Fic: Troubled Times chapter 22

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Title: Troubled Times
Chapter 22
Author: Emerald
Beta : jestana and windysame Thank you very much! I greatly appreciate your work!
Inspiration and Encourager: ironicbees
Rating: Mature.
Disclaimer: Wooster and Jeeves belong to Wodehouse.
Summary: The story deals with the time before, during, and after WWII.
A/N: August 1940.

 

At the beginning of August, the Home Guard was asked for volunteers to take night watches at a factory that was producing plane parts. It was the most important factory in the north and as such was a possible target for bombing. I deemed this as a slim possibility, however. Any plane that attempted to bomb the factory would have to cross many miles over an area protected by the RAF. The odds that the enemy would be able to achieve that distance was not high.

Mr. Wooster and I had just been told by the registrar's office that they were not accepting men beyond the age of twenty-nine. We could not avoid danger completely, and it was clear that Mr. Wooster wished to serve more than we were currently doing.

I thought of Mr. Wooster's comfort concerning this decision, too. When winter arrived, pulling guard duty outside at night would be cold and uncomfortable. We had been fortunate to have a warm summer with little rain, but autumn might mean both precipitation and chill.

After discussing it together, my employer and I volunteered for guard duty at the factory. We would have training for one day, guard duty for three nights, and then we would rest at the cottage for three days.

The first week in August, we were given denims for uniforms. We returned home from training with them, and Mr. Wooster spread them out on the settee, putting the boots on the floor. He stared at the attire dubiously, and I almost recoiled in revulsion.

In a quiet voice, he said, “I truly didn't mind the work clothes, but this... well, I say... they are...”

His voice trailed off, and I said, “There are no words, sir.”

We stood there for several long minutes, before the doorbell chimed. I answered the door to Mr. Heflner. Once inside, he joked, “Don't offer to take anything from me, Jeeves. My clothes are held up by a safety pin and my hand. I daren't let go. Wright's horrified, and I thought I'd drop by to see Bertie, and give my man a chance to recover.”

I escorted him into the drawing room where Mr. Wooster was still standing and staring at the clothes. I hastened out of the room to get a drink and try to recover myself, but before I left I heard Mr. Heflner say, “I look like a scarecrow with one arm, what?”

They were laughing when I returned to the room. When they ceased, Mr. Heflner said, “These clothes were made for someone huge. I'm smaller than you, but you're not going to fit in them, either.”

Mr. Wooster said, “I can't believe they'd give us drapery with no buttons. I wonder if the powers that be think we can kill Jerries with laughter. The field caps...”

Mr. Wooster perched one on his head. “...are jolly good as long as I don't move my head. The next time we're given the 'about turn' order...”

My employer demonstrated, and the cap promptly fell at his feet.

Mr. Heflner replied, “I hope we are given the 'about turn' command quickly, so I can get the ridiculous thing off my biscuit. It's too tiny. I'll look silly with it on my head.”

“It's too little, and everything else is huge. The gov. must think the men in England are all giants with very small noggins.”

Mr. Heflner laughed again. “I'm not sure what is worse; the neckband sticking out in front, or the trousers sticking out behind.”

Mr. Wooster said, “It's the boots that really give me the pip. Clump, clump. I might as well tie cow bells to my feet or yell out to let the Jerries know where I'm at.”

“They'll just shoot me. If I grab a gun, I'll have to let go of my striders which I'm sure will fall. So I'll just stand and get killed, but at least my trousers will still be on.”

My employer laughed. “Best tie them up with a rope.”

The telephone rang, and Mr. Heflner jumped up as fast as a rabbit that had just seen a fox. He said, “That'll be Wright, having discovered that I escaped in these threads, and not happy about me going around looking like this.”

As he spoke, he moved toward the door. “Please tell him, Jeeves, that I'm on my way home.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

The call was indeed from Mr. Wright. He did not mention Mr. Heflner at first. After greetings were exchanged, he said, “I have found a tailor in Longhaven that will do alterations and attach buttons for me, and get them done before we have to be at the factory. Do you wish to have yours and Mr. Wooster's adjusted, also?”

When I replied in the affirmative, he said, “Write the measurements down to go with them. George is going into Longhaven today. He has guard duty at a bank tonight. He will be by to pick them up in an hour or so.”

After I thanked him, he asked, “Is Mr. Heflner there?”

I replied, “No. He departed a few minutes ago. He said to give you the message that he was on his way home.”

“My apologies for his appearance. I went into the kitchen to make a few telephone calls and see if I could find a tailor that could do timely alterations. When I returned, I found he had departed.”

“Mr. Wooster once believed that I fled to the kitchen to drink cooking sherry every time I found his attire to be unsuitable.”

Mr. Wright laughed. “I would not be surprised if Mr. Heflner believes that is what I have been doing. I didn't think of having a sip of the sherry, but I did have a drink. Those clothes are enough to cause someone to drink.”

We spent a few minutes discussing our dislike of the denims, until he heard Mr. Heflner's arrival, and we spoke our farewells.

*********************************************************

There was a farm next to the factory, and we dwelt there during our days of duty. Residing at the farm brought new dimensions to my relationship with Mr. Wooster. I stayed at Mr. Wooster's side as much as possible but did not volunteer to aid him, unless I was certain that no one would notice, as I knew obvious assistance would cause the other men to ridicule him. This decision made me debate whether I should continue to receive the same wages, as I was only his valet for three days out of the week now. I knew Mr. Wooster would resist reducing my wages, and I wrestled with my pride over the issue as I did not desire a confrontation with him.

Without knowing what was troubling me, however, Mr. Wooster provided a solution. The answer came about through the meals we partook at the farm. The food there was excellent. We ate in a dining hall with other men from the battalion. This gave me an opportunity to sit at Mr. Wooster's side and dine on a regular basis.

The first week we ate at the factory, Mr. Wooster retrieved his own tray of food and drink. At the initial meal of the second week, he said in a low voice so those around us could not hear, “Sorry, Jeeves. Sometimes it takes me a bit to get things right.”

I had no idea what he was speaking about until we were seated. It was a habit of mine to check and see if all was well with Mr. Wooster's meal. I noticed instantly that he had not fetched himself a drink. I could not bring myself to call him Bertie in public, but I tried to avoid saying 'sir'. So I simply said, “You forgot your drink. I will get it.”

When I brought Mr. Wooster his beverage, his eyes met and held mine. I understood the message as clearly as if he had spoken; I was still his cup-bearer. From that time on, I would place his cup next to mine on my tray and then give it to him at the table. If anyone noticed they must have thought nothing of it, because no one said anything. It was such a small gesture, and yet it meant a great deal to me. It stated more than any words that no matter what the circumstances, I would remain his cup-bearer. My pride had been conquered by love, and I no longer felt the need to discuss my wages with him.

The way we had communicated without words also brought reassurance. It was a vivid reminder that I was far more to him than a cup-bearer. Being his valet was only one part of my identity. I was also his spouse.

During that second week, Mr. Wooster also took other actions which at first puzzled me. At dinner on our second day there, Mr. Wooster took his tray, minus his drink, to an empty table. He set it down, turned to me and asked, “Will you join me, Jeeves?”

This question surprised me, as he could clearly see that I had been following him. I no sooner agreed when my employer posed the same question to Mr. Heflner, thereby increasing my bewilderment. The man had been right at my employer's heels; there had been no need to ask when it was obvious what Mr. Heflner intended to do. Mr. Wright and Mr. Little received an invitation next, although that was unnecessary, also. Mr. Wright only left Mr. Heflner's side when he had to for some reason. Mr. Little tended to stay close to Mr. Wooster and certainly did not require an invitation to continue the habit.

I watched in confusion as Mr. Wooster asked Mr. Ralph Miles to join us when he arrived in the dining hall. Mr. Miles was the youngest member of our unit. I estimated his age to be around fifteen. The other men were not very respectful to him, often teasing and embarrassing him. Mr. Wooster and his friends were always kind to him, and he fairly shone with joy at the invite.

My mystification increased when, after Mr. Miles had settled himself, Mr. Wooster stood up and went to where Mr. Buchanan sat alone. The man was aloof and kept to himself. I was surprised when he greeted Mr. Wooster as a friend, and upon being asked to come to our table, said, “I'd like that.”

As we dined that day, I reviewed Mr. Wooster's actions and came to the conclusion that my employer had decided for reasons unknown to form his own group within our battalion. My gaze fell on Mr. Heflner, and I believed I did know Mr. Wooster's motives after all.

Over the next days of our service and through the days of the week after, men were added to our table. They were invited there by either Mr. Wooster or Mr. Heflner with one exception. During our third week of service Mr. Grigg came to our table and asked to join us. He was warmly welcomed.

The farm was a comfortable place, but there were times when I chafed at being unable to be alone with Mr. Wooster. We had to be extremely careful there, but such caution did have one benefit. When we were home, Mr. Wooster talked a great deal. We spoke of many things, but our families and friends were foremost in our thoughts.

Mr. Bonzo Travers had been sent to America for training as part of his service in the RAF. He had called on us before he left. Afterwards, Mr. Wooster said, “It's dashed unfair, Jeeves. They should be more willing to take men my age. Bonzo has his whole life yet to live, but I've already done some living. At least, he won't be in the fighting that's going on now.”

Mr. Thomas Gregson had written his mother, but had said little. We received word of him from Mrs. Travers whenever there was any news.

Mr. Wooster had received three letters from Mr. Potter-Pirbright. He liked the ocean and was not finding his duties too arduous. He had made new friends, and actually sounded happy. He was obviously not having difficulty adjusting, and if he was fearful, it could not be perceived from his letter.

I had received a missive from my Uncle Charlie informing me that Queenie had joined the Women's Voluntary Service. She was currently feeding ground crews on bombed airfields.

Mr. Wooster and I often found letters from my sister waiting for us when we returned from the factory. They encouraged both of us. She was very happy and busy in New Zealand.

Besides for our friends and families, there was another subject that we spoke about often, and that was the law that forbade our love. Our discussion over the rationing of tea had caused Mr. Wooster to ponder when it was acceptable to disobey a law, and we had long talks as he slowly worked out how he felt on the issue. I greatly enjoyed these conversations. They deepened my own convictions, and I took pleasure in watching him think an issue through. I purposely gave him counter arguments to his opinions, only occasionally giving him a hint as to my own view that had been thought out long ago. I knew this frustrated him. One night Mr. Wooster declared, “If I was the kind of chappie that pulled hair when thwarted, I'd be bald.”

I gave him no answer, for I knew I was doing exactly what he needed. He did not want to believe in a concept that was easily shown to be faulty. He wanted to have a conviction that was difficult to shake. In order for Mr. Wooster to have that, I had to give him my objections to his premises, and I had to let him come to his own conclusions with only a little guidance from me.

We also talked of our time at the factory. One evening after our third week of service, Mr. Wooster was resting on the settee. I retrieved a light blanket and was placing it over him when his hand encircled my wrist. His fingers lightly brushed over my pulse, and he looked up at me, “Love you, Jeeves.”

“The feeling is very mutual, sir.” I clasped his hand briefly and then settled in a nearby chair to read. I read a few pages of The Encyclopaedia of World History and glanced up to find his gaze on me. “I am enjoying the book you bought me,” I said.

He nodded. “I saw it and thought you'd like it. I peeked at it myself. It seems interesting.”

“It is indeed, sir.”

His focus on me was still very intent. After a second, he grinned and said, “Sorry, Jeeves. I just like to look at you. And it's good to be home again; just the two of us.”

I retrieved the bookmark and replied, “As you are not sleeping, I would prefer to talk to you. There is a matter that I am curious about.”

Mr. Wooster sat up and leaned back against the settee, still studying me. “Ask away, Jeeves.”

“You purposely selected the people we share a repast with at the factory. Why did you decide at some point to claim a table and invite specific people to it?”

“I claimed a table because of Heffie. Heffie, Bingo, and I planned on staying together as much as possible. Heffie, he doesn't have a Code as I do, and yet he does. If he thinks something isn't what a gentleman would do, he won't do it. He didn't fit in well in the Army during the Great War, because of his code. He didn't have many friends there. Kept to himself and only had that one chap that he was close to. The chum that died in battle two weeks after Heffie went into the hospital due to the riding mishap. I'm telling you this so you'll understand that Heffie doesn't like... but then I don't either... and maybe that makes us...”

Mr. Wooster sighed. “I don't think I'm better than other people, Jeeves. Honestly. And neither does Heffie, but the chit-chat some of the men talk in the unit... it isn't preux chevalier. Bingo hates it. He says it always gives him the rummy feeling that he isn't being completely true to Rosie. I know you didn't like it much yourself when they started bunnying about that red lamp place in Longhaven and the women there.”

“I found it most unpleasant, sir.”

“Heffie doesn't like any disrespect toward women, no matter what said female is doing for a living. It doesn't sit well with the old Wooster, either. Heffie wasn't eating well that one day they were being especially coarse. And you recall what Wright said later; how if Heffie gets off his feed, he won't eat at all, and next thing you know he's sick. So I thought that we should grab a table of our own and invite those whose speech was gentler.

“I chose Ralph because of his age. I know Ralph tells everyone he is seventeen, but he isn't, Jeeves. How old would you say he is?”

I answered, “Judging by appearances, I would say fifteen.”

“If you add a few months to his age then you'd be right. He's fourteen. He doesn't need to hear all that rot.”

“How did you find out he was only fourteen?”

“Wright told Heffie who told me. They've been debating whether they should tattle on him about his age. Heffie says Ralph sees the war as one big adventure he wants to be part of, but it isn't like that at all. I'm not planning on telling on the cove, for the same reason they agreed not to. It seems that Ralph volunteered, partly because he gets fed well at the farm. He has eight brothers and sisters, and sometimes there is not enough food to go around at home.”

I stood up and got us both wine. Mr. Wooster continued, “I asked Howard to join us because of a book. One night I went to the coffee room, Howard was there reading that book you were deep into sometime last year, The Roman Revolution. There's evidently some con... contro...”

Mr. Wooster glanced at me, and I supplied, “Controversy?”

“Yes, thank you, Jeeves. There's some controversy about the book, and he made a dash at talking about that with me. He's a bit on the shy side, and he's always polite. I told him that I knew someone who could discuss every detail of the book with him, and invited him to join us. So you two were having this intense conversation at the table, and Andy came over to chat. I encouraged him to continue to take meals with us, because he's been married for over thirty years. He's never taken part in talk of an unpleasant nature, and you seem to get along with him well.”

“I do, sir. He has a cheerful nature, akin to your own.”

Mr. Wooster smiled at me. “Heffie brought Frank over when he discovered that the fellow loves Christie's mysteries, too. Nothing coarse about Frank. Heffie invited Walter, too, but that was really Wright's doing. Wright felt that Walter would be understanding if he slipped up and called Heffie sir in front of everyone. Walter was a valet for many long years. He's retired now. His speech is always very refined.”

I had already known this information about the man, and had suspected Mr. Heflner's reasons were similar to what Mr. Wooster related to me now.

Mr. Wooster paused as I handed him the glass of wine. “Thank you, Jeeves. Thank you, too, for being careful and not sirring me in front of the other men.”

“You are welcome. I have no desire to be the object of jokes, either.”

Mr. Wooster was silent for a moment. “As for Oscar... Heffie told me that if we put our money together we might manage to equal what he has. The other men in our unit have worked all their lives. There's only the four of us who haven't, so we ought to stick together. That way when one of us gets the ole disrespect routine, we're not alone.”

Sighing, Mr. Wooster said, “I tell you, Jeeves, that was one of the hardest friendships I've made in my life! The fellow reminded me of Oofy at first, and then I added being a snob to it, too. I believe he assumed I was going to try and touch him for the clams. And when he realised that I had no reason to, I thought he might actually ask me my income. I stuck to it, and I learned something. He told me that he had never married, because no one ever cared for him; they were only after his money. Some of that is his own doing. It's what he expects from people, but I imagine he's been treated that way, too. But it's very sad, Jeeves, to go through life trusting no one. He's not an un-likeable person or a snob. He's really just afraid of being hurt.”

“I concur with you, sir.” I did agree with him. I was not good friends with Mr. Buchanan's butler, a Mr. Gattin, who was older than I was, but he was a member of the Junior Ganymede Club, and I knew of his situation. When Mr. Gattin's mother had been told by a physician that only a long vacation by the sea could restore her health, Mr. Buchanan had not only paid her expenses for many months, he had given his butler numerous paid days free to tend to his ill parent.

“Roy invited himself, but he's welcome among us, as long as the speech stays mannerly. I don't know anything about him.”

My employer paused. “Well, that's not really true. I know that he's a Great War veteran, his wife died during that conflict, leaving behind a son. His son is in the Merchant Navy.”

Mr. Wooster took a sip of his wine. “So that's the why of everyone we share a table with. I had to ask Ralph and Oscar as they wouldn't have joined us otherwise, so I felt I should give everyone I wanted at the table an invite. And none of them talk as if they've spent all their nights in places they shouldn't have.”

“Which is most gratifying, sir. A noble person attracts noble people. Johann von Goethe. If it helps, the other men did not even notice that you were separating out certain people. They are aware now that our group tends to stay together, but as they are also comfortable with each other, they do not care. I must say that it has helped the unit, also. Our company works well together. If there should be an invasion, we would fight very well as a team.”

Mr. Wooster beamed as he always did when I praised one of his actions. “It would work better if Chandler would schedule us all with the same days. Mr. Shout And Tell You What You're Doing Wrong is always going on about esprit-de-corps.”

I suppressed the urge to laugh. Mr. Wooster and his friends had adjusted well to receiving orders. Mr. Buchanan, however, was another matter. Mr. Buchanan was a man that carried a sense of authority about him. He gave the impression that he was accustomed to giving commands not receiving them. He often tensed when being told what to do. I had heard Mr. Wooster risk receiving a reprimand himself to whisper to Mr. Buchanan, “Remember why we are learning this.” I had been surprised when Mr. Wooster's words had calmed the man and brought him back into line.

I said, “I believe Mr. Chandler is realising that friends work better if kept together. If you have noticed, sir, the days our group have free were the same ones this week.”

“Yes, I noticed.”

My employer was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Jeeves, when are you taking your vacation this year? We're volunteers so they should release you from duty at the factory.”

I glanced over at him. He was gazing across the room, and avoided my eyes. Gently, I replied, “I was not planning to take a vacation this year, sir. I do not wish to leave you when the world is in such turmoil.”

There was another silence, before Mr. Wooster sighed so softly that I barely heard him. He said, “You could probably use some restoring of the body and mind. You should go fishing. I wish... well, no matter. Just choose a time, and I'll drop in at Brinkley Court for a while.”

“The purpose of my vacation is not just for my relaxation, but also so we continue to appear to be only employer and employee. I doubt any one will view it as odd if I do not take a vacation this year. The war will be held accountable for any disruptions in our normal routine. If I might suggest, perhaps I will go fishing for two days, and visit with my family for another two. You could spend that time at Brinkley Court. I know Mrs. Travers is expecting to see you, as you usually visit her during my vacation time.”

“Jolly good! Four days won't be so rummy. I've often wished for a second stomach to enjoy Anatole's cooking with; ceasing to smoke has practically given me one, my appetite has increased so much.”

I looked over at my employer. He seemed content, and I hoped that discussing the matter would not cause hardship. “Sir, how are you doing as far as quitting?”

“Mostly good. No headaches, the old mittens don't shake any more, and I haven't coughed at all in over a week. Maybe two. The cravings are... well, they still give me quite the pip, but they aren't as dashed bad as they were when I first quit. I've been given a great deal of support, old fruit. Heffie doesn't smoke, and Bingo won't in my presence. He says there's no reason to make my life harder. He and Heffie got hold of a joke book, and they tell me the most ridiculous jests or hand me some riddle for the puzzler whenever they feel I need distracting.

“It's a rummy thing to say, but it helps that Heffie understands, since he's been through worse. Refusing the morphine when he's in pain and really wanting the medicine has to be far worse. When he says that he knows it's rough; I know that he does know.”

Mr. Wooster smiled at me. “The ciggys must truly be hard on the lungs. I don't get winded near as fast or as often during exercises. I don't find myself gulping for air after a long run.

“I thought those long night watches would be a nightmare, but the dreaded washes of need for a ciggy only come twice each night, and every time I start going potty, you or Wright show up with coffee. Your mysterious hand must be behind that, but for a time it was quite a lemon-teaser to comprehend how you know when I'm about to be dragged through hell once more.”

I gave him a smile. “Did you figure it out?”

Mr. Wooster nodded. “I get the worst cravings to smoke at the same intervals. The first is two hours into my patrol, and the second arrives three hours later toward the end of my watch. You send Wright on one of the trips to aid the old master, because sometimes you are on duty yourself, and when you aren't, you don't want me becoming worried about your sleep and kick. What?”

“That is a correct deduction, sir. Wright volunteered, however, when he realised that I was planning to go to your side twice during the night, when I could. He and Mr. Heflner can not, of course, share a bed at the farm. It would probably aid him immensely if they would start doing so at their home. Perhaps then the man will actually sleep at night.”

I perceived the question in my employer's face and said, “He sleeps very lightly. He is always aware of his commitment to Mr. Heflner. I understand. Before you and I became intimate, there was always a part of me that was 'on call' so to speak, once I loved you. When I could hold you at night or be held, I slept better. Nearness brings the assurance that you are well.”

Reaching out, Mr. Wooster stroked my arm. He grinned and said, “That's your recommendation for a valet with a strong feudal spirit, that he move into his master's bed?”

“Only for a special few,” I replied. Leaning over, I brushed my fingers across his face. “Only for those fortunate few whose master loves them, and who love with all their heart in return.”

He scooted forward, and I gazed on his face for a moment, treasuring the kindness and love in his features. We both shifted toward each other, and his lips touched me, pressing against mine. I sighed in happiness. It was a marvellous, glorious sensation; to love and be loved in return.

My lips parted of their own accord, Mr. Wooster's tongue joyfully swooped inside to flutter and tease. His lips were soft; his tongue like silk brushing over mine, the moisture was warm and welcoming.

The feel of him and the taste were intoxicating, and I knew that if I lived a hundred years, still I would not have sipped enough of him. The lingering, unhurried, balmy joining of lips and tongues that were a supreme manifestation of absolute trust, reciprocal respect, and most of all love for each other was something I always delighted in.

When we parted, he cupped my chin, and said, “I love you, Reggie.”

“I love you, Bertie.”

We exchanged smiles.

Mr. Wooster reclined on the settee again, pulled the blanket up, and closed his eyes. I knew he was tired and let him rest. I returned to the engrossing book, pausing every now and then to study Mr. Wooster. He was right. It was good to be home again; just the two of us.

********************************************************************

Tbc

 

Comments

[smutnazi.livejournal.com]

Aside from the fact that I had to go have a smoke break halfway through this (I can't stand reading about other people quitting, it drives ME batty), this is easily one of the best chapters yet. It's got more insight than most of the past ones, and doesn't seem quite as mundane as the others were getting. This one actually seems to advance the war and J/W, and the mirrored relationship in Heffie. Not that the other chapters drag at all, but this one really digs in deep to advance things, and it's by far one of the better ones for it. Keep going at it, because I adore this series.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you for commenting and sharing your thoughts! Quitting is very difficult; I can understand your not liking to read about it. I'm getting out of the Phony War now, so the story is advancing. My writing style does tend toward the slow side most of the time. I'm glad this chapter reads well. There's a lot of bringing things together in this one, as it's the last chapter that is fully in the time of the Phony War. At the end of the next one, the Blitz begins. I hope to get that chapter to my beta sometime this week. Thank you for reading!

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

Ah, I am all caught up with (and in) this wonderful story once again! I'm still enjoying it immensely. The bit about J and the cooking sherry had me in stitches, and the kiss at the end was divine. :)
Please, do keep on! I look forward to more!

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much! I'm glad you are still enjoying it! One more chapter, and I'm at the point that I call 'The End of Act One.' :) I have some drafts on act two's chapters, but a lot of writing ahead of me, too. The drinking of cooking sherry idea comes from one of the stories, but I don't remember which one. I'm slowly reading the Jeeves and Wooster stories in order; most for the second time. I'm happy the kiss went well! I'm polishing the next chapter now, in hopes to get it to my beta later this week.

[ironicbees.livejournal.com]

LOL at their horror of the denim uniforms! Were those actual uniforms from the time, and if so do you know where they might be online? I'd love to see their awfulness.

but the chit-chat some of the men talk in the unit... it isn't preux chevalier. Bingo hates it. He says it always gives him the rummy feeling that he isn't being completely true to Rosie.

That's a bit of a relief. I've sometimes wondered about whether Bingo really would be completely faithful to Rosie, at least emotionally.

I loved Bertie's thoughtfulness about the seating, and in making Jeeves feel more secure. And hooray for him being successful in his effort to quit smoking. :D

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

The denims were real. They were only worn for a short time before regular uniforms were given out. There's a photo here:

http://www.bpears.org.uk/Misc/War_NE/w_section_04.html

but I'm not sure if that shows the denims or regular uniforms. I believe this man is wearing one:

http://www.woodlands-junior.kent.sch.uk/Homework/war/homeguard.htm

{the younger looking man}

I don't think he looks bad at all, but I bet he had alterations done. Notice the cap. :)


My source for this chapter is a delightful little book by a man who was in the Home Guard for a time. The book is: The Real Dad's Army. It has a photo of the denims which I'll scan and send with my next email to you. Here's some comments from the book that I used: "It came as a disagreeable surprise to those who unpacked them to discover that most denims had no fastenings of any kind; the buttons belonging to them arrived separately," and, "denim was never made to fit human beings," and "if a prize had been offered for the designer of garments that would caricature the human form and present it in its sloppiest and most slovenly aspect, the artist who conceived the Home Guard denim was in a class apart," and "the denims had usually been designed for immensely fat men." That's just a few of the negative comments in the book{written by Norman Longmate}.

Ah, Bingo. As you know, I've wondered myself if he was faithful to Rosie. In my case, I've even thought that he might not have been physically faithful to her, either. But I do think the talk would have bothered him and that if he was unfaithful to her, he would have guilty feelings about it. At least, I hope so!

Bertie knew that Jeeves was about to bring up his wages, and that the changes are, so far, harder on Jeeves than they are on him. I'm glad you like how I'm writing him!

Thank you for the reply!

[ironicbees.livejournal.com]

I was expecting the denims to be blue, so it was a surprise to see they were olive green. They do look rather silly on the men in the first link. :)

[sige-vic.livejournal.com]

*“That's your recommendation for a valet with a strong feudal spirit, that he move into his master's bed?”*
I totally support Jeeves' recommendation! Hope for this development of Heffie/Wright relationship in the near future :-))
It was very sweet and good and gentle. I like first names and their tenderness.
Looking for the next part, as always :-)

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

I like Jeeves' recommendation, too. :) There will be more of Heffie/Wright in future chapters. Thank you for your kind words about the chapter and letting me know what you especially liked! I'm working to get that next chapter polished up.

[mxdp.livejournal.com]

*hugs everything in this story: from cup-bearer to table, cigarettes, Heffie/Wright and of course our two boys*
<3

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked this chapter!