DANCING DEMOBILISED.
[It is said that demobilised officers, anxious to dance, are finding it almost impossible to buy dress-shirts and evening pumps.]
Now that I've been demobilised
I'm going again to dances—
I do not care with whom or where,
I'm taking any chances.
And evening dress, I've been advised,
Will never become transitional;
Yet once or twice I've been surprised
To find my khaki pals disguised
In new dress suits and old trench boots,
Which scarcely seems traditional.
I met my Colonel at a hop
Jazzing in his goloshes,
With a dress-tie pert on a cricket-shirt
That had shrunk in various washes;
And my Major was doing the Donkey-Drop
Between a couple of rippers—
Yet his pink-and-white pyjama-top
If anything seemed a shade de trop,
And his faultless coat hardly echoed the note
Of his worsted bedroom slippers.
But the world long since went off its chump,
And the cry of the man from France is,
"I simply refuse to let shirts and shoes
Prevent me from going to dances.
I'll take the shine out of collar and pump,
And their wearers will look silly
When I once begin the Giraffe-Galump,
The Chicken-Run and the Jaguar-Jump,
The Wombat-Walk and the Buffalo-Bump,
With a chamois vest on my manly chest,
And football-boots and the smartest of suits
They can cut in Piccadilly."
THE GRAND TRUNK LINE.
"The following are some alternative routes which could be used by people going home this evening from the City or West End:—
"Clapham Common.—By Elephant, trams and 'buses."—Evening News.