one's dog would come up and give the whole show away by licking the sparking plug.

[Pg 117]

Chauffeur. "Pardon, monsieur. This way, conducts she straight to Hele?"

Major Chili Pepper (a rabid anti-motorist and slightly deaf). "Certainly it will, sir if you continue to drive on the wrong side of the road!"

[Pg 118]

"FACILIS

Bikist (gaily). "Here we go down! down! down! down!"

[Pg 119]

DESCENSUS!"

The same (very much down). "Never again with you, my bikey!"

[Pg 120]

Should Motors carry Maxims?—Under the title "Murderous Magistrate," the Daily Mail printed some observations made by a barrister who reproves Canon Greenwell for remarking from the Durham County Bench that if a few motorists were shot no great harm would be done. The same paper subsequently published an article headed, "Maxims for Motorists." Retaliation in kind is natural, and a maxim is an excellent retort to a canon. But why abuse the canon first?

So many accidents have occurred lately through the ignition of petrol that a wealthy motorist, we hear, is making arrangements for his car to be followed, wherever it may go, by a fully-equipped fire-engine, and, if this example be followed widely, our roads will become more interesting than ever.

Are there motor-cars in the celestial regions? Professor Schaer, of Geneva, has discovered what he describes as a new comet plunging due south at a rate of almost 8 degrees a day, and careering across the Milky Way regardless of all other traffic.

[Pg 121]

OUR ELECTION—POLLING DAY

Energetic Committeeman. "It's all right. Drive on! He's voted!"

[Pg 122] THE MOTOCRAT

I am he: goggled and unashamed. Furred also am I, stop-watched and horse-powerful. Millions admit my sway—on both sides of the road. The Plutocrat has money: I have motors. The Democrat has the rates; so have I—two—one for use and one for County Courts. The Autocrat is dead, but I—I increase and multiply. I have taken his place.

I blow my horn and the people scatter. I stand still and everything trembles. I move and kill dogs. I skid and chickens die. I pass swiftly from place to place, and horses bolt in dust storms which cover the land. I make the dust storms. For I am Omnipotent; I make everything. I make dust, I make smell, I make noise. And I go forward, ever forward, and pass through or over almost everything. "Over or Through" is my motto.

The roads were made for me; years ago they were made. Wise rulers saw me coming and made roads. Now that I am come, they go on[Pg 124] making roads—making them up. For I break things. Roads I break and Rules of the Road. Statutory limits were made for me. I break them. I break the dull silence of the country. Sometimes I break down, and thousands flock round me, so that I dislocate the traffic. But I am the Traffic.

I am I and She is She—the rest get out of the way. Truly, the hand which rules the motor rocks the world.

MOTOR CAR-ACTERISTICS (By an Old Whip)

Jerking and jolting,

Bursting and bolting,

Smelling and steaming,

Shrieking and screaming,

Snorting and shaking,

Quivering, quaking,

Skidding and slipping,

Twisting and tripping,

Bumping and bounding,

Puffing and pounding,

Rolling and rumbling,

Thumping and tumbling.

Such I've a notion,

Motor-car motion.

[Pg 123]

ADDING INSULT TO INJURY

Cyclist (to Foxhunter, thrown out), "Oi say, Squoire, 'ave you seen the 'ounds?"

[Pg 125]

True Philosophy.—Ploughman. "Ah, things be different like wi' them an' us. They've got a trap wi' no 'osses, an' we 'm got 'osses wi' no trap."

[Pg 126]

THE RECKLESS ONE

Wife of Injured Cyclist (who, having found considerable difficulty in getting on his bicycle, and none whatever in coming off, has never ventured to attempt more than three miles in the hour). "Well, I do believe he's had a lesson at last! I warned him about 'scorching.' I said to him, what have you got to do with the 'record'?"

[Pg 127]

AN INOPPORTUNE TIME

Jones, while motoring to town to fulfil an important engagement, has the misfortune to

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