Original subtitles

Terrible Tudors, Gorgeous Georgians Slimy Stuarts, Vile Victorians

Woeful wars, ferocious fights Dingy castles, daring knights

Horrors that defy description Cut-throat Celts, awful Egyptians

Vicious Vikings, cruel crimes Punishment from ancient times

Romans rotten, rank and ruthless Cavemen savage, fierce and toothless

Groovy Greeks, brainy sages Mean and measly Middle Ages

BOTH: Gory stories, we do that

And your host, a talking rat

The past is no longer a mystery

Welcome to...

Horrible Histories.

Horrible Histories presents The Roaring 1920s.

SWING MUSIC PLAYS

BOTH: Roaring '20s Oh, what is in store?

First, let me tell you what has gone before...

I'm all ears!

New world order Falling dynasties

New chapters for the Russians and Chinese...

Sounds like the bee's knees.

In Mexico and Europe, revolution

Empires crumbling right before your eyes...

What a hullabaloo!

Independence seemed like the solution

Rulers, they were fleeing for their lives...

What's a king and queen to do?

Einstein's theory The Titanic too

Unsinkable Turned out that wasn't true...

But look on the bright side.

Great War over No more Spanish flu...

Gals got the vote!

But there's still more to do...

I've got to wait till I'm 30!

It wasn't just a tale of mass destruction

New inventions There were quite a few...

Ain't this the cat's pyjamas?

Motor cars went into mass production

Dishwashers and vacuum cleaners too

Oh, boo-boop-be-doop

BOTH: A new decade '20s, here we come

An era of peace and optimism...

Things can only get better.

Best foot forward 1910s can say farewell

The Roaring '20s are gonna be swell!

Yes, we're living it up 100 years ago.

Welcome to the 1920s, one of the greatest ever eras of change.

Here at the start of the '20s, everyone is full of

hope for the world.

The First World War and the Spanish flu pandemic

are finally over and normal life can start again.

One group of rich youngsters have even

dedicated themselves to having fun.

They're racing cars, throwing parties,

dressing up and generally having the best time of their lives.

Read all about it!

The outrageous young posh people who are shocking the nation,

and who the papers are calling the Bright Young Things.

Oh, I don't know why the papers are so obsessed with

our divine little treasure hunt, Ita.

You wouldn't think that hiding sweet little clues around the city

for our friends to find would be of such interest.

Oh, a car! CAR HORN HONKS

LADIES: Whoa!

POLICE SIREN BLARES

Oh, look, a police car!

There's dozens of the chaps right now chasing after us.

LADIES TITTER

Theresa? Hmm?

Want to break into the Hovis factory and leave a clue

in a loaf of bread?

Do I!

Drive on, sister!

THEY LAUGH

And would you believe it? Baron's daughter caught speeding!

Darling, I didn't know there were any speed limits

that would surely apply to people as posh as me.

They apply to everyone.

And don't think we won't look into

where all those jewels came from.

My daddy gave me them, of course.

Some kind of baron, is he? Yes. Baron Alington, at that.

Pull the other one! Aristocratic young ladies behave properly.

Everybody knows that. Not any more, darling.

It's the modern age. Anything goes!

Now, take one more photo, will you, sweetie?

The papers will adore it.

There's also exclusive photos

from the Bright Young Things' latest party.

What do I look like, someone who's NOT rich?

Ha-ha-ha-HA! See ya.

Good to see you.

Wo-o-ow. Relax, old chap.

This is not a normal, boring party thrown by your parents.

This is a party thrown by me, Stephen Tennant.

And I know how to have fun.

We're young, we're rich. There's no war on.

And it's a wild party.

A Wild Wild West party, to be more specific.

CHA-POW, CHA-POW!

You're wearing make-up! Of course I am.

It's the 1920s. Rules don't exist, at least not for us rich youngsters.

We can wear whatever we want.

There you go. It's a cowboy party, after all.

But then what has he come as? Oh, don't mind him.

That's Viscount Chiddingly-Wright.

He just hasn't gone home since last week's baby party.

OK, everyone! Smile!

Read all about the Bright Young Things!

Oh, look, I'm in the paper!

Mummy will be so proud.

The '20s are a time of exploration and discovery.

British archaeologist Howard Carter has found and opened the tomb

of Egyptian pharaoh Tutankhamun.

It's full of wonderful treasures, but also contains a powerful,

deadly curse that strikes all those who go inside.

Or at least that's what some people think.

THUNDER CRACKS

Hello there.

I'm Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,

writer and creator of Sherlock Holmes.

Welcome to...

GHOSTLY VOICE: Oo-o-o-o!

This week on Ghosts Definitely Exist...

Oo-o-o-o!

..the curse of the mummy!

What's that, darling?

Not you, Mummy!

In 1923, Howard Carter, his financial backer Lord Carnarvon,

and Carnarvon's daughter Evelyn entered

the tomb of Pharaoh Tutankhamun, unleashing the curse of the mummy!

PARP!

Oof, someone's unleashed SOMETHING in here.

Well, it certainly wasn't me!

Carnarvon! Ugh, Daddy!

After they entered the mummy's tomb,

the curse claimed its first victim,

right outside Howard Carter's house.

WOMAN SCREAMS

A dead canary.

Coincidence? Ha!

Carter's canary was eaten by a snake, and a cobra is the sign

of the pharaoh.

Of course, it's actually pretty common for snakes

to eat birds, so it's hardly conclusive proof.

Conclusive proof there.

Shortly after, the mummy's curse claimed its first human victim.

KNOCK ON DOOR Artie, do you want a cup of tea?

Not now, Mummy, I said!

Yes, though, please.

And some biccies. Thank you.

Two months after the tomb was opened, my father,

Lord Carnarvon, who funded the dig, sadly died.

They say his death was "mysterious" but we all know what happened.

He was bitten by a mosquito and died of the infection.

Plus, he was a sick old man

who ignored all of his doctor's advice.

Personally, I don't think the curse of the mummy

had anything to do with it.

The mummy's curse had struck again...

THUNDER CRASHES

..but he wasn't the only victim.

My own friend, Bertram Fletcher Robinson,

died just three years after writing about a mummy.

The curse was spreading!

Who would be next?!

Next time on...

..me, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,

more on my investigation.

We talk to the man at the centre of the curse,

Egypt expert Howard Carter.

58 people entered the tomb and only 12 of those died

over the next ten years.

Many of them were either already ill or pretty old.

I was one of the first people in the tomb

and I'm fine. The curse is utter rubbish.

LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA! Not listening!

I guess we won't be talking to him after all.

See you next time...

..unless the curse of the mummy strikes!

GHOSTLY VOICE: Oo-o-o-o!

Darling, I'm popping out! OK, Mummy. Good.

Don't forget the eggs.

This summer, the Roaring '20s become the Exploring '20s

in a true story of courage, adventure

and an almost-ridiculous disregard for safety, in...

Don't worry about the plane, guys, it'll be fine.

Oh, um...

Yeah... No, wait... Uh...

Lindbergh, you're trying the impossible. Meh.

Lindbergh will be attempting to fly solo, nonstop,

across the Atlantic from New York to Paris.

Any malfunction will lead

to almost certain disaster.

Yeah, but they'll give me $25,000 when I make it!

IF you make it.

At least take a parachute and a radio.

They'll weigh me down. Don't worry. I've practised for over an hour.

Neeyow! Neeeeyow!

The flight takes 33 hours!

You need SOME safety equipment.

I know that.

I've got five sandwiches

and some cotton wool to block out

the sound of the engine. Hoo, it's loud!

Charles Lindbergh flies the Spirit of St Louis in...

Why did you say?!

And after 24 hours of the journey across the ocean,

Lindbergh will face his darkest moment.

Oh, no.

Wee-wee can's full!

Sacre blue, it is raining pee-pee!

CRASH! Ouch!

Must be over France.

Now, where's Paris?

Oh! Um...

But with courage and determination, finally, Paris Airport

will be within his grasp.

And he won't notice.

He'll just fly right by it.

But, after 33.5 hours,

a man will land and become a legend.

Yay! I've got his hat!

And another man will steal his hat,

causing people to mistakenly think he is the legend.

Uh, hello?

Hey, guys, I'm Lindbergh! Hey!

Charles Lindbergh in Transatlantic.

Because when you've got sandwiches and a tin to wee in,

the sky's the limit!

OK, give me some privacy, I need to pee again.

Recording, Louis!

Hi. I'm Louis Armstrong.

I rose to fame in the 1920s,

becoming one of the world's most influential

jazz singers and musicians.

But even the best make mistakes.

During one recording, I dropped my music.

But tell me, what did I do next?

Did I...?

The answer is C, I made stuff up.

Scoo-be-da-bow

Shoo-wop da bop-bop

Boo-bow, sow!

Ha-ha! We call that scat in the clubs.

That was amazing!

This is going to be the first mainstream record ever

to contain scatting. Oh, well, you don't want me

to sing it again with the right words?

No! No way.

This is going to change music forever.

Soon everybody's going to be doing it.

A-scree, a-flap, a-doodly-wah

A-whee ga-doody, a-scoody-de-flap!

Yeah, well, hopefully not everybody.

The Roaring '20s are amazing.

But let's be honest, they're not roaring for everyone.

In fact, for some people, things stink.

And not in a good way, like a cow plop or a rotten old fish.

Mmm, yum!

Poor people are having to live in overcrowded,

unsafe, rundown houses called slums, which are pretty miserable.

Even I wouldn't want to live there, and I live in a sewer!

PHIL: Hello. I'm Phil.

And I'm Fabulous.

And our couple today, Steve and Jo, from Surrey... No.

..want to buy a home in east London.

But I can tell just by looking at their clothes

that they'll never be able to afford a home in modern London.

So we're here in the 1920s.

Welcome to...

BOTH: Historical Location, Location, Location.

Don't do it with us, please.

So, for value for money,

we're going to be looking at a so-called rookery.

A charming name for a slum in 1920s east London.

Yeah, well, I suppose it's got character.

Yes. Just try not to get any of it on your shoes.

SQUELCH!

Ah, yeah. She weren't lying, you know.

Come on, Steve. Yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming.

So, as you can see, the room comes with both a tin bath

and a rather handsome original feature.

Easy, tiger.

So, you're my new housemates?

Uh, no.

We were thinking of buying a house for...

..for just us to live in. Yeah.

Oh, unlikely here in the slums, Jo!

Many houses are overcrowded.

But the good news is, he's included in the price.

But what's the Wi-Fi like?

The wifey? She's dead, unfortunately,

so she's not included.

Sorry, could we just draw attention to the freestanding,

totally mobile bath?

You mean the tin can with the naked man in?

It's a big selling point. You can move it anywhere in the house

and enjoy a bath wherever you like in your property.

Once you've filled it up from the only tap in the street

and then warmed the water through on the fire.

So there isn't a bathroom?

Oh, there's actually no plumbing at all.

Or another way of looking at it - every room is a bathroom.

So, hold on, where do you go to the toilet, then?

I'm actually really glad you asked that.

No-one wants to use this bathwater after I'm done with it, do you?

No, thank you. Ah, perfect.

PARP! BUBBLE!

That's another method of warming the water up.

Hang on. PARP!

So, guys, is it your dream home?

Well... Absolutely not.

All right, well, I'll see you out then.

Whoa, whoa... No.

Please, can we go? Nope.

Well, there's one original feature I didn't need to see.

Congratulations, Rosemary.

I guess.

Burrrrp! PARP!

I know!

Finally, I'm married.

Would you look at my Nigel? PARP!

Oh! Sorry to take one of the last eligible men in the village.

I'm sure I'll cope.

You've got to be quick, Belinda,

because there are many more women than men these days.

Some women are trying to steal other people's husbands.

I mean, look at that lot. Can't keep their eyes off him.

Hello, ladies.

Oh, it's Nigel's dad.

He's newly single and you are looking for a husband.

Oh, I'm sorry, duckie, I'm not interested.

Oh, still grieving your poor wife, aren't you, Mr Crudd?

Nope. Just playing the field.

There's never been a better time to be a single man.

What with World War, the Spanish flu,

so many young men have died,

and there's almost two million women out there

who can't find a boyfriend.

The papers call them "surplus women".

Ladies! Coo-ee!

Well, I'm just so lucky to have my Nigel.

Ugh. Are you, though?

Of course! It's natural for a woman to want to be married.

You can stay at home, cook and clean.

Well, I won't be doing much of that, I have a very important job.

She's a very talented engineer.

You'll have to give all that up now that you're married.

I'm not giving up my job. Well, you have to.

What? Aren't you lucky?!

OK, I think we're done here.

You may be the best of a truly awful lot, but I am not

giving up my job for anyone!

Bye, Nigel.

Oh, well, you'll do.

Welcome to the family.

Oh, Rosemary, wait for me! Ugh!

Ooh...! CRASH!

Another man down!

PARP!

The '20s are tough for a lot of us.

We haven't got much money,

even though we miners spend all hours doing backbreaking work.

That's why we're calling a general strike.

We want to be paid more and treated better.

It's 1926, and all around the country,

people are stopping working in sympathy with us.

And as you can imagine, the Government are not happy about it.

Sorting out the beefs of the past...

Philip IV of Spain, this Thirty Years' War has gone on long enough.

..with the justice of today.

Stop it at once!

Or you'll get this gavel right up your Habsburgs.

Welcome to...

The British Government, led by Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin,

is fighting millions of ordinary workers who are planning

to down tools and go on a general strike in support of the miners,

who are fed up with the pay and conditions of their job.

GAVEL BANGS

First off, everybody, apologies for the court's toilets

being out of order. It is, I'm afraid...

PARP!

..unfortunate timing. PARP!

Not to worry, Your Honour, we brought our own chamber pots.

Some of us'd like to empty them onto that lot over there. How awful!

I'll tell you what's awful!

The Government want to lower our pay and make us work longer hours.

Not a penny off the pay, not a minute on the day.

What does the Prime Minister have to say about all of this?

Your honour, these people are ruining our country

with their greedy demands.

They're threatening to stop working for nine whole days.

What do you think would happen if I did that?

I don't think anyone would notice.

That does it! Prime Minister, smash!

Grraah...! Order, order!

Prime Minister, stop challenging that docker to a fight.

That's something I never thought I'd ever say again.

You know what? Fine.

I don't need to get involved myself anyway.

I've hired 50,000 special constables

to take care of this lot in London alone.

They'll get these lazy workers back to work.

50,000? Wherever did you find them?

Well, a lot of them are middle-class shopkeepers and businessmen,

but we've also recruited from...

..the upper classes.

Tallyho! HUNTING BUGLE SOUNDS

Hello! We are members of the polo club,

and we've signed up to keep these greedy, poor folk in their places.

Hai-ya.

Such fun! They gave us truncheons.

That's not a truncheon, it's a chair leg.

Yes, we ran out of truncheons.

OK, you might have support from some

in the middle and upper classes,

but we've got King George V on our side. Ooh!

Your honour, these workers need support.

You try living on their wages before you judge them.

Certainly not. It takes a three-week,

all-inclusive holiday in Blackpool to get a tan like this.

That doesn't come cheap.

Your honour, the simple truth is, we do not need these workers anyway.

We can just get people from higher classes

to work at the docks instead.

Ah, what's a dock?

Ooh! One of those little, furry chaps with the waggy tails!

That's a dog.

Stop laughing at us!

Or I shall give you a right good chair-legging.

Bring it on. SQUELCH!

Ugh! I've got a poo-pot on my head!

I cannot work in these conditions.

Well, neither can we! Join our strike!

No way! Well, why don't you join our strike?

I went to law school for seven years for this.

Things are hard for many people, all right,

but at least they've got some stuff to take their minds off it.

There are huge stars in the '20s, like Louis Armstrong,

the comedian Charlie Chaplin,

and my personal favourite,

the singer, dancer and political campaigner Josephine Baker.

She's American but she moved to Paris to make

a name for herself and she's becoming a big star.

Mind you, she does hang out with some pretty surprising characters.

Yes? Miss Baker, may I come in?

Oh, Monsieur Derval. Now's not a good time.

I'm about to go onstage to perform my act.

Chrrt-chrrrt!

And I have some friends over.

Miss Baker, that sounded like a spider monkey.

No, it was...Norwegian.

Yes, Bjorn, you may have some cake!

Well, if that is everything...

Miss Baker, your singing and dancing have made you

and the Folies Bergere theatre the talk of Paris.

However, we do ask that you keep your animals at your apartment

and not in your dressing room.

Sure, I know that. No animals here.

Bwawk! Caw-caw! Hello!

That...was my friend, the painter Pablo Picasso.

Bwawk! He has an odd laugh.

Who's a pretty boy, then? You are, Pablo!

Well, if that is everything...

Guys, you have to keep it down! Rawwr!

Miss Baker, we know you have animals in there. I do not!

You said that you would take me to court if I kept animals

in my dressing room.

Yes! And there is a snake around your neck!

Hssss!

Excuse me.

Miss Baker... Get off, Sidney!

You're strangling me!

I've brought the raw meat from the hotel for you, Miss Baker.

Who is the raw meat for? Um...

Me. Thank you, Albert. You're a godsend.

I'm going to name my pig after you.

Ooh!

Miss Baker, I know you have a pig, a snake,

a spider monkey and a parrot in there.

Oh! You mean the cheetah got out?!

There's a cheetah in there?! Rawwr!

Oh, he sounds angry.

Ah, excusez-moi.

Here, Chiquita!

Miss Baker, it was bad enough when you kept the pig in the kitchen.

We had to break the doorway down to get him out!

I know you have animals in there! I do not!

What proof do you have? Miss Baker, the cheetah is trying to eat parrot!

Albert was just joking! That's it, I've had enough!

I'm going to get to the bottom of this.

Rawwr! Aargh! Aargh!

You'll be hearing from our lawyers.

Ah, so this is a Hollywood bash, is it?

Hmm, yes!

Oh! Oh, my goodness.

Excuse me, you're Charlie Chaplin, aren't you?

The amazing comedy actor.

I'm Winston Churchill, and I'm a deep admirer of all of your films.

You're clowning ability is beyond compare.

Mr Chaplin, you wouldn't do me the honour,

the privilege, of perhaps doing one of your funny bits

or an impression of some sort?

Sure. Why not? See if you can guess who this is.

Ah!

Um, ah...

Queen Victoria?

Einstein? Greta Garbo?

No, it's Na...

Napoleon! Yes, the very next thing

I was going to say. Took the words out of my mouth!

Correct. Brilliant.

Do it again, Mr Chaplin, please.

OK. Right...

Ha-ha-ha!

CHANTING: Do it again! Do it again!

Mr Churchill, please! It's 3:00 in the morning!

No more Napoleon.

It's such a good impression.

I insist that you play Napoleon in your next film.

We'll see. I don't have a script, so.

Oh, Mr Chaplin, never fear.

I shall write your script.

So, we open on Napoleon and he's in a rage.

You can do your famous funny walk, like that!

Yes, it's perfect. And he's hungry.

All he has to eat is a shoe,

like you ate your shoe in your hilarious film The Gold Rush!

Ah!

Oh! What are you doing?

That was a fake shoe, made of liquorice, for the film!

I'm really sorry, it's getting very late, so I'm going to...

Oh, don't worry. I've got all night.

Oh, good. Lucky me.

So, Napoleon is in his bathtub.

Just think of the comic possibilities!

So, he's there and he's arguing with his brother.

And then...and then Napoleon splashes water

all over his brother's clothes! Ah!

It's action, it's fun!

SMASH! Oh, ho-ho! Exactly!

That's exactly the thing!

Wonderful! Wonderful slapstick! Do it again!

Mr Churchill, you're acting like a complete clown!

That...

..means the world coming from you.

You have made my year, Mr Chaplin.

Hi, there.

I'm 1920s legend Gertrude Stein,

and I spent much of my time in Paris with my wife, Alice Toklas.

Hi, there! Eyes on the road.

You know, I like nothing better than being driven around the city.

But what surprising thing did I like to do in the car?

Was it...?

The answer is C, doing impressions of Joan of Arc.

"Oh, judge! Oh, my French bottom is on fire!"

Oh, quit kidding around and tell them the real answer.

OK, the real answer is B.

I did some of my best writing in the car.

The sights and sounds of the Parisian streets inspired me

to come up with some of my best ideas.

HONK! Whoa!

Sometimes you could even read them.

Eyes on the road!

Paris is one of the most exciting places to live in the 1920s.

It's jam-packed with artists and writers like Gertrude Stein,

Ernest Hemingway

and F Scott Fitzgerald.

Together, they're known as the Lost Generation.

And who better to play us out?

Writers flocked to this town

Talkin 'bout Lost Generation

And started hangin' around

Paris was our destination

American literary types

Looking for new inspiration

Disillusioned with the Stars and Stripes

Leaving behind our home nation

I'm novelist Gertrude Stein

Writer of great reputation

Had these guys round all the time

Dropping in for conversation

I knew all the artistic greats

For art, she had appreciation

Picasso and Matisse were my mates

Bought art with great dedication

Lost Generation

For us American expats

The Lost Generation, baby

Paris is where it's at

Hemingway, journalist and writer

Was held in great admiration

Also a handy bar-room fighter

Useful in an altercation

F Scott Fitzgerald, author supreme

Great Gatsby was his creation

Got new ideas from the Paris scene

It fuelled our imagination

The Lost Generation

To be creatively free

The Lost Generation, baby

Paris is the place to be

Sylvia Beach is my name

Ran a book shop on the banks of the Seine

James Joyce, the author of Ulysses

I'm actually Irish, if you please

These writers often met round mine

A coming together of brilliant minds

She published my greatest work

I thought he was a bit of a jerk

Lost Generation

An intellectual melting pot

The Lost Generation, baby

Paris has got the lot

Lost Generation

Came up with that phrase on my own

America's my country, baby

But France is my home

Talking 'bout Lost Generation.

Hello. I'm Phii-iil...

Cut.

Is it your dream home?

Wah!

LAUGHTER

The past is no longer a mystery

Hope you enjoyed

Horrible Histories.

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