From the Diaries of Sir Shash, October 19____
This afternoon, my housekeeper Agnes asked me if she could have a look at my Africa album. I agreed, seeing that the girl’s eyes sparkle every time the great continent is mentioned. She paused for a considerable time at the above photograph, which had been captured by Jeeves. I had meant it as a lark, but it did lead to a series of letters between Aunt Dahlia, Bobbie and me. I have reproduced them below with the usual kind permissions.
Shash.
Lady Roberta Wickham’s Letter (Reproduced with permission):
Dear Aunt Dahlia,
After days of marvelling at the grandeur of the tribes of the Masai Mara and the glorious wonders of its animal kingdom, your favourite nephew, my sweet Bertie, has contracted a fever, which he insists is a mere touch of the sun and which has kept him flat on his back for three days. He has been very good, apart from twice calling me Jeeves and once asking whether the soup had been cleared with the Junior Ganymede.
Shash has been of no practical use whatever and has taken tea on the veranda every evening like a man at the matinee. I enclose a photograph as proof. Jeeves took it with clinical efficiency.
Shash claims that his expression was the satisfaction of watching young love, or some such Madeline-inspired vocabulary. To his credit, on the first night he sat outside our room, pretending to read a book. I initially suspected he had locked the doctor recommended by Mrs. Blixen in the nearby room. Mercifully, the doctor clarified this morning over breakfast that this was not the case.
I insist you do not show the photograph to Aunt Agatha. She may send me a harsh telegram.
Love,
Bobbie
P.S. Aunt Dahlia, it is me, Shash. I should like it recorded that the tea was strictly medicinal. Also, I have a tribal mask that Uncle Tom will like.
Aunt Dahlia’s Reply (Reproduced with permission):
My dear Shash,
Bobbie’s letter arrived on Tuesday, photograph enclosed, and I have been in a state ever since. Bertie flat on his back on a veranda for three days with “a touch of the sun.” I have known that boy since he was in short trousers, and the sun has never once got the better of him.
Jeeves, who seems to be the only one with any sense, writes under separate cover that the fever began on the evening of the suya chicken. I believe that you two fatheads got into a game of who could eat more while trying out a fire dance ritual. I am informed that Mr. Mfumu, your guide, warned you that you had both already had too much Busaa beer. However, Bertie confidently declared that he was a reborn Chieftain of the wild, and you said, “Hear, hear.”
Ground peanuts and fire, on a stick. Bertie has the digestive constitution of a well-bred spaniel and has never eaten anything hotter than a Bath bun. You know that. You were present at the Savoy in ‘23 when he took one mouthful of the curry and asked for a priest.
You will therefore go easy on the suya chicken. Inform the pretty redhead too. Read my letter aloud if you must. I do not say abandon the delicacy altogether. Anatole’s expression, when I described it to him, suggested professional interest. He had heard of it and went Oo La La, or was it Tra La La?
I digress. You will halve it. You will ensure that Bertie eats rice and yoghurt and has large quantities of that herbal tea you are so proud of, and not one skewer more until he can sit up and name the Prime Minister.
As to the doctor in the next room, I am relieved to hear it was a misunderstanding. I should not like to explain to the Foreign Office that a guest of Mrs. Blixen’s had been shut up by a knight of the realm.
And as to the teacup, I have seen the photograph, and I do not believe a word of “satisfaction at watching young love.” You looked like a man at the matinee with an ice. Bobbie deserves better than a nurse’s help from a tea-drinker.
Tom sends his regards. He has the photograph on his desk, and when I mentioned the tribal mask, he asked whether it had been won in a battle. I said he should ask the man who bought it.
Your affectionate and slightly furious,
Dahlia Travers
P.S. Agatha has not seen the photograph, and nor will she. If she asks, Bertie has a sore throat.
Sir Shash’s Reply (I needed no permission from myself):
Dear Aunt Dahlia,
Your letter found us at last, and I must report that you are rather behind events. Bertie was on his feet by the Thursday and has since named the Prime Minister correctly, twice. He and Bobbie went swimming, and there was the small matter of the Crocodylus niloticus, but I shall refrain from describing what happened. Gussie Fink-Nottle, who has arrived with Emerald, insists that I use the proper scientific name in the letter.
Your letter was read aloud over breakfast as instructed, and I am told the pretty redhead heard every word. She laughed at the spaniel, went rather quiet at the Savoy, and asked for the paragraph about the teacup to be read a second time. Bertie requested that the whole letter be read slowly, and then that it not be read at all.
I accept the charge in full, but I should like to offer one mitigating circumstance, if I may. Mr. Mfumu did indeed warn us, and with great dignity, and I believe he is owed an apology by both parties. As to the “Hear, hear,” I can only say that it was said in a spirit of fellowship, and that a man who has just heard his oldest friend declare himself a reborn Chieftain has few honourable alternatives. He danced with such vigour too.
We are expecting the very glamorous Marmaduke “Chuffy” Chuffnell and Baroness Pauline later today. I am sure that hereafter Bobbie and Pauline will make sure that they are photographed as much as the giraffes. We plan to stay two more weeks.
The suya has been halved, and Bertie has been force-fed rice, yoghurt and tea, with the result that he looks at the skewers now the way a man looks at a former fiancée.
I must clarify that in the photograph I was instructed to “sit there and look reassuring.”
As for the mask, Uncle Tom may be assured that it was not won in battle. It was won in a negotiation with a determined young lady who had handcrafted it. I think she had a thing for Bertie and agreed to a discount.
Please tell Anatole that suya is a dish of the north-west, that it is dusted with a peanut and chilli spice, and that I shall bring him a recipe that Mr. Mfumu has assured me he will obtain.
Lady Agatha, as agreed, shall hear only of the sore throat.
Yours in all loyalty,
Shash
P.S. from Bobbie:
Aunt Dahlia, with Bertie having made a full recovery, the sun here is shining brightly, and you and Uncle Tom are missed. We plan to remain two more weeks. You may have heard of Mr. Finch Hatton. Let me assure you he is very handsome in person. He visited us today. He is taking Mrs. Blixen on a plane ride.
Love,
B.
From the Diaries of Sir Shash, October 19____
I narrated the tale of the fever and the recovery to Agnes with some gusto, embellishing shamelessly, since it was a bright afternoon. I should like to think she loved every bit of the narrative. She said to me:
“Travel is the only thing you spend on that makes you richer.”
Quite a girl!
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