'This is the BBC Home Service. And now William Connor, Cassandra of the Daily Mirror,
'with his Postscript.'
'I have come to tell you tonight
'of the story of a rich man trying to make his last
'and greatest sale - that of his own country.
Subtitles by MemoryOnSmells http://UKsubtitles.ru.
'It is a sombre story of honour pawned to the Nazis
'for the price of a soft bed in a luxury hotel.
'It is the record of PG Wodehouse
'ending 40 years of money-making fun
'with the worst joke he ever made in his life.
'The only wisecrack he ever pulled that the world
'received in silence.'
This programme contains some strong language.
"After the thing was over,
"when peril had ceased to loom, I confessed to Jeeves that there
"had been moments during the recent proceedings when Bertram Wooster,
"though no weakling, had come very near to despair."
Plummie!
Plummie, are you there?
You are in there. Why didn't you say you were in there?
I wasn't entirely sure that I was.
'Though the fall of France now seems inevitable - thousands
'of British troops have been successfully evacuated from Dunkirk.
'Hundreds of small boats operating under heavy German fire have
'managed an extraordinary rescue...'
What happens now?
Stilton Cheesewright is baying for Bertie's blood
and Jeeves will need an extra portion of fish to come up
with a scheme in order to extricate the young man about town.
I was talking, Plummie, about the war.
And I was talking about my novel.
Who can that be?
I think it's the German army.
Shall we let them in?
Or shall we pretend to be out?
Hullo there!
Er... What does he want?
World domination, I imagine. Don't antagonise him!
I went through your books the other day.
You come out pretty anti-German.
I think I did say it was time Hitler took a firm
position on his moustache. I mean, does he want it or not?
Ihre Papiere bitte!
Very pretty uniform. Sort of... Lincoln green!
Do you speak no German at all?
Es ist schones wetter!
It is all you can say in German? That it is nice weather?
Es ist schones wetter!
Well, you are English. You only talk about the weather.
I'm afraid I am. English, I mean.
And I do adore talking about the weather.
We requisition your vehicles.
The keys to the cars, please.
Also the bicycle.
How low can men stoop?
Was?
Es ist schones wetter!
"I hove to at the stripling's side.
"Hullo, young Edwin," I said.
"His gaze had been riveted on the ground,
"but at the sound of the familiar voice..."
"..A couple of pink-rimmed eyes came swivelling round in my direction.
"He looked up at me like a ferret about to pass the time of day
"with another ferret."
"I'm studying ants," said the boy.
"Do you know anything about ants, Bertie?"
"Only from meeting them at picnics."
What on earth is going on? Germans. They're using the bathroom.
Swine.
Hey! I hope that's not my toothbrush.
They're capable of anything.
Apparently you have to report to the German Kommandant in Le Touquet.
Oh.
Just me?
Ethel! Bunny, darling!
Schnell! Pack!
No time for a bath, I suppose.
I don't know where my wife is.
I'd like to say goodbye to her.
Five minutes?
20, perhaps?
Ten it is!
With negotiating skills like ours,
war could possibly have been averted.
Wife. Ethel. Wife.
Met her in New York in 1914.
I seem to remember you chaps were about to
go on the rampage even then.
She was on the stage. Tremendous fun.
Isn't she lovely?
Schnell.
Plummie? Is that you? I rather fear it is, old thing.
Schnell!
The Kommandant told us that we have to pack.
We're being sent somewhere. Not quite sure where.
He had a glass eye. Which was rather fetching.
Plummie... I took the Collected Works of Shakespeare.
I thought about the Murglow Murder Mystery, but then I thought,
it's high time I read the stuffing out of Henry the VI Part 2.
I don't think I have room for my novel.
Look after it for me, will you?
We've had some good times, me and that novel.
Schnell!
You'll need butter.
There are practically no limits to what a pack of butter can
do in warm weather to the inside of a small suitcase.
I think I prefer my Shakespeare unbuttered.
Oh, Plummie.
I shall be fine, sweetheart.
It can't be as bad as getting an honorary degree in Oxford.
Please hold up, old thing.
The Boche will think they've won.
Mind you, they do have some grounds for thinking
that at the moment, don't they?
Schnell!
His German vocabulary is almost as limited as mine.
Toodle pip... old thing.
I say. I say.
Is this Algy of Algy's Bar?
I am he. I cannot deny it.
Is that by any chance a suitcase you're carrying?
Once again you have me at a disadvantage.
A suitcase is what it is, old bean.
As in - suitcase in which you pack things for a journey?
You are hitting the nail on the head with almost suspicious regularity.
As in - journey towards a dungeon to which the Germans are planning
to confine one for the duration?
This too is horribly close to the mark, old friend.
I tremble like a badly-set blancmange, Algy.
Me too.
What's happening in the world, I wonder? Yes.
Isn't it marvellous not to have access to the English newspapers?
Like being on holiday!
Are we in Germany?
Not sure.
At least we're no longer in Belgium.
Home is not home to a Belgian soldier
until he can write his name in the alluvial deposits on the floor.
We're in Upper Silesia, as a matter of fact.
If this is Upper Silesia, what must Lower Silesia be like?
Brilliant.
Are you who I think you are?
It all depends who you think I am, I suppose.
PG Wodehouse.
I'm afraid I am he.
Name's Mackintosh. Winchester and Oxford.
In case anyone wants to know.
Were you Oxford or Cambridge, Mr Wodehouse?
I wasn't actually at either. My people couldn't afford to send me.
I went straight into the bank.
Said the wrong thing, have I?
Afraid you're stuck with me for the duration.
I was a war graves gardener. In Boulogne.
"Leonora, my darling daughter.
"If I knew where Plummie was, I would write to him.
"But I don't.
"I am stuck here with only the dog and the parrot for company.
"I am teaching the parrot to say, "God Save the King."
"The Germans took Plummie away to some concentration camp.
"God alone knows where.
"If this letter ever reaches you, my darling Leonora,
"write to Plum's agent in New York.
"As America aren't in the war yet,
"maybe they can start a campaign to have him released.
"I cannot see what harm he could possibly do to anyone, do you?
"I miss him so much."
Darling! It seems poor Plum has been lost.
♪ It's a long way to Tipperary
♪ It's a long way to go
♪ It's a long way to Tipperary
♪ To the sweetest girl I know
♪ Goodbye Piccadilly
♪ Farewell Leicester Square
♪ It's a long, long way to Tipperary
♪ But my heart's right there... ♪
All I've had since Belgium is a piece of sausage and some dry bread.
Funny. That's exactly what I've had, too.
Brilliant!
What is this place?
Apparently, it was a lunatic asylum.
They found the right place for me, then.
Gentlemen!
My name is Buchelt.
I am the camp leader, as you say in English.
Or Der Lagerfuhrer, as we say in the German language.
I have learned my English in a good school.
I was interned in England during the last war,
which by some mistake you English seem to have won!
He reminds me strongly of my mother.
It's Plum's stepdaughter here. Leonora Cazalet.
'Oh, Leonora. I'm having trouble hearing.'
There's a bombing raid on at the moment. Very boring.
We wanted to know if there was any news of Plum.
'Are you all right, Leonora?'
No, no, no, we're fine. Britain can take it, Mr Reynolds.
'Though I think we'd all be frightfully pleased
'if you lot cared to lend us a hand!'
Some of us wish we could.
I'm glad you managed to get your mother some money.
We haven't heard a thing, I'm afraid. But we have...
My God!
'What?'
It's him! It's a postcard!
Read it to me!
"Am in lunatic asylum near Polish border.
"Goodness knows when you will get this.
"Will you send me a five-pound parcel?
"One pound Prince Albert tobacco, the rest nut chocolate.
"Repeat monthly."
"Am quite happy here and have thought out new novel.
"Am hoping to be able to write it."
Isn't he your perfect author, Mr Reynolds?
The Germans shove him behind barbed wire
and all he can think about is the next Jeeves book.
We have to try and get him out of there.
"The great advantage here is that the authorities leave you alone
"for most of the day, so I have time to write.
"It's all quite fun, actually.
"If you see a German officer, you are supposed to shout, "Achtung"
"and stand to attention.
"Plenty of scope for practical jokes
"on the lines of the old game of Beaver!
"I do miss you, Bunny darling."
What are you writing now, Wodehouse?
A letter to my wife.
Where is she?
My stepdaughter got her some money.
She seems to be still stuck in France.
I never married. Never found the right woman.
I admire you, Wodehouse. You manage to keep so calm.
How do you do it?
I write. Anything. Novels, letters, anything.
Actually, I am writing a sort of diary of the life of an internee.
I bet it's a laugh. Can we hear a bit?
It's awfully rough at the moment.
Oh.
But...
Well, er...
Well, this is one of our many stops on the way to this holiday camp.
Loos prison. For those who remember it.
"Owing to having led a blameless life since infancy, I had never seen
"the inside of a calaboose before
"and directly I set eyes on the official
"in the front office of Loos Prison, I regretted that I was doing so now.
"There are moments, as we pass through life, when we gaze
"into a stranger's face and say to ourselves, "I have met a friend."
"This was not one of those occasions.
"There is probably nobody in the world less elfin than
"a French prison official. And the one twirling his moustache at me
"looked like something out of a film about Devil's Island.
"When I got out into the exercise yard next morning
"and met some of the men who had been in the place for a week,
"I found that they, on arrival, had been stood with their faces to
"the wall, stripped to their BVDs, deprived of all their belongings
"and generally made to feel like so many imprisoned pieces of cheese."
More!
Yes, come on, Plum.
Why is cheese a funny word? It is though, isn't it?
Cheese!
Always good for a chuckle is cheese.
I'm er... I'm 60 next month.
They're going to let me out.
If you need any money, my agent is sending me food parcels
and trying to get my royalties from German translations of my books.
You're too good for this world, Plum.
Achtung, chaps.
Prisoner 796! Whitehousen! To see the Lagerfuhrer!
Oh, Lord! What have I done now?
At ease!
Your English is frightfully good.
We have received many letters about you, Herr Wodehouse.
It seems we have a famous author in our camp.
Well... author, anyway.
The daughter of your wife
and your American agent lead a campaign for your release.
I don't want to be treated any differently to anyone else.
The old school tie. The monocle. The spats. Ja?
If you say so.
Bertie Wooster. I Agree, Jeeves! It is a very funny book.
I don't think I wrote a book called...
Oh. Right Ho, Jeeves!
What is this "Right Ho?"
I have read your work, Herr Wodehouse.
The bread rolls at the Drones Club. Lord Emsworth.
He loves his pig. It is most amusing.
Thank you.
An American journalist from the Associated Press wishes to
make an interview with you.
Well... I can't see what harm that would do.
"I say, old bean. Shall we have snorter?"
♪ It's the start of the show and a bit of a frost
♪ Because all of us are imprisoned in Tost! ♪
Tost... Frost. Very good.
Well, you wrote it, Plum. I had no idea I was that good.
Who gave him the typewriter?
The Lagerfuhrer. Lent to him.
He had to pay, but... decent of him, wasn't it?
You'll get into trouble. Saying nice things about the Germans!
Oh, for God's sake, you little tick!
Come on then, chaps.
♪ It's the start of the show... ♪
So how are they treating you, Mr Wodehouse?
Well, they're not beating me with rubber truncheons or anything.
I am being fed and so on.
Is there anything you have to say to the American people?
I know you have many readers in America.
Oh, gosh.
Er, tell them I'm OK. And thanks for the food parcels.
Don't make too much of me.
May we go over to the camp and take a few pictures?
Naturally.
Not all Germans are beasts, you know, Mr Thuermer.
I am the only beast, I think!
That's wonderful, Mr Wodehouse.
Don't look too wonderful, old bean, will you?
You're supposed to look beaten and abject and cruelly mistreated.
Mr Mackintosh has a dark, witty side to him.
Maybe we should have a picture of you and Mr Mackintosh together.
Oh, no, no, no! No.
Are they really treating you OK?
I'm afraid they are, on the whole.
Plum's writing a book about it.
He made us all laugh with it.
Are you chaps going to come into the war?
Nobody quite knows at the moment.
Plack.
Didn't you know Wodehouse in Hollywood?
I did.
Some American journalist named Thuermer managed to find out
he's interned in a civilian camp in Tost.
He's done an interview and the New York Times are running it.
What does he say about us?
He says we feed him. He is quite nice.
Wodehouse is incapable of being nasty about anyone.
He must be 60 by now.
Do we still keep aliens in prison after 60?
We release them sometimes.
In this case, I suspect with a great deal of publicity.
To show the Americans what nice people we are.
We don't want them in the war, do we? There are an awful lot of them.
All he says is that we are feeding him.
If you are thinking you can get him to do a commercial for Germany,
forget it.
He is the typical, loyal Englishman.
"The first time you see a German soldier in your garden,
"your impulse is to jump ten feet straight into the air and you do so.
"But this feeling of embarrassment soon passes.
"A week later you find you are only jumping five feet."
"The chief drawback of being an internee is that
"you are away from home a good deal."
"It is not pleasant to think that by the time
"I see my Pekinese again, she will have completely forgotten me
"and will bite me to the bone - her invariable practice with strangers.
"And I feel that, when I rejoin my wife, I had better take
"a letter of introduction, just to be on the safe side."
Why is this funny? That he will not recognise his wife?
Does he not like his wife?
It is English humour. It is why Wodehouse is a famous genius.
I do not understand it.
Apparently, he is writing some humorous pieces
about life in this camp of his.
Maybe that can be good for us, Werner.
How?
Get on to the Lagerfuhrer at Tost and tell him
I have a proposition I wish him to put to the great Wodehouse.
But Wodehouse is not to know it comes from us.
This is funny! Very, very funny!
The chaps seem to enjoy it.
I really did enjoy it.
It reminded me of my time as a guest of His Majesty's government!
This passage - when you are being driven away from Loos prison.
"Summing up my experience as a gaol bird,
"I would say that a prison is all right for a visit,
"but I wouldn't live there if you GAVE me the place.
"On my part, at any rate, there was no moaning at the bar
"when we left Loos and..." You read this bit. Please.
"I was glad to go.
"The last I saw of the old Alma Mater was the warder
"closing the door of the van and standing back
"with the French equivalent of, "Right away!"
"He said, "Au revoir" to me, which I thought a little tactless."
Just because we are at war, it does not mean we cannot laugh.
My view entirely.
You like this room for writing?
It's very kind of you to give it to me.
It's... er... it's a padded cell. Rather appropriate, really.
What you write. About the camp. It is very funny.
Very, very funny. Like Bertie Wooster and Jeeves. No?
Well...
You should broadcast these writings.
Well... I'm rather... tied up here at the moment.
Indeed.
But soon I think you will be free.
Will I?
You are almost 60, Herr Wodehouse.
The German government has no quarrel with old age pensioners.
Well...
They seem to have quarrelled with almost everyone else.
Most amusing.
So you might... contemplate broadcasting to America.
If you were let out.
I gave an interview to the Americans, didn't I?
That seemed to be all right.
I do worry about the Americans.
And they seem to be rather worried about me.
There is a war on. And war is not a pleasant business.
Indeed not. I think, on the whole,
I'm against it.
I also.
So he has taken the bait.
We keep the Gestapo out of it. Yes?
They are not interested.
I wouldn't want him to be too compromised.
I'm fond of the old boy. He's like a child.
My dear Plack, the whole point of the exercise is that this man
is a loyal Englishman saying that not all Germans are swine.
I am assuming that is what he will say.
He will not talk about unpleasant things.
He does not like to talk about unpleasant things.
So he will not make his time with us seem too unpleasant.
Which will make us popular with the Americans.
Look at all this! He is a hero to them!
They like to accentuate the positive.
Beware the leg break, Grant.
I think as he made the ball, Plum,
he may have a clue as to how it behaves.
We old codgers have it easy, don't we?
There's some... there's some other camp further down the road.
I hear ghastly things about it.
Don't want to think about things like that.
Nobody does, Plum. Bowl up, eh?
Is Mackintosh fielding or is he doing botanical research?
I don't know WHAT he is or WHO he is. But I don't like him.
I have no objection to grammar school boys
unless they pretend to be something else.
Wadhosen?
Widhoose. Werdhowz. Weidhiss.
Whatever you choose to call me, I am here.
You are to be released.
Is this to do with being 60?
I'm only 59-and-three-quarters.
What are you going to put down? Bowler seized in mid over?
I shall miss you chaps. We'll miss you too, old boy.
Who's going to make us laugh?
Who's going to give us good advice?
Who's going to get such bloody wonderful food parcels?
And share them out, what's more?
You must pack. Now.
Also Mackintosh. You also are released.
Didn't I tell you boys? I was 60 last week.
What's going on here, Mackintosh?
Don't worry, "chaps".
I'll look after the greatest English comic writer since Shakespeare.
Look, I don't know what your involvement is in all of this,
Mackintosh, but if you do anything to harm Plummie Wodehouse,
when this war is over and we are back home, I will find you
and push your teeth down your throat.
Who knows what will happen when the war is over, old bean.
Maybe jolly old England won't be there any more, "old chap".
Pip-pip, you fellows!
My God! I can't believe this!
Plum Wodehouse, as I live and breathe.
What can I do for you boys?
How extraordinary meeting you here, Werner. I haven't seen you since...
Since Hollywood.
Where they paid you millions for sitting around and doing nothing.
What an extraordinary coincidence! The name's Mackintosh.
I've been released at the same time as Mr Wodehouse!
Nice for Plum to have another British fellow along. Indeed.
Everyone in America has been campaigning for Plum's release.
Good to hear it.
I'd love to know if there's any chance of seeing Ethel again.
Ethel! My God! My favourite Englishwoman!
Mine too.
I'm sure we can organise it. I can organise most things.
It's been a big press effort.
That New York Times piece has made you even more famous than you were.
We must think of a way of putting you in touch
with the great American public.
Perhaps you could broadcast. Over the radio.
Well, why not?
I understand quite a few British POW's have gone on air
to tell their people they're all right.
And you'll try and find Ethel, Werner, will you?
Naturally. Naturally.
I suppose it would let my American readers know I'm OK.
I suppose.
We have had a communication from someone who is called Werner Plack.
From the Foreign Ministry.
I think I know that name.
We used to know a Werner Plack in Hollywood.
He was an absolute sweetheart.
He was your sweetheart?
If only, darling. He is an absolute dish.
Could you get him for me?
You mean, you mean on the telephone?
For you, Mrs Wodehouse, anything. You are our favourite enemy alien.
It seems your husband may be released soon.
Well, you are obviously very famous in Germany, Wodehouse.
Yes, isn't it strange?
One would have thought they had no sense of humour at all.
Is zis a sausage, mein freund?
Exactly.
You really should ask if you can get on the radio as well.
Oh, as I say, I'm not a writer.
Though I have written things.
I'm not really a writer.
In the sense of going right down deep into life.
I'm just a musical comedy man, really.
Although comedy is important, isn't it?
It reminds us all of our common humanity.
Er...
Gosh!
Am I being pretentious?
Absolutely not!
I just think writing is so important.
People telling the truth about things.
Encouraging others to think life is worthwhile.
Or a waste of time, in the case of certain authors.
So you're going to broadcast your talks... on the radio?
Do you think that would a good idea?
We have to tell them we're not down and out, don't we?
The old school still has some fight left in her.
I'm all for that.
Stiff upper you-know-what.
I think, you know, tell the truth.
Great is the truth and it shall prevail.
I think I believe that.
Good for you.
Writing is escape for me. In the literal sense.
Of escape from prison.
Good night, Mackintosh.
At least we have got you a presentable jacket!
What's Mackintosh doing here?
I think we thought it would be nice for you to have
a fellow Englishman around.
Ah.
Good for morale, sort of thing?
Indeed.
You should put him on as well. Don't let me hog the limelight.
He may have family he wants to reassure.
This is the German Short Wave Station.
Here in our studio in Berlin tonight is Mr PG Wodehouse,
the well known father of the inimitable Jeeves,
of Bertie Wooster,
Lord Emsworth, Mr Mulliner and other delightful persons.
Mr Wodehouse has been in Germany for almost a year
since German troops occupied his residence in Northern France.
We felt his American readers might be interested to hear from him
and so we have invited him
to the microphone to tell you in his own words how it all happened.
It is just possible that my listeners may detect in this
little talk of mine, a slight goofiness,
a certain disposition to ramble in my remarks.
If so, the matter, as Bertie Wooster would say,
is susceptible of a ready explanation.
I have just emerged into the outer world after 49 weeks
of Civil Internment in a German internment camp
and the effects have not entirely worn off.
I feel slightly screwy and inclined to pause at intervals
in order to cut out paper dolls and stick straws in my hair,
or such of my hair as I still have.
But it has been in many ways quite an agreeable experience.
There is a good deal to be said for internment.
It keeps you out of the saloons
and gives you time to catch up on your reading.
You also get a lot of sleep.
This is the transcript of the Wodehouse broadcast.
Caversham picked it up on shortwave. It seems fairly harmless stuff.
You think so?
"All that happened, as far as I was concerned, was that
"I was strolling on the lawn with my wife one morning, when she lowered
"her voice and said, "Don't look now, but here comes the German army!"
"And there they were, a fine body of men rather prettily
"dressed in green, carrying machine guns."
I thought it was rather amusing.
Did you indeed?
It was only on short wave to America.
Only to America? Only to America?
Have you any idea what is going on in the world?
That is the whole point of the bloody German exercise.
To try and reassure the Americans and keep them neutral.
I have spent a six-month tour of the USA trying to get
the Yanks INTO the war because we all know that if we do not do so,
we may well LOSE this bloody war.
We are losing shipping in the North Atlantic.
We are weeks away from losing!
We have to get the Americans in on our side!
Do I have to spell it out to you?
What do you imagine Winston has been doing for the last six months?
The Americans are crucial. And this IDIOT is not helping.
We are fighting for our lives here. And he makes JOKES!
Ah, Mr Wodehouse.
I hear you have been broadcasting to America over the Nazi radio.
Have you made your peace with Germany, Mr Wodehouse?
We read in the New York papers that they treated you
well in the internment camp, is that true?
Didn't you feel like fighting back against the people
who were imprisoning you?
Er...
I found it difficult to be belligerent in camp.
You find it difficult to be belligerent about the war, right?
I didn't say that.
I said I found it difficult to be belligerent in camp.
I was with prisoners who...
He finds it difficult to feel belligerent about this war.
When journalists put words in your mouth,
I do wish they would give you better dialogue.
I must ask you to leave. Please. Please. Thank you.
'And now here is William Connor, Cassandra of the Daily Mirror,
'with his Postscript.
'I have come to tell you tonight of the story of a rich man
'trying to make his last and greatest sale -
'that of his own country.
'It is a sombre story of honour pawned to the Nazis
'for the price of a soft bed in a luxury hotel.
'It is the record of PG Wodehouse, ending 40 years
'of money-making fun with the worst joke he ever made in his life.
'The only wisecrack he ever pulled that the world received in silence.
'When the war broke out,
'Pelham Grenville Wodehouse was at Le Touquet - gambling.'
Plummie hardly ever gambled. And then only for small stakes.
This makes him sound like a playboy.
'Denmark had been overrun and Norway had been occupied.
'But Wodehouse still went on with his fun.'
He tried his damndest to get out.
There was even talk of getting a boat to him, do you remember?
This is lies. I thought the British didn't do propaganda lies!
I thought that was the whole point of our democracy?
All we need to do is get in touch with him.
Look after him. Then he'll be all right.
'..Charlie ever does.
'Wodehouse was throwing a cocktail party... '
How can you SAY these things? Cocktail party?
Plummie never threw a cocktail party in his life.
He's the shyest, sweetest old... It'll be all right, darling.
We will get hold of him and manage this thing and it will be all right.
I've had a cable from my editor at the Saturday Evening Post.
"Must warn you how badly your talks are being received here.
"People in America resent your callous attitude
"to fellow Englishmen."
I was being humourous.
I was trying to show our spirit wasn't broken.
I was trying to show them we were bloody but unbowed, sort of thing.
I don't understand it.
Have I made a fool of myself?
Of course you haven't, Plum.
All he has done is tell the truth, hasn't he?
You have simply described what you saw, Plum.
Telling the truth is not a crime, is it?
Not in my book. What's happening, Werner?
It'll all be fine, I'm sure.
You just have to explain why you're doing them.
I'm not sure I should carry on doing them at all.
Wouldn't that be admitting you were wrong, Plum?
You could explain when you give the next broadcast why you,
you know, decided to speak.
An excellent idea.
This is just a misunderstanding. I didn't want to offend anyone.
We can get through this.
I've still got to give two more broadcasts.
Perhaps I shouldn't give those broadcasts.
I think you owe it to your American readers, Plum!
Well... there's a fellow Englishman speaking.
I'm sorry about this, Plum. I really am.
You are not to worry about it. It'll all blow over.
We can talk about the other broadcasts when you feel calmer.
When can I see Ethel again?
I'll get her to Berlin. I promise.
We have the English and American papers, Mrs Wodehouse, if you like.
Du bist ein sweetheart.
Oh, my God! The idiot!
How many hours before we reach Berlin?
I am afraid it is a matter of days, Mrs Wodehouse.
Accelerate! I am sorry?
More speed. Faster. Schnell. Hurry. Quick. Chop-chop. Pacey-pacey.
Do I make myself clear?
The Press and public in England seem to have jumped to
the conclusion that I have in some way been bribed or
intimidated into making these broadcasts.
This is not the case.
I did not "make a bargain" as they put it
and buy my release by agreeing to speak on the radio.
I was released because I am 60 years old, or shall be in October.
The fact that I was free before that date was due to
the efforts of my friends.
I wanted to thank them,
which is why I am continuing with these talks.
I have to stop my husband, you see,
from making a fool of himself. Do you have a wife?
I do.
Does she stop you from making a fool of yourself?
She does, Mrs Wodehouse.
Well, there you are then.
Plus de vitesse. Onward and upward.
Maximum velocity, old bean.
People began to experiment with foods.
One man used to save some of his soup at midday,
add jam and eat the result cold in the evening.
I myself got rather fond of wooden matchsticks.
You chew them into a pulp and swallow the result whole.
Wait there!
The morale of the men at Tost was wonderful.
I never met a more cheerful crowd and I loved them like brothers.
With this, I bring to an end the story of my adventures
as British Civilian Prisoner number 796,
and before concluding, I should like to thank all
the kind people in America who wrote me letters when I was in camp.
Nobody who has not been in a prison camp can realise what letters,
especially letters like those I received, can mean to an internee.
That's it!
Oh, my God! It's the Colonel!
I think she's cross about something. Probably about me.
She often is.
Oh, brave new world that hath such creatures in it. Eh, Werner?
What on earth are you thinking of, Werner?
What shocking mess have you got him into?
How could you be so bloody stupid?
I find it all too easy to be stupid, I'm afraid.
Oh, don't give me that line again.
Try it on the rest of the world, Plummie. I know you.
I'm in love with you for some peculiar reason
and you are not stupid.
You are a very clever man who is pretending to be stupid
for some mysterious reason of his own, which I have never understood.
You can never resist it, can you? The chance to amuse.
You are what that awful bloody Irishman called you,
"English literature's performing flea."
I shall use it as the title of my autobiography.
Oh shut up, Plummie, for God's sake! Shut up, can't you?
Stop it.
And now it seems Dr Goebbels is beaming your talks over to Britain.
They've used you, Plummie. You've been made a fool of.
You passed up a damned good chance of keeping your mouth shut,
didn't you?
Do you think Werner used me, then? Of course he bloody did.
Is he Gestapo, do you think?
Oh, for God's sake.
He's a survivor, that's all. Like me.
I'm sure he does what the Fuhrer orders.
I thought you liked Werner.
He amuses me. Which is more than you do at the moment.
I am so sorry. I'm so terribly sorry.
We could get back to England. Through Portugal or something.
And I could explain to... to...
To who? Winston Churchill?
King George VI?
I think you may be a fool, actually.
All you're good for is making stupid jokes and...
Don't look like that. Please. Don't look like that.
Like what? Like a dog I've just kicked.
Oh, I could never kick a dog. It wouldn't be right.
Oh, for God's sake!
I brought your novel. The Jeeves one you started in Le Touquet.
Oh, you goof!
Am I intruding?
Not at all, Werner.
We should take you out of Berlin. To the Harz mountains perhaps.
Is there much nightlife in the Harz mountains, Werner?
Wine, women and song for me.
And I'll be the woman, if that's all right!
Excuse me. Do I disturb?
Er...
I am anxious to make interview with Mr PG Wodehouse. Oh.
I'm afraid I'm not talking to anyone.
I'm just... holed up in this hotel, trying to write my novel
and waiting for the war to be over. I admire your work and... Sorry.
I don't talk to people any more.
It isn't safe.
You see that ghastly little man over there?
That's Lord Haw-Haw. "Chairmany calling. Chairmany calling."
He really is a fascist. Werner looks after him, too.
When we win, they will hang him as a traitor.
And hang me as an aperitif, perhaps?
Plum, please. I am not afraid, Ethel.
I may have been naive, but I do not think I have acted as a traitor.
And I hope you do not believe that is the case, either.
You know I do not. Good.
We have to get out of this awful place.
Get your friend Werner to get us out of here. To Paris.
The bombing's getting worse.
And what will we do in Paris?
We will face it out, Ethel. That is what we will do.
That camp toughened you up, didn't it?
Maybe it was the camp. Or maybe it was you.
You are every bit as hard work
as the average concentration camp guard. Oh, Plum!
God.
You still here?
I was going to say the same thing to you.
In fact, I am leaving for Paris.
Nice. Escape. Nice.
Looks like our friends are going to lose this war.
The Germans are not my friends, Mackintosh.
We both did all right out of them, didn't we?
Why did they let you out, Mackintosh?
Told you. Because I'm 60. Are you?
I did some work for them. That was all.
Nothing funny about that. So did you, didn't you?
All I did was...
You're just as bad as me. Don't pretend you're any different.
You're just the same as me. Am I?
Don't try and tell me you didn't know why they let you out.
I didn't. I didn't have a clue.
Famous writer. Full of jolly jokes. Not like poor little me.
But don't try and pretend you're any different.
They'll find you out, Wodehouse. You'll see.
Your pals in camp didn't like me.
Thought I was a bit puff, probably. Not a regular chap.
But you were kind to me.
Takes one to know one.
Well, I do try to be nice to people, Mackintosh.
It's a bit of a rule with me.
The world is a lot more complicated than you imagine it to be.
Old bean.
Where did Plack get us into?
Some hotel. The Bristol, I think it's called.
You always liked Werner, didn't you? He was always your sort of chap.
What are you suggesting?
Nothing.
Well...
Well what?
Ask a Nazi to book you an hotel, you get a Nazi hotel.
I notice it hasn't stopped you eating the food.
Fair comment.
I don't find Werner in the least attractive. He just amuses me.
Well.
You are not exactly consumed with interest in that
side of life, are you?
Mumps. That's what did it. Mumps.
Ethel, I have tried everything to get back to England
and clear my name. It's all I want to do.
Until I do that, I feel I cannot go on with my life.
I'm writing my novel...
About Stilton Cheesewright.
What are they going to make of that
when all of Europe is being torn apart?
You're beginning to sound like that man on the Daily Mirror, old thing.
If I don't clear my name, I will never have a public again.
It's a matter of life and death.
The Allies will be here any day.
When they arrive, I shall turn myself in and tell them the truth
and perhaps at last people will know I am not a traitor.
Messieurs et Mesdames,
si vous voulez descendre en bas a cause de...
A cause de British planes. Aren't they a bore?
Merci. S'il vous plait.
Bonjour!
You can speak English, if you prefer.
You speak English?
I do.
Also German, I imagine.
I have been speaking a lot of German.
But I imagine it will not be required in the immediate future.
Indeed. What a wicked world. Eh?
A very wicked world, sir.
But I am sure the best side won, as you English say.
I am looking for PG Wodehouse.
He is in the hotel, sir.
I am Major Muggeridge of British Intelligence.
Indeed.
I hope Mr Wodehouse is not in any trouble
with the British authorities.
He is a most popular guest.
I couldn't comment on that. I'm in Intelligence
and we're never told anything.
I am afraid the lift is broken. You must use the stairs.
Pas de probleme.
Come.
Major Muggeridge. British Intelligence.
And a novelist, if I'm not mistaken.
Well...
Although I'm afraid I'm here on more serious business.
Indeed.
It has been alleged that you have been in breach of Section One
of the Treachery Act of 1940.
Indeed.
I'm sure you are aware of the penalties
if found guilty of such an of fence.
I assume we still hang traitors, don't we?
Or is drawing and quartering coming back into fashion?
Shall I send down for a bottle of wine?
A very good notion.
Do they hate me in England?
Not everyone. AA Milne took a rather dim view.
Hush, hush. Nobody cares Christopher Robin has fallen downstairs.
Quite. He was supposed to be a friend of mine.
I can't bear to think what this is doing to Leonora.
She's...? My stepdaughter. But I adopted her.
She's been wonderful in all of this.
Oh, I wish I wasn't going into hospital.
Darling, it isn't a serious operation.
It's Plum.
Someone will need to talk to the politicians and press
and sort it all out and if I'm not there...
You will be there, darling.
But first of all, you need to rest.
He's an imbecile. A complete imbecile.
He's a kind of saint. In a way.
You're just worrying about the operation. That's all.
I've been a fool. An absolute fool.
All I want to do now is to clear my name.
People have printed lies about me in the English papers.
I received money from Dr Goebbels.
I threw cocktail parties for the Nazis. Well, I didn't.
I want to tell the truth and have it published.
Chap called Major Cussen will do the interrogation.
Barrister. I'm sure you'll get on.
You're not obliged to say anything, but whatever you do say
will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.
I understand.
I was born in Guildford, Surrey, on October 15th 1881,
of British born parents.
In 1900, I joined the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank in London...
..In 1917 I was rejected for military service
by the United States authorities
on account of defective eyesight...
..People have said I was paid by the Germans. I wasn't.
I lived off the royalties from my books while I was in Germany.
I tried my damndest to get out, but they wouldn't let me go.
He's up there now.
Will he really be all right?
It'll be fine, Ethel. Great is the truth and it shall prevail.
I can't think you really believe that, Malcolm.
Weren't you a journalist? Unfortunately I was, Ethel.
He wants the truth to be told. That is the important thing.
You have been so kind to us, Malcolm.
I think Lagerfuhrer Buchelt had been told to sound me out as to
whether I was willing to broadcast, and he reported to Berlin.
But I did not broadcast in exchange for being released.
I never had any intention of assisting the enemy.
And I have been caused a great deal of pain by my actions.
Can we talk about Mackintosh?
Mackintosh?
He was the man released at the same time as you.
Mackintosh received the same orders as myself. He...
We have tracked him down. And interviewed him.
You say he came with you to the Foreign Office.
You were put in a hotel room with him.
I spent a few days locked up in the Adlon with him.
But...
I couldn't say I knew him.
Why release him at the same time as you, Mr Wodehouse?
I really have no idea.
He always says, if something bad happens, the answer is
to think of something else, pretty damn quick.
He isn't equipped for this nasty little century, is he?
Its lies and cruelties and distortions.
There have been times when I thought this business would drag him under.
But...
Life's a musical comedy. Don't you think?
"Don't let them get you down."
He writes wonderful lyrics.
♪ Shove all your worries in a great big box
♪ As big as any box can be
♪ Shove all your worries in a great big box
♪ And lock it with a great big key
♪ Crying never yet got anybody anywhere
♪ So just stick out your chin
♪ And shove all your worries in a great big box
♪ And sit on the lid and grin! ♪
You see, Mr Wodehouse, it is clear to me,
and this is what I shall say in my report, that the
actual text of your broadcasts is not of a pro-German character.
I cannot tell you how happy that makes me.
But...
But?
Did you intend to assist the enemy?
If you obtained your release upon condition that you would broadcast...
I did NOT.
All we need to do is to confirm your statement to that effect.
I think Werner Plack and the Lagerfuhrer,
unless they chose to lie, would confirm that that is the truth.
It is the truth. As would my fellow internees.
I partly made those broadcasts to show the world
we were not giving in to the Germans.
Mr Wodehouse, Plack and his friends are probably
dodging masonry in Berlin.
All we have is the evidence of this man Mackintosh.
He has been arrested and is in a military prison in Belgium.
Shall we continue this tomorrow?
I am only concerned to make sure all the evidence in this case
is made public. So that my name may be cleared.
I fully appreciate that.
Oh, by the way, huge fan of Jeeves.
Thank you.
I've been reading your stuff again. Marvellous.
"She had a laugh like a troop of cavalry charging over a tin bridge."
Marvellous.
Are you OK?
Cussen's a reasonable man. It's going your way.
All we need to do is to set out the true facts before the public.
Then you can go back to England and...
What are THEY after?
Monsieur Wodenhorse?
The name is Wodehouse.
May I ask what the charge is, Inspector?
The charge is treason.
A charge of which I suspect the entire French bloody nation
might well be guilty.
The prefect of Paris has ordered it.
You are not taking my husband anywhere, you disgusting little men!
Excuse me.
You will hear from the British Government on this question.
Winston Churchill. Heard of him?
I seem to remember he was about the only person who
gave your bloody General de Gaulle a place to sleep in 1940.
Come back here at once!
This man is not a traitor!
You will hear from me!
Oh, FUCK the French!
Je ne will pas get off the bloody line!
I do not move! I talk! You loathsome little frog!
You bastards!
Major Malcolm Muggeridge. British Intelligence Office.
I demand to know why this British subject has been detained.
In the name of the British Government!
'We keep Wodenhorse.'
You cannot keep this man in prison.
There will be a diplomatic incident. I am serious.
'Is Monsieur Widdenhose well?'
He's fine.
'He does not look well to me.'
'I think if we have him examined by a doctor he would say
'we should put him in a hospital for... a few days.'
Perfect diplomatic compromise.
Talleyrand would have been proud of you.
Please make sure it is a nice hospital.
'So long as I do not have to talk to his wife again,
'I am yours for ever, Monsieur.'
Merci. Au revoir.
How's the novel?
Ah! Well, it's seen me through the war.
All I need is a publisher. That's all a novel needs.
You send it out into the world like a young chap going off
to boarding school.
As soon as I've convinced the public
I am not a raving fascist, I'm sure all will go well.
What on earth is this place?
This is the only hospital they could find.
A maternity ward. Isn't it extraordinary?
I started the war in a lunatic asylum
and I am ending it in a nursing home!
Well, we'll get you out.
Churchill did send a note to them, apparently.
He's not your biggest fan,
but he doesn't want to give you to the French.
Was it Waugh who called him a second-rate radio personality?
Or was it me?
I'll go back to London for a few days.
Get some official letters. Sort these blighters out.
I'll get in touch with your stepdaughter.
Daughter.
Sorry, daughter. I am sure Leonora has some good political contacts.
She'll help us get the Cussen report out there.
Perhaps I could bring you some tobacco, food parcels.
We would love news of Leonora. We haven't heard for ages.
We'll have dinner when I come back.
Ah! Cheer up, Malcolm. We're buying.
If it wasn't for you, I'd still be in that blasted maternity home.
I'm glad you're out, anyway.
Did you manage to track down Leonora?
I...
This is very hard to say.
I'm so fond of you both.
I'm afraid I discovered that Leonora...
She went in for an operation.
All well, Leonora?
Just fine. Fine.
A minor operation.
And I'm afraid she died under the anaesthetic.
I thought she was immortal.
I'll leave you.
As soon as I know more about Cussen's report, I'll tell you.
I am so, so sorry.
Why this? Why this on top of everything else?
Is there a God?
Why could he let this happen?
I don't understand. I just don't understand.
Thank you, sir. Thank you.
Are you all right?
I don't know, Malcolm. I really don't know.
I suppose with all the awful things that've happened...
I don't know.
I suppose I think they can't do anything worse to us than that.
No. Although...
Don't tell me. They have?
I tell you, Malcolm,
walking the plank might come as a blessed relief,
after losing Leonora.
She would have sorted all this out, you see.
She knew about politics and all of that.
One of the reasons I adopted her as my own was I just...
I loved her.
What have they decided?
Well... As we expected, they've cleared you of treachery.
Thank God for that!
I hope some of them will apologise for all the things they said.
Yes, this is the difficult bit.
The government line is that you will not be prosecuted.
And they have made that public in answer to
a House of Commons question. But...
I don't think they will ever make the Cussen report public.
But... that is absurd.
That means everyone will think Plum did something wrong,
even though he didn't.
He has been cleared. Why can't we tell the world?
I did something foolish, I suppose.
Oh, you're a complete idiot. Everyone in the Western world knows that.
It is the secret of your success. But you are not a traitor.
You haven't got the background knowledge to be a traitor.
All you did was make a few jokes.
I thought British people were supposed to
keep their sense of humour in times of crisis.
Or did that go out of the window along with everything else?
In war, truth is the first casualty. Who said that?
Stop being so bloody brave, Plummie. I can't bear it.
Did they say why?
To do with this fellow Mackintosh. I shouldn't be telling you this.
Classified. But...
It seems they think he may have been a collaborator.
Or he may have been one of ours who was turned.
I have no idea.
He left England because of some homosexual scandal
and turns up in Boulogne just before the war started.
Who knows what he is?
He's told all sorts of obvious lies, about being mistaken
for someone called Mackenzie who was known to be pro-German.
But don't believe Mr Mackintosh. He was cosy enough with the Nazis.
He spent the war translating German marching songs
and a couple of anti-Semitic books.
German marching songs, eh? Well, I never.
Until they decide what to do with him,
it appears the file will remain top secret,
with his name blanked out.
Once again, I am so sorry.
I'm not forbidden to return to England, I suppose.
I cannot see why you should be. You have to show them.
You have to let them know you're not going to lie down under this.
I think dignified silence will be my policy.
My novels seem to be all right over in America.
Shall we see if they'll have us?
I am obviously not welcome in the land of my birth.
You mustn't let them browbeat you, Plummie!
I will do what I will do, my darling.
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Can it get worse after what happened to Leonora?
Of course it can. Sunt lacrimae rerum and all that.
If the classics have taught me one thing it is that Fate is
always waiting for you with the stuffed eel-skin.
But you can't let them see what life does to you.
That's the only way to survive it. To shut up.
Which is what, after all this, I propose to do.
There is a certain dignity in silence.
I do not wish to speak about this any more.
You have been so kind to us.
And now, if you will excuse me, I will go back and write.
About creatures of the night such as bats, cats and Constable Potter.
Those of us who care will try and set the record straight.
I know, Malcolm. Thank you. You won't ever succeed now.
Not until we too are dead, I suspect.
But thank you for even thinking of trying.
America, here you come.
Indeed.
But you will pay England a visit, I hope.
Perhaps. I long and dread to see it again.
My sort of England has vanished.
It is as extinct as the maiden aunt.
But we need it.
Maybe.
Goodbye, dear boy.
To clear your name.
Alea jacta est, as Caesar used to say.
When in a difficult mood...
..farewell.
Oh, England. What do you do to those who love you?
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