This is a fact that delights me. One can see clear shared beliefs about what cars ought to be able to do across Fleming's works.
Another delightful fact for those just discovering this one: Gert Fröbe, immortalized as the titular Bond villain of Goldfinger (1964) is also Baron Bomburst, exclaiming, with an indelible mix of petulance and camp menace, "I vant that caaar!" in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968.)
It occurs to me that Gaudy Night happened just in the nick of time. We do know that Harriet meant to settle the matter anyway- she couldn't have kept going, what with the strain on both her and Peter's nerves. But if there had been no Poltergeist to force their hands, what then? Would Harriet, seeing the looming crisis of war, given in -not on honest intellectual grounds, but out of guilt and fear of what the war might bring? And would Peter even be able to accept her on those terms, knowing why she did it, and knowing also what would be demanded of him when the crisis broke?
Another gem from my latest ROM visit that filled me with immeasurable glee:
Look at that little owl!! He's so goofy and cute and so dear to me and so so very clearly a LITTLE OWL (Athena Noctua) which is, of course, the species of owl that represents Athena
Look at how small that little guy is:
Athena holding a helmet and a spear, with an owl. Attributed to the Brygos Painter (c. 490–480 BC). The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
And, look at these incredible further examples cute little owls in pottery:
Armed owl. Attic red-figure Anthesteria oinochoe, ca. 410–390 BC
Skypho with Owl between two branches of olive wood. Attic red-figure pottery. Archaeological National Museum of Spain.
Attic red-figure kylix, owl between two olive branches. Found in the Mengíbar Necropolis. Archaeological National Museum of Spain.
Owl skyphos. From Most na SočI, end of the 5th century BC. Tolmin Museum.
Owl skyphos. Attic, mid-5th century BCE. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Terracotta rim fragment of a kylix. Attic, dating 480–470 BCE. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
I just wanted to share these because they also always make me smile. One of my favourite things about going to the museum has always been looking at sculptures and pottery.
Not a historian, only a Greek Mythology fan, but that's the head of the Gorgon Medusa (I think the squiggly trim is the snakes? They appear to have been detatched from the Gorgon's head somewhat.) Persues gives the head to Athena (after he's done using it to kill his Evil Stepfather) since she helped him on his quest. In that particular depiction, it seems to be so scary that Athena's boobs are trying to run away in terror. Here's some more examples where Athena has normal boobs:
...Including this great statue where she's absolutely done with everyone's shit.
Her mind was such a blank that for a second, it actually seemed to her that Howl had no faults at all. How stupid!
The fantastic Freya Mar
Her mind was such a blank that for a second, it actually seemed to her that Howl had no faults at all. How stupid!
The fantastic @fahye joins us for a discussion of John Donne, fairy tales, unmusical Welshmen, and Diana Wynne Jones' first truly romantic novel.
Transcript available here, and we'll be back next time to close out our season with A Tale of Time City! (though we also have a few bonus episodes planned for the season break)
Also, if you enjoyed this episode, we could not more highly recommend checking out Freya's upcoming novella, Cinder House, coming October of this year.
I am LOVING this podcast. It's such a joy. The only thing better than reading DWJ and thinking/talking about DWJ is... well, this.
Two points I was left with:
1) Sophie keeps thinking she knows what story she's in, and getting it wrong (so spot on)
2) DWJ is (maybe, sort of?) trying to "fix" the Polly/Tom Age Gap Problem left over from F&H, and obviously having loads fun with it
...and I just need to talk about how these two elements combine in the hilarious moment where Sophie tries to barter with the King to give Howl the Traditional Fairy Tale Reward of Marrying the Princess:
What's really baffling about this stupid take is that these people seem to think that Shakespeare- Shakespeare!!!- was trying to write a romantic play but, sort of by accident, wrote a play about how teenagers are hormonal and impulsive and ruin everything.
Yes, they're hormonal and impulsive. That's the point. It's deliberate. They're also- especially Juliet, who is literally a child- perceptive, brave, and good-hearted. They are better people than their parents. They -in all their childlike naiveté- can see what no one else in their families can see: the awful, stupid, pointlessness of violence, of hatred, of an ancient grudge no can even remember the reason for. They believe they can fix this broken world, and their idealism gets them killed. But the moral is not that they were wrong. The moral is that they were right, and their parents failed them. Society failed them. Romeo and Juliet is the story of how society fails to protect its children from their own impulsive idealism, by forcing them to try to fix the problems of their parents. And it's a story that plays out, in one way or another, over and over, from generation to generation. There will also be young idealists who want to fix a broken world, and who will break themselves on the walls of apathy and disillusionment and fear with which their elders protect their cold and withered hearts. Yes, of course they're ridiculous. Of course, they dont realize that the world's problems aren't so easily solved. But who left them alone to solve those problems, without wisdom, without experience? Who created, perpetuated, abandoned that terrible wound in the world?
A question for those more familiar with British idioms:
This bit in The Return of the King always strick me as a bit odd, but I didn't think much of it-
But then I ran into the same usage of this phrase in Fire and Hemlock-
-and it immediately made me remember the instance in LOTR. In both cases, the character uses "I *made* sure" in a way that seems to mean "I *was* sure". "Made sure" doesn't make sense (to my ear, or my usage of the phrase) since in both cases, it's obvious that the speaker couldn't have "made sure" at all. Now, I cant recall seeing it used to mean "was sure" anywhere else, so my question is- is this a British usage that is just rare enough to not have caught my notice in any of the (many!) other British books I've read, or were JRRT and DWJ just doing their own thing? (Did JRRT invent it and teach it to DWJ?? 🤣)
Unfortunately I have no answers, but I do have a related question. I have never noticed this anywhere else, but Dorothy L. Sayers does it several times: she uses the word "deserved" the way I would use "earned"; or if you like, she says someone "has deserved" something where I would merely say they deserve it.
From Have His Carcase, 1932:
'If Paul Alexis can be proved to have bought the razor, I shall consider the suicide theory to have been proved up to the hilt. But until that missing link in the chain of evidence is reconstructed, I shall hold that Paul Alexis was foully and brutally murdered, and I shall spare no efforts to bring the murderer to the judgment he has so richly deserved.' How's that, Sally?"
And from Gaudy Night, 1935:
'I avoid serious thought like the plague. But I assure you I haven't been knocking you about for the fun of it.'
'I believe you. No gentleman could throttle a lady more impersonally.'
'Thank you for the testimonial. Cigarette?'
Harriet took the cigarette, which she felt she had deserved, and sat with her hands about her knees...
Yet later in Gaudy Night, another character uses the word the way I would:
'Well, it might be worse. I fancy Uncle Peter had a near squeak of it this time, but it's worked out at a cut head and a busted shoulder. And shock and bruises and all that. Much less than I deserve.
"Less than I deserve" that time, not "less than I have deserved." So what is the difference?
Another thing I've run into in her works is people saying they "don't care about" something to mean they don't like it, whereas I would say "I don't care for" that thing -- "don't care about" to me means I don't think about it or have a strong feeling about it, whereas "care for" means "having positive feelings towards."
Sayers and I speak different dialects of English, being from different countries and different time periods in addition to the differences of culture and education and so on that affect every person's personal dialect, so I can't begin to guess which of those are at fault here. But it is odd that I don't recall running into these anywhere else!
I think the Deserve one is just Sayers enjoying the slightly more formal-sounding wording, both as a sort of emphasis and because there's a sort of satisfying feel to it- at least, I feel that there is. It's part what makes her prose so pleasurable to read. I also love how she isn't just content to have Peter speak in quotations, but will do it herself (as narrator) when the occasion arises-
-which is not only a fun quote but also a *joke*-
-and being Sayers, she of course leaves it to us to track down the quote and the missing word so that we can get the joke.
"Care For" is more familiar- I've definitely seen that one in many other British books.
i can't convey how fundamental tom lehrer was for my sense of humour, not to mention my understanding of political history (the things i looked up in my early teens to understand lehrer comedy songs!) AND my knowledge of english (he was the source so much of my early english vocabulary. which might explain some of my quirks).
he was a comedy master of contrasting presentation and content. to choose, in the fifties and early sixties, to enter a bare stage looking and sounding every bit the tightlaced nerdy mathematician and piano virtuoso (both of which he WAS) and singing his jaunty songs about how much he loves pornography (this one feels VERY timely considering current events) and recreational bird murder, or facing the prospect of complete nuclear annihilation, or operation paperclip.
then there are his science songs like listing the periodic table or developments in mathematical pedagogy. when i grew older i started appreciating the songs in which he pulls and prods at music genres, my favourite being his variations on 'my darling clementine'.
thank you for the laughs and the political, scientific and english lessons, mr. lehrer. i was starting to hope you would outlive us all.
anyway, this is still unparalleled, especially for the 50s and early 60s:
I cannot overstate how much I love Tom Lehrer's story. It sounds so fake but is entirely real.
He's a goddamn genius- he started studying mathematics at Harvard when he was 15 and graduated magna cum laude. He worked at Los Alamos for a few years before being drafted and working for the NSA, where he claims to have invented jello shots to get around alcohol bans.
He then went back to Harvard for a couple years before starting to teach political science at MIT.
Through all of that, he was writing and performing both some of the funniest shit you'll ever hear (Poisoning Pigeons in the Park, Masochism Tango) and absolutely scathing political satire (Who's Next, Wernher von Braun, Send the Marines). Until the mid/late 60s counterculture gained momentum. He didn't like their aesthetic, so he stopped making music.
Shortly after, he moved to California and started teaching math and musical theater history at UC Santa Cruz for the next 30 years.
I don't know if non-Californians understand just how goddamn funny that is. It's where stoners and math (and now computer science) kids who couldn't get into Berkeley go. Leaving Harvard/MIT for UCSC is peak academic phoning it in. And by all accounts he had a blast.
Plus the whole putting all of his music in the public domain thing. That fucked.
A question for those more familiar with British idioms:
This bit in The Return of the King always strick me as a bit odd, but I didn't think much of it-
But then I ran into the same usage of this phrase in Fire and Hemlock-
-and it immediately made me remember the instance in LOTR. In both cases, the character uses "I *made* sure" in a way that seems to mean "I *was* sure". "Made sure" doesn't make sense (to my ear, or my usage of the phrase) since in both cases, it's obvious that the speaker couldn't have "made sure" at all. Now, I cant recall seeing it used to mean "was sure" anywhere else, so my question is- is this a British usage that is just rare enough to not have caught my notice in any of the (many!) other British books I've read, or were JRRT and DWJ just doing their own thing? (Did JRRT invent it and teach it to DWJ?? 🤣)
Did you know that JRR Tolkien wrote an unpublished epilogue to Lord of the Rings? It's achingly, beautifully wistful in the way that only Lord of the Rings is. I revisited it recently because I'm guesting on my friends' LOTR podcast, and THAT reminded me that I drew a comic of the epilogue back in 2021 (all text is entirely canon). Anyway I thought folks on this website might enjoy it!
who else is feeling like a poor banished children of eve? who else is mourning and weeping atm ? just me? am i the only one @ the valley of tears right now?
Very long and random question re Lord Peter Wimsey books:
Do you know how one is meant to pronounce "Saint-George"? I know from Jane Eyre that St John="Sinjin" but perhaps that linguistic tendency only applied to certain names and/or changed over the next 60-70 years?
On that note, while trying to answer the above question, I saw a comment to the effect that Saint-Geroge is a title, akin to calling Peter's brother "Denver", and his given name is Gerald. My impression was that Gerald was a nickname/middle name, since Gherkins introduces himself to Harriet by saying "My name's Saint-George", but then again the way in which names/titles/nicknames are used by the Wimsey family seems to be pretty fluid so this may not mean much. (Also, I can see him not caring to introduce himself by his father's first name!)
PS- I think the Meet Cute between Harriet and Saint-George is one of the most delightful scenes in the series so if you have any further random thoughts on it I am HERE for them.
...Occasionally I am reminded that I apparently have a vaguely transatlantic accent even while typing. I've always pronounced Gherkins' name "Sin-GEORGE," but I don't know how accurate that may be.
I agree with you that the scene with him and Harriet and the fountain and all the little oojahs is a delight.
So St. George is just pronounced Saint George although an upper class chap in the 20s probably would run the words together a little bit to sound like "sin-george" it wouldn't be as overt as St John's "sinjin".
As for Gherkins/Gerry/St George's many names this is what's going on:
Obviously Gherkins is an affectionate nickname derived from his given name of Gerald. As is Gerry.
Now if we remove all titles, his name as it would likely appear on his birth certificate would be Gerald (insert middle names here) Wimsey. It's unlikely that despite sharing a name with his father that he would be designated as Jr or Gerald Wimsey III or whatever number he would be, we don't really do that in the UK, when we name a kid after his dad we just lean into the confusion and expect you to figure out which Gerald Wimsey we're talking about, although the younger member of the family usually gets a diminutive nickname such as Gerry or Gherkins. (See the Shakespeare play Henry IV where father and son are both called Henry and so father is called Henry and son is Hal or Harry).
So St George is Gerry's title. He is the Viscount St George which means he's the Viscount of some place in England called St George in the same way his dad is the Duke of a place called Denver. Except that Gerry is not the Viscount St George. His father is. This is what is known as a courtesy title. So at some point in the Wimsey family history, likely before they were made Dukes (because you only go up in rank), they were also given the title Viscount St George. Now you only use one title at a time, so you go with the highest ranking one, so while Gerald is the Duke of Denver and the Viscount St George, he will only be referred to as The Duke of Denver because a Duke out ranks a Viscount. And since he isn't using that second title and it's basically going spare, he loans it to his heir as a "courtesy title". That way when introduced socially to people, everyone knows that Gerry is the future Duke.
There's a whole tangent I won't go down here about how Gerry being a Viscount is actually a bit unusual as a Duke's son as there's a higher rank that is more commonly used (Earl) but that's a much longer discussion and not relevant here. But basically if Gerald had other spare titles then they would not be used by Peter, they would be saved to be used by Gerry's children if he had any.
Both Gerry and Gerald get referred to as St George and Denver respectively in the same way that Peter gets called Wimsey. For British men from the invention of the surname, up until about 50 years ago it was a sign of casual intimacy to call each other by their surnames without title (you see this referenced in Jane Austen's Emma when Emma is outraged at Mrs Elton calling Mr Knightley just "Knightley" and not "Mr Knightley" as dropping the "Mr" was far too familiar to be polite). With Peter this is clear, his name is Peter Wimsey so he gets called Wimsey. But Gerry and Gerald are both called Gerald Wimsey. So why aren't they called Wimsey too? Because when someone has a title such as Duke of Denver or Viscount St George, then the place name of the title (Denver and St George) can be used in more casual and social terms of address in the same way you would use a surname. They can both also be called Lord Denver and Lord St George, which is more casual than using their full title but more formal than simply Denver or St George. A general rule of thumb is to use the full title on introduction and then a more relaxed term once you are in conversation (this is also where the famous rule about meeting the Queen applies "call her Your Majesty when introduced and then Ma'am for the rest of the conversation"), your closeness with the person and your rank determine which level of casual you get to use. Someone who doesn't know them very well or who is of lower rank would call them Lord Denver and Lord St George (see Downton Abbey where the staff call the Earl of Grantham "Lord Grantham" although his surname is Crawley and they've known him all their lives) whereas other people with titles or close friends and family will call them Denver and St George.
Peter calling his brother and nephew "Denver" and "St George" is a quirk unique to the aristocracy, as obviously a family usually all has the same surname and they wouldn't go around calling each other by their own surname. You can see this in the way that Gerald calls Peter "Peter" rather than "Wimsey", because of course Wimsey is also his name. And so for the most part Peter calls his brother "Denver" and saves "Gerald" for their most intimate fraternal conversations and with St George we see him called "Gherkins" as a very small boy, and "Gerry" in those intimate moments where Peter steps into a paternal role and "St George" more socially.
So in summary-
Name: Gerald Wimsey
Title: The Viscount St George
Nicknames: Gerry, Gherkins
If someone calls him The Viscount St George they are either formally introducing him or they do not know him.
If someone calls him Lord St George they are either a fellow Lord who doesn't know him well or they are a lower rank person who knows him well
If they call him St George then they are a very close friend
If they call him Gerry or Gherkins they love him very dearly.
Thank you to the 3 people who asked about the missing Earldom. I appreciate your indulgence.
First of all, I call this the "missing Earl" theory, but that's because since the mid-20th Century it's been the trend of the Royal family to grant Earldoms as the courtesy title to their own Ducal heirs rather than Marquesate. However in the 20s and 30s when Sayers was writing, it was more common for the heir to a Duke to be a Marquess, so you can also call it the much more Sayers title of The Missing Marquess.
So the rank of the British Aristocracy goes like this:
Duke
Marquess
Earl
Viscount
Baron
Baronet
Knight.
As I mentioned above, a courtesy title means that Gerry gets to use one of his father's lesser titles, The Viscount St George, as if it were his own title in his own right. However it's very unusual for a Duke's heir to be a Viscount. The eldest son of a Duke is of equal rank to a Marquess, even if their courtesy title is lower. For example the Duke of Somerset's courtesy title is Baron Seymour one of the lowest ranks. But because he's the son of the second most important Duke in the country he gets treated higher.
Even today when there's a fairly even mix of Marquesses and Earls as heirs to the 30 remaining Dukedoms and the one oddity of the Baron Seymour, there are no Viscounts. A Viscount with a living father is most often expected to be the son of an Earl (or occasionally a Marquess)
So if the eldest son of a Duke is usually a Marquess or an Earl and if the eldest son of an Earl is usually a Viscount, then when you look at the Wimsey line of succession there's a clear gap there. A Wimsey Earl missing between Gerald and Gherkins. Now I have absolutely no textual evidence for this at all, but in my heart of hearts in this ghostly place sits Peter, Gerald's not-son and Gerry's not-father hovering between them in the gap left by their odd titling.
Wow! Thank you @oldshrewsburyian for your reply and @thebaconsandwichofregret for all the details.
So, wait- IF (I know it's canon but I'm in denial about this) Gherkins is shot down in the Battle of Britain, does that mean that Peter temporarily becomes Saint-George?? (Until his brother dies, at which point BREDON becomes Saint-George!?!?)
It would make this conversation funnier, in retrospect.
For the record: it's Jerry, not Gerry -- Gerald (and Gherkins) with a G, Jerry with a J. Also, for what evidentiary value it has, Ian Carmichael pronounces Saint-George like the word "saint" and the name "George" in the audiobooks, so I always assumed it gained popularity at a different time or for a different reason than Saint John, so that it was not influenced by the French pronunciation.
What I've always wondered is what made her change the spelling from "St. George," as it is in Clouds (and "The Learned Adventure of the Dragon's Head") to "Saint-George" in Gaudy. Was it just another example of her forgetting what she'd done before, or did she change it because she learned something new about viscounts or whatever?
Also if anyone knows more about how these courtesy titles work, like whether there's an age at which they are generally gifted or if they'd still legally be 'owned' by the father while the son is a minor, I've always wondered that as well. The Duke is referred to as St. George in Clouds, but in "The Learned Adventure," ten-year-old Jerry has the title -- and as far as I can tell, the story was first published in 1926, the same year as Clouds.
(Some quotes to support what I and others have said in this thread below the fold.)
In Clouds:
"Things begin to look a bit more comfortable for old Jerry," said Lord Peter.
(Why isn't it Gerry? idk, for the same reason that Mary is also Polly; nicknames aren't based on logic.)
The Jurors for our Lord the King upon their oaths present that the most noble and puissant prince Gerald Christian Wimsey, Viscount St. George, Duke of Denver, a Peer of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland...
(This shows that, at least in an extremely formal legal setting, the Duke is still Viscount St. George at that time)
"Some way below the blots the Duke has signed his name two or three times—or, rather, his title. The inference is that his letters were not to intimates."
(This shows that the Duke would sign letters as "Gerald" [or possibly "Jerry"] to intimates and "Denver" to people he did not know as well)
"He's a rummy old bird," said the Hon. Freddy tactlessly, "but he oughter be here, what? What I mean to say is, if anything happens to old Denver, don't you see, he's the head of the family, ain't he—till little Pickled Gherkins comes of age."
(This is the only time in the book that Young Gerald is referred to by any name. Good old tactless, chaotic Freddy, calling the kid by his silliest nickname while referring to his father by his title.)
In "The Learned Adventure":
...His ten-year-old nephew, Viscount St. George, more commonly known as Young Jerry, Jerrykins, or Pickled Gherkins...
It was about two in the morning that Gherkins—who had not slept very well...
..."Oo—er!" said Viscount St. George.
(In this story, Peter only ever addresses his nephew as "Gherkins," whereas the narrator frequently calls him "the viscount" or "Viscount St. George" [probably mostly for comedic effect, as in the last quote], but also occasionally calls him Gherkins. Aside from that first statement, he is never called any other name for the rest of the story.)
Going on a tangent here but all this talk of Gherkins reminded me of something:
This is from Busman's Honeymoon, when Peter is trapped in Rome and Honoria shows Harriet the family photo album (tbh if my mom did this to me with my fiance, I'd never forgive her)
I've always assumed that "Little Mischief" is a photo of Peter with a very young Gherkins (he would have been around toddler age when Bunter entered His Lordship's service, right?)
My question, just for funsies, is- am I alone here? Does anyone else have an image that came to mind when they read this? (Also, is anyone else slightly weirded out by Dorothy Honoria's comment about how she "can't stand maternal young women" in light of the author's personal experience?)
Very long and random question re Lord Peter Wimsey books:
Do you know how one is meant to pronounce "Saint-George"? I know from Jane Eyre that St John="Sinjin" but perhaps that linguistic tendency only applied to certain names and/or changed over the next 60-70 years?
On that note, while trying to answer the above question, I saw a comment to the effect that Saint-Geroge is a title, akin to calling Peter's brother "Denver", and his given name is Gerald. My impression was that Gerald was a nickname/middle name, since Gherkins introduces himself to Harriet by saying "My name's Saint-George", but then again the way in which names/titles/nicknames are used by the Wimsey family seems to be pretty fluid so this may not mean much. (Also, I can see him not caring to introduce himself by his father's first name!)
PS- I think the Meet Cute between Harriet and Saint-George is one of the most delightful scenes in the series so if you have any further random thoughts on it I am HERE for them.
...Occasionally I am reminded that I apparently have a vaguely transatlantic accent even while typing. I've always pronounced Gherkins' name "Sin-GEORGE," but I don't know how accurate that may be.
I agree with you that the scene with him and Harriet and the fountain and all the little oojahs is a delight.
So St. George is just pronounced Saint George although an upper class chap in the 20s probably would run the words together a little bit to sound like "sin-george" it wouldn't be as overt as St John's "sinjin".
As for Gherkins/Gerry/St George's many names this is what's going on:
Obviously Gherkins is an affectionate nickname derived from his given name of Gerald. As is Gerry.
Now if we remove all titles, his name as it would likely appear on his birth certificate would be Gerald (insert middle names here) Wimsey. It's unlikely that despite sharing a name with his father that he would be designated as Jr or Gerald Wimsey III or whatever number he would be, we don't really do that in the UK, when we name a kid after his dad we just lean into the confusion and expect you to figure out which Gerald Wimsey we're talking about, although the younger member of the family usually gets a diminutive nickname such as Gerry or Gherkins. (See the Shakespeare play Henry IV where father and son are both called Henry and so father is called Henry and son is Hal or Harry).
So St George is Gerry's title. He is the Viscount St George which means he's the Viscount of some place in England called St George in the same way his dad is the Duke of a place called Denver. Except that Gerry is not the Viscount St George. His father is. This is what is known as a courtesy title. So at some point in the Wimsey family history, likely before they were made Dukes (because you only go up in rank), they were also given the title Viscount St George. Now you only use one title at a time, so you go with the highest ranking one, so while Gerald is the Duke of Denver and the Viscount St George, he will only be referred to as The Duke of Denver because a Duke out ranks a Viscount. And since he isn't using that second title and it's basically going spare, he loans it to his heir as a "courtesy title". That way when introduced socially to people, everyone knows that Gerry is the future Duke.
There's a whole tangent I won't go down here about how Gerry being a Viscount is actually a bit unusual as a Duke's son as there's a higher rank that is more commonly used (Earl) but that's a much longer discussion and not relevant here. But basically if Gerald had other spare titles then they would not be used by Peter, they would be saved to be used by Gerry's children if he had any.
Both Gerry and Gerald get referred to as St George and Denver respectively in the same way that Peter gets called Wimsey. For British men from the invention of the surname, up until about 50 years ago it was a sign of casual intimacy to call each other by their surnames without title (you see this referenced in Jane Austen's Emma when Emma is outraged at Mrs Elton calling Mr Knightley just "Knightley" and not "Mr Knightley" as dropping the "Mr" was far too familiar to be polite). With Peter this is clear, his name is Peter Wimsey so he gets called Wimsey. But Gerry and Gerald are both called Gerald Wimsey. So why aren't they called Wimsey too? Because when someone has a title such as Duke of Denver or Viscount St George, then the place name of the title (Denver and St George) can be used in more casual and social terms of address in the same way you would use a surname. They can both also be called Lord Denver and Lord St George, which is more casual than using their full title but more formal than simply Denver or St George. A general rule of thumb is to use the full title on introduction and then a more relaxed term once you are in conversation (this is also where the famous rule about meeting the Queen applies "call her Your Majesty when introduced and then Ma'am for the rest of the conversation"), your closeness with the person and your rank determine which level of casual you get to use. Someone who doesn't know them very well or who is of lower rank would call them Lord Denver and Lord St George (see Downton Abbey where the staff call the Earl of Grantham "Lord Grantham" although his surname is Crawley and they've known him all their lives) whereas other people with titles or close friends and family will call them Denver and St George.
Peter calling his brother and nephew "Denver" and "St George" is a quirk unique to the aristocracy, as obviously a family usually all has the same surname and they wouldn't go around calling each other by their own surname. You can see this in the way that Gerald calls Peter "Peter" rather than "Wimsey", because of course Wimsey is also his name. And so for the most part Peter calls his brother "Denver" and saves "Gerald" for their most intimate fraternal conversations and with St George we see him called "Gherkins" as a very small boy, and "Gerry" in those intimate moments where Peter steps into a paternal role and "St George" more socially.
So in summary-
Name: Gerald Wimsey
Title: The Viscount St George
Nicknames: Gerry, Gherkins
If someone calls him The Viscount St George they are either formally introducing him or they do not know him.
If someone calls him Lord St George they are either a fellow Lord who doesn't know him well or they are a lower rank person who knows him well
If they call him St George then they are a very close friend
If they call him Gerry or Gherkins they love him very dearly.
Thank you to the 3 people who asked about the missing Earldom. I appreciate your indulgence.
First of all, I call this the "missing Earl" theory, but that's because since the mid-20th Century it's been the trend of the Royal family to grant Earldoms as the courtesy title to their own Ducal heirs rather than Marquesate. However in the 20s and 30s when Sayers was writing, it was more common for the heir to a Duke to be a Marquess, so you can also call it the much more Sayers title of The Missing Marquess.
So the rank of the British Aristocracy goes like this:
Duke
Marquess
Earl
Viscount
Baron
Baronet
Knight.
As I mentioned above, a courtesy title means that Gerry gets to use one of his father's lesser titles, The Viscount St George, as if it were his own title in his own right. However it's very unusual for a Duke's heir to be a Viscount. The eldest son of a Duke is of equal rank to a Marquess, even if their courtesy title is lower. For example the Duke of Somerset's courtesy title is Baron Seymour one of the lowest ranks. But because he's the son of the second most important Duke in the country he gets treated higher.
Even today when there's a fairly even mix of Marquesses and Earls as heirs to the 30 remaining Dukedoms and the one oddity of the Baron Seymour, there are no Viscounts. A Viscount with a living father is most often expected to be the son of an Earl (or occasionally a Marquess)
So if the eldest son of a Duke is usually a Marquess or an Earl and if the eldest son of an Earl is usually a Viscount, then when you look at the Wimsey line of succession there's a clear gap there. A Wimsey Earl missing between Gerald and Gherkins. Now I have absolutely no textual evidence for this at all, but in my heart of hearts in this ghostly place sits Peter, Gerald's not-son and Gerry's not-father hovering between them in the gap left by their odd titling.
Wow! Thank you @oldshrewsburyian for your reply and @thebaconsandwichofregret for all the details.
So, wait- IF (I know it's canon but I'm in denial about this) Gherkins is shot down in the Battle of Britain, does that mean that Peter temporarily becomes Saint-George?? (Until his brother dies, at which point BREDON becomes Saint-George!?!?)
It would make this conversation funnier, in retrospect.
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