Who is P. G. Wodehouse

Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse, ( WOOD-howss; 15 October 1881 – 14 February 1975) was an English author and one of the most widely read humorists of the 20th century. His creations include the feather-brained Bertie Wooster and his sagacious valet, Jeeves; the immaculate and loquacious Psmith; Lord Emsworth and the Blandings Castle set; the Oldest Member, with stories about golf; and Mr Mulliner, with tall tales on subjects ranging from bibulous bishops to megalomaniac movie moguls.

Born in Guildford, the third son of a British magistrate based in Hong Kong, Wodehouse spent happy teenage years at Dulwich College, to which he remained devoted all his life. After leaving school he was employed by a bank but disliked the work and turned to writing in his spare time. His early nove...
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P. G. Wodehouse Poems

  • The Haunted Tram
    Ghosts of The Towers, The Grange, The Court,
    Ghosts of the Castle Keep.
    Ghosts of the finicking, “high-life” sort
    Are growing a trifle cheap....
  • Damon And Pythias: A Romance
    Since Earth was first created,
    Since Time began to fly,
    No friends were e'er so mated,
    So firm as JONES and I....
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Top 10 most used topics by P. G. Wodehouse

Hear 2 Touch 2 Hair 2 High 2 Night 2 People 2 Point 2 Sad 1 Smith 1 I Miss You 1


P. G. Wodehouse Quotes

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Comments about P. G. Wodehouse

Goufpeera2: the white feather by p. g. wodehouse - audiobook
Theeicb: p. g. wodehouse discussing jeeves and wooster (1960s interview)
Shortthoughts: 4 of 5 stars to jeeves in the offing by p.g. wodehouse
Circumevidence: proof by reference to p. g. wodehouse
Truefactsbot: my dad has ceased to exist?' - p.g. wodehouse, 1945
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Pho Hla Gyi: I love P.G.Wodehouse's poems

Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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