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All at Sea with Jeeves

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Wragg said:
2.

“What ho, Bertie!” Jollyrei seemed contented enough with a life on the ocean wave. For my part, I couldn’t wait to get off this rustbucket and get dry land under my feet again, but I greeted him cordially enough. “Hello, Jolly. I do wish this blasted ship would stop rolling about!”

He looked at me sympathetically. “I say, yes, you are looking a bit green about the gills. Have you not found your sea legs yet, Bertie?”

“I think I lost them overboard. And Jeeves isn’t being much help.”

“I see. Still narked about heading for the Big Apple rather than la sud de la France, is he?”

“Frosty, Jolly. That’s the word. Frosty.”

The waiter appeared and I ordered a brandy and soda, in the interests of science, to determine whether or not it had a positive effect on the mal de mer, while Jollyrei, with his iron constitution, appeared to feel equal to a gin and tonic.

For a few moments we sat in silence, Jollyrei being all too acutely aware of the disadvantageous effects of a frosty manservant. The SS Cruxton Abbey bore on through the chilly North Atlantic, Uncle Sam ahead and Blighty astern.

I broke the silence. “Still, not to worry. Another few nautical miles between ourselves and our irate relatives. All to the good, what?”

“Absolutely, old boy. How exceptionally bracing it is to know that they are safely in Blighty while we can look forward to the dear old Big Apple!”

“The one thing I really didn’t need was a deep and meaningful discussion with my Aunt Eulalia. I’m dashed if I can see what the fuss is about, anyway. She loves to make free use of her riding crop on errant nephews. She’d rather enjoy a soiree at Mademoiselle Messalines, I think. Anyway, let her do what she will, there’s nothing like having an ocean between one and a disapproving Aunt. Did I tell you about the time when…”

I tailed off, as it dawned on me that Jollyrei wasn’t listening. Instead, he was goggling, eyes wide open, mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish.

“I say, Jolly, what’s up, old man? Has your G&T gone down the wrong way?”

“BERTIE!!!!!” A familiar voice behind struck me amidships. I whirled around to see what had rattled Jollyrei.

Bearing down upon us, like battleships under full steam, were my Aunt Eulalia and the Honorable Lady Deborah, Dowager Countess of High Groaning. And, like battleships, they were fully armed, both carrying formidable looking horsewhips!

Jollyrei and I didn’t even stop to discuss strategies for dealing with this appalling development. We were up and out of the door like startled foxes, with the hunt in hot pursuit.
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Which suddently and unexpectly turn? (I learned this adjectives from the study of death notices.)
 
madiosi said:
I learned this adjectives from the study of death notices.
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Is that a popular German pastime, Madi, reading death notices?
You evidently read some memorable ones:
'... sadly passed away shortly after turning green around the gills.'
'... was never the same again after losing his sea legs in the battle of Rum Cove'
 
Wragg said:
Bit early for obituaries yet, Madi!

Barb's at the helm, of course she is. What could possibly go wrong!? :confused:
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will-1.jpg
 
Wragg said:
“What are the Welsh girls like?” asked Jollyrei. I never could understand his fascination with the fairer sex,
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Seems a perfectly reasonable fascination. They are, in a lot of ways, more interesting than the lads at the Drones, after hours.

Wragg said:
“What do icebergs look like, Ted?”

“Sort of big, white, floaty things.”

“Anything like that?” Jollyrei pointed at something behind Ted, who whirled around.

“CHRIST!!!” he yelled, and grabbed a voice pipe. “BRIDGE!!!!”
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You don't suppose we were distracting old Ted there? No. Anyway, good to get that iceberg spotting done. Always wanted to see one. Do you think we might be sailing a bit close? Still, what could a bit of ice do to a modern liner, eh?
 
Jollyrei said:
You don't suppose we were distracting old Ted there? No. Anyway, good to get that iceberg spotting done. Always wanted to see one. Do you think we might be sailing a bit close? Still, what could a bit of ice do to a modern liner, eh?
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Little to starboard and we can all snatch some ice for our cocktails this evening :p
 
Loxuru said:
Is the SS Cruxton Abbey not unsinkable, then?:oops:


Anyway, this problem could be solved soon!:devil::tiburon:
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Two other passengers could meet with a quite dissimilar fate . . .
 

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4.

Captain Robert Inder was having a good day. The weather wasn’t too bad, Cruxton Abbey was making good, one could even say even record progress towards New York. Just as well, given that T.H. Tree, one of the owners of the line, was aboard. But Tree had seen him just that morning and had told him what a good trip he was having. He smiled, looking forward to a session with his own bottle of Seagrams, so kindly donated by the tycoon.

“What are you smiling about, sir?” First Officer Tom Phlebas didn’t often see his superior officers in such good humour. He wanted as much information as possible, making captains happy was an important part of his job description.

“I am happy, Number One, because our honoured guest, Mr Tree, is happy. He told me so this very morning.”

“Tree’s happy, is he? Well, I’m not surprised.”

“Why?”

“He had that pretty new maid in his room all night. Piper Marie, that’s her name.”

“Really? How do you know that?”

“She was still tied up naked in the bathroom when they went in to tidy his suite this morning!”

There came a snigger from behind Captain Inder. “Quiet, Moore!” he thundered, without even turning round.

“Yes, sir. Sorry sir.” Still trying to keep a straight face, Barb Moore resumed her efforts to keep Cruxton Abbey steady on her course.

“Well, I’m glad the staff are properly looking after the guests.” For a moment the Captain was silent, gazing with satisfaction through the bridge windows at his well-run ship. The something caught his attention, and he frowned.

“Number One?”

“Sir?”

“What’s going on by the for’ard mast there?”

Phlebas grabbed some binoculars. “There seems to be some sort of a hoo-hah going on, sir. There are a couple of the ladies there, I can see the Dowager Duchess of High Groaning, and Lady Eulalia, brandishing whips.”

“Oh, for God’s sake! These women are always arguing, though I’m never known them to enter into armed conflict before! Go and sort it out, will you, Number One?”

“Very good, sir. Oh! It looks like Mr Tree is with them.”

“What! Eulalia and Debbie are attacking Tree with whips? Come on, Phlebas! This could spell disaster! You have the Bridge, Miss Moore!”

With that, they were gone, and Barbara Moore had the Bridge all to herself.​
 
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