Wodehouse in Exile Page #5

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to your American readers, Plum!

Well... there's a fellow

Englishman speaking.

I'm sorry about this, Plum.

I really am.

You are not to worry about it.

It'll all blow over.

We can talk about the other

broadcasts when you feel calmer.

When can I see Ethel again?

I'll get her to Berlin. I promise.

We have the English and American

papers, Mrs Wodehouse, if you like.

Du bist ein sweetheart.

Oh, my God! The idiot!

How many hours before

we reach Berlin?

I am afraid it is a matter

of days, Mrs Wodehouse.

Accelerate! I am sorry?

More speed. Faster. Schnell.

Hurry. Quick. Chop-chop. Pacey-pacey.

Do I make myself clear?

The Press and public in England

seem to have jumped to

the conclusion that

I have in some way been bribed or

intimidated into making

these broadcasts.

This is not the case.

I did not "make a bargain"

as they put it

and buy my release by agreeing to

speak on the radio.

I was released because I am 60 years

old, or shall be in October.

The fact that I was free

before that date was due to

the efforts of my friends.

I wanted to thank them,

which is why

I am continuing with these talks.

I have to stop my husband, you see,

from making a fool of himself.

Do you have a wife?

I do.

Does she stop you from making

a fool of yourself?

She does, Mrs Wodehouse.

Well, there you are then.

Plus de vitesse. Onward and upward.

Maximum velocity, old bean.

People began to experiment

with foods.

One man used to save

some of his soup at midday,

add jam and eat the result cold

in the evening.

I myself got rather fond

of wooden matchsticks.

You chew them into a pulp

and swallow the result whole.

Wait there!

The morale of the men at Tost

was wonderful.

I never met a more cheerful crowd

and I loved them like brothers.

With this, I bring to an end

the story of my adventures

as British Civilian Prisoner

number 796,

and before concluding,

I should like to thank all

the kind people in America who wrote

me letters when I was in camp.

Nobody who has not been in a prison

camp can realise what letters,

especially letters like those I

received, can mean to an internee.

That's it!

Oh, my God! It's the Colonel!

I think she's cross about something.

Probably about me.

She often is.

Oh, brave new world that hath

such creatures in it. Eh, Werner?

What on earth are you thinking

of, Werner?

What shocking mess

have you got him into?

How could you be so bloody stupid?

I find it all too easy

to be stupid, I'm afraid.

Oh, don't give me that line again.

Try it on the rest of the world,

Plummie. I know you.

I'm in love with you for some

peculiar reason

and you are not stupid.

You are a very clever man who is

pretending to be stupid

for some mysterious reason of his

own, which I have never understood.

You can never resist it, can you?

The chance to amuse.

You are what that awful bloody

Irishman called you,

"English literature's

performing flea."

I shall use it as the title

of my autobiography.

Oh shut up, Plummie, for God's sake!

Shut up, can't you?

Stop it.

And now it seems Dr Goebbels is

beaming your talks over to Britain.

They've used you, Plummie.

You've been made a fool of.

You passed up a damned good chance

of keeping your mouth shut,

didn't you?

Do you think Werner used me, then?

Of course he bloody did.

Is he Gestapo, do you think?

Oh, for God's sake.

He's a survivor, that's all.

Like me.

I'm sure he does

what the Fuhrer orders.

I thought you liked Werner.

He amuses me. Which is more than

you do at the moment.

I am so sorry.

I'm so terribly sorry.

We could get back to England.

Through Portugal or something.

And I could explain to... to...

To who? Winston Churchill?

King George VI?

I think you may be a fool, actually.

All you're good for is making

stupid jokes and...

Don't look like that. Please.

Don't look like that.

Like what?

Like a dog I've just kicked.

Oh, I could never kick a dog.

It wouldn't be right.

Oh, for God's sake!

I brought your novel. The Jeeves one

you started in Le Touquet.

Oh, you goof!

Am I intruding?

Not at all, Werner.

We should take you out of Berlin.

To the Harz mountains perhaps.

Is there much nightlife

in the Harz mountains, Werner?

Wine, women and song for me.

And I'll be the woman,

if that's all right!

Excuse me. Do I disturb?

Er...

I am anxious to make interview

with Mr PG Wodehouse. Oh.

I'm afraid I'm not talking

to anyone.

I'm just... holed up in this hotel,

trying to write my novel

and waiting for the war to be over.

I admire your work and... Sorry.

I don't talk to people any more.

It isn't safe.

You see that ghastly little man

over there?

That's Lord Haw-Haw. "Chairmany

calling. Chairmany calling."

He really is a fascist.

Werner looks after him, too.

When we win,

they will hang him as a traitor.

And hang me as an aperitif, perhaps?

Plum, please.

I am not afraid, Ethel.

I may have been naive, but I do not

think I have acted as a traitor.

And I hope you do not

believe that is the case, either.

You know I do not. Good.

We have to get out of this

awful place.

Get your friend Werner to get us

out of here. To Paris.

The bombing's getting worse.

And what will we do in Paris?

We will face it out, Ethel.

That is what we will do.

That camp toughened you up,

didn't it?

Maybe it was the camp.

Or maybe it was you.

You are every bit as hard work

as the average concentration

camp guard. Oh, Plum!

God.

You still here?

I was going to say

the same thing to you.

In fact, I am leaving for Paris.

Nice. Escape. Nice.

Looks like our friends are

going to lose this war.

The Germans are not my friends,

Mackintosh.

We both did all right out of them,

didn't we?

Why did they let you out,

Mackintosh?

Told you. Because I'm 60. Are you?

I did some work for them.

That was all.

Nothing funny about that.

So did you, didn't you?

All I did was...

You're just as bad as me.

Don't pretend you're any different.

You're just the same as me. Am I?

Don't try and tell me you didn't know

why they let you out.

I didn't. I didn't have a clue.

Famous writer. Full of jolly jokes.

Not like poor little me.

But don't try

and pretend you're any different.

They'll find you out, Wodehouse.

You'll see.

You'll see.

Your pals in camp didn't like me.

Thought I was a bit puff, probably.

Not a regular chap.

But you were kind to me.

Takes one to know one.

Well, I do try to be nice to

people, Mackintosh.

It's a bit of a rule with me.

The world is a lot more complicated

than you imagine it to be.

Old bean.

Where did Plack get us into?

Some hotel.

The Bristol, I think it's called.

You always liked Werner, didn't you?

He was always your sort of chap.

What are you suggesting?

Nothing.

Well...

Well what?

Ask a Nazi to book you an hotel,

you get a Nazi hotel.

I notice it hasn't stopped you

eating the food.

Fair comment.

I don't find Werner in the least

attractive. He just amuses me.

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