History is fascinating, what?

Lately I’ve found myself bumping into Miss Berthelina Snodgram-Upshur rather frequently. She is the daughter of Dame Snodgram-Upshur, the famous feminist professor, and she is rather the brainy nervous type herself. Though she is lovely in profile. It seems clear that highly intelligent girls are attracted to me, for reasons I can’t quite fathom. Jeeves suggests that this is nature’s way of maintaining a balance.

If you will pardon me going off on a bit of a tangent, I’m not quite sure what to make of this “dame” business. Extending the honour of knighthood to the gentle sex is rather an alarming development. It seems almost American. I keep entertaining this horrid mental picture of the strong, brave knight triumphing over the evildoer in an epic contest of arms; dismounting his horse in a single heroic leap; striding majestically up to the rescued damsel; and popping open his visor — to reveal the nervous brainy features of Dame Snodgram-Upshur, famous feminist professor. Or perhaps Sir Elton John. Frightful either way.

Anyway, Miss Snodgram-Upshur has been pressing me to read a few books, to improve my mind. Now that’s a red flag, a definite red flag. I have absolutely drawn the line at letting her press any books on me, particularly since they would probably be written by her mother. I’m sure these feminist studies are good for the intellect and all that, but they are rather deep wading, not to say shocking at times. Jeeves has particularly warned me against anything with “Monologues” in the title.

Speaking of Jeeves, I was certain that he could recommend something more suitable for me to read, and he agreed to ponder on it; but immediately afterwards one of his aunts suddenly became frightfully ill, and he begged some time off to look after her. How could I say no? Jeeves did suggest that I take the matter up with His Majesty’s man Vader, who is a voracious reader. Vader recommended Sir Martin Gilbert’s The Second World War, on the grounds that it is as totally unlike feminist studies as it is possible for a book to be.

I was quite struck by this passage:

For many months, the death toll in Britain from German bombing had been reduced by the dedicated and dangerous work of special Unexploded Bomb Disposal Squads. The death toll among these squads was high. One such squad was made up of the Earl of Suffolk — who in June 1940 had brought the heavy water and the nuclear scientists from France — his secretary Miss Morden and his chauffeur Fred Hards; they were known in the bomb disposal world as the Holy Trinity. On May 12, at Erith, in Kent, they were trying to defuse their thirty-fifth bomb when it exploded, and they were blown to pieces. The Earl was awarded a posthumous George Cross.

Now that’s the sort of brave chappie that made England great, and it’s a shame he was disassembled by the German construction. Rather nasty of the Hun, what? Vader sarcastically noted that only the Earl received the George Cross. I think the man sometimes forgets his place. I cannot help thinking that if it had been Jeeves, instead of this Hards fellow (though doubtless a worthy man), the bomb would have been defused successfully.

Speaking of which, one of my young cousins living in Albuquerque gave me a very nice silk tie with a print of a cartoon rabbit making short work of a carrot. Very American and all that, but I’m fond of it anyway. I can tell Jeeves does not approve, though; the first time he saw it, I swear he positively flushed. I’m pretty sure that’s what he’d prefer to do to the tie, anyway.