One of the lessons my Guardian Angels have taught me is that when one is overly critical of the task being done by someone else, they ensure that one willy-nilly ends up playing that very role for some time. Being in that person’s shoes (or sandals, if you prefer) helps one to realise exactly where the shoe pinches, literally as well as metaphorically. From being a critic, one turns up being a reluctant admirer of the art and craft of the task at hand. One develops empathy for the party of the other part. Scales fall from one’s eyes. It dawns upon one that the person performing the task in question is perhaps more to be pitied than censured.
Take the case of a husband who occasionally takes a jaundiced view of the quality of cooking of his spouse. However, after a heated argument, when she decides to go off in a huff to her parents’ house, all hell breaks loose. Regularly gobbling down instant noodles and takeaway food from nearby joints soon loses its charm. Deciding to take the matter into his own hands, he enters the kitchen arena, much like a Roman Gladiator showing up at the Colosseum. Finding the right raw materials and other ingredients in the kitchen becomes a major challenge. Locating either the right pots and pans or an appropriate ladle for whatever is planned to be dished out sounds tougher than overpowering a lion which has been deprived of its quota of vitamins for many days. Sweating profusely while seated on the dining table and trying to put some semi-cooked stuff down the hatch, he starts appreciating the cooking skills of his spouse. The post-cooking clean-up in the kitchen leaves him gasping for breath. Pretty soon, he decides to bury the hatchet and rush off to his in-laws’ place to charm the wife into accompanying him back to their abode. The dove of matrimonial peace restarts flapping its wings at home.
But I digress. After I hung up my corporate boots and decided to become an author, I had come to view editors of all sizes, shapes, and hues with a thinly veiled contempt. Most of them believed in following the dictum that silence conveyed a polite rejection. Even if they were to accept a manuscript for scrutiny, there was seldom a commitment as to when it might crawl up to the top of the pile on their cluttered tables. And yes, I dreaded the day when I would receive their detailed feedback. By then, they would have poked so many holes in the manuscript that it might as well be compared to Swiss cheese. Of course, the most traumatic experience was when I was asked to reduce the word length by close to 30% of what it was. To an author, it is akin to asking someone to perform a delicate surgery on oneself, sans anaesthesia of any kind!
However, my Guardian Angels soon decided to intervene and change my perspective. Somehow, I ended up becoming part of a three-member editorial team that has pious intentions of publishing a philosophical tome comprising as many as fifteen essays from as many authors located in different parts of the world.
For me, a voracious reader, it is obviously a pleasure to go through varying perspectives on the same subject. One’s mind opens up, much like a sunflower trying to soak in as much Vitamin D as possible. One’s outlook broadens. Each author’s voice is unique. The frequency, the amplitude, and the tone and tenor of each composition are different. At a casual glance, all these might sound like a cacophony of sorts. But together, they all generate a symphony of sorts, presenting a harmonious blend of the key message of the anthology.
Empathising with Editors
Thus, the task of editing offers quite a few perks. But it also makes one face many challenges in the process. Here is an indicative list of some of these faced by the team so far.
Ensuring that the content of any contribution fits into the overall purpose of the collection.
Maintaining the originality of the author’s voice, while suggesting improvements which would connect the narrative better to the key objective of the anthology.
To improve the readability of a paper, each one needs to be checked and ranked on a hypothetical Richter Scale of Comprehensibility. Those scoring higher than a threshold must be politely advised to tone down the narrative.
Having patience with contributors who are first-time authors. Supporting them to improve the general flow of the article. Assisting them in connecting disparate sections or paragraphs more smoothly.
Even though all contributions may be in the same language, the sentence construction, the choice of words used, and the way of conveying an idea vary widely. This requires a type of verbal dexterity which could leave one fogged, nonplussed, and perplexed.
Ensuring that a contributor is not trying to promote his/her own business interests through the paper submitted by them. One, that would be unethical. Two, if readers suspect that a commercial motive is embedded in any essay, our own credibility and brand image take a hit.
In case an expert has contributed a paper on a subject which is not understood by any of the members of the editorial team, referring it to a domain expert for a peer review makes eminent sense. Coordinating between the author and the expert helps in bringing about a better balance in the paper.
Since the idea is to deliver a book to our readers which does not leave them fretting and fuming over linguistic bloomers in the manuscript, the services of an external editor need to be hired. In many cases, this may entail a back-and-forth exchange of ideas between the author and the external editor. If the author has chosen to quote references and mentioned a few weblinks to support the arguments being advanced, a rigorous check of the same could be handled by him/her.
With advances in technology, a basic check to ascertain the AI-infestation level of any essay needs to be considered a sine qua non.
It transpires that editors need to be made of sterner stuff. Overcoming our prejudices and being impartial does not come easily. A bulldog spirit is essential. Nerves of chilled steel are required for picking up something written by someone else and transforming it into the kind of stuff potential readers would gleefully lap up, much like your pet relishing a slice of fish.
Having undergone an instructive experience of this kind, one may safely conclude that editors are more to be pitied than censured.
In fact, it was this experience that prompted yours truly to publish a detailed blog post earlier, capturing the kind of challenges faced by the owners and editors of journals in the oeuvre of Sir P. G. Wodehouse.
Choosing a Title and Subtitle
Once the manuscript is almost ready, thoughts of the team obviously turned to the challenge of choosing an appropriate title and subtitle for the collection.
The snag we always come up against when deciding upon these can be summed up as an existential dilemma between two vastly different atmospheric levels – the troposphere, closer to the ground realities which are showcased by different articles, and the stratosphere, which denotes the loftier goals with which the anthology was conceptualised, to begin with. This deserves serious thought. Both must be catchy and readily comprehensible. It is something one does not want to go wrong about, because one false step and the whole compendium is sunk. If a lay reader, while searching for something fresh to devour, does not become curious about what a book is all about, and does not get a promise as to what precisely to expect, they could not be blamed for failing to get attracted to the offering. Their short attention span of a few seconds makes them move away to greener pastures. They simply walk out on one.
Thus, if the title represents the loftier goal of the anthology in a rather obtuse manner, the subtitle must hasten to clarify what it is all about and what it promises to deliver.
So, one needs to put one’s thinking cap on, surf through the internet to locate the titles and subtitles of comparable works, if any, and then make a judicious call. The last thing one wants is to leave one’s public at a loss, simply raising their eyebrows, twiddling their thumbs, and trying to figure out what one is talking about.
The Challenge of Whipping Up an Introduction
The existential dilemma mentioned above also pervades this aspect of the book. While crafting an introductory chapter to the collection of voices presented in the anthology, a balance needs to be struck between the stratospheric level of the high ideals which the book intends to convey to its readers and the tropospheric real-life situations reflected in the different papers presented therein. Not an easy task! Recalling that sordid experience, one could be forgiven for quivering like an aspen, if you know what I mean.
If one starts describing the contents of different papers in brief, one leaves the audience wondering where the collection is headed. Of course, one does it with the best of intentions, trying to provide a bird’s-eye view of the whole affair. But even the most conscientious readers could be left clueless as to what purpose will be served by their having to trudge through as many as fifteen odd essays, each having a different ‘intellectual density’, with few connecting points between them. They would miss the woods for the trees.
On the other hand, if one takes too long to capture the beauty of the woods, create an atmosphere, and state the loftier goals which prompted one to curate a delectable collection of so many essays, many readers may simply call it a day and quietly walk out on one.
Perhaps wisdom lies in putting the salient facts as briefly as possible and linking them to the overall purpose of the book, prompting the reader to go ahead and start exploring different chapters, either sequentially or otherwise, one by one. It can be done the other way round as well. In any case, one needs to make sure that while going through the introductory chapter, one minimises the chances of letting readers’ attention wander even for a minute or two. By the time it ends, they need to be left curious enough to start their own journey by exploring the book in detail.
We have miles to go before we sleep…
Well, finalising the manuscript is only the first 35% of the story. What follows is a far more arduous journey: getting it produced, marketing and promoting it, and the like.
As Robert Frost says: “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep…”
Wodehouse’s fiction, though celebrated chiefly for its whimsical aristocrats and shambolic bachelors, also furnishes a surprisingly detailed anatomy of the Edwardian and inter-war publishing world. He uses owners, publishers, and editors not merely as comic foils, but also nudges us towards a broader meditation on responsibility, power, and vocation. Through a kaleidoscope of characters—from absentee proprietors who think of their periodicals only while pronging a kippered herring on their plate with a gloomy fork, to editors who sacrifice sleep, dignity, and occasionally their trousers—Wodehouse rehearses the perennial tensions between commerce, conscience, and creativity.
Three Types of Owners
Wodehouse distinguishes three archetypes. The “absentee capitalist,” embodied by Mr Benjamin Scobell in The Prince and Betty, treats a publication as an elegant bauble within a far wider portfolio. The “romantic acquirer,” who buys a journal under the influence of either Cupid or a literary crush and sheds it as soon as the passion cools. Finally, we have the “hands-on mogul,” typified by Lord Tilbury of the Mammoth Publishing Company, who prowls city streets incognito lest aspiring scribblers hurl unsolicited manuscripts through omnibus windows. Lord Tilbury’s hunger for “juicy memoirs” and his ruthless eye on circulation figures epitomise the hard-nosed side of media ownership, reminding readers that even genteel magazines are ultimately businesses subject to profit and loss.
Editors: The Lion Kings
However, the slender shoulders on which the burden of keeping the publishing activity alive and kicking falls invariably happen to be those of the editors. They are the eager beavers who keep a sharp eye on the circulation figures and decide the nature and form of the content that gets routinely unleashed upon hapless readers like us. They happen to be industrious little creatures who work hard and shrink from the public gaze. They are the lion kings of their publishing fiefdom and are the masters of all they survey. Bosses love them when circulation figures show an upward trend. Yet, they are hated by authors whose manuscripts they keep throwing into the nearest dustbin in their office. In Plum’s world, alluded to above as Plumsville, editorial life is equal parts chess match and boxing bout; success demands both strategic foresight and literary prowess.
No case illustrates editorial resilience better than Aunt Dahlia Travers and her chronically unprofitable women’s weekly, Milady’s Boudoir. She marshals fox‑hunting grit, occasional grand larceny (commandeering a painting for a scoop), and the incomparable cuisine of Anatole to keep the presses rolling. Her magazine’s survival hinges not only on high finance but on familial diplomacy—extracting cheques from her dyspeptic husband, Uncle Tom, trading serial rights to pay printers, and manipulating Bertie Wooster into sartorial columns. Thus, Plum applauds tenacity while exposing the precarious economics of niche publishing.
Conversely, Cosy Moments—the ostensibly saccharine “journal for the home”—demonstrates how editorial ethos can metamorphose a title’s fortunes (Psmith, Journalist). When the fatigued Mr Wilberfloss departs for a rest cure, deputy Billy Windsor, aided and abetted by the restless Psmith, transforms the paper into a crusading watchdog. Exposés on New York tenement squalor replace homely recipes. A “fighting editor” is recruited to deter mob intimidation. Circulation soars, advertising revenue floods in, and Cosy Moments becomes “red‑hot stuff.” We discover the perils of mission-driven journalism: bribery, kidnapping, and street‑corner brawls lurk behind every righteous paragraph. Plum thus warns that social crusades, however noble, exact a steep personal price.
Hiring and firing supply further comic ammunition. Lord Tilbury, ever allergic to falling readership, sacks Monty Bodkin from Tiny Tots for peppering copy with whisky bottles and betting jargon, then dismisses Jerry Finch of Society Spice for failing to match Percy Pilbeam’s flair for fashionable scandal (Frozen Assets).
By contrast, editors like Joseph Kyrke of The Mayfair Gazette and Alexander Tudway of the Piccadilly Weekly (“The Kind-Hearted Editor”) discover that excessive kindness breeds calamity. Kyrke inherits the wreckage of predecessors who indulged amateur contributors; Tudway, having “improved” the dreadful manuscripts of Aubrey Jerningham and clan, ends up enslaved to an entire family of mediocre wannabe authors after marrying one to soothe her tears. Through these narratives, Plum demonstrates how editorial milk of human kindness could become a long-term liability.
A recurrent motif is the pursuit of sensational memoirs. Lord Tilbury’s frantic chase for the Hon’ble Galahad Threepwood’s reminiscences (Heavy Weather) and Florence Craye’s demand that Bertie incinerate Uncle Willoughby’s scandal-laden Recollections of a Long Life (“Jeeves Takes Charge”) dramatise both the cash value and moral hazard of exposé literature. Editors and owners salivate over sales figures, yet risk libel suits, family ruptures, and even the gobbling up of a manuscript by the Empress of Blandings.
Legal jeopardy surfaces again when Kipper Herring’s blistering anonymous review of Reverend Upjohn’s prep‑school history in the Thursday Review provokes threatened litigation (Jeeves in the Offing). Jeeves’s diplomatic ingenuity averts the writ, but the incident underscores an editor’s obligation to balance candour with accuracy.
Advertising masquerading as editorial content offers another ethical minefield. In “Healthward Ho,” quack doctors flood multiple periodicals with letters questioning the modern diet while discreetly touting their Spartan cure. Overworked editors struggle to distinguish between covert marketing and genuine debate, revealing how commercial pressures can erode editorial independence. Here, Plum, decades ahead of today’s “native advertising,” warns against blurred boundaries that compromise reader trust.
Romantic entanglements complicate these professional dilemmas. Editors woo rejected contributors to soften disappointment (“The Kind‑Hearted Editor”), propose marriage to avoid publishing dire stories, or, like Egbert Mulliner, fall in love only to discover their muse has begun penning bestselling fiction that traps them in promotional drudgery (“Best Seller”, the Mulliner version). We get to realise that the heart and the column space can conflict irreconcilably.
Sudden success in love enables Sippy, the editor of Mayfair Gazette, to stand up to his old headmaster. (“The Inferiority Complex of Old Sippy”)
Plum also cautions lovers about the perils of taking the romantic tips dished out by such columns as Doctor Cupid at face value. If so, much chaos, heartache, and hilarity could ensue (“When Doctors Disagree”).
Humour Laced with Social Conscience
Behind the laughter runs a social conscience. While Plum rarely preaches, the transformation of Cosy Moments and the tenement crusade reveal a genuine sympathy for the urban poor. He demonstrates that a periodical can transcend mere entertainment to serve as an agent of civic improvement, provided its guardians possess courage, networking prowess (even with underworld figures), and an unwavering purpose. The narrative demonstrates that there is indeed a socialistic streak in Plum, rebutting claims that he wrote solely for and about the idle rich.
Plum makes us realise that media, like all institutions, depend on people who must reconcile personal values with systemic demands. His brilliance lies in revealing that reconciliation as an endlessly inventive dance—sometimes dignified, often chaotic, always instructive.
More to be pitied than censured?
Having considered some of the journalistic escapades of quite a few of Plum’s characters, one may safely conclude that they are more to be pitied than censured.
When it comes to those who keep the giant wheels of the publishing universe spinning, Plum paints a broad canvas of the kind of constraints they work under. Financial pressures. A rigorous scrutiny of the content they decide to publish. Hiring the right talent and firing the deadwood is an area of concern. Interpersonal and legal challenges must be faced with a chin-up attitude. Ethical issues need to be tackled with aplomb. Relationships with authors and other stakeholders deserve to be managed with empathy and firmness. Cosying up to celebrity authors. If a major social concern is to be addressed, networking with the underworld and strongmen becomes crucial for achieving success.
Plum’s light-hearted depictions of publishing contain a rich commentary on leadership, ethics, and resilience. Owners personify strategic intent, whereas editors incarnate operational reality. He demonstrates that humane stewardship—anchored in empathy, clarity, and principled resolve—can turn the perilous art of publishing into an enduring public good.
While capturing the nuances of professional hazards faced by doctors, lawyers, bank managers, dog-biscuit marketeers, rozzers, detectives, principals, politicians, movie magnates, actors, musicians, artists, painters, accountants, secretaries, valets, butlers, cooks, gardeners, pig-keepers, et al, Plum’s sharp eye does not miss much. Likewise, when it comes to describing a journalistic life, he does not disappoint.
P. G. Wodehouse was a prolific author. Thus, it comes as no surprise that many of his books and stories provide us with an insightful take on the lives of owners, publishers, and editors.
In the publishing world, owners are often perceived to be the hands-off kind of entities who have invested their surplus funds into a journal which is supposed to serve a loftier goal of either reforming its target audience or keeping it amused, entertained, and informed. Over time, any journal could become an insignificant part of their portfolio, and they might think of it only while pronging a kippered herring on their plate with a gloomy fork. One case of an absentee owner is that of Mr Benjamin Scobell in The Prince and Betty.
Occasionally, we find owners who have bought a publishing business based on either a transient passion for the written word or a nudge from Cupid. Once the interest nosedives or the romance has drifted off like a meditative ring of smoke, they take prompt steps through proper channels to hive off the business to someone else.
But P. G. Wodehouse also introduces us to many publishers and editors who take their professional commitments with due alacrity, diligence, and seriousness.
Think of Lord Tilbury, founder and proprietor of that vast factory of popular literature known as the Mammoth Publishing Company, who often gets noticed rushing off on a busy street in disguise, ostensibly to avoid any manuscripts being hurled at him by aspiring authors from the windows of a passing bus. He detests missing out on juicy memoirs which could boost the topline of his business empire. He does not like editors who end up losing him subscribers.
Or, consider the case of Mr John Hamilton Potter, founder, and proprietor of the well-known New York publishing house of J. H. Potter, Inc. Imagine the hapless owner gazing dreamily across the green lawns and gleaming flower beds at Skeldings Hall, duly basking in the pleasant June sunshine. God, it seems to Mr. Potter, is in his heaven and all is right with the world. But a publisher is never free. He is on vacation, but his office has sent across a manuscript – Ethics of Suicide – which he has to go through in otherwise heavenly surroundings and decide if it is worth publishing. (“Mr. Potter Takes a Rest Cure”)
It is also not too difficult for us to understand why Aunt Dahlia often keeps thinking up brainy schemes to retain the services of Anatole. His absence would inevitably mean a weakening of the lining of Uncle Tom’s stomach. In turn, this would dry up the funds for keeping Milady’s Boudoir afloat and running.
Editors: The backbone of publications
However, the slender shoulders on which the burden of keeping the publishing activity alive and kicking falls invariably happen to be those of the editors. They are the eager beavers who keep a sharp eye on the circulation figures and decide the nature and form of the content that gets routinely unleashed upon hapless readers like us. They happen to be industrious little creatures who work hard and shrink from the public gaze, except when they are called upon to socially hobnob with the powers that be, or to pick up an occasional award in journalistic excellence at a public forum. They exercise unparalleled authority over all matters. They are the lion kings of their publishing fiefdom and are the masters of all they survey. Bosses love them when circulation figures show an upward trend. Yet, they are hated by authors whose manuscripts they keep throwing into the nearest dustbin in their office.
But this does not imply that their jobs are without any challenges. Their conscience may or may not permit the publication of either an item or a book, but they routinely face pressure from all corners to go ahead with the same. Remaining objective and balancing conflicting needs in such matters makes them lose their daily quota of beauty sleep. Whether to grant a raise to someone critical to the operations often leads to dark circles under their eyes. Keeping a sharp eye on the top stories of the day, verifying their authenticity, and being fleet-footed when keeping a libel suit at bay takes its toll. Some of them even offer their hearts to unsuccessful female authors when unable to offer them any column space, regretting the decision for the rest of their lives. If they decide to take up a social cause, they need to marshal the support of gang lords and pugilists, who are then known as ‘fighting editors.’
The books and stories dished out by P G Wodehouse are replete with cases of hapless publishers and editors who face the harsh slings and arrows of fate. Even if we ignore the kind of roadblocks they face while pursuing their romantic goals, we are often left overwhelmed by the kind of challenges they face in the discharge of their duties while keeping the rag with which they happen to be associated alive and kicking.
The challenge of keeping Milady’s Boudoir afloat
Aunt Dahlia’s example could inspire many owners and editors to keep their rags alive and kicking, even if only for a few years.
Readers would recall that Milady’s Boudoir is a weekly newspaper for women, of which Aunt Dahlia is the proprietor. According to her, there is a short story in each issue, adding that “in seventy per cent of those short stories the hero won the heroine’s heart by saving her dog or her cat or whatever foul animal she happened to possess.”
According to Bertie, each issue costs sixpence. Its office is in “one of those rummy streets in the Covent Garden neighbourhood”.
Uncle Tom’s support
Milady’s Boudoir never sold well and only stayed in business because Tom Travers reluctantly paid the bills.
In Right Ho, Jeeves, Dahlia loses the money to pay her magazine’s printers at baccarat and has Bertie and Jeeves help her get more money from her husband. In Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit, she temporarily pawns her pearl necklace to buy a serial from Daphne Dolores Morehead to help sell the Milady’s Boudoir to the newspaper magnate Mr. Trotter.
A sharp eye for content
Aunt Dahlia surely uses the hunting experience gained in her younger days to spot content which would keep regaling her readers. It is common knowledge that during her youth, she had spent quite a few years with such fox-hunting packs as the Quorn and the Pytchley.
In “Jeeves Makes an Omelette“, a story that takes place before the sale of her magazine, she asks Bertie to steal a painting so she can get a story for its use.
Here are some of the better-known persons who have contributed towards making Milady’s Boudoir an interesting magazine:
Bertie Wooster contributed an article, titled “What the Well-Dressed Man Is Wearing”, and proudly mentions it in other stories. (“Clustering Round Young Bingo”)
Lady Bablockhythe contributed her “Frank Recollections of a Long Life” as a serial. (“Clustering Round Young Bingo”)
Pomona Grindle was commissioned to contribute a serial. (The Code of the Woosters)
Cornelia Fothergill contributed her latest romance novel as a serial. (“Jeeves Makes an Omelette”)
Daphne Dolores Morehead, the famous novelist, was commissioned to write a serial. (Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit)
Blair Eggleston wrote a series of articles on The Modern Girl. (“Jeeves and the Greasy Bird”)
When the husband’s digestive troubles score
Unfortunately, wifely concerns about Uncle Tom’s lining of the stomach end up depriving the magazine’s readers of devouring a juicy piece “How I Keep the Love of my Husband-Baby”, written by Rosie M. Banks. Bingo, of course, is much relieved but has to pay a heavy price by sacrificing the services of Anatole, God’s gift to our gastric juices. (“Clustering Round Young Bingo”).
Much to the credit of the homemaker in Mrs Bingo, she had identified and employed Anatole. However, she made a bloomer by inviting Uncle Tom and Aunt Dahlia over for dinner. A combination of consommé pâté d’Italie, paupiettes de sole à la princesse, and caneton Aylesbury à la brocheconsommé pate d’Italie, ends up reviving Uncle Tom like a watered flower.
Aunt Dahlia gets Jeeves to somehow persuade Anatole to join her. Jeeves manages to pull off this feat. A breach of cordial relations between the two ladies ensues. Mrs Little declines to contribute the ghastly article for Aunt Dahlia’s rag. Matrimonial peace prevails.
The fact that she managed to launch and keep Milady’s Boudoir afloat for many years despite her onerous social responsibilities deserves to be applauded. She has a significant role to play as a Governor of Market Snodsbury Grammar School. She must keep a strict vigil on Tuppy Glossop who loses interest in Angela, her daughter, on at least three occasions. Bertie has to be often persuaded to undertake such delicate assignments as sneering at a cow creamer, pinching a painting, and kidnapping a cat which is a favourite of Potato Chip, the racehorse. Sir Roderick Glossop, the loony doctor, is to be roped in as a butler at Brinkley Court to investigate the sanity of a man courting her goddaughter Phyllis Mills.
A keen eye for Family Memoirs
Who does not want to read some juicy details of the younger days of the high and mighty? When memoirs overflowing with scandalous stories about people one knows to be the essence of propriety today, but who seem to have behaved, when they were in their twenties, in a wild manner, editors of publications which thrive on society gossip make a beeline for the same. They are always eager to lap up such manuscripts and often go to great lengths to secure these.
In Heavy Weather, when the Hon. Galahad’s reminiscences are withdrawn from the market, Lord Tilbury is anxious to get hold of the manuscript. Lord Tilbury had looked at the thing from a different angle. He knows that there is big money in that type of literature. The circulation of his nasty little paper, Society Spice, proved that. It seemed to him that Galahad’s memoirs could not fail to be the succès de scandale of the year. He goes to great lengths to lay his hands on the manuscript but, as luck would have it, the Empress of Blandings ends up gobbling it, depriving the Mammoth Publishing Company of an opportunity to earn sackfuls of the green stuff.
In “Jeeves Takes Charge”, Bertie’s Uncle Willoughby has whipped up his memoirs which contain scandalous stories, many of which involve himself and Lord Worplesdon, the father of Lady Florence Craye, to whom Bertie is engaged at the time. Florence is appalled and expects Bertie to destroy the manuscript of ‘Recollections of a Long Life.’
Thanks to Jeeves’ ingenuity, the manuscript eventually lands at the offices of Messrs. Riggs & Ballinger, the publishers, who had earlier published Lady Carnaby’s “Memories of Eighty Interesting Years.”
While Mr. Riggs is delighted to confirm to Uncle Willoughby that he has received the manuscript, he is blissfully unaware of the consequences of his confirmation. Florence breaks her engagement to Bertie. Bertie sacks Jeeves. However, having slept over the matter, Bertie realises that he has been saved from a walk down the aisle with the lady who had kept egging him on to improve his intellect by reading ‘Types of Ethical Theory.’ Jeeves gets rehired.
Facing the pressure to hire someone
In Heavy Weather, Lady Julia Fish, a handsome middle-aged woman of the large blonde type, and of a personality both breezy and commanding, decides to pay a visit to Lord Tilbury. She hopes to secure a job for her son Ronnie Fish who is trying to marry a chorus girl. It seems to her that if Ronnie were safe at Tilbury House, inking his nose and getting bustled about by editors and people, it might take his mind off the tender passion. Lord Tilbury hastens to clarify that his company publishes newspapers, magazines, and weekly journals. It is not a Home for the Lovelorn. He refuses to permit Ronnie Fish to punch the clock at his company.
He is already seething within for having earlier accepted a recommendation to hire Monty Bodkin, who happens to be the assistant editor of Tiny Tots which is otherwise ably edited by that well-known writer of tales for the young, the Rev. Aubrey Sellick. Since the latter is off on a vacation, Monty is holding the fort. Perusing an editorial which speaks of mugs, betting, and whisky bottles, Lord Tilbury imagines the publication to have already lost close to ten thousand subscribers. Monty gets a prompt sack.
When an editor’s output lacks zip and ginger
Among the numerous publications which had their being in Tilbury House was that popular weekly, Society Spice, a paper devoted to the exploitation of the seedier side of British life and edited by one whom the proprietor of the Mammoth had long looked on as the brightest and most promising of his young men – Percy Pilbeam.
When it comes to ferreting out juicy gossip from amongst the high and mighty of the city’s society, Percy never had any scruples. Talk of ethics and values in journalism, and one is apt to draw a blank. His focus is on boosting circulation figures, something which is highly appreciated by Lord Tilbury. To him, Percy had set a gold standard in editorial conduct. Under his guidance, the publication had reached a high pitch of excellence, with a new scandal featured almost every week.
When Jerry wriggles his way into the offices of Society Spice, he finds it difficult to perform as brightly as his predecessor. He finds it to be a loathsome rag, full of glamour girls and scandal. He hates his assignment. Tilbury House never believed in paying its minor editors large salaries, and the dinginess of the room which is allotted to him merely testifies to the limitations of Jerry’s means. The cubbyhole’s ink-stained furniture, cheap carpeting, and stuffiness invariably lowered his spirits. In such dismal surroundings, designed to send an editor’s spirits down in the basement, it was not easy for Jerry to concentrate on uncongenial work.
His friend, Biff, who is soon likely to inherit a massive sum from a recently departed uncle across the pond, assures him that when he is rich, he will buy the intellectual Thursday Review and make Jerry its editor.
Since Jerry falls short in the way of dishing the dirt, his work lacks zip and ginger. Lord Tilbury fires him.
By the end of the narrative, it indeed looks possible that Biff would end up inheriting millions. The reader hopes that he makes good on his promise of buying Thursday Review, giving Jerry his dream job.
(Frozen Assets; Biffen’s Millions)
The art of soothing irate contributors
We do not know much about the kind of challenges that Mr. Matthew Wrenn faced in his editorial capacity. However, we do know that he is a brainy cove. After all, during his off-duty hours, he plays chess with one of his friends. Moreover, someone who could manage to work with a boss of Napoleonic dispensation – like Lord Tilbury – for a long duration and could rise to become the editor of that same Pyke’s Home Companion of which he had once been the mere representative, surely deserves our respect and admiration.
In actual years, Matthew Wrenn was on the right side of fifty, but as editors of papers like Pyke’s Home Companion are apt to do, he looked older than he really was. He was a man of mild and dreamy qualities and was respected by all who knew him.
Sam Shotter, recommended by his uncle, worms his way into Tilbury House and charms Lord Tilbury into attaching himself to Wrenn’s team. He is a great admirer of the stuff that Pyke’s Home Companion keeps unleashing upon its readers. It keeps spreading sweetness and light. It includes such serials as Hearts Aflame, by Cordelia Blair, and a regular feature by Aunt Ysobel which he takes off the hands of the editor who used to hate having to write it.
To many of the rag’s devout followers, Aunt Ysobel was indeed like a wise pilot, gently steering her fellow men and women through the shoals and sunken rocks of the ocean of life.
A weakness Mr. Wrenn has is his inability to face a woman novelist who is all upset. There are indeed times when he wishes that he could edit some paper like Tiny Tots or Our Feathered Chums, where the aggrieved contributors would not come charging in. Mr. Wrenn was much persecuted by female contributors who called with grievances at the offices of Pyke’s Home Companion; and of all these gifted creatures, Miss Cordelia Blair was the one he feared most. The role of soothing such contributors was soon taken over by Sam.
Eventually, one thing leads to another and Lord Tilbury, when found by Sam in a trouser-less situation, loses no time in sacking him.
(Sam the Sudden)
The perils of refusing a raise
Mr. Hebblethwaite, editor of Ladies’ Sphere, protects his privacy by employing door-hounds like George Mellon, who sits in the anteroom at the offices of the publication and keeps people from seeing the editor. He looks fierce but George plans to look him in the eye and ask him for a raise with all the fortitude at his command.
On a fateful day, he takes the plunge but gets rudely rejected. When he is sulking at his failure, Mrs. Hebblethwaite walks in. George does not allow her to enter the sanctum sanctorum without a prior appointment and she leaves in a huff. The very next day, he gets called in by the hassled editor for questioning. Goerge clarifies that he had refused her entry because he is sincere about not permitting anyone without an appointment to disturb him. The editor asks him why he wants a raise. He clarifies that he wishes to marry Rosie. The editor then scribbles something on a bit of paper, which happens to be a note to the cashier for quite a decent raise.
(“The Spring Suit”; Saturday Evening Post; Illustration courtesy Charles D Mitchell)
When the passion for football ends an editorial career
Between Henry’s House and the School House there had existed for some time a feud, the intensity of which fluctuated over time. Scott, of the School House, spots a void in the unofficial newspapers being dished out at St. Austin’s. For some terms, a publication entitled The Glow-Worm had been appearing. It simply aimed at being a readable version of the dull Austinian, the official organ of the school. It chronicled school events in a snappy way, but it never libelled anyone. Scotts’ brainchild, which he called The Rapier, never did anything else. Moreover, it was presented free, not sold. Secondly, it was many degrees more scandalous. Scott virtually dictated it to Pillingshot, the so-called editor.
Scott was someone who would get easily bored with a thing, especially if a counterattraction presented itself. In his case, he wished to excel at football. He was soon cornered by the incoming captain of the football team, suggesting that a short notice be put in the journal’s third edition, due the next day, announcing that owing to the pressure of his journalistic work, he would be unable to play for the first fifteen against Daleby. Immediately, Scott has second thoughts. He wonders if the sedentary style of a journalistic life would be in his line, football being much healthier.
Thus ended the short editorial career of Pillingshot.
(“Pillingshot’s Paper”: The Captain)
Keeping libel suits at bay
Before going to Brinkley Court, Bertie learns that Reginald (Kipper) Herring, the chap with a cauliflower ear, is on the staff of the Thursday Review, a weekly paper. He had recently been tasked with reviewing a slim book authored by Rev. Aubrey Upjohn, giving an enthusiastic buildup to the Preparatory School. This brought back such nausea-inducing memories as the receipt of six of the juiciest from a cane that used to bite like a serpent and sting like an adder, the sausages on Sunday, and the boiled mutton with caper sauce. Normally, a book like that would get a line and a half in the Other Recent Publications column, but Kipper, driven by righteous fury, gave it six hundred words of impassioned prose. Anonymously, of course.
Upjohn eventually becomes aware that Kipper wrote the scathing review. He intends to sue Kipper’s paper for libel. He also refuses to stay in the same house. It takes some ingenuity from Jeeves and Bobbie Wickham to get Upjohn to withdraw the idea of filing a libel suit, thereby eliminating the risk of Kipper losing his job.
(Jeeves in the Offing)
Watching out for latent advertising
Conscientious editors are often bombarded with self-promoting doctors who boast of making New Men for Old. In the letters to the editors of different publications, they claim to do wonders for those who are out of shape. These letters have creatively crafted headings such as
THE STRAIN OF MODERN LIFE
DO WE EAT TOO MUCH?
SHOULD THE CHAPERONE BE RESTORED?
A hapless overworked editor could hardly be blamed for not being able to spot that all of these letters to them, cleverly spread across different major publications, are authored by the same gentleman, offering health-restoration residential programs to the gullible denizens who wished to be in the pink of health.
Once they report to the establishment, they are first made to part with the green stuff in sackfuls, covering the entire program duration. They are then subjected to sessions of skipping ropes, performing unpleasantness-inducing bending, and stretching exercises, holding their hands above their heads, and swinging painfully from what one may loosely term their waists. Subsequently, invigorating cold baths and rubdowns are unleashed upon them. Spartan meals are served, comprising a lean mutton chop apiece, with green vegetables and dry toast, accompanied by water. A spot of port is ruled out, as is consumption of tobacco in any form.
(“Healthward Ho”; Money for Nothing)
Of Doctor Cupid and the Heart Specialist
One of the more interesting features editors offer to their readers is by way of a column which addresses personal issues of a romantic kind. Just like Aunt Ysobel (of Pyke’s Home Companion fame in Sam the Sudden) whose advice is taken very seriously by her assiduous followers, publications like the Fireside Chat and Home Moments also take up complicated personal matters which cannot be left to amateurs. They offer sagacious advice under such pseudonyms as Doctor Cupid or Heart Specialist. It is not difficult to guess that the burden of burning the midnight oil to answer readers’ queries addressed to such experts falls inevitably on the editorial staff.
But what happens when such doctors or specialists offer contradictory advice to their respective followers? Well, much chaos, heartache, and hilarity ensue.
Arthur Welch is a barber at the Hotel Belvoir. He is engaged to Maud Peters, who is a manicurist at the same hotel. While she takes care of her customers’ hands, Maud thinks, as part of her profession, that she must chat gaily with them. Arthur, who is extremely jealous, thinks otherwise. One day he no longer seems jealous, which at first makes Maud happy though she soon worries he no longer cares about her.
She decides to take advice from Doctor Cupid, who answers questions on Matters of the Heart in the weekly magazine Fireside Chat. Dr Cupid advises her to try to pique her fiancé. And this is what she does with a bold young American pugilist, known as “Skipper” Shute. But surprisingly, Arthur does not appear to mind, leaving Maud further disheartened.
One evening, Arthur and Mr Shute get into a shuffle in the city but get interrupted by a constable who asks the contestants to stop creating trouble on the street. While they move away, Maud confesses to Arthur that Dr Cupid had advised her that when jealousy flew out of the window indifference came in at the door and that she must exhibit pleasure in the society of other gentlemen and mark his demeanour.
Arthur then shows Maud a paper clipping, from the magazine Home Moments, where, in answer to his request, the Heart Specialist has written that Arthur should show no resentment to her fiancée, whenever he sees her flirting with other men!
The couple gets fully reconciled with each other.
(“When Doctors Disagree”; Success; Illustration courtesy W D Rahn)
A happy riddance!
Roland Bleke, who has recently earned good money in a theatrical venture, meets a pretty young girl crying in the park. Trying to comfort her, he learns that she has lost her job as editor of the Woman’s Page of Squibs magazine. His chivalry stirred, he thinks of buying the paper.
Visiting the offices, he meets the vibrant young chief editor, Mr. Aubrey Petheram, who is full of ideas for boosting the circulation of the paper. The infusion of capital by Roland into the business acts upon him like a powerful stimulant. Roland not only buys the paper but also restores the girl to her position, but he soon finds that she has a clear affection for her boss.
Frustrated by yet another problematic venture, Roland goes to Paris for a month. Returning to London, he finds the place overrun with bizarre advertising stunts for the paper. The police even arrest six persons for disturbing the peace by parading the Strand in the undress of Zulu warriors, shouting in unison the words “Wah! Wah! Wah! Buy ‘Squibs.’” Confronting the editor, he finds that the sales are up, thanks to the campaigns and a new scandal page, which shocks him.
When the editor is hospitalised, Roland asks the girl to prepare the rest of the paper, while he volunteers to write the scandal page himself. He writes a provocative piece about Mr Windelbird and the financier’s morals. A week later he is approached with an offer to buy the paper. Happy to be rid of it, he nevertheless names a high price, which he is surprised to find accepted without quibble. He learns that the buyer is none other than his old friend, Mr Geoffrey Windelbird.
(A Man of Means: The Episode of the Live Weekly; In collaboration with CH Bovill)
Encouraging a best-selling author
Egbert Mulliner disliked female novelists. The reason was not difficult to understand. In his capacity as an assistant editor, attached to the staff of The Weekly Booklover, a literary weekly, he had to listen to female novelists talking about Art and their Ideals every week. The strain had taken its toll. He had been advised to visit a quiet seaside village for a rest cure. What he needed was to augment the red corpuscles in his bloodstream.
While there, the supply of red corpuscles suddenly makes a quantum jump when he is strongly attracted to a female he meets at a picnic. He feels that without her, life would not be worth living. He thinks of proposing to her. But before proposing, he must make certain that there is no danger of her suddenly producing a manuscript fastened in the top left corner with pink silk and asking his candid opinion of the same. He is assured that is not the case, thereby sowing the seed of a relationship between the couple.
The very next day, whereas Egbert goes on to play golf, Evangeline Pembury starts writing a novel of her own. When she confides in him and starts reading it out to him, Egbert feels that he has plumbed the lowest depths of misery and anguish. Evangeline, he tells himself, has fallen from the pedestal on which he had set her. She has revealed herself as a secret novel writer. He is also appalled to find that quite a few of the real-life interactions between them have become a part of her offering. He does not think highly of her work, and a rift of sorts arises between them.
But her guardian angels happen to be in a benevolent mood. Thanks to the boredom induced by an overdose of sex, the discerning public suddenly discovers that it has had enough of it. Instead, what it yearns for now is good, sweet, wholesome, tender tales of the pure love of a man for a housekeeper. “Parted Ways” ends up becoming a best seller. Publishers started queuing up at the door, fighting to secure the rights to her next manuscript. Mainprice and Peabody soon come up with a contract which obliges her to dish out as many articles and stories as she can.
When a ‘Chat with Evangeline Pembury’ is needed for the big Christmas Special Number, it is of Egbert that his editor thinks first. But upon landing for the occasion, Egbert is surprised to find her in a highly depressed frame of mind. She greets him accompanied by a Niagara of tears. And, on the instant, Egbert Mulliner’s adamantine reserve collapses. He dives for the sofa. He clasps her hand. He strokes her hair. He squeezes her waist. He pats her shoulder. He massages her spine. Pretty soon, he has committed himself to about two thousand words of a nature calculated to send Mainprice and Peabody screaming with joy about their office.
Before he had become an assistant editor, he, too, had been an author, and he understands. “It is not being paid money in advance that jars the sensitive artist: it is having to work.”
He proposes to her, assuring her that, once married, he will endow all his worldly possessions upon her. These will include three novels he was never able to kid a publisher into printing, and at least twenty short stories no editor would accept.
“I give them to you freely. You can have the first of the novels tonight, and we will sit back and watch Mainprice and Peabody sell half a million copies.”
(“Best Seller”, the Mulliner version)
How a romantic success leads to editorial authority
Bertie Wooster thinks that when Sipperley used to be a freelancer, bunging in a story here and a set of verses there, he used to be a cheery cove, full of happy laughter. However, after six months as an editor at The Mayfair Gazette, he looks careworn and burnt out. Haggard. Drawn face. Circles under the eyes.
Standing up to an old headmaster
The Mayfair Gazette is supposed to be a paper devoted to the lighter interests of Society. However, Waterbury, the headmaster of Sippy’s old school, an important-looking bird with penetrating eyes, a Roman nose, and high cheekbones, is putting undue pressure on him to publish such of his scholarly articles as “Landmarks of Old Tuscany.” As to the latest one, which is about Elizabethan dramatists, he also wants Sippy to give it a prominent position in the rag.
He shares his dilemma with Bertie.
“You must be firm, Sippy; firm, old thing.”
“How can I, when the sight of him makes me feel like a piece of chewed blotting paper?”
However, on his next call, Waterbury faces a transformed man. Bubbling over with self-confidence. Radiating. Old Sippy refuses to publish his latest article. He reaches out and pats him in a paternal manner on the back. He suggests that Waterbury would do well to try having a dash at a light, breezy article on pet dogs.
“If you do not require my paper on the Elizabethan Dramatists, I shall no doubt be able to find another editor whose tastes are more in accord with my work.”
“The right spirit absolutely, Waterbury,” said Sippy cordially. “Never give in. Perseverance brings home the gravy. If you get an article accepted, send another article to that editor. If you get an article refused, send that article to another editor.”
“Thank you,” said the bloke Waterbury bitterly. “This expert advice should prove most useful.”
The headmaster leaves in a huff, banging the door behind him.
Developing a spine of chilled steel
Earlier, Sippy had confided in Bertie his unspoken love for Miss Gwendolen Moon. But, in her presence, he feels like a worm.
“She is so far above me.”
“Tall girl?”
“Spiritually. She is all soul. And what am I? Earthy.”
Bertie mentions the problem to Jeeves, who is always known for his sagacity. Bertie eventually discovers that he is also quite capable of strong-arm work. Unbeknown to him, Jeeves had called Sippy over to Bertie’s lair and struck a sharp blow on his head with one of Bertie’s golf clubs. A phone call to Miss Moon ensured that she came rushing to the aid of the stricken hero. The pair had become engaged. Sippy’s inferiority complex had evaporated.
(“The Inferiority Complex of Old Sippy”)
It does not always pay to be kind-hearted
When Joseph Kyrke, the newly appointed editor of the Mayfair Gazette decides to encourage budding talent and give young authors a start, he learns of the kind of trauma another editor had to face owing to an excessive supply of the milk of editorial kindness coursing through his veins.
Being a kind-hearted editor had not suited Alexander Tudway, the editor of the Piccadilly Weekly. Rather than rejecting the inane contributions from one Mr. Aubrey Jerningham, he went on to recast the same. He would not only cut out the first thousand words, but write in fifteen hundred of his own, put the end of the story in the middle and the middle at the end, alter the murder to a croquet party, make a character the hero instead of the villain, and send it to the printer. When the author expressed his disappointment at the payment received, an additional amount was promptly sent to him, duly accompanied by an apology. Pretty soon, contributions of dubious merit started pouring in from brothers, cousins, and other members of the Jerningham family. Piccadilly Weekly ceased to be an exclusive journal carrying scintillating pieces from authors of established merit. Instead, it became quite a family affair, a Jerningham family affair. At the end of Tudway’s first year as editor, no fewer than seven Jerninghams were contributing regularly, and the amount of extra work he had to put in was appalling. However, his proprietor congratulated him on discovering such a bevy of geniuses.
“Imitators of your work, Tudway. Their style is singularly like yours in parts. But they could have no better model, my dear Tudway, no better model!”
And Tudway would thank him with a ghastly grin.
The risk of offering one’s heart but no column space
On a fateful day, a visibly upset lady from the Jerningham clan calls upon him to discuss the rejection of the story “Gracie’s Hero.” She whips out a pocket handkerchief and bursts into a flood of tears. Tudway’s dilemma is now painful. He cannot print “Gracie’s Hero.” No amount of doctoring would make any impression on that masterpiece of inept writing. On the other hand, he does wish to soothe his visitor somehow. Then he remembers that an option available to a kind-hearted editor, confronted with a similar situation, is to offer his heart where he cannot give his columns. Must he follow editorial etiquette? He has no desire to marry. Indeed, the prospect appals him. No.
However, just as he decides to be firm, his visitor’s heels begin to drum upon the floor. He waits no longer. Two minutes later he becomes an engaged man, and soon afterwards a married one.
Tudway continues to be the editor of the Piccadilly Weekly. He supports by his own exertions the entire family of Jerninghams, who are most prolific contributors. His wife writes a story every month. The strain of making these efforts readable has made him haggard, prematurely old, and bent. And all because he let his determination to be kind to the Young Author get the better of his judgment.
(“The Kind-Hearted Editor”; The Throne and Country)
How to win celebrity authors and secure your job back
When a rejection leads to a green slip
Upon becoming the editor of Wee Tots, Bingo Little perfected the art of rejecting articles that came his way from a few chums of his.
However, the rejection of Bella Mae Jobson’s literary outpourings proved to be his nemesis. The American author had for some years past been holding American childhood spellbound with her tales of Willie Walrus, Charlie Chipmunk, and other fauna. Purkiss, the proprietor of Wee Tots, met her on the boat while returning from New York. He thought that hers was the circulation-building stuff well-suited for his journal, and he entered into tentative negotiations for her whole output, asking her on arriving in London to look in at the office and fix things up with his editor – viz., Bingo.
However, Bingo gave her his customary brush off when she called upon him. A subsequent meeting with Purkiss made him realise his folly. It dawned upon him that Jobson was not a run-of-the-mill author. She was someone who had to be sucked up to, given the old oil and made to feel that she was among friends and admirers. Purkiss lost no time in handing him the pink slip.
Cosying up to a celebrity author
But Bingo was made of sterner stuff. He uses his spare time to fuss over Jobson, showing her around, without, of course, declaring his true identity. He takes her to the London Zoo, the Tower of London, Madame Tussaud’s, five matinees, seven lunches and four dinners. He also gives her a bunch of white heather, several packets of cigarettes, eleven lots of roses and a signed photograph. A day before Jobson is to sail back across the pond, she decides to throw a party to which, besides Bingo, Mrs Bingo and Purkiss and his wife are also invited.
Meanwhile, Purkiss, in his enthusiasm to soften up the author, has taken her to the National Gallery, the British Museum, and a matinee at Sadler’s Wells. And then, seeing that she was weakening, he gifts her a Pekinese which is the apple of the eyes of his spouse. This has created a domestic crisis, and he is keen on Bingo helping him to somehow stop his wife from attending the luncheon, where she is sure to recognise the dog and proceed to make enquiries which would stir the stoutest soul. Bingo, having already heard from his wife that she was cancelling her luncheon with Jobson to console Mrs Purkiss at the sudden loss of her favourite canine, gracefully accepts the task of ensuring matrimonial peace in the Purkiss household. Prompt negotiations follow between the proprietor and the editor, whereby the latter gets his job back, at double the salary.
(“The Editor Regrets”)
How the character of Cosy Moments gets changed
When the overworked and burnt-out Mr. J. Fillken Wilberfloss, editor-in-chief of Cosy Moments magazine, is forced to go away to the mountains for ten weeks of rest, leaving his subordinate Billy Windsor in charge, little does he know how the magazine’s character will undergo a major change in his absence.
Cosy Moments is a journal for the home. It is the sort of paper which the father is expected to take home from his office and read aloud to the kids at bedtime. Psmith and Mike happen to be across the pond. While Mike is busy with his cricket tournaments, Psmith is finding life a bit dull. He volunteers to act as an unpaid subeditor and ends up suggesting a different strategy. He outlines his vision for the magazine thus:
“Cosy Moments should become red-hot stuff. I could wish its tone to be such that the public will wonder why we do not print it on asbestos. We must chronicle all the live events of the day, murders, fires, and the like in a manner which will make our readers’ spines thrill. Above all, we must be the guardians of the People’s rights. We must be a search-light, showing up the dark spot in the souls of those who would endeavour in any way to do the PEOPLE in the eye. We must detect the wrong-doer, and deliver him such a series of resentful buffs that he will abandon his little games and become a model citizen.”
This is how Psmith goes about rebuilding the paper and making it more exciting for its readers.
Sacking all the existing contributors.
Befriending Bat Jarvis, a local gang leader by restoring to him his favourite cat which had gone astray.
Visiting “Pleasant Street”, a slum neighbourhood. Upset by the poverty and the living conditions, Psmith resolves to dedicate the energies of Cosy Moments to the issue. In this tenement business, he had touched the realities. He felt that here was something worth fighting for. His lot had been cast in pleasant places, and the sight of actual raw misery had come home to him with an added force from that circumstance. He was fully aware of the risks that he must run. It was a fight without the gloves, and to a finish at that. But he meant to see it through. Somehow or other those tenement houses had got to be cleaned up. If it meant trouble, as it undoubtedly did, that trouble would have to be faced.
Earning the gratitude of Kid Brady, who has been complaining to Windsor that he cannot get a fair chance in the crooked world of New York boxing; they resolve to use the magazine to boost his career. He has his first big fight and wins handsomely. After the fight, the Cosy Moments team hires Brady as “fighting editor”, to protect them. This helps them as and when they get dragged into unsavoury street fights.
Thanks to a series of articles on the conditions in “Pleasant Street,” a large new readership springs up and keeps growing every week. Advertisements come trooping in. Cosy Moments, in short, experiences an era of prosperity undreamed of in its history.
Highlighting the issues faced by tenement dwellers also draws the attention of an unsavoury kind. Bribes get offered and promptly refused. Death threats loom large.
Finding the paper’s distribution hit by thugs, Psmith realises they must up their game. He plans to use the tenement’s rent collector to track the owner.
After another skirmish gets successfully tackled, Windsor gets the rent collector to divulge a name, that of Stewart Waring, a candidate for city Alderman and former Commissioner of Buildings.
Kid Brady goes off for a round of fights, while Windsor gets picked up by the police. Psmith gets kidnapped in broad daylight but, thanks to Kid Brady, manages to escape.
Bat Jarvis and his henchman Long Otto are persuaded to stand guard at the Cosy Moments office the following day. Some gang members burst in but are chased off with a warning from Jarvis to leave the magazine alone.
Wilberfloss returns with the old contributors, enraged at the changes in the paper; he threatens to contact the owner, but Psmith reveals that he owns the paper, having bought it a month previously. Mr. Wilberfloss is deeply disturbed. Editorships of the kind which he aspired to are not easy to get. If he were to be removed from Cosy Moments, he would find it hard to place himself anywhere else. “Editors, like manuscripts, are rejected from want of space.”
Waring appears. He walks into the room with the air of one who would never apologise for existing. There are some men who seem to fill any room in which they may be. Mr. Waring was one of these. He threatens Psmith but is forced to give him $5,000 to improve the tenements, plus three to replace his hat which had got damaged in one of the untoward instances.
Psmith restores Wilberfloss and the staff of Cosy Moments to their positions, Billy Windsor having been offered his previous job at another paper at a fine salary.
A few months later, back in rainy Cambridge, Psmith hears that Waring lost his election. Still, he has one consolation. He owns what, when the improvements are completed, will be the finest and most commodious tenement houses in New York. Also, Kid Brady has won his chance at a title fight, while Mr Wilberfloss has regained the paper’s old subscribers.
To bring about the desired transformation, Psmith stands up to external pressure. He does not allow the magazine to get muzzled. Such are the perils of journalistic life.
(Note: There are quite a few differences between Psmith, Journalist and The Prince and Betty. However, both have a similar storyline, leading us to similar lessons from a journalistic life. Thus, the latter has not been covered here.)
A socialistic streak
Plum is often said to concentrate more on the aristocracy and the eccentricities of the upper echelons of British society. However, to be fair to him, he is an author who is concerned not only about the classes but also about the masses. If Something Fresh takes a detailed look at life below the stairs, Psmith, Journalist also reveals a socialistic streak by dwelling at length on the plight of those who live in Big Apple’s slums, and the courage shown by Psmith to serve them in some way.
More to be pitied than censured?
Having had a cursory look at the journalistic escapades of quite a few of Plum’s characters who have an abiding passion for the written word, one may safely conclude that they are more to be pitied than censured.
To sum up some of the challenges they face:
Being always on the lookout for revenue-yielding memoirs, juicy gossip, and current affairs of interest to the general public.
Correcting a manuscript while maintaining the sanctity of the voice of the author. Being kind-hearted has its own perils.
Having to face pressure from seniors in the hierarchy and from those who happen to be the pushy/dominating kind. Developing spines made of chilled steel helps.
At times, facing the guilt of having rejected a manuscript which eventually goes on to be a roaring success at the hands of another publisher.
The stress of having to interact with authors whose manuscripts have been found to have little merit.
Hiring those who come armed with references; firing those who end up losing subscribers.
When it comes to those who keep the giant wheels of the publishing universe spinning, Plum paints a wide canvas of the kind of constraints they work under. They face financial pressures. Keeping readers in a positive frame of mind implies a strict scrutiny of the content they decide to publish. Hiring the right talent and firing the deadwood is an area of concern. Interpersonal and legal challenges must be faced with a chin-up attitude. Ethical issues need to be tackled with aplomb. Relationships with authors and other stakeholders deserve to be managed with empathy and firmness. If a major concern of a social nature is to be taken up, networking with the underworld and strongmen becomes crucial for attaining success.
While capturing the nuances of professional hazards faced by doctors, lawyers, bank managers, dog-biscuit marketeers, detectives, rozzers, principals, politicians, movie magnates, actors, musicians, artists, painters, accountants, secretaries, valets, butlers, cooks, gardeners, pig-keepers, et al, Plum’s sharp eye does not miss much. Likewise, when it comes to describing a journalistic life, he does not disappoint.
Other than its trademark dish – fondue – which are a few other things that describe the unique landlocked country in Europe known as Switzerland?
The first words which obviously pop up in our minds are cheese, chocolate, banking, cuckoo-clocks, watches, lakes, and snow-topped mountains which often look like giant chocolate-pistachios ice cream cones covered with a drool-worthy vanilla topping.
Many of these attributes of this beautiful country have often figured in the stories and 100-odd books which Wodehouse, fondly referred to as Plum, wrote during his highly creative life.
All inputs were invariably grist to the humour-producing mill of P. G. Wodehouse. He had this unique talent for turning and twisting even the most inconsequential of things into something which would leave his readers chuckling, guffawing, rollicking, laughing, and falling from their couches. All his works are like beehives dripping with honey; these possess the unique property of making one look at the sunnier side of life. His sole aim was always to amuse, entertain, educate, and uplift his readers. Give him an enchanting country like Switzerland and he delivers utmost satisfaction.
Here, we look at some of the ways this beautiful country dotted with lakes, mountains and greenery has been depicted by him in several of his narratives. All these references go on to make a delectable fondue.
His Visits
For someone as knowledgeable as Plum, visiting a country appears to have had no relation to the number of times he refers to that country in his works. By way of example, around a year ago, yours truly endeavoured to compile Wodehouse’s references to India. Surprisingly, several popped up, even though he had never visited India. Of course, since he was born in UK and had then settled in the USA, these two countries get covered the most, closely followed by France.
Switzerland has also been fortunate to attract his humorous gaze occasionally. Plum is likely to have visited Switzerland several times. Letters exchanged between two friends of his reveal that at least in 1923 and 1936, he had stayed at the Carlton Hotel at St. Moritz.
William Tell Told Again
As early as 1904, he wrote the story of this legendary character from the country. It comprises prose and verse with illustrations. The main prose element was written by Plum, while Philip Dadd supplied the frontispiece and 15 full-page illustrations, all in colour. The 15 illustrations were each accompanied by a verse written by John W. Houghton, who also wrote the prologue and epilogue in verse.
The book was dedicated “to Biddy O’Sullivan for a Christmas present”, who was much later identified as the young daughter of Denis O’Sullivan (1869–1908), an actor and singer who was a friend of Wodehouse in the early 1900s.
The title of the book comes from its prologue, which is told in verse by John W. Houghton:
Switzerland is famous for its hospitality as well as for its grooming of staff in the best traditions of the trade. Swiss waiters get frequently mentioned in Plum’s works. To those of us who have travelled to Switzerland in modern times and have been impressed by the quality of service in Swiss hotels, Wodehouse’s disparaging references to Swiss waiters are difficult to understand, unless Switzerland made a point of exporting their less-competent staff to work in other countries. A more likely explanation could perhaps be the desire of hotels in other countries to use the services of Swiss waiters at the lowest rung of proficiency, thereby saving on costs.
Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge is a charismatic opportunist who will do anything to increase his capital—except, of course, work. The stories in which he appears generally involve his get-rich-quick schemes. In Ukridge and the Home from Home, he has been left in charge of his Aunt Julia’s house and comes up with the ingenious idea of renting out rooms to an exclusive clientele of boarders while she was away.
Owners of large private houses find it’s too much of a sweat to keep them up, so they hire a couple of Swiss waiters with colds in their heads and advertise in the papers that here is the ideal home for the City man.
In Farewell to Legs, we meet Evangeline Brackett whose betrothal to Angus McTavish is built, in large part, on the way she bites her lip and rolls her eyes when she tops her drive, says the Oldest Member. But when Legs Mortimer takes up residence in the Clubhouse, Evangeline’s mind wanders from her golf, and Angus worries that she is losing her form for the Ladies’ Medal. Legs is a practical joker and life of the party who tries to steal Evangeline away from Angus. But the scales fall from Evangeline’s eyes when Legs does the unthinkable on the links.
In the story, at one point, Evangeline speaks of Legs Mortimer thus:
I met him when I was over in Switzerland last winter and saysthat Legs yodelled to the waiters because they were Swiss.
In Doctor Sally, we find yet another mention of Swiss waiters.
On the Front—or Esplanade—of Bingley-on-Sea stands the Hotel Superba; and at twenty minutes past four the thin mist which had been hanging over the resort since lunch time disappeared and there filtered through the windows of suite number seven on the second floor that curious faint gamboge light which passes for sunshine in England. Its mild rays shone deprecatingly on one of those many coloured carpets peculiar to suites at south coast hotels, on the engraving of “The Stag at Bay” over the mantelpiece, on the table set for tea, and on Marie, maid to Mrs. Higginbotham, who had just deposited on the table a plate of sandwiches.
In addition to the sunshine, there entered also the strains of a dance band, presumably from the winter garden below, where Swiss waiters prowled among potted palms and such of the Superba’s guests as wished to do so were encouraged to dance.
In The Girl on the Boat (Three Men and a Maid), the maid of the title is a red-haired, dog-loving Wilhelmina “Billie” Bennett, and the three men are Bream Mortimer, a long-time and long-suffering suitor of Billie; Eustace Hignett, a shy poet who is cowed by his domineering mother but secretly engaged to Billie at the opening of the tale, and Sam Marlowe, Eustace’s dashing cousin, who falls in love with Billie “at first sight”.
The four of them find themselves together on a White Star ocean-liner called the Atlantic, sailing for England. Also on board is a capable young woman, Jane Hubbard, who is in love with Eustace. Wodehousean funny stuff ensues, with happy endings for all except Bream Mortimer.
In Chapter 8, Swiss waiters come up for a mention.
The Swiss waiters at the Hotel Magnificent, where Sam was stopping, are in a class of bungling incompetence by themselves, the envy and despair of all the other Swiss waiters at all the other Hotels Magnificent along the coast.
Swiss Cheese
Switzerland produces over 475 varieties of cheese, a milk-based food produced in a large range of flavours, textures, and forms. Cow milk is used in about 99 percent of the cheeses Switzerland produces. The remaining share is made up of sheep milk and goat milk. It stands to reason that Swiss cheese occupies a place of pride in many of narratives dished out by Plum. However, he focuses more on cheese holes, whether he is referring to vicious dog bites or to weak evidence in a legal matter, or even to the inner structure of a gun.
A Very Shy Gentleman (The Mixer) is an autobiography of a member of the canine species. At one point, the protagonist describes itself thus:
I am jet black, with a white chest. I once overheard Fred say that I was a Swiss-cheese-hound, and I have generally found Fred reliable in his statements.
In Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves, Bertie Wooster is a guest at Totleigh Towers, the castle belonging to Sir Watkyn Bassett. When he sees Major Brabazon-Plank, a detractor of his, visiting the place, he is unable to avoid meeting him by escaping from a window since he fears that the dog Bartholomew may take him to be a burglar. After all, he biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder.
My first thought was to wait till he (Plank) had got through the front door and then nip out of the window, which was conveniently open. That, I felt, was what Napoleon would have done. And I was just about to get the show on the road, as Stiffy would have said, when I saw the dog Bartholomew coming sauntering along, and I knew that I would be compelled to revise my strategy from the bottom up. You can’t go climbing out of windows under the eyes of an Aberdeen terrier so prone as Bartholomew was always to think the worst. In due season, no doubt, he would learn that what he had taken for a burglar escaping with the swag had been in reality a harmless guest of the house and would be all apologies, but by that time my lower slopes would be as full of holes as a Swiss cheese.
In A Pelican at Blandings, Gally hears from Linda Gilpin that her engagement to Halliday is no more, and Halliday himself visits, to explain the incident (a grilling he was obliged to give Linda as a witness in a court case he was defending) which led to their split. He is keen to meet Linda in person, but Gally sends him home, promising to do his best on his behalf.
G. G. Clutterbuck is a chartered accountant for whom John Halliday was appearing in the action of Clutterbuck versus Frisby. And Frisby is the retired meat salesman whose car collided with Clutterbuck’s in the Fulham Road, shaking Clutterbuck up and possibly causing internal injuries. The defence, of course, pleaded that Clutterbuck had run into Frisby, and everything turned on the evidence of a Miss Linda Gilpin, who happened to be passing at the time and was an eyewitness of the collision.
It was my duty to examine her and make it plain to the jury that she was cockeyed and her testimony as full of holes as a Swiss cheese.
In Do Butlers Burgle Banks, Horace Appleby, who lives in London suburb Valley Fields, looks and acts like a butler. This makes it easier for him to locate jewels for his burglar gang as a butler. Charlie is an American safe blower who loves carrying a gun on his person, whereas Horace detests guns. Charlie locates Horace and wants to scoop up all the money lying on a table. Horace is a man of peace. His speciality is brainwork, and he is painfully aware that, in the encounter that then threatened to develop, brainwork would not serve him.
The thought that somewhere in the recesses of Charlie’s neat custom-made suit there lay concealed the gun which had started all the unpleasantness would have been enough to disconcert a far braver man, for it was a gun, Horace suspected, as liberally pitted with notches as a Swiss cheese, and one more, he feared, to be added almost immediately.
Migration to learn English
Out of School (The Main Upstairs) introduces us to James Datchett who happens to be an assistant master at Mr. Blatherwick’s private school, Harrow House, a well-reputed boarding school for the younger generation. He is also a poet. In his Oxford days he had contributed to the Isis; and for some months past now he had been endeavouring to do the same to the papers of the Metropolis, without success, until a day when he opens a letter he had received at breakfast from the editor of a monthly magazine, accepting a short story. Elated, he goes out for some fresh air and the first person he runs into is Violet.
Violet is a housemaid who works at the residence of Mr. Blatherwick.
It is not a part of James’ duties as assistant master at Harrow House to wander about kissing housemaids, even in a brotherly manner. But in a state of joy, he does precisely that.
James thought the incident was closed. But Violet did not. Retribution came James’ way. The weapon she chose was Adolf, the servant of the house.
He was one of that numerous bands of Swiss and German youths who come to this country (the UK) prepared to give their services ridiculously cheap in exchange for the opportunity of learning the English language.
Adolf starts blackmailing James, earning some money, and even taking English lessons from him. But Fate often has this tendency to contrive to make amends after doing us a bad turn. The story eventually ends on a positive note.
Swiss Navy Admirals
In Heavy Weather, Lady Julia Fish, a handsome middle-aged woman of the large blonde type, and of a personality both breezy and commanding, decides to pay a visit to Lord Tilbury, the founder and proprietor of that vast factory of popular literature known as the Mammoth Publishing Company. She hopes to secure a job for her son Ronnie Fish who is trying to marry a chorus-girl. It seems to her that if Ronnie were safe at Tilbury House, inking his nose and getting bustled about by editors and people, it might take his mind off the tender passion.
Offices of all kinds specialize in keeping unwelcome intruders, wannabe authors and imposters out of their premises. Top honchos build impenetrable walls around themselves. Mammoth Publishing Company is no exception. Tall gentlemen with quasi-military uniforms and forbidding stiff-upper-lips welcome one at its doors. Liveried boys make you fill up all kinds of forms and visitors’ slips.
This is how Lady Julia opens the conversation with Lord Tilbury:
“So this is where you get out all those jolly little papers of yours, is it? I must say I’m impressed. Quite awe-inspiring, all that ritual on the threshold. Admirals in the Swiss Navy making you fill up forms with your name and business, and small boys in buttons eyeing you as if anything you said might be used in evidence against you.”
Admiral of the Swiss navy is understood to be a US Armed Forces slang for a self-important person.
Merry Swiss Peasants
Narrative of The Prince and Betty takes us to the tiny island of Mervo where millionaire Benjamin Scobell gets the hero to build a casino that will rival Monte Carlo. We are told of the unique way the interiors of the Mervo Casino had been designed, with various cubicles representing different countries.
Although the UK and US versions of the aforesaid narrative have substantially different texts, the quotation below appears in each edition.
Imposing as was the exterior, it was on the interior that Mr. Scobell more particularly prided himself, and not without reason. Certainly, a man with money to lose could lose it here under the most charming conditions. It had been Mr. Scobell’s object to avoid the cheerless grandeur of the rival institution down the coast. Instead of one large hall sprinkled with tables, each table had a room to itself, separated from its neighbour by sound-proof folding-doors. And as the building progressed, Mr. Scobell’s active mind had soared above the original idea of domestic coziness to far greater heights of ingenuity. Each of the rooms was furnished and arranged in a different style. The note of individuality extended even to the croupiers. Thus, a man with money at his command could wander from the Dutch room, where, in the picturesque surroundings of a Dutch kitchen, croupiers in the costume of Holland ministered to his needs, to the Japanese room, where his coin would be raked in by quite passable imitations of the Samurai. If he had any left at this point, he was free to dispose of it under the auspices of near-Hindoos in the Indian room, of merry Swiss peasants in the Swiss room, or in other appropriately furnished apartments of red-shirted, Bret Harte miners, fur-clad Esquimaux, or languorous Spaniards. He could then, if a man of spirit, who did not know when he was beaten, collect the family jewels, and proceed down the main hall, accompanied by the strains of an excellent band, to the office of a gentlemanly pawnbroker, who spoke seven languages like a native and was prepared to advance money on reasonable security in all of them.
Of Swiss Vice-Presidents
In The Rise of Minna Nordstrom(Blandings Castle) we come across Jacob Z. Schnellenhamer, the popular president of the Perfecto-Zizzbaum Corporation. Like all good men, he loves his well-stocked cellar at home and is stunned to find that it is empty. So, there will not be anything to drink at the party he is hosting that very night for a hundred and eleven guests including not only a British Duke but also the Vice-President of Switzerland.
Open House introduces us to Eustace Mulliner whose godfather, Lord Knubble of Knopp, tries to persuade him to join the British Embassy in Switzerland. Eustace stoutly refuses to avail himself of the offer. He wants to stay in London. He is the favourite nephew of his wealthy and elderly Aunt Georgiana, Lady Beazley-Beazley, and wants to continue earning her affection to stay in her will. Eustace also wants to continue courting Marcella Tyrrwhit.
However, things turn out differently when he is caught throwing cucumber sandwiches at Francis, a feline creature which is a favourite of his Aunt Georgiana. At the time, two more characters pop up, taking a jaundiced view of the proceedings. One of these is Marcella, who is upset about Eustace having gifted her favourite dog to another lady friend of his.
His obduracy evaporates. He decides that Switzerland is a safer country to be in. He does exceedingly well in his job at the British Embassy in Berne, and is awarded the Order of the Crimson Edelweiss, Third Class, with crossed cuckoo-clocks, carrying with it the right to yodel in the presence of the Vice-President.
Of Wars and Treaties
In The Luck of the Bodkins, Albert Peasemarch, the well-intentioned but goofy steward onboard the New York bound ship RMS Atlantic, says:
“What caused the war? That bloke in Switzerland shooting the German Emperor.”
The incident usually considered to have been the immediate cause of the First World War was the assassination of the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand, the heir to the Austrian Emperor, at Sarajevo in Bosnia, by the Serbian nationalist Gavrilo Princip (28 June 1914). Peasemarch surely has his facts delightfully mixed up.
The last time the Swiss fought a military battle was 500 years ago, against the French. (The Swiss lost.) Two hundred years ago, Switzerland was acknowledged as a neutral state in the Treaty of Paris. Since 1815, the country has become globally famous for its neutrality.
However, in a comically fictional account titled The Swoop!, Wodehouse treats us to a scenario wherein England has been invaded by as many as nine armies at the same time.
The invaders are the Russians under Grand Duke Vodkakoff, the Germans under Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig – the reigning British monarch of the day was Edward VII of the House of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha — the Swiss Navy, the Monegasques, a band of Moroccan brigands under Raisuli, the Young Turks, the Mad Mullah from Somaliland, the Chinese under Prince Ping Pong Pang, and the Bollygollans in war canoes.
Simultaneously the Mad Mullah had captured Portsmouth; while the Swiss navy had bombarded Lyme Regis, and landed troops immediately to westward of the bathing-machines.
Raisuli, apologising for delay on the ground that he had been away in the Isle of Dogs cracking a crib, wrote suggesting that the Germans and Moroccans should combine with a view to playing the Confidence Trick on the Swiss general, who seemed a simple sort of chap.
Half-way through the Swiss general missed his diamond solitaire, and cold glances were cast at Raisuli, who sat on his immediate left.
The combined forces of the Germans, Russians, Swiss, and Monacoans were overwhelming, especially as the Chinese had not recovered from their wanderings in Wales and were far too footsore still to think of serious fighting.
The European parties form an alliance and expel the other invaders. The Swiss soon leave, to be home in time for the winter hotel season, and when Prince Otto and Grand Duke Vodkakoff are offered music hall engagements and the leader of the army of Monaco is not, he takes offence and withdraws his troops.
The two remaining armies are overcome thanks to the stratagems of the indomitable Clarence Chugwater, leader of the Boy Scouts. By causing each commander to become jealous of the other’s music hall fees, he succeeds in breaking up the alliance and, in the ensuing chaos, Clarence and his Boy Scouts are able to overcome the invaders.
In Ukridge’s Dog College, Ukridge comes up with a scheme to train dogs for the music hall stage. He thinks he will groom performing dogs. He believes there is pots of money in it. He plans to start in a modest way with six Pekingese. When he has taught them a few tricks, he will sell them to a fellow in the profession for a large sum and buy twelve more. He will then train those and then sell them for a large sum, and with that money buy twenty-four more.
However, the scheme fails when an irate landlord of Ukridge’s pinches the dogs in lieu of unpaid rent. The narrator then comes up with the idea of approaching George Tupper who works at the Foreign Office. He is the sort of man who is always starting subscription lists and getting up memorials and presentations.
He listens to the Ukridge story with the serious, official air which these Foreign Office fellows put on when they are deciding whether to declare war on Switzerland or send a firm note to San Marino, and was reaching for his chequebook before I had been speaking two minutes.
A Bit of Luck for Mabel has Ukridge again touching George Tupper for a fiver. However, this time around, he is not in a positive frame of mind.
“It’s very bad for you, all this messing about on borrowed money. It’s not that I grudge it to you,” said Tuppy; and I knew, when I heard him talk in that pompous, Foreign Official way, that something had gone wrong that day in the country’s service. Probably the draft treaty with Switzerland had been pinched by a foreign adventuress. That sort of thing is happening all the time in the Foreign Office. Mysterious veiled women blow in on old Tuppy and engage him in conversation, and when he turns round he finds the long blue envelope with the important papers in it gone.
When Insulin Puts One on a Pedestal
Hierarchy rules even amongst those who are indisposed. A Covid patient takes a dim view of someone having a common cold. A cancer patient believes he is superior to someone suffering from a mere bout of gout. Someone dependent on an imported medicine treats another one gobbling up a local medicine with mute contempt.
Romance at Droitgate Spa (Eggs, Beans and Crumpets) speaks of the high status of those amongst the patients of the spa who have been out in Switzerland taking insulin for their diabetes. Sure enough, in the medical/social rank within the spa, they rank higher.
Skiing, Glaciers and Golf
In Jeeves in the Offing, we meet an old friend of Bertie Wooster’s – Reginald “Kipper” Herring. While at Brinkley Court, the lair of Aunt Dahlia, they meet Phyllis Mills who is goddaughter of Aunt Dahlia and stepdaughter of Rev. Aubrey Upjohn, who was once Bertie and Kipper’s oppressive headmaster.
At one point in the story, Kipper says to Bertie about Phyllis Mills:
“We met out in Switzerland last Christmas.”
Later, Phyllis tells Bertie:
“We were in the same hotel in Switzerland last Christmas. I taught him to ski.”
In The Letter of the Law, this is how the golfing skills of Wadsworth Hemmingway’s get described:
When eventually he began his back swing, it was with a slowness which reminded those who had travelled in Switzerland of moving glaciers.
Later, another character by the name of Legs shins up a tree with an adroitness born, no doubt, of his Swiss mountaineering.
In Right Ho, Jeeves, a hapless Bertie Wooster is sent off by Jeeves on a midnight bicycle ride, to fetch a house key which was, in any case, readily available.
While cycling through a jungle without a lamp, Bertie faces many perils. Part of his experience gets recounted thus:
I recalled the statement of a pal of mine that in certain sections of the rural districts goats were accustomed to stray across the road to the extent of their chains, thereby forming about as sound a booby trap as one could well wish.
He mentioned, I remember, the case of a friend of his whose machine got entangled with a goat chain and who was dragged seven miles—like skijoring in Switzerland—so that he was never the same man again. And there was one chap who ran into an elephant, left over from a travelling circus.
But all is well that ends well. Bertie’s absence of a few hours sets many things right. All the other characters unanimously hate Bertie for having rung the fire alarm bell in the middle of the night, and this leads to mutual reconciliation on all the fronts. Angela and Tuppy get reconciled, Gussie and Madeline become engaged again, the French cook Anatole withdraws his resignation, and Uncle Tom writes Aunt Dahlia a cheque for 500 pounds.
Hot Water introduces us to American millionaire Patrick “Packy” Franklyn. This is how he gets described when he is at a Festival with a roll in his hand:
He seemed undecided whether to throw it at the leader of the orchestra or at an obese, middle-aged Gaul with a long spade-shaped beard who, though his best friends should have advised him against it, had come to the Festival dressed as a Swiss mountaineer.
In Jeeves and the Greasy Bird, while rehearsing for a scene which involves a passionate embrace between himself and a young lady, Bertie describes his experience thus:
She made it good, and I felt like a Swiss mountaineer engulfed by an avalanche smelling of patchouli.
Bellringers and Echoes in the Mountains
In Barmy in Wonderland, Cyril “Barmy” Fotheringay-Phipps ends up investing in a play titled Sacrifice. The play opens in the try-out town of Syracuse and proves to be a disaster of sorts. Fanny, the wife of one of the producers and a World-Famous Juggler recommends a troupe of Swiss bellringers to cover a dead spot in a show.
Uncle Dynamite touches upon the difficulty one faces in carrying out a conversation with a stiff-upper-lip rozzer.
“Ho!” he cried, startled.
“Ho!” said Constable Potter, like an echo in the Swiss mountains.
In Ukridge Starts a Bank Account, we find a dialogue between Aunt Julia and her nephew Ukridge.
“Do you mind if I take two or three books of yours about antique furniture? I’ll return them shortly.”
She sneezed sceptically.
“Or pawn them,” she said. “Since when have you been interested in antique furniture?”
“I’m selling it.”
“You’re selling it?” she exclaimed like an echo in the Swiss mountains.
Likewise, there is a mention of echoes in Swiss mountains in many other narratives of Wodehouse.
Company for Henry
“If it occurred to Clarkson that his overlord was modelling his conversational style a little too closely on that of an echo in the Swiss mountains, he did not say so.”
Jeeves in the Offing
“Make up your mind whether you are my old friend Reginald Herring or an echo in the Swiss mountains. If you’re simply going to repeat every word I say—”
Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin
‘Make up your mind, Bodkin, whether you are a man or an echo in the Swiss mountains,’said Mr Llewellyn with a return of his earlier manner.
Uncle Fred in the Springtime
“Good God, Connie, don’t repeat everything I say, as if you were an echo in the Swiss mountains.”
Full Moon
When Col. Wedge speaks to Lord Emsworth, he feels thus:
The latter’s habit of behaving like a Swiss mountain echo or the member of the crosstalk team who asks the questions might well have irritated a more patient man.
The Girl in Blue
“Yes,” said Crispin, justifiably irritated, for no uncle likes to converse with a nephew who models his conversation on that of an echo in the Swiss mountains.
St. Bernard dogs
The spirit of the Italian monk Bernard of Menthon would be delighted to know of the innumerable references by Plum to this sterling species which is famous for its rescue missions in the Alps. Even though their operations extend to Western Alps which straddle not only Switzerland but also Italy, I am tempted to mention some such references.
The Mating Season
“You wouldn’t blame a snowbound traveller in the Alps for accepting a drop of brandy at the hands of a St. Bernard dog.”
Joy in the Morning
“One should always carry a flask about in case of emergencies. Saint Bernard dogs do it in the Alps. Fifty million Saint Bernard dogs can’t be wrong.”
Performing Flea: “Huy Day by Day”
“We are elderly internees, most of us with corns and swollen joints, not Alpine climbers. If we are supposed to be youths who bear ’mid snow and ice a banner with the strange device ‘Excelsior’, there ought to be Saint Bernard dogs stationed here and there, dispensing free brandy.”
The Code of the Woosters
“…that brandy came in handy. By the way, you were the dickens of a while bringing it. A St Bernard dog would have been there and back in half the time.”
Much Obliged, Jeeves
“I was badly in need of alcoholic refreshment, and just as my tongue was beginning to stick out and blacken at the roots, shiver my timbers if Jeeves didn’t enter left centre with a tray containing all the makings. St Bernard dogs, you probably know, behave in a similar way in the Alps and are well thought of in consequence.”
The Old Reliable
Bill Shannon to Phipps:
“You really ought to go around with a keg of brandy attached to your neck, like Saint Bernard dogs in the Alps. No delay that way. No time lag.”
Pigs Have Wings
And indeed the years had dealt lightly with the erstwhile Maudie Montrose. A little more matronly, perhaps, than the girl with the hourglass figure who had played the Saint Bernard dog to the thirsty wayfarers at the old Criterion, she still made a distinct impression on the eye…
Big Money
“She stood behind the counter, waiting, like some St Bernard dog on an Alpine pass, to give aid and comfort to the thirsty.”
Cocktail Time
“Another of the same, please, Mr. M,” he said, and Rupert Morrison once more became the human St. Bernard dog.
Money in the Bank
“They sent out the St. Bernard dogs, and found him lying in the snow, lifeless and beautiful.”
Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin
He remembered the creamy stuff as particularly palatable, and it seemed to him incredible that Ivor Llewellyn had not jumped at it like a snowbound wayfarer in the Alps reaching for the St. Bernard dog’s keg of brandy.
Spring Fever
It astounded him to think that he could ever have disliked this St. Bernard dog among butlers.
Summer Moonshine
He directed his steps to the public bar and was glad to find it unoccupied except for the blonde young lady who stood behind the counter and played the role of St. Bernard dog to the thirsty wayfarers of Walsingford Parva.
Right Ho, Jeeves
St. Bernard dogs doing the square thing by Alpine travellers could not have bustled about more assiduously.
The Luck of the Bodkins
“…I’m to buy a pack of St. Bernards, am I, and train them to go out and drag them in?”
Something New
It was Adams’ mission in life to flit to and fro, hauling would-be lunchers to their destinations, as a St. Bernard dog hauls travelers out of Alpine snowdrifts.
Of Divorce Rates
In an autobiographical account, Over Seventy: Christmas and Divorce, Plum refers to Switzerland divorce rates as being far behind those of the USA.
In one field of sport America still led the world. Her supremacy in the matter of Divorce remained unchallenged. Patriots pointed with pride at the figures, which showed that while thirteen in every thousand American ever-loving couples decided each year to give their chosen mates the old heave-ho, the best, the nearest competitor, Switzerland, could do was three…
About a judge who denied a woman her thirteenth divorce:
It may be that it is this judge who is lacking in team spirit… Has this judge never reflected that it is just this sort of thing that discourages ambition and is going to hand the world’s leadership to the Swiss on a plate with watercress round it?
The Untapped Ingredients in the Fondue
Just in case Wodehouse had also paid attention to a few other unique characteristics of Switzerland, some of his characters might have been etched out differently.
Madeline Bassett, a mushy and dreamy member of the tribe of the delicately nurtured, might have been working as an apprentice at the Sphinx Observatory near Jungfraujoch, trying to ascertain if stars indeed go on to form a part of God’s daisy chain.
American millionaires of the stature of J. Preston Peters (of Something Fresh fame) and Donaldson (the owner of the conglomerate known as Donaldson’s Dog-Joy Biscuits Inc.) would have been found frequenting some of the top banks in Switzerland, surreptitiously operating their numbered accounts and lockers therein.
The likes of Mrs. Spottsworth (of Ring for Jeeves fame, at the mere mention of whose name, the blood-sucking leeches of the Internal Revenue Department raise their filthy hats with a reverent intake of the breath), and Mr. J. Washburn Stoker (in Thank You, Jeeves, he is keen on buying Chuffnell Hall) would have been scouting around for juicier real estate deals in Switzerland.
Anatole, the French cook, and God’s gift to our gastric juices, would have been the Catering Director of one of the premium hotel management schools in Switzerland.
Lord Emsworth (of the Blandings Castle fame) would have been found ruing the inevitable loss of the Empress of Blandings, his favourite Berkshire sow, at the annual pig race Hotschrennen on New Year’s Day in Klosters.
Roderick Spode, the leader of the Saviours of Britain, would have been busy engaging researchers in Switzerland, aiming to develop advanced versions of Velcro-reinforced laces which could be used in the new designs of lingerie to be marketed under his brand name Eulalie.
When it comes to innovations and discoveries, Switzerland is amongst the top countries in the world. Consider the number of Nobel Prizes awarded till October, 2019 per 10 million of population. As per Wikipedia, if Luxembourg clocked a score of 33.8, Sweden 33.0, UK 19.4 and USA 11.7, Switzerland stood at 31.6.
It is quite likely that Wilfred Mulliner, the well-known analytical chemist, and the inventor of Buck-U-Uppo, Mulliner’s Raven Gypsy Face Cream, Mulliner’s Snow of the Mountains Lotion and other preparations used by the nobility, would have, by now, won a Nobel nomination or two. Or, he would have turned his attention to launching a new range of mega-chocolates, duly fortified with fat-soluble vitamins, which, when fed to elephants in Indian and African jungles, would make them face fierce lions with a jaunty sang froid.
Reginald Jeeves, the inimitable valet of Bertie Wooster, would have been found doing a brief stint at the Swiss Foundation for Alcohol Research and might have already patented his trademark pick-me-ups.
Not to forget Gussie Fink-Nottle, our amateur herpetologist, who would have been found doing advanced research on the mating patterns of newts as a scholar under the Swiss Amphibian and Reptile Conservation Program.
Pauline Stoker, who believes in swimming a mile before having her breakfast and then follows it up with at least five sets of tennis matches, would have been running a tennis academy under the guidance of either Roger Federer or Martina Hingis.
Roberta Wickham would have been found developing precision laser-guided hot water puncturing needles under the aegis of an institution like the Paul Scherrer Institute, thereby giving sleepless nights to politicians who keep foisting wars on their neighbouring countries.
Doctor Sally might have been discovered working on advanced medical procedures using sub-atomic particles at CERN.
George Bevan, the famous American composer of successful musical comedies, would have been learning the nuances of harp music at an outfit like Harp Masters.
Using the countless bridges across the many rivulets in the country, Bertie Wooster would have been busy honing his skills at pushing Oswald Glossop into the gushing waters below, thereby increasing the chances of his pal Bingo Little winning over the affections of Honoria Glossop, Oswald’s elder sister.
Freddie Threepwood, the son of Lord Emsworth, would have been making frequent marketing trips to this country, promoting Donaldson’s Dog-Joy biscuits. For a country where as many as 5,440,000 dogs were estimated to be living in 2021, he just could not afford to miss an opportunity of this magnitude. Moreover, since he always likes making frequent trips from Blandings to London, he could even study the systems and procedures followed by SBB to ensure the punctuality of its trains.
If all this had indeed happened, someone like Reginald Jeeves, who stands as a beacon of light for all those trying to render flawless and impeccable service in any field of human endeavour, might have already been declared an honorary citizen of any pub-infested city in the country, much like Sherlock Holmes happens to be an honorary citizen of the City of Meiringen, which, incidentally, also boasts of a small museum dedicated to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a friend and cricket-mate of Plum’s.
The possibilities are endless. The mind boggles. However, rather than worrying about what-might-have-been, let us focus on what-we-already-have.
The Master Wordsmith of Our Times
Some Swiss fans of P G Wodehouse who have a chin-up attitude like that of Bertie Wooster and, also a hearty capacity to laugh at themselves, may have appreciated the kind of Swiss-centric similes Wodehouse listed out above, capturing the behaviour and the utterances of his characters.
Wodehouse used a mixture of Edwardian slang, quotations from and allusions to numerous literary figures, and several other literary techniques to produce a prose style that has been compared to comic poetry and musical comedy.
Other than the Bible and the omnipresent Bard, his works occasionally refer to Agatha Christie, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Browning, Burns, Frost, Keats, Kipling, Omar Khayyam, Spinoza, Tolstoy, Tennyson, Wordsworth and many others.
Few writers have Plum’s mesmerizing command over English. He uses it in an innovative manner, leaving the reader steeped to the gills with an overdose of Vitamin H(umour). It comes as no surprise that English-speaking people the world over simply adore him. I say so even though so many of his works have been translated into several other languages.
Nevertheless, he has left behind for us a delectable fondue to savour, making Switzerland shine through in so many ways through a vast array of his novels and stories.
Notes:
The author wishes to emphasize his moral rights over the contents of this essay, save and except quotations from the books/stories of P. G. Wodehouse, the rights to which belong exclusively to the Wodehouse Literary Estate, UK. Anyone planning to publish any part of this essay including quotations from Wodehouse’s writing would do well to obtain appropriate consent from the Trustees of the Estate. Some material has been sourced from Wikipedia.
The author is grateful to Tony Ring, an expert on all Plummy matters, who made several suggestions towards improving the contents of this aricle.
The author is also grateful to Chris Starling, President of the Anglo-Swiss Club of Lucerne, who has taken the trouble of reviewing this article before its publication.
‘The two twin souls gazed into each other’s eyes. There is no surer foundation for a beautiful friendship than a mutual taste in literature.’
P.G. Wodehouse – ‘Strychnine In The Soup’
To celebrate World Book Day, I’ve put together a little reading list of some of the books featured in Wodehouse’s writing.
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
‘… I’m in the middle of a rather special book. Ever read Great Expectations? Dickens, you know.’
‘I know. Haven’t read it, though. Always rather funk starting on a classic, somehow. Good?’
‘My dear chap! Good’s not the word.’
The Pothunters (1902)
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle
‘Mr. Downing had read all the Holmes stories with great attention, and had thought many times what an incompetent ass Doctor Watson was; but, now that he had started to handle his own first case, he was compelled to admit that…
“There is no surer foundation for a beautiful friendship than a mutual taste in literature,” said P.G. Wodehouse.
Well, someone of my dubious literary intelligence cannot claim to know what exactly defines literature. Allow me, therefore, to take the argument a bit further and surmise that a common love for some selected authors could prove to be a good foundation for a bond of friendship to evolve and develop.
This is precisely what I rediscovered recently, while on a short visit to the City Beautiful of India – Chandigarh.
The basic idea was to chew some fat together with some other fans of P G Wodehouse in the city. But the Guardian Angels, ostensibly concerned about my cholesterol levels, directed me to the lair of Prof. Ashwini Agrawal, with whom a simple cup of tea, accompanied by some savouries, facilitated the creation of a bond which is sure to develop into a long-lasting friendship in the years to come.
Arthur Hailey
Any discussion about Plum remains incomplete without his fans gushing over his use of the English language, his unique turn of phrase, the relentless lampooning of the British aristocracy in his works, and the sharpness with which his characters, whether human or otherwise, get etched. His dazzling wit comes in for praise, as does his scintillating humour. Our meeting was no exception to this general rule.
Besides Plum, several authors whose works we both had devoured in the past got discussed. The breezy whodunits dished out by James Hadley Chase came up for discussion. So did the erudite works of Arthur Hailey and Irwing Wallace. The meticulous thrillers of Frederick Forsyth got covered. Many other authors whom both of us admired in the past found their way into the brief discussion we had.
Frederick Forsyth
Some challenges got discussed. Getting the young millenials to read itself topped the list of concerns expressed. To attract their attention to Plum’s works came in a close second. The scheme mooted at the New Delhi meet of Plum’s fans – that of launching a matrimonial website which would facilitate bonding between two souls of which at least one happens to be a die-hard fan – was considered a good solution towards ensuring that the genes of Wodehousitis get passed on to the coming generations.
Professor Ashwini Agrawal rued having recently lost a great collection of his books, including those of Wodehouse, to the vagaries of imperfect plumbing in a portion of his house. As a renowned archaeologist who specializes in Numismatics, he also has a room overflowing with books of professional interest.
He is an avid traveller. It just so happened that we could meet up. The credit of leading me to him rests entirely on the slender shoulders of Ms. Abha Singhal
Prof Ashwini Agrawal
Joshi, another Plum fan based in New Delhi. Those of you who follow my blog posts may recall her having played the role of Gladys Biggs at the last gig in the metropolis, held on the 11th of November, 2017.
Like Switzerland, Chandigarh also hides its Plum fans rather well. One hopes that this post might ferret out a few more who reside in the City Beautiful. This could pave the way for a Drones Club to come up there, so those aspiring for an Olympic medal for throwing of bread crumbs may get some well-deserved practice and even those aiming to get a Grammy for a boisterous rendering of Sonny Boy might get a platform to showcase their skills.
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle 
ashokbhatia 