1
'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.
'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.
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?