Posted in What ho!, tagged Creative Juices, Humour, P G Wodehouse on June 26, 2020| Leave a Comment »
Oh, what would I do without my dear P. G. Wodehouse? I believe there’s a danger out there, lurking behind the corners of your days, ready to jump out and snarl in your face: “Why are you bothering creating [this]? Why aren’t you doing something important and meaningful with your time and your talent, instead […]
Posted in What ho!, tagged Coronavirus, Gratitude, Guardian Angels, Human Values, Humour, Industrial Revolution 4.0, Lockdowns, Milk of HUman Kindness, P G Wodehouse, Pondicherry, SPANDAN, Spirituality on June 20, 2020| 12 Comments »
The 24th of March, 2020 dawned upon us as any other normal day. Denizens of India were going about their daily chores with as much zombiness as they could muster. Flowers were in bloom. Birds and bees were going about doing whatever they normally do. Trees were swaying in the gentle breeze coming in from the Bay of Bengal. In other words, God was in heaven and all was well with the world.
However, by 2030 hours in the evening, our world had turned upside down. The Indian government imposed a comprehensive lockdown across a country comprising 1.3 billion persons. The Prime Minister himself appeared on our TV screens and announced this decision. By the time he finished, a mere three and a half hours were remaining for the decision to take effect.
This sudden whammy left all of us twiddling our thumbs trying to figure out as to how to survive the depressing phase staring us in the face. This was one of the harsher slings and arrows of fate which had hit us. Initially, a sense of shock and awe prevailed. Gradually, reason started reoccupying its throne. Travel plans had to be junked. Medical issues came to the forefront. For the digitally illiterate, banking transactions went for a toss. Gadgets at home needing urgent repairs were left in a limbo. Some missed their daily dose of morning newspapers. Our hearts might have bled realizing the plight of migrants, but we took a jaundiced view of the humble house maid coming in to earn a living. Many other challenges tested our grey matter no end.
Even today, the virus continues to offer a unique experience to most of us, whether by way of making us fearful of its ferocity or by snatching away many of the degrees of freedom we have always taken for granted.
The Guardian Angels
It is not that yours truly has been very brave or wise in handling the depressing effect of virus-induced extended lockdowns so far. Much like the V-shaped and W-shaped depressions which plague many of our economies – developed or otherwise – these days, the dark forces of depressing thoughts have been frequently snapping at my heels.
As a loner whose cooking abilities are limited to boiling milk and eggs, and whose procurement related negotiation skills are outdated, life only got tougher in the post-lockdown phase. The horizon of mundane challenges expanded to include sourcing of fruits, vegetables, groceries and medicines. For someone like me who is battered by multiple health risks and is rather shy and diffident, especially in the presence of the members of the fairer sex, the challenge is even mightier.
Luckily, my Guardian Angels who, I am told, go around these days with their fancy i-Pads keeping a track of their favoured ones, noticed my name flashing in a deep red colour on their screens and decided to pitch in. Gradually, a host of characters straight out of the many narratives of P G Wodehouse started popping up around me, making me smile – even laugh occasionally – assisting me in keeping my body and soul together, besides keeping me emotionally afloat and cheerful. Thanks to the virus, a transient family came into existence, with the tantalizing possibility of lingering bonds of friendship which may survive the vagaries of time.
Some Supporting Characters
Here are some of the honourable mentions in this context:
Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Tom, my next door neighbours, who keep offering delicious lunches in a routine manner. Their large house is surely not a patch on Brinkley Court. Nor do they have Anatole around. The lavish spreads are an outcome of the culinary skills of Aunt Dahlia, who only calls me a blot on the landscape if she finds me not tucking in enough of the lavish spreads she whips up.
Uncle Tom, besides worrying about taxation blues, could share a great deal of spiritual knowledge. One of his tips to invite a state of happiness is to sing one of his favourite songs at least three times a day without worrying about the reaction of either the humans or the asses around.
At their doorstep, one is apt to find Augustus catching up on its beauty sleep. If awake, his supercilious body language does not encourage one to endeavour to tickle it behind the ears.
Piggy and Maudie, who take care of my pangs of hunger at dinner time, ensure that their dinner spreads are full of nutrients and soluble vitamins, a sentiment that would meet a hearty approval of Laura Pyke.
Piggy happens to share my passion for poetry, books, movies and general affairs, and a personal meeting with him never fails to uplift my spirits. Likewise, a brief session with Maudie on spiritual matters is invariably enriching.
When it comes to being woolly headed, I could offer competition to Lord Emsworth. But I have neither a big castle nor a large estate to take care of. Nor do I have the need to hire a bevy of supporting staff to take care of my affairs. However, someone cast in the mould of Beach the butler, my Man Friday, takes care of mundane upkeep of my modest abode. On this angel falls the burden of ferrying my dinner from Piggy and Maudie’s home every night. How he dodges the ‘oh’s and ‘ho’s of cops enroute in these locked up days and manages to bring home the bacon, so to say, is praiseworthy.
Emerald Stoker, a long time friend and a tough cookie on some days, is otherwise one of those soothing and sympathetic ladies you can take your troubles to, confident of having your hand held and your head patted. She keeps calling me up frequently, not only to check if I am still alive and kicking but also if I happen to be under the grip of any depressive thoughts and need to see Sir Roderick Glossop. I have reason to believe that she keeps a distant track on my emotional peaks and troughs, often directing Guardian Angels in my immediate vicinity to ensure that I remain in a cheerful state of mind.
An architect by profession, she also happens to be a passionate cook. On several occasions, she has shared with me the exotic vegan stuff whipped up by her for the day. All this support from her comes even as she battles severe problems in her personal life.
Jeeves in my life during this phase happens to be a movie maker. He also wears many other hats. His driving and networking skills are exemplary. A globe trotter, he, like all others on this list, suffers from an abundance of the Milk of Human Kindness.
He has the knack of ferreting out sensible movies from the many online streaming options which are in vogue these days. When he shimmers in with a cup of his spiced tea or lays out a lavish breakfast spread, one would need to have a ready supply of tissue papers handy so as to keep one’s drooling under control. Whenever the Guardian Angels are in a celebratory mood, he ensures a ready supply of tissue restoratives.
Angela and Tuppy Glossop
At the start of the lockdown, Jeeves introduced me to Angela, a sprightly spinster who popped up in Pondicherry to soak in its unique ambience, but got stuck due to severe mobility restrictions imposed then. The same fate befell Tuppy Glossop, a friend of hers and a space scientist to boot. My house was blessed by their presence.
Besides a sense of decency and an ample supply of the Milk of Human Kindness coursing through their veins, their sincere efforts at dishing out something which I would find to be palatable endeared my heart. They took over the procurement as well as the household management functions rapidly, the result being that one never had to miss one’s vitamins.
As someone who relishes the pleasures of the table and also aspires to be a sous-chef, Tuppy, in one of his finer culinary experiments, even succeeded in making a ‘perfect circle’ puffed-up chapatti. Angela was quick on the uptake and sharpened her skills at cooking delicious lentils and kheer (a kind of pudding popular in India).
Both have been going out for beach walks together but I am not aware if any dispute concerning Angela having spotted a shark in the waters ever arose between them. Perhaps the credit goes to the sharks which avoid being in shallow sea waters around Pondicherry.
Pauline Stoker, a fashion designer, a marketer and a fitness enthusiast, keeps popping up with her home-cooked stuff on several days, brightening up the evenings with her effervescence and charm. Often accompanied by her well-mannered Kid Clementina who is sorely missing opportunities to put sherbet in ink pots these days and is invariably struggling to complete her home work online.
Captain Biggar and Galahad happen to be neighbours who pitch in occasionally to spice up the proceedings. One ensures a ready supply of several works of P G Wodehouse borrowed by him from a library nearby. Another offers a fresh perspective on current affairs over a steaming hot cup of tea. He has even ensured home delivery of farm fresh milk, duly sourced from contented cows.
All this is not to say that my immediate family, stationed about 8,000 kms away, does not bring in emotional succour by ardent enquiries made almost every other day. Each interaction with them is akin to a tiny drop of the elixir of inner bliss. Then there are relatives, friends and cousins who are keeping in touch, sharing their experiences during the lockdowns.
Meditation and Spiritual Upliftment
Twice a week, the group gathers for a spot of meditation at my place, thereby retaining the members’ sanity and equipoise.
The positive spin-offs of the virus are many. Lesser noise pollution. Minimal traffic. Greener environment. Virtual meetings. A unique time to relook at ourselves and our priorities in life closely. Better sharing and caring between neighbours. A hastening of the onset of Industrial Revolution 4.0.
On the flip side, at least three friends have so far handed in their dinner pails during the 90-day period under reference. For yours truly, some fresh challenges have popped up on the health front. I shall be deceiving the public if I were to say that such incidents do not dampen my spirits. However, help is at hand to pull me out of a deep emotional pit whenever necessary.
The eventual result is a kind of spiritual upliftment, perhaps of the kind that vicars experience when someone like Thos happens to be around.
An Abundance of the Milk of Human Kindness
To sum up, the Guardian Angels are keeping loneliness, depression and negativity at bay. An openness in making new friends, a tendency to help others nearby in whatever way one can and a positive frame of mind facilitate a healthy dose of laughter, mirth and joy. All efforts are being made to keep the body and soul together, so there is no shortage of feel-good hormones in one’s system.
As we gear ourselves to getting used to a long term presence of the virus, or its subsequent off-shoots which it plans to unleash upon us in the days to come, we would do well not to forget that it is here to teach us a rich lesson: that true happiness lies not in material comforts but in sharing a part of what we have with others who, at that point in time, may be in dire need of. Of being able to put ourselves into others’ shoes, anticipating their needs and trying to address the same. Adjusting to what is and not repenting what is not; accepting that life is never perfect. Cultivating a sense of gratitude.
To put it simply, keeping human values on the top of our dealings with those who deserve the same; being humane. As one of my professors would put it, by adopting the Spandan (heartbeat) approach to life.
(Allusions to characters from the works of Wodehouse are purely imaginary; depending upon some personality traits of the real persons alluded to here. No offence is meant to either of the two categories.)
(Illustrations courtesy Mr Sanjay Mohan and the world wide web)
Posted in What ho!, tagged Coronavirus, Humour, Jeeves, P G Wodehouse on June 12, 2020| Leave a Comment »
You shimmered into our lives just as Jeeves would have done,
Carrying upon your silver salver tissue restoratives of a different kind;
Thanks to you, we relish a rare sense of solitude and a chance to go within,
As each sip goes down the hatch, reviewing our priorities in life we do not mind.
Sips of your restoratives have shown us to ourselves in our true colours,
The cruelty with which we neglect our loved ones who really care for us;
The callous disregard of life, nature and a sense of due proportion we practice,
Our dire need to demolish walls of all kinds around us without much fuss.
By treating us all with equal respect sans any discrimination,
You have shown us the value of gifting some purple socks to a lay liftman;
A vast majority of us may not be as richly endowed as Bertie Wooster,
But care, empathy and concern for the have-nots around us do not deserve a ban.
When the master dreams of prattle of tiny feet around him to perk up things,
For a tactful person like Jeeves to get him to change his mind would simply be fun;
Lockdown rules out an encounter with a bunch of giggling and staring school girls,
But a webinar with Miss Tomlinson and her pupils could bring home the bacon.
Next time Angus McAllister wishes to spend some time with his folks back home,
We shall encourage Lord Emsworth to egg him on with a generous tip;
When Freddie starts marketing the anti-virus variety of his Dog-Joy biscuits,
We do not doubt his ability to have a big order from Lady Georgina in his grip.
Anatole is delighted at the novel range of dishes he has come up with recently,
A group led by him is now busy running community kitchens on major highways;
Providing succor to the needy, the hungry and the displaced poor travelling home,
Eager to hug their near and dear ones in far off places, awaiting happier days.
Rosie M Banks is dishing out scripts for romantic serials for social media barons,
While Bingo Little works from home and keeps busy with household chores;
Psmith and Eve are preoccupied as advisers to the United Nations,
Keeping a sharp eye on political leaders who prioritize wealth over the health of their crores.
Calamities have befallen us, mind-boggling challenges face us,
Civil protests we have suffered, economic ruin stares at us;
But we are persons of chilled steel, sporting a stiff upper lip,
Adjusting to your presence, walking along with our chins up.
Harsh slings and arrows of Life we have long since known how to face,
But you have highlighted to us the value of breathing in fresh air;
The air which would contain the fragrance of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity
Thank you for helping us to evolve spiritually, for showing that you care.
(Related Posts:
Posted in What ho!, tagged Archie Comics, Ashe Marson, Betty, Blogging, Joan Valentine, P G Wodehouse, Something Fresh, Writer's Block, Writing on June 4, 2020| Leave a Comment »
While taking a leisurely stroll through the sunlit streets of Plumsville, lined on both sides with trees offering low-hanging ripe mangoes of unalloyed mirth, we come across quite a few authors, editors and publishers.
We get to meet Florence Craye, the famous author of ‘Spindrift’. We run into Oliver Randolph ‘Sippy’ Sipperley, the aspiring author. Gwendolen Moon, the poetess, crosses the street in front of us. George Webster ‘Boko’ Fittleworth bumps into us at the next corner. Smooth Lizzie, a poetess in whom critics might be disappointed, flashes past us in her two-seater. Even Bertie Wooster, our favourite hero, can be seen rushing to the offices of Milady’s Boudoir, possibly to submit his piece on ‘What the Well-Dressed Man is Wearing’.
Daphne Dolores Morehead can be seen headed somewhere in a hurry. Rosie M. Banks can be seen rushing to her humble abode, just to check if Bingo Junior’s bank…
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Posted in What ho!, tagged Humour, P G Wodehouse on May 29, 2020| Leave a Comment »
Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse KBE (15 October 1881 – 14 February 1975) was an English author and one of the most widely read humorists of the 20th century. Born in Guildford, the third son of a British magistrate based in Hong Kong, Wodehouse spent happy teenage years at Dulwich College, to which he remained devoted all his life. After leaving school he was employed by a bank but disliked the work and turned to writing in his spare time. His early novels were mostly school stories, but he later switched to comic fiction, creating several regular characters who became familiar to the public over the years. They include the feather-brained Bertie Wooster and his sagacious valet, Jeeves; the immaculate and loquacious Psmith; Lord Emsworth and the Blandings Castle set; the Oldest Member, with stories about golf; and Mr Mulliner, with tall tales on subjects ranging from bibulous bishops to megalomaniac…
View original post 587 more words
Posted in What ho!, tagged Aunts, Bertie Wooster, Humour, Jeeves, P G Wodehouse on May 3, 2020| 6 Comments »
Of all the reading that I have done, I have never ever had so much fun,
Than whilst perusing Wodehouse, Laughing to burst out of my blouse.
That Bertie Wooster is so British, such a jolly good fellow,
Can erupt like a volcano at times, yet is disarmingly mellow,
Ample bosomed Aunt Agatha et al bully him into the ground,
Bertie would be lost if Jeeves, that paragon wasn’t around.
The aunts make mincemeat of Bertie without so much as a by your leave,
If it wasn’t for Jeeves the saviour, we’d weep for Bertie and for him grieve,
The Wooster name would fall into ruin, rust corrode their noble family crest,
Sans Jeeves to keep a vigilant eye and shoo away both aunt and other pest.
Bertie Wooster is so upper class, so stiff upper lip, simply so very English,
He belongs to the right club, yet tormented by kinsfolk who can be devilish,
He can be downright foolish dealing with matters of finance and of the heart,
Both sorted out impeccably by Jeeves, his man for all seasons from the start.
Bertie’s a sharp judge of character, he knows a man who is a good egg,
In a silk dressing gown B.W. loves to lounge all day without shake of a leg,
If a challenge confronts his intellect he turns to Jeeves with a : What ho?
What ho? What ho? he choruses on till his Man Friday makes it right to go.
Of all the reading that we do, Wodehouse brings us so much fun,
Don’t ask me why, just pick up a book, turn the pages and no further look.
(Ruby Haider loves to write. The magic of language fascinates her. She has been a teacher and an advertising professional. She loves poetry and believes herself to be a bit of an idealist and dreamer.
Her permission to blog this composition here is gratefully acknowledged.)
Posted in What ho!, tagged Coronavirus, Humour, Inclusivity, Industrial Revolution 4.0, Leaders, Lockdowns, Milk of HUman Kindness, P G Wodehouse, Plumsville, Politicos, Sustainability on May 1, 2020| 2 Comments »
Even though the dark clouds of a virus envelop us and Life makes us glum,
Many of us bask in the brilliant rays of humour which greet us in the form of a narrative Plum;
Our suggestion to all clueless politicians and caregivers is never to despair,
We support all your lockdowns, we write this merely to make you aware.
With his head bulging at the back, many a problem Jeeves can still solve,
Ordering stuff online and keeping scheming aunts away with a goofy resolve;
Keeping at bay girl friends who wish to improve Bertie’s grey cells,
Arming him with some quotes from Spinoza which he uses over phone, casting transient spells.
Jeeves keeps shimmering in with one of his pick-me-ups on a tray,
While the master sharpens his skills at sock-darning, forgetting all shades of grey;
An article on ‘What the Well-dressed Dictators are Wearing’ is being whipped up by him,
Alas, the chances of the next issue of Milady’s Boudoir coming up soon are rather slim.
The pride of the Wooster clan is close to his heart, the feudal spirit intact,
For the sake of an aunt, restoring a stolen cat to its owner is part of a pact;
For the happiness of an uncle, thirty days without the option is no big deal,
At the end of which he merely aspires for a delectable Anatole meal.
Uncle Tom is not amused by the sudden downturn in his earnings,
His solace lies in keeping a tighter leash on the tax wolves’ yearnings;
Aunt Dahlia continues to ensure that Anatole keeps them both in good humour,
Relishing a unique phase of togetherness where the silver collection is safe from any intruder.
Lord Emsworth potters about his gardens in a state of bliss,
Thanks to Gladys, he no longer hesitates to tell McAllister to call it quits;
The sanctity of the moss-covered yew alley is being maintained,
The Empress is in the pink of health, thanks to the advice of Augustus Whiffle being entertained.
The Bingeese love enjoying their quite life, sans the fear of a
Laura Pyke popping up at home,
Bingo Little ensures a cup of afternoon tea while Rosie works on her next tome;
Rosie keeps a sharp eye on the internet banking transactions of her dear hubby,
Lest he be attempting to fund one of his sporting impulses with the support of a buddy.
Florence Cray is delighted at the prospect of finishing Spindrift-2,
Edwin the Scout plays fire fighting games on his tablet new;
Madeline is delighted at seeing the stars shine so very brilliantly,
Pauline plays tennis on the roof top of her high rise diligently.
Unless you speculate, you do not accumulate, is what Ukridge keeps doing online,
Many of the doctors we know in Plumsville are already co-opted by WHO on the front line;
Mr Schnellenhamer whips up the script of his next medical thriller, extending his range,
Nodders having been persuaded to go on leave without pay, surviving only on the juice of an orange.
Gussie is delighted that his newts no longer complain about the quality of water,
Of another notebook with juicy comments on Pop Bassett he claims to be an author;
To deliver speeches at schools only in the video conferencing mode he is braced,
Non-availability of tissue restoratives ensures he faces no risk of feasting on orange juice duly laced.
Ashe Marson provides online tips to all those wanting to remain fit,
Larsen exercises, brisk walks and cold baths form a part of his wellness kit;
Troubles of the lining of the stomach unite those who are young at heart,
Forsaking the pleasures of the table and allowing Prudence to win over Greed being a worthy art.
Rozzers keep a ceaseless vigil on ‘criminals’ who move around freely without a mask,
Their sinister ‘Ho’s and ‘Ha’s and investigative techniques make easier their task;
The risk of getting their helmets pinched has all but vanished,
But the practice of getting pushed into water bodies is yet to get banished.
Indoor and online games of all kinds have risen to the kids’ defences,
Would-be step-fathers not coughing up protection money face consequences;
Rogue ones, when in love with Hollywood divas, start behaving angelically,
Priests need them around so as to be hotter on their jobs and to evolve spiritually.
Entrepreneurs and business honchos await the new normal to unfold,
Psmith helping them to recast operations into the Industrial Revolution 4.0 mould;
Sally and Joan Valentine inspire them online to worry more about sustainability,
Scaling up their efforts to contribute towards creating an inclusive society.
To put it simply, God is in Heaven and all is well with many amongst us,
While providing succour, our Guardian Angels are not missing the bus;
The elements are in a better shape, flora and fauna lead a contented life,
With males wearing skirts, spouses are delighted, families missing many a strife.
The challenge we face now is an opportunity to evaluate our priorities anew,
The value of interrelationships, quality time with loved ones who may be few;
Realizing that Mother Earth needs to be treated with greater respect,
That all of us play a role in maintaining civility by way of a public debt.
The virus has thrown many V-and-W shaped depressions our way,
Teaching us never to allow the dismal forces of despondency to make us sway;
Having a chin up attitude, no matter how dark the skies may look,
The sun is surely shining somewhere, smiling benevolently above a babbling brook.
The victory of Homo sapiens shall need an analytical frame of mind,
Besides empathy, compassion and gestures kind;
Many of our delicately nurtured leaders across the world have already set the bar high,
The so-called sterner ones may now reveal their milk of human kindness and refrain from making us sigh.
Plum’s works carry life lessons which we continue to pick up and apply,
Many of us are surviving the lockdowns so far on his works’ supply;
Upcoming ones would afford us an opportunity to keep devouring more,
Soon, we may look back at this phase of mirth and make it a part of our family folklore.
(Related Posts:
Posted in What ho!, tagged Bertie Wooster, Humour, Jeeves, P G Wodehouse on April 25, 2020| Leave a Comment »
There was Bobby, of the fiery tresses,
Who got Bertram into tangled messes.
And haughty Lady Florence Craye,
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Posted in What ho!, tagged Beach, Empress of Blandings, Galahad, Humour, Lord Emsworth, P G Wodehouse on April 21, 2020| 2 Comments »
The placid streets of the village of Market Blandings were adorned on this June afternoon by a jaunty figure in a pale grey suit and matching derby hat and by his companion, somewhat less well-attired, in patched tweed and a battered straw boater.
The natty dresser dabbed his brow with a silk handkerchief, for the day was warm. Beach, the butler who had driven them down from Blandings Castle, had opted to remain at the Emsworth Arms for a cool one, while Galahad, for it was he, and his brother Clarence, the ninth Earl of Emsworth, strolled off to the tobacconist.
“I had a letter from young Ronnie the other day,” said Gally.
“Ah, yes, Ronnie. Yes, indeed. Ronnie who? “ asked Lord Emsworth courteously.
“Your nephew Ronnie. Ronald Overbury Fish. You know, Clarence- Julia’s boy— pink face, married Sue Brown, prettiest girl in three counties.”
“Ah yes, Ronnie, of course Ronnie. And how is he?”
“Very well. In fact, from hints he dropped, I fancy there may be a little Sue or Ronnie on the way.”
“The way here?” Clarence asked in alarm. “The summer has so far been remarkably quiet and free of pests, er guests.”
“No, no, a little bundle, to be brought by the stork in a number of months, you know… never mind, Clarence. The point is, he may need some extra income and wants to buy out his partners in the onion soup bar.”
“Ah, just so, good for him. Good for him.”
“In order to become sole proprietor of the onion soup bar he naturally needs some capital,” said Galahad, “and as you surely are aware, it would be a good investment, Clarence. Late night revelers and after-theatre crowds are always clamouring for onion soup, and young Ronnie has turned out, unlikely as it may seem, to be a canny businessman. Of course with Sue by his side, the world’s his oyster, or rather his onion, I might say. The world’s his onion,” he repeated, rather louder. “Ha, ha. Anyway, shall I tell him you are good for the money?”
Gally was glad to see that Lord Emsworth was fingering his chin and wrinkling the brow in concentration. It was not always easy to capture his full attention.
“Onions. Yes, hmm. Onions. Do you know, Galahad,” he said, swimming up suddenly from his brown study, “My veterinarian Banks has been advising me, and very strongly, I might add, against feeding the Empress onions. Onions of any sort, mark you. And yet, Whiffle, in The Care of the Pig, most clearly states that onions are not at all detrimental to pigs, if lightly boiled first. Lightly boiling them appears to remove any toxicity whatsoever!” He brooded a moment. “Banks is an ass. I shall take a strong line with him in this matter.”
“My sainted aunt, Clarence! You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Gally removed his pince nez and used them to rap Clarence sharply on the head. “Now listen, and forget about that blasted pig for a moment! Who is more important, your nephew Ronald or the Empress?”
Lord Emsworth regarded him with surprise. “The Empress, of course.”
“Clarence!”
“Well, really Galahad, I have…several nephews. Quite a few, I fancy. But there is only one Empress.”
“And I yield to no one in my appreciation of her many admirable qualities,” said Galahad, “but she is, after all is said and done, just a pig.”
Lord Emsworth started so violently that his glasses fell from his nose to dangle freely from their chain. “Just a pig! The Empress is a thoroughbred, an aristocrat, dash it, descended on both maternal and paternal side from prize-winning porcine pedigrees. She has three times won the silver medal in the fat pigs class at the Shropshire agricultural show and there is no reason why she may not win a fourth, no matter what drivel that fellow Banks says about onions in her diet. She is certainly not just any pig.”
“A pig is, in the end, a pig, Clarence. Yes, she is a good pig, a large pig, but a pig by any other name would smell as sweet.” Galahad paused. “Well perhaps not quite that, but I’m sure there are plenty of other pigs that, if fed properly for awhile, could match her girth and magnificence.”
“I beg to differ, Galahad, Lord Emsworth said stiffly, “I beg to differ indeed. Few other pigs match her lineage, precious few, if any.”
“All right. How about this? If I can take a pig, a common local young pig from the village here or its environs, and, given six weeks to feed it up, nurture it, and make it a match for the Empress in girth, you will cut Ronnie a sizeable cheque.”
“Certainly. I agree to your proposal. There is surely no chance of you doing it, none at all, but I give you leave to try. If you manage to turn a plebian local animal into something resembling my prize pig (and I scoff at the idea), I will not only give Ronald the money, but I will… I will eat my hat!” he finished hotly.
“That I will not require, Clarence. But after we obtain our tobacco, let us go to a nearby farm with the purpose of purchasing a pig.”
**********
Five and one half weeks later, the Honourable Galahad Threepwood and the Castle’s butler, Beach, stood gazing morosely at a pig rooting contentedly in a ramshackle pen behind the abandoned garden shed. More precisely, Gally was gazing morosely— he would have described Beach as wearing his customary demeanour, that of a stuffed frog.
“No use sugar-coating it, Beach,” he said, screwing his black-rimmed monocle more firmly into his eye. “This pig, though certainly day after day, in every way, it’s been getting fatter and fatter, is nowhere near in the Empress’s class.”
“I have not neglected a single feeding, sir,” said Beach. “Despite it having added considerably to my regular duties, I have carried comestibles amounting to approximately 57,800 daily calories in starches, proteins and additional roughage to the animal. As far as I can tell, it has consumed them all.”
“I don’t doubt it, Beach. I don’t doubt it. Be that as it may, this porker is never going to win Ronnie the money for his onion soup bar. What is worse, Clarence will be able to crow over me for making that silly bet. “
The butler nodded mournfully. He was fond of Mr. Ronald Fish, and his wife Sue Brown had made a strong impression on his susceptible heart.
“Too bad, too bad, sir. Poor Mr. Ronald. He will be disappointed, I fear. Perhaps he can acquire the money from some other source.” Beach stood a moment in a grave silence. “Ah, well. I must return to the house, sir. Tea will be served on the terrace in approximately twenty minutes, if you require sustenance.”
“Damn the terrace, and damn tea!” Beach turned back as Galahad, removing his hat and slapping it on the railing of the pen, burst into impassioned speech. “I won’t accept defeat this easily. Did my ancestors at Agincourt, when faced with a few bloodthirsty foes, turn and go home for tea? Pshaw! Besides, you know I never touch tea, not after what happened to my old pal Buffy Struggles. Gave up cocktails for the foul stuff after attending a temperance lecture and the poor fellow was dead within a week!”
“Dear me!”
“Absolutely. Run over by a hansom cab in Piccadilly Circus. No,” he mused, “what we are going to do-“
“We, sir?” the butler quavered.
“Most certainly we. I shall need you for this next phase of the plan, or Plan B, as it were. Now, I have heard that Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe down the road at Matchingham Hall is boarding a prize pig in the hopes of mating his own pig, Pride of Matchingham, to it. Clarence has never seen that sow, so we, or more accurately you, will sneak over in the dead of night and borrow it. We will then present it to Clarence in the place of this pig, and he will have to admit that we have won the bet. You can leave old Parsloe this smaller sow for a couple of days, just to confuse him.”
Beach was trembling all over like a jelly in a brisk wind. “But sir…”
“But me no buts, butler! Would you want to be the one to dash that young Fish’s hopes and dreams? Or cause Sue’s starry blue eyes to fill bravely but despairingly with unshed tears? Surely the Beach I have known practically from a lad would not be the man to allow fear of a simple pig-swap to dash the food from the mouth of Sue and Ronnie’s first-born, or soon-to-be born, child?”
“Mrs. Ronald is expecting, Mr. Galahad?” Beach drew a deep breath and a look of noble sacrifice passed over his large face, causing his chins to quiver. “Tell me what I need to do, sir.”
**********
“I would never have credited it, Galahad. It seems a miracle, but you have done it!” Lord Emsworth shook his head wonderingly two days later. You have taken a common farmyard sow, even perhaps a somewhat scrawny sow, and transformed her into a magnificent creature. I do not say she is the equal of the Empress, but you have certainly won your point.”
He took another turn around the large, placid animal that a rather pale and haunted-eyed Beach had led by a rope out into the stable-yard.
“Yes, she is a very fine animal indeed. I will be happy to add her to the Castle’s livestock. She will not by any means do us shame.”
“Er, as to that, Clarence,” Galahad said hastily, “I have promised her back to the farmer from whom we bought her. It seems her litter-mates in his pig-sty have been missing her. Pining away in fact, and refusing their food.”
“Egad, that is most worrisome, Galahad.” The Earl of Emsworth took one last covetous look at the sow. “Pigs will not thrive if they do not ingest their regular daily nutrients. Wolff-Lehmann is very clear on that in his book on the subject. Perhaps you’d better bring her back to the farm after all.”
“And that cheque for Ronald? Your nephew Ronald, that is, for his onion soup business.”
“Ah yes.” A slight shadow crossed Lord Emsworth’s face. “Exactly how much was he needing, Galahad?”
Galahad told him and the ninth earl winced.
“But look at the bright side, Clarence. Ronnie will be so busy with the increased responsibilities of his business and his growing family that he will have no time at all to make pleasure trips down to Blandings. And as our sister Julia will soon be presented with a grandchild in London, she will surely remain in the metropolis as well.”
“Er, for quite some time, do you think, Galahad?”
“Indefinitely, I’m sure.”
“Ah, well, that’s… too bad, of course, and all that. However, the pressures of business and family, yes, certainly. Let them know we quite understand if they stay away…, er, quite some time. Er… indefinitely, as you say.”
With the look of one who sees the sun coming out from behind the clouds, Lord Emsworth turned towards the house. “Come see me in the library in ten minutes, Galahad. I will be writing that cheque.”
(Permission to post this piece here is gratefully acknowledged.)
ashokbhatia 