Original subtitles

Good night, sweet heart.

All my prayers are for you.

Good night, sweet heart.

I'll be watching all you.

Tears and parting may make us alone.

But with the dawn, a new day is born.

Cheap it from the first.

But I must say, I never realised that you were a malicious little victim as

well. Stupid!

Stupid, you insufferable great brute!

That was Private Lives by Mr Noel Card.

The part of Elliot Chase was played by Roderick Finn.

Amanda... Come back, Chris Evans, all is forgiven.

There was a chap at work, a bit of a joker.

It's funny.

To begin with, then he gets on your tits.

That was a bundle of laughs, wasn't it? Good old Noel.

There's nothing funny about being on your honeymoon and getting off with your

-wife. Men are nothing more than animals. I mean, fancy trying to keep

on the go.

Was that Michael Craig?

I hope not.

You animal.

Actually, it's no laughing matter. You can't go on like this. The war's going

be over in 18 months.

He was awake.

You must have ears like an elephant.

Oh, not just ears.

Gary. I meant my memory.

Oh.

What did you think I meant?

You know.

No, go on.

No. I'm not going to say it, Gary. Not in front of Michael.

Oh. You were thinking of my insatiable appetite for current buns, weren't you?

Has he got a little judy bag coming through then?

Well, have you, aren't you, Mother?

Speak up.

I don't think I could face another night like last night.

You're just being affectionate.

I'm in no sleep.

I'm going to make him a bottle.

Here, why don't you tell him a story or something? OK.

Once upon a time, in a land called the future, there were three astronauts.

Neil, Buzz, and one whose name no one can remember.

And they decided to go to the moon.

So they did.

And when they got there, Neil and Buzz got into the module, whilst the one who

no one can remember stayed in orbit.

And then, Neil said, as he stepped onto the surface of the moon,

That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.

And then Neil and Buzz played golf.

That's the one who no -one can remember just sat in his capsule sulking.

With an imagination like yours, you're lucky they don't lock you away.

That's a good story. It's stupid.

What's wrong with a traditional story like Goldilocks and the Three Bears?

Oh, yeah, and that's not a bit ridiculous, is it?

golden -haired juvenile delinquent breaks into a house occupied by hyper

-intelligent grizzlies who, for the purpose of the story, have decided to

vegetarian. Well, it's more likely than playing golf on the moon.

I've got to get some shut -eye tonight, Gary. If he doesn't go to sleep soon,

he'll have to take him for a walk in his pram.

But it's freezing out there.

Well, that's not nice and warm.

I was thinking of me.

Ground control tonight.

Oi, missus. Put that light out.

Missus? I'm sorry, Gary.

Didn't recognise you with the pram.

You should get a decent torch, then. It was the light from that newfangled

doodah of yours that dazzled me.

Halogen. I don't care where it's from.

It's a German bomber from miles around.

Oh, don't worry, Reg. You take my word for it. No raids tonight. Or tomorrow

night, either. Really?

Oh, that's good to know.

So, cold enough for you?

No, Reg, it's not.

Well, it can't be more than five degrees below tonight.

And I, for one, won't be happy until the mercury in my thermometer freezes solid

and woolly mammoths are once again seen to maraud along the Whitechapel Road.

Well, you should say that.

I hear they put in planning permission for one next to Aldate East Tube.

Planning permission for what?

Well, woolly mammoths, of course.

Now, as you were...

It's a mammoth woolly's.

That's right.

That's the theory and everything.

Yeah, if I need a new chisel.

So, you take the young Michael for a walk, eh?

No, this is a midget German paratrooper I've just arrested.

Oh, it's a nap.

Oh, I'm sorry, but how would you like to be forced to walk the freezing streets?

I am forced to walk the freezing streets.

Well, yeah, but it's your job.

That's right.

So I can't stand around here bellyaching all night.

Do you know Jack the Ripper used to do his dirty deeds round here?

And they never caught him.

Oh, please, Michael.

OK, look.

Once upon a time, long ago, when everything and everyone was sad and

A handsome prince called Tony rode into town on his trusty steed, Mandelson.

And throughout the land, there was a group...

What?

No.

You're right.

It's all right. It's all right.

I know. I know. I know. A nasty bang blew you into the future, didn't it?

all right.

OK. OK.

Oh, look.

Look.

Chocolate. Yes. Off the ration, too.

Mmm. Lovely.

There we go.

I don't understand.

There's not supposed to be any raids until the end of the month.

half of january 1944 was quiet with no rate over london until january 31st

rubbish erratum on page 347 for january

31st read january 21st and

then probably straight

onto what dog

Yes, I... Answering machine.

Yes, I would like to leave a message after the beep. The message is, thanks

your sloppy editorship, my son and I were very nearly killed in an air raid

evening. My name is... Never mind.

What is it?

Another picking?

No?

Let me see.

I bet you're thirsty, aren't you?

You want some milk?

Oh, I haven't got any milk.

Um, I know.

We'll go round to Rob's.

He'll have milk.

And something a bit stronger for Daddy.

Thank God for that.

Naturally. Who's this?

My son.

Bloody hell.

Can you spare a drop of milk? He hasn't had a drink since 1944.

Oh, Chucky Bickies.

We like Chucky Bickies, don't we? Come on, let's have a sit down with our

Bickie. There we are.

Busy day.

Can you spare a drop of brandy? Ah, there we are.

I don't know why you're lost for words.

I don't know when I should be suffering from shock.

And yet, you know, considering my ordeal, I feel surprisingly okay.

It was funny.

Where

am

I? You owe me five pounds.

What? I had a bet with you while you were unconscious that the first thing

say when you came round was, where am I?

Where's Michael? Ah, if you'd have said, where's Michael, I'd have owed you five

pounds.

Where is he? He's fine, he's asleep in my bed.

I checked him over, there's no broken bones, although I would take him to

casualty just to be on the safe side.

Well, how can I?

They'll look him up on the computer and find out he's 55.

Wait a minute, you checked him over?

Three years, St John Ambulance man, me.

I didn't know you cared.

I didn't, but it used to get me in free football matches.

So, when did you find out that Michael could come through?

Tonight, by courtesy of a Luftwaffe bomber dropping the majority of its load

the wrong end of Duckett's Passage.

You don't suppose this means the Time Warp is open for business to all comers,

do you?

God, I hope not.

No, I think it's just me and Michael. Must be something in the blood.

Must remember never to leave my father alone in the shop.

You know what this means, don't you? We're really going to have to move.

Something of a non -secretary, if you don't mind me saying so.

Oh, no, it isn't.

I'm just lucky this happened before Michael's speaking properly.

He could toddle through it in a couple of years' time, then go back and ask his

mum for a Teletubby.

I'm going to need a big injection of wartime currency, Ron. At least a grand

a West End flat, maybe two. I know, I'm working on it, you promise?

Honestly, it's just, I'm not my own boss anymore.

Mrs Flanagan doesn't like it when I take a break during a scratch card run to

knock off a few hundred white fibres like I used to. I know, I know, and I

to pressure you, but it's a matter of life and death.

Talking of life and death.

As we speak, give or take 50 years, your heartbroken wife, Phoebe, is probably

making plans to move your remains, should they find them, to a convenient

cemetery.

God, you're right. She's going to be pulling her hair out.

Can you give me a lift back?

Nothing would give me greater pleasure, apart from being alone on a Caribbean

island with a gallon of rum, a litre of baby oil and Carol Vorderman.

Yeah, but?

Oh, but I'm expecting a visitor. In fact, I thought you were she.

You're expecting a woman?

Yes, a woman.

When one uses the word she, one is invariably referring to those members of

species normally identified by such secondary characteristics as high

breasts, handbags and an absence of wedding tackle.

Anyway, what's so funny about me expecting a woman?

No, no, nothing at all. Sorry.

Who is it?

Yvonne, your post -war wife.

No, she's supposed to be in Switzerland.

Not any more, she isn't. She rang me from her plane.

You can't keep an international businesswoman down.

Well, you can, but you've got to be very fit.

Are you trying to tell me there's something going on between you and

and pull Yvonne? No, far too scary.

The reason for the trampoline is because last Saturday night a woman called me a

sad, fat, pathetic old has -been.

Oh, look, these things happen.

Lippy young girls with too much attitude and no brains.

It was my mother.

Look, you go and get Michael. I'll call a cab.

Hello? Yeah, it's the Weecroft account.

I'd like a cab from Shadwell Wharf to Whitechapel, please.

Yeah, great. Thank you very much.

Oh, this time, could you send a car where you can't see the road through the

floor?

Right, the cab's on the way.

Now, the plan, you wait around the corner. That way, Yvonne won't see you.

When I said round the corner, I meant down...

I hope she dresses a bugger, isn't it?

Why is Yvonne coming round?

I'm just doing some printing for her.

Oh, I see. You can find time to print for her.

That minicab was quick.

Oh, no, it wasn't.

was the land of the cuckoo -clop, ski -slope and Nazi -sympathising banker.

Cold and expensive.

Gary, why are you hiding behind that pillow? You're supposed to be at a

memorabilia fair in Blackburn.

So? You're supposed to be in a ginseng symposium in Zurich.

I've got to lift back in Ding's private plane.

Well, I've got to lift back on a... On a dutch cart.

I'm trying to get him to sleep.

Oh, bless him.

Who's he remind me of?

I'm just looking after him for the lady over the road. What, Mrs Henderson?

She's 70.

No, no, not over the road in Cricklewood. Over the road in

know, the lady over the road from the shop.

What, the Chinese takeaway?

No, no, of course not. No, next door.

What, Mrs Chowdhury from the sari shop? Yeah, that's right. She's always got a

flat full of foster kids running around, hasn't she, Gary? Now, Yvonne, I have a

very exciting layout for you, even if I do say so myself.

Not bad.

a lot of midnight oil, Ron.

Oh, gallons.

I thought so.

Because aloe vera is a plant extract, not a greeting from Coronation Street.

No, I'll just take my complexion, Mum.

And a little pasta, Mum. Yeah, OK.

Um, see you at home.

Yeah, OK.

Bye -bye.

What?

Ta -ta.

Bye. Ta -ra there, Gary. Bye.

new peach kernel body spray I gave you? Oh, no, far too girly. Why?

Oh, no reason.

Would you mind opening a window, please?

I'll never see him again, Reg.

Don't give up, Phoebe.

Maybe he managed to take cover in that old Anderson shelter out the back.

How?

It wouldn't have had the time.

First my dad, now my husband and my baby.

Of course, strictly speaking, it's two husbands. What have you done? I've got

many in all.

Germans.

Bloody war.

Don't, Phoebe. You'll set me off in all.

a consideration, lads.

Where were you?

In the Anderson shelter. I had to dig us out. I told you.

I thought you said you checked the Anderson.

I did.

It was dark, though.

Oh, Michael.

I was so worried.

It was the longest hour of my life.

If you'd both been killed, I don't think I would have wanted to go on living.

Phoebe, Phoebe, we're both fine.

I know.

So lucky.

The doctor said you'd hardly think little Michael had been in an air raid.

Good thing you're trained in survival skills, though.

Yes, those 16 weeks of hell at Santa have certainly paid off.

Those ARPs never noticed you.

Well, they teach us not to draw attention to ourselves.

And, of course, they're probably suffering from post -traumatic stress

Dramatic what?

You know, shell shock.

No, they didn't seem shocked.

Well, that's one of the main symptoms.

But the point is, now do you see why I want us to move away from here?

I know.

You're right. It's like I've always been saying. A nice little flat out west,

somewhere where they didn't bomb, aren't likely to bomb.

I know it'll be a wrench for you. No, I said you're right. I agree.

Let's move.

Let's move tomorrow.

Let's move right out into the country.

Cornwall.

No,

I can't go that far.

I mean, I'm on 24 -hour call. I have to be able to get into HQ at any time.

Like tonight.

Tonight? Well, I nearly forgot in all the excitement, but there's a special

meeting tonight.

Oh, Gary, you've nearly been blown to Smithfield Market.

Phone them up and tell them your wife's distraught and you don't want to go in.

Phoebe, I can't.

One of our top agents has just flown back from Switzerland. Do you know what

that means?

Chocolate.

No, it means that... I'm not allowed to tell you what it means, but suffice to

say I will have to do a certain amount of... debriefing.

Out the back. The yard needed sorting.

What, in the rain?

Well, the bin men come tomorrow.

I thought we said we'd meet at home. I've been trying on my mobile.

Sorry. I tried to let myself in, but my keys don't seem to fit anymore.

I changed the locks. I noticed that. Why?

Police advice.

High crime area.

Locksmith got boggled last week.

Well, you must be tired. Let's go home, eh? So when I couldn't let myself in, I

thought, I know.

Perhaps he's over the road with that Mrs Chowdhury, having a nice cup of tea and

a vegetable samosa with her and all her foster children.

All right, I'll tell you the truth.

Which is what exactly? That you've got a girlfriend and a baby tucked away

somewhere?

What, a girlfriend?

No, no. Well, then whose baby is it?

Well, the thing is... Well... Yeah, that's it.

You see, my lift dropped me close to Ron's, so I thought I'd go round there

a jar.

And I had to go past that horrible theme pub, you know, the fly in the ointment.

It's all karaoke and striptease.

Get on with the confession.

Yes. Well, I was just walking past and I saw this buggy parked outside on the

pavement, you know, in the freezing cold, with a little boy in it.

I knew it was a boy because he was blue.

No, right.

And as I walked past the buggy...

This juggernaut came past and soaked us both with freezing cold water, and the

little boy started crying, and no -one seemed to be doing anything, so I

I'd better take him out of the buggy and go into the pub to see if I can find

his mum or dad or whoever.

But nobody seemed to know who he belonged to, so I thought I'd better

round to Ron's for a warm -up.

And then you arrived at Ron's, and I suddenly came to my senses and realised

what I'd done could be seen as abduction or something, and the police might

already be looking for me. But when I took the kid back, the buggy was still

there, outside, with icicles hanging on it, and no -one had even noticed.

So I lost my rag.

I stormed into that pub and I made a scene.

Anyway, my impassioned diatribe had the desired effect, and eventually the

mother came forward to claim her nipper.

Why hadn't she before?

She was dancing naked on the bar at the time.

Oh, Gary, I am so sorry.

Why? Why are you sorry?

You really did want a baby, didn't you?

Oh, well... My way of getting over the miscarriage was just to throw myself

my work.

Yeah, well, a bloody good throw, wasn't it? A millionaire ass inside 18 months.

Oh, well, that's just newspaper talk.

Oh, don't be so modest.

Look at your client list.

Sting, Kate Moss and Widdicombe.

I was just lucky to stumble into Holistic Metics at the right time. No,

just luck. You work hard.

Well, too hard sometimes.

I don't want to lose sight of what really matters, Gary.

Us.

We said when we were back on our feet financially, we'd try for another baby.

Well, now we're more than on our feet, and you and that little boy, it was just

a cry for help, wasn't it?

You really think so?

Let's do something wild and impulsive.

OK.

Well, there's that all -night bagel bakery down Brick Lane.

Judy, where's your imagination?

City Airport is only 15 minutes' drive.

Sting's plane is at my disposal until tomorrow lunchtime. We could be in Paris

by midnight.

Come on, then.

Um... Just out of interest.

What did Mrs Chowdhury say, you know, when you mentioned little Michael and

fostering and so on?

Oh, there was no -one in.

Why, Michael?

I just like the name, that's all.

Oh, I never knew.

OK.

If it's a boy, my colour is.

And here we are, back in the drawing room.

I don't recognise you.

Isn't it a bit on the big side, Gary, just for the three of us? Oh, but of

course, you wouldn't want to be a falling -over cook all the time, would

Oh, perish the thought.

Well? Do you like it?

It's lovely.

To think me, a girl from Stepney Green, ended up living in the heart of Mayfair.

Oh, don't let it intimidate you, my dear.

Mayfair isn't what it was.

That is reassuring.

Sorry.

I haven't had a lot of sleep over the last couple of nights.

I believe the asking price is 1 ,500?

That is correct. The comparatively low figure reflects the fact that it's a

forced sale.

Why is that, then?

Well, far be it from me to spread rumours... But?

But apparently the previous owner will be dining at His Majesty's pleasure for

the foreseeable future.

Something to do with Nazi sympathies and high -powered radio equipment.

So this was his furniture?

Yes, fixtures and fittings, as always was.

Of course, they should have suspected him all along.

He claimed to belong to an old English military family.

There's a nest of tables in there that's clearly reproduction.

Under the circumstances, we'll just dispense with the furniture.

No! Have you forgotten how hard it is to get hold of decent staff?

Phoebe, look, it's threadbare.

It's only the covers. I can easily make some more.

You've still got that contact at the American Embassy, the one that gets all

that flowery material.

What's her name again?

Laura Ashley, yes.

So, how firm is the price?

Well, I... £1 ,350 for a quick sale? I prefer never to discuss money whenever

possible.

But if you and Mrs Sparrow would like a few minutes to look round on your own,

I'll pop down to the phone box and see if the senior partners are back from

lunch.

Do you have chaps on you?

I prefer never to discuss money.

Gary.

There.

You can take it off the price.

Mr Rutledge, before you go, what are the neighbours like?

Well, as you'd expect, it's mainly a very nice class of person.

Give or take an occasional theatrical type.

But then again, it's a very quiet block. Many of the residents simply use their

apartments as a pied -à -terre.

Naturally.

Well, if you'll excuse me, I... Gary.

Pied -à -terre means a foot on the ground. You know, somewhere where you'd

when you're up from your country estate.

A country estate?

That's something I'd hate.

Sorry. Never mind.

Well, should we have it?

You think it's really safe?

Oh, trust me, there's hardly been a raid hereabouts.

Why do you think all the toffs live in Mayfair?

They don't live here all the time, do they? You heard him. They just use the

place as a peter tear.

Now, don't you worry. We are going to have a great time living up west.

The theatres, the nightclubs, the shops, restaurants, parks. Are you sure we can

afford it? Now, you let me worry about the money.

All right.

Come on, then.

Let's have another look round, like Mr. Rutley told us.

Let's have another butchers at that big old bed, eh?

Phoebe! Come on, I'm game if you are.

Oh, no!

No, no, it's all right. You said there wouldn't be any raves. No, it's a false

alarm. I expect.

Anyway, they've got their own shelter downstairs.

It's all warm and dry and cosy, according to Mr. Rutley.

There'll be a chance for us to go and meet our new neighbours.

All mixing in together in the spirit of the Blitz.

Because if the war's done one thing, it's started to break down the class

barriers. I'm sorry, I can't just let riff -raff off the street into our

shelter. Oh, but I'll prove it to Tankery.

Riff -raff?

We are negotiating purchase of a pied -à -terre on the first floor.

Oh, buying the traitor's flat, eh?

Well, until the managing agency confirms it in writing. You can't make us stay

outside in a raid. It's inhuman.

Look, love, people like these pay their service charge for a shelter where they

do not have to mix with the hoi polloi. Now, now, George, that is terribly,

terribly unpatriotic. We must all pull together as if we were rowing in the

race where each must play his part, whether he's a hulking musk at a stroke

small yet sinewy cocks.

Sorry, Mr Coward, I'm just trying to do my job.

Well, of course you were, dear boy. But only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in

the midday rain.

Oh, you recognise me. How frightfully perceptive. You're Noel Coward, aren't

you? You live here?

Well, I'm in London.

So it's your Peter Tehr?

We were only listening to your play in a wireless the other night, weren't we,

Gary? And you were saying what a wonderful writer you are.

Ah, really?

A man of discernment. Do come into the shelter, Maude, and tell me how

marvellous I am. I'd love to, only my name's Phoebe.

That it probably is, my dear, but I was talking to him.

You write songs too, don't you?

My Gary writes songs.

You'll get another house on fire.

You live here?

Well, yes.

We've just bought a room with a view.

Good night, sweetheart.

Sleep will banish sorrow.

Good night, sweetheart.

Till we meet tomorrow.

Dreams enfold you.

In memory I'll hold you.

Good night, sweetheart.