# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3822/The War in Acacia Avenue

THE WAR IN ACACIA AVENUE.
When we are not running out after "specials" we are absorbed in the mimic fight of Acacia Avenue—the desperate conflict between Mrs. Studholm-Brown, of The Hollies, and Mrs. Dawburn-Jones, of Dulce Domum. They have husbands, these amiable ladies, but the husbands are mainly concerned with the commissariat and supply department, and are neither allowed nor designed in the actual fighting line.
The very day the war began, a huge flagstaff with a Union Jack of proportionate size rose in the grounds of Dulce Domum. It must have been ordered in advance. I present this fact to the German Press Bureau as showing that, at any rate, Mrs. Dawburn-Jones always intended war. But the next day Mrs. Studholm-Brown went six feet better with a flag-staff and three square yards better with a Union Jack.
Then we knew that it was war to the death in our Avenue and waited for the next move in the campaign.
"The Hollies" broke out into Red Cross notices; "Dulce Domum" announced itself to be the office for the organisation of local relief.
One morning we rose with a sort of idea that there was an eruption in the air, and found the flags of Servia, France, Russia and Belgium waving over "Dulce Domum." That day Mrs. Sudholm-Brown met me in the Avenue. She condescended to me. "Oh, could you tell me the colours of the Montenegrin flag?" I couldn't; but it was the first time the great lady had ever spoken to me. "Pink with green stripes," I replied tremblingly.
The very next day seven Allied flags (including a pseudo-Montenegrin) flew over "The Hollies." Mrs. Studholm-Brown had added Japan before the Mikado's ultimatum had expired—which will prove to the German Press Bureau that there was a secret understanding between our Far-Eastern Ally and Mrs. Studholm-Brown.
But flags were not the only things that were flaunted. "Dulce Domum" opened fire with an array of flannel shirts hung on clothes-lines across the tennis-court. "The Hollies" replied with a deadly line of pyjamas.
Then the proprietress of the latter threw open her grounds—a croquet court and a drying ground—as a place of rest for Territorials off duty. Mrs. Dawburn-Jones promptly enlisted her husband as a special constable and had squads drilled on her tennis lawn.
So the fight went on—with slight successes on both sides, but nothing decisive—till one day when Mrs. Dawburn-Jones went to town in a taxi and returned with a family of negroes from the Congo. It was a splendid sight to see her leading them through the grounds and discoursing to them in her best Boulognese. Mrs. Studholm-Brown wriggled with mortification.
Then her chance of a counter-attack arrived. She had, or her husband had, or her husband's brother-in-law had, a second cousin who was an officer, and, what was more, a wounded officer. He was persuaded to spend a week-end of his convalescence at "The Hollies." His hostess walked him proudly up and down all the paths which were in full view of "Dulce Domum." It was magnificent to see her adjust his sling. At that moment I dare not have trusted Mrs. Dawburn-Jones with a gun or the officer would have been in as great peril as in the trenches. How it will end I can scarcely image. I like to picture a great day of victory. Then, if the Crown Prince be allowed to take up his abode on parole in some quiet suburban home, I am sure "The Hollies" will snap him up. And if "The Hollies" secures the Crown Prince no power in this world can prevent Mrs. Dawburn-Jones from securing the Kaiser.