This article has been transcribed from a copy of the Cardiff Times in the online collection of scanned Welsh newspapers 1804-1919 in the National Library of Wales, with grateful recognition of the free access accorded to all readers. A decorative initial has been added, and where necessary paragraph breaks have been introduced for easier reading.

The anti-Semitism in this article is a sign of a growing intolerance in the period: a frightening presage of the twentieth century. — David Skilton

Decorated initial I

need not remind you that this is the Jubilee year - I need not remind you because every hoarding and every newspaper proclaims the fact. Of course, sir, this year should be one of universal amity and peace - aldermanic brothers for instance, should sink all their differences, and regard the Mayor for the time being with the eye of something approaching to affection. Fine times, sir, will the Mayors of the Jubilee year have, if report speak truly, and a most touching picture of the various specimens who will present themselves for the honour of knighthood might fitly be drawn. Municipal dignity - than which there is none more impressive - will be seen in all its radiant charm. We shall have grave, fossilised, ancient, and somewhat mouldy Mayors from Cathedral towns — gentlemen who may well claim to be "superior persons," men of unimpeachable respectability who wear bunches of seals, high stocks, and an air of supreme melancholy mingled with dignity. And the portrait painters will have a high old time of it with such as these, for in order that a knowledge of their lineaments may not be lost to posterity, these said Mayors will present their counterfeit presentments to their grateful fellow townsmen to be hung in the Guildhall, and they will be depicted as being about seven feet odd in height, and as having one hand thrust in the breasts of their coats and the other grasping a roll of papers. Of course a special feature will always be made on the Mayoral chain, which will be gilt or simply painted in according to the generosity of the gentleman who gives the commission. And we shall have more knights than would make up three Arctic winters, throwing about.

'Yer 'And , Yer Majesty, Yer 'And.'

  No doubt a nasty, invidious distinction will be made by carping cantankerous people between the Mayoral Knights and those who have been otherwise created, and the former will be referred to as “the Jubilee Knights" and their banquets given in honour of the occasion of their elevation as “Jubilee Knights’ Entertainments.” But I was endeavouring to give something like a list of the Mayors who would be marked out for honour. The Mayor who has been wont to sneer loftily at Royalty and all that appertains thereto, will not be proof against the influences of the occasion, but like Sir Pertinax, will “boo, boo” with the best of them - and quite right, too, for our ruler is, whatever our political opinions may be, a lady and a good one, to boot, and we ought all to do her homage — especially if she makes knights of us. Then there is sure to be present the bucolic Mayor - the individual I mean, with a good country "Guffaw," a hearty disregard of conventionalities and seven leagued boots. He will present himself at Court in most extraordinary garments, till he is warned off, and will offer to give a cordial hand grasp to her Majesty, and I’ll stake a wager that his loyalty is inferior to that of no man. His account of the ceremony of knighthood, given to a select circle of cronies afterwards, will be a rich descriptive treat.

Chorus:--'Left out in the Cold.'

It will be analogous (what a bothersome word that is), sir, to that of the yokel, who, describing what he saw in the House of Commons, said there “wor a chairman theer, same as at onny other free an’ easy." I am sadly afraid, sir, that better and base feelings will rankle in the bosoms of those Aldermen who fancy that they ought to have been made Mayors - and haven't. Their wives, sir (trust me for knowing this), will sour them. The aforesaid wives, who wished to be addressed as “My Lady," will tell them that they are “nincompoops" and "silly, good- natured 'loons,' or they would never have been worked out of the Mayoralty in the way they have been." And these same disappointed Aldermen will begin to believe it, and they will, in the Council Chamber, oppose everything and everybody on principle, and make themselves as disagreeable as municipal dignitaries only can when they are roused. You will see a sketch of three of these ill-used Aldermen just near, sir, and you will please mark that they do not look in the frame of mind to subscribe liberally to a mission for carrying Bibles and ginger-beer to the unregenerate heathen, or to a charity which has for its object indigent cabmen.

The Man Who Can't Keep a Horse but has More than One 'Trotter.'

Truth to tell, I am beginning to be sick of the word Jubilee already, and I feel anything but jubilant when I see it in some connections. We have Jubilee concerts and pantomimes without end just now, never to speak of Jubilee penny readings and Jubilee temperance lectures. Soon I fully expect that we shall have the word connected with blacklead, liver pads, cork-legs, trotters, wringing machine[s], nose machines, whisky, and a few other commodities, indeed efforts in this undesirable direction have already been made. We shall have the said word used on their signs by sweeps, fried fish merchants, quack doctors, proprietors of waxwork entertainments, and cheap-jacks. Truly, the term will be a bugbear and a nuisance. We shall have Hebrew clothiers adopting it, and appropriately spelling the word "Jewbilee."

A Jew-Billy. 'You shall have it died Sheep, by Tear.' [dead cheap, my dear]

It is well to do honour to Her Majesty, but I notice that there is a good deal more than ordinary of self-seeking amongst those who are now affecting to make the attempt. And, sir, do let me conjure you not to attempt an extra Jubilee number with portraits of Her Majesty in gradual stages ever since she was three days old. I have seen too much of these, and there is certainly nothing edifying in the spectacle of our own much loved Queen sucking her thumb at the age of two, eating a toffee stick at the age of three, or sitting simpering in a poke bonnet of hideous pattern and ponderous proportions at the age of twenty. So much for the Jubilee say I.

Last modified 21 October 2021