Where have all the Berties gone?
The lilies that toil not, nor do they spin,
They’ve all arisen with the dawn,
To get their three miles running in.
Then holed up all day, in offices or banks,
Won’t join you in a leisurely brunch,
No afternoon tennis or games or pranks,
Coping with month’s end accounting crunch.
Even dinner is a rushed affair,
No time for idle chat or chit,
March through the rose garden’s scented air,
To meet the quota of the Fitbit.
One sighs for the Berties of yester-year,
Mentally negligible, but always at hand.
One found their naïveté rather dear,
And could have molded them into something grand!
(The above mentioned composition has been whipped up by Lisa Dianne Brouwer who describes herself thus:
“Lisa cut her milk teeth on P.G. Wodehouse. Literally, in fact, as many of her father, Professor W. Brouwer’s orange and white Penguins are frayed and eroded at the edges. In later years this destructive child was wont to dip them in the bath water.
However, a lifetime of absorbing Plum’s gently humorous philosophy of life had given her father a mild and forgiving disposition, always excepting when his daughter escaped out the window of a summer evening….
These days father and daughter continue to share books, conversations over coffee and dabble into writing, occasionally diving sideways into rhyme.”
Here is wishing more power to her pen!)
ashokbhatia 
Quite. Too much mineral water, not enough Jeeves specials.
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…which explains why the finances of the Drones Club are in the doldrums these days.
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Apologies for the lateness of my comment (I was away attending a family wedding), but I greatly enjoyed this poem, which you posted on the occasion of my birthday. A real treat, as ever!
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Glad you like it. The author deserves all the credit!
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Bertie Wooster, as you know,
Is not really a true Lothario.
Sure, he’s admired a girl or two,
As lively young Drones are apt to do.
There was Bobby, of the fiery tresses,
Who got Bertram into tangled messes.
And haughty Lady Florence Craye,
A lovely profile, seen sideway.
Pauline Stoker gave him quite a scare,
Lolling about in his gents’ sleepwear.
Honoria Glossop was a strong maybe,
‘Til her father gave the nolle prosequi
The menace of Madeleine Bassett was there,
Like Damocles’ Sword, hung above Bertie’s hair.
Only Gussie Fink-Nottle, her prospective mate,
Stood between Bertram and a most hideous fate.
An English gentleman’s honour code,
Pointed Bertie down the matrimonial road.
Only an iron hand in a velvet glove,
Could loose the tightening fetters of love.
Fresh off a fish-containing snack,
Head visibly bulging at the back,
Jeeves glides in and finds a way,
To free poor Bertie and save the day.
Even in Bingo Little’s sad case,
When he falls for every pretty face,
Jeeves manages to pull off a stunning coup,
And pull young Bingo out of the soup.
We doff our hats to this wonder man,
Marvel at each Machiavellian plan.
If ever we stray on the primrose path,
We hope Jeeves can fix up the aftermath.
Cheers!
Lisa Lypowy
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Superb……Hope one is allowed the privilege of ‘publishing’ it on this blog site! If so, a small introduction of yours would add value to the post!!
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Bertie’s love life is the subject of many of the Jeeves and Bertie stories. Although ‘mentally negligible ‘, Bertie does have a warm heart, and is rather susceptible to a pair of sparkling eyes or a striking profile. When he comes out from under the ether, it takes all Jeeves’ ingenuity to extricate him from his honourable obligations.
If all else fails, a dramatic exit from the manor house’s third story window via a handy water pipe, and an uncomfortable journey on the early milk train convey the young Romeo back to the metropolis and out of the danger zone.
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Well summed up, Lisa!
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Reblogged this on ashokbhatia.
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