All language subtitles for Three Men in a Boat (1975

The chief beauty of this work
lies not so much in its style,

or in the extent and usefulness
of the information it conveys,

as in its simple truthfulness.

It forms a record of events
that really happened.

Other works may excel this
in depth of thought

and knowledge of human nature,

but for hopeless and incurable veracity,
nothing yet discovered can surpass it.

There were four of us.

George and William Samuel Harris

and myself and Montmorency.

We were sitting in my room, smoking
and talking about how bad we were.

Bad from a medical point of view,
I mean, of course.

With me, it's giddiness.

- It's giddiness with me, too.
- Hmm.

Sometimes I have such extraordinary
fits of giddiness,

- I hardly know what I'm doing.
- I hardly know what I'm doing, too,

I have such extraordinary
fits of giddiness.

With me, it's my liver
that's out of order.

Oh, how do you know?

Well, I've been reading this patent
liver-pill circular which sets out

the various symptoms by which a man
can tell when his liver is out of order.

I have them all,

including what it calls "a general
disinclination to work of any kind".

I've got that, too.

I've been a martyr to it
since earliest boyhood.

- I was born with it.
- They didn't know it was my liver.

Course, medical science was in
a far less advanced state than now.

They used to give me a clump
on the side of the head.

- Didn't do any good.
- My whole body, you know...

We sat there describing to each other
our maladies.

I explained to George and Harris
how I felt when I got up in the morning.

And Harris told us how he felt
when he went to bed.

And George stood on the hearth rug

and gave us a clever and powerful
piece of acting,

illustrative of how he felt
in the night.

George fancies he is ill,

but there's never anything
really the matter with him.

Mrs Poppets.

Supper?
I suppose one should try.

A cousin of mine who
is usually described on the charge-sheet

as a medical student once told me

that something in the stomach
often keeps disease in check.

Steak and onions, and rhubarb pie.

Hmm.

What we need is a rest.

Rest and a complete change.

Leave the 19th century behind,

seek out some quaint, forgotten nook.

Far from the madding crowd,
half as old as time.

- What we need is a sea trip.
- No, no, no.

- I remember once...
- Not now, old chap.

Why don't we go up the river?

Fresh air, the changing scene
will occupy our minds,

including what there is of Harris'.

And the exercise
will make us sleep well.

I agree.
I think it a very sensible idea.

It just goes to show
that you should never write off a man

just because he's never had
a sensible idea before.

- I propose.
- Second.

- Aye.
- Any against?

Carried by three to one.

The Thames,
couched in that green and golden valley,

winding and whispering, singing of
strange old tales and secrets

as it flows under the fair canopy of
England sky through England's history.

Our little boat, borne along
on sun-dappled waters,

through shady woods
and blazing fields...

How about when it rains?

That's Harris all over.

When George is hanged, Harris will be
the least romantic man in the world.

We had arranged that George,
who goes to sleep at a bank

from 10 till four every day
except Saturday,

when they wake him up
and put him outside at two,

would join us when we got up the river
to Shepperton.

Meanwhile, Harris and I
and the Gladstone

and the small handbag and the
two hampers and the big roll of rugs

and some overcoats and mackintoshes

and a melon by itself in a bag
and a Japanese umbrella

and a frying pan which wouldn't
go in anywhere and Montmorency

arrived on our way
to the Kingston train.

The 11:05 for Kingston?

11:05 for Kingston? Number 2, sir.

Number 2? That's the Windsor Loop.

You want Number 1, sir.

Number 1 is the Reigate Stopping,
so I hear.

- The 11:05 for Kingston?
- Oh, yes, indeed.

Well, I was just talking to a man
who said he'd seen it on Number 3.

He was almost positive about that.

Otherwise, there's a body of opinion

which leans toward the eye-level
platform for the Kingston train.

Though, in my opinion, sir,
that is the Southampton Express.

- They don't know, sir. You follow me.
- Thank you.

Monty, come along.

I'm sorry to trouble you.

But are you the 11...

...the 11:05 for Kingston?

Couldn't rightly say.

I might be and then again
I might not be.

If I'm not, I'm the 9:32
for Virginia Water,

or the Guilford local.

Could you please be
the 11:05 for Kingston?

Well, some train's
got to go to Kingston, innit?

Thank you very kindly, sir.
11:05 to Kingston it is.

Thank you very much.

This is the Exeter mail, apparently.

Well, it might be.
Then again, it might not.

And so the railway system

which has made England the envy
of the world brought us to Kingston.

And at 12:00, with our luggage stowed
and Montmorency unhappy

and deeply suspicious in the prow,

out we rode onto the waters
which were to be our home.

We hoped up as far as Oxford,

though the possibilities for digression
along the Thames are infinite.

We had barely started
when Harris was minded to enquire

whether I'd ever been
to Hampton Court Maze.

- Ever been to Hampton Court Maze, J?
- No.

Harris said he went in once
to show a country cousin the way.

He had studied it up on a map.

We'll just go in so you can say
you've been, but it's very simple.

Absurd to call it a maze, really.

Uh, we'll walk around for 10 minutes
and then go get some lunch, all right?

Well...

They met some people
soon after they got inside

who'd been in there
for three-quarters of an hour.

- Morning.
- Morning.

Want to get it over with?
You can follow me if you like.

- I'm going in and coming out again.
- That's very kind of you, sir.

Everybody's welcome.
Just keep turning to the left.

Thank God you've come, sir.

- We'd just about given up hope, sir.
- This way.

And bit by bit, they picked up
all the people who were in the maze,

including a woman with a baby
who'd been in there all morning

and insisted on taking Harris' arm
for fear of losing him.

Turn left, round here.

This way.

Harris kept turning to the left.

This way!

I suppose it's a very big maze.

Yes, yes, one of the largest in Europe.

Yes, it must be. Because we've walked
a good two miles already.

Mmm.

This way!

This way!

Harris began to think it rather strange
himself, but he held on until...

Here, we passed that biscuit
10 minutes ago.

Impossible.

Yes, we did. It's Albert's.
I saw him drop it down.

Well, according to the map...

I wish I'd never met you.

All right!

We'll go back to the entrance
and start again from there.

Keep turning... right.

Oh!

And so after turning right a good deal,

- he found himself...
- And here we are...

- ...in the middle.
- ...in the middle.

Oh, just as I... Just as I'd...

Harris thought at first of pretending
that that was what he'd been aiming at,

but the crowd looked dangerous.

And he decided to treat it
as an accident,

and set off once more
towards the perimeter.

All right, keep going, keep going.
Keep to the right.

Come on, there, keep to the right.
Keep going right!

Finally, right again. And here we are.

Albert and I will stay here. You go on.

Madam, I advise you to follow me.

We're all right. You can pick us up
on your next time through.

You silly old baggage!

Here, who do you think
you're talking to?

All right. Anyone who wants to stay here
for the rest of the day is welcome.

I'm going home now.

The optimists of the party
kept dwindling faith with Harris.

The pessimists remained in the middle,

and were swiftly vindicated.

Harris got his map out again,

but the sight of it
seemed to infuriate the mob.

They told him to...

Go and curl your hair with it!

- And to...
- Go and stuff it!

...away somewhere.

Evidently, it happens all the time.

- It really is an awfully good maze.
- Mmm.

We must try and get George into it
on the way back.

Good idea.

- Incidentally...
- Mmm?

I'm quite willing to let you
scull for a bit if you want to.

Don't want to be selfish about it.

- Put in here a while, J.
- Here? Why?

It's Hampton Church,
I want to see Mrs Thomas' tomb.

Who's Mrs Thomas?

How should I know? She's just a lady
who has a funny tomb.

I know it's supposed to be
the proper thing to do

every time you see a church,
to rush off and enjoy the graves.

I don't hold with it
as a form of recreation.

Anyway, we haven't got time.

I have looked forward
to seeing Mrs Thomas' tomb

since the moment this trip was proposed.

In fact, I wouldn't have come but for
the thought of seeing Mrs Thomas' tomb.

This is just
morbid extravagance. I'm sorry.

Well, what about the scold's bridle
at Walton Church?

I must see the scold's bridle.

We have to get the boat up to
Shepperton by teatime to meet George.

Oh, hang George!
Why couldn't he get the day off?

What use is a bank anyway?

They take all your money
and when you want to write a cheque

it's referred to drawer.

Damn nerve!
I'm going to withdraw my account.

I'm going to get out and have a drink.

- There's some lemonade in the hamper.
- I said a drink!

Not your Sunday school slops,
lemonade, raspberry syrup...

- That poison! Dandelion and burdock...
- Pull on your line.

...ginger beer. If you ask me,
they ruin body and soul

and are responsible
for half the crime in England.

- Pull on your line!
- I'm pulling.

The other one.

I say, though.
This is the life, isn't it?

Rather.

- Sorry if I was a bit touchy back there.
- Touchy? When?

Wasn't I a bit touchy
about George and Mrs Thomas?

Were you? I didn't notice.

Very kind of you
to concern yourself, though.

Not at all. Good egg.

Who's this?

Do you know you gents are trespassing?

What does he say?

He wants to know
if we know we're trespassing.

I'm not sure I've given the matter
sufficient consideration.

We haven't given the matter
sufficient consideration.

But if you give us your assurance
that we are indeed trespassing,

we would without hesitation believe it.

Well, I tell you, you are trespassing.

- He says we are.
- Ah.

- Thank you.
- Thank you very much.

I'm supposed to throw you off!

What does he say?

He says it's his duty to throw us off.

Oh, well, if it's his duty,
he ought to do it.

Does he say
how he intends to go about it?

No. He's taciturn on the subject.

I shall tell the master.

Then come back and throw you both
in the river!

He only wanted a shilling.

He must make quite an income
blackmailing weak-minded noodles.

Walton is quite a large place
for a riverside town,

but only the tiniest corner
comes down to the water.

Caesar, of course
had a little place at Walton.

An entrenchment or a camp
or something of that sort.

He was a great upriver man, was Caesar.

And Queen Elizabeth was there, too.
And Cromwell.

They made a very odd trio.

People used to comment
when they went on picnics.

The first thing we saw at Shepperton
was George's blazer

on one of the lock gates.

Hello, Harris!

- Hello!
- Hey!

J!

And closer inspection showed
that George was inside it.

- What's that? A frying pan?
- No.

They're all the rage up the river
this season. Everyone's got one.

It's a banjo.

I never knew you played the banjo.

Well, not exactly, no.

But it's very easy, they tell me.
And I've got the instruction book.

- Good.
- Banjo.

Suits you.

Goes awfully well with your outfit.

Do you like the blazer?

As an object to hang above a fruit bed
to frighten away the birds,

I should respect it.

As an article of dress
for any other human being

apart from a Margate Minstrel,
it makes me ill.

I've always found envy distasteful.

I noticed you and J were envious
the moment you saw it.

I can easily dispose of that idea.

Your blazer wouldn't suit me at all.

I always like a darker red in my things.
Red and black.

You see, my hair's a sort of
rather golden brown colour.

Rather pretty shade, I've been told.

And I find that dark red
really picks it up beautifully.

I always stick to yellows and browns.

My eyes have
an unusual kind of hazel glint.

Rather mysterious, it's been remarked.

I find yellows and browns pick it up.

Yes. You don't think your complexion
too ruddy for yellow?

No. Yellow doesn't suit you at all,

there can be no doubt about that.

You really ought to take some blue and
white with a little cream touched in.

You really wouldn't look half bad
in blues and creams

if you kept your hat on.

Now, George, on the other hand...

Why is George
looking like a martyred goose?

It must be some girl.

Everybody in the lock seemed
to have been suddenly struck wooden.

All the girls were smiling sweetly.

And all the fellows were frowning
and looking stern and noble.

And then at last,
the truth flashed across me.

I leant with careless grace
upon the hitcher,

in an attitude suggestive
of agility and strength.

And threw an air of tender wistfulness
into my expression

mingled with a touch of cynicism,
which I'm told suits me.

Oi, look at your nose!

Look at your nose!

George, I think there's something wrong
with your nose.

You three with the dog! Watch your nose!

Oh, it's our nose. It's our nose!

It was J's fault.

That's Harris all over, too.
You know, it always reminds me of...

Not now, J.

There we are.

We found a very pleasant nook
under a tree,

a little below Magna Carta Island.

And with hardy any difficulty,
prepared the boat for the night.

Slowly the golden memory
of the dead sun faded.

The birds ceased their song.

And only the plaintive cry and harsh
croak of the moorhen and the corncrake

stirred the awed hush
around the couch of waters

where dying day breathed out her last.

Night upon her sombre throne

folds her black wings
above the darkening world,

and from her phantom palace
holds sway in stillness.

♪ Two lovely black eyes

♪ Oh

♪ Oh, what a surprise

♪ Surprise

♪ Oh, what a surprise

♪ Two lovely

♪ Two lovely black eyes ♪

King John had slept at Duncroft Hall.

And all the day before,

the little town of Staines has echoed
to the clang of armed men

and the clatter of horses
on its rough stones.

Since dawn, in the lower
of the two islands just above us,

there has been great clamour,
and the sound of many workmen.

In the great pavilion
brought there yester eve,

carpenters are busy nailing
tiers of seats,

and up the slope of Cooper's Hill

are gathered the wondering rustics
and curious townsfolk.

And some say that much good
to all the people

will come from this day's work.

Then far down the road
in the morning sun

a cloud of dust has arisen,

and there comes a brilliant cavalcade
of gay-dressed lords and knights.

And front and rear,
there ride the yeomen of the barons,

and in their midst, King John.

The barge is waiting.
King John dismounts and takes his seat.

And slowly the heavy,
bright-decked barge leaves the shore

and works ponderously
against the current

till it grates against the bank
of the little island

that from this day will bear the name
Magna Carta Island.

We wait in breathless silence
till a great shout cleaves the air...

...and the great cornerstone
in England's temple of liberty has,

now we know, been firmly laid.

What is the matter? Where am I?

Runnymede.

I'll be down in a minute. I think
I'll wear my black lace-up boots.

We had made gigantic arrangements
for bathing.

I notice people always do that when
they are going anywhere near water.

We had packed three bath towels,
so as not to keep each other waiting.

Well, who's going in first?

I mean, I don't think I ought to go in
because of my kidneys.

- And because of your liver.
- Liver. Yeah, yeah.

Yes. Well, I don't think I ought to
go in because of my liver, too.

Oh, I think that'll do for today.

Hello! Old J's in.
He's got more pluck than I thought.

- Say, is it all right?
- It's lovely. Lovely.

Wouldn't have missed it for worlds.

All it wants is a little determination.

Oh, that's better.

Oh, damn it. My shirt's gone in.

Oh, dear. Oh, dear.

Well, I don't see
what's so very funny about it.

His shirt's gone in!

- Oh, dear. Oh, dear.
- Oh, do shut up.

Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear.

- Aren't you going to get it out?
- No.

- It's not my shirt.
- It's not his shirt.

It's yours.

You silly cuckoo!
Can't you be more careful?

You're not fit to be in a boat.

George is very dense
at seeing a joke sometimes.

He says I did it on purpose,
which of course I did not.

- Yes, you did.
- No, I didn't.

We'll have a light lunch
and eat properly tonight.

- There's some hard-boiled eggs.
- Jolly good. And the cold beef.

We can start with the potted shrimps
or the dressed crab.

- Or little of each.
- Or little of each

- and bread and butter.
- And some tomatoes.

- And finish off the ham.
- Followed by a bit of cheese.

- Or the tinned pineapple.
- Or the tinned pineapple.

Followed by a bit of cheese.

You're all at sixes and sevens.

When I say dip, dip. Dip!

- Good God!
- Monty.

The thought of lunch
soon set the world to rights,

but it was not to last.

There occurred a most depressing
and tragic setback to our equanimity.

It was Harris
who first realised the situation.

- We forgot mustard.
- What?

No mustard.

Cold beef without mustard?

You hardly ever have mustard.

Well, that's why it's such a blow.

You have mustard habitually
and thoughtlessly.

You hardly know you're having it at all.

But when I want mustard, I want mustard!

This is what comes of
filling the boat up

with lemonade and bath towels

and all that useless clutter.

I knew it was a mistake to have come.

We didn't forget
the tinned pineapple, did we?

What?

Oh, pineapple.

Pineapple, first rate.
Let's have it open.

Right, that's a bit better.

Nothing quite like tinned pineapple.

Puts fresh pineapple in the shade.

It's the juice.

It's more of a syrup, really.

It's not exactly sweet,
it's not exactly bitter.

It's the way it's not exactly crunchy
and yet it's firm and clean-tasting.

Where's the opener?

Well, I'm...
I'm almost sure we've got one.

We must have.

You were supposed to bring it.

It was supposed to be in here
with all this lot.

It's not...
It's not in the banjo, is it?

- Really.
- It's just a question of...

Damn!

Ahhh!

Ahhh!

Ahh!

- Just be careful.
- Ah!

Let me, let me, let me!

Let me!

Ahhh!

And we got into our boat
and rode away from that spot

and never paused
till we reached Maidenhead.

Maidenhead is a town of showy hotels,

a snobbish place for the river swell
and his overdressed female companion,

patronised chiefly
by dudes and ballet girls.

The London Journal duke always has
his little place at Maidenhead.

And the heroine of the
three-volume novel always dines there

when she goes out on the spree
with somebody else's husband.

Maidenhead, too, is the witch's kitchen

which harbours that deceptively charming
demon of the river,

the steam launch.

But all that is left behind at Boulters.

Between Boulters and Cookham locks

is perhaps the sweetest stretch
of all the river.

Cliveden Woods still wore
their dainty dress of spring,

and rose up from the water's edge
in one long harmony

of blended shades of fairy green.

It always makes me feel...
I don't know...

It makes me feel...

- ...like a drink.
- It makes me feel like a drink, too.

Yes.

It's the exercise, the fresh air.

- It's the rowing. Yes.
- The breathing.

All that fresh air
and exercise...

It makes me feel as though I've got...

Yes, it makes me feel
as though I've got...

- ...a bit of wind.
- That's it.

I've got it, too. I've been a martyr
to it from earliest boyhood.

I was born with it.

- No, no, no, Harris. A breeze.
- Hmm?

Oh, good heavens!

Shh! Don't say anything.

By Jove! I think it's in our favour.

- Quiet, man, they'll hear you.
- Act casual.

But we had spoken too soon,
or too loudly.

Or perhaps they had spotted
George's blazer.

For they were having sport with us,

as flies to wanton boys.

- Luff, luff to leeward!
- Idiot.

- Why are you taking the sail down?
- Tack.

Watch that tree.

Luff, luff!

Where's the wind?

And so we went on to Marlow
and put up near the church.

- Monty!
- Monty!

- Monty!
- Monty!

Marlow is one of the pleasantest
river centres I know of,

with many quaint nooks and corners.

William the Conqueror seized it
to give to Queen Matilda,

ere it passed to the Earls of Warwick.

Percy Bysshe Shelley lived a year
in Marlow in 1817,

and here wrote The Revolt of Islam,

with its touching dedication
to his wife.

- Monty!
- Monty!

"So my summer task is ended, Mary

"And I return to thee,
my own heart's home

"The toil which stole thee
so many an hour is ended"

"And the fruit is at thy feet."

Sorry.

There are lovely walks round Marlow.

Hard by is grand old Bisham Abbey.

There is a secret room
high up in the thick walls.

And a ghost.

That of Lady Hoby,

who beat her little boy to death
for not doing his homework properly.

And in Bisham Church, she kneels piously
among her other children

who did do their homework properly.

Except for one,

who did not live to walk to school.

This is the best.

I mean, this is the finest tomb.

In many years of viewing memorials,

in my entire experience
of collecting tombs...

Can we go out now?

We spent the morning revittling.

Our departure from Marlow I regard as
one of our greater successes.

It was dignified and impressive

without being ostentatious.

By the time we had finished,

we had as fine a collection
of boys with baskets

as the heart could desire.

And our embarkation must have been
as imposing a spectacle

as Marlow had seen for many a long day.

There, there's the bread.
Just put the bread just alongside the...

Harris, where do you want these?

Drinks here. Drinks up the front there.

We'll put the drinks in first,

then we can put things on top of them,
I think.

Where are the pies?

Let me see, sir.

Was yours the steam launch
or the houseboat?

No, it was the double sculling skiff.

Steam launch indeed!

I hate steam launches.

I suppose every rowing man does.

I never see a steam launch

but I want to lure it
to some lonely part of the river

and there strangle it.

"No longer were the woods
to frame a bower

"With interlaced branches mix and meet

"Or where with sound
like many voices sweet

"Waterfalls leap
among wild islands green

"Which framed for my lone boat
a low retreat

"Of moss-grown trees and weeds,
shall I be seen"

"But beside thee,
where my heart has ever been."

Steam launch coming.

- Get out of the way.
- Get out of the way!

Move on. Oi! Mind out, you fellows.

- Get out of the way!
- Get out of the way, you chaps!

I thought we might
have a drink at Hurley.

- Oh, good. I'll show you Danes' Field.
- Is that a pub?

- No, it's a field.
- Oh.

Invading Danes camped there.
Not recently.

You know,
I keep thinking I can hear voices.

Then I thought
we could have a drink at Shiplake.

Lovely church at Shiplake.

You know who got married there? Guess.

- Julius Caesar?
- Queen Elizabeth.

Lord Tennyson.

Bless my soul, George,
if it isn't a steamboat.

- You know, I thought I heard something.
- Any chance of a tow?

Medmenham Abbey once sheltered
the notorious Hell-Fire Club.

It stands on the site of a Cistercian
monastery of the 13th century.

The monks wore rough tunics,
ate no fish, meat or eggs,

rose at midnight for mass,
and passed the day in total silence.

A mode of life which might,
if not overdone,

be a benefit to some of us,
especially Harris,

who not only eats fish, meat and eggs
at every opportunity,

but often talks at the same time.

Why isn't the kettle on, George?

- Could you spare us a little water?
- Certainly.

Thank you so much.

- Where? I mean, where do you keep it?
- It's always in the same place.

I... I don't see it.

Has it gone, then?

It's still there.

We can't drink the river, you know,
it's dangerous.

I'm sorry to hear that.

I've been drinking it meself
for the last 15 years.

It's all right if you boil the water.

- Are you sure?
- Oh, yes.

The germs are killed by the boiling.

The little crawly things
called bacillis.

Bacillis?

Yes. Can't stand the boiling.
Drives them wild.

Man said he'd drunk it for 15 years.

- How did he look?
- Not well. But he didn't boil it.

I need this.

- What's that?
- What's what?

Floating in the river.

A dead sheep.

I don't want any tea.

No, nor me.

Just a habit, really.

Not really thirsty.

I've already had some.

Do you think I'll get typhoid?

Well, you'll know in a week or two.

I should look up the symptoms
when you get back to London.

Oh, no, I daren't do that.
That would be fatal.

I remember once
looking at a medical dictionary

to read up the treatment for hay fever.

Not now, old chap.

And I began to study diseases generally.

I'd turned to some devastating scourge
or other,

and before I had glanced half down
the list of premonitory symptoms,

it was borne in upon me that...

I've got it.

In despair, I turned over the pages,
came upon cholera, and discovered...

Cholera!

...that I'd got that, too.

I must have had it for months
without knowing.

Beginning to get interested in my case,

I decided to go at it systematically.

I started at ague,

which I was relieved to find
I had only in a modified form

and might live for years.

Bursitis, gout, impetigo and mumps

I had evidently had since boyhood.

And by the time
I had plodded through to xymosis,

the only malady I could conclude
I had not got

was housemaid's knee.

Well, old chap,
what's the matter with you?

I will not take up your time by
telling you what is the matter with me.

Life is brief.

So I will tell you
what is not the matter with me.

I do not have housemaid's knee.

Everything else, however, I have.

And I told him
how I came to discover it all.

Then he opened me and looked down me,

and hit me on the chest
when I wasn't expecting it.

And butted me with the side of his head.

And then sat down
and wrote out a prescription.

I took it to the chemist.

I don't keep it.

- You are a chemist?
- I am a chemist.

If I were a co-operative stores
and a family hotel combined,

I might be able to oblige you.

Being only a chemist
puts me at a disadvantage.

Well, what... What does it say?

One pound of beefsteak
with a pint of bitter every six hours,

one 10-mile walk every morning,

one bed at 11 every night,

and don't fill your head up
with things you don't understand.

- I was telling George.
- I always like hearing that one.

Have you ever done an Irish stew?

Well, not exactly, you know.
But it's very easy.

You just put in anything you want.

It's a grand way of using up
all the odds and ends.

A bit of bacon, vegetables, eggs.

Tinned salmon.

In fact, anything that comes to hand.

Something seemed to disagree
with Harris that evening.

Perhaps it was being on an island

or not being used to the high living
which upset him.

For myself...

Well.

I don't know when
I've ever enjoyed a meal more.

Jolly good, a bit rich.

It's given me a bit of a tippy jummy.

Who's for a drink and a stroll?
How about you, Harris?

Harris said he'd row us over
and stay behind on the island

to settle his stomach, as he put it,
with a toddy or two.

Might have a little drink
to settle my stomach.

You won't fall asleep, will you?

And so, George and I
went for a mooch around.

Must tell Harris we saw a church.

And a pub.

- Very nice pub.
- It was the best.

The finest.

I mean,
in all my years of visiting pubs...

In my entire experience
of bending the elbow...

He's a card, old Harris.

Harris! Harris!

It had been arranged
that we were to shout when we returned,

and Harris would come over
from the island to fetch us.

Harris!

Do you remember which island it was?

They all look the same, don't they?

How many are there? I mean, do you know?

There are only about four.

We'll be all right if he's awake.

Harris!

Harris!

- Harris!
- Harris!

Harris!

Harris!

You'd think the dog would hear.

- Harris!
- Harris!

- Harris!
- Monty!

That's it! I'm going to stay
exactly like this until the morning.

I don't know where we are,
I don't know where Harris is,

I'm going to die anyway,

I'm not going to move any more.

Hang on, what was that?

- Harris? Harris?
- Harris?

- Harris!
- Harris!

What's the matter?

He's asleep.

What happened to you?

Swans.

Swans?

I had to fight them off.

There were eight of them all around me.

- How many?
- Terrible battle,

fighting 14 swans.

- How many?
- Eighteen.

Fought them for three hours
with the oar. Can you imagine it?

Fighting 32 swans?

You said 18 just now.

No, I didn't. I said 12.

Think I can't count?

What shall we have for breakfast?

Something plain. Very, very, very plain.

What was all that last night
about swans?

What swans?

Never mind.

It's my turn to steer.
You two take the sculls,

it's about time you and J
did a bit of work for a change.

Ha! Fancy George talking about work.

- Have you ever seen him work?
- Certainly not on this trip.

I don't see how you'd know,
you're asleep half the time.

Have you ever seen Harris fully awake
except at mealtimes?

Honesty compels me to say no.

- Well, I've done more work that you.
- You could hardly have done less.

Oh, J thinks he's the passenger.

So, that's your gratitude to me

for bringing you and your wretched boat
all the way up from Kingston?

And supervising everything?

And slaving away over you?

Well, it's not more than I expected.

- Supervising? Oh, that's very nice.
- I've done the share of the work.

Thank you, headmaster, very much,
for coming on the trip.

- Get out of the way...
- It's about time I...

I'm putting the banjo
in its proper place.

It was finally agreed that Harris
and George would scull up past Reading,

and I would take the boat from there.

We were evidently
becoming old river hands.

Call this hard work?

Why, only last season Jim Biffles,
Jack and myself

pulled all the way from Marlow
to Goring in one afternoon.

Never stopped once.
Do you remember that, Jack?

You can always tell an old river hand

by the way he likes to
give others a chance.

Catch the wind, too.

One can't help but deplore
the way the river's abused

by young pups and doddering old fools,

with not the faintest conception
of boatmanship.

Yes. They're absolutely
without sensitivity

to the moods and dignity of the river.

Not to mention
spooning nincompoops

who think the place is
some kind of floating tea dance.

- What are you doing?
- Don't shake it!

There are grounds, in my opinion,

for banning girls from the river
altogether unless properly dressed.

Boating costume is very fetching
on a pretty girl, though.

Yes, well,
I've got nothing against girls as such.

Like Christian martyrs every
time a drop of water goes near them.

- They're awfully useful on picnics.
- No, they're not.

Ask them to wash a plate,
and it's as though they've been asked

to pick rags on a corporation tip.

No, you have to be firm with them.
Get them to hitch up their skirts.

What do you think you're doing?

God save us from London landlubbers.

You shouldn't be allowed in the river.

Once a year,
and I've never heard of such a thing.

Get out of the way.

Oh, I mean, it's really ridiculous.
You don't know what you're...

- Thank you very much.
- Thank you.

I was ready to take over the sculls
at Reading, as we had agreed.

All right! All right!

They think they own the river
with their money and their trollops.

London landlubbers!

- J!
- Well, Max!

There we are.

I say, this makes a nice change.

I prefer it myself to rowing.

From Mapledurham to Streatly,
the river is glorious.

You pass Hardwick House,

where Charles I used to stay
and play bowls.

And when Cromwell's sails were sighted
downstream, he calmly continued...

Oh, no, wait a minute,
I think I've got that wrong.

Sorry. He did play bowls, though.

Now, you just put your hands...
That's it. A little there...

Perfect.

Now, this is to play it...

And this one's to strum...

Do you see that church?

The mortal remains of Jethro Tull
lie buried in that ground.

- Remember him?
- Not altogether.

Really? I'm surprised.

Very great man in
the world of agricultural mechanisation.

It's not the world
with which I'm most familiar.

George, the inventor of the sea drill
lies yonder.

Good heavens. That's it.

Oh, hello. This is my... banjo.

It's quite simple, really.

Now, here's a thing.
Gate Hampton railway bridge.

One of Brunel's three brick bridges
across the Thames.

- George?
- Yes.

Brick railway bridge.
J doesn't want you to miss it.

Goring Gap.

Very interesting.

Many years ago, the Chilterns

and the Berkshire Downs formed
a continuous ridge across here.

- Which is the interesting part?
- About Goring,

there was a huge lake with a river
flowing in the opposite direction.

I suppose it was old Brunel who had it
all changed for his railway, was it?

No, no, no, you fool.
I mean millions of years ago.

I think I'll go and talk to George.

Steamboat's coming.

Hey, get out of the way,
bloody idiots!

Get out!

It's really most annoying
the way these wretched little boats

get in one's way.

Something ought to be done about it.

Get out of it!
Can't you see we're trying to get past?

My friend's launch
cast us off at Abingdon.

Harris claimed
he wanted to stretch his legs.

Which church?

- St Helen's.
- Which memorial?

Mr Lee.

Did he invent agricultural implements
or did he murder his family?

He's very rare. He had 197 children.

Well, you'll find
very much better at Oxford

- if you put your back into it.
- What?

We are sick to death
of walking around obscure tombs

- of uninteresting people.
- You're sick to death? What do I...

And although it had been agreed that
I would take the boat up past Reading,

and here we were at Abingdon...

...for this stop.
I want to see something else.

After a short discussion
with Harris and George,

I took up the sculls for a while.

And then they pulled us up
the last stretch to Oxford.

Which is, on the whole,
more attractive than Cambridge

to the ordinary visitor.

And the traveller is therefore
recommended to visit Cambridge first

or omit it altogether
if he cannot visit both.

The Baedeker guide is quite right.

I am an Oxford man, too.

I mean, in spirit.

But for circumstance, I...

Now, the architecture of Oxford...

Another thing about Oxford

is that it offers
a judicious proportion of congeniality,

cultural tradition
and cloistered contemplation,

which sustains many people at Oxford
for as much as three years

and prepares them for the harsh
realities of the outside world.

- Voltaire was quite right.
- Hmm?

Voltaire. What he said
about the perfect Englishman.

Aimlessly voyaging.

And of course...

"Ignotis errare locis."

No, no, Voltaire was a froggy.
That's Latin.

Ovid. "The delight of wandering
in unknown places."

Good day.

Tu quoque.

What did I tell you?

What did he say?

I said, "Jove cannot please everyone"

"either by making it rain
or stopping it."

And Matthew Arnold's
sweet city with her dreaming spires

became decidedly wet.

More like streaming spires.

Matthew Arnold is dead.
It was in the paper.

I never read him.

- But we got to Oxford.
- Absolutely.

- Why did we?
- Can we go now?

- Downhill all the way now.
- I don't mind a bit of rain.

I like to see the river
under all its different aspects.

Can't expect sunshine
all the time, you know.

Nature is beautiful even in her tears,
eh, George?

Sandford lock is the deepest
on the river.

Here's one for you, Harris.
Sandford lock.

Two men drowned this year.

Without leaving their boat.

The veal pie's a bit wet.

The veal pie's a bit wet?

Here you are, Montmorency.

Oh, you see? Even a dog knows
when he's had enough.

When I get back to London,
I'm going to have some whitebait,

a cutlet, a piece of Stilton...

No, no, no. I'm going to have some paté.

No, no, no. No, I'll have
some sole with white sauce...

I'll row!

One thing we all agreed upon
from the beginning

was that we would
go through with the job.

It's not a job, it's a holiday.

And we agreed that
we would go through with it.

No, I'll start again.

First smoked trout.

- Followed by mutton with capers...
- Shut up!

I knew a man
who came upriver two years ago,

slept out in a damp boat
on just such a day as this,

and it gave him rheumatic fever.

Ten days later he died in agony!

Yes. I had a friend once
who'd been in the Volunteers.

He spent a wet night under canvas
down at Aldershot.

When he woke up in the morning
he was a cripple for life.

Pull over.
There's something in the water.

It was the dead body of a woman.

It lay lightly on the water.

And the face was sweet and calm.

Of course, it was the old, old,
vulgar tragedy.

She had loved and been deceived.

Or deceived herself.

She had wandered about the woods
by the river's bank

and finally stretched out her arms
to the silent stream

that had known her sorrow and her joy.

And the old river had taken her
into its gentle arms

and had laid her weary head
upon its bosom,

and had hushed away the pain.

God help her

and all other sinners,

if any more there be.

♪ Only for telling

♪ A man he was wrong

♪ Two lovely black

♪ Eyes ♪

The second day
was exactly as cheerful as the first.

You know, it's almost a pity
we've made up our minds

to contract our certain deaths
in this floating coffin.

Well, there are only two days more,
and we're young and strong.

We may get over it all right.

You know, there's a train that leaves
Pangbourne Station every hour,

which would get us home comfortably
in time for a chop.

And then on to
the Alhambra, Leicester Square.

Well, J?

Well, that reminds me of a very funny
story that happened to a friend of mine.

- Right, George.
- I'll get the bag out.

Just a moment.

- Did he say the Alhambra?
- We did.

Preceded by a little
French dinner somewhere?

Just so.

With a, perhaps a bottle or two
of Burgundy?

Undoubtedly.

Well, why didn't you say so?
Now, George, I'll do the packing...

You sort out when we can leave.

And so I brought our expedition
safely home.

Or near enough.

We deceived the boatman at Pangbourne.

We left the boat and what it contained
in his charge

with instructions that it was to be
ready for us at nine in the morning.

If, um... If anything unforeseen
should happen to prevent our return,

we will write to the hotel
with instructions.

Thank you very much.

Come, Monty.

Why, it's turned out nice, after all.

- I said we should stick it out.
- Should we go back, then?

Keep going, George.

Goodbye, Thames.

Yes, it's not a bad old river.

Come on, Montmorency.

Three Men in a Boat
(To Say Nothing of the Dog)

first appeared as a serial in the
magazine Home Chimes in 1889.

I intended there to be
some humorous relief,

but the book was to be
the story of the Thames,

with its scenery and history.

I decided to write
the humorous relief first,

but it seemed to be all humorous relief.

And most of the serious stuff
which I had managed to get done

was promptly thrown out by the editor.

I did not have to imagine or invent.

Boating up and down the Thames
had been my favourite sport

ever since I could afford it.

I just put down
the things that happened.

Harris was Carl Hentschel.

I met him first outside a theatre,
at the door to the pit.

We thought he was going to end up
as Lord Mayor,

but the great war brought him low.

He was accused of being a German.

In fact, he was a Pole.

George was George Wingrave,

who subsequently became a bank manager.

I met him when lodging in Newman Street.

And afterwards we shared
in Tavistock Place,

handy for the British Museum
Reading Room.

I wrote the book at Chelsea Gardens.

I was just back from my honeymoon

and had the feeling
that all the world's troubles were over.