Alistair Cooke’s radio broadcasts are beautifully modulated, finely crafted, miniature masterpieces. To stumble upon one is to find a Fabergé egg in the henhouse; although Peter Carl Fabergé made only fifty-two Imperial Easter eggs and Alistair Cooke delivered 2,869 editions of Letter from America.
I have heard it said by a Cooke family connection that his avuncular broadcasts did not reflect his character at home and in his dealings with his family. The same could never be said of PG Wodehouse. I have not heard or read anything to suggest that he was ever less than genial even under circumstances that might have tried a lesser man. When they were living in a flat in St James’s, Ethel came back from a race meeting, shouting up the stairs she’d bought a horse in a Selling Plate. Plum merely asked if she’d brought it home with her. I wonder if this was Front Line, their winner in a handicap at Hurst Park in 1922. Plum’s letter to Leonora amplifies:
“Darling angel Snork,
The Wodehouse home is en fête and considerably above itself this p.m. Deep-throated cheers ring out in Flat 43, and every now and then I have to go out on the balcony to address the seething crowds in St James Street. And why? I’ll tell you. (I’m glad you asked me). This afternoon at Hurst Park dear jolly old Front Line romped home in the Hurdle Handicap in spite of having to carry about three tons weight. The handicappers crammed an extra ten pounds on him after his last win, so he had to carry thirteen stone three pounds, and it seemed so impossible that he could win that I went off and played golf instead of going to Hurst Park. It is an absolute record — the Evening Standard says there has never been a case before of a horse winning a good race under such a weight […]
In addition to this, Mummie’s judgement in buying the horse is boosted to the skies, and everybody looks on her now as the wisest guy in town. If we sold the horse today we could make a profit of a thousand pounds probably – certainly seven hundred. But we aren’t going to sell.
My first remark on hearing the news was ‘Snork will expect something out of this!’ It seemed to me that the thing must infallibly bring on a severe attack of the gimmes in the little darling one. Mummie says that when you come back you shall collect in the shape of a rich present. (Box of candy or a fountain-pen or something lavish like that. Or maybe a string of pearls. Maybe, on the other hand, not.)
Well, that’s that. So Mummie has started her career as the Curse of the Turf in great style.”
Wouldn’t it be interesting to hear a conversation between these two Englishmen abroad: Alistair Cooke and PG Wodehouse? You can. This was recorded in 1960.