CitIVAS REG A t 12 YEAR OLD citIVAS REG 44 SCOTCH WHISKY

COMPETITIO N scmivia,

Chez Adolf

J aspistos

In Competition No. 1634 you were in- vited to imagine P.G. Wodehouse's im- pressions, as recorded in a letter to a favourite aunt, of his entertainment at Berchtesgaden by Hitler in prewar 1939, deux or otherwise.

A propos de bottes, the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path I advertised myself as walking along two weeks ago proved stunningly beautiful. For the first 20 miles south of Fishguard I saw hardly any houses and no human beings. Try it.

I returned to a slightly disappointing entry. Few of you took the opportunity of including some of the Ffihrer's mad entour- age in the cast, though Nick Hobart created a scene for which Nicholas Bentley might have drawn the picture: 'When H. mentioned someone called Mosley, I naturally assumed he meant the Kent leg-spinner, so I clothed my thoughts on drying wickets in words. Neither H. nor the pretty young prune named Brown seemed riveted by my demonstration of the leg glance, using a teaspoon and a bit of strudel.' In fact, cricket kept creeping in 'He suggested we collaborate on a book pushing the German and English races as a sort of best-ever First Eleven' (Bryan Oates), and 'He said the Greeks were decadent, but I maintained they were jolly good at Parthenons, though indifferent midfield' (Pascoe Polglaze).

Will Bellenger, Pippa Legg, Martin Fagg and Beverley Strauss (overrunning the word-limit again) didn't do badly, but the prize money (£18 to each winner) goes to those printed below, and the bonus bottle of Chivas Regal 12-year-old de luxe blended whisky is Fergus Porter's.

. . . asking if I'd mind toddling along to this Eagle's Roost place. You know my head for heights, but nothing ventured and all the rest of it. There was Herr H. and two or three other chaps, all looking at a map. Arranging a hoar-hunt, they explained. They swore they'd read my hooks. Herr H. kept saying 'P'Schmidt' and laughing. Then he asked when I was next seeing a Mr Halifax. I couldn't think who he meant for a moment, then the old noddle fired up and, remembering the boar-hunt, I knew it must be Uncle George's pigman, Halifax. I said, 'I expect I'll see him next week.' I probably will too if I go to Uncle George's second bout of nuptials. 'Give him a message,' said Herr H. Rum thing, of course. Still, I'll do the old duty. What have the sands of time to do with a pigman? (Fergus Porter) After greeting me in near-perfect English, the Fiihrer started talking of the weather, of the unusually severe storms that occur in southern Bavaria. Then he talked more generally: of the paramount importance of class and breeding, and good breeding qualities, in females. Would one not, he surmised, expect to find these qualities especially in aristocratic females? I said I supposed one would. And, if the price were right, might one not envisage such an aristocra- tic female coming over to Germany for breeding purposes? I swallowed. Had he any particular female in mind? Might an inspection be advis- able? 'No inspection! Send her over at once! Solon!' — he lapsed into German in his excite- ment. 'Send whom?' Die Blandingskaiserin, natiirlich!"Of course,' I replied, playing for time and trying hard to avoid a stray proverbial feather, down with which you could suite easily have knocked me. (David Heaton)

I must say I thought it odd when Hitler asked me what Mr Chamberlain thought of the Polish Corridor. I know as much about Mr Chamber- lain as a budgerigar knows of the binomial theorem, and passed it off by saying that Jeeves was the man for that kind of question.

'Who is this Herr Jeeves?' he said.

I said he was one of my characters.

'Your colleague, you mean?'

I said no, he was imaginary; Jeeves and Wooster, source of much innocent merriment.

He gave me the kind of look the barman gives you if you ask for port and lemon.

'Worcester sauce?' he said. 'I must warn you that my patience is not inexhaustible.'

Fortunately a kind of Efficient Baxter in rimless glasses sorted it all out, but Hitler looked as if he'd swallowed a bee and was pretty offhand when I left. (D. Shepherd) B My dear Aunt, Berchtesgaden Observe the letter-heading. Your favourite nephew is currently hobnobbing with the Great. This should be good for sales in Germany: my agent here assures me that the news, if correctly handled, will add a thou or two to the German sales of Ganz Becht, Jeeves.

Herr Hitler, whom I believe the English newspapers are frightfully excited about, is father a disappointment: 'lathing like as usable as Mosley. We had chocolate and buns. There was a nice English girl, Unity (?), who inter- preted. Hitler and the Pekes got on like a gang of foremast hands on shore leave, but he seemed very much against the Jews, and thought I should be bitingly satirical about Hore-Belisha and others. I wonder if he has got me mixed up with poor old Belloc? Such is jolly old Fame.

Your loving nephew, Plum.

(Roger Jeffreys)