Hitching to Never-Never Land

A list of words and phrases translated into Bertie/Jeeves speak.

Thu, 01 Oct 2009 20:43:32 GMT

A list of words and phrases translated into Bertie/Jeeves speak.

American Term	English Equivalent (as used in 1920s/30s if relevant or possible)	Example or explanation
Addicting	Addictive	I have looked this up, and I'm assured that 'addicting' is a perfectly valid word. I'm not smart enough to know when it's 'addicting' and when it's 'addictive' - but I do know that the whole time I lived in England, I never heard anyone, no matter how posh and educated they were, never once did I ever hear anyone ever say 'addicting'. Not saying that it's bad to say 'addicting', just saying I never heard it used until I moved here.
Airplane	Aeroplane
Anyways (I know it's not used in the US exclusively)	Anyway, anyhow	I can't speak for all dialects in Britain, but I know they don't say 'anyways' in the southeast or London.
Apartment	Flat	I think Bertie and Jeeves would, however, refer to it as an 'apartment' if they were in New York.
armoire	wardrobe
ass, behind, derriere	arse (coarse), bum (less coarse), backside or bottom	Arse' is certainly not a polite word; if either Bertie or Jeeves were to use it, it would be a bit shocking. 'Bum' is a bit more lighthearted a term - I suppose Bertie might use that term when talking with the lads at the Drones, but it's not something he'd go to press with (obviously) or use in mixed or polite society. When talking about this particular part of the body, Bertie is always pretty vague. He sometimes says 'fleshy parts', which I can only guess means his backside (for want of a better word). 'Backside' or 'bottom' I imagine he might use if he's forced to be specific. I believe Jeeves has used the term 'posterior' and, I'm fairly certain, 'fundamen'. 'Fundamen' I have looked up in the dictionary, to be sure of his meaning and of its spelling, but I haven't even found the term there. My personal opinion is that Jeeves would use these rather posh and clinical terms when talking to his employer, but if he was, say, in an intimate situation, they might seem a bit overly austere, and he'd have to come up with some other term.
Baby carriage	Parambulator, 'pram' for short	Strollers are called 'pushchairs', but I don't know that they had these in those days.
Blocks (i.e. a city block)	We don't use the block system in Britain.	It's a few blocks from here' = 'It's just down the road/up the road/half a mile/from here" or 'It's in (eg.) Dover Street.'
1901 West Main Street (example)	28, High Street (example)	Because there are no numbered streets in Britain, and because our streets are rarely very long, addresses tend to be in the single or double digits (maybe occassionally triple), and refer to the order they are situated on the street. Houses on a street are numbered from 1 onwards, odd on one side and even on the other, and the sequence is not broken by a cross street. Streets criss-cross each other, but not in an organised grid, so we don't tend to use the term 'cross-street', even, or give a direction like 'it's on the corner of State and Main'. Instead, we might say 'it's number 17 in the High Street, just past Fircroft Lane/past the chemist's'. Also streets are not typically divided into north or south, east or west. They're not long enough for this to be necessary.
Bug	Beetle
Bugging (annoying)	Pestering, annoying, Bertie might also say 'snootering'
Busy (on a telephone line)	Engaged	"The line's busy" = "it's engaged".
Candy	Sweets (Jeeves once called it 'sweetmeat', but this is very formal and quite archaic, probably not for Bertie).	I've not seen Bertie mention 'sweets' or 'sweetmeat' - on the occasions where he has mentioned confectionary, he's said specifically what it is. For example he mentions sharing his last bar of 'milk chocolate' with Gussie Fink-Nottle as a child. Chocolate brands at that time were Cadburys, of course, and also Fry and Rowntree.
Chicken soup (for an invalid)	Soup or broth	We have chicken soup in England, of course, but it's not nearly the huge deal it seems to be over here - at least, it's not necessarily the first thing you think of to feed someone when they're ill. Soup, perhaps, but not specifically chicken soup. Broth?
Closet	Wardrobe or cupboard	Having brought this up, I should say that the term 'closet' MAY have been used then. It is completely gone from the British vocabulary today, but it was used in Jane Austen's time. I cannot recall seeing it in any of Wodehouse's works. He DOES, however, use the term 'closeted', meaning 'to be alone with' e.g. 'We were closeted together in the drawing room'.
Come see/look/eat/play/run etc	Come and see/look/eat/play/run etc	"Come have dinner with us" = "Come and have dinner with us"
Corn on the cob	Sweet corn.	Did Bertie ever eat this? I don't know.
Cup cakes	Fairy cakes	It may be that 'cup cakes' was a term used in the past, but I am not aware of this.
Go see/look/eat/play/run etc	go and see/look/eat/play/run etc	"Go see what he wants" = "Go and see what he wants"
Cotton candy	Candy floss
Crib (for a baby)	Cot
Cup (cooking measurement)	Ounces/pounds (for flour, sugar, butter), fluid ounces/pints (for milk, water). We generally measure dry items and butter by weight rather than volume.
Deceiving	Deceptive
Dessert	Dessert or Pudding	Most people today say 'pudding'. We do say 'dessert', but it's rather a posh way of putting it. Jeeves would probably have said dessert, Bertie might have said either.
Pudding	Blancmange' (pronounced blahmonge with a soft 'g'.	Nowadays there's a brand name for the stuff that's more commonly used, Bird's 'Angel Delight'. Blancmange sounds a bit posh. There's also 'mousse' which is a lot like chocolate pudding, but more bubbly and frothy and, well, better.
Dish-towel	Tea towel.
Done (i.e. complete, finished)	Finished	When I'm done with this letter' = 'when I've finished this letter'
Drafted (for war)	Called up, or joined up if voluntary. To 'take the King's shilling' means the same thing, but I think this term might have been a bit archaic by the second world war.
Draw (water for bath)	Run	"I'll draw you a bath" = "I'll run your bath". Because, I suppose, it comes from running water from a tap, rather than water drawn from a well? I suppose we were so ecstatic when running water became available, we changed our terminology in celebration. Bertie even says "switch on the bath" sometimes.
Drool	Dribble
Drug store	A Grocers, or Chemist if it's just medical/health/prescriptions.	At a chemist's in those days, I believe you could also buy certain poisons if you signed a book stating it's use. Arsenic for killing weeds, for example. I may be wrong, but I think this was also the place to get petrol for your car in the very early days of cars. The most famous chemist's chain in England is Boots Chemist's, established in 1849, sold to an American drug company in 1920, then sold back in 1933 during the depression.
Super-store (like Wal-Mart)	I think posh versions of these existed in London, and were called 'department stores'. Like Harrods.	Before big department stores took over everything, of course, everything was sold in individual stores. Sweet shops, bakers, green grocers, tobacconists, newsagents, ironmongers, draperers, butchers (meat that required actual butchering), polterers (chickens and turkeys and geese), fishmongers, flower shops, tailors, etc, etc. Some of these still exist, but it's a declining thing.
Newspaper/candy/cigarette store	Newsagent or 'the Newsagents'	I don't think you have these here - not in Idaho, anyway.
General store	The Grocers.	A small store that sells sweets, paper, string, soda, cigarettes - any dry goods that can be ordered in bulk. They don't really exist anymore, I don't think, though there are still 'corner shops' in residential areas that sell various necessities (including tobacco, wines and spirits).
Farmer's Market? Place that sells fruit and vegetables	Green-grocers.
Elevator	Lift
Eggplant	Aubergine (pronounced O-ber-geen with a soft 'g'.)
Field (for football and other sports)	Pitch (i.e. football pitch, rugby pitch).
Fire (from a job)	Sack, dismiss, (give the boot, hand the mitten - Bertie)	1. "You're fired!" = "You're sacked!" 2. "I got fired" = "I got the sack"/"I was dismissed" (Jeeves)
Flashlight	Torch
Flatware	Cutlery
Football	American Football
Fourteen pounds (weight)	A stone	"I weigh 145 pounds" = "I weigh 10 stone, 5 pounds". The word 'stone' as a unit of weight is always singular. It's 'two stone' not 'two stones'.
Soccer	Football	(see Football)
Freshen	Refresh (refill, if a drink)	"I'll freshen your drink" = "I'll refresh/refill your glass".
Freshen up	Wash, wash and brush up
Garbage man	Dustman	I seem to remember hearing the term 'garbage man' in an old 30s English film, so they may have said 'garbage man' then too. Not now, though.
Girdle	Suspenders (women)
A Glass of beer	A pint of bitter, or lager.	I'm not 100% sure if Bertie would call it bitter or lager. I've heard him say 'ale'. If it's a small glass of beer, then it's 'half a pint', or just 'a half'. Phrases one might say: 'Half a bitter, please.' 'Fancy a pint?' (i.e. 'would you like a pint of beer?')
Garbage	Rubbish
Trash can	Dust bin, Rubbish bin
Given name	Christian name, first name.
Last name	Surname
Good (pleasant)	Wonderful, lovely, etc	A tricky one. It's hard to describe when 'good' is used in British English and when not. 'That's good', meaning, 'that's a good thing' is okay. 'He's a good man', meaning 'virtuous' is okay. But we'd never say 'this feels good' or 'this tastes good'. Instead it would be 'this feels wonderful' or 'this tastes wonderful'. Perhaps 'good' doesn't seem a strong enough word, since we are given to hyperbole and overstatement quite a bit (although we don't, or didn't, say 'awesome'.) Having said all this, Bertie has been known to say 'good eggs, these' in reference to his breakfast. I suspect this was part of Bertie's more modern and informal speech, which was given to Americanisms at times. Jeeves might use a more specific adjective, such as 'delicious' or 'excellent'. Bertie talking this way never sounded odd to me; but 'that feels/tastes good' definitely sounds strange.
Gotten	Got	"I didn't know how he'd gotten there" = "I didn't know how he'd got there"
Groused	Grumbled
Headed	Heading	"Where are you headed?" = "Where are you heading?"
Hold still	Keep still
Hood (on a car)	Bonnet
Hot dog!	No real equivilant - perhaps 'hurray/hooray!'	(But Bertie, of course, will say 'hot dog!' occasionally.)
hutch	dresser or kitchen dresser
I guess	I suppose
Insults (nouns)	Son of a bachelor', son of a what-not, idiot, fat-head, blighter, hell-hound, nincompoop, imbecile, pill, excrescence, silly ass, chuckle-head, pot of poison, poop, fat slob, cad, and many, many more.	Today in Britain we happily say words like arsehole, dick, bastard, berk, fuckwit, git, knob-head, muppet, poofter, pillock, plonker, prat, prick, twat (not nearly as rude in the UK as it appears to be here), cunt (every bit as rude), silly sod or silly bugger (often a term of endearment), tosser, wally, wanker to name a few off the top of my head, none of these would have been used by Bertie or Jeeves.
Insults (adjectives)	Blasted, cursed, damned, silly, blighted, idiotic, certifiable… it's hard to think of many.	Bloody' was used then, but not in polite society - only among the lads.
Insults (expletives)	Blast, bless my soul, crikey, dash it, damn (in extreme cases), egad, gosh, good lord, God, heck, heavens, pish, tish, what the hell (only with friends).	Popular today but not for Bertie or Jeeves: Bollocks, bugger, bugger it, Christ, fuck, fuck it, Gorden Bennet, Jesus, shit. ? Can't think of any others!
Intersection (traffic)	Junction	A three-way intersection is often called a 'T-junction'. A 4-way is called a 'cross-roads'.
Invite (noun)	Invitation	"I didn't receive an invite" = "I didn't receive an invitation".
Jell-O	Jelly	I have no idea if this existed then. I would guess so.
Jelly	Jam	If the seeds etc have been strained out of the jam, it is technically a jelly, though most would still say 'jam', I think? Brits would default to 'jam' rather than 'jelly' if there's any doubt.
Laundry	Washing	A woman who provided a laundry service would have then been called a 'washerwoman'.
Lemonade	Lemon squash	By the way, what you call 'Sprite' or 'Seven-Up', we would call 'lemonade', though strictly speaking it wouldn't have any lime in it. R. Whites is the best and I believe existed in B. Wooster's time. What you might call 'orange soda' we'd call 'orangeade'.
Line (of people)	Queue (pronounced 'cue').
Lint	Fluff, dust
Loveseat	Settee or small sofa.
Mailbox	Pillar box	We don't have mail boxes outside our houses to deposit out-going mail. Instead we go to a red pillar box and post it there. They are dotted about here and there in all towns/villages. (Incoming mail comes through the 'post box', a slot in the front door).
Molasses	Treacle
Most (almost)	Almost	In south east England at least, 'almost' is never shortened to 'most'.
Movie theatre	Cinema	Jeeves sometimes says 'motion picture performance'.
Muffin	Fairy cakes?	The closest thing would be a fairy cake (known in America as a cup cake). I don’t think we had American muffins in the UK until relatively recently. We have them now - they're generally called 'American muffins', and they aren't as big as the ones in the US. I was astonished when I saw the size of an actual American muffin!
English muffin	Muffin	A "muffin" to Brits is a nice, bready, doughy thing that you bake on a griddle instead of in the oven, and they are eaten sliced in half, hot, spread with butter. Not the same thing as a crumpet.
Mussed	Ruffled, messed up, dishevelled	"His hair was mussed" = "his hair was ruffled"
Nary	Ne'er, not	I could be wrong, but I have never seen 'nary' used in the UK. It's derived from 'ne'er', which is of course a shortened version of 'never'. By the 1920s, I don't think 'ne'er' was used generally unless it was a part of a regional dialect. Bertie might have used it when waxing poetical, and Jeeves might have used it when quoting some ancient poem. Otherwise, 'not' would work fine, e.g. 'there's not a cloud in the sky'. If you were being a bit poetic, you might say 'never a cloud in the sky', but this is unusual.
nightstand	bedside table
Occupied (public toilet)	Engaged
Unoccupied (public toilet)	Vacant
omelet	omelette
On (eg.) Dover Street	In (eg.) Dover Street	It's on Dover Street' = 'It's in Dover Street'.
Pants	Trousers (more formal wear), or flannels (looser, informal wear), pants (slang)	Bertie sometimes said 'pants' as a slang term 'he had me by the seat of the pants', 'she needs a good kick in the pants'. However, the proper terms was trousers. If the trousers were made of flannel material worn by cricket players and as casual wear, then they were called 'flannels'. Bertie sometimes calls changing into casual wear as 'slipping into something loose'.
Knickerbockers	Plus-twos, plus-fours, plus-sixes.
Boxers or briefs (men's underwear)	Pants, today, then - 'the knee-length', underclothing, undergarments	In modern British English, 'pants' refers to male underwear. I think in those times however the term would simply have been 'underwear', though Bertie sometimes calls it 'the knee-length'.
Panties	Knickers?	Female underwear is called 'knickers' today, but I'm not sure when this term came about, or what term was typically used to describe women's underwear at that time. (It probably wasn't mentioned much at all, hence the difficulty in researching it.) I imagine someone of Bertie's scruples would use a general term such as 'underclothing' or 'undergarments'.
Pavement	the road	You might say 'the tarmac' or 'the asphalt' if you wanted to get specific about it. Someone posh like Bertie might even call it 'the Macadam' as an informal term. ('Tarmac' is derived from 'Tar'+'Macadam', tar being a key ingredient and Macadam being the Scotsman who invented it. Things being a bit soggy and muddy in the British Isles, you can imagine such an invention would be extremely important. Before tarmac, it was quicker to walk and highwaymen had an easy time of it.)
Period (punctuation)	Full stop	Not usually used as an expression to create emphasis. "I've had enough, period" might translate to "I've had enough, full stop", but I think this is a recent thing we've picked up from America, and translated for ourselves. I have an idea this was a fad expression that's already died out, though I could be wrong.
Pesky	Fiddly, irritating
Petting (verb)	Stroking or patting	You stroke a cat, you pat a dog or a horse. 'Petting' seems to be a broad term covering stroking and patting and so on in the US, but we don't seem to have such a generalised term in the UK. 'Petting' in terms of 'fooling around' sexually isn't used in the UK. either, but I can't think of an equivalent. Again, it's a broad term decribing an number of different activities, but I think in the UK there is no term as general and you just have to be specific.
Pit (i.e. seed from fruit)	Pip, if it's small. Stone, if it's big.	Apples, grapes, oranges all have 'pips'. Peaches, cherries, nectarines have 'stones'.
Pitcher	Jug
Pumps (shoes)	High heels	Bertie sometimes refers to a woman's shoe as a 'vamp', but I have no idea what that style of shoe would look like.
Purse (one that's larger and has a shoulder strap)	Handbag
Put in, insert (such as luggage into a car)	Bung in (informal only - not Jeeves)	1. "Bung those suitcases in the back of the car." 2. "Bung some more gin in this cocktail, would you?"
Quit	Stop	Quit hitting me!' = 'Stop hitting me!' 'Quit' may have been used as a rather posh way of saying 'leaving', e.g. 'quitting the theatre', 'quit the gathering' - Nowadays, 'quit' only applies to leaving a job, and then only informally.
Real	Really, very, extremely, absolute	1. "I'm real pleased" = "I'm really pleased" 2. "He's a real card" = "He's an absolute card".
Realtor	Estate Agent
Reserve (i.e. tickets)	Book	"Have you reserved the tickets?" = "Have you booked the tickets?"
Rocks	Stones or pebbles.	"Rocks" in Britain tends to refer to larger chunks - that is, something that would be quite hard to hold in one hand. In order of size, there are boulders, then there are rocks, then stones, then pebbles (pebbles are usually smooth, found on a beach).
Rutabaga	Swede
Santa Claus	Father Christmas
Scone	Scone (but it's round, not triangular, and generally, they're plain, and just a little less dense - almost half-way to being like an American biscuit, only sweeter.) They are usually sliced in half and eaten with butter, butter and jam, or strawberries and cream. There is such a thing as a cheese scone and a raisin scone.	Some British people pronounce 'scone' as 'scone' with the 'o' as in 'alone'. Others pronounce it 'scon' with the 'o' as in 'gone'. I used to argue with friends about it. They thought I was being posh saying it with the former pronounciation, and I thought the same of them for saying it with the latter. I don't know which is more common, and I don't know if I was unusual, and I certainly don't know how Bertie would have pronounced it!
Scoot	Budge
Shot-glass	Tumbler
Shuck (clothing)	Take off, shrug off, disrobe, remove	I don't think we even talk about 'shucking corn' in the UK. It's probably just called 'peeling', but since corn isn't quite such a huge deal in the UK, there probably isn't a term because it just isn't mentioned much.
Sick, a sick person	Ill, unwell, poorly, an invalid	"My aunt is sick" = 'My aunt is ill". 'Sick' can be used to mean 'ill, but it's really rather rare to hear it used that way. It usually refers specifically to vomit, 'I was sick all over my dress', 'there's sick on this blanket'. Within, I guess, the past 20 years? in England, we do now say 'that's sick' when something is in poor taste, but you rather feel like you're comparing a situation to actual vomit rather than to a state of illness. 'You're sick' ought to mean 'you're mentally ill' but though we say it, it sort of sounds like 'you're like vomit'.
Sidewalk	Pavement
Slick	Slippery
Snuck	Sneaked	"I snuck down the hall" = "I sneaked down the hall"
Someplace	Somewhere
Stroller (for a baby)	Push chair
Sure	certainly, absolutely, definitely, of course	1. "I sure am!" = "I certainly am!" 2. "He sure likes pancakes" = "He really likes pancakes" N.B: "Are you sure?" is fine, though Jeeves would probably use "Are you certain?".
Suspenders (men)	Braces
Brace (for teeth)	Braces
Telephone booth	Telephone box	Like pillar boxes, these are red, or were, and are dotted about all over the country. See 'mailbox'
Think on it	think about it	"I'll think on it" = "I'll think about it"
Through (i.e. complete, finished)	Finished	When I'm through with this letter' = 'when I've finished this letter'
Toilet	Cloakroom (if public), 'the gents/the ladies' (if public), bathroom, water closet	We're famous for calling it a "loo" in England, but it's not something Bertie or Jeeves would have said. I'm not sure which of the expressions I've listed they'd have employed.
Trunk (on a car)	Boot
Tub (bathtub)	Bath	Bertie says 'tub' occassionally, but as a slang term. He also calls it 'the porcelain'. Everyone is familiar with the meaning of 'tub', but it isn't used exclusively. The default word is 'bath', and this can be a verb or a now. 'I'm having my bath', 'I'm in the bath' (or 'I'm in my bath' if you're being posh).
Turtle	Tortoise (if it has feet and walks on land).	If it has flippers and swims, then it's still a turtle.
Umbrella	Umbrella.	Yes, "brolly" is sometimes used in England, but not by anyone I've ever met in the south-east. I don't think Bertie would have done. Jeeves certainly wouldn't.
Undershirt	Vest
Use (i.e. need)	Need, do with	I could use a drink' = 'I could do with a drink' or 'I need a drink'.
Vest	Waistcoat	A vest in England is underwear for the torso.
Undershirt	Vest	I believe Bertie always wore a vest under his shirt.
Wash-cloth	Flannel	I haven't been able to find if they called it a flannel in Bertie's time. I know that he generally used a sponge rather than a cloth, though.
Wash dishes, do the dishes	Wash up, do the washing up
What gives?	What's going on?
Zipper	Zip - but probably not until after 1937.	Zips or zippers were not used on trousers until 1937, popularized by the French. I have a feeling even then it might have been a little while before they were used exclusively by London tailors. Prior to that I believe it would have been buttons.
Zucchini	Courgette

The Code of the Ganymede: The Trial of Jeeves

Fri, 14 Nov 2008 06:22:57 GMT

Title: The Code of the Ganymede: The Trial of Jeeves
Pairing: Jeeves & Wooster
Rating: G - it's early days for them yet.
Summary: This deals with the consequences Jeeves faces after destroying the 'Wooster, B.' pages from the Ganymede club book. I have no idea how the Junior Ganymede would have been run, or exactly what happens when a club member breaks a rule - so this is all speculation and made up stuff, so to speak.

Sequel to The Code of the Ganymede: Jeeves makes an Omelette.

When Jeeves had completed clearing away the breakfast things a few weeks later, he gave a soft cough, indicating to the young master that he had something particular to say.

‘Yes, Jeeves?’

‘I wish to speak to you, sir, regarding the matter of the club book.’

‘Oh?’ Bertie said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Is anything wrong? I thought the book was restored to the vaults of the Ganymede.’

‘Indeed it is, sir. However, it has come to the attention of the club committee that eighteen pages have gone missing from the book since it was stolen last month.’

‘What!’

‘Yes, sir. It was to be expected, sir.’

‘Oh, lord, Jeeves! I suppose by now they’ve figured out which employer’s details are missing, what?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Oh, my sainted aunt. Are you in frightful trouble over this?’

‘It is difficult to say, sir. The committee has requested that I attend a disciplinary hearing.’

Bertie had been pulling a cigarette from his case, and at Jeeves’s words the case leapt from his hands, scattering cigarettes all over the carpet.

‘But, Jeeves! This is frightful! Do you mean to say that you’ve already confessed to this little crime?’

‘It is hardly a small matter in the eyes of the club, sir,’ said Jeeves calmly, stooping to pick up the cigarettes. ‘However, as I have said, I believe that a case can be made justifying the exclusion of information pertaining to an employer who has engaged the services of a club member on a permanent basis.’ He offered Bertie a cigarette from the case. Bertie took it.

‘They might decide it’s all right, since I’ve no intention of ever hiring another club member, you mean?’

‘Precisely, sir.’

Bertie leaned towards Jeeves as his valet reached to light his cigarette. ‘But, Jeeves,’ he said, after leaning back and inhaling a lungful, ‘I don’t want to suggest – that is – well, didn’t you guess that this might happen?’

‘I deemed it to be extremely likely, sir.’

Bertie was utterly confused by this.

‘Then why on earth did you decide to go through with it?’

‘When I removed the pages, sir, I was acting on an impulse.’

'An impulse?'

'Yes, sir.'

'You mean you simply acted? Recklessly, without weighing this and that or thinking of the consequences? You had no plan up your sleeve to find a solution agreeable to all parties?'

'Precisely, sir.'

'I didn't think you ever got wild impulses, Jeeves.'

The corner of Jeeves’s mouth twitched. ‘They occur from time to time, sir.’

‘Ah.’ Bertie exhaled a stream of smoke through his nose thoughtfully.

‘I was much agitated, sir, by the narrow squeak we experienced with regards to the club book’s confidentiality. I reflected that your concerns had been entirely justified, and that I had been, I must confess, somewhat naïve in supposing that all Ganymede members held the information contained in those pages with the same respect as did I. These reflections prompted me to a firm resolution, and I determined to act immediately.’

‘You decided if it had to be done, it was best to get it over with, as Shakespeare put it?’

‘Yes, sir. Shakespeare did not have quite your style of expression, sir, but you have essentially described the frame of mind in which I acted.’

‘I see.’ Bertie mused. ‘Heavens, Jeeves. That was very white of you, I must say.’

‘Not at all, sir.'

'You should have told me all at the time, old thing. I hate to think you've had this awful thing weighing on your shoulders.'

'Not at all, sir,' Jeeves repeated. 'I felt certain that I would be able to find a way to justify my actions to the club. I believe that, regarded in the proper light, the decision I made may be defensible.’

‘Well, that’s all very well, Jeeves, but will they look at it in the proper light?’

‘I cannot say at this juncture, sir. I concluded that I had technically not committed any serious breach, but I decided not to speak of my actions when I returned the book to the club secretary. To do so would, I felt, be too akin to an admission of guilt. However, I decided to apprise them of my part in the matter immediately it was announced that the book had been altered.’

‘And that was when they sprang this disciplinary hearing on you, was it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘When is this hearing to take place?’

‘This afternoon at two o'clock, sir.’

‘What!’

‘Yes, sir. I was hoping that you might be able to spare me from my duties this afternoon in order that I might attend.’

‘Of course, Jeeves! I know how important the Ganymede is to you, dash it!’

‘Thank you, sir.’

They regarded one another silently for a moment. Bertie scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

‘I’m terribly sorry about all this, Jeeves. I shouldn’t have pestered you about that book so much.’

‘Not at all, sir. As I say, I believe you had legitimate grounds for anxiety.’

‘Yes, but, dash it. I didn’t want you to get into trouble, Jeeves.’

‘I know, sir.’

‘It sounds like a pretty formal affair. Will there be witnesses sworn in, and so forth? A representative for the defense and for the plaintiff, and all that?’

‘It will approximate a court of law in many respects, sir.’

Bertie swallowed. He had been in court himself several times, and had always found the experience extremely galling.

‘Will you be all right, Jeeves? I don’t think I could live with myself if you came home from the Ganymede having had your buttons snipped off by a gang of angry butlers.’

Jeeves smiled imperceptibly.

‘I appreciate your concern, sir. We can but hope for the best.’

‘Perhaps I should accompany you, Jeeves.’

‘No, sir. The committee has not foreseen any necessity for your presence.’

‘But I might be able to tell them a thing or two, what?’

‘The Junior Ganymede does not feel it proper to involve the employers of its members in the general affairs of the club, sir. However, I am most grateful for your offer.’

‘Very good, then, Jeeves. But you can tell them from me that you are a paragon of men, and that if they choose to punish you for sticking so faithfully to the old feudal spirit, then I call it monstrous.’

‘Very good, sir. Thank you, sir.’

The rest of the morning was rather quiet and strained. Jeeves clearly did not hold Bertie in any reproach, but his employer’s conscience was racked. He played a few tunes at the piano, but with little enthusiasm. He didn’t have the heart to sing. He kept glancing at the clock, and as the hour of two ticked closer he became aware of a fluttering sensation in his stomach. He could hear Jeeves moving about in the kitchen, and wondered if his valet had butterflies too.

At twenty minutes to two, Jeeves emerged from his lair, wearing his overcoat and holding his hat. Bertie looked up.

‘Zero hour, eh, Jeeves?’

‘Just so, sir.’

‘The iron tongue of midnight, and all that. Only it’s the afternoon, of course.’

Jeeves nodded, acknowledging Bertie’s attempt to lighten the mood. He placed his hat on his head, and Bertie rose and moved over to where the man was standing.

‘Good luck, Jeeves. May the case of Ganymede vs. Jeeves be thrown out of court.’ He extended his hand, and Jeeves shook it.

‘Thank you very much, sir.’

‘Nervous?’

‘A little, I have to confess, sir.’

‘I bet you knock them sideways.’

‘Let us hope so, sir.’ He moved to the door and opened it.

‘Jeeves?’

‘Sir?’ Jeeves replied, turning.

‘Whatever happens, old thing – well – you’re still a permanent fixture at the Wooster household, as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Thank you, sir. I am very much gratified to hear it.’

And before Bertie could say anything in reply, Jeeves was gone.

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

It was some twenty-five minutes later when Bertie stepped out of a cab on Curzon street and approached the entrance of the Junior Ganymede Club. After a few words with the doorman he was admitted access. He stepped into the foyer and began removing his hat and gloves.

‘May I help you, sir?’ the footman enquired, relieving him of these vestments.

‘Yes. My valet, Jeeves, is a member here. He’s presently involved in a hearing with the club committee, and I am here to appear as a witness.’

‘Very good, sir. Allow me to lead you there.’

‘Thank you.’

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

The hearing was taking place in a large conference room. A line of five or six rather dusty-looking men sat at a long table on a raised platform, facing another long table below them at which Jeeves was seated, alone. The rest of the room was occupied by an assortment of valets and butlers, most seated, some standing on the outskirts. They were apparently there as an audience to the hearing. Bertie reflected that Jeeves was probably a member of some standing in the club – that he should now be standing in the dock was no doubt of considerable interest to the members.

One of the old dusty men was addressing the assembled mob, but his voice was so dry and papery, none of his words resonated in Bertie's mind. Occasionally he caught ‘book’ and ‘historical’ and ‘uphold’.

Bertie didn’t want to bring further trouble to Jeeves by barging in and interrupting the proceedings – the best course of action, he felt, was to hover in the shadows and wait for an appropriate moment to step forward and say his piece. Fortunately, he was not the only person sneaking in and looking about for a place to sit or stand, so he was able to make his way around the edge of the room without being noticed. He progressed slowly until he was in the far corner, where he kept himself slightly hidden behind a couple of other fellows. From here, he could see Jeeves’s face. Jeeves was sitting at the table, listening gravely to the speaker.

The speech – if that’s what it was – finally came to an end. There was a general ‘hear, hear’ from the other men on the platform.

Another man spoke. ‘All right, Mr. Jeeves, the floor is yours.’

Jeeves rose. ‘Thank you, gentlemen.’ He coughed quietly and there was a general hush. He was quite an impressive figure, considering the frightful odds he was up against, Bertie thought.

‘I am confident, gentlemen, (Jeeves said) that there are few Ganymede members who hold the club book more sacred than myself. In the past I have assiduously recorded the details of my employer’s activities, contributing more pages than any other club member here today. In addition to this, I feel it is fair to point out that it was I who recovered the book after its recent theft, and restored it to Mr. Perkins, the club secretary.

‘However, that same theft of the book and the potential danger that this threatened has forced me to reexamine rule eleven and the very purposes of the book.

‘I am aware, gentlemen, that the pages devoted to the activities of my employer, Mr. Wooster, have provided considerable entertainment. I am, of course, sorry to deprive the members of this diversion. However, I can state confidently that none of the information I have provided has ever been used as was originally intended – for the enlightenment of members seeking a new post. I have served Mr. Wooster for nearly ten years, and in that time I have only ever left his service temporarily.

‘If I were in any doubt as to Mr. Wooster’s future staffing plans, I should not have taken it upon myself to remove the relevant pages from the club book. Since, however, neither Mr. Wooster nor myself have any intention of changing our situation, I felt that those pages were no longer necessary. Since they were, indeed, potentially harmful to my employer, I felt that the most judicious course of action was to destroy them. In doing so I have secured my employer’s reputation and deprived the club of some titillating reading, but I do not feel that I have violated rule eleven, which specifically states that the information is for the benefit of club members who are seeking new employment.’

Jeeves coughed again, said ‘Thank you, gentlemen’, and regained his seat.

There was some general murmuring. Finally, a croaky, flat sort of voice spoke up.

‘Mr. Jeeves. I’m sure we are all grateful for the explanation you have given for the rather reckless actions you took upon yourself to carry out. However, the rules we have in place were not made so that individuals like yourself could find ways to circumvent them. Your place, Mr. Jeeves, is to follow these rules, not to attempt to interpret them for your own ends.’

Jeeves rose. ‘If I might say so, Mr. Matheson, the wording of rule eleven is quite clear and leaves very little room for any misinterpretation. Members are to supply information regarding their employers “for the benefit of club members who are seeking new employment”. Nowhere does it state that this information must be provided for any other reason, much less the general entertainment of the members, or to provide opportunities for blackmail.’

Matheson snorted. ‘For someone who claims to have such respect for the club book, you seem curiously mistrustful of your fellow club members.’

‘On the contrary, Mr. Matheson. It was my unswerving trust in the integrity of the club members that convinced me to contribute my material on Mr. Wooster so willingly. It is merely unfortunate that a certain member of the club chose to abuse that trust.’

‘Is that so?’ said Matheson, in what Bertie felt was an unnecessarily unpleasant, sarcastic tone. ‘You have implicated Mr. Bingley in the theft of the book, but there is no evidence of this. He has not confessed to the crime. No-one saw him remove the book. No-one, save yourself, has seen the book in his possession. I’m beginning to wonder, Mr. Jeeves, if you planned to deface the book all along, and merely staged its theft in the hope that this would throw the light of suspicion elsewhere.’

There was quite a shuffling and murmuring at this. Jeeves remained perfectly composed, but he spoke coldly.

‘If that were the case, Mr. Matheson, I should hardly have taken the trouble to explain my actions when questioned on the matter. Since Mr. Bingley has chosen to remain so conspicuously absent, it would have been easy for me to have pointed the finger at him.’

‘This hearing is not about the theft of the book, Mr. Matheson,’ said a new voice. ‘And Mr. Jeeves is not accused of taking it. The idea is preposterous. Mr. Jeeves has been a faithful contributor for a number of years, and been an exemplary member with a spotless record.’

‘Hear, hear,’ several voices assented. A few near the back even applauded.

‘In any case,’ this more reasonable fellow went on, ‘I am personally sympathetic with the points you have raised, Mr. Jeeves. For too long the club book has been turned to purely for the entertainment of our members, with no regard for the privacy of the employer. True, we have rigid rules regarding the confidentiality of this information, but there are no measures in place ensuring that this sensitive information be treated with respect. The book is a historic document, not a comic paper or gossip rag.’

Rather a wet blanket, Bertie thought – but who was he to argue with the man? It was a relief to hear someone taking Jeeves’s side.

‘I agree with Mr. Jefferies on this point,’ said a third voice. ‘In my opinion, rule eleven might be waived - if the information is certain to provide nothing beyond entertaining reading. However, the matter at issue, to my mind, is not Mr. Jeeves’s interpretation of rule eleven. The problem I have is how can Mr. Jeeves be so certain that Mr. Wooster will never have occasion to employ any other member of the Junior Ganymede? Do you honestly expect us, Mr. Jeeves, to trust in your own certainty that you will never enter the service of another gentleman, nor retire from service completely in the future? If so, I have to say I have never met a valet so boldly persuaded of his own destiny.’

This statement was met with a chilly silence. Jeeves rose again.

‘I can assure the committee,’ he said at last, ‘that I intend never to leave Mr. Wooster’s service.’

‘That may be so,’ said an old man who sat in the centre of the platform. ‘I’m sure you believe in your own intentions, Mr. Jeeves. But you must acknowledge that you may not always be of the same mind as you are currently. You may yet have some disagreement with your employer that brings about either your resignation or your dismissal. You may decide that you need a change – I understand that there is permanent opening available for you at Wakehurst Hall in Kent, whenever you might choose to accept it, that would enable you to rise swiftly to the position of head butler in a large prestigious household. A man of your intelligence, with such prospects, is unlikely to be content to remain a valet to a gentleman such as Mr. Wooster indefinitely, surely? And yet again, if I might say so, you may one day decide to marry, which would hardly suit your position as a single gentleman’s valet. Especially considering that you are one of the younger members of the club, Mr. Jeeves, you cannot presume to ask the committee to believe so implicitly in your current resolution. There are many opportunities to tempt you, Mr. Jeeves, many choices you might yet make.’

Jeeves was silent for a moment.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said at last. ‘There is no method by which I can demonstrate the certainty of my resolution. I can only say that I am more than content in my situation as Mr. Wooster’s valet, and can have no desire to see it end.’

There was a murmur.

‘Mr. Jeeves, you cannot possibly know what your personal circumstances might be in the future,’ Matheson said gruffly. ‘Besides which, even if you’re correct in your assessment of your own ambitions, I am at a loss to understand how you can predict what your employer’s domestic arrangements will continue to be. How do we know that he won’t decide to dispense with your services next week?’

If this was not a cue, then Bertie didn’t know one when he saw one. He gave a loud cough.

‘Er – excuse me.’ He edged out of the corner and stepped forward.

There was more murmuring. It was quite a crowd for murmurers.

Bertie caught Jeeves’s eye for a moment. The man looked quite uncharacteristically dumb-struck beneath his mask-like exterior.

‘Pardon me, sir,’ said Matheson. ‘This is a private hearing, and I do not believe you are a member of this club.’

‘No, I’m not. But I happen to know the accused there, Jeeves, pretty dashed well, and I have some remarks that I think ought to be fairly pertinent to this hearing.’

‘And you are?’ asked another man, who was busily making notes.

‘My name’s Bertie Wooster. You probably all know me better as ‘Wooster, B.’’

There was some laughter at this.

‘Mr. Wooster,’ said the man in the centre with affected weariness. ‘It is not our policy to involve the employers of our members in matters such as these.’

‘Well, it should be!’ Bertie said, quite firmly. ‘After all, he works for me, doesn’t he? I’m the chap he sees every day, day in and day out. I think I’m more familiar with my man’s many qualities than most people here.’

‘Really, Mr. Jeeves,' Matheson snapped, 'it is quite unacceptable that you have brought your employer here to speak for you.’

‘No!’ Bertie yipped indignantly. ‘He didn’t ask me to come here, dash it! He would consider that a liberty. I knew you were having this hearing today, because he had to ask me for the afternoon off, and I knew what it was about, so I decided to come down.’

‘Mr. Wooster, sir.’ Jeeves calm voice floated out to him. ‘I am deeply grateful for your concern, but it is quite unnecessary for you to speak in my defense.’

‘Pish, Jeeves. I just heard a question that no-one can answer but me. I think I have the right to answer it.’

‘What question is that, sir?’ said Jefferies.

‘The question was ‘how do we know this Wooster won’t decide to chuck Jeeves out on his ear?’ or words to that effect.’

‘I think we can allow it,’ said the man in the centre. He seemed to be the one in charge of things. The men leaned close together for a moment, whispering. Bertie looked at Jeeves and gave him a little smile. Jeeves shook his head slightly, but a faint smile crept to his lips in return.

‘Very well, Mr. Wooster,’ said the old man in the centre of the table. ‘We have decided that we will allow your remarks to go on record, since they are, as you say, pertinent to this case. You may proceed.’

‘Oh – thanks awfully.’ As directed, Bertie stepped to the end of the table Jeeves was sitting at.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘Er – well. Let’s see.’ He coughed nervously, his mouth suddenly dry.

‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘it sounds to me, if I’m understanding things right, that you might be all right with these pages being missing, if you could only be sure that the club will never have any official need for them. Well – Jeeves has already told you that he doesn’t see himself quitting. He likes being a valet. I don’t know why, but there it is. And for some reason he’s quite happy valeting yours truly. If he says he’s happy, then he’s happy. If you knew him as well as I do, you would know that Jeeves is never wrong about the psychology of the individual. And, well, for myself – well, I can tell you, I may say, emphatically, that there is nothing that would persuade me to let Jeeves go. Not in a million years, by Jove! He’s by far the best valet a man could have. I don’t want to offend any other valets present, or create general unrest among valets far and wide, but half my friends have valets, and yet they’re always coming to me because they want to ask Jeeves’s advice about something. They envy me, don’t you know. Why would I ever let this prince among men loose from my entourage?’ He coughed. ‘Well, that’s all I have to say, really.’

Jeeves was gazing at him with a expression that was quite blank, but Bertie could tell that the man was moved.

‘Mr. Wooster,’ came a voice. ‘I’m sure no-one doubts the sincerity of your words. However, it is, I feel, only fair to point out that you are a relatively young man and there may yet be substantial changes in your domestic affairs.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Bertie.

‘Mr. Wooster – I did not wish to be so blunt, but it is a truism that gentlemen often dispense with the services of a valet after marriage.’

‘But I’m not getting married.’

‘However, it is likely that you will, Mr. Wooster.’

Bertie shook his head, looking quite puzzled. ‘Why? Who told you that?’ he asked. ‘You haven’t been talking to my Aunt Agatha by any chance, have you?’

There was a general roar of laughter. Bertie looked around him with a bemused smile. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘I’m not talking through my hat. Whatever designs certain other parties have regarding my domestic happiness, marriage simply isn’t on the cards for me. The very idea of it fills me with a nameless dread. For some chaps, it’s a good wheeze, for others, it’s not. I’m of the latter variety. One of Nature’s bachelors, don’t you know.’

‘Very well, very well,’ said Matheson impatiently. ‘I think we understand your position, Mr. Wooster, thank you. Mr. Jeeves,’ he went on. ‘Would you consider yourself to be one of Nature’s bachelors?’

Jeeves gazed back at the man, unmoving. The question clearly rankled. He was not fond of discussing his personal life.

Eventually he coughed. ‘Marriage, while an honourable estate, does not suit to my particular course of life.’

‘Why is that?’

‘It is merely a personal feeling.’

'Were you not engaged to a Miss Watson a few years ago? What became of that agreement, Mr. Jeeves?'

‘All right, that’s enough,’ said the Colhurst, the man in the centre. ‘I don’t see that it’s necessary to start such a personal line of questioning.’

'I think it's perfectly relevant,' sniffed Matheson. 'One would hope that Mr. Jeeves is less fickle with his employers than he is with his personal intimate relationships.'

'Mr. Matheson, please. Mr. Jeeves's personal life is not a matter for public scrutiny. This is a gentleman's club - let us behave as such.'

‘Fine,’ said Matheson. ‘Then I will pursue another matter. Is it not true, Mr. Jeeves,’ he said, ‘that Mr. Wooster once released you from his service after you complained about his – what was it? Banjolele playing?’

He said ‘banjolele playing’ in a voice far more unpleasant and soupy than Jeeves had ever stooped to employ. Bertie frowned. These fellows had clearly done their homework.

Jeeves nodded gravely. ‘It is true, sir.’

‘Then you admit that you have been unsuccessful, not only in anticipating your employer’s caprices, but in adapting to them as a valet is expected to?’

Jeeves hesitated, then began to nod his head again.

‘No, he wasn’t, dash it,’ Bertie interrupted. ‘None of it was Jeeves’s fault. It wasn’t like that.’

‘Oh?’ said Matheson, sarcastically. ‘Perhaps you would care to elucidate, Mr. Wooster. You did dismiss Mr. Jeeves from your employ, did you not?’

‘Well – not exactly –’

‘“Not exactly”? Mr. Wooster, did you dismiss him or not?’

‘Well, I – I didn’t dismiss him, exactly, but I did let him go, chump that I was.’

‘Well, then, how can you be sure that you will not “let him go” again and ultimately require a new valet?’

Bertie gulped. ‘Well. Because – well.’

There was a tense silence.

‘Well,’ Bertie said again, at last. ‘I’ll tell you how I can be sure. It’s because that day when I told Jeeves to leave, I was being a complete fathead. He told me he couldn’t stick my banjolele playing and threatened to give notice. We Woosters have our pride, and I got a bit riled up and called his bluff. I didn’t think he’d really go. Two men of iron will living in close proximity are bound to clash once in a while, don’t you know. These things happen. Anyway, it soon dawned on me that I’d been a colossal ass, and thank heaven, Jeeves came back on board. Now, we Woosters may slip-up from time to time, but we’re never mug enough to make the same blunder twice. Since then Jeeves and I have learned to compromise on such matters. There’s no question of my dismissing him again.’

‘Mr. Jeeves? What have you to say on this subject?’

Jeeves had been gazing at Bertie with a sort of paternal fondness. He was clearly much affected by the young master’s words.

‘Mr. Jeeves?’

‘I beg your pardon, Mr Colhurst,’ Jeeves said, turning his attention to the committee. ‘You wish to hear my own explanation?’

‘Precisely that, Mr. Jeeves.’

Jeeves coughed. ‘I endeavored to endure Mr. Wooster’s banjolele playing, convinced that it was merely a passing fad that would soon be abandoned. However, when Mr. Wooster announced that he intended to continue with the instrument within the close atmosphere of a cottage, I confess I resorted to a somewhat desperate ploy in attempt to dissuade him by giving my notice. I believed that this, combined with the complaints from our neighbours, would call Mr. Wooster’s attention to the general effect of his playing and cause him to abandon the instrument. I had in fact no desire to leave, but I regret to say I underestimated his determination in the matter.’

‘So, you’re saying, Mr. Jeeves, that if Mr. Wooster should decide to take up the trumpet, you would not feel driven to hand in your notice this time?’

‘No.’ Jeeves shook his head solemnly. ‘I would not.’

‘And you, Mr. Wooster – you can conceive of no provocation from Mr. Jeeves that would cause you to dispense with his services?’

‘No. Jeeves is a permanent fixture as far as I’m concerned. It’s a hard and fast bond. Iron-clad. Set in stone. ‘Til death do us part, if you like.' He held up his hand as if in readiness to swear an oath.

‘Very well - thank you, Mr. Wooster.’

'Do you want me to sign a contract, or something of that sort? ’

‘Mr. Wooster, please! Your point has been well made!’

‘Yes, I think we have heard enough,’ said the centre man. ‘We will confer for a moment.’

The old men muttered together for quite a few minutes. Bertie shuffled his feet, not quite daring to look at Jeeves now. He was getting the nagging feeling that he had slipped up somewhere.

‘We have reached a decision,’ said the man in the centre. ‘Mr. Jeeves – the committee is sympathetic to your point of view, and in light of the compelling evidence revealing that you have most likely – I may say, obviously – secured a permanent position in Mr. Wooster’s service, it has decided to excuse you from contributing material regarding Mr. Wooster to the club book in future. This, the committee has decided, is to be conditional upon your contributing a final entry into the club book in the form of a statement confirming your resolution, to be signed by both yourself and your employer Mr. Wooster.'

'Absolutely!' Bertie said. 'I'll sign such a statement. Like a shot.'

'Yes,' said the man, looking somewhat put out. 'Very well, very well. However, the committee cannot ignore that you knowingly broke one of the Ganymede’s most important rules, Mr. Jeeves - nor can it be seen to exercise too much leniency in such a case. The committee therefore requests a fine of ten pounds.'

'But he is still a Ganymedian, isn't he?' Bertie called.

'Mr. Wooster, I must ask you to refrain from interruptions.'

'Sorry. I thought you'd finished.'

The man glared at him before continuing. 'Finally, Mr. Jeeves, Mr. Wooster - if ever Mr. Jeeves ever resigns or is dismissed from Mr. Wooster’s employ, thus encumbering the Ganymede club members with an unknown situation, your joint statement in the club book will be considered void. We will then be forced to expel Mr. Jeeves from the club, and Mr. Wooster will be prohibited from ever employing a Ganymede member again. Is this understood?'

'Perfectly.'

'Yes, Mr. Colhurst, thank you.'

'Do you both agree to sign a statement in the club book? Mr. Jeeves?'

Jeeves nodded gravely.

'Mr. Wooster?'

'Absolutely. I'll sign it standing on my head, if you like.'

'Mr. Secretary, please bring the club book to the table.'

A smallish chap with a pointed nose approached, the book in his arms. He laid it open on the table in front of Jeeves and began to write, before handing Jeeves the fountain-pen.

'I have added Mr. Wooster's name back into the volume, with a brief explanation regarding the lack of material,' he stated. 'Mr. Wooster, please approach. Mr. Jeeves, if you would care to write the following statement?'

Bertie moved to Jeeves's side. Jeeves took the pen and waited.

'"I, Reginald Jeeves, do hereby swear before witnesses Thomas Colhurst, James Matheson, Percival Jefferies and Lionel Perkins, that, being employed by Bertram Wooster in the capacity of gentleman's personal gentleman, I shall never resign my position, nor contrive to lose my position, or in any way cause Mr. Wooster to ever require the services of another existing or future club member." And please sign and date the statement.'

Jeeves wrote as dictated, signed, and handed the pen to Bertie. It was a solemn moment - poignant. They did not look at each other, but their fingers met, briefly, and Bertie felt a curious jolt. He swallowed, feeling an inexplicable prickling in his eyes and a sudden shortness of breath. His had was shaking slightly, and he wondered if Jeeves had noticed.

He wrote the words the secretary heralded. "I, Bertram Wooster, hereby swear to continue to retain Reginald Jeeves permanently in my employ, with the understanding that I shall never attempt to engage the services of another existing or future club member." Despite his trembling hand, he signed with a firm confidence.

The book was taken to the committee and examined. Bertie stood beside Jeeves awkwardly. He felt a little like he was back at Malvern House prepatory school, standing in the headmaster's study beside a fellow offender - and yet at the same time, the situation also felt rather the way he imagined it would feel to stand at the altar - reverently, discreetly, advisedly, and soberly - plighting one's troth, standing beside -

‘Thank you, gentlemen. This hearing is closed.’

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

‘Well, Jeeves,’ Bertie said somewhat shyly as he approached his valet in the entrance hall five minutes later.

‘Sir,’ Jeeves replied, barely audible. He still had the same rather blank expression on his face, but Bertie could tell that there was much emotion beneath the surface.

Bertie stood close opposite him and spoke rather quietly. ‘Look here, I’m sorry if I made things worse for you, Jeeves.’

Jeeves shook his head. ‘Far from it, sir. It was an extremely generous act to stand before the committee as you did.’

‘Well – you know – I just feel pretty responsible, you know. And you’ve done me so many good turns over the years, I was glad to have the opportunity to do you an act of kindness for a change.’

‘I believe your remarks saved me from expulsion from the club, sir. I am more grateful than I can say.’

'Well - that's good. I - er - I didn't imagine it would become such a serious undertaking. Signing statements, and all that. I hope I - that is - I rather feel as if I've robbed you of any prospects you might have had. What I mean is - I hope you didn't feel compelled to sign that statement they got you to write.'

Jeeves smiled. 'I did feel compelled sir - because it is my particular wish to remain with you. But I hope that you have not felt trapped into this agreement out of any sense of obligation, sir.'

'Gosh, no, Jeeves. Not at all. I was happy to sign it. I promise you, old thing - I have never so much as looked at another valet, and never shall. Consider yourself signed up for life.'

Jeeves bowed his head slightly, looking a little awkward. 'Very good, sir.'

‘Well - anyhow, Jeeves. I hope that's settled.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Let no man put us asunder, what? Oh - by the way, I – er – I didn’t embarrass you by saying anything idiotic, did I?’

‘On the contrary, sir. I am, as always, sir, very proud to be in your service.’

‘Really? Bertram has done well, you think?’

‘I should not have altered your words in any particular, sir.’

‘Well,’ Bertie smiled. ‘I was pretty persuasive, wasn’t I.’

‘You were eloquence itself, sir.’

Bertie gave him a pat. ‘Thank you, Jeeves.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Well, I think I'll go home. I’m afraid of running into that old fellow with the pince-nez.'

‘Very good, sir.’

‘And that Matheson bloke seemed to have it in for me, too.’

‘He is a man of somewhat cynical outlook, sir. I am afraid he and I have never found ourselves able to see eye to eye on any matter.’

'Got it in for you, has he? He's probably jealous, Jeeves.'

'Perhaps so, sir.'

‘A tough egg if ever I saw one. Well, I'm off. Would you care to accompany me? Since we're stuck with each other, as it seems, you may as well.’

'I should be happy to, sir.'

'All right, let’s get out of here.’

‘Very good, sir.’

They were both silent as they went out into the rain. Bertie hailed a cab and they sat in it side by side, not speaking, riding back to Berkeley Square. Bertie was rather in a daze. Not to mention pretty confused. For he had the strangest sensation that, after all these years of narrowly escaping the saunter down the aisle, he had just made an agreement rather approximating that holy estate. He found he could not get those words he'd so long dreaded to hear out of his head: Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?

He looked at Jeeves, and felt a nervous swooping feeling in his stomach. For he knew the answer.

The End (for now)

Author's Note: I AM the world's slowest writer. I started this in August, to give you an idea. And the bad news (unless you hated this, in which case, I suppose it's good news) is that I have not yet written a Part 3. Nothing! And I have no ideas percolating either! I'm struggling to write a piece in response to jane_elliot

The Code of the Ganymede: Jeeves Makes an Omelette

Fri, 14 Nov 2008 05:58:36 GMT

Title: The Code of the Ganymede: Jeeves Makes an Omelette
Pairing: Jeeves & Wooster
Rating: G
Summary: This is my own version of the events that close Wodehouse's 'Jeeves and the Tie that Binds', with a bit more information about Jeeves's point of view. You'll recognise some of the dialogue from the end of that novel (the American version). My first fic - hope you like it!

Jeeves was generally of the philosophy that in order to make an omelette, eggs had to be broken, and if one of those eggs happened to be Mr. Wooster, well, it was a necessary evil – provided, of course, that the final result was ultimately beneficial to his master and himself. One must sometimes be cruel to be kind.

However, after the events surrounding the theft of the infamous club book - the volume belonging to the Junior Ganymede Club containing personal information about the members' employers - Jeeves was forced to admit to himself that this was one instance where his rigidity in repudiating Mr. Wooster’s wishes served only himself, and not the interests of his employer. Bertie had repeatedly pleaded that the volume be destroyed, knowing how embarrassing it would be to him should the information about his activities recorded within become generally known - but Jeeves had always responded with a sympathetic but firm refusal. The club rules were strict, and his membership was very important to him. Moreover, he had great pride in the heritage of the Ganymede and the profession of its members. This pride, which he of course shared with the other club members, made the club book a sacred, historic volume, to be handled with reverence. To be among the generations who had inscribed their employer’s information to those pages was an enormous honour.

Jeeves had recovered the book from the man Bingley, and now sat in his room, examining the book safely back in his hands. He was contemplating that honour; he was also meditating on the effect that sense of honour had for so long had on his judgment, specifically regarding the trust he had always placed in the Junior Ganymede club. He had told Mr. Wooster that the men of the Junior Ganymede were men to be trusted. He truly believed that the facts contained within the book were safe – true, he himself had made use of information from the book concerning Roderick Spode, but only as a mere bluff. He had drawn the line at actually allowing the information to become public knowledge, and was convinced that no club member could ever stoop to actual blackmail. Bertie had mentioned Bingley, and Jeeves had dismissed the argument out of hand.

Since then, to his dismay, his employer’s suspicions had been vindicated, and he, Jeeves, was forced to admit that he had made a mistake.

Happily he was able to recover the book before it could be put to use in the despicable manner that the man Bingley had intended, and Mr. Wooster’s reputation was never even in any danger. Nevertheless, Jeeves had to ask himself how unpleasant it might have been had it been his own employer who was threatened. Not that there was anything seriously scandalous in his eighteen-page report on his master, but the material was embarrassing enough that an individual with morals as low as Bingley could reduce B. Wooster to putty by threatening to put it in the way of his formidable Aunt Agatha.

Mr. Wooster was quite terrified of his Aunt Agatha. Jeeves honestly couldn’t blame him. He was not a man to be intimidated himself, but he respected the weakness in his employer. It was, he felt, a testament of Bertie’s gentle nature, which he had always admired. For many years now he’d felt himself to be the guardian of Mr. Wooster’s welfare and happiness, and he took a great deal of pleasure in managing him so that his life was as untroubled as possible. The idea of someone like Bingley snatching that control from him, and driving his master to misery and desperation, was highly disturbing.

Jeeves forced himself to imagine the contingency – Mr. Wooster, in a state of panic, being manipulated by such an appalling character, and he, Jeeves, unable to help him.

The awful sensation of horror at the prospect surprised him. He actually felt himself tremble, so intense were his feelings of anger and protectiveness.

He shook his head, coming to a decision. He simply could not allow such a thing to happen; the idea was unbearable.

Jeeves took out his pen-knife and opened the book, turning to those eighteen pages. The fine leather creaked reproachfully. The texture of the thick paper defied him. And there were his own typewritten words, his own eloquence challenging him. He had enjoyed writing those reports.

For a moment he toyed with the idea of removing those pages and keeping them among his personal effects. But the idea seemed wrong – and he realised that it wasn’t enough to remove a potential threat. He owed it to Mr. Wooster to relieve his mind. He had to be able to tell him that those pages were not only removed from the book, but destroyed.

Jeeves took his pen-knife and cut the pages from the book.

Rule eleven was broken.

Setting the pages aside, he took a look at the book. His work was neat, but it was fairly obvious that pages had been removed. And since the Wooster, B. section was a current favourite with club members, it was certain to be missed.

Breaking eggs.

Taking up the pages, he started to read through them briefly – but soon realised that he didn’t need to. He remembered the events perfectly. He cast the pages into the fire one by one, and watched them burn without regret.

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

Bertie was in good spirits the following morning. He sat in bed drinking his tea, the morning sunlight playing upon him, and watched as Jeeves laid out his suit for the day. Jeeves knew that at any moment he would make another plea with regards to the club book – so it came as no surprise when Bertie pointed out this one blot on the horizon. As he fed some kipper to the cat Gus, he made what sounded like a final attempt to move his manservant.

'I know it is too much to ask you to burn the beastly thing,’ he ended rather hopelessly, ‘but couldn't you at least destroy the eighteen pages in which I figure?'

Jeeves suppressed a smile, laying out a pair of mustard yellow socks. 'I have already done so, sir.'

'What?!'

'Yes, sir.'

In his own testimony of these events, Bertie described himself as ‘visibly moved’. He jerked upright in his bed at Jeeves’s words, spilling his tea and rather upsetting the cat. He had never expected to hear these words from Jeeves. He’d cajoled and pleaded before, but on this subject the man had seemed to be made of stone and had continued to put his master’s reputation on the line for the sake of his precious club. Yet now, out of the clear blue sky, Jeeves had finally yielded? Risked his membership to his beloved Ganymede by making such an unequivocal choice in his master’s favour?

'Jeeves,' he began, hardly knowing what to say to such sacrifice, but Jeeves continued before he had time to think of anything.

'In taking this step, sir, I do not feel that I have inflicted any disservice on the Junior Ganymede club. The club book was never intended to be light and titillating reading for the members – its function is solely to acquaint those who are contemplating taking new posts with the foibles of prospective employers.’

Jeeves hesitated for a moment. ‘This being so,’ he said finally, ‘there is no need for the record contained in the eighteen pages in which you figure. For I may hope, may I not, sir, that you will allow me to remain permanently in your service?'

These words touched Bertie deeply. Though Jeeves spoke with his usual unflappable serenity, he had never expressed a personal desire so openly as this before, nor demonstrated such trust in his employer. What made it all the more affecting was that Bertie had for so long dreaded the possibility of Jeeves ever leaving him, yet he had never sought any assurances from Jeeves, always supposing that the fellow would disapprove of the display of feeling that would inevitably accompany such a request. It was a revelation indeed to hear Jeeves actually requesting such assurances of him.

'You may indeed, Jeeves.’ His smile betrayed a mixture of relief, happiness, and confusion. ‘It often beats me, though, why with your superlative gifts you should want to.'

Jeeves had long believed that Bertie’s complete unawareness of his own merits was his most endearing trait. He allowed a small smile.

'There is a tie that binds, sir.'

'A what that whats?'

'A tie that binds, sir.'

Bertie could not fathom what Jeeves was hinting at; and yet, deep inside, some truthful part of him understood perfectly.

'Then heaven bless it,’ he said rather softly at last, ‘and may it continue to bind indefinitely. Fate's happenstance may oft win more than toil, as the fellow said.'

‘What fellow would that be, sir? Thoreaux?'

'No, me.'

'Sir?'

'A little thing of my own. I don't know what it means, but you can take it as coming straight from the heart.'

They exchanged a look, and Bertie smiled. There before him was happiness, so perfectly woven into his day to day life that he hadn’t even recognised it.

And so it was settled. They didn’t really speak of it after that, but they continued to enjoy a certain comfortable contentment that so many spend their lives striving to attain. Bertie couldn’t imagine why Jeeves had chosen to cast his lot in with him – and he couldn’t quite absorb what it all meant – but still, there it was. The man had practically handed him his heart, and as far as he was concerned, there could be nothing else to ever want in life.

End of Part One.

Liked it so far? Read Part Two!

Bertie and Jeeves

Thu, 16 Oct 2008 22:27:33 GMT

My first ever post.

Here it is. Sorry it's not higher res - but I can't find a high res copy of the original image of Stephen Fry and Jude Law anywhere. Those of you who are such huge Stephen Fry fans that you know exactly which way the nose bends will notice that the image is back to front. Sorry. It just looked better flipped around. I always think Jeeves looks better on Bertie's left - gives the sense that Jeeves is always following behind the young master, as it were.

My only problem with it is that Bertie looks a bit too short. I was sticking him over the top of Jude Law, of course, and I believe Jude Law is considerably shorter than Hugh Laurie.

Disclaimer: I am not profiting from this image etc etc. No disrespect intended.

Feel free to steal this image for any non-profit use - avatars or whatever - if you credit me I'd appreciate it.