A/N:I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love.
Crittendon's version of "Lady Chitterly's Lover". Some lines of dialogue from the episode are included.
I had settled into the dreary routine at Stalag 12, and one evening I was making my customary walk round the compound when I was accosted by two figures, dressed all in black. This of course engendered a distinct feeling of déjà vu, and as I peered at their darkened faces, I was not at all surprised to discern that the two intruders were Corporal Newkirk and Sergeant Carter.
I was most touched, upon my word. They had come to enable me to make my escape!
But no. Young Carter informed me that I was wanted at Stalag 13 to assist with some scheme or other.
I was appalled, of course. This could not end well, don't you know; every time I set foot in Stalag 13 I created problems for Colonel Hogan, and I was loath to return. So I refused categorically; espionage was not an arena in which I shone, and I was determined to never cause Hogan difficulties again. My only duty was to escape, and so I told the lads, in no uncertain terms.
And then I felt cold steel pressed against my temple. "Sorry, sir," Carter said, with an unwonted note of determination in his voice.
"I'm afraid you 'ave to come with us," said Newkirk, who had a pistol of his own trained on me. "The Colonel 'as requested the honour of your presence, and we wouldn't want to disappoint 'im now, would we, sir?"
I was rather nonplussed at the turn of events. "Might I remind you that I outrank Colonel Hogan?"
"Well, sure, you can remind us, sir," said young Carter. "But we know that already."
Newkirk waved his pistol in the direction of the Stalag 12 fence. "Makes no difference, sir. We've got our orders from Colonel 'ogan to bring you along, and no mistake. Now, are you going to come along quiet-like?"
Blast! But what was one to do? I went with them meekly enough.
...
Back once again at jolly old Stalag 13, I attempted to reason with Colonel Hogan. "I say, old boy, don't you remember Colonel X? And the Crittendon Plan? And my attempt to bamboozle Colonel Klink that ended with your being chucked into the cooler? And..."
"Never mind all that, Crittendon," said Hogan. "We'll let bygones be bygones, because we need your help with this situation."
I was quite exasperated with the fellow. Didn't he recall at all the havoc I had wreaked during my previous visits? "Dash it all, Hogan, this is most irregular. I mean, I appreciate your men breaking me out of Stalag 12, but why bring me here? A prisoner's first duty is to escape, Hogan! Escape!" As an afterthought, I added: "I escaped seventeen times last year."
"Congratulations," Hogan said absently, as he adjusted Carter's collar. He and his men were clustered round young Carter, who was being decked out in a German army uniform; just why he was so attired was as yet a mystery to me.
I spared a glance for them as I paced Hogan's quarters, and I continued to expostulate with the Colonel, but to no avail.
He finally turned and fixed me with an icy glare. "Crittendon, there's a very important visitor in camp: British. Sir Charles Chitterly...a traitor. And he just happens to look like you."
At the sound of the despised name, I recoiled in horror. Sir Charles, indeed! It was a mystery to me how his name ever came to be placed on the Honours List. And it had been rumoured that King Edward VIII's ill-advised elevation of my cousin to the knighthood was the true reason for Edward's abdication, not l'affaire Simpson. (But I digress.)
My dastardly cousin was in Germany, and the question was: what had the bounder done now? An uncontrollable rage filled me, all the stronger because this traitor was of my own blood, and no less significant for being on the distaff side. The honour of the Woosters was being impugned, and this blackguard, this—this stain on the escutcheon of a proud family, must be eliminated forthwith!
I am not a violent sort of chap, to be sure, but I saw what needed to be done, and it was only fitting that I should be the one to do it. Although the reader may readily understand that I was not at all eager to claim relationship to the brute.
So I concealed my fury with a smile, and said: "My dear fellow, why didn't you say so? And you need an expert to assassinate the traitor! I'm your man—bing, bang, bing—and all for jolly old England, what?
"Wrong." Hogan was uncompromising. "I want you to take his place and carry out his mission."
"Most irregular," I said, and I meant it, by Jove! Any mission that had brought my cousin to Germany could only be one of the most malicious intent. I eyed Hogan sternly, and demanded to be told just what this mission was.
When Hogan admitted he didn't know, I quite lost my temper, and stated that I would have nothing to do with this foolishness.
He listened to me quietly, and nodded. "Crittendon, you may be right."
"Really?" Never did I think I should hear those words from Hogan, but a first time for anything, what?
"Afraid so," he said. "This thing requires acting ability; it's asking too much of you."
"But if you'd only give me some sort of..." I said querulously, but then his words suddenly sank in. "Acting?" When he put it like that, well, it certainly put me on my mettle. The honour of the Crittendons was at stake, as well as the Woosters! If acting was required, then I was the one to do it. So I tried to demonstrate my thespian skill with a quotation from Shakespeare, but to my intense embarrassment I couldn't seem to remember how the dratted thing went.
Hogan shook his head. "Crittendon, forget it, we'll get someone else. It's nothing personal."
Then I remembered that I outranked Hogan, and I reminded him of this fact. He seemed much struck by this, and agreed to allow me to assume the rôle of Sir Charles Chitterly. However, he had another concern. "One thing, Crittendon. Sir Charles talks just like Elmer Fudd."
"Elmer Fudd?" I was not acquainted with this Fudd fellow, but if Hogan was referring to a seeming inability to pronounce the letter R, I was well aware of this. Charles, in my opinion, deliberately cultivated this affectation; he could easily have remedied the situation by consulting with that chap who assisted our good King George VI with his speech difficulties.
"Elmer Fudd is a cartoon character I saw at the movies while I was stationed in London," said Hogan. "Can't pronounce the letter R—talks about 'wacky wabbits' all the time. Think you can do that?"
I drew myself up. "My dear sir, normally I would not so demean myself, but anything for King and country!"
...
Hogan's plan was for young Carter to impersonate General von Schlomm, who was expected at the stalag in the morning. If while posing as the General he could get Charles to divulge his purpose in coming to Germany, all well and good. If he were unsuccessful, then I would be obliged to step in and assume Charles's identity.
And of course I was prepared to do this, revolting though the prospect was. Most unfortunately, however, when young Carter tried to get my cousin to talk about his mission, Charles did not cooperate in the least. Hogan was forced to make him a prisoner in the tunnels, and I took Charles's place in Klink's quarters.
I had just snuggled into Klink's bed in the nick of time; Klink himself returned with the real General von Schlomm, and the two of them peeked in on me as I feigned sleep.
As they stood at my bedside, Klink and the General arranged that von Schlomm would be spending the night on Klink's sofa in the outer room. And then von Schlomm said something that chilled me to my very marrow!
When Klink asked him what time he would be leaving for Berlin in the morning, von Schlomm replied, "As soon as Sir Charles' wife gets here."
Well, bit of a facer, what? I had heard a few years ago that some deluded female had agreed to marry Charles, but I had assumed (erroneously, it now appeared) that she had come to her senses after a time and handed him the mitten. More fool she for not having done so! And now she was to come here, expecting to see the real Charles?
I waited until the General was sleeping in the parlour before I tiptoed out of Klink's bedroom and made my way to the tunnel entrance hidden beneath the parlour stove. I eased the stove to one side, and descended into the tunnel.
I hurried to find Hogan and report my finding to him. He told me that I must continue my masquerade regardless, since London was extremely anxious to stop whatever it was that Charles was up to. And Charles's wife undoubtedly was aware of his nefarious plans, having spent the last three months in Berlin.
Hogan was of the opinion that the lady might be willing to disclose Charles's plans to me, once I (as he put it) "took her into my strong arms".
Naturally, this sort of thing is not at all in accordance with the correct behaviour of an officer and a gentleman, and I was about to refuse outright. But then young Carter showed me a photo of Lady Chitterly, purloined from Charles's wallet, and I must admit the lady was quite comely, indeed. Not that this circumstance had any effect on my decision, it should be understood.
I said to Hogan, "I suppose it is all in the line of duty, what?"
And of course, as I believe I may have mentioned once or twice, I always strive to do my duty.
...
The next morning, after General von Schlomm left Klink's quarters, Hogan came to offer me moral support for my impending encounter with Lady Chitterly. I attempted to decline his services, but he insisted on staying, just in case the lady didn't believe I was Charles after all.
Our discussion was soon interrupted by sounds without. We could hear the voices of Klink and von Schlomm in the parlour, and a light, feminine voice was heard as well.
"Oh, thank you, General, I think that will be all."
"As you wish, Lady Chitterly."
Hogan promptly hid in the bedroom closet, and I adjusted my cravat nervously, waiting for developments. A tapping at the door ensued, and a smiling woman came in, closing the door behind her.
"Charles!" she said, and I reached out to enfold her in the old embrace, don't you know.
I really cannot fault Lady Chitterly for her subsequent homicidal impulse, since I had experienced much the same thing when I discovered Charles's perfidy. However, since her impulse was unfortunately directed at me instead of my loathsome cousin, I could only be glad that Hogan leapt from the closet in time to stay her hand—which was clutching a ruddy sharp dagger.
As soon as Hogan determined that she had attacked me because she thought I was indeed Charles (and not because she was desirous of exterminating Charles's impostor), he demanded: "Why were you trying to kill him?"
"Because he's is a filthy traitor!" she cried, eyes flashing. "Sir Charles wants England to surrender; he's here to take back Hitler's terms."
Hogan protested that England would never agree to this, but he did say that this action could definitely create trouble. After he obtained Lady Chitterly's agreement to cooperate with him, he told us he had work to do, and after peering out of the door to make sure the coast was clear, he left the bedroom. Much to my dismay, I might add.
I gulped a trifle as I looked at the lady. Her expression was quite intense as she stroked her dagger, rather like one of the more bloodthirsty females of whom Shakespeare had written. Lady Macbeth, perhaps. Or one of King Lear's daughters.
But of course my favourite Shakespearean play has always been The Merchant of Venice. I am fond of quoting from it, but there is always that one blasted line that gives me difficulties, as had happened earlier with Hogan and his men. As I stood there in Klink's bedroom with Lady Chitterly, I pondered that line once more...now, how did it go? 'The quality of mercy is not strained...'
"Charles!"
I jumped as my ruminations were interrupted, and looked rather apprehensively at Lady Chitterly, for the homicidal glint was once more in her eye.
"Oh, excuse me, Lady Chitterly..." I began, but she cut me off with a gesture of that bally dagger.
"Call me Leslie," she ordered. "I prefer not to hear the name 'Lady Chitterly' any more than I must. And I do apologise for addressing you as Charles, Colonel Crittendon. But it's for the best, isn't it, since you will be playing the part of my husband, I presume."
"Of course, Lady Chit...I mean, Leslie. And it's Group Captain, actually."
She paid no heed to this, and gave me a brooding sort of look. "Colonel Hogan seems to think he'll be able to deal with this terrible mess Charles has created. Will he?"
"Well, Hogan does have some remarkable ideas..."
"In this situation, remarkable ideas will not be good enough; I shall have to take a hand in this if we are to bring it off."
I eyed her in some alarm; the resemblance to Lady Macbeth was more evident than ever.
...
And take a hand she did, by Jove! The next morning in Klink's office, Lady Chitterly greeted Hogan effusively—flung her arms about his neck and kissed him, after saying something or other about "that mad, mad summer" she and Hogan and Charles had shared some years previously.
The adjective "mad" seemed to describe her current behaviour, in my opinion, but Hogan played along without turning a hair. One would think he was enjoying the performance. Indeed, one might think that he had actually had a previous intimate acquaintance with Lady Chitterly! Shocking!
I, on the other hand, stood by in acute discomfort, wishing myself anywhere but there. I never dreamed that I should be playing the part of a cuckold, but there it was. Lady Chitterly had the bit between her teeth, and there was no way of knowing just what would be the result of her actions. And there wasn't a thing I—or Hogan—could do about it.
With the most pleasantly imperious manner possible, Lady Chitterly instructed von Schlomm to disregard Hitler's orders to bring the Chitterlys to Berlin, just so she could renew her supposed acquaintance with Hogan for a few days! This of course caused no little consternation on the part of General von Schlomm, who had planned on carrying us off to Berlin within the hour. But he could do nothing in the face of her supreme self-possession.
I had my share of consternation too, as my duty was turning out to be not quite what I had anticipated. The figure I was cutting was hardly a romantic one, watching my supposed wife behave in such an excessively affectionate manner toward another man! But I was determined to carry out the task that had been assigned to me.
As I remarked sadly to the understandably befuddled von Schlomm: "Rather a dull few days for me, what?"
...
Since von Schlomm had come for the express purpose of escorting Sir Charles and Lady Chitterly to Berlin, the problem, it seemed to me, was to get Lady Chitterly and her husband back to England posthaste, before this all-important meeting with der Führer could take place. Especially as I was standing in for Sir Charles! I must confess that the ultimate fate of Charles himself concerned me not at all; I was only anxious that he be placed in a position where he could no longer do any harm to the Allied cause.
But how could we do this, without raising a hue and cry over the disappearance of the Chitterlys? I confess I hadn't the least notion how this was to be achieved. And I feared that Hogan was equally in the dark.
The situation culminated with a visit from the Gestapo. Unfortunately Charles had managed to escape from the tunnels just long enough to contact Colonel Klink and complain of his kidnapping, and Klink had promptly called in the Gestapo to investigate it.
By the time the Gestapo officer arrived, Charles had been recaptured and was safely back in the tunnels, and I had resumed my rôle as his impostor. I rather nervously waited in the parlour as I heard voices outside: the officer had a raucous voice, and he was in the process of berating Klink as they entered Klink's quarters, along with General von Schlomm.
To my surprise, the Gestapo officer was a familiar figure—Major Hochstetter! As I recalled from an earlier adventure, he was an Allied agent, wasn't he? At any rate, he gave no sign of having met me before. Or perhaps I was unrecognizable as Rodney Crittendon (RAF) under the guise of Sir Charles Chitterly (traitor).
The increasingly irascible Hochstetter made it clear that he didn't believe Klink's claim of Charles's kidnapping, especially since I denied all knowledge of it. And at that moment, Hogan and Lady Chitterly emerged from Klink's kitchen, bearing champagne.
Hogan's arrival on the scene appeared to exacerbate the Major's none too amiable temper; he greeted Hogan with an irate "WHAT IS THIS MAN DOING HERE!", and he seemed much aggrieved with von Schlomm's reply that Hogan was a friend of the Chitterlys. I believe the phrase "most dangerous man in all Germany" was used, and for a moment I thought perhaps Hochstetter and von Schlomm would come to blows.
And then the phone rang and the Major picked it up. It was Hitler, wanting to speak with me!
Ghastly! Ghastly! I knew not where to turn, but Lady Chitterly was more than equal to the occasion and promptly went into action once more. She handed the champagne glasses to a surprised Klink, and moved purposefully toward the phone.
She took the receiver from Hochstetter, and her voice was sweetly reasonable as she enquired, "Is that you, Dolf?"
From the corner of my eye I could see Hogan, and I wondered if I had the same expression of slack-jawed amazement on my face as he had on his. We watched as Lady Chitterly exchanged pleasantries with der Führer.
Most extraordinary, indeed; I hadn't realised the fellow spoke English!
She said smoothly into the phone, "No, we're not coming to Berlin, no time; the minute Charles is discovered missing all our crowd will be under house arrest. I take it von Schlomm has the surrender terms? Good."
And then the smile vanished from her face, the cooing voice abruptly hardened, and the homicidal glint was back in her eye. "One small change of plan. Send every man-of-war you have, along with some troops, sailing toward England. At once."
She went on to explain that the show of an invasion force was necessary to compel England to surrender, and I knew that Hitler would rue the day he had ever met Lady Chitterly.
...
As soon as Hochstetter, von Schlomm and Klink left Klink's quarters, Lady Chitterly, Hogan and I repaired to the tunnels, emerging eventually in Barracks 2. There Hogan and his men readied Lady Chitterly and myself for the trip to England.
As Hogan handed me a Luger and Newkirk fitted Lady Chitterly out with a work shirt and trousers, Baker came bursting into Hogan's quarters with news. The invasion fleet was in the Channel, just as Lady Chitterly had directed Hitler, and Allied bombers were about to destroy it.
"Ripping!" I said, delighted. "We actually pulled it off!" I turned to Lady Chitterly courteously. "All due to you, of course."
The lady graciously returned the compliment, but we all knew that she, and she alone, had managed to carry out this remarkable scheme.
Emily put down the manuscript and fixed me with a stern eye. "Now, about this Lady Chitterly," she began, and then spoiled the effect as she fell about laughing.
I was unable to perceive the humour in her statement. "My dear girl..."
"Oh, oh, I'm sorry, darling. But the thought of poor old Bob standing there, not knowing what this woman was going to say next—t's priceless!" She sobered a bit then, and added, "At least, it would have been if the situation hadn't been so serious. But you must admit that there's a strange sort of satisfaction in seeing Colonel Hogan caught up in someone else's wild scheme for a change."
She was quite right, of course, but I said only, "I must say I was jolly glad to have Lady Chitterly take over in the way she did. I hadn't the foggiest notion of what to say to that Hitler fellow!"
"Well, I'm glad she was there. I can't imagine what you could have said to him either." Emily looked down at the manuscript, and added in a casual, off-hand sort of way: "So what happened between the two of you on the way to England?"
I was instantly alarmed. "Nothing happened, on my honour as an officer and a Crittendon!"
"Hmm."
"Emily, my dear..."
She smiled and patted my hand. "Oh, Rodney, of course you were a perfect gentleman on that journey back to England! I know better than anyone else what kind of man you are, don't I?"
I returned her smile, relieved. "You do, indeed. For, 'I am married to a wife, which is as dear to me as life itself.' "
"See, Rodney dear? You can recite Shakespeare with the best of them." She gave me a mischievous glance. "But weren't you just a teeny bit tempted? Since Lady Chitterly was such an attractive woman, and all."
"Most awfully good-looking," I said. "But rather too unpredictable for my taste; to be perfectly honest, she frightened me to death! Besides..."
Emily smiled and shook her head. "Don't tell me. Colonel Hogan ended up with the girl yet again?"
"Well, yes," I admitted. "He did."
She looked at the last page of the manuscript again, and then back up at me, entirely serious now. "What happened once you reached England?"
"Lady Chitterly was taken at once to Allied Headquarters in London for questioning, and I never saw her after that. I believe she was interned for the duration of the war and went to Australia after the war ended, or so I was told. Pity, actually."
Emily nodded thoughtfully. "And your cousin Charles?"
I sighed. "Hogan released him into the compound, and once it was discovered that the invasion fleet was sunk, Hochstetter arrested him. Somehow, though, he managed to return to England, and was promptly taken into custody. He is now being detained at His Majesty's pleasure in a prison somewhere in Northumberland."
My wife said firmly, "Serves him right. It makes my blood boil, to think of all of you risking your lives to save England from that monster Hitler, and there was Charles, coolly planning to arrange a surrender!"
"Frightfully bad form," I agreed. "But a good show, indeed, that most of us were prepared to fight for dear old Blighty. Even the chaps in the POW camps never gave up: Hogan especially! Why, even after the landings in Normandy, he and his men were still hard at it. And I had the privilege of working with them one last time..."
