Voices of Silence Read Online Free PDF

when
    I reach my dim official den,
    Placards designed to thrill and scare
    Affront my vision everywhere,
    And double windows can’t keep out
    The newsboy’s penetrating shout.
    For when the morning papers fail
    The evening press takes up the tale,
    And, fired by curious competition,
    Edition following on edition,
    The headline demons strain and strive
    Without a check from ten till five,
    Extracting from stale news some phrase
    To shock, to startle or amaze,
    Or finding a daring innuendo –
    All swelling in one long crescendo,
    Till, shortly after five o’clock,
    When business people homeward flock,
    From all superfluous verbiage freed
    Comes Joffre’s calm laconic screed,
    And all the bellowings of the town
    Quelled by the voice of Truth die down,
    Enabling you and me to win
    Twelve hours’ release from Rumour’s din.
    C.L. Graves
    News from the Front
(With apologies to the Censor)
    The Army has suffered an awful rout
    In the terrible battle of ( place left out ),
    But the enemy’s hordes have been defeated
    On the banks of the River ( name deleted ).
    The Austrians, under General Dank,
    Attacked the Russians at ( name left blank ).
    On the road near ( cut ) they fled in fear,
    But they turned and fought at ( blue-pencilled here ).
    Our men have had but little rest
    Since the fighting began at ( name suppressed ).
    But a funny thing happened – we had to laugh –
    When ( word gone ) we ( missing paragraph ).
    If the Censor destroys this letter, well –
    I wish the Censor would go to ---------
    ( Deletion by Censor ).
    [There once was a Man, Kaiser Will]
    There once was a Man, Kaiser Will, who seldom, if ever, stood still;
    He ran up and down with a horrible frown,
    And his ideas of culture were nil .

    Where are the Russians?
A Plea to the Censor
    Oh! where are those Russians,
    Those hairy-faced Russians,
    That sailed from Archangel and landed in Leith;
    Who came o’er in millions,
    Some say, sir, in trillions,
    With big furry caps on and armed to the teeth?
    Explain, Mister Censor,
    And end our suspense, sir,
    And don’t keep us all in this horrible stew,
    Pray say where you’ve trained them,
    Or where you’ve detained them,
    We know for a fact that these Russians passed through.
    For uncles, aunts, cousins,
    In scores and in dozens,
    From all over England have written to say,
    They gave them hot coffee,
    ‘Chocks’, fruit and mint toffee,
    And bade them God-speed as their train steamed away.
    Besides, and moreover,
    From Leith down to Dover,
    Guards, drivers, and pointsmen could tell us all but,
    They’d quickly get sacked, sir,
    And so with great tact, sir,
    They wink at our questions and keep their mouths shut.
    And in ‘Dispatch’ daily,
    And news ‘Daily Maily’,
    We’ve heard of these Russians, but much news we lack,
    For somehow or other,
    We cannot discover,
    Where Kitchener’s put them, and we’re on the rack.
    And it’s really most horrid,
    The way we are worried,
    And humbugged and bothered and kept in a stew,
    So drop, sir, this mystery,
    For you know ’tis history,
    These hairy-faced Russians stopped two hours at Crewe.
    Pray say where you’ve put them,
    Or shipped them or shut them,
    In England, France, Belgium, or in Timbuctoo,
    For ’tis tantalizing,
    Thus daily surmising,
    Come, dear Mr Censor, pray tell us, now do.
    T. Clayton
    The German Herr
    This is the round-eyed German Herr,
    Still found in England here and there.

    His ears are long, and I’ll be bound
    That they can catch the slightest sound.
    He’s timid and elusive too;
    But mischief he contrives to do,
    And so of him we should beware,
    And first must catch – then cook our Herr!
    St John Hamund
    The Traitor
    ‘Down with the Teutons!’ rose the people’s cry;
    ‘Who said that England’s honour was for sale?’
    Myself, I hunted out the local spy,
    Tore down his pole and cast him into jail.
    ‘An English barber now,’ said I, ‘or none!
    This thatch shall never fall before a Hun!’
    And all was well until