Wodehouse in Exile

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1

'This is the BBC Home Service.

And now William Connor, Cassandra

of the Daily Mirror,

'with his Postscript.'

'I have come to tell you tonight

'of the story of a rich man

trying to make his last

'and greatest sale -

that of his own country.

'It is a sombre story of honour

pawned to the Nazis

'for the price of a soft bed

in a luxury hotel.

'It is the record of PG Wodehouse

'ending 40 years of

money-making fun

'with the worst joke

he ever made in his life.

'The only wisecrack

he ever pulled that the world

'received in silence.'

This programme contains

some strong language.

"After the thing was over,

"when peril had ceased to loom,

I confessed to Jeeves that there

"had been moments during the recent

proceedings when Bertram Wooster,

"though no weakling,

had come very near to despair."

Plummie!

Plummie, are you there?

You are in there. Why didn't you

say you were in there?

I wasn't entirely sure that I was.

'Though the fall of France now seems

inevitable - thousands

'of British troops have been

successfully evacuated from Dunkirk.

'Hundreds of small boats operating

under heavy German fire have

'managed an extraordinary rescue...'

What happens now?

Stilton Cheesewright is

baying for Bertie's blood

and Jeeves will need an extra

portion of fish to come up

with a scheme in order to extricate

the young man about town.

I was talking,

Plummie, about the war.

And I was talking about my novel.

Who can that be?

I think it's the German army.

Shall we let them in?

Or shall we pretend to be out?

Hullo there!

Er... What does he want?

World domination, I imagine.

Don't antagonise him!

I went through your books

the other day.

You come out pretty anti-German.

I think I did say it was time

Hitler took a firm

position on his moustache.

I mean, does he want it or not?

Ihre Papiere bitte!

Very pretty uniform.

Sort of... Lincoln green!

Do you speak no German at all?

Es ist schones wetter!

It is all you can say in German?

That it is nice weather?

Es ist schones wetter!

Well, you are English.

You only talk about the weather.

I'm afraid I am. English, I mean.

And I do adore

talking about the weather.

We requisition your vehicles.

The keys to the cars, please.

Also the bicycle.

How low can men stoop?

Was?

Es ist schones wetter!

"I hove to at the stripling's side.

"Hullo, young Edwin," I said.

"His gaze had been

riveted on the ground,

"but at the sound of the

familiar voice..."

"..A couple of pink-rimmed eyes came

swivelling round in my direction.

"He looked up at me like a ferret

about to pass the time of day

"with another ferret."

"I'm studying ants," said the boy.

"Do you know

anything about ants, Bertie?"

"Only from meeting them at picnics."

What on earth is going on?

Germans. They're using the bathroom.

Swine.

Hey!

I hope that's not my toothbrush.

They're capable of anything.

Apparently you have to report to

the German Kommandant in Le Touquet.

Oh.

Just me?

Ethel! Bunny, darling!

Schnell! Pack!

No time for a bath, I suppose.

I don't know where my wife is.

I'd like to say goodbye to her.

Five minutes?

20, perhaps?

Ten it is!

With negotiating skills like ours,

war could possibly have

been averted.

Wife. Ethel. Wife.

Met her in New York in 1914.

I seem to remember you

chaps were about to

go on the rampage even then.

She was on the stage.

Tremendous fun.

Isn't she lovely?

Schnell.

Plummie? Is that you?

I rather fear it is, old thing.

Schnell!

The Kommandant told us

that we have to pack.

We're being sent somewhere.

Not quite sure where.

He had a glass eye.

Which was rather fetching.

Plummie... I took the Collected Works

of Shakespeare.

I thought about the Murglow Murder

Mystery, but then I thought,

it's high time I read the stuffing

out of Henry the VI Part 2.

I don't think

I have room for my novel.

Look after it for me, will you?

We've had some good times,

me and that novel.

Schnell!

You'll need butter.

There are practically no limits to

what a pack of butter can

do in warm weather to

the inside of a small suitcase.

I think I prefer my Shakespeare

unbuttered.

Oh, Plummie.

I shall be fine, sweetheart.

It can't be as bad as getting an

honorary degree in Oxford.

Please hold up, old thing.

The Boche will think they've won.

Mind you, they do have some

grounds for thinking

that at the moment, don't they?

Schnell!

His German vocabulary is

almost as limited as mine.

Toodle pip... old thing.

I say. I say.

Is this Algy of Algy's Bar?

I am he. I cannot deny it.

Is that by any chance a suitcase

you're carrying?

Once again you have me

at a disadvantage.

A suitcase is what it is, old bean.

As in - suitcase in which you pack

things for a journey?

You are hitting the nail on the head

with almost suspicious regularity.

As in - journey towards a dungeon to

which the Germans are planning

to confine one for the duration?

This too is horribly close to

the mark, old friend.

I tremble like a badly-set

blancmange, Algy.

Me too.

What's happening in the world,

I wonder? Yes.

Isn't it marvellous not to have

access to the English newspapers?

Like being on holiday!

Are we in Germany?

Not sure.

At least we're no longer in Belgium.

Home is not home to

a Belgian soldier

until he can write his name in the

alluvial deposits on the floor.

We're in Upper Silesia,

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