Original subtitles

In 1929, when I was 13, I was sent to a famous English boarding school for boys.

In those days, life was pretty brutal at schools like these.

And you won't believe this, but even now, 50 years later, if I sit for too

on a hard chair, I begin to feel my heart beating along the old wounds on my

bottom where I was flogged.

Do you want six with the dressing gown on or four with it off?

the prefect used to say to us down there in the changing room late at night.

This is a story about those school days of mine.

And for once, I have not made anything up.

It's all true.

Good

morning,

Mr. President.

Thank you.

Five days a week for 36 years.

William Perkins had been taking the 812 train to the city.

He liked the process of commuting.

There is a regularity about it that is agreeable and comforting to a person of

habit.

And in addition, it served as a sort of slipway, launching him gently but firmly

into the waters of his daily business routine.

One of his special little pleasures was to have his own particular seat in the

same compartment with the same good solid people sitting in their right

with the right umbrellas and hats and ties and newspapers until one morning

something rather disturbing happened.

Check second right, please.

Mind the cigar.

This is a smoker.

You can do as you please.

I just thought I'd ask.

Matter of form, really.

Form?

Or seeing I am the new boy.

Pretty.

Quite a popsy, don't you think?

I find it rather early in the morning conversation, don't you?

Good God.

You remind me of my old company commander in the Coast Stream Guard.

If a new subaltern so much as dared to say good morning to him, he'd bark back

with seven in rapid fire.

Good morning, good morning, good morning, good morning, good morning,

morning, good morning.

That's twice for a week.

Very funny.

Good chapter.

Work presents at the ground.

We all saved her.

What's the matter with you?

Letting a perfect stranger rattle?

Ruined my day.

Better not prove to be a regular.

Morning. Morning.

If he is here again.

Afraid so.

Third day running.

Any idea who he is?

Not the foggiest.

Oh,

my God.

Carly. Not after all these years.

Not galloping Foxley.

You beat me to it this morning.

You're sitting in my place.

No.

These last mornings, you have been sitting in mine.

Oh, you should have told me.

I'd have swapped.

I said I was a new boy.

No.

I was... I was a new boy.

Glad we motored down, were you?

Yes.

You soon settle in?

Yes.

Best days of your life are just beginning. You see.

Jolly fine school.

Now... I say...

Don't they teach you better manners than that?

It seems to me...

An apology is in order.

I'm so sorry.

I don't like your tone, sir.

Really? You strike me as being impudent and ill -mannered.

I can only hope that you're the exception here.

I shouldn't wish any son of mine to pick up such habits.

Ah, Mr. Perkins.

I see you've already met our head of house, Bruce Fox said.

Very fine sportsman.

All -rounder. Football, cricket.

His manners leave something to be desired.

Really?

I dare say it's the excitement of being back, Abrams.

Exactly, sir.

Why don't you go and sort out the junior duty roster?

Take your pick of the new chap.

With pleasure, sir.

Well, Perkins, I expect you feel very much the new boy.

Don't worry. You'll soon make your mark.

Just what I've been telling him.

Report to nature. There's a good chap.

Chin up.

Tickety -boo.

Bye, Dad.

Bye, William.

Now keep the pecker up.

Right soon.

Naturally, he feels he's walking into the lion's den. All the new men do.

But it's too fast, though.

You, boy, get that hat off.

Joaquin?

Yes?

You're mine, boy.

Am I?

My personal servant, Valet.

Bedmaker. Dog's body.

Washer -upper.

Boot -cleaner.

You're my slave, Perkins.

Right, Perkins.

Recite your duties.

When the bell rings, I get up, dust the desk, clean his shoes,

put out his clothes, polish the fender, clean the grate.

Morning, Foxley.

What do you think you're doing?

Cleaning the grate.

You're behind schedule.

No. Shut up, slave.

I'm breathing.

You'd better get down to the bogs.

Bogs? The lavatories.

The water closets. The latrines.

Les petits coins.

The places of easement, boy.

Do I clean them?

If necessary.

Then you warm the seat for me.

And if it's not warm enough, then I warm yours.

Something wrong?

You're staring.

I'm sorry.

Do you imagine we've met before or something?

I'm sorry.

I know very well we've met before.

Oh, yes.

Oh, yes, Foxley.

I could expose you for the perfect swine you were.

You don't recognise me, do you, eh?

A moustache, much of years.

But I recognise you, all right.

Oh, yes.

No.

I've decided, Perkins.

It's going to be with the dressing gown.

Off.

Off!

Hurry up, come on!

Now, touch your toes.

Tighter, much tighter than that.

Now, what are you?

I'm a lazy little boy.

Who can't light a fire?

Who can't polish a button without smudging the uniform?

What else are you?

Don't know.

I don't like your tone, sir.

You strike me as impudent and ill -mannered.

And your father's very particular about manners, isn't he?

Well?

Well?

It's a question requiring the answer. Yes, boy, yes.

Yes.

Stay still.

Blubber boy, and you get an extra stroke.

This is why I'm known as Galloping Foxley.

It's because I always beat at the gallop.

Who's blubbed with Foxley because of the runner?

He goes down the basin passage.

It's time for you to feel the pain, you see.

At first, you don't feel anything.

Just a sort of blunt thump. A sort of numbing. But after a few seconds, about

ten, that's the time it takes galloping Foxley to go down the basin passage.

Then it starts like a red -hot poker.

By which time, he's galloping back. Whoosh -whack! Whoosh -whack!

Poor old Perkins.

Perkins. Perkins.

What? Show us the damage. Go on.

No. Come on. We're on your side.

No. Please.

Come on.

We're ever so sorry. Let's see the marks.

Oh. What?

They're far apart.

Not up to Foxy's usual standard.

Too close.

Beauty's actually touching.

That low one's a rotten shot, but it bled.

Golly, Foxy's really got it in for you, Perkins.

What's the idea?

Back to bed, all of you.

So, Perkins showing off, is he?

Is that it?

Another peep out of any of you, and you'll get what Perkins got.

All coming back.

Small eyes.

Corrugated forehead.

The wavy, oily hair.

The glove.

The white glove.

Catch!

Butterfingers.

Better. You're improving, Perkins.

Thank you, Foxley.

It took me all day.

At first glance, that is.

But we'll see what my patent dust detector can do, shall we?

So, you're a lazy little bounder after all, aren't you?

I thought I just... You thought?

Well, we'll meet later on, won't we?

After prayers in the changing room.

It was under the chair. As my slave, you clean my study.

And clean means clean.

Yes, Foxley.

And you've forgotten the wild irises for my desk.

But there wasn't time.

There is now.

But Clemson... You'll have to hurry.

The pond's only two and a half miles across the fields.

A drowned rat.

Don't come in.

Only four.

Hopeless. I couldn't reach.

That's another stroke.

Go on, get your coat off.

We need you to make more toast.

What's your slave like, Julian?

Shaping up.

I picked a dud in Perkins.

Ible, insolent, incompetent.

Have to beat him almost daily.

I'm developing muscles where I didn't even know I had them.

You expect me to eat

this?

It's hardly done, this fight.

You don't like it burnt.

Useless.

You've earned yourself another strike, Perkins.

And to think I used to write home and say I was all right.

Except I got a cold because I was caught in the rain.

Never a word about how he beat me.

You beat me.

You!

Seven minutes to Cannon Street.

Seven minutes to expose you.

Foxley.

It's... It's a thought.

Yes.

Why not?

Why not?

I wonder if I might have your attention just for a few moments.

I know it's not customary for us to speak very much on this daily journey,

and I hope you'll forgive me, but this gentleman's presence has

prompted some old memories.

of my school days.

Yes,

it was a long time ago now, of course, but I remember.

Yes, I remember very well.

You see, I suffered.

I suffered terribly at his hands.

I was his slave and I could never do anything right because he was a total

sadist.

What in the old days... We will call the abounder.

He made my life a misery for a year.

I almost committed suicide because of him.

He hasn't recognized me, but I've recognized him.

Oh, yes.

He was head of my house, a public school.

And he wielded absolute power over the new men, as we small boys were called.

As we know, absolute power corrupts absolutely.

This man was a perfect Hitler to me.

Any service not performed to his satisfaction was a beatable offense.

And... how he loved to exercise that frilly.

See who carries the cane?

That's just like the one he used to beat me with.

So scientifically, his peculiar talent was

torture, mental and physical.

Gentlemen, galloping,

Well, Foxley, do you recognize me now?

William Perkin?

St. Wilfrid?

I'm very glad to meet you.

But I'm Fortescue.

Jocelyn Fortescue, Eton, 1928.

Ah, we came to arrive.

Sorry old boy.

We all make mistakes.