Clearing Wodehouse's Name

FOR HIS FIRST 60 YEARS, P.G. Wodehouse, probably the finest English humorist of the 20th century, had lived a charmed life. In his stories he created an idyllic world, one of wealth and leisure, where no problem was so great that it could not be solved by some quick thinking and a touch of light-hearted deception. His books were magic elixers to the troubled souls of his readers. Like a few stiff drinks, but without the side-effects, a P.G. Wodehouse story could make even the most distressed reader forget about his problems for a while. And his public paid him back in kind: No sooner would one of his books hit the stands than it would become a bestseller.

Yet despite the enormous wealth he acquired through sales of his stories, Wodehouse remained a man of simple pleasures. Like one of his most famous characters, the lovable bachelor-vagabond Bertie Wooster, happiness for Wodehouse meant comfortable slippers, a good pipe, and a well-mixed highball.

But in 1941, just prior to Wodehouse's 60th birthday, his happy life was drastically changed. The Second World War was in its early stages, and Germany had just successfuly invaded France, where Wodehouse was living at the time with his wife Ethel. Over the next several months, Wodehouse was captured by the Germans and shuttled among several different German internment camps. Wodehouse finally surfaced some six months later in a series of broadcasts he made over German radio to the then-neutral United States. The British people were shocked at hearing his voice over the airwaves of their enemy and began lashing out at Wodehouse, calling him a traitor.

Although after the war those charges were never proved and Wodehouse was never brought up on formal charges, public sentiment in England weighed heavily against him, and as late as 1975, when Wodehouse died at the age of 93, there were still many who believed him at best a Nazi sympathizer. In Wodehouse at War, Iain Sproat, a member of the British Parliament and a long-time admirer of the humorist, presents strong evidence that the charges against Wodehouse were unfounded.

SPROATS ARGUMENT centers around the five broadcasts Wodehouse made. These provided the crux of the evidence against the author. The broadcasts were mainly Wodehouse's descriptions of life in an internment camp. Because of their often light-hearted tone, many believed that Wodehouse was attempting to show the Germans in a favorable light. But a careful examination of the transcripts (which Sproat includes in full in the appendix) shows only the gentle sarcasm which pervaded everything Wodehouse ever wrote. There is no evidence that he sympathized with the Nazis in the tape; in fact, much of what was interpreted as praise in the heat of the anti-Wodehouse sentiments was in fact making fun of the Germans.

But the question remains: Why did he make the broadcasts in the first place? As Sproat points out, at the time of the broadcasts, the United States was still neutral in the war. Because he was taken prisoner so early, it would have been impossible for Wodehouse to realize the extent of the crimes the Nazis were committing. And because of his age (all captured internees from France were released at the age of 60) and his captors' respect for his reputation, Wodehouse was released from the prison camp. He often asked to be returned to England or at least to be sent to the neutral states but was denied permission to leave Berlin. Nevertheless, he was allowed frequent contact with U.S. reporters, and most not have considered his broadcasts as anything different from the numerous interviews he gave to American publications.

Still, it is not hard to see why the British were so inflamed by the speeches. Wodehouse's light-hearted statements must not have mixed very well with the British people, whose young sons were coming home in body bags. And, after the war, Wodehouse himself publicly apologized for the broadcasts, saying they were the greatest blunders of his life. But if these broadcasts revealed Wodehouse as not very adept at foreseeing the consequences of his actions, they certainly do not reveal him as a traitor against England.

Indeed, after the war, British authorities conceded that they had no case against Wodehouse and made no charges against him. But, as Sproat states, while by a jury one must be proven guilty, by the public one must often be proven innocent. Sentiment raged against Wodehouse following the war. The British people were still stinging with the memory of the notorious "Lord Haw-Haw" who during the war had terrified civilians over the airwaves.

OVER THE YEARS, of course, anger against Wodehouse subsided somewhat, and his books (which at one point were banned in much of England and the U.S.) became once again popular. But, as Sproat writes, the notion that he had betrayed his country "followed him to his grave." As late as 1972, when Sproat tried to recommend Wodehouse (who during his life published more than 90 books) for knighthood, then-Prime Minister Edward Heath refused to back him.

Wodehouse at War stands as Sproat's final attempt to vindicate Wodehouse and to clear his name. The book is certainly no masterpiece; it is somewhat sloppily written, repetitive, and in its structure often resembles an Expository Writing position paper. But it is painstakingly researched--offering numerous documents and quotes from sources Sproat has interviewed--and it makes its point. Wodehouse, it seems clear, was no traitor, Perhaps this book will finally lift that title from his name.