All language subtitles for My.Boy.Jack.2007.STV.DVDRip.XviD

MAN: Yellow forms, please.

Wait here.

Are your people in the navy?
- No. Yours?

Oh, yes.
My father's captain of the Unity.

What does yours do?
- He's a writer.

John Kipling?

Come on, Kipling.
Where the hell are you?

I'm a great admirer of your father's.

Will you tell him
I just polished off Kim?

Absolutely loved it.

Yes, I will, sir.

You're wearing spectacles.
- Yes, sir.

Shall we start with the eyes then,
and work backwards?

Allah's teeth. Where are they?

Ah, come on, come on, come on,
come on, come on.

Thank you.

His Majesty is expecting you, sir.
- Thank you.

Don't worry, I have it about me.
I shall catch you on the way out.

Thank you, sir.

Stand on the cross, please.

Turn around.

And read the letters on the chart,
starting at the top.

H, A, L...

...without the spectacles.

Two hours, 57 minutes.

Yes.

Oh, at last.

Congratulations.
- Thank you, Your Majesty.

Marvellous run.

Awful close.
- Whisky?

It's a bit early.
- Oh, bugger the time.

Got to toast your triumph.

I've been tinkering with fourth gear,
it adds a little something.

Plus a new stretch of tarmac
near Lamberhurst.

To the shattering
of the three-hour barrier,

on the Bateman's-windsor run.

To the Silver Ghost.
- The Silver Ghost.

How's the family?
- Well, as we speak,

my son will be plum in the middle
of his medical for the navy.

Ah.

Big day.
- Absolutely.

How's your youngest?
- Not good.

Big heart, weak body.

May I read you something?
- Fire away.

This morning's Times.

'Rudyard Kipling,
speaking yesterday at a meeting...

'attended by more than 10,000 people,

'painted an alarming picture of life
in this country under German rule.'

You think they'd invade?
- I know they would...

...and our Government will be there
to welcome them ashore.

Soft-centred bloody tribe.

The Prime Minister has asked
me to beg you, those were his words,

to hold back at this sensitive time.

Why?

He believes there's still a chance
of avoiding war.

He's wrong.
- He thinks your pessimism is premature.

One million German soldiers...

...are sitting on the Belgium border
ready for the off.

It depends how you define premature.
- Quite.

Our heads are buried in the sand, sir.

We have a tiny professional army,
our weapons are 50 years old.

If we don't get our skates on,
we will pay the price.

But are you prepared to ease up a bit?
At least in public?

Certainly not.

Glad to hear it. More whisky?

Kodaks.

This is private property.
You are trespassing, please leave now.

Mrs Kipling...
- Now, please.

And take your Kodaks with you.

Is Mr Kipling available?
- No, he is not available.

You British journalists
are unbelievable.

You treat my husband like a zoo animal.

Now if you really admire him so much,
you would respect his privacy.

How would you like it...

...if I came tramping over
your garden uninvited?

Sir, you have a very distinctive face,

and I would be happy to describe it
to the police.

Leave, please.

The injured soldier.

Thank you for this, sir.
- What an ever so impressive sight.

How far did you fall?

Fifteen feet.
- Allah be praised.

Fifteen feet is high.

Did it hurt a great deal?
- No.

That was a stroke of luck.

Now your father tells me
you've read the first Jungle Book.

Yes.
- But not the second.

No.

Here you are, Arthur.

Is Mowgli in it?

Every page is chock-a-block with Mowgli.

And I've written your name and my name
in the front,

so we don't forget who we are.

And I've done a very silly picture
of you plunging from your apple tree.

But that's in pencil, so you can
rub it out as soon as I've gone.

Thank you.

Kodaks in the garden again.

Did you see them off?
- Oh, yes.

Oh, that's good.

Derry and Toms
are selling women's underwear...

...in the suffragette colours.

Purple and green stripes.
- Don't you dare.

There you go, Josie.
- I never imagine her ageing.

She's always seven,
but she's always older than me.

Funny.

She'd be 22 now.
- And 32 days exactly.

Do you know
what my mother used to call her?

The Little American.

Really?
- Mmm.

She spoke with an American accent
until the day she died.

Much to my mother's delight.

RUDYARD: Jack.

Jack.

Jack.

Where's the Admiral?
- He's fixing the motorcycle with Peter.

Well, how did he get on?

They turned him down.

ELSIE: He wasn't allowed
to wear his specs for the eye test.

For God's sake.
Do they want volunteers or not?

It seems sensible to me.

Bird, wearing spectacles
does not make one a bloody invalid.

I didn't say...
- I am not rising to the bait.

God, that is par for the course.

Are you going down to see John, sir?
- I am.

Could you tell Peter
we'll be going home in 10 minutes?

I will, indeed.

Peter, your mother wants you
ready for the off in ten minutes.

Really?
- Really.

Don't be downhearted, old man.

I'm not.
- Good.

The navy has always been tough
on that sort of issue.

We'll attack on another front.

What's the point of specs
if you can't use them?

I know, it makes me spit blood.

These people have no imagination.

But we must buck up and look forwards.

Did they realise who you were?
- One of them did.

Right.

Look, the army would be
a completely different kettle of fish.

I wanted to join the navy.
- I know, but onwards, old man.

What if I organise a private examination
with the Army Medical Board,

just as a preliminary canter?

We could go together.
- Lf I go, I can go on my own.

Of course you can,
but a bit of support might be useful.

Be worth it if it tipped the balance.

Have a think about it.

If you put her through her paces,
let me know.

I'd like to see how she's running.

I shall see you anon.

RUDYARD: If the Hun invades our shores,

our English soul will be squashed...

...and squeezed until it cries out in pain.

The German will bring in his wake...

...riot and starvation and bloodshed.

The blood of our mothers and fathers,
our wives,

our sons and our daughters...

...will drench the streets of our cities,

and paint our rivers red.

And after the war is over,

when the riots in London and Manchester
and Liverpool are quelled,

when our raped women
are huddled and still,

what then?

Ladies and gentlemen,
I have been informed...

...that 10 minutes ago,
Great Britain declared war on Germany.

Our army of 160,000...

...must now face a German army
of one and a half million.

We must demand...

...that every fit young man
come forward to enlist.

And that... And...

And that every young man
who chooses to remain at home...

...be shunned by his community.

Only our unity,

our strength...

...and our courage
can save us from destruction.

Wonderful speech. Sandhurst here I come.

When do you join the navy, Jack?

Well, I've been thinking
I'd see more action in the army.

You can't change your tune.

I'm not sitting in the Channel...

...while you're all doing your bit
in Belgium.

I can't get to grips with it.
- Well, you must.

A pince-nez gives a man
a different expression...

...as compared to spectacles.

If the army is desperate for recruits,

they won't mind a pair of specs.
It doesn't suit me.

Yes, it does.
- Does it?

I think...
- It's good.

Now, I wonder...

...if you shouldn't brush your hair
back away from the face.

You've got a high forehead,
it'd be a shame to waste it.

What's a high forehead
got to do with it?

It's a sign of intelligence.
- It can't be.

I'm assured it is.
- No, it's too loose, I'm not wearing it.

CARRIE: Will it really make
a difference to his chances?

It's a medical, not a costume parade.

Jack, I'm sure you're going
to sail into the army,

but your eyes are a serious issue...

...and the overall impression
will be vital.

You've got to take a big pull
on yourself and really dig out.

Now...

...see if that's a snugger fit.

Better?
- Probably.

Good. Have a stroll round the room,
see how it feels.

I'm not wearing it.

Jack.

You'll do more harm than good.
- He is not a boy, he is a young man.

If you continue to pamper him,

he will turn into something altogether
weak and watery.

Well, if he's a young man, he's
old enough to make his own decisions.

This is absolutely his own decision,
but I want him to make the most of...

You want.

For his sake. It's Jack's future.

Precisely.
- No, I'm not going to argue, Carrie.

Rud, his eyes are not an excuse.
The navy gave him five minutes.

Do you really think it's fair
to encourage him?

I would think it very unfair
if I didn't.

Breathe in.

And out.

This shouldn't take long,
it's all standard stuff.

A quick look at the ears.

I've always wondered, Kipling...
- Other ear.

...how on earth
do you think up the story?

Well, inventing the story
isn't the problem.

It's putting the jigsaw together
afterwards that can be troublesome.

Pants down, please.

Ah, it's the structure
that's a bit tricky, is it?

My son's just polished off
the Jungle Books.

Absolutely loved them. Cough.

I suppose you've read
all your father's books?

I've never read the Jungle Books.
- I don't believe it.

Cough again.

Jolly good. Pants up.

Clean bill of health?
- Yes, fighting fit.

Just the eye test and we can relax.

Spectacles off.
- It's a pince-nez, actually.

From the top, off you go.

I can't see anything, I'm afraid.

Nothing?

Would you walk towards the board...

...and stop when you can clearly read
the top letter?

T, Q, U.

And the next line.

Y, O, w.

This is very serious myopia,
we couldn't possibly...

There are very strict guidelines.
- I think Colonel Brooks would agree,

we were prepared to stretch a point.

BROOKS: Indeed,
but there has to be a limit.

If he lost his spectacles,
he'd be a danger to himself.

And to his men.

I'm very sorry.
- So am I.

You haven't given the boy a chance.

It's precisely the sort of inflexibility...

...this country needs
to get out of its system.

John has so much to offer.
It's a great shame.

I agree. I do agree.

Well, clearly you don't
or we'd be looking for a way forward.

Nothing you can do? Hmm?

Well, I'm not calling it a day,
I shall write.

I think it's utterly gutless.

It's so spineless.

Come on, John. We're off.

My son's commitment is second to none.

He deserves this opportunity
and he will get it.

Jack.

Jack.

I'm sorry.

No, you're not,
you're absolutely delighted.

Best beloved brother.

Bird.

They turned me down.
- I guessed.

Can I have a puff?

Don't you hate this room?

There's not one comfortable chair
in the whole bloody building.

It's true.
- I have to get out of this house.

I can't bear it.

I can't bear being geed up
and encouraged.

Better than being criticised.
- No, it's not.

You see, you don't understand,
I have to be with other people.

Oh, thank you.
- No, not you.

I don't want to leave you. I just...

I want to be myself, that's all.

Oh, let's stop this, it's boring.

Shall we have a whisky?
- Why not?

What shall we drink to?

Us.

Best beloved sister.
- Best beloved brother.

Don't you dare leave me alone,
all right?

Promise me you won't.

RUDYARD: Jack?

It's very dark in here.

I suppose it is.

No need to be despondent about today.

I'm not giving up.

I can join the ranks.
- Well, hold your horses.

I'll do whatever it takes, Dad, I...
- There are other avenues we can explore.

What other avenues?
What can you do now?

No, I'm going to join the ranks.

Don't jump the gun.
- I'm not jumping the gun.

What a stupid phrase that is.
- Jack, let me look into it first.

If that doesn't work,
we'll consider your option.

All right?

I'm thrilled you're so keen.

And terribly proud.

We'll get there.

So...

Hold on, old man.

Very solemn.

You will put out that cigarette
before you go up, won't you?

Nobody supports the war
more passionately than I do,

you know that,
but we've pushed him far enough.

He feels he's failed.

Talk to Ferguson at the war Office.

There must be a job there
which would make him feel valued,

and he'd be working with others
in the same situation.

He wouldn't be so alone.

It'd be clerical.
- Well, if it has to be.

Will you do that for me? Please?

I must go.

Thank you.

I have the British casualty figures...

...for the first day of the battle
for Aubers Ridge.

Four hundred and fifty-eight officers,

and eleven thousand, one hundred
and sixty-one men.

On the first day?

I'm afraid so.
- I can't announce that to the House.

The effect on morale
would be disastrous.

This is precisely the kind of issue
the Prime Minister wants us to tackle.

If our brief is to tell the truth,

but a truth which is bearable
to the British people,

do we dilute the figures?
- I think we have to.

Or do we camouflage them
by emphasising the scale of the victory?

Assuming, that is,
that our troops took Aubers Ridge?

I'm afraid they didn't.

No, people should hear the truth.

These figures will wake up
every young man...

...who's sitting at home,
twiddling his thumbs.

He will read these...

...and know his duty is to the men
who've already sacrificed their lives.

More effective
than any recruiting speech.

Publish the figures in the Times,

I'll come up with some words
to accompany them.

Good morning, sir.
Field Marshal Roberts is expecting you.

Thank you.

The Boers taught us a simple lesson.

In modern warfare,
there are three vital ingredients.

Speed, surprise and variety.

So what do we do?

We give the Hun plenty of warning,

we load our boys up
like Christmas trees,

and we forbid them to run.

Recipe for disaster.

What can I do for you, Kipling?

Bobs, I've come to ask a favour.

Hello, Jack. Good to see you.
- Good to see you, Ralph.

I got you a pint.
- Oh, thanks.

God, I'm looking forward to this.

Cheerio.

So how's Sandhurst?
- Splendid, really splendid.

Hard work, but the spirit is wonderful.

We can't wait to get to France.
- When would you go?

I join my regiment next week,
so, soon, I hope.

Why the delay with you?

Oh, it's nothing.
There are one or two issues.

Issues?

I'm choosing a regiment,
that sort of thing.

They're from the Royal Sussex.

They fought at wipers.
It's probably their first leave.

I've just delivered something for you.

Oh, yes. Thank you, Dadda.

You march up to one
of your powerful pals...

That's enough...
...who's on the point of conking out.

Leave it, Bird.
- No, I won't.

Mother, did you know about this?
- No, I didn't.

Why is he suddenly fit to fight?

I'm in the room, I'm not a cripple.
- We are at war, criteria change.

Rubbish. He can't see five yards
without his specs.

What was the point
of those examinations?

Totally humiliating.

And they all said the same thing,
it's too dangerous.

Well, frankly, Father,
it will be your fault if Jack is killed.

Get out.

You should have told me, Rud.

Neither of you understand
what is at stake.

Yes, we do.
- I don't think so.

What this country has achieved
over the last 150 years is unique.

We have built up,

painstakingly built up
a family of nations.

Oh, please, Father...
- will you listen to me.

A family of nations,

and Britain, as parents,
mother and father,

has an absolute duty
to protect its children.

You're protecting
the wrong family, Father.

I'm sorry the war Office
couldn't come up with something,

but I'm sure you did your best.

Mother.

Congratulations, Jack.

Now, you and I must sit down...

...and make a list
of what you're going to need.

Go on.

OFFICER: Right. Left, right.

About turn.

I can't bear it.

But we've always had Guernseys.
- Not any more, Bird.

If we're going to produce food for
the troops, we have to do it properly.

We'll keep one small herd
of shorthorns for beef,

otherwise the whole estate
will be turned over to root crops.

Right.

And what can we do to help, Hobdon?
- Start digging, Miss Kipling.

Come on, you fucking new chap.

You're supposed to stab that, Kipling,
not tickle it to death.

Is that all you've got?

Come on.

Quickly.

This is no time
for personal grooming, Kipling.

Get your scrawny arse back in line.

Come on.

Come along, Mrs Clarke,
best foot forward.

Up and to your left.

Mrs wilson, up and to your right now.

Miss Kipling, up and to your left.

Mrs Kipling, up to your right.
Thank you.

80% of British shells were
defective or duds.

Our guns were so outdated and worn out...

...that our shells fell short
of the German lines,

killing our own wounded
lying in no man's land.

The few British troops
to survive the battle...

...ran back towards safety,

taking with them
a number of German prisoners.

Our troops believed it to be
an enemy counterattack and opened fire,

killing all but a handful
of our own men.

Come on, Kipling,
you can do better than that.

Thank you for this, O'Leary.
- Not at all, sir.

O'LEARY: Seventy-two, sir.

Better, sir. Eighty-one.

Come here.
- It's my turn to read.

No, it certainly is not.

'Dear old things, plus Bird,
as you can see from the enclosed photo,

'I am no longer
a mewling, squawking cadet,

'but a fully fledged,
highly commissioned officer.'

Let me see.

'You are looking
at Second Lieutenant John Kipling.'

Show me.

Doesn't he look fine?

'Corporal O'Leary has prodded me...

...and pushed me and
knocked me into shape.

'He tells me
I am now ready to command men.

'Raw recruits arrive from Dublin
any day now.

'Twenty of them will be my platoon.

'It's my job to turn them
into hard-bitten professional soldiers.

'I am more windy about meeting them
than about going over the top.'

Sir, 5 Platoon is waiting outside, sir.

Officer.

On your feet, yous lazy bastards.

Up.

I am Lieutenant Kipling.
I am your Platoon Commander.

Together we are 5 Platoon, 2 Company,
2nd Battalion Irish Guards.

Before you start your training,
I want to ask you all a question.

It's very simple.
Why did you join the army?

You?
- Me, sir?

To see the world, sir.

King and country, sir.

Money.

Safer for me to fight the Germans...

...than be at home in Dublin
just at the minute,

if you know what I mean, sir.

The thing is, whatever your reasons,
you all volunteered,

no one forced you to be here.

And in a week's time,
when you want to shoot me in the head,

I'd like you to remember that.

But I promise you one thing,

I won't ask you to do anything
I wouldn't do myself.

O'LEARY:28, 29,

30.

What's the matter, Daley? Are you tired?

Would you like a nice cup of tea?

Thirty-three.

Come on, you shower-lad shites.

Thirty-four.

Are you all totally bloody useless?

Thirty-five.

Thirty-six.

Thirty-seven.

Thirty-eight.

Thirty-nine.

Forty.

I think you should stop now, sir.
You're embarrassing these ladies.

On your feet.

O'LEARY: Attention.

Commence firing.

Cease firing.

Guardsman Daley, 52.

Guardsman Doyle, 48.

Guardsman Bowe, 58.

Guardsman McHugh, 77.

Lieutenant Kipling,

93.

I would like to tell you
how the rhino got his skin.

I am the Parsee Pestonjee Bomonjee,
sitting in my palm tree,

and you are all rhinoceri.

Which is what happens
when there is more than one rhinoceros.

And you have all come down for a bathe
on the shores of the Red Sea.

But to do that
you must remove your skins.

Unbutton your skins, please.

Sit on your skins, please.

Now,

let me return you to the beginning.

Once upon a time, on an...

Ah, Lieutenant Kipling.

Down on the floor, please.

Remove your skin.

And sit upon it.

Hello, Peter.

Once upon a time,
on an uninhabited island,

there lived a Parsee...

...from whose hat
the rays of the sun were reflected...

...in more than oriental splendour.

What do you think
of the moustache, Mother?

You look older.

Is that a good thing?
- Of course it is.

I may be biased, but I like it.

You look very...

...dashing.

He does. You look very handsome.

He looks very smug to me.

You've got a secret.

What is it?

The Battalion sails next week.

I'm going to France.

But why now? Couldn't they
have given you any warning?

Well, we knew it was coming.

But it's so sudden.
- That's good news, old man.

The waiting's over.

So this is your last weekend?
- Yes.

Here's to you, old man.

You must be awful excited.

I am.
- I wish I could be in your shoes now.

Take one of mine, Dad.

Thank you.

Mind you, I must give up.

It does the inside cupboards
no good at all.

Have they told you where you're going?

Not officially.
But we know how much hangs on it.

I shouldn't tell you this,

but the Great Advance kicks off
on August 17th.

Your birthday.
- Exactly.

General Haking says
it'll be the greatest battle...

...in the history of the world.

Right.

It's possible we may leave
a few days before my birthday.

I wondered
if you'd write a letter to the regiment...

...to give me permission
to go over before I'm 18.

'The greatest battle
in the history of the world.'

Oh, I don't want to miss it.
I want to be in the thick of it.

Of course you do.

Who am I writing to?

I have got some important things
to give you.

First and foremost, a bar of chocolate.

Can I eat it now?
- Which you can't eat now.

Secondly, the key to my shed.

My own key?
- Your own key. Do not lose it.

And thirdly,
a list of things to be getting on with.

I want you to read it to me now,

so you'll absolutely know
what's to be done.

One,

oil the chain once a week.
Not too much oil.

Two,

clean the plugs.

I don't know how to.

Which is precisely why
I'm going to show you.

When you come back...
- Yes?

...will you bring me something?

What do you fancy?
- A German shell.

I shall try.

Have you packed your spare glasses?

Yes.
- Show me.

Good.

Jack. You ought to leave.

Coming.

You look so fine.

How did you get those buttons so shiny?
They're like mirrors.

Someone does it for me, that's how.

Don't worry.
Corporal O'Leary will look after me.

Well, I'll blame him then
if anything happens to you.

RUDYARD: Jack, we're up against it.

I'm off.

I won't come down.
- All right.

Be careful.
- I will.

Bye.

Bye, Bird.

Come on, old man.

Look after yourself.

Go, Jack. Go on.

Thank you.

Good luck.

Bye, Dadda.

Sixteen officers from warley Barracks
have died already.

And Ralph, killed on his first day.

Frightening, a bit.

Of course it is.

You'll be all right.

The sooner I get out there, the better.
- Absolutely.

Bye.

Bye.

Oh, that's a heavy one.
- Thank you, Mrs Kipling.

News from the warrior.

Oh. Let me see.
- How is he?

On good form, actually.

Very wet, but in good spirits.

'Bonjour, old things, plus Bird.

'Just a hurried line
to tell you I am A-1.

'I have never been so fit.
We marched 60 miles in 36 hours.

'It is raining here like Hades.

'Will you send me an oilskin coat,

'one of those black things
that the sailors wear in the North Sea?

'Could you try it on first, Dad?
It must be good and roomy.

'The Germans seem
to be getting into their stride here,

'but we'll be ready.

'Will write again soon
if we ever stop marching.

'Dear love, John.'

ELSIE: Sixty miles.

He must be exhausted.

Is that thunder?
- It sounds like it.

No, the wind has changed.

It's from the south.

From France.

I'd rather go over the top
than examine your feet...

...three times a week, Bowe.

Oh, my feet are delightful.

I wouldn't mind the gangrene setting in,

then they'll be after whisking me away
to a nice, warm hospital bed.

DALY: Jesus. I bet there's creatures
in there having the meal of their lives.

Look at this, sir.

That must hurt.
- It does, sir.

Is it the trench foot?
- No.

No, the foot's a good colour.

Will you powder me, Doyle?

Fuck off.
- Bring it here.

Thank you, sir.

Oh, Jesus Christ, that feels good.

Oh, Jesus, that's lovely.

Jesus, I've just had a terrible image
of you in bed with your wife, Bowe.

McHUGH: Jesus fuck.
BOwE: Mother of God, that was close.

Any sign of Jerry?
- None, sir.

Your feet are important to me, Bowe.

I want them fit to dance
a victory jig in the German trenches.

To Jack.

We're thinking of you, old man.

It would be a happier birthday
if you were here with us at Bateman's.

But we're awful proud,

and wish you all the luck in the world.

Happy birthday, Jack.

Happy birthday, Jack.
- Happy birthday, Jack.

# Happy birthday to you...

...# Happy birthday to you...

...# Happy birthday,
dear Lieutenant Kipling...

...# Happy birthday to you #

Thanks, boys.

I've a birthday present
for you, Kipling.

When do we go over, sir?
- Tomorrow morning.

7:30.

Hobdon suggests we grow a white cabbage
called Holland Late during the winter.

Apparently, it's the only brassica
that will stand the journey.

Do you agree? Rud?

I'm sorry, I wasn't...
- It's not important.

Do you want a story?
- No, thank you.

JACK: Dear old things, plus Bird,

funny to think
one will be in the thick of it tomorrow.

One's first experience
of shellfire in the open.

It is great luck that my first action
should be such an important one.

You have no idea what enormous issues
depend on the next few days.

If we succeed,
the war won't go on for long.

We won't have any time for writing,

so this may be my last letter
for some time.

So long, old dears. Dear love, John.

Ten minutes, O'Leary.

O'LEARY: Ten minutes.

Check your weapons.

Chins up, lads.
- SOLDIER: Gas masks.

I can't get this strap over.
McHugh, help me get the strap over.

McHugh.
- Fuck off, Bowe.

Jesus Christ, my gun's blocked.

Shit, there's mud in the barrel.
Oh, God, I've got to clean it out.

Come on, come on, come on.

Don't piss in my direction,
you filthy bastard.

Don't be pointing
that scabby cock at me.

Shit, shit, come on.

I've been shitting and pissing all day
and now I can't go.

Listen, when you go over,

you will see Chalk Pit wood
500 yards ahead of you.

Advance straight for the trees.

5 Platoon has been instructed
to take pigeon baskets.

It is of A-1 importance...

...that you hold on to these
until you get to the German trenches.

McHUGH: What are they for, sir?

When you reach the enemy trenches,
you will release your pigeon.

It will then fly back to HQ,

and senior officers will be alerted
that we have done our job.

Two minutes.

How are you supposed to climb out
of the trench, let alone fucking run?

Sir?

What?
- Sir, my pigeon's dead, sir.

What?
- My pigeon's dead, what shall I do?

How do you know it's dead?

It's lying at the bottom of the basket,
sir, it's not moving.

Oh, for God's sake.

Do I have to take the basket across,
sir, if the pigeon's dead?

Well, no, if you're sure it's dead,
then, no, of course not.

So I dump the basket, then?
- Yes, just dump the bloody basket, Bowe.

One minute.

Fix bayonets.

Oh, mother of God.

I can't do it, my fingers won't work.

Thank you, sir.

Front rank, about turn.

Telegram, Mr Kipling.

Thank you very much.

No, no, no.

Was that the post?

No.
- He is not dead.

Jack.
- He is missing.

Believed wounded.

He might not be seriously hurt,

he may very well have
strolled into HQ by now,

and he may have got lost. That happens
fairly frequently, you know.

We should have stopped him.

ELSIE: I'm back.

Hello.
- Hello, Bird.

Complete success.

One spare Orilux battery,
one edition Tatler.

And, this will please him,
one pair of good bedroom slippers.

He's been killed?
- No.

No, he's missing.

Missing?

Believed wounded.

He'll come home, then.

He'll be fine.

RUDYARD: Bird.

Why did you let him go?

I didn't let him go.
He went because he wanted to.

You've missed the point.

God, you just... You've no idea.

Don't you realise
he didn't give a damn about your cause?

The reason he went
to get his head shot off...

...was to get away from us.

To escape this dark, depressing house.

To be rid of us. To be rid of home.

What does that do
to your theories, Father?

Is that...
Is that reason enough to fight?

Is that an honourable sacrifice, is it?

Is it?

I don't think so.

Ten columns of British infantry
attacked along a six and a...

I'm sorry I'm late.

We were just discussing
the Battle of Loos.

I don't want you to feel...
- Not at all. No.

I still have
a very hazy view of the facts.

I'd appreciate a more detailed picture.

Carry on, please.

Please.

The British bombardment was ineffective,

and we ran out of shells
after 90 minutes.

German machine-gun
posts were undamaged.

385 officers and 7,861 men were killed
or wounded in the first attack.

The Germans already refer to the battle
as 'The Field of Corpses'.

A further 600 Irish and Scots Guards
were declared missing, believed wounded.

A substantial number of British troops
were taken prisoner.

We are investigating reports...

...that these prisoners are being treated
in an inhumane manner.

However, in some places,

up to 2,000 yards of enemy territory
was taken.

In spite of the cost,

Loos was a victory.

I've had a good day, a good day.

Would you like to hear
what I've achieved?

Yes, please.

I have arranged meetings at the
Irish Guard Depot and Swiss Red Cross.

Mmm-hmm.
- And I have written to the war Office,

and five hospitals I know
that have wards of wounded troops.

What do you think?
- Excellent.

And I have written you a list of people...

...that I think you should contact
to speed things up.

You used your influence
to get Jack into the army,

you can use your influence
to find him now.

I'm going to the post office.

We have more than 4,000 photographs
of prisoners in German hands.

Could you send us a copy of those?

All of them?
- We'll only need the recent ones.

No, I'd like to see all of them, please.

Thank you so much for your time.

HAYDEN: One shouldn't necessarily
expect the worst.

All the information we're receiving
about the battle...

...points to a deal of confusion.

I'd like to contact you
on a daily basis.

We'll get in touch with you
if there's any news.

No, I'd like to do it.

What would be the best time
to telephone?

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.
- No.

We'll go through them once again.

Let's do them tomorrow.
- I'll check them once again.

Let's do them tomorrow,
we need to sleep.

Go to bed, then.

All right, come on.

We'll check them again.

No, not if you're going to huff
and puff. I'd rather do it on my own.

Carrie, we'll check them again.

Pass me a photograph.

No.
- No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

You work long hours.
- Look.

That is the cleanest motorcycle
I have ever seen.

How long did it take?
- All afternoon.

I'm not surprised.

Does your mother know you're here?
- Yes.

Let's have a cup of tea
and I'll walk you home.

Can we have a story?

Good idea.

This is a tale of Captain Jack Kipling...

...and Lieutenant Peter Carter, that's you,

of the Bengal Lancers.

Finest cavalry officers
of their generation.

Straight-backed, tight-kneed, keen-eyed.

They patrol the Grand Trunk Road.

Have you heard of that great road?
- No.

It is the longest road in India.

The backbone of all Hindustan.

Fifteen hundred miles,
and straight as a ruler.

All castes and kinds of men move here.

It is a river of life.

All the world, going and coming.

But all the world stops...

...to watch Lieutenant Peter Carter...

...and...

And...

And Captain Jack Kipling...

...trot by.

Is Jack dead?

Not certain, old man.
Not certain at all.

Not even sure he should have gone
in the first place.

CARRIE: One more tiny question.
Where did you see him?

Was it the southern end
or the northern end of Chalk Pit wood?

It's difficult to be precise.
- Let me help you.

Carrie.
- Just a minute, Rud.

At the southern end there's a large pond...

...between the edge of the wood
and the chalk escarpment.

Now in order to circle the wood,
you have to pass the pond.

Does that ring a bell?

It does, yes.
I definitely passed a pond.

Well, that's very useful.

Thank you, Captain Bruce,
you've been incredibly helpful.

I'm delighted to have been some use.
- Oh, you definitely have.

Let me find my daughter
and she'll show you out.

Thank you.

Right through here.

Tired.

Tired to the tiredest degree.

Rud, that is very encouraging.
- It is not encouraging.

It is not encouraging because
Bruce saw Jack at half past three.

We already have at least three sightings
of Jack alive an hour and a half later.

So fascinating though Bruce's account
is, it is utterly, utterly irrelevant.

It is not irrelevant.
I need to get the whole picture.

We've got the whole bloody picture,
that's the point.

You've given up hope.

No, I haven't. I haven't at all. But...

One more sighting, early in the battle,

does not constitute proof
that he is alive.

It's something.

Oh, I'd like a cigarette.
- Well, that won't help.

Have you hidden them?
- I threw them away.

Oh.

I know.

Not mine, Jack's.

I found them ages ago.

He should have chosen another author.
I'm always dipping into Trollope.

May I see?

Allah be praised.

That is exactly why you shouldn't smoke.

Fouler than foul.

I'll find you, Jack.

We will.

Can I help you?

Is this the home
of Lieutenant John Kipling?

I recognise you from the pictures,
of course.

The men are after singing your verses
at the front, did you know that?

That's very flattering.

I believe you knew my son?

Very gentle.

Very kind.

What was your platoon?

Guardsman Michael Bowe, 7786.

5th Platoon, 2 Company,
2nd Battalion, Irish Guards.

So my son was your Platoon Commander?

He was always worried about me feet.
- Your feet?

He powdered them
the day before we went over.

They were in a dreadful state
on account of the rain.

CARRIE: Was it raining?
Was it raining on the day?

Just a minute.
- On the day with Jack, was it raining?

Carrie, please.

Mr Bowe, we have been interviewing
Irish Guards every day for many months.

You are the first soldier I have met
from my son's platoon.

If you know something, anything,
that will help us,

we would be very grateful.

To know, one way or the other,

would be a great release
for the whole family.

Please.

Please.

Do you know what I see
when I go over the top?

RUDYARD: What?

A game of football.

The next regiment's attacking the Boche
with their rifles shouldered,

dribbling a ball across no man's land.

And there's a bloke striding out
with a walking stick.

Like a gent
on a Sunday jaunt in Phoenix Park.

The bullets are all around me...

...like bees.

A swarm of angry bees
buzzing and racing past me ear.

Jimmy Doyle on one side,
the Lieutenant on the other.

Jimmy goes down.

And I'm shouting,
'we're the only two left, sir.'

My lungs are bursting, but we make it
into Jerry's frontline trench.

And I'm lying there,

trying to breathe.

Lying... Lying on top...

God. God.

God.

No.

Bowe.

Stay close.

Halt.
- Sorry, sir.

We can't take that, sir.
- That, McHugh, is why we are here.

We are to attack and destroy
the machine-gun post on Puits bis 14.

I'm not fucking going anywhere.
- You are, we all are.

You're a murderer.
You're a fucking murderer.

I'm not a murderer, McHugh,
I'm obeying orders.

Right, Casey, Joyce, McHugh,
right flank.

Bowe, Flynn, with me.

Come on, boys.

Jack.

Go on.

Please.

He was in such pain, sir.

What did you do?

You didn't help him?

No, sir.

By all accounts he was very brave.

So few of us have the opportunity
to play our part properly.

But he did.

He achieved what he set out to achieve.

He must have been in such awful pain.

If you talk to wounded soldiers,

they'll tell you
the pain only sets in later.

So he was lucky.

It was done with quickly.

Don't tell me he was lucky.

He wasn't lucky or brave or happy.

Jack was 18 years and one day old.

He died in the rain,
he couldn't see a thing, he was alone.

You can't persuade me
there's any glory in that.

I believe there is.

I can't listen to this.

No.
- Let go of me.

Look, do you want me
to get down on my knees...

...and admit that I murdered my son?

I will if it satisfies you.

Please let go of me.
- Do you...

Do you think a single day passes
when I don't consider that possibility?

I think about it all the time.
All the time.

And what truly terrifies me
is that if I am to blame,

what have I sent him on to,

if anything at all?

How could I condemn my son to oblivion?

How could I do that to Jack?

But I miss him.

So do I.

I can feel his head on my chest.

I can feel his thick hair
under my fingers.

I can hear him laugh.

I can feel his heat against me.

We'll manage.

Oh, yes, we'll manage.

I don't doubt that.

I'll go find Bird.

Will you be all right?

Yes, thank you.

Bed.

He would have found a way...

...even if you'd tried to stop him.

He was where he wanted to be.

I know that.

I let him down.

Do you want a story?

Yes, please.

Well...

This, O best beloved,

is another story
of the high and far off times...

I didn't time you, I'm afraid.
- Of course not.

It was awful slow anyway.

I was stuck behind a herd of cattle
for half an hour.

Bugger all you can do about that.

Who would have a son?

Breaks your heart.

I was so sorry to hear your news, sir.

Thank you.

The fact that he was the youngest
made it worse.

How old was he?
- Thirteen.

He was lying on the floor
of his bedroom.

Do you mind me telling you this?
- Not at all.

Lying... Lying on his back.

He had just had a fit.

Dead.

But he was still warm.

And...

...that was a great relief.

I'd have hated to have...

I'd have hated to have found him cold.

Does that seem odd?
- No.

Have you news of my boy Jack?

Not this tide...

...when do you think that he'll come back?

Not with this wind blowing,
and this tide

Has anyone else had word of him?

Not this tide

For what is sunk will hardly swim

Not with this wind blowing,
and this tide

Oh, dear...

...what comfort can I find?

None this tide, nor any tide

Except he did not shame his kind

Not even with that wind blowing,
and that tide

Then hold your head up all the more

This tide, and every tide

Because he was the son you bore

And gave to that wind blowing
and that tide.