Funny Stories Told by the Soldiers Read online

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  FUNNY STORIES

  TOLD BY THE SOLDIERS

  PRANKS, JOKES AND LAUGHABLE AFFAIRS OF OUR BOYS AND THEIR ALLIES IN THE GREAT WAR

  _The Victors in Their Cheerful Moments_

  By CARLETON B. CASE

  SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING CO. CHICAGO

  COPYRIGHT, 1919 BY SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING CO.

  PREFACE

  Now that the dread of awful war has passed with the coming of welcomepeace, we can turn our minds with renewed cheerfulness to the merryside of the great world’s conflict and enjoy with our boys the funnythings they saw and did and said while “over there.”

  The comedy side of the war has been quickly seen and readilyinterpreted by the world’s great writers, as well as by the veryofficers and men, in all departments of the service, who themselvesparticipated in both the serious and the frivolous affairs of warfareas developed day by day.

  It is the humorous experiences of which these warriors and writers havetold us in speech and print that we have sought to gather into onevolume for the edification and delectation of a humor-loving public.Enough and too much has been told of the horrors of war. To hear thepleasanter side, the merry doings of our soldiers and their allies, thevictorious hosts of freedom, is a welcome relief to war-weary hearts,freed now, and forever, from the dire dread of the awfulness of modernslaughter.

  So this collection of funny stories has come into being; its missionto cheer us all with the merry tales told by and about our conqueringsoldiers.

  FUNNY STORIES TOLD BY THE SOLDIERS

  SECRETARY BAKER TELLS A GOOD ONE

  “The neat and even elegant appearance of the American soldier isn’tmaintained,” said War Secretary Baker in an address, “without hardwork. Yes, the work is hard, but doesn’t the result more than justifyit?

  “On the train the other day a private sat with his tunic unbuttoned,for the temperature was high. A sergeant strode up to him and said:

  “‘Button up that tunic! Did you never hear of by-law 217, subsection D?I’m Sergeant Jabez Winterbottom!’

  “A gentleman in the seat behind tapped the sergeant sternly on theshoulder.

  “‘How dare you issue orders with a pipe in your mouth?’ he asked. ‘Gohome and read paragraph 174, section M, part IX. I am Major EustaceCarroll.’

  “Here a gentleman with a drooping white mustache interposed from theother side of the aisle:

  “‘If Major Carroll,’ he said coldly, ‘will consult by-law 31 of sectionK, he will learn that to reprimand a sergeant in the presence of aprivate is an offense not lightly to be overlooked.’”

  THEN HE GRABBED THE PAIL

  A woman, one of the 30,000 British working for the Y. M. C. A., wasassigned to scrub the Eagle hut floor in London. She had done littlemanual labor in her life, but accepted the job without protest and wentdown on her knees with a pail of hot water, a cloth, and a cake ofsoap. Soon the water in the pail was black. A man in uniform passed.The woman looked up and asked if he would mind emptying the pail andrefilling it with clean water.

  There was a pause, then his reply:

  “Dammit, madam, I’m an officer!”

  This time there was no pause, but like a flash the scrubwoman retorted:

  “Dammit, officer, I’m a duchess!”

  CALLING THE GENERAL DOWN

  When General O’Neill, of Allentown, first went to Spartanburg, S. C.,his train was three hours late. The negro escort appointed to receivehim at the station had been dismissed. The general walked. Presently hewas accosted by a sentry.

  “Who is you?”

  “General O’Neill.”

  “Well, you cut the buck and go up there to headquarters to beat dedebbil and see my captain and explain yosself. We’s been waitin’ threehours fer you.”

  DID SHE SAVE DOC ONE?

  In the field hospital:

  Doctor—Save me a sample of everything your patient takes.

  Nurse—He took a kiss this morning.

  WANTED TO KILL THE COOKS

  A young Canadian officer, who had lived for years in China, was deputedto take to France for service behind the lines a company of Chinesecoolies. On the ocean voyage over, which was a turbulent one, a rowdeveloped between the coolies and the Cantonese cooks, and the cooliesdecided to kill the cooks. Hearing of it the Canadian called in severalof the coolies and told them if they killed the cooks they would havenothing to eat until they reached France.

  “What’s the matter?” asked the Canadian of the coolie ringleader.“Isn’t the food good?” Yes, the food was good.

  “Isn’t there enough food?”

  Yes, there was plenty of food.

  “Isn’t it well cooked?”

  Yes, it was well cooked.

  “Well, then, what the devil is the matter? Why do you want to kill thecooks?”

  “Well,” replied the coolie, “we don’t know exactly why, but somehow orother the food won’t stay down.”

  YOU CAN’T BEAT THE IRISH

  An elderly Colonel, about to retire, was holding “officer hours” forthe last time and four old offenders were brought in for punishment.

  The Colonel looked them over wearily, and then said:

  “I’ve been listening to the yarns and excuses you men have concoctedfor the past three years and I’m tired of them all. If any of you canthink of something new, I’ll let you off without punishment. If youcan’t, I’ll give you the limit.”

  “I took just one drink, and it made me ill, Colonel,” began the first.

  “Old stuff,” said the Colonel.

  The second offenders alarm-clock had failed to work, and the thirdoffender had bad news from home. There was nothing new in this, andeach was given the limit.

  However, the Colonel’s eyes brightened at the approach of the fourthculprit, an Irishman.

  “Be original, Duffy. Tell me something new,” urged the Colonel.

  “Well, Colonel,” Duffy began, with his eyes a-twinkle, “when Oi heardthe sad news that you was goin’ to l’ave us, it made me so down-heartedthat Oi wint to the nearest public house and drowned me sorrows.”

  “You win!” exploded the Colonel. “Now get out!”

  ASK SOMEONE FROM MISSOURI

  A long and patient but vain effort on the part of a khaki-clad driverto induce a mule, drawing what appeared to be a load of laundry,through the gateway of a local hospital, afforded considerableamusement to the doughboys who were watching the proceedings. The mulewould do anything but pass through the gateway.

  “Want any ’elp, chum?” shouted one of the boys to the driver, as herested a moment.

  “No,” replied the driver, “but I’d like to know how the devil Noah gottwo of these blighters into the Ark!”

  CLARK STREET ENGLISH

  American tourists who are shaky as to their French have often beenembarrassed by the voluble replies which their carefully studiedphrases bring forth from French lips. Just now the tables arefrequently turned, and the Frenchman or woman is puzzled by the fluentAmerican vernacular. An example:

  Yankee Trooper—“Parly-voo English, mademoiselle?”

  French Maid—“Yes, a vairl leetle.”

  Yankee Trooper—“Good work! Say, could you put me wise where I couldline up against some good eats in this burg?”

  HIS MASTER’S VOICE

  Captain (sharply)—“Button up that coat.”

  Married Recruit (absently)—“Yes, my dear.”

  ELEGY WRITTEN IN A BELGIAN DOORYARD br />
  The Crown Prince mourns the passing of “The Day,” The low-down herd winds back to Germany. The loot-squad homeward plods its swagless way, And leaves the world to Peace and Victory.

  Now fades the glimmering Weltmacht on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the Kaiser wheels his bonehead flight, And frowsy princelings streak for distant folds.

  Save that from Nauen’s undismantled tower The moping Hun does to the Yanks complain Of such as, having tasted of his power, Decline to load him up with grub again.

  Beneath those powdered walls, that abri’s shade, Where blasted dug-outs hide a mouldering heap, Each in his nameless hole forever laid, The Kultur-spreaders of the Rhineland sleep.

  For them no more the Louvain fires shall burn, Or strafing Zepp’lins ply their evening care; No Yank machine-guns shall their fire return, Or Anzac bayonets drive them from their lair.

  Oft did the poilu sweep them from the field, Their line full oft the stubborn English broke: How frantic did they to the doughboys yield! How bowed their ranks to Foch’s giant stroke!

  Now let Derision mock their fiendish toil, Their swinish joys, and destiny obscure; Let ransomed Europe, with a peaceful smile,