Life, 1918-12-05 · page 14 of 76
Life — December 5, 1918 — page 14: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This illustration depicts a domestic Christmas scene with social commentary about wartime sacrifice. A woman (labeled "Mother") returns home to find her children playing with toys while she's been away doing war work ("motor corps" duty). A male visitor, Wilbur, lectures the children's host Burnside about conservation and willpower during wartime—arguing that enjoying luxuries like a Christmas turkey and electric fan is unpatriotic when resources should support the war effort. The satire targets self-righteous wartime moralizing: Wilbur pontificates about sacrifice while actually sneaking away to enjoy a ham sandwich at a restaurant. The piece mocks the hypocrisy of those who publicly preach deprivation while privately indulging, a common wartime tension during either WWI or WWII rationing periods.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Christmas Life (YH tl | II s/f Mother (just returning home): WHY, BonpIe, WHERE'S ROVE Bobbie: His Christmas Bier Wilbur to Burnside, whom he invited dinner—Burnside’s wife being on duty ee C wn night in, old fellow,” said had to a Christmas in the motor corps. “Come right in and join us. Have one of these palm- leaf fans.” “Fans!” exclaimed Burnside who was shivering with the cold. “I don’t quite get you.” “Perfectly simple,” replied Wilbur. “Now, I’m not exactly a Christian Scientist, but one of the fundamentals of the Hun philosophy is the will to believe. It’s all the power of will work- ing on our minds. Not only must we conserve food and heat—but we mustn't know we are doing it. All in your I TOOK IT OFF HIM AND PUT IT ON THE BABY. SO HE WOULDN'T CRAWL AWAY. mind, if you only force it in, Take off your coat and step in here.” Wiping the imaginary perspiration from his patriotic brow, Wilbur led his guest into the next room. “Wonderful Christmas tree we have this year!” he exclaimed, pointing to one corner. “Spent a lot of valuable time trimming it. Just look at those beautiful lights! And did you ever see a better arrangement of cornucopias?” “T see nothing.” “Nonsense! Exert yourself! Here's a little present for you. Thought you would enjoy this splendid little electric fan; Turns all ways while you wait. Don't bother to thank me. Dinner is ready.” Wilbur half pushed him into the dining-room, where a table, ornamented with a solitary but respectable plate of war bread, stood waiting for the approaching festivities. IT WAS THE ONLY WAY I COULD FIX HIM “Don’t very often see such a lovely turkey!” cried Wilbur, flourishing an imaginary carving knife. “ Delia—” (to an imaginary waitress), “don't wait. These are war times, and we will dis- pense with style. Bring on the truffles and champagne and chicken pie and celery and potatoes and succotash and mince pie and plum pudding and hot coffee. Sit down anywhere, people. I" Burnside heard no more. Grabbing his coat, he bolted out through the front door, leaving behind him the imaginary Christmas dinner, Twenty minutes later, warm from his exercise, he was sitting at the luncheon counter of a more or less popular restaurant. “Give me a ham sandwich and some coffee,” he said, muttering under his breath, “and spare me, O Lord, from the devil and all his Hohenzollern works,”