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indeedsir_backup2009-04-20 10:13 am
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Well, enough have expressed an interest, so I'm transcribing some of the passages from Ring For Jeeves for your interest/enjoyment.
Again, this is the novel which is set post Second World War, (though Wodehouse doesn't seem to have aged Jeeves very much, if at all) and is the only novel that has Jeeves and no Bertie. I'm posting all the places where Bertie Wooster is mentioned, and maybe a few passages that focus on Jeeves, because it's interesting.
Spoilers ahead! If you're planning on reading the book yourself anytime soon, go no further!
The first mention of Jeeves and Bertie:
‘Pull yourself together, child. You’re talking wildly. Nobody has a housemaid.’
‘Bill has. And a gardener. And a butler. A wonderful butler called Jeeves. And he’s thinking of getting a boy to clean the knives and boots.’
‘Good heavens! It sounds like the home life of the Aga Khan.’ Monica frowned thoughtfully. ‘Jeeves?’ she said. ‘Why does that name seem to ring a bell?’
Rory supplied illumination.
‘Bertie Wooster. He has a man named Jeeves. This is probably a brother or an aunt of something.’
‘No,’ Jill said. ‘It’s the same man. Bill has him in lend-lease.’
‘But how on earth does Bertie get on without him?’
‘I believe Mr Wooster’s away somewhere. Anyhow, Jeeves appeared one day and said he was willing to take office, so Bill grabbed him, of course. He’s an absolute treasure. Bill says he’s an “old soul”, whatever that means.’
A description of Jeeves’s first appearance. He and his employer, operating as bookies, have just arrived home after being pursued by a disgruntled customer on the race-course.
The man who entered—or perhaps one should say shimmered into—the room was tall and dark and impressive. He might have been one of the better-class ambassadors or the youngish High Priest of some refined and dignified religion. His eyes gleamed with the light of intelligence, and his finely chiselled face expressed a feudal desire to be of service. His whole air was that of a gentleman’s gentleman who, having developed his brain over a course of years by mean of a steady fish diet, is eager to place that brain at the disposal of the young master. He was carrying over one arm a coat of sedate colour and an tie of conservative pattern.
‘You whistled, m’lord?’ he said.
Bill spun round.
‘How the dickens did you get over there, Jeeves?’
‘I ran the car into the garage, m’lord, and then made my way to the servant’s quarters. Your coat, m’lord.’
‘Oh, thanks. I see you’ve changed.’
‘I deemed it advisable, m’lord. The gentleman was not far behind as we rounded into the straight and may at any moment be calling. Were he to encounter on the threshold a butler in a check suit and a false moustache, it is possible that his suspicions might be aroused. I am glad to see that your lordship has removed that somewhat distinctive tie. Excellent for creating atmosphere on the race-course, it is scarcely vogue in private life.’
Bill eyed the repellant object with a shudder.
‘I’ve always hated that beastly thing, Jeeves. All those foul horseshoes. Shove it away somewhere. And the coat.’
‘Very good, m’lord. This coffer should prove adequate as a temporary receptacle.’ Jeeves took the coat and tie, and crossed the room to where a fine old oak dower chest stood, an heirloom long in the Rowcester family. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church door, but ’tis enough, ’twill serve.’
He folded the distressing objects carefully, placed them inside and closed the lid. And even this simple act he performed with a quiet dignity which would have impressed any spectator less agitated than Bill Rowcester. It was like seeing the plenipotentiary of a great nation lay a wreath on the tomb of a deceased monarch.
Details as to why Jeeves is no longer in Bertie Wooster’s service. This actually choked me up a bit:
‘…You eat a lot of fish, don’t you, Jeeves?’
‘A good deal, m’lord.’
‘So Bertie Wooster has often told me. You sail into the sole and sardines like nobody’s business, he says, and he attributes your giant intellect to he effects of the phosphorus. A hundred times, he says, it has enabled you to snatch him from the soup at the eleventh hour. He raves about your great gifts.’
‘Mr Wooster has always been gratifyingly appreciative of my humble efforts on his behalf, m’lord.’
‘What beats me and has always beaten me is why he ever let you go. When you came to me that day and said you were at liberty, you could have bowled me over. The only explanation I could think of was that he was off his rocker…or more off his rocker than he usually is. Or did you have a row with him and hand in your portfolio?’
Jeeves seemed distressed at the suggestion.
‘Oh, no, m’lord. My relations with Mr Wooster continue uniformly cordial, but circumstances have compelled a temporary separation. Mr Wooster is attending a school which does not permit its student body to employ gentlemen’s personal gentlemen.’
‘A school?’
‘An institution designed to teach the aristocracy to fend for itself, m’lord. Mr Wooster, though his finances are still quite sound, feels that it is prudent to build for the future, in case the social revolution should set in with even greater severity. Mr Wooster…I can hardly mention this without some display of emotion…is actually learning to darn his own socks. The course he is taking includes boot-cleaning, sock-darning, bed-making and primary-grade cooking.’
‘Golly! Well, that’s certainly a novel experience for Bertie.’
‘Yes, m’lord. Mr Wooster doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange. I quote the Bard of Stratford. Would your lordship care for another quick whisky and soda before joining Lady Carmoyle?’
Another quick mention of Bertie Wooster:
‘Good heavens! He must look the most ghastly outsider. Eh, Jeeves?’
‘Certainly far from soigné, m’lord.’
‘Very far from soigné. Oh, by the way, Jeeves, that reminds me. Bertie Wooster told me that you once made some such remark to him, and it gave him the idea for a ballad to be entitled “Way Down upon the Soigné River”. Did anything ever come of it, do you know?’
‘I fancy not, m’lord.’
‘Bertie wouldn’t have been equal to whacking it out, I suppose. But one can see a song hit there, handled by the right person.’
‘No doubt, m’lord.’
‘Cole Porter could probably do it.’
‘Quite conceivably, m’lord.’
‘Or Oscar Hammerstein.’
‘It should be well within the scope of Mr Hammerstein’s talents, m’lord.’
Bertie is mentioned a few times here. It’s quite a funny scene. Bill, at Jeeves’s suggestion, has been trying to get to sleep by counting sheep.
He broke off, leaving the eight hundred and twenty-fourth sheep, an animal with a more than usually vacuous expression on its face, suspended in the air into which it had been conjured up. Someone had knocked on the door, a knock so soft and deferential that it could have proceeded from the knuckle of only one man. It was consequently without surprise that a moment later he perceived Jeeves entering.
‘Your lordship will excuse me,’ said Jeeves courteously. ‘I would not have disturbed your lordship, had I not, listening at the door, gathered from your lordship’s remarks that the stratagem which I proposed had proved unsuccessful.’’
‘No, it hasn’t worked yet,’ said Bill, ‘but come in, Jeeves, come in.’ He could have been glad to see anything that was not a sheep. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said, starting as he noted the gleam of intelligence in his visitor’s eye, ‘that you’ve thought of something?’
‘Yes, m’lord, I am happy to say that I fancy I have found a solution to the problem which confronted us.’
‘Jeeves, you’re a marvel!’
‘Thank you very much, m’lord.’
‘I remember Bertie Wooster saying to me once that there was no crisis which you were unable to handle.’
‘Mr Wooster has always been far too flattering, m’lord.’
‘Nonsense. Not nearly flattering enough. If you have really put your finger on a way of overcoming the superhuman difficulties in our path—’
‘I feel convinced that I have, m’lord.’
Bill quivered inside his mauve pyjama jacket.
‘Think well, Jeeves,’ he urged. ‘Somehow or other we have got to get Mrs. Spottsworth out of her room for a lapse of time sufficient to enable me to bound in, find that pendant, scoop it up and bound out again, all this without a human eye resting upon me. Unless I have completely misinterpreted your words owing to having suffered a nervous breakdown from counting sheep, you seem to be suggesting that you can do this. How? That is the question that springs to the lips. With mirrors?’
Jeeves did not speak for a moment. A pained look had come into his finely chiselled face. It was as though he had suddenly seen some sight which was occasioning him distress.
‘Excuse me, m’lord. I am reluctant to take what is possibly a liberty on my part—’
‘Carry on, Jeeves. You have our ear. What is biting you?’
‘It is your pyjamas, m’lord. Had I been aware that your lordship was in the habit of sleeping in mauve pyjamas, I would have advised against it. Mauve does not become your lordship. I was once compelled, in his best interests, to speak in a similar vein to Mr Wooster, who at that time was also a mauve-pyjama addict.’
Bill found himself at a loss.
‘How have we got onto the subject of pyjamas?’ he asked wonderingly.
‘They thrust themselves on the notice, m’lord. That very aggressive purple. If your lordship would be guided by me and substitute a quiet blue or possibly a light pistachio green—’
‘Jeeves!’
‘M’lord?’
‘This is no time to be prattling of pyjamas.’
‘Very good, m’lord.’
‘As a matter of fact, I rather fancy myself in mauve. But that, as I say, is neither here not there. Let us postpone the discussion to a more suitable moment. I will, however, tell you this. If you really have something to suggest with reference to that pendant, and that something brings home the bacon, you may take these pyjamas and raze them to the ground and sow salt on the foundations.’
‘Thank you very much, m’lord.’
‘It will be a small price to pay for your services. Well, now that you’ve got me all worked up, tell me more. What’s the good news? What is this scheme of yours?’
‘A quite simple one, m’lord. It is based on—’
Bill uttered a cry.
‘Don’t tell me. Let me guess. The psychology of the individual?’
‘Precisely, m’lord.’
Bill drew in his breath sharply.
‘I thought as much. Something told me that was it. Many a time and oft, exchanging dry Martinis with Bertie Wooster in the bar of the Drones Club, I have listened to him, rapt, as he spoke of you and the psychology of the individual. He said that, once you get your teeth into the psychology of the individual, it’s all over except chucking one’s hat in the air and doing spring dances. …’
Later, Jeeves has received a communication from Bertie.
When Rory and Monica entered Jeeves’s pantry, they found its proprietor reading a letter. His fine face, always grave, seemed a little graver than usual, as if the letter’s contents had disturbed him.
‘Sorry to interrupt you, Jeeves,’ said Monica.
‘Not at all, m’lady.’
‘Finish your reading.’
‘I had already done so, m’lady. A communication from Mr Wooster.’
‘Oh?’ said Rory. ‘Bertie Wooster, eh? How is the old bounder? Robust?’
‘Mr Wooster says nothing to indicate the contrary, sir.’
‘Good. Rosy cheeks, eh? Eating his spinach, no doubt? Capital. Couldn’t be better. …’
(Later in this scene Bill enters; there is a spot of tension between Monica and Rory, and after they leave, Bill asks Jeeves for an aspirin. Jeeves states that he has just been taking one himself. I’m not sure if it was the friction that arose between Monica and Rory that brought about a headache, but I can’t help speculating that he was already tense from reading Bertie’s letter. Awww.)
The story draws to a close, Bill is reunited with his fiancé. This ending reminds me of Mary Poppins bidding goodbye to Jane and Michael.
‘Though I don’t know why I’m kissing you,’ she (Jill) said. ‘I ought to be kissing Jeeves. Shall I kiss you, Jeeves?
‘No, miss.’
‘Just think, Jeeves. You’ll have to buy that fish slice after all.’
‘It will be a pleasure and a privilege, miss.’
‘Of course, Jeeves,’ said Bill, ‘you must never leave us, wherever we go, whatever we do.’
Jeeves sighed apologetically.
‘I am very sorry, m’lord, but I fear I cannot avail myself of your kindness. Indeed, I fear I am compelled to hand in my notice.’
‘Oh, Jeeves!’
‘With the deepest regret, miss, I need scarcely say. But Mr Wooster needs me. I received a letter from him this morning.’
‘Has he left that school of his, then?’
Jeeves sighed again. ‘Expelled, m’lord.’
‘Good heavens!’
‘It is all most unfortunate, m’lord. Mr Wooster was awarded the prize for sock-darning. Two pairs of his socks were actually exhibited on Speech Day. It was then discovered that he had used a crib… and old woman whom he smuggled into his study at night.’
‘Poor old Bertie!’
‘Yes, m’lord. I gather from the tone of his communication that the scandal has affected him deeply. I feel that my place is at his side.’
The end.
- I'll be happy to add more later, when I've got my energy back! Hope this was helpful/enjoyable.
Again, this is the novel which is set post Second World War, (though Wodehouse doesn't seem to have aged Jeeves very much, if at all) and is the only novel that has Jeeves and no Bertie. I'm posting all the places where Bertie Wooster is mentioned, and maybe a few passages that focus on Jeeves, because it's interesting.
Spoilers ahead! If you're planning on reading the book yourself anytime soon, go no further!
The first mention of Jeeves and Bertie:
‘Pull yourself together, child. You’re talking wildly. Nobody has a housemaid.’
‘Bill has. And a gardener. And a butler. A wonderful butler called Jeeves. And he’s thinking of getting a boy to clean the knives and boots.’
‘Good heavens! It sounds like the home life of the Aga Khan.’ Monica frowned thoughtfully. ‘Jeeves?’ she said. ‘Why does that name seem to ring a bell?’
Rory supplied illumination.
‘Bertie Wooster. He has a man named Jeeves. This is probably a brother or an aunt of something.’
‘No,’ Jill said. ‘It’s the same man. Bill has him in lend-lease.’
‘But how on earth does Bertie get on without him?’
‘I believe Mr Wooster’s away somewhere. Anyhow, Jeeves appeared one day and said he was willing to take office, so Bill grabbed him, of course. He’s an absolute treasure. Bill says he’s an “old soul”, whatever that means.’
A description of Jeeves’s first appearance. He and his employer, operating as bookies, have just arrived home after being pursued by a disgruntled customer on the race-course.
The man who entered—or perhaps one should say shimmered into—the room was tall and dark and impressive. He might have been one of the better-class ambassadors or the youngish High Priest of some refined and dignified religion. His eyes gleamed with the light of intelligence, and his finely chiselled face expressed a feudal desire to be of service. His whole air was that of a gentleman’s gentleman who, having developed his brain over a course of years by mean of a steady fish diet, is eager to place that brain at the disposal of the young master. He was carrying over one arm a coat of sedate colour and an tie of conservative pattern.
‘You whistled, m’lord?’ he said.
Bill spun round.
‘How the dickens did you get over there, Jeeves?’
‘I ran the car into the garage, m’lord, and then made my way to the servant’s quarters. Your coat, m’lord.’
‘Oh, thanks. I see you’ve changed.’
‘I deemed it advisable, m’lord. The gentleman was not far behind as we rounded into the straight and may at any moment be calling. Were he to encounter on the threshold a butler in a check suit and a false moustache, it is possible that his suspicions might be aroused. I am glad to see that your lordship has removed that somewhat distinctive tie. Excellent for creating atmosphere on the race-course, it is scarcely vogue in private life.’
Bill eyed the repellant object with a shudder.
‘I’ve always hated that beastly thing, Jeeves. All those foul horseshoes. Shove it away somewhere. And the coat.’
‘Very good, m’lord. This coffer should prove adequate as a temporary receptacle.’ Jeeves took the coat and tie, and crossed the room to where a fine old oak dower chest stood, an heirloom long in the Rowcester family. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church door, but ’tis enough, ’twill serve.’
He folded the distressing objects carefully, placed them inside and closed the lid. And even this simple act he performed with a quiet dignity which would have impressed any spectator less agitated than Bill Rowcester. It was like seeing the plenipotentiary of a great nation lay a wreath on the tomb of a deceased monarch.
Details as to why Jeeves is no longer in Bertie Wooster’s service. This actually choked me up a bit:
‘…You eat a lot of fish, don’t you, Jeeves?’
‘A good deal, m’lord.’
‘So Bertie Wooster has often told me. You sail into the sole and sardines like nobody’s business, he says, and he attributes your giant intellect to he effects of the phosphorus. A hundred times, he says, it has enabled you to snatch him from the soup at the eleventh hour. He raves about your great gifts.’
‘Mr Wooster has always been gratifyingly appreciative of my humble efforts on his behalf, m’lord.’
‘What beats me and has always beaten me is why he ever let you go. When you came to me that day and said you were at liberty, you could have bowled me over. The only explanation I could think of was that he was off his rocker…or more off his rocker than he usually is. Or did you have a row with him and hand in your portfolio?’
Jeeves seemed distressed at the suggestion.
‘Oh, no, m’lord. My relations with Mr Wooster continue uniformly cordial, but circumstances have compelled a temporary separation. Mr Wooster is attending a school which does not permit its student body to employ gentlemen’s personal gentlemen.’
‘A school?’
‘An institution designed to teach the aristocracy to fend for itself, m’lord. Mr Wooster, though his finances are still quite sound, feels that it is prudent to build for the future, in case the social revolution should set in with even greater severity. Mr Wooster…I can hardly mention this without some display of emotion…is actually learning to darn his own socks. The course he is taking includes boot-cleaning, sock-darning, bed-making and primary-grade cooking.’
‘Golly! Well, that’s certainly a novel experience for Bertie.’
‘Yes, m’lord. Mr Wooster doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange. I quote the Bard of Stratford. Would your lordship care for another quick whisky and soda before joining Lady Carmoyle?’
Another quick mention of Bertie Wooster:
‘Good heavens! He must look the most ghastly outsider. Eh, Jeeves?’
‘Certainly far from soigné, m’lord.’
‘Very far from soigné. Oh, by the way, Jeeves, that reminds me. Bertie Wooster told me that you once made some such remark to him, and it gave him the idea for a ballad to be entitled “Way Down upon the Soigné River”. Did anything ever come of it, do you know?’
‘I fancy not, m’lord.’
‘Bertie wouldn’t have been equal to whacking it out, I suppose. But one can see a song hit there, handled by the right person.’
‘No doubt, m’lord.’
‘Cole Porter could probably do it.’
‘Quite conceivably, m’lord.’
‘Or Oscar Hammerstein.’
‘It should be well within the scope of Mr Hammerstein’s talents, m’lord.’
Bertie is mentioned a few times here. It’s quite a funny scene. Bill, at Jeeves’s suggestion, has been trying to get to sleep by counting sheep.
He broke off, leaving the eight hundred and twenty-fourth sheep, an animal with a more than usually vacuous expression on its face, suspended in the air into which it had been conjured up. Someone had knocked on the door, a knock so soft and deferential that it could have proceeded from the knuckle of only one man. It was consequently without surprise that a moment later he perceived Jeeves entering.
‘Your lordship will excuse me,’ said Jeeves courteously. ‘I would not have disturbed your lordship, had I not, listening at the door, gathered from your lordship’s remarks that the stratagem which I proposed had proved unsuccessful.’’
‘No, it hasn’t worked yet,’ said Bill, ‘but come in, Jeeves, come in.’ He could have been glad to see anything that was not a sheep. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said, starting as he noted the gleam of intelligence in his visitor’s eye, ‘that you’ve thought of something?’
‘Yes, m’lord, I am happy to say that I fancy I have found a solution to the problem which confronted us.’
‘Jeeves, you’re a marvel!’
‘Thank you very much, m’lord.’
‘I remember Bertie Wooster saying to me once that there was no crisis which you were unable to handle.’
‘Mr Wooster has always been far too flattering, m’lord.’
‘Nonsense. Not nearly flattering enough. If you have really put your finger on a way of overcoming the superhuman difficulties in our path—’
‘I feel convinced that I have, m’lord.’
Bill quivered inside his mauve pyjama jacket.
‘Think well, Jeeves,’ he urged. ‘Somehow or other we have got to get Mrs. Spottsworth out of her room for a lapse of time sufficient to enable me to bound in, find that pendant, scoop it up and bound out again, all this without a human eye resting upon me. Unless I have completely misinterpreted your words owing to having suffered a nervous breakdown from counting sheep, you seem to be suggesting that you can do this. How? That is the question that springs to the lips. With mirrors?’
Jeeves did not speak for a moment. A pained look had come into his finely chiselled face. It was as though he had suddenly seen some sight which was occasioning him distress.
‘Excuse me, m’lord. I am reluctant to take what is possibly a liberty on my part—’
‘Carry on, Jeeves. You have our ear. What is biting you?’
‘It is your pyjamas, m’lord. Had I been aware that your lordship was in the habit of sleeping in mauve pyjamas, I would have advised against it. Mauve does not become your lordship. I was once compelled, in his best interests, to speak in a similar vein to Mr Wooster, who at that time was also a mauve-pyjama addict.’
Bill found himself at a loss.
‘How have we got onto the subject of pyjamas?’ he asked wonderingly.
‘They thrust themselves on the notice, m’lord. That very aggressive purple. If your lordship would be guided by me and substitute a quiet blue or possibly a light pistachio green—’
‘Jeeves!’
‘M’lord?’
‘This is no time to be prattling of pyjamas.’
‘Very good, m’lord.’
‘As a matter of fact, I rather fancy myself in mauve. But that, as I say, is neither here not there. Let us postpone the discussion to a more suitable moment. I will, however, tell you this. If you really have something to suggest with reference to that pendant, and that something brings home the bacon, you may take these pyjamas and raze them to the ground and sow salt on the foundations.’
‘Thank you very much, m’lord.’
‘It will be a small price to pay for your services. Well, now that you’ve got me all worked up, tell me more. What’s the good news? What is this scheme of yours?’
‘A quite simple one, m’lord. It is based on—’
Bill uttered a cry.
‘Don’t tell me. Let me guess. The psychology of the individual?’
‘Precisely, m’lord.’
Bill drew in his breath sharply.
‘I thought as much. Something told me that was it. Many a time and oft, exchanging dry Martinis with Bertie Wooster in the bar of the Drones Club, I have listened to him, rapt, as he spoke of you and the psychology of the individual. He said that, once you get your teeth into the psychology of the individual, it’s all over except chucking one’s hat in the air and doing spring dances. …’
Later, Jeeves has received a communication from Bertie.
When Rory and Monica entered Jeeves’s pantry, they found its proprietor reading a letter. His fine face, always grave, seemed a little graver than usual, as if the letter’s contents had disturbed him.
‘Sorry to interrupt you, Jeeves,’ said Monica.
‘Not at all, m’lady.’
‘Finish your reading.’
‘I had already done so, m’lady. A communication from Mr Wooster.’
‘Oh?’ said Rory. ‘Bertie Wooster, eh? How is the old bounder? Robust?’
‘Mr Wooster says nothing to indicate the contrary, sir.’
‘Good. Rosy cheeks, eh? Eating his spinach, no doubt? Capital. Couldn’t be better. …’
(Later in this scene Bill enters; there is a spot of tension between Monica and Rory, and after they leave, Bill asks Jeeves for an aspirin. Jeeves states that he has just been taking one himself. I’m not sure if it was the friction that arose between Monica and Rory that brought about a headache, but I can’t help speculating that he was already tense from reading Bertie’s letter. Awww.)
The story draws to a close, Bill is reunited with his fiancé. This ending reminds me of Mary Poppins bidding goodbye to Jane and Michael.
‘Though I don’t know why I’m kissing you,’ she (Jill) said. ‘I ought to be kissing Jeeves. Shall I kiss you, Jeeves?
‘No, miss.’
‘Just think, Jeeves. You’ll have to buy that fish slice after all.’
‘It will be a pleasure and a privilege, miss.’
‘Of course, Jeeves,’ said Bill, ‘you must never leave us, wherever we go, whatever we do.’
Jeeves sighed apologetically.
‘I am very sorry, m’lord, but I fear I cannot avail myself of your kindness. Indeed, I fear I am compelled to hand in my notice.’
‘Oh, Jeeves!’
‘With the deepest regret, miss, I need scarcely say. But Mr Wooster needs me. I received a letter from him this morning.’
‘Has he left that school of his, then?’
Jeeves sighed again. ‘Expelled, m’lord.’
‘Good heavens!’
‘It is all most unfortunate, m’lord. Mr Wooster was awarded the prize for sock-darning. Two pairs of his socks were actually exhibited on Speech Day. It was then discovered that he had used a crib… and old woman whom he smuggled into his study at night.’
‘Poor old Bertie!’
‘Yes, m’lord. I gather from the tone of his communication that the scandal has affected him deeply. I feel that my place is at his side.’
The end.
- I'll be happy to add more later, when I've got my energy back! Hope this was helpful/enjoyable.
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My comments on this for now:
D'AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
In my sleep-addled state, that is all I can manage.
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I love Wodehouse's use of quoting Shakespeare in the second excerpt. When I read this cover to cover it was admitedly not as enjoyable as the other Wooster novels, though it's still a stimulating read for a long train ride.
Thanks again darling!
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It's fun to think of Bertie and Jeeves operating in that era, though.
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Anyway, I agree, what happened to him was diabolical. I suppose he did have a choice, unlike Oscar Wilde, but - well - not much of one, eh.
I got the impression, though, that it was the way the government of his own country turned on him and dogged him with their mistrust, after the enormous service he had contributed in the war - that was what really got to him. Poor guy.
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He did have a choice, but who would want that kind of choice. Just awful. I think it's a choice that would put fear into people. It scares me just to think about, and I never disobey any laws.
So, do you believe it was suicide or an accident? How did the play show his death?
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(also, this means they've been together.. what, 30 years, give or take? oh BOYS. teeheehee.)
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Except that he's Jeeves's boyfriend and they are (sadly, temporarily) apart .... I mean, he has nothing to do with anything in the plot, god knows, and yet BertieBertieBertie, especially from Jeeves, and everyone seems to recognize that they're an established couple. ♥
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Jeeves does seem more…open? than he does with Bertie. I wonder, could it be because if he were like this with Bertie, that combined with the length of their partnership and his chasing away fiancées would arouse suspicions, so there has to appear to be a bit more professional distance? He’s only working for Bill temporarily, and actively trying to help him marry, so perhaps he can afford to be a little less reserved.
(I have to say, though, this book being explicitly set in 1950s post-War Britain drives me crazy…or, to be more exact, Wodehouse’s looseness with time does. I mean, the series takes place over, what, half a dozen years? Starting in the teens-early20s. And now they’re in the 50s, only the series still isn’t over. I’d assume Ring for Jeeves is set after The Tie That Binds, except that as far as I recall the books after RfJ are also set post-War. *shakes fist at Plum* I pretty much decided to just ignore any references to anything after the 30s, as Wodehouse only included them because he felt like he needed to keep the series “relevant”. /rant)
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I tried to figure out a timeline once, but it's even more puzzling than the Holmes' canon.....
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Yeah, at least Doyle didn't try to squeeze 6 decades worth of history into 6+ years!
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The issue of Jeeves's age struck me too when I read this book. Obviously, it's post WW2, and Jeeves mentions that he 'dabbled to a certain extent' in WW1. Yet, as you say, Jeeves doesn't come across at all as being an old man. So, at a push, Jeeves could have been born around the turn of the century, making him 50ish in RfJ.
Is there ever any definitive mention of birth dates?
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*dignified sobbing in the background*
I know, Jeeves, there there, you'll be reunited with Bertie in no time.
*quivery lip* Imagine how Bertie must be suffering, too!
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The Lady 529
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When I read the entrance of Jeeves, my first thought was hah, here we have more evidence against these unflattering portrayals of him as a balding old man. Where do people get these bizarre notions?
It definitely sounds as though it was very much against Jeeves' recommendation that Bertie went to this silly school. One wonders what put the thought into his head.
I do find it interesting that one seems to see a different side of Jeeves - somewhat less inhibited - when Bertie isn't around. Does he keep himself more buttoned up around Bertie? Hmm.... Much to think on now.
Thanks for sharing!
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I super want to see fic of this.