Original subtitles

(Man) 'Not yet, Norman! Not yet.

'Get away!

'Nine, eight,

'seven, six, five,

'four, three, two,

'one, zero!'

(Woman giggling)

(♪ Lively jazz)

Darling, I can't keep this up!

Got you.

Carlo, you're fabulous.

And you, my darling nymph... are delicious.

And adorable.

Missed a bit over there.

Who the blazes are you?!

Dalton's Delivery Service. Household goods and groceries.

- Pots, brushes? - We don't want any.

- Eggs, bacon, milk, cheese? - No!

- What about the young lady? - She's got everything.

Tea, coffee, soap? Wire wool?

There is something I'd like - those chocolates.

- They're not for sale. - Why not?

They're for my, er...

I had to pay for them meself.

I'm proposing to her tonight.

Will you go away?

Oh, well, I suppose...

Do your best.

Darling!

"Marlene," I shall say...

"Will you...marry me?"

She'll look into my eyes and say...

- (Ship's horn blasts) - Marlene!

Ahoy there! You're in the way!

Sail before steam!

(Emergency siren)

I said sail before steam!

- Slow ahead both engines. - Slow ahead.

Dalton's ignoring our signal, sir.

Blast her! The fool's holding up the entire flotilla.

Sound the siren again.

(Siren)

All right! All right!

You can blow your horn, Little Boy Blue!

- What's he say? - Sail before steam. Everyone knows.

- He says sail before steam, sir. - Oh, impudent puppy!

Hi, there! Dalton's! You're holding up the Royal Navy!

And you are holding up Dalton's Delivery Service!

Move or I'll run you down!

I'm not afraid of you! Just because you've got egg on your hat!

(Sniggering)

I shall have to report you to the harbour master!

Outrageous! Intolerable! He's insane! Stop both engines!

- Stop engines. - Stop engines.

You lunatic!

There goes a British sailor.

All right. He's clear now.

Let's go ahead. Quickly.

- Half ahead. 310 revolutions. - Half ahead. 310 revolutions.

Oh, no!

(Screaming)

Shall I lower the whaler and pick him up, sir?

I don't think so, Briggs. That fellow's unsinkable.

Ah!

- (Woman) That'll be six and six, sir. - Marlene?

Two three and threes, please.

- Marlene... - Miss Barlow, if you please.

- Oh, no. Miss Barlow? - Yes. In front of Mr Ainsworth.

(High-pitched giggle)

Excuse me. I got you a box of chocolates.

Don't pay for them. It's a present.

- Sorry. - Will you please go away?

- Anything wrong, Marlene? - It's not my fault, Bert.

- Miss Barlow, Bert! - Mr Ainsworth to you.

Yeah, and...to you too.

- Will you marry me? - No.

I didn't ask you. Anyway, who wants to marry you?

I've got the ring.

You're just not suited to each other.

But I can't live without you. Oh...

Go away.

(Norman) I don't care how long I wait. (Marlene) Go away!

Please don't let me down. Marlene.

For the last time, will you please go away?

- Can I wait here, then? - The lady said go away.

- Didn't you, darling? - Oh!

Go away, titch!

How's your mum?

- What's up, chum? - He started it, Jack.

(Whimpers)

Scram.

- You all right, mate? - Yes, thank you.

Three two and threes, please, Marlene.

- Thank you, sailor. - Thank you, Marlene.

(Marlene giggling)

- 17, 18, 19, 20... - Marlene?

- 21... - Marlene. There's a few hard centres left.

22, 23, 24...

- I'd do anything for you, Marlene. - 25, 26...

That's the trouble. You can't do anything for me.

- 27, 28... - I'll do meself in.

..29, 30. You couldn't even do that.

- 33, 34, 35. - Goodbye, Marlene.

One, two... Goodbye! Three, four, five, six...

- Forever. - Ever.

Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, 11, 12,

13, 14...

17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24...

Well...

Goodbye, Marlene.

Ohh...

She said I couldn't do it.

I'll show her.

Goodbye, Marlene. Goodbye.

Ah! Ah!

Oh, me leg!

Hey! Stop!

Hey! Hey!

Help! Help!

(Norman shouting, indistinct)

Stop! I should go in.

Wait! Wait for me!

(Norman) Wait! Wait!

Oh! Help!

My boat. My boat! Where's my boat?

Where's my boat?

Goodbye, Marlene.

Forever.

Don't do it, lad. Just in the nick of time.

What's her name?

- Oh. Marlene. - And she won't marry you?

- No. - Photograph.

Homely, but hardly pretty enough for a fine lad like you.

Hey!

Forget her. She's not worth it.

I promised Marlene I'd do away with myself.

Wait!

You're too young to go.

There's a place in the world for a fine lad like you.

- Where? - In Her Majesty's Royal Navy.

What? Sailors?

Wait! Look before you leap.

You haven't had much success with girls, have you?

- No. - But you'd like to, wouldn't you?

Then get yourself a pair of bell-bottomed trousers.

♪ All the nice girls love a sailor ♪ Da-da-dum dum

♪ All the nice girls love a tar

(Screeching) ♪ All the nice girls... ♪

- I bet even Marlene likes sailors. - Yes, she does.

There are girls besides Marlene.

Like the temple girls of Bangkok.

The dancing girls of Hong Kong.

The Horaes of the mystic east.

There are Melanesians, Polynesians, Singhalesians.

Round, cuddly girls.

Tall, slender girls. Hot, passionate girls.

Cold, statuesque girls.

There's blondes, brunettes, redheads.

- Girls without any hair at all. - Phwoar!

Tell me some more.

Down Tahiti way, the hula-hula girls only wear grass skirts.

- Nothing else. - No?

You mean, um...they haven't got, er...?

They haven't got any...

- Oooh! - Aagh!

- Tell me some more. - Oh, there's plenty.

- Really? - Yeah.

(Screams)

Perhaps we'd better get back here a bit.

(♪ Hawaiian guitar)

(Inaudible over music)

(Music continues)

This is absolutely preposterous!

Does your ministry seriously suggest

that a space rocket can only be piloted by a scientist?

Precisely. It can only be a man of the highest possible intellect.

Meaning Mr Carruthers?

- And why not? - Well, I disagree.

- What we want in Bosun... - (Dog whining)

Bosun, quiet, please.

Admiral, I fail to see why a dog should be at this conference.

Dammit, man, the rocket is named after him.

What we need in the cockpit is brawn and not brains.

A simple-hearted sailor with initiative and guts.

A man with Nelson's blood in his veins.

I could have fallen in the water then.

You?

Take that smile off your face.

Oh. You don't recognise me, do you?

Fall in!

What about the girls with the grass skirts on?

Some have got nothing on at all!

- Phwoar! - Join the other recruits.

- What's up with him? - Get fell in.

This is all very serious, innit?

The decks of Her Majesty's ships are kept spotless.

The same applies to everything - brass, paint, woodwork

and every single man who sails in her.

Yes. I must say, you've got a very, very nice boat here.

- Ship! Ships are in the navy. - Yes, sir.

- Aye aye, sir. - Aye aye, sir.

- We will now proceed below. - Are we going downstairs?

- In the navy, "below". Understand? - Yeah.

Sir. Er...aye aye, sir.

Right. Follow me.

Come on, then.

Dalton's!

Dalton's Delivery Service!

- Are you the new boy? - Yes.

- I used to work at Dalton's. - You're not Norman Puckle?

- I am, you know. - Haven't you got on!

Oh.

- I got something for you. - From a Miss Barlow?

No. Marlene.

Thought so. Chuck it up.

- It might fall in the water. - Then I'll come down.

I don't make statements I can't justify.

I can and will take the newest recruit and...

Now. Come on.

What the hell do you think you're doing?

Hello.

Go away. This is a private conference.

(Muffled) What did you say?

(Inaudible)

I can't hear you!

(Inaudible)

This man's mad.

There's a bloke going crackers in here.

- Get back on deck. - Eh?

Oh. Aye aye.

Oh, this is intolerable!

- Get that man removed. - Yes, sir.

Man overboard!

Better hurry back, sir. The boarding ladder's the other side.

Man overboard! Port side. Away, lifeboat crew!

- No sign of him, chief! - Fall in for a watch!

Anything wrong, sir?

- She's getting married. - Here we are, sir.

Man overboard! Man overboard!

- Where? - Port side.

Which is port side?

- Get a lifeboat port side! - Aye aye!

Man overboard!

- There's a man overboard! - Stand by to go over. Move yourself!

- Not me? - If we spot him. Coxswain!

- Get that boat forward! - Aye aye, sir.

Not in me new suit, eh?

Well, get it off quick!

Never mind about that. Look.

Look. That might be him. Over you go.

Come on!

- What are you waiting for? - I can't swim.

Now you tell me! Come on. Back you come.

Hold this.

I can manage, thank you. Oh!

Chief, better muster more men from below.

- Yeah, but... - You're more valuable on board.

If necessary, get everyone in the water.

Aye aye, sir.

Everyone in the water?

Oi! Oi!

Hey! No!

Sorry. Orders.

All in the water!

All in the wat...!

'Ere! Aaagh!

Everybody in the water!

Hello? Hello!

Man overboard! Man overboard!

All sailors downstairs... Sorry-sailors below decks

come upstairs to the left-hand side of the boat -erm, ship!

Yeah. Hurry up!

What on earth is happening?

I'm so sorry, sir...

(All talking at once)

All in the water!

Don't stand and watch him drown! In! In! In!

Man overboard-board-board-board!

(Confused shouting)

Ahhh!

It's no use hiding! I know where you are! Come on, in!

Everybody!

You an' all! You're gonna go sometime, might as well go now.

Everybody in the water! I've been told!

All in the water. Here! Come on!

What on earth is happening? Why are we firing?

Look out.

Come on, Porky. Over you go.

- No. - No malingering lark.

Oh, come on, silly. It's not cold.

No! No!

(Screams)

- Help! Help! Help! - Hold on!

Help! Help!

He's here, sir! I've got him!

No. You've got the wrong man.

Knowles. Found the missing man yet?

There was no missing man. All present and correct, sir.

Some fool must have shouted "man overboard!" for a joke.

The fool who shouted "man overboard!" was me!

All leave cancelled for one week!

- Now laugh! - Ha ha ha.

Two weeks!

(Bugle call)

Here's your mail. Pay attention, everyone.

As all leave has been cancelled for 14 days,

your only communication with the outside world will be postal.

Now, far be it from me to victimise anybody

but because of Queen's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions,

you are all in a far better position than me to find the culprit.

And as walking the plank, tarring and feathering

and the cat-o'-nine-tails is obsolete in the Royal Navy,

I'm sure I can leave the choice of punishment

in your very capable hands.

Oh, yes. And gentlemen, don't be too enthusiastic.

Remember, murder is still punishable by hanging

both ashore and afloat.

Right. Carry on.

Cake, lads. Come and get it.

(All chattering)

First we'll inspect the rocket site,

then we'll select the newest recruit for my experiment.

You intend to proceed with this fantastic idea?

I do. I intend to prove once and for all

that a space rocket can be piloted by any average man after naval training.

Jump to it! Chop chop!

Leading Seaman Smithers will demonstrate the first vault.

Watch this carefully.

Right. Let's have the first man.

Attention!

Listen carefully.

We're to be honoured by a visit from the Commander in Chief.

If he was to see a smart display of gymnastics,

without one of you making a Charlie of himself,

he might see fit to restore our leave, which would suit us all.

PTI, let's see how good they are.

Let's have the first man.

Erm...

It's bro...broken, Mr Knowles.

I am aware of that, Puckle.

Let's try that once again, shall we?

(Crashing)

Er... Jumped too high, Mr Knowles.

Yes, Puckle.

Be all right now.

Attention!

Oh, no!

All leave cancelled for three weeks!

Puckle!

Oh, Greenfield.

Have you the name of the newest recruit yet?

Yes, sir. Ordinary Seaman Puckle.

- Have him sent in. - Yes, sir.

Attention!

Puckle, report to C-in-C's office.

- What do you know about Puckle? - Nothing, sir.

I don't even know him by sight, sir.

Wouldn't it be wiser to select the best recruit rather than the newest?

Yes, of course.

I stand by what I said. I want a typical recruit, not the best.

- (Knocking) - Come in.

Ordinary Seaman Puckle, sir.

You?

- Puckle? - Yes, sir.

There must be a mistake. There must be a newer recruit.

No, sir. The very newest.

We've met before.

- I didn't mean to knock you down. - No, before that.

I didn't mean to push you overboard.

Oh, before that. Dalton's Delivery Service.

- Yes, sir. - I'm Little Boy Blue, remember?

Yes, sir.

Scrambled eggs. (Laughing)

- And you're the British sailor. - Pardon?

Oh, never mind.

I think we've got the right man here.

Puckle, you've been selected for special training for an experiment.

But you've got to prove yourself a good sailor first. Can you do that?

Oh, yes... I mean, aye aye, sir. I won't let you down, sir.

No, I don't think you will.

Do your best with the basic training. Try to come out top of the new entry.

Yes, sir. I mean, aye aye, sir.

You can rely on me, sir.

Well, good lad, good lad. That's all, Puck...

- That'll be all, Puckle. - Yes, sir.

Right.

This is outrageous! That man's a moron.

You'll never teach him to pilot a rocket.

I know what I'm doing. Wait a couple of months, Philpots.

Well, that'll give you till September 30th.

Then we will reassess the position.

Insufferable fellow.

- Talks like an Admiralty file. - Yes, sir.

- I'll enjoy you proving him wrong. - Me, sir?

Puckle's under your command. You're responsible for his success.

Sir, my impression is he's got no aptitude for anything.

Oh, nonsense. Must be able to do something.

- The navy must find out what. - Yes, sir.

I've been selected!

We've been waiting for you, Puckle. Carry on where you left off.

Attention!

The Admiral, it seems, has taken a fancy to our friend Puckle.

Thanks to this, all our leave has been restored.

Carry on.

Three cheers for Puckle!

Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!

Hip hip hooray!

Well done, Puckle!

Puckle!

Oi!

So the main principles of diving are quite obvious.

All right, then. Now for a few simple questions.

Puckle, how far can a diver ascend in complete safety

before carrying out decompression stops?

Well, er...

"A diver can come up at least halfway from the bottom

"before carrying out decompression stops

"because the blood only absorbs half the amount of nitrogen

"than water at the same pressure."

Very good, Puckle. Very good indeed. Right!

Now... A diver requires how many cubic feet of air per minute

at a depth of 132 feet? Er...Hopkinson?

Well?

I'm afraid I don't know, sir.

Nolan?

A diver requires...

Come along. You nearly had it.

Yeah. Nearly, sir.

(Sighing) Very well. Puckle?

"A diver requires seven and a half cubic feet of air per minute

"because 33 feet equals one atmosphere of pressure.

"Therefore 132 feet equals four atmospheres

"plus one surface atmosphere equals five atmospheres absolute."

My word, Puckle, this really is your subject!

Now, how many cubic feet of air can you expect to receive

from a diver's hand pump?

Sir? Sir?

Let's give somebody else a chance, shall we? Somebody? Somebody?

- Tell them, Puckle. - Well...

"We receive approximately 4.2 cubic feet of air per minute

"from a single-cylinder pump at 50 revolutions per minute

"or...cubical feet, eight of them, air per minute

"from a cubic cylinder double pump at 50 revolutions per minute."

Thank you.

"But the normal maximum speed of the hand pump is 35 revolutions..."

- Well done. Thank you. - "The supply of air is three cubic feet..."

Very good, very good.

- ".. and six cubic feet per minute..." - Thank you very much.

- "..hand pump!" - Thank you very much, Puckle.

Now we turn to the practical side of diving.

Since it is the custom for the man who is best at the theoretical side

to volunteer for the diving,

there can be no doubt among us as to whom the obvious choice must be.

Puckle.

Oh. No, sir.

It would be a good idea to give the others a chance.

Oh, come along, Puckle. Don't be modest.

Let's try a suit on. Come on.

You'll notice the wristbands are extremely tight

in order to exclude the water.

You don't want to have a leak, do you?

These are very heavy boots. No diver can sink without them.

Next, we come to the helmet...

which makes the complete outfit watertight.

Come over here, Puckle.

Pick your feet up, man. Pick them up.

I can't.

Helmet.

So much for the helmet.

Are you all right...?

- Turn it round. - Wrong way, sir.

Of course. His head would come right off.

I'm terribly sorry, Puckle. You'd better sit down for a minute.

I'm sorry, Puckle. The chair broke.

(Muffled shouting)

- Water! - What's he say?

Water.

My word, he is keen. Can't wait to get in the water.

Up. Gather round.

Prepare to dive.

No, no.

Turn round. Turn round.

Down you go.

Increase the air.

Air increased, sir.

(Rhythmic pumping)

- Decrease air. - Decrease air.

(Boing!)

The valve's stuck, sir.

We're pumping far too much air in.

(Muffled shouting)

Tell him to release valve A and blow off.

Release valve A and blow off.

(Muffled shouting)

He doesn't know where valve A is.

He must blow off. Disconnect the pipe.

Get the chopper. Chopper!

- We must get him back, quickly! - Aye aye, sir.

My word, that was a narrow squeak.

Nothing like it's ever happened before.

Are you all right, Puckle?

Good Lord!

- Cor blimey, where did you get that? - Daphne gave it to me.

What for? To keep the other girls off?

- Do me a favour. - Only joking.

Come on, the pubs are open. Goodnight, Cinders.

Don't you ever want to go out?

Course I do. Not much fun by meself though, is it?

What's up? Ain't you got no money?

I've got over 30 shillings saved up.

30 bob? Have you?

How would you like to come out with me?

- Do you mean that? - Yeah. Course I do.

Come on.

Johnny.

(♪ Lively rock 'n' roll)

- Hello, Jimmy. - Hello, boy.

- Hello, Doris. - Hello. Where you been, lover boy?

Cruising around. Friend of mine. What you drinking?

ú Creme de menthe, please.

Wait. As you're the only friends I've had since I joined the navy,

I'll buy us all a drink.

Gentlemen! Our host. He's going to buy us all a drink.

(Excited chattering)

There you are, big boy!

Here, watch it.

Two pounds, five.

- How much? - Two pounds, five shillings.

Let's have some music, shall we?

- What are you going to have? - He's getting them in again!

No, no, no.

I meant the music. I've only got 30 bob.

Why are we hanging around here then? Doris, let's get on the town.

- You said I could come too. - Haven't you heard?

Two's company, three's a crowd.

Peggy? Sorry I'm late, love.

That's all right, Bob. I've...

- I've only been here a few minutes. - Shall we go?

Yes.

(Bartender) Hey.

45 bob, son.

That's all I've got.

In our view, the missile launch should be postponed until next year.

Out of the question!

Naval Intelligence informs me we have a competitor in the field.

Someone else intends to put a man into orbit on October 31st.

- The Americans? - No.

- The Russians? - Even worse. The army.

Ideal conditions for launching to beat the army occur on October 1st.

Are we agreed, then? October 1st?

- Agreed. - Thank you.

How's that guinea pig of yours getting along? Puckle, isn't it?

Through his basic training yet?

Not quite. But he's doing well, isn't he?

Yes, sir. First class, sir.

- How is he doing? - Terrible, sir.

He's keen enough but he can't seem to do anything right.

- Let me see his progress report. - It's blank. He hasn't made any.

No hope at all?

Well, he's on my Outward Bound course as a last chance to prove himself.

Yes. And it will be. His very last chance.

You're wondering what mountaineering's got to do with the navy.

Well, I'll tell you.

It's a test of character, initiative and leadership.

Necessary because you're possible officer material.

Any questions?

Well... What are we going to do when we get to the top?

Stick a flag in it.

Sorry.

Before we get going, remember the golden rules.

One, take care jumping precipices. You might break a limb.

Two, don't shout too loud because you might start an avalanche.

Three, in an emergency, tug on the rope and the chap ahead will help.

And finally, the most important rule of all.

When going up, don't look down.

I'll lead, then Penfold, Fraser, Knowles.

Puckle, you bring up the rear. Rope up.

- Mr Knowles? - Yes, Puckle?

Do you think they'll make me into an officer as soon as we get to the top?

Let's go.

- Mr Knowles! - Yes?

What about the tent? Who's going to carry that?

- The end man. - But that's...

Right. Let's rest a moment.

We'll rest a moment.

We're resting.

Puckle, take a rest.

Right. Let's move on.

We're moving on.

We're moving on, Chief.

Ready, Puckle?

Puckle? Puckle, you all right?

The rope's come off, Mr Knowles.

(Shouting) Then tie it on again!

You don't understand! I can't!

- (Rumbling) - Quiet below.

Way avalanche!

Hey! Turn it off, will you?!

- Quiet, Puckle. - Oh, Mr Knowles, the tent...

- All right, Fraser. - Aye aye, Chief.

Don't look down. Look up.

Stop!

Four paces backwards, Puckle, then run forward and jump.

Yes, Mr Knowles.

Erm... How many was it?

Four!

Very well, Mr Knowles.

One, two, three, four.

Now go.

One, two, three, four...

Hang on!

Mr Knowles. Don't look down.

Climb up the rope, Puckle.

We must keep our heads, Mr Knowles. Hey?

Aagh! Puckle!

Aagh!

(Scream echoing)

Oh. Sorry, Mr Knowles.

- Way avalanche! - Avalanche!

- Mr Knowles? - Yes, Puckle?

Can't we just stick the flag in here?

Right, we'll bivouac here.

- Where's the tent? - Pardon?

What has happened to the tent?

- Well... - You've lost it?

No, sir, no.

I've not what you might call... really lost it.

- Why not? - Because I know where it is.

Where?

Well, by now it'll be down the bottom of the...

- I'll get it. - Don't be a fool. This is serious.

- If it blows up a dog couldn't live here. - There's yours, sir.

All right. We'll all bed down in mine.

Let's get cracking.

All secure, sir.

Last man in close the flap.

Come on, lads, get settled in.

Get your head down for a few hours.

- Get out of it! - Puckle!

Get out of it!

- Have a bit of order! - Do you mind?

- Is this my bed, Chief? - Keep your feet out of it.

Puckle, get into your sleeping bag.

I haven't got one, sir. I lost that too.

Sir?

Sir?

Could I perhaps... snuggle in with you, sir?

Certainly not. We're not Eskimos.

You'll want to rub noses next.

Sir?

Sir... I'm sorry if I caused so much trouble.

It's all right, Puckle. Go to sleep.

- What's the matter, Puckle? - Cold, sir.

Perhaps that'll teach you not to lose naval equipment.

If you're cold, light a fire.

- What, in here? - No!

It's cold outside.

Not if you light a fire.

(Teeth chattering)

- Come on! Get off! - Ow!

Get out and stay out!

(Humming)

♪ What shall we do with the drunken sailor

♪ Early in the morning

♪ Early in the morning... ♪

(Humming)

Mountaineers!

(Humming)

Fellow mountaineers!

Mr Knowles!

(Humming)

Oh, there you are!

Looks just like Christmas, doesn't it?

(Gun booms)

(Marching steps approaching)

- Is it time, sir? - It is.

I'm ready.

Come on, then.

Quick march.

Party, mark time!

Quick march!

Party, halt!

Left turn.

Prisoner, three paces forward, march.

Off cap!

Ordinary Seaman Puckle. PJ3709935.

Today you stand before this court to answer the charges against you -

those of gross incompetence and negligence on duty

and failing to uphold the Royal Navy's prestige.

I can tell you about that...

You'll have every opportunity to establish your innocence.

Good, good. I'm glad you brought that up. See...

I want to know is, am I guilty until I'm proved innocent,

or am I innocent until I'm proved guilty?

Well, er... What difference...?

Well, you said, and I quote here,

that I'd have "every opportunity to establish my innocence".

Therefore, you must reckon I'm guilty before I start.

The purpose of...

- Yes, I do. - There.

I object, sir. The prisoner is not guilty.

- All right. Then he's innocent. - I object. It's not been proven.

Nor that he's guilty.

This court is here to prove that he is guilty.

I object, sir. This court is here to prove that he's innocent.

Not if I prove him guilty. I demand a chance to cross-examine him.

You demand nothing. You do as I say.

Sir, I am here to cross-examine the prisoner and see him punished.

Objection. If he's innocent, he'll receive no punishment.

Any punishment he receives will be meted out by me.

- If he's guilty, he'll be punished. - But not if he's innocent!

- Don't shout! - You stop shouting!

- I'm not! - Condemning him without evidence.

I'd like to hear the evidence so I can gather some facts!

- Bloody well listen! - Don't swear at me!

I will not tolerate such behaviour!

If you didn't outrank me, I'd soon show you.

- Don't worry about these. Come outside. - Right.

Gentlemen, please! Quietly now, quietly.

Return to your seats at once.

Will the prosecuting officer proceed?

Puckle, why did you join the navy?

Now, now, I didn't join. Not really. It wasn't me own idea.

- Whose was this brilliant idea? - Mr Filkins.

- And who is Mr Filkins? - Mr Filkins? Well, he's one of us.

A sailor. You must know Mr Filkins.

- Mr Filkins is a friend of yours? - He was.

And what spoiled this beautiful friendship?

- He got me in, didn't he? - Got you in? Would you elucidate?

Tell us how Mr Filkins...got you in.

Ah.

Well, you see, it so happened at this particular time...

I...I was having a bit of woman trouble.

- Proceed. - So bad had it got with me that -

and here I must be candid with you all -

I had decided to commit suicide

by chucking meself off the edge of the...

the cliff.

I was just saying, "Goodbye, Marlene" and along comes Filkins

and he advises me, he says, "If you are going to commit suicide,

"you might just as well join the navy."

Surely you don't see joining the navy as tantamount to committing suicide?

Well, I haven't had time to find out yet, have I?

You'll get time. I suggest that you joined the navy

as a means to vent your romantic spite,

which not only created havoc but wrecked the morale of the whole ship.

Your witness.

Well...

He's laying it on a bit thick. Ain't you gonna say anything?

You're supposed to be my defencing officer, aren't you?

Go on, have a verbal battle with him.

I object.

Well done!

That should get me off all right.

Young man, as a sailor, you were to have been the first man into space,

yet you have continually shattered my trust.

- In the gymnasium. - Not my fault.

- In the diving suit. - I've got to breathe.

- On the mountain. - It was sloping.

- And even in the courtroom. - I knew I'd get the blame.

- Your record is not one to be proud of. - I object.

We haven't found any reason to deter him from being proud of himself.

Now, wait a minute. Wait a minute.

I haven't said much yet.

So let's be fair. I think he's right.

Yes.

The admiral is right.

Which makes you right, I suppose,

although you have been a bit harsh.

Think of some of the nasty things you said and something will go click.

However, I'm now laying open my innermost heart

and confessing of my own free will that...

Well, perhaps I haven't been much help.

You hit the nail on the head when you said that I was incompetent.

You.

But I've always been like that,

although I appreciate you trying to change me.

You gave me a chance and I let you down.

So I'm sorry, sir.

Now I'm giving up.

Just offering meself to you all to dish out any punishment,

which I promise to accept.

I can't be fairer than that, can I?

Can I?

It's obvious to us all that your failures have not been intentional.

But the fact remains that you're useless.

Yeah. I know.

You will discontinue special training forthwith.

And henceforward, your duties will be such that even you cannot fail.

- That'll be all. - Puckle, carry on.

- You wish to say something, Puckle? - Yes, sir.

Just for the record, you can jot this down,

I reckon you're a very, very fair man.

So thank you all.

Left turn!

Quick march!

'Attention all personnel!

'The moment for which we've been striving is upon us.

'At 2200 hours, the rocket will be launched

'and the Royal Navy will put a man into orbit.

'This must be our finest hour.

'England expects every man to do his duty.'

(Whining)

Come on, Bosun.

Here you are, Bosun, darling.

Well, hello. I haven't seen you before.

No. Well...um...

Don't worry. Any friend of Bosun is a friend of mine.

Oh, well, that's good.

Only cos, well... I'm just taking him for a walk.

Well, I usually go with him.

I mean, you don't mind if I come along too?

No, no. I don't mind.

Where shall we go?

Well, Bosun usually goes to the woods.

- The trees, you know. - Yeah.

Come along, then, let's go. Ready, Bosun?

(Bosun yips)

We, er...usually take a rest here.

Don't we, Bosun?

Why don't you sit here?

Yeah, well...

Mm-hm.

They usually sit closer to me.

They, er...usually tie Bosun's lead around their ankle.

Do they?

Yeah, cos...that leaves their...

Hm, yes.

Now, that's better, isn't it?

What do they usually do now?

They usually put their arms about me.

Then what do they usually do?

They usually kiss me.

And what do they do after that?

(Woman) Never mind about them. Can't you think of something?

Well, um...

Oh, yes.

Bosun! Bosun!

Here, miss, I've got your skirt! Bos...!

Bosun!

- You want me, sir? - Yes. Admiral wants Bosun.

I haven't seen him since I gave him to Puckle. I haven't seen Puckle lately.

- You'd better find him, quick. - Aye aye, sir.

Gentlemen, it's nearly zero hour. Let's go the control room.

- I trust Carruthers is briefed. - Yes, Admiral.

- Anything wrong, Clayton? - No sign of Bosun. He's not back.

- Knowles must find him! - Aye aye, sir.

Knowles! Knowles!

Puckle!

Puckle!

Bosun! Bosun!

I wish I were going with you but I'm needed here.

Goodbye, Carruthers, and good luck.

Oh! I've dropped my glasses!

Bosun! Bosun!

Oi!

Bosun! Bosun!

Check completed.

Clear launching site. All guards take cover.

Aye aye, sir.

(Alarm)

Attention, Mr Carruthers. Zero minus 90.

'Board ship and good luck.'

Oh, dear. I shall just have to go without my glasses.

Bosun!

Bosun!

Stand by for final signal. Code word Bosun.

Bosun. Bosun?

- Code word. - Close rocket door.

Aye aye, sir.

- Door closed and airtight. - Ignite jets.

Jets ignited, sir.

- Fuel ducts under maximum pressure. - Stand by master switch. Count down.

Ten, nine, eight, seven,

six, five, four,

three, two,

one, zero.

Rocket dead on course, sir. Speed 25,000 miles an hour.

First-stage rocket falling away now.

Bosun is now in orbit, sir.

Oh...crikey.

How's that for a boffin, Admiral?

Carruthers? But what's happened?

- I lost my glasses. - Don't tell me the rocket went up empty?

Someone's in it. Someone gave the code signal.

Out of my way.

Calling Bosun. Calling Bosun. Neptune calling Bosun.

Give me that. This is the Commander in Chief. Who are you?

3-7-0...9...

- I can't remember, sir. - I repeat, who are you?

Oh... Seaman Puckle, sir.

- Puckle?! - Puckle?

- Puckle? - Puckle?!

Ordinary Seaman Puckle.

Yes. Puckle. Showing initiative and guts.

'As I said he would, as it should be.'

The first man in space a rating from the Royal Navy. Well done, Puckle.

'Well done! Let's have your report. What can you see out there?'

Well, it's a sort of a football, sir.

'That's the Earth, Puckle.'

- Oh... Oh! - 'Steady, lad. Steady.'

We all send our congratulations. You're the first spaceman ever.

'Your place in history is assured.'

Oh, well, I'm very grateful, sir.

'Sir? Here, sir? Could I take the liberty of asking you a question?'

- Certainly, my boy. - How am I gonna get down?

Come, come, Puckle, don't be selfish. You can't have it all ways.

Out of interest, how does he get down?

That is the part of the operation where advanced intellect is essential.

Oh, nonsense. Tell him what buttons to press.

Very well. We can only try. Now, listen to me carefully, Puckle.

Your only hope is skilful manipulation of the rear dorsal fin

plus a gradual diminution of the fuel through the gas ignition ducts.

Follow these instructions implicitly.

One, throttle back lower air ducts.

'Two, reduce pressure in the heavy water container

'by depressing the third lever and disengaging the master switch.

- 'Have you done that?' - Yes, sir.

'Open your upper stratosphere vent to an angle of 45 degrees.'

27, 28, 29...

- 'Now gradually...' - Wait a minute!

'..and open the high velocity release valve.'

Sir! It's...it's smoking!

Good heavens.

- Is there a red panel light blinking? - Yes, sir.

Admiral, there's no hope.

Without a miracle, that rocket will disintegrate in 75 seconds.

If I may say so, sir, he should be recommended for a posthumous award.

Certainly.

This is your Commander in Chief.

Puckle, listen, lad...

'It is my unhappy duty to inform you

'that you have very little likelihood of returning to Earth.'

Puckle... Puckle?

Yes, sir?

I suggest you manipulate whatever valves and controls you may think fit

in the hope something happens.

Aye aye, sir.

Eenie meenie minie mo...

I think I'll pull this one and... here we go.

(Norman, echoing) 'Admiral!'

Ayeee! Hey!

(Speeded-up screaming)

(Speeded-up screaming continues, indistinct)

(Slowly) Oh, Captain Clayton!

Will you try to get me back home?

- It hasn't disintegrated yet. - But something's seriously wrong.

Look at that. It's falling rapidly.

- He deserves his wings for this. - He's probably got them already.

I suggest we stand in silence while a brave man wrestles with fate.

Bosun has crashed in the Pacific. 20 degrees south, 179 degrees west.

Gentlemen, let us salute the memory of our gallant shipmate,

Ordinary Seaman Puckle, RN.

(Norman groaning)

'Ahhh...'

Puckle? Puckle?

(♪ Hawaiian guitar)

'Puckle?

'Puckle, are you all right?'

Aye aye, sir.

'Stay where you are.'

Thank you, sir.

'We know your position. We'll have you away in no time.'

Oh, aye aye, sir.

'Meanwhile, make the best of things.'

Aye aye, sir!

'And, Puckle...

'Continue to uphold the traditions of the Royal Navy.'

Aye aye, sir.

(♪ Rule Britannia)