All language subtitles for The.Wipers.Times.2013.1080p.WEBRip.x264-RARBG2_English

♪♪♪

♪♪♪

♪♪♪

EDITOR: Sorry to
keep you waiting.

Balloon's gone up.

EDITOR: Chaos, deadlines brought
forward

- printers on the warpath,
all kinds of merry hell

- but that's Fleet
Street for you.

ROBERTS: I wouldn't know about
Fleet Street but

I'm familiar with Merry Hell.

EDITOR: Oh of course. Of course.
The, uh, war.

EDITOR: Now.

EDITOR: You have impressive
references here.

From Mr. Gilbert
Frankau and Mr. R.C. Sheriff.

ROBERTS: Yes I knew them back
then when we were

all working on tenth Avenue.

EDITOR: Tenth
Avenue? In New York?

ROBERTS: No, No. In Flanders. It
was a trench.

EDITOR: Oh yes, the war.
Very good.

I couldn't go of course.
Eyesight.

ROBERTS: I'm sorry. You missed
quite a show.

EDITOR: Really? Yes, it must
have been hell.

From what I've read.

ROBERTS: We had some bad times.
But we had some good times too.

EDITOR: I'm sure.

So perhaps you could tell
me about yourself, Mr..uh?

ROBERTS: Roberts, Fred Roberts.
You do have my Curriculum Vitae?

EDITOR: Yes. But I'd like to
hear about you

in your own words.

ROBERTS: Frederick Roberts.

Formerly of the North Midlands
Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire

regiment otherwise known
as the Sherwood Foresters.

A mining engineer by profession
- I worked in the Kimberley

diamond mines in South Africa
until friend Fritz kicked off

the firework party.

EDITOR: I see.

So you have mining
qualifications?

ROBERTS: Jolly useful
in a pioneer battalion charged

with trench repair
and maintenance...

EDITOR: Though less useful
in a newspaper office.

ROBERTS: Oh I don't know.

ROBERTS: Digging
up all that muck.

EDITOR: Yes, Mr. Roberts.

My problem is that what we
need here is men

with relevant experience.

EDITOR: So tell me.

EDITOR: Do you have any
relevant experience?

♪♪♪

[explosions/armaments]

ROBERTS: Come on.
Come on, Quick lads.

[explosions/armaments]

PEARSON: Move it. Move it.
Move it.

[explosions/armaments]

ROBERTS: All alright?

HARRIS: Alright. Come on. Come
on.

ROBERTS: Come on lads.

ROBERTS: Everyone alright?

ROBERTS: Good lads.

Oh to be in Flanders
now that winter's here.

PEARSON: It's April.

ROBERTS: Is It? I find it
frightfully difficult to tell.

PEARSON: Usual drill Sergeant.

HARRIS: Oy! Smith, Dodd,
Henderson, Barnes.

You heard the officer.

HARRIS: Search the place
for anything we can use.

ROBERTS: Preferably of the
metal or timber variety.

DODD: Alright sir.

ROBERTS: And be
sharp about lads.

ROBERTS: Fritz's love tokens
seem to be arriving

with greater frequency.

HARRIS: 4.2's sir.

ROBERTS: That's a relief.
Thought for

a minute they
were 5.9's.

[explosion]

HARRIS: No. Those are 5.9's sir.

ROBERTS: The hell
are you doing Dodd?

DODD: Die Boche vermin!

ROBERTS: You're
wasting your time.

ROBERTS: Put your bayonet
away before you hurt someone.

DODD: But it's a rat sir.

ROBERTS: Yes, I'm.. I'm familiar
with the species, Dodd.

We've encountered one or two
since we've been in Ypres.

DODD: Ypres, Sir?

ROBERTS: It's what the
Belgians call Wipers.

DODD: Oh right, sir. Funny lot,
the Belgians.

It's like the Napoo Rum
they got over here sir.

Never seem to get any.

PEARSON: Napoo it's
from the French, Dodd.

'Iln'y en a plus'. There
is no more.

DODD: Well.

Why don't they just
say that then, sir?

HARRIS: Nothing here Captain.
DODD: Napoo salvage, sir.

ROBERTS: Very good, Dodd. We'll
make a sapper of you yet.

[explosions]

ROBERTS: Quickly. Quick.Quick.
Come on lads.

HARRIS: Come on. Move your feet.
Dodd.

[explosions]

ROBERTS: Find me something lads.

HENDERSON: Look what
we have here sir!

Boxes of paper.

PEARSON: Excellent. Exactly what
we're looking

for to reinforce trench 132.

DODD: Really, sir?

ROBERTS: Er no, Dodd.

I'm afraid you'll find when
you've been out here for a while

that paper doesn't offer much
protection

against crumps and whizzbangs.

PEARSON: Unless you're a red hat
in HQ with a cushy job and then

the paper stops you getting
anywhere near

the shooting gallery at all.

ROBERTS: Your cynicism could
become wearying Lieutenant

Pearson except fortunately
I find it quite amusing.

HENDERSON: There's some
tarpaulin here sir.

ROBERTS: Well, that
might be useful.

HARRIS: Blimey.

SMITH: Now what the
bloody hell is that?

HARRIS: That Smith is an Arab.

SMITH: I'm not stupid Sarnt.

The Arab is an Anglo- American
hand-fed Platen Press.

It's probably the
finest in the world.

It's a manual, pedal operated
printing machine patented in

1872 by Josiah Wade..

HARRIS:
Manufactured in Halifax and

subsequently sold
all over the world.

In short, it is a work of art.

DODD: So, shall we smash it up?

HARRIS: No. Stupid Dodd.

HARRIS: Look it's even got the
blocks and the trays of type.

Go on stick that
over there, Smith.

SMITH: Sarnt.

ROBERTS: How on earth do
you know all this Harris?

HARRIS: Well I was a
printer in civvy street sir.

ROBERTS: Good grief. You
kept quiet about that.

HARRIS: Well it didn't seem
relevant to fighting Fritz, sir.

ROBERTS: No. But it might be
now.

ROBERTS: Can you make this work?

HARRIS: Well, I mean, she's
not been used for a while.

HARRIS: Y'know the type's
all over the countryside.

A few unwelcome visitors.

But given a bit of
time I reckon so, sir.

Yes, sir.

HARRIS: How's it
work then Sarnt?

HARRIS: Well you stick the
ink on that plate there.

HARRIS: And the rollers come
down onto the block there.

HARRIS: Paper goes in there.

HARRIS: Don't touch it!

PEARSON: Very interesting.

PEARSON: What are we
going to do with it?

ROBERTS: We're
going to borrow it.

PEARSON: Isn't that looting?

ROBERTS: No, no. It's temporary
requisitioning of

civilian facilities for military
purposes.

PEARSON: Oh right. Sounds like
looting.

ROBERTS: Have you ever done
any journalism, Pearson?

PEARSON: Good God, no!

ROBERTS: Excellent.

ROBERTS: Me neither. Because
what we're going to do

is we're going to produce a
newspaper.

Aren't we Sergeant?

HARRIS: If you say so, sir.

HENDERSON: What,
like the Daily Mail?

ROBERTS: I was thinking
something rather more accurate.

PEARSON: The Times?

ROBERTS: The Wipers Times.

[explosions/armaments]

PEARSON: Okay lads. Move it.

HENDERSON: Away lads.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: We've got plenty
of ink, plenty of paper.

In fact, according to Harris,
the only thing we

seem to be lacking is 'copy'.

PEARSON: Uh huh.

None of us is writing men.

PEARSON: We haven't
done any journalism.

ROBERTS: Well there's a
first time for everything.

It can't be that hard.

ROBERTS: I.. I think we should
aim to produce something a bit

like Punch, except with jokes.

PEARSON: So what are we
actually going to write about?

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Damn you Fritz. I
can't hear myself think.

Put on The Bing
Boys would you Jack?

PEARSON: So will the Wipers
Times address

the big questions of the war?

ROBERTS: Certainly.

PEARSON: And how
will we do that?

ROBERTS: Well I suggest we do
so by just writing down any old

thing that comes into our heads.

HARRIS: Trial page proof sir.

Looks pretty good,
though I say it myself.

Who do I show it to?

Who's the editor?

ROBERTS: Well as senior officer
I am of course the editor.

ROBERTS: But I will
need a sub-editor.

Any volunteers, Jack?

PEARSON: Ugh.

ROBERTS: Bad grammar is simply
something

I will not put up with.

PEARSON: Up with which
you simply will not put.

ROBERTS: Alright
Jack the job's yours.

ROBERTS: Here

HARRIS: The only
drawback sir is

that we're short of Y's and E's.

ROBERTS: Well it's just well
we're not based

anywhere called Ypres then.

PEARSON: Ah.

HARRIS: Now sir,
what about some copy?

ROBERTS: Dammit Harris, haven't
you heard of writer's block?

HARRIS: Only everyday sir, come
deadline time for the newspaper.

ROBERTS: Very well Harris.
But you are very annoying.

HARRIS: Very good, sir.

PEARSON: Hmmm you
know he's right Fred.

ROBERTS: Et Tu Pearson?

I'm going to hold this pencil..

ROBERTS: .. And see what
happens.

ROBERTS: Something's
bound to turn up.

PEARSON: You are an
incorrigible optimist.

ROBERTS: Optimism.

ROBERTS: Now there's
a dangerous thing.

Particularly in a war.

ROBERTS: Do you
suffer from Optimism?

PEARSON: Men!

PEARSON: Do you
suffer from Optimism,

but fail to recognize
the telltale signs? Many do.

ROBERTS: Is it serious, Doctor?

PEARSON: I just need you to
answer a few simple questions.

PEARSON: Do you sometimes wake
up in the morning feeling that

all is going well
for the Allies?

ROBERTS: Yes Doctor.

PEARSON: Do you sometimes think
that the war will be over,

within the next 12 months?

ROBERTS: Absolutely Doctor.

PEARSON: Do you consider that
our leaders are competent to

conduct the war to
a successful issue?

ROBERTS: I should say so Doctor.

PEARSON: Oh Dear. This is the
worst case of

cheerfulness I've encountered.

ROBERTS: Oh Good.

PEARSON: No. It's terrible.

PEARSON: But don't worry I
promise I can cure you of

optimism within two days and
effectively eradicate all traces

of it from your system.

ROBERTS: Really Doctor?

And how are you
going to do that?

PEARSON: I'm writing
something for you now,

which should do the trick.

ROBERTS: Is it a
prescription Doctor?

PEARSON: No. It's your orders.

I'm sending you
to the front line.

ROBERTS: Thank you Doctor.

[explosion]

PEARSON: Not sure about
this piece about optimism.

ROBERTS: Are you questioning the
judgment of a superior officer?

PEARSON: Er, yes.

ROBERTS: Good. So as a superior
officer, of course,

I shall ignore you.

PEARSON: Seriously, do you not
think it's

gone a little bit too far?

ROBERTS: How can you accuse
me of going toofar - when the

entire 24th Division has gone
precisely ten yards

in the last six months?

And that was sideways.

PEARSON: I'm just saying
we have to be careful.

ROBERTS: Yes.. I
guess you are right.

We must be responsible.

As will be made clear
in my editorial.

PEARSON: You haven't
written an editorial.

ROBERTS: How's your shorthand?
PEARSON: Non-existent.

ROBERTS: Good.
ROBERTS: Take this down.

ROBERTS: Editorial.

PEARSON: Hmm excellent.

ROBERTS: Having managed to
pickup a printing press,

slightly soiled, at a
very reasonable price.

ROBERTS: We have decided
to produce a paper.

ROBERTS: There is much we
would like to say in it.

ROBERTS: But the shadows of
censorship enveloping us cause

us to refer to the war, that we
hear is taking place in Europe.

PEARSON: Careful.

ROBERTS: In a cautious manner.

ROBERTS: We apologize for any
shortcomings in the production

of our paper on account of..

PEARSON: Editorial inexperience?

ROBERTS: Quite so.

ROBERTS: We hope to
publish The Times weekly.

ROBERTS: Despite the attentions
of Messrs.' Hun & Co..

PEARSON:
Our local rivals.

ROBERTS: Excellent!

And we take this opportunity
of stating that we accept no

responsibility for the views
expressed..

PEARSON: We?

ROBERTS: Yes. And we
disassociate ourselves from any

statements in the
advertisements.

PEARSON: Well that bit's true.
There are no advertisements.

ROBERTS: No? Why Not?

PEARSON: There's a problem with
potential advertisers such as

theatres, restaurants, hotels,
small businesses etcetera..

ROBERTS: Well
what's the problem?

PEARSON: There aren't any.

They've all been
blown to buggery.

ROBERTS: Is that
anywhere near Poperinghe?

PEARSON: No it's not.

And you didn't hear
that Sergeant did you?

HARRIS: No sir, but
it was most amusing.

ROBERTS: Harris,
you're our expert.

We can't be a proper newspaper
without advertisements, can we?

HARRIS: No sir, that's
what the front page is for.

PEARSON: So what do we do?

♪♪♪

♪♪♪

DODD: Taxi! Taxi! I say, Taxi!

ROBERTS: Are you having
trouble getting home?

Not anymore, with our fleet of
handsomely appointed taxicabs.

DODD: But how will I
recognize your taxis?

ROBERTS: Easy they have a red
cross painted on each side.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Is your
friend a soldier?

ROBERTS: Do you
know what he wants?

No? We do.

Send him one of our latest
improved combination

Umbrella and wire cutter.

ROBERTS: No more nasty colds
caught when cutting the wire.

ROBERTS: He will be absolutely
delighted with the combination

Umbrella and Wire Cutter.

ROBERTS: Just fifteen francs.

ROBERTS: Quite right, Miss.
Now you can rest assured your

soldier friend will stay fit and
healthy out in no-man's land.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Calling all
harassed subalterns.

PEARSON: Who, Me?

ROBERTS: Yes, you! Is your life
miserable?

Do you hate your
company commander?

Of course you do.

Then why not buy him one of our
new patent

'Tip Me Up' Duck Boards?

PEARSON: But how does the
'tip me up' duck board work?

ROBERTS: You just get your
company commander on the end.

ROBERTS: And the
duckboard does the rest.

ROBERTS: Every time a blighty!

ROBERTS: That's our promise.
Remember..

ROBERTS: .. If
once he steps onto the end.

To take a month
his face to mend.

PEARSON: Thank you,
'tip me up' Duck board.

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Excellent
work Sergeant.

When can we roll the pressers?

HARRIS: Soon as it
eases off a bit, sir.

PEARSON: Surely you're not
bothered by a spot of rain?

HARRIS: No. It's more the
bombardment, sir.

Fritz is getting a bit too
close to the

print room to be pleasant.

ROBERTS: Well, when Herman
knocks off for his evening

sausage let's
print the blighter.

[explosion]

HARRIS: Everything alright?

SMITH: I'm fine Sarnt.

HARRIS: Not you,
the print blocks.

Get in there.

♪♪♪

HARRIS: Don't get your hand
caught in the plate Dodd.

HARRIS: Or you'll
come a cropper.

HARRIS: A phrase incidentally
derived from the printing

presses of H.S. Cropper do you
know that?

BARNES: That's very
interesting Sarnt.

HARRIS: As is the phrase..
HARRIS: Mind your P's and Q's.

HARRIS: It comes from a common
mistaking of the

P for the Q in a tray of type.

BARNES: That's even
more interesting Sarnt.

HARRIS: Whereas the expression..

HARRIS: 'Get the wrong end of
the stick'.

HARRIS: Now that comes from
grabbing wrong end of the

compositing stick and getting
your hand covered in ink.

HENDERSON: It means thinking
you're being

interesting when really..

HARRIS: Yes Henderson?

HENDERSON: Very, very
interesting indeed Sarnt.

HARRIS: Correct.

HARRIS: Right, here we go. Grab
it Smith.

SMITH: Here it is Sarnt.

HARRIS: We have a result.

If I say it myself.. It's a
thing of beauty.

HARRIS: Unlike any of you lot.

♪♪♪

[♪♪♪/faint laughter]

SOLDIER: Oi Bill..

SOLDIER: This Wipers Times. Does
what it says.

HOWFIELD: Have you seen
this poppycock, sir?

MITFORD: Yes, I have.

HOWFIELD: It's downright
insubordination.

MITFORD: That's maybe why
the men seem to like it.

HOWFIELD: The men also like the
ladies of the Poperinghe Fancies

neither are exactly
conducive to winning the war.

MITFORD: Really? Have you seen
the ladies of

the Poperinghe Fancies?

HOWFIELD: Of course not!

MITFORD: I think they're doing
their bit

MITFORD: Jolly buxom girls.

MITFORD: They can't sing.

They can't dance, but..

MITFORD: ..no one seems to care
particularly.

I believe the chaps call
them Glycerin and Vaseline.

No idea why.

HOWFIELD: We're getting
off the point here, sir.

Which is surely that some of the
material in this publication is

not merely unsuitable, it's
downright treasonable.

MITFORD: Like what,
in particular?

HOWFIELD: Like this.

MITFORD: Oh. Answers to
correspondence.

HOWFIELD: Whoever wrote this
should be court-martialed.

MITFORD: I like this item
advising young officers not to

wear turned up slacks or shoes
when going over the top.

HOWFIELD: What?

MITFORD: Perfectly sound advice.

MITFORD: A chap wearing turned
up slack on the battlefield not

only looks a bloody fool, but it
advertises the fact that he's an

office to any half-awake sniper.

HOWFIELD: No, no, no.

That is not the
offending article.

HOWFIELD: I'm referring to this
response to a supposed query

from a junior officer.

HOWFIELD: Dear Subaltern.

HOWFIELD: No, the death penalty
is not enforced in the case of

murdering a senior officer as
you will always be able to claim

extenuating circumstances.

[laughter]

MITFORD: That's a joke.

HOWFIELD: It's an incitement
to mutiny, I'll have him shot.

MITFORD: Not if he
shoots you first.

MITFORD: That's also a joke.

HOWFIELD: The war
is not funny, sir.

MITFORD: I think the
authors are aware of that.

I have a feeling that
may be the point.

MITFORD: I mean.

MITFORD: It's not all cocking
a snook at the general staff.

Although quite a bit of it is.

I mean some of its
deadly serious.

Words from the heart.

HOWFIELD: Such as?

MITFORD: 'People we take our
hats off to:

The French at Verdun... the
British Navy at Jutland...

The Canadians at Ypres' Saluting
our fallen comrades is hardly

sedition is it?

HOWFIELD: They also take their
hats off to the officer in

charge of the costume department
of the Poperinghe Fancies.

HOWFIELD: They are just a
gang of backchat comedians

deliberately undermining
morale with this impertinent,

unpatriotic rag.

HOWFIELD: Can you think of
anything more likely to produce

discontent amongst the men?

MITFORD: Yes. Banning it.

♪♪♪

HARRIS: Put your back
into it Henderson.

HENDERSON: Yes, sir.

ROBERTS: Sergeant. Sergeant.
We're running out of timber.

Go and see if you can
borrow something from the

communications line.

ROBERTS: Henderson. Barnes.
You work on the parapets.

BARNES: Yes sir!

HENDERSON: Keep down Barnesy.

Unless you want a sniper
taking your head off.

ROBERTS: Smith, Dodd.

ROBERTS: Start on the supports.

SMITH: Do I have to
work with Dodd, sir?

ROBERTS: Yes, you do poor
Dodd drew the short straw.

Now get on with it Smith.

PEARSON: What's the plan?

ROBERTS: What I think we should
do Jack..

ROBERTS: Up the cover price.

Get in some new writers,
and cut down on the poetry.

PEARSON: You don't think you
might be getting

rather obsessed with the paper?

ROBERTS: Don't be ridiculous.

I'm a model commanding officer
executing

my duties in exemplary fashion.

[explosion]

ROBERTS: What do you
think of the poetry?

PEARSON: I think poetry's
essential

in the modern
battlefield.

A bit like mud.

ROBERTS: If only
it were just mud.

PEARSON: Yes.

PEARSON: Perhaps better not
dwell on the..

PEARSON: . . unmentionables.
Better left unsaid.

ROBERTS: That's why I'd
rather think about the paper.

It's important to me
because it's not important.

PEARSON: Oh dear, you're
getting aphoristic.

ROBERTS: Am I? Apologies. So
what are we thinking?

PEARSON: I think we should crack
out another couple of issues.

And if it keeps going this well.
Try and sell it back home.

ROBERTS: You're
getting obsessed.

[singing in the distant]

ROBERTS: Oh listen. Listen.
Fritz is in fine voice.

DODD: What are
they singing, sir?

Sounds like an hymn, sir.

ROBERTS: It is.

ROBERTS: Called
the Hymn of Hate.

PEARSON: It goes
something like this.

PEARSON: You we will
hate with a lasting hate.

PEARSON: We will never
forego our hate. Hate by water..

PEARSON:
And hate by land.

PEARSON: Hate of the head
and hate of the hand.

PEARSON: Hate of the
hammer, hate of the crown.

Hate of 70 millions
choking down.

PEARSON: We love as one. We hate
as one.

We have one foe and one alone.

Eng-er-land.

DODD: That's not
very nice is it, sir?

ROBERTS: Spot on, Dodd.

SMITH: We don't have any
songs like that do we sir?

ROBERTS: No we don't and if we
did they'd certainly

be a lot funnier.

DODD: Your Wipers Times
should put that right sir.

PEARSON: Good idea Dodd.

ROBERTS: Since Dodd has joined
the editorial conference

ROBERTS: I propose we take his
excellent suggestion on board

and include something suitably
melodious in the next issue.

PEARSON: What do
you have in mind?

DODD: We all love
the music hall sir!

[♪♪♪/cheering]

ROBERTS: Ladies and Gentlemen!

ROBERTS: Welcome to the
Cloth Hall at Ypres.

ROBERTS: The best ventilated
hall in the town.

ROBERTS: Tonight for
your delectation,

we proudly present positively
the greatest collection of

performers ever collected
in one place at one time.

Yes!

ROBERTS: It's Mr.
Thomas Atkins and co.

in his stupendous new revue
"The Bing Bangs are Here!"

[crowd ooh's]

ROBERTS: With music by
Mr. R. Tillery

ROBERTS:
And, not to mention,

Mrs. Mini Werfer who always
meets

with a thunderous
reception.

ROBERTS: And not forgetting,
'Bouncing Bertha'

who's only 17 inches high.

ROBERTS: But is guaranteed
to bring the house down.

ROBERTS: And there's
more. With Hind and Berg.

Sword swallowers
and nail eaters.

ROBERTS: And introducing the
world's favorite comedian,

Kaiser Bill.

ROBERTS: And his little Willy.

ROBERTS: That's the crown
prince I'm talking about.

ROBERTS: Thank you but I
promised you a song and

a song you shall have.

A pleasing patriotic performance
from our very own privates.

ROBERTS: The Atkins Brothers.

ROBERTS: Thomas and Tommy!

BARNES: I heard
the bugles calling.

HENDERSON: Join
up, I felt I must.

Now I wish I'd left them bugles
go on blowing til they bust.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Yes this show is going
to run and run

and run and run and run..

SMITH: Dodd,
did you go swimming?

DODD: Give it a rest Smithy,
I was switching patrols.

ROBERTS: As you were, Smith.

PEARSON: Great news Fred.

Apparently the war will
be over within the week.

ROBERTS: Says who?

PEARSON: Says: Hilaire Belloc.

ROBERTS: Didn't he say the war
was going to be over

within the week last week?

PEARSON: I rather think he did.

ROBERTS: And the week before.

PEARSON: Now, you're just
jealous because we don't have a

war correspondent of our own.

PEARSON: Someone who really
knows what's going on.

ROBERTS: Yes, you're right.

Perhaps we should
employ our own. Hilary Belloc.

PEARSON: What about
Belary Helloc?

I hear he's very well informed.

ROBERTS: Really?

ROBERTS: So what is Mr. Helloc's
latest take on the war?

PEARSON: Good evening.

I'm the famous Belary Helloc and
tonight my subject is

'why we are going to win the
war'.

PEARSON: Everything points to
a speedy

disintegration of the enemy.

So let's just have a
look at the figures.

PEARSON: There are 12 million
fighting men in Germany.

Of these, 9 million
are already killed,

or are being killed as we speak.

Leaving just 3 million.

PEARSON: Of these 2 million 5
thousand are temperamentally

unsuitable for fighting owing to
obesity, due to eating sausages.

PEARSON: This leaves us just
500 thousand

as the full German strength.

Now of these 497,250 are
suffering

from incurable
diseases.

PEARSON: And I think
we know which ones.

Leaving just 2,750 men.

Of these; 2,150 are
on the Eastern Front.

And of the remaining 600 we see
that 584 are generals and staff.

Thus we find..

PEARSON: There
are in fact just..

PEARSON: 16 men on the Western
Front.

Clearly not enough to resist one
final big push, or maybe two,

three; four at the very most.

And that is why we are
going to win the war.

If we haven't already by
the time you've heard this.

HENDERSON: Letters for you, sir.

ROBERTS: Thank you, Henderson.

ROBERTS: Ah, news
from the home front.

ROBERTS: Has my wife..

ROBERTS:
..been raising money for noble
causes

such as providing warm
woolens for war worn Walloons?

PEARSON: Is mine selling flags
for Blue Body Belts

for Bucolic Belgians?

ROBERTS: Touché.

ROBERTS: Always a bit of a
mixed blessing, isn't it?

The letter from home.

PEARSON: A reminder of a
land where the gas-gongs,

whizz-bangs and the
Minenwerfers are not allowed.

ROBERTS: Good heavens - my wife
has sent me a

clipping from the Tatler.

We've been mentioned
in Despatches!

PEARSON: What? Fame at last?
What did they say?

ROBERTS: 'We hear news from the
front of an amusing periodical

designed to
entertain the troops.

It is entitled the Wipers Times
after the town of Ypres where

its enterprising creators
are currently quartered.

So we salute the anonymous
wits of the 6th Division... '

PEARSON: We're
the 24th Division.

PEARSON: Nincompoops.

ROBERTS: Ah dear. Appears we're
not to be famous after all.

PEARSON: Oh damn journalists,
can't they get anything right?

ROBERTS: Is that a
rhetorical question?

SMITH:
Yes, sir.

Uh, it's Lieutenant
Colonel Howfield's ADC sir.

ROBERTS: Little bobbing Bobby.

PEARSON: The one who has
little red star flashes

on his jim-jams?

ROBERTS: Ah Captain,
how can I help?

ROBERTS: Of course. Yes.

ROBERTS: Looking
forward to it sir.

Thank you, Smith.

SMITH: Sir.

ROBERTS: Lieutenant Colonel
Howfield has granted us the

privilege of a full inspection.

PEARSON: When?

ROBERTS: Now. Initiate
'operation panic'.

PEARSON: Where is that 'tip me
up' duckboard when you need it?

HARRIS: We under attack, sir?

ROBERTS: Quite the reverse
we've got an inspection by the

divisional staff, which means
for as long as they're here

there won't be
any action at all.

PEARSON: Not even our artillery
would open fire when there's a

brass hat down here.

HARRIS: Henderson,
Dodd, shift these trays.

HARRIS: Put them
under the books.

HARRIS: Barnes-y
gets hold of this.

PEARSON: To say an old adage.

War is long periods of boredom
punctuated by sheer terror.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Sir.

HOWFIELD: At ease Roberts.

HOWFIELD: Hope I'm not
interrupting anything.

ROBERTS: No, sir.

HOWFIELD: Well I
should be, shouldn't I?

HOWFIELD: Boche, obviously, not
keeping you

occupied and vice versa.

You've got time on
your hands Roberts,

and time is the soldier's
greatest enemy.

HOWFIELD: Isn't it Bobby?

BOBBY: Yes, sir.

ROBERTS: Apart from the
gas and the flamethrowers.

HOWFIELD: So are your
boys fit, Roberts?

ROBERTS: As a fiddle, sir.

HOWFIELD: Because the men have
got to be fit for the big-push.

HOWFIELD: What
about you, Roberts?

HOWFIELD: Keeping busy?

ROBERTS: As a bee, sir.

HOWFIELD: So no distractions?
Finding things to do?

ROBERTS: Yes, sir.

Doing our best to make a little
cover for the lads who are

hanging onto the remnants of
Belgium in the teeth of every

disadvantage,
discomfort and peril.

ROBERTS: Sir.

HOWFIELD: So not too
much 'paperwork', then?

ROBERTS: Not at all, sir.

HOWFIELD: That's good
to hear, isn't it Bobby?

BOBBY: Yes, sir.

HOWFIELD: Because the problem
with the

whole damn line is inaction.

HOWFIELD: We're getting bogged
down in a

mire of defensive passivity.

There's no forward movement.

HOWFIELD: No sorties.
No raiding parties.

No mining activity.

ROBERTS: You're right, sir.

It's almost as if
we were entrenched.

HOWFIELD: Quite so.

HOWFIELD: And the question
you have to ask yourself,

and you particularly
as Commander, Roberts.

Is: are you being
offensive enough?

ROBERTS: I'm not sure, sir.

ROBERTS: Are we being
offensive enough? Pearson?

PEARSON: No, sir. I.. I think we
could be a lot more offensive.

HOWFIELD: Good man, Pearson.

So from now on, you're going
to be a lot more offensive.

ROBERTS: You hear that men?

ROBERTS: From now on.

ROBERTS: We are all going to
be as offensive as possible.

HOWFIELD: Very good, Roberts.

HOWFIELD: Isn't it Bobby?

BOBBY: I'm not
altogether sure, sir.

ROBERTS: You heard the colonel.
We must attack something.

PEARSON: How about ..
PEARSON: ..stupid moustaches?

ROBERTS: Good idea. far too many
of them around.

I blame Charlie Chaplin.

[explosion]

ROBERTS: I say, that
was a bit friendly.

ROBERTS: Put the
gramophone on, would you?

[explosion]

[music from the gramaphone]

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Well saved. No..

ROBERTS: It's not enough.

ROBERTS: I'll have
to play the piano.

PEARSON: Oh dear.

[piano music]

ROBERTS: There are
various types of courage,

there are many kinds of fear.

There are many brands of whisky.

There are many makes of beer.

There is also rum which
sometimes

in our need can help us much.

But tis whisky whisky whisky
hands the

courage which is Dutch.

[piano]

ROBERTS: There are
various types of courage,

there are many kinds of fear.

There are many brands of whisky.

There are many makes of beer.

There is also rum which
sometimes in

our need can help us much.

But tis whisky whiskywhisky
hands the

courage which is Dutch...

HARRIS: Bad news, sir. We've
had a direct hit.

HARRIS: Bloody Boche. Excuse
my French sir.

ROBERTS: French
excused Sergeant.

ROBERTS: Is there
nothing that can be done?

HARRIS: I think
it's finished, sir.

HARRIS: It's the end
of the Wipers Times.

PEARSON: It was good
while it lasted Fred.

ROBERTS: I've tried..
..Throughout this war to

maintain my sense of humour

but now I am really unamused.

♪♪♪

[laughter]

PEARSON: What are you
men so happy about?

HENDERSON: Captain Roberts. He's
on grand form tonight sir.

PEARSON: What do you mean?

HENDERSON: Well the orders
that he gave the men were not

strictly according
to the drill manual.

PEARSON: Really?

DODD: Yes, sir..

DODD: He said fall in you blank
blankblankblankblank blanks.

We're going up the blanking line
and if you see any blanking

Boche we're going shove their
blanking bombs

up their blanking shirts.

PEARSON: Did he actually
say shirts, Dodd?

DODD: No, sir.

PEARSON: You'll have to
excuse Captain Roberts.

I'm afraid he's taken the loss
of the printer somewhat badly.

HENDERSON: Sir.

[explosion]

ROBERTS: At least the old girl
has been put to some use.

PEARSON: A distinguished
end to her literary career.

PEARSON: As a part of a
transverse wall of C4 trench

number six post.

NCO: Raiding party
coming through.

ROBERTS: I assumed it wasn't
a delegation

for the general staff.

OFFICER: You wouldn't find them
at this end of the muddy stick.

OFFICER: You must be Roberts.

ROBERTS: Sir.

OFFICER: I hear you're quite
the thorn

in the red hat's backsides?

OFFICER: Good man.

OFFICER: Off we go, boys!

ROBERTS: Good luck, Colonel.

♪♪♪

PEARSON: Who was that?

ROBERTS: Commanding officer
of the Royal Scots Fusiliers.

PEARSON: Why was he
wearing a French tin hat?

ROBERTS: A bit of a personality,
somewhat eccentric.

ROBERTS: Always suggesting the
top brass come down to the front

and get a taste of the action.

PEARSON: He won't last
long, will he? What's his name?

ROBERTS: Name's Churchill.

HARRIS: Heard a rumour sir.

ROBERTS: Don't tell me.

The Kaiser has been arrested by
Field Marshall Hindenburg

and shot as a spy.

HARRIS: Not exactly, sir, no.

it's a friend of a friend
of a friend, has told me ab..

HARRIS: He
happens to know the whereabouts

of a lovely little hand-jigger.
off C-R.

PEARSON: Speak English Sergeant.

HARRIS: It's a
printing press sir,

and word has it there's
a lot more type.

ROBERTS: Priceless Sergeant.

HARRIS: Only drawback, sir,
is its current location.

PEARSON: Which is where?
HARRIS: Hellfire corner.

PEARSON: Oh dear. That's the
Hellfire Corner the most

dangerous place on the Salient.

HARRIS: Hottest place
in the world sir.

ROBERTS: Where life
expectancy is about, what?

60 seconds?

HARRIS: If that, sir.

ROBERTS: Well, it would be an
act of pure folly to risk lives

rescuing a printing press.

ROBERTS: So no sensible
commanding officer could

possibly sanction
it, is that clear?

HARRIS: Very clear, sir.

ROBERTS: Good luck, Sergeant.

DODD: Why do they call it
Hellfire Corner, Sarnt?

HARRIS: Why do you think, Dodd?

SMITH: Dodd doesn't think.

BARNES: Oh shut up, Smithy.

HENDERSON: Before Fritz
shuts you up for good.

SMITH: This bloody
thing weighs a ton.

HARRIS: Yeah, well if you drop
it you're putting up with

hellfire from me,
now run you bugger.

♪♪♪

PEARSON: Ah well. So that
is a hand jigger.

ROBERTS: Hm yes,
pardon my French.

God bless this printer and all
the jokes who fail in her.

HARRIS: Ey, sir! Careful of the
printer.

PEARSON: Careful of the
champagne more like.

You mustn't waste this
stuff there's a war on.

ROBERTS: Is there? I had no
idea.

better make sure the Germans
don't get hold of it.

ROBERTS: Too slow.

PEARSON: There we go.

How on earth did you
get hold of this?

ROBERTS: Well I had a bit of
luck at cards with some of the

brass hats billeted
at the chateau.

As it turned out,
magnificent cellar.

ROBERTS: To the hand jigger.

[♪♪♪/cheering]

ROBERTS: Ladies and Gentlemen,
welcome to the latest venue in

our grand tour of Flanders.

ROBERTS:The Neuve Eglise
Hippodrome,

where our doors are always open.

ROBERTS: Tonight we are honored
to present a show to die for.

ROBERTS: The Grand new
revue "Over The Top"..

ROBERTS: Positively the greatest
spectacular

performance ever staged.

And topping the bill, it's
musical merriment from our very

sapper songbirds,
Trench and Foot,

with their delightful
ditty 'Minor Worries'.

HENDERSON AND BARNES: If the Hun
lets off some gas - never mind.

If the hun attacks
in mass - never mind.

HENDERSON AND BARNES: If your
dugout's blown to bits

Or the C.O.' s throwing fits

Or a crump
your rum jar hits, never mind.

Oh, never mind.

HENDERSON AND BARNES: If your
trench is mud knee-high never

mind, You can't find a spot
that's high never mind..

HENDERSON: Oh, never mind.

BARNES AND HENDERSON:
If a sniper has you set,

through dents in your parapet
And your troubles

fiercer get never mind.

Oh, never mind.

BARNES AND HENDERSON: If
machine guns

join the muddle, never mind.

Though you're lying in
a puddle, never mind.

BARNES: Oh Never Mind!

BARNES AND HENDERSON: If the
duckboard barks your shin.

And the barbed wire
rips your skin.

'tis reward for all your sin.

Never mind. Oh never mind.

[cheering]

VOICE: Gas, Gas, Gas!

[♪♪♪/coughing]

[♪♪♪/coughing]

ROBERTS: Looks good Jack.

Harris and his devil's
have done a fine job.

[coughing]

ROBERTS: It's nothing
to worry about.

The quacks say I'll be right as
rain and back

on the front line in no time.

PEARSON: Are you sure?

ROBERTS: Thank you. I'm one of
the lucky one's.

I'm still here.

PEARSON: Well you were lucky.

Apparently Fritz has developed
a new type of stink bomb.

PEARSON: Makes you wretch so you
have to take off your gas mask

and then the chlorine kills you.

ROBERTS: Fiendish.

[coughing]

ROBERTS: Excuse me.

[coughing]

ROBERTS: What about Henderson?

I'm very sorry.

PEARSON: Well, the good news is
we still have plenty

of material coming in from our
distinguished contributors.

ROBERTS: Please tell me it isn't
all poetry.

PEARSON: Fine. It isn't all
poetry.

That's a lie. It is all poetry.

ROBERTS: Damn and blast.

Alert the medical
orderlies Jack.

There's been a serious
outbreak of poet-itus.

PEARSON: Subalterns are being
seen with notebook in one hand,

a bomb in the other, absently
walking near the wire in deep

communion with the muse.

ROBERTS: It's probably
because Spring is in the air.

PEARSON: The picture of little
lambs gamboling among the

whizz-bangs is so
beautiful and romantic.

ROBERTS: I've had enough verse.
Doctor!

ROBERTS: I demand an
injection of prose.

PEARSON: What we do have is, a
lot of letters to the editor.

PEARSON: There's a chap here
wants to know why we don't write

more about the war?

ROBERTS: I rather
thought we did?

PEARSON: No the 'wider' war.

The 'big picture' etcetera.

ROBERTS: Oh well we can't write
about the 'wider war' because we

have no idea what's going on.

We're just fighting in it.

PEARSON: Well it's lucky we have
illustrious war correspondents

like William Beech-Thomas
to keep us informed.

ROBERTS: Teach Bomas? That
idiot.

Are you trying to
make me feel worse?

PEARSON: He's highly respected
because he always manages to

write from the 'thick
of the action'.

ROBERTS: It's funny how we've
never actually

seen him though isn't it?

PEARSON: Now Fred,
you're being cynical.

PEARSON: He must know
what he's talking about.

PEARSON: He's in The Daily Mail.

♪♪♪

PEARSON: I am here,
in no-man's land,

where all hell has broken loose.

PEARSON: The air is thick with
bullets and shells

but I don't mind that.

And now I'm climbing up a
conveniently dangling rope into

an observation balloon.

I'm now right above the battle
and looking down on the gallant

charge of the, hmm, Umpshires.

PEARSON: Yes. The, [pauses]

brave men of the
13th Umpshire regiment.

PEARSON: Charging straight
at the elite Prussian guard;

who are all surrendering.

Yes, they are shouting "Kamerad"
and putting up their hands.

PEARSON: Same again, please.

I am now over the German battle
lines where I can tell you,

with complete confidence that
the cavalry are laying down a

barrage of shells.

PEARSON: Whilst the submarines
have advanced into the wood.

This has been me,
William Teach Bomas,

writing exclusively from
the middle of the bottle.

PEARSON: Sorry, 'Battle'.

ROBERTS: Stop it, Jack. You're
hurting me.

NURSE: Shhh, would
you two please behave!

There are very sick men here,
this is not

the palace of varieties.

ROBERTS: No, no, the girls
here are much prettier.

PEARSON: Splendid Harris.
That's much better.

PEARSON: You can be
very pleased with that.

HARRIS: Thank you, sir.

PEARSON: Ah, what is it, Barnes?

BARNES: Are you still
taking submissions, sir?

PEARSON: We are as long
as there is no poetry.

The editor has decided
he is sick of rhyme.

The paper cannot
live by poems alone.

BARNES: Oh.

PEARSON: What have
you got for me?

BARNES: Nothing, sir.

PEARSON: Show me.

PEARSON: "To My Chum".

Sounds suspiciously like
a poem to me, Barnes.

BARNES: It's about
Henderson, sir.

PEARSON: Ah. Well I'm sure we
can make an

exception in that case.

BARNES: No more we'll
share the same old barn.

The same old dug-out,
same old yarn.

BARNES: No more a
tin of bully share.

Nor split our rum by
a star-shell's glare.

BARNES: So long old lad.

What times we've had,
both good and bad.

We've shared what
shelter could be had.

BARNER: The same crump-hole when the whizz- bangs shrieked.

The same old billet
that always leaked.

BARNES: And now -
you've "stopped one".

BARNES: We'd weathered the
storms two winters long.

BARNES: We'd managed to
grin when all went wrong.

Because together
we'd fought and fed.

BARNES: Our hearts were light.

BARNES: but now - you're dead.
And I am mateless.

[explosions]

[explosions]

ROBERTS: Missed, bad luck. Not
artillery by any chance?

ROBERTS: Sir.

MITFORD: Good to see you, Fred.

Fully recovered?

ROBERTS: Fighting fit, sir.

MITFORD: Ready to be as
'offensive' as possible?

MITFORD: Ah excellent.

Ah, so now it's
the Kemmel Times?

ROBERTS: Well they do keep
moving us around sir.

Now we have seemed to become
Infantry.

MITFORD: Modern warfare is about
flexiblity Fred.

Take the calvary, now they are
riding tanks.

Whatever next. Anyway you'll be
glad to hear you'll have a

change of scenery, your days's
in the Salient are over.

ROBERTS: I'll miss it, sir.

Unlike the Boche artillery which
has made rather a mess of it.

ROBERTS: I'm not altogether
keen on their

idea of landscape gardening.

MITFORD: I think you'll
prefer your next post.

PEARSON: Ah!

ROBERTS: Frere Jacques!

PEARSON: Bonjour. How was leave?

ROBERTS: Well Amiens
really is most agreeable.

ROBERTS: Top-notch cathedral.

Which, sadly, I didn't
have time to visit.

Here, fromage.

PEARSON: Oh. Merci.

ROBERTS: Fromage Bleu.

PEARSON: Oh, merci buckets.

ROBERTS: But Madame Fifi assures
me it's one of the finest

examples of Gothic Architecture
in Northern France.

PEARSON: And Madame Fifi is?

ROBERTS: Absolutely charming.

ROBERTS: Runs a delightful
little club where if you buy a

bottle of champagne
the girls, very kindly,

agree to sit on your knee.

PEARSON: Oh.

ROBERTS: You really
must go there Jack.

In fact everyone must go there.

ROBERTS: I'm giving all rank's
one day's leave in Amiens.

ROBERTS: And that's an order!

PEARSON: It's a
bit far isn't it?

ROBERTS: Well it won't be..

ROBERTS: ..we're on the move
again.

PEARSON: Really? Where to?

ROBERTS: Oh you'll love it.

Apparently it's
very pretty indeed.

PEARSON: Oh capital,
what's it called?

ROBERTS: The Somme.

[♪♪♪/marching]

♪♪♪

PEARSON: Zero minus three.

ROBERTS: I'm sorry Jack
this issue's a bit thin.

Not even sure we'll
make the deadline.

[explosion]

PEARSON: Well we have had
other calls on our time.

ROBERTS: Perhaps we should wait
and bring it out

after the grand show.

[explosion]

PEARSON: No. I think sooner is
better than later.

ROBERTS: A harpsichord of hate..
ROBERTS: ..performed to an

audience of terrified teutons.

PEARSON: I rather like that.

ROBERTS: Yes?

ROBERTS: I must remember it
if I ever get out of this.

Rum ration.

PEARSON: Rum ration, Sergeant.

It's time to give
the boys a tot.

HARRIS: Sir.

[distant gunfire/explosions]

SMITH: Dodd's too young. I'll
have his.

HARRIS: We don't want
you incapable Smith.

BARNES: How would
you tell Sarnt?

SMITH: Any chance of seconds?

HARRIS: No, it's
bad for your health.

[explosion]

PEARSON: Swine.

Can't even let a man
have a drink in peace.

DODD: S'cuse me for asking sir
but there's rumours going round.

Is this the big push?

ROBERTS: I'm afraid such
information is hush-hush Dodd.

Who told you that?

DODD: Germans, sir.

They've been shouting
out across no-man's land.

ROBERTS: Yes well, perhaps it
isn't the best kept military

secret in the history
of the British military.

[explosion]

PEARSON: Zero minus one.

ROBERTS: Alright men.

Just wanted to say..

ROBERTS: Whatever happens.

You know you can rely on the old
division to give

a good account of itself.

SMITH: Even Dodd, sir?

ROBERTS: Especially Dodd.

ROBERTS: So, here's
to all you lads.

ROBERTS: The game's started. So
keep the ball rolling.

And remember the only
good Hun is a dead Hun.

[cheering]

PEARSON: No jokes?

ROBERTS: A bit short of jokes.

There was a young
girl of the Somme.

Who sat on a number 5 bomb.

PEARSON: She thought
was a dud 'un.

But it went of sudden.

ROBERTS: Her exit
she made with aplomb.

[laughter]

[yelling/explosions/gunfire]

[yelling/explosions/gunfire]

♪♪♪

HOWFIELD: Did you know
it's still going on?

MITFORD: The War? Yes,
apparently it is.

HOWFIELD: No, this
mutinous magazine.

MITFORD: They promised to
stop producing it, erm,

when the war is over.

HOWFIELD: Just listen to this.
"Realizing that men must laugh.

Some wise man
devised the staff".

Is that supposed to be funny?

MITFORD: Well it's funnier
than what I'm reading.

HOWFIELD: It's a subversive
attack

on the entire high
command. It continues..

HOWFIELD: "Let
them lead the simple life far

from all our vulgar strife."

HOWFIELD: My God, that's
us they're talking about.

HOWFIELD: "..lest their
relatives might grieve.

Often, often give them leave."

HOWFIELD: "Decorations
too, galore.

What on earth could
man wish more?"

HOWFIELD: We cannot allow this
scurrilous

insubordination to unpunished.

MITFORD: "And yet, alas,
as goes the rumour.

The staff all lack
a sense of humour".

HOWFIELD: Utter rubbish.

MITFORD: It's not
all rude rhymes.

In fact, er, they've put in
a rather helpful

glossary of military terms.

HOWFIELD: Really?

MITFORD: Hmm. "'Duds', there are
two kinds.."

MITFORD: "A shell, on impact,
failing to explode

is called a 'dud'.

These are unhappily less
plentiful than

the other kind of 'dud'.

HOWFIELD: Go on.

MITFORD: "The kind that draws a
large salary and explodes for no

reason far behind
the fighting area."

HOWFIELD: The battlefield
is not a place for humour!

MITFORD: Humour,
my dear Howfield,

is what separates civilization
from incivility..

MITFORD: ..us from the Boche.

While Roberts and his merry men
are busy writing poems poking

fun at us brass hats.

The German's equivalent literary
contribution is a

'Hymn of Hate'.

MITFORD: Have you heard it?

HOWFIELD: 'course I've heard it.

MITFORD: It has all the subtlety
of a dawn barrage

from Big Bertha.

HOWFIELD: What the Germans sing
or don't sing is irrelevant.

HOWFIELD: We have to maintain
discipline in our army or the

result is defeatism and anarchy.

I still say something should
be done about Captain Roberts.

MITFORD: Oh? Something has been
done.

He's been awarded the
Military Cross for Gallantry.

♪♪♪

MITFORD: Captain F.J. Roberts,

12th Sherwood
Foresters, 24th Division.

For conspicuous gallantry and
devotion to duty in the battle

of the Somme on
August 12th 1916.

MITFORD: Captain Roberts showed outstanding leadership under

fire as Company Commander.

Throughout he behaved
most gallantly.

ROBERTS: If you're waking
call me early,

call me early, Sergeant Dear.

For I'm very, very weary,
and my warrant's come I hear.

It is Blighty for a spell, my
old troubles are all packed.

So keep the war a' going Sarnt,
it's all yours 'til I'm back.

ROBERTS: Maître D? Ma..Matre D?

ROBERTS: Oh I .. I
was saying Pearson.

Pearson's priceless and Harris
is an ace with the inkies.

And you'd be amazed at the sort
of stuff that

comes in from the chaps.

The spoofs of Kipling and
Sherlock Holmes and..

the Rubiyat of Omar Whatsit.

And limericks and jokes from all
sorts of unlikely..

KATE: Slow down Fred, I'm not
going anywhere.

ROBERTS: But did I tell
you about the poet,

Gilbert Frankau contributing?

Now there's someone
who's actually famous,

now he's working for us.

KATE: You did mention
it once or twice.

ROBERTS: There's a very
promising writer called Sherrif

who's good at little
dramatic squibs.

ROBERTS: And, oh, one of the men
has started

carving drawings on woodblocks.

So we're almost up there with
the Illustrated London news.

KATE: You make it
all sound such fun?

ROBERTS: It would be if the
infernal general staff didn't

keep insisting on us
fighting all the time.

Oh Sommelier?

ROBERTS: Sorry could we have
another bottle of the '97?

KATE: Darling, can
we afford all this?

ROBERTS: Of course we can't.

ROBERTS: Not on a Captain's pay.

But as luck will have it I ran
into a General on the boat home

and I won a hand
or two at cards.

ROBERTS: I do hope he's better
at strategy

than he is at
Bridge.

KATE: Same old Fred.

FRED : Well not quite.

ROBERTS: It's the quiet.

It's keeping me awake.

KATE: What's it really like?

ROBERTS: You know what
the basis for this war is? Mud.

And sticking through the mud
at various places you

can see pieces of towns.

And out there are the trenches.

One set for our men,
one for the Boche.

With thick wire fences
in front of them.

And time passes slowly.

So, by way of amusement, one
side will try to get in the

other's trench and
bring back a man.

And the score is
one-nil for the night.

May seem a bit slow, taking
the enemy one by one,

when there are millions
more out there.

It all helps to pass the time.

'til Christmas when
the war's going to end.

KATE: Is it?

ROBERTS: Oh yes. We just don't
know which Christmas.

KATE: We are winning?

ROBERTS: I'm not
sure anyone knows.

ROBERTS: I fought in a battle
which was an epic of futility.

No one could even speculate
what the battle

was supposed to achieve.

In fact there was never the
slightest chance

of achieving anything at all.

Apart from the flower of British
manhood being hurled to a

squalid death.

KATE: This isn't like you Fred.

ROBERTS: I'm sorry. Most of us
have been cured

of any illusion we may have had

about the pomp and glory of war,

and now know it as the vilest

disaster that can
befall mankind.

ROBERTS: War is nothing more
than wallowing in a dirty ditch.

KATE: Are you going back?

ROBERTS: Of course.

[♪♪♪/marching]

ROBERTS: If you can live
on bully and a biscuit.

And thank your stars
that you've a tot of rum.

ROBERTS: Dodge
whizz-bangs with a grin.

ROBERTS: And as you risk it,
talk glibly

of the pretty way they hum.

ROBERTS: If you can crawl
through wire

and crump-holes reeking.

ROBERTS: With feet of liquid mud
and keep your head turned always

to the place which
you are seeking.

ROBERTS: Through dread of
crying you will laugh instead.

ROBERTS: If you can grin,
at last, when handing over.

ROBERTS: And finish well,
what you have well begun.

ROBERTS: And think a muddy
ditch a bed of clover.

You will be a soldier
one day then, my son.

[♪♪♪/marching]

PEARSON: Attention halt!

HARRIS: Give us
a cigarette Dodd.

PEARSON: We..
..Are..we must be here.

Because this, here,
is over there.

ROBERTS: Hmm.

DODD: Where are we, sir?

PEARSON: If I'm not mistaken.

PEARSON: We're back at Wipers.

DODD: Are you sure, sir?

PEARSON: Pretty sure.

ROBERTS: We've come a long
way in the last 18 months,

haven't we?

PEARSON: I'd say
approximately 30 yards.

ROBERTS: Find out what the hell
Monsieur thinks he's up to,

would you Jack?

PEARSON: Monsieur? Bonjour.
Qu'est ce vous faites?

ROBERTS: Sergeant?

HARRIS: Sir?

ROBERTS: Make sure the
printer's come in one piece.

I thought the GS wagon we put
it on looked pretty ropey.

HARRIS: Sir.

ROBERTS: Thank you.

PEARSON: I don't think you're
going to believe this.

ROBERTS: Try me.

PEARSON: He's with
the Michelin guide.

PEARSON: They're preparing
a tourist handbook

for the battlefields.

ROBERTS: Oh, so this is..this
is going to be

a holiday destination?

PEARSON: Apparently so.

We should consider ourselves
fortunate we're among the first

to have seen the sights.

ROBERTS: Yes.

Did you ask him to recommend any
top class restaurants

in the vicinity?

PEARSON: This is beyond parody.
You couldn't make it up.

ROBERTS: Right. Come on men.
Forward march.

ROBERTS: Onwards.

ROBERTS: They'll be putting
us out of a job soon.

Shall we go and see if the old
editorial den is still standing?

PEARSON: It'll be
like old times.

ROBERTS: Yes. Very old times.

Back when there were
no buildings at all.

ROBERTS: Oh, tell me Sergeant
how many E's in Wenceslas?

HARRIS: As many of the little
blighters as I can find sir.

Which, at the moment, is none.

ROBERTS: Very well.

ROBERTS: Always though The Good
King' was

over-encumbered with E's.

HARRIS: We're also
short of paper, sir.

ROBERTS: We.. We've got a bumper
Christmas issue to produce.

PEARSON: I'm sure the readers
will understand if the issue's

less than the
advertised 20 pages.

We've dropped the pen in favour
of the sword and gone to

liberate some French villages.

ROBERTS: No we promised
our readers 20 pages,

and 20 pages they shall have.

HARRIS: Well that's
all well and good, sir,

but that doesn't get
around our problem.

HARRIS: Napoo paper.

ROBERTS: If I can find something
funny to say about another

Christmas on the front line.

ROBERTS: Then I'm sure you
can find some paper

in Ypres, Sergeant.

HARRIS: I'll do my best sir.

ROBERTS: Thank you.

ROBERTS: I had a profitable hand
of Brag with Bobbing Bobby.

PEARSON: If this issue comes
out at all it'll be a miracle.

ROBERTS: A miracle at Christmas.

ROBERTS: This is the story of
a soldier, Alfred Higgins,

or number 249921
Private Higgins A.

as he was officially known.

ROBERTS: It was Christmas
morning and

Alfred was holding the line.
All was peace and good will.

ROBERTS: The Gas Gongs were
chiming out their message of joy

to all mankind and the merry
bark of the pipsqueak,

aided by the staccato cough
of the Howitzer combined to

reassure Alfred that all
was well with the world.

ROBERTS: Alfred began to doze.

When at last his
sergeant came in sight.

HARRIS: Higgins.
ROBERTS: Said the Sergeant.

HARRIS: Have you
been drinking rum?

HARRIS: No sergeant. Honestly
Sarnt.

ROBERTS: Said Higgins.
HARRIS: Well then.

ROBERTS: Said the Sergeant.

HARRIS: You best
have some of mine.

ROBERTS: Alfred was
treated for severe shock.

ROBERTS: And never went
to the front line again.

ROBERTS: A happy Christmas
and new year to all!

ROBERTS: And may next Christmas,
the whole damn business over.

PEARSON: Bravo Fred.

PEARSON: A festive tale
to gladden the heart.

It's given me an idea.

Permission to go into
the pub business?

ROBERTS: Permission granted.

What on earth are
you talking about?

PEARSON: Alright. Merci. Au
demain.

Demain deux fois, deux fois
encore.

ROBERTS: Very good.

PEARSON: Welcome to
the Forresters Arms.

ROBERTS: Very impressive.

PEARSON: Well something
had to be done.

The ambulances can't keep up
with the casualties and get the

wounded back to base quick
enough so..

PEARSON: ..this is a sort of
first aid post.

ROBERTS: Or, rather,
thirst aid post?

ROBERTS: I'm terribly sorry.

PEARSON: That's dreadful.

PEARSON: Well done lads.

PEARSON: There we are.
One franc.

SOLDIER: I've no money, sir.

PEARSON: Oh dear, well then I
shall have to insist on giving

it to you for free.

SOLDIER: Cheers sir.

HOWFIELD: What the bloody
hell is going on here?

You're meant to be a soldier
not a bloody publican.

PEARSON: Yes, sir, I was just..

HOWFIELD: I want it closed down
immediately.

CHAPLAIN: I'm afraid
that's not possible.

HOWFIELD: What?

CHAPLAIN: The Forrester's Arms
is providing

a vital service to these men.

CHAPLAIN: And following a
petition from the divisional

Chaplaincies the Forrester's
Arms has been authorized to

continue its essential work.

HOWFIELD: On whose authority?
General Mitford's?

Field Marshall Haig's?

CHAPLAIN: Higher than that.

HOWFIELD: You damned devil
dodgers are going

to undermine the whole war.

ROBERTS: May I add my own note
of caution..

ROBERTS: Captain Pearson?

PEARSON: Sir?

ROBERTS: I hope this new
venture, however admirable,

will not get in the
way of your duties.

ROBERTS: May I remind you..
ROBERTS: ..that you are,

first and foremost, assistant
editor of the Wipers Times.

PEARSON: Yes, sir.

ROBERTS: The General Staff are
under severe pressure from the

good ladies of the
temperance society.

PEARSON: Why?

ROBERTS: From their unique
vantage point on the home front

they attribute all of the army's
reverses in the field to the

effects of alcohol.

They seem to be under the
impression that the trenches are

awash with the demon drink.

PEARSON: I can't imagine
why they would think that.

ROBERTS: Rum business, war.

ROBERTS: But high command has
given the ladies their blessing.

Whether we like it or not we
will all have to acknowledge

that alcohol is a serious issue.

PEARSON: So what do you propose?

ROBERTS: Well, obviously,
we'll have to do our bit.

ROBERTS: And place a suitable
advertisement

in responsible trench newspaper.

ROBERTS: Do you
have a drink habit?

Do you have a drink habit?

ROBERTS: Do you
have a drink habit?

ROBERTS: If not, I can help
you acquire one in three days.

If you, or anyone you know, does
not drink alcohol regularly they

need my new book 'Confessions
of an alcohol slave'.

I can cure anyone. Take
this once sad wretch.

PEARSON: I was a rabid
teetotaler for the first fifteen

years of my life but thanks to
Dr. Supitup and his miracle cure

I now never go to bed sober.

ROBERTS: All cases are treated
in absolute confidence.

This incredible
three-step guide to

being a bonafide
toper is yours now.

ROBERTS: Just write to me
Dr. Supitup at Have-another

Mansions, in Bedfordshire.

ROBERTS: You wanted
to see me sir?

MITFORD: Come in Fred

ROBERTS: If it's about
ragging the temperance society?

MITFORD: No, no, no it
isn't..though I have had

complaints that your version of
the war consists of nothing but

wine, women and song.

ROBERTS: Well there has been
the odd visit to Madame Fifi's.

MITFORD: I'd keep quiet about
that if I were you, Fred.

MITFORD: Madame
Fifi's is closed.

ROBERTS: Napoo Madame Fifi?
Quelle damage.

MITFORD: Sadly she had to leave
her cosy club one dawn for an

appointment with
the firing squad.

ROBERTS: Madame Fifi was a spy?

MITFORD: Apparently she was
extracting information from

excitable young officers.

MITFORD: And passing
it straight to Berlin.

ROBERTS: My conscience
is clear sir.

I can't have given anything away
about the war because

I don't know anything.

ROBERTS: Like all British
officers on the front line,

I'm kept completely in the dark.

MITFORD: I am amazed
that, after all this time,

you can find anything funny.

ROBERTS: Oh I don't know sir,
you would have to concede that

it is somewhat comical that we
have spent years..

ROBERTS: Fighting our way
through Flanders.

ROBERTS: Only to end up
right back where we started.

MITFORD: Then I think you'll
find the news of your next

deployment hilarious.

ROBERTS: I can hardly wait, sir.

MITFORD: 24th division is
being sent back to The Somme.

ROBERTS: And why not, sir?

ROBERTS: It was such
a success last time,

why not do it all again?

MITFORD: That's the spirit.
War's waking up.

Second's out of the ring.
Last round coming up.

PEARSON: Zero minus one.

ROBERTS: Right lads. You all
know the drill by now.

What's that you're
drinking Barnes?

BARNES: Water, sir.

ROBERTS: Don't you know the
water is not for drinking?

ROBERTS: It's for putting in the
radiators of the staff cars.

PEARSON: Don't do anything
risky, never mind the water.

Try some whisky.

BARNES: Sir.

ROBERTS: Ready men!

ROBERTS: Forward the Foresters.

ROBERTS: Give the Fritzes hell!

[yelling/explosions]

[♪♪♪/yelling]

ROBERTS: Stop. Men.

ROBERTS: Stop!

ROBERTS: Hold your fire!

HARRIS: Sir?

ROBERTS: They're already dead.

ROBERTS: It's the gas. They're
own gas.

ROBERTS: The wind
must have changed.

PEARSON: I thought they
were a bit..passive.

ROBERTS: What, you mean they
didn't put up much of a fight?

PEARSON: Not very
sporting is it?

PEARSON: Signing off before
the show has even started.

ROBERTS: Spoils the
whole fun of war.

[laughter]

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: There was a little Hun
and a war, he tried his hand.

And while the Hun was winning
war was fine, you understand.

ROBERTS: When the others hit
him back he shouted in alarm.

ROBERTS: "A little drop of
peace wouldn't do me any harm"

♪♪♪

♪♪♪

[marching]

ROBERTS: There was a young man
of Avesnes..

PEARSON: Who took a stroll down
a long shady lanes..

ROBERTS: He trod on a dud..

PEARSON: Half-hidden in mud..

ROBERTS: He never will do it
agains.

PEARSON: Well up to our
usual terrible standard.

DODD: Sir, we've heard a
rumour that

the Germans have surrendered.

PEARSON: Well if that
is the case corporal.

PEARSON: Someone really ought
to tell their artillery.

ROBERTS: Yes and if Fritz really
is waving the white flag,

he might have the decency
to stop firing at us.

DODD: So you don't think
it's true then, sir?

ROBERTS: All I'm prepared to say
is that the tide is apparently

turned and perhaps, at
last, we can all look

forward to better times.

PEARSON: Better Times.

It's a good name for a title.

♪♪♪

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Letter to the editor.

PEARSON: Is it genuine?

ROBERTS: Absolutely, I
just genuinely made it up.

ROBERTS: "Dear sir.."

ROBERTS: I hear that
when it's all over,

the people who joined up early
are going

to be de-mobilized first.

This is very unfair since they
were obviously much more eager

to be in the army than those of
us who joined

up reluctantly later.

ROBERTS: So surely we
should go home sooner.

ROBERTS: Yours,
Lance Corporal A. Slacker.

PEARSON: Very
convincing argument.

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Are you sure about
this title Better Times?

PEARSON: Apparently we only need
one more big effort and we can

completely bust the Hun.

ROBERTS: You seem to be
suffering from optimism.

PEARSON: Oh talking of which.

PEARSON: Harris thinks we
can go to a weekly edition.

PEARSON: Despite brother Boche's
best efforts..

PEARSON: ..to prevent all forms
of journalism.

By filling the office
with shrapnel yesterday.

ROBERTS: Why weekly? Why not a
daily?

PEARSON: Now who's
suffering from optimism?

ROBERTS: We're selling
like hot cakes.

PEARSON: Is that good?

I can't remember what
a hot cake tastes like.

ROBERTS: We're even selling
out on the home front.

PEARSON: It would
take a lot more copy.

ROBERTS: Well surely there's
enough jokers out there and more

than enough poets
to fill the space.

[explosion]

HARRIS: It's a
signal for you, sir.

ROBERTS: Thank you Harris.

ROBERTS: My god!

PEARSON: What is it?

ROBERTS: It's all over.

HARRIS: What, sir,
just like that?

ROBERTS: Official
radio from Paris. 6:01 am.

November the 11th 1918.

ROBERTS: Marshal Foch
to Commander in Chief.

Hostilities will be stopped
along entire front

at 11
o'clock.

PEARSON: Fini la guerre.

ROBERTS: Looks like it.

PEARSON: NapooBoche.

ROBERTS: So it would seem.

It's an armistice.

HARRIS: No big show then,
no final push to Berlin?

[explosion]

HARRIS: Shall I, er,
tell them men then sir?

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Thank you Sergeant.

And tell them to keep their
bloody heads down

until 11 o'clock.

HARRIS: Sir!

ROBERTS: So Jack.

ROBERTS: Our swords are going
to be turned into ploughshares.

PEARSON: Mmm.

ROBERTS: The order of
the bowler hat for us.

ROBERTS: We're going home.

PEARSON: Shouldn't
we be celebrating?

ROBERTS: I suppose we should.

♪♪♪

HARRIS: Okay lads, well. Just
received a wire.

♪♪♪

♪♪♪

HOWFIELD: Now that we've
actually won the war I hope that

your scribbler friends in the
Wipers Times will treat the

staff with a little
more respect.

MITFORD: Yes indeed. In fact
they're recommending

the staff be awarded more
medals.

HOWFIELD: About time.

MITFORD: They want special
recognition for all those

martyrs who've had to endure
wearying years of soft

jobs back at the base..

MITFORD: And have missed out on
all the fun on the front line.

[♪♪♪/cheering]

ROBERTS: And, welcome back to
the European theatre

for our grande finale.

ROBERTS: Sadly Keiser Bill
Hohenzollern will not be

appearing as he has an
alternative engagement singing

'my old Dutch' in Holland.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Also not on the
bill are the famous crumps.

ROBERTS: And..The
little pipsqueaks.

ROBERTS:And.. Duddy whizz bang!

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Yes! The
show mustn't go on.

You've seen the horrors of war.

Now prepare for the
horrors of peace.

ROBERTS: You were an
army of occupation.

Now you're going to be
an army of no occupation.

ROBERTS: So without further ado.

Let us have one last encore from
Tommy Atkins with a delightfully

delicious ditty - costumes
kindly provided by

Messrs.' D.Mob And Co -
the celebrated

tailors
of Cheap Street.

♪♪♪

ALL: So scrap the
mortar mine and shell.

The job's completely
done and well.

We're done with mud
and rats and stench.

ALL: Hope never again
to see a trench.

ROBERTS: That'll do lads we
don't want to end the

show on a low note.

ALL: No more we'll hear
machine guns rattle.

The minny's din,
the roar of battle.

The long lost years
have been well worth.

ALL: If once again
we've peace on earth.

ROBERTS: That's more like
it now come on everybody.

Let's see that
de-mobilization smile.

ALL: Farewell to you,
to dear old Wipers.

ALL: For better times have come
to pass..

ALL: And if they ask us back to
Flanders..

ALL:
We'll all say shove it up your.

ROBERTS: A little decorum
gentlemen, please!

You are not in the army now!

[♪♪♪/cheering]

EDITOR: Hmm.

EDITOR: It's all very amusing.

EDITOR: But I'm not sure
that it is journalism.

Nowadays ours is a very modern
high pressure business.

ROBERTS: Have you
ever sat in a trench,

in the middle of a battle,
and corrected page proofs?

ROBERTS: You should try it.

EDITOR: I'm sure.

But that was quite
a long time ago.

EDITOR: And your CV is a bit
sketchy on

your more recent career.

ROBERTS: I went
back to prospecting.

Spent some time in
Africa. Looking for gold.

Had some ups, had some downs.

ROBERTS : Came home, and
thought I'd have a last shot at

something which people were once
kind enough

to say that I was good at.

ROBERTS: I thought if old
Beech-Thomas can get a job then

surely I'd be in with a chance.

EDITOR: He's 'sir' William
Beech-Thomas and he's one of our

most distinguished
correspondents.

ROBERTS: Of course. I'm sorry.

Only he was a bit of
a joke in the war.

EDITOR: Yes. We're not really
interested in jokes.

Modern writers tell the
truth about the war.

ROBERTS: Then perhaps I should
write you a harrowing article

about how all was not
quiet on the Western Front,

and how with shells
raining down upon us,

and the chilly November
air being rent with fury,

the sub-editor and I drank a
case of whiskey and shot the

padre for cowardice.

And said goodbye to all that.

EDITOR: Well that's
more like it.

ROBERTS: No.

This was my truth.

ROBERTS: I'm sorry
for wasting your time.

EDITOR: No, no, no. don't be so
hasty.

EDITOR: Here's the thing.

EDITOR: I like you Mr. Roberts.
I really do.

EDITOR: And it's clear
you're clever with words.

EDITOR: So I think I might
have something for you here.

EDITOR: How about you start
work on the er..

EDITOR: ..the crossword?

ROBERTS: You want me to
compile the crossword?

EDITOR: Er no, 'help'
compile the crossword.

EDITOR: See how things go.

EDITOR: Better not rush things.

ROBERTS: It's not exactly the
front line

of the circulation war, is it?

EDITOR: A chap in your position
can't expect too much.

EDITOR: What do you think?

ROBERTS: I think..

[explosion]

♪♪♪

EDITOR: Er you haven't given me
an answer Mr. Roberts?

EDITOR: Mr. Roberts?

EDITOR: Do you want
this job or not? Mr. Roberts?

♪♪♪