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- Fuel on.
- Fuel on.

Chocks are in position. Switches are off.

You sure about this, sir?

When I got married, my in-laws made me
marshal of the Royal Air Force,

as a result, I'm the most senior airman in
the country and I can't bloody well fly.

- Yes, I'm sure.
- Right-o, sir.

- Ready, sir?
- Ready!

Here we go. Whoa!

Okay.

Blimey!

Christ!

- All right there, sir?
- Yes, yes, fine.

- Now it's your turn. You have control.
- I have control.

Now remember what I told you,
keep your eye on the altimeter

and the compass heading
and keep the stick level.

That's very good.
That's balanced.

Stick to the left,
then to the right.

- And level. Good.
- Noisy, isn't it?

How's this, sir?

My God.

- Isn't it wonderful?
- Heaven.

You fought in
the Battle of Britain, didn't you?

I did, sir.
Two-five-seven squadron.

- Flying what? Spitfires?
- Hurricanes, mostly, sir.

- Any kills?
- One or two.

Shouldn't we get her started now?
The ground seems terribly close.

No, it's too low to restart,
sir. We'll do a dead-stick landing.

- I have control.
- You have control.

That was wonderful.

- Same time next week, sir?
- How about tomorrow?

- Latest charts.
- Thank you.

Thank you, sir.

Johnson, what do you think of this?

Interesting.

Sir?

I think you should see these.

I see.

Sir.

Goodness me.

Excuse me, you can't go
in there. Excuse me, sir.

Sorry, sir. Thought you should see these.

Good God.

We must send a warning.

To cover our backs.

Kenneth, it should probably come from you,
as chief scientist.

Address it to the PM.
He'll never read it, of course.

But the important thing is we sent it.

I'll get it to Downing Street right away.

Wait there, please.

If Her Majesty could lean forward.

And deep breath in...

...and out.

The air's a little stuffy, ma'am. It
might help to open the window a crack?

Not while they're rehearsing.

What are they rehearsing?

My funeral.

Oh, there you are. Miss Scott.

- Mr. Thurman.
- Mr. Collins.

- This is for you.
- Thank you.

I'm not a scientist.
I can't say I understand it.

But, what I can tell you is we don't get
a weather warning like this every day.

We don't get one every month, either.

In fact, I've never heard of us
getting one at all.

Does the name Donora mean anything to you?

Donora?

Oh, of course I remember Donora.
It was a scandal.

A small mill town in America,
outside Philadelphia?

Pittsburgh.

They had a smog
brought on by a freak anti-cyclone

which trapped the emissions
from the local copper work...

- Zinc.
- ...in the fog.

- In a few days a number of people died.
- Twenty.

And several thousand became
seriously ill from the poisonous fog.

After the incident a cross-party
delegation was sent to Donora

on an urgent fact-finding mission.

They recommended that clean air zones
be set up all round London,

as a precautionary measure.

- I never saw the report.
- With good reason.

Our Prime Minister threw it away,
claiming it wasn't a priority.

- Can you prove that?
- I can, Mr. Atlee.

The Cabinet minutes
where it was discussed.

He's insisted the country keep
burning coal irresponsibly this winter,

to give the illusion of a solid economy.

- This is great, Clem.
- It's interesting, for sure.

What I don't understand is this.

Why a Downing Street employee,
working for the government,

should come to me with this information?

I've read the Aeneid, Mr. Thurman.

"Do not trust the horse, Trojans.

I fear the Greeks
even when they bring gifts."

Mr. Atlee, I entered the civil service
to serve the public

and to serve government, any government.

But I am also a responsible citizen

and I cannot stand by
while chaos reigns around me.

This is not a government.

Mr. Attlee, this is a collection
of hesitant, frightened, old men

unable to unseat a tyrannical,
delusional even older one.

Yours was the most radical,

forward-thinking government
this country has ever seen.

How you lost the election escapes me.

Escapes us all.

I believe I would be doing the British
public and this country a service

if I helped to usher him out of
the door, and you back in.

And to that end you come to me
with a "master plan"

that involves me crucifying the Tories
for their failure to deal with a fog

which as yet shows no sign of appearing.

At present I can see stars.

- Good night.
- Good night.

Miss Scott.

Thank you for your conscientiousness,
but it's late.

- Go home.
- I am, sir.

You're no good to me tired.
Good evening to you.

- Scott, still here?
- Good night, sir.

Good night.

Evening, Pat.

You haven't moved.

I suppose it's still a "no"?

- To what?
- Coming out.

Oh, you mean going to the Lamb and Flag
with you, sitting at the bar,

twinkling our ankles at every
unremarkable young man in the room.

Then letting those men buy us drinks
for us to bring them home,

only to have their unremarkability
confirmed to us again?

No, thanks.

Goodness. And what will you be doing
in the meantime?

Spend time in the company
of someone remarkable.

Ta-ra.

"Hear this, young men and women
everywhere, and proclaim it far and wide.

The earth is yours
and the fullness thereof."

"Be kind but be fierce.

You're needed now more than ever before.

Take up the mantle of change..."

"...for this is your time."

Good morning.

The time is eight o'clock on the 6th
of December and here is the news.

London has been brought to a halt
by dense fog,

which has descended overnight.

Long queues have formed on main roads.
There are reports of motorists

abandoning their vehicles
and continuing on foot.

London Airport is expected to be closed.

Good God.

The meteorological office
has issued a statement

saying that a persistent anti-cyclone
over London is to blame.

Smoke from the capital's chimneys
is being trapped at street level

which is aggravating the fog.

The windless conditions mean
it is expected to last for some time.

Be careful out there,
it's a real pea souper.

Ah. Is the car ready?

I'm afraid the visibility
is too poor to drive, ma'am.

It's what, 200 yards?

It's been judged too hazardous, ma'am.

I have an appointment
to see my grandmother.

I intend to keep that appointment.

If it's too hazardous to drive...
then there's only one thing to be done.

I saw that.

Might it be possible for you
to pretend that you haven't?

And the Queen is here, Your Majesty.

- Could you be more specific?
- Ma'am?

- Which queen?
- Queen Elizabeth, ma'am.

- Which one? There are two.
- The young one.

Oh, the Queen.

I thought you was all queens.
They gave me a sheet.

We are.

I was the queen so long as my husband
the king was alive, but since he died,

I am no longer the queen,
I am simply Queen Mary.

My late son's widow was also the queen,
but upon the death of her husband,

she became Queen Elizabeth,
the Queen Mother.

Her daughter, Queen Elizabeth,
is now queen, so she is...

- The Queen.
- Bravo.

Nurses and nuns have the same problem.

- We're all called Sister.
- So you are.

Well, she's outside. The Queen.

Then let her in. Sister.

- Bad time?
- Not at all.

- How are you?
- I'm always happy to see you,

and my mood will improve yet further
if you promise me one thing.

- Name it.
- Not to ask me how I am.

It's all anyone ever does.

Forget death by lung disease,
it's death by bad conversation.

All right. I promise.

But if you are feeling up to it,

there was something
I wanted to talk to you about.

Fire away.

I was listening
to the wireless this morning,

where they described this fog
as an act of God.

Now, in your letter that you sent me,

you said...

"Loyalty to the ideal you have inherited
is your duty above everything else,

because the calling comes
from the highest source.

From God himself."

Yes.

Do you really believe that?

Monarchy is God's sacred mission
to grace and dignify the earth.

To give ordinary people
an ideal to strive towards,

an example of nobility and duty
to raise them in their wretched lives.

Monarchy is a calling from God.

That is why you are crowned in an abbey,
not a government building.

Why you are anointed, not appointed.

It's an archbishop
that puts the crown on your head,

not a minister or public servant.

Which means that you are answerable
to God in your duty, not the public.

I'm not sure that my husband
would agree with that.

He would argue
that in any equitable modern society,

that church and state
should be separated.

That if God has servants
they're priests not kings.

He would also say that he watched
his own family destroyed,

because they were seen by the people
to embody indefensible

and unreasonable ideas.

Yes, but he represents a royal family
of carpetbaggers and parvenus,

that goes back what? Ninety years?

What would he know of Alfred the Great,
the Rod of Equity and Mercy,

Edward the Confessor,

William the Conqueror
or Henry the Eighth?

It's the Church of England, dear,
not the Church of Denmark or Greece.

Next question.

It's chaos out there. Trains
disrupted, air services cancelled.

At Richmond Bridge this morning,

visibility was officially measured
at one yard.

That's a record low, incidentally.

Our Trojan friend in Downing Street
has been speaking

to his friends at the Met office.

They say this is just the beginning.
They expect it to get worse.

I know you would have me call
a vote of no confidence,

and will doubtless call me
over-cautious for not doing so.

But the Prime Minister
needs to be given a chance.

Even if it's only to hang himself.

Let's see how the old fool responds.

There you go. There you go.

Hey! Get out the way!

Morning.

Oh. I'm glad to see someone else made it
in. No one saw this coming, did they?

No.

Prime Minister? Sir?

- Ah, you made it? Bravo!
- Oh, I'm so sorry, sir.

- I was just...
- No, no. You did well to get here.

I gather
half the Downing Street staff didn't?

It wasn't easy. Just crossing the road
you take your life in your hands.

Well, then don't.
You are too important to all of us.

Hardly.

All I do is bring you things to sign.
Then take them away again.

And so the wheels keep turning,
and the business gets done,

and the country is governed.

But what's my personal contribution?

You improve the quality of life
for all that deal with you.

An ornament. A flower.

By comparison at my age
you were a published writer,

and a cavalry officer, posted to India,

fighting local tribesmen
on the north west frontier.

Who told you that?

You asked me to engage in a relationship
with a young man, my own age.

So I have been reading
your autobiography.

Oh, yes.
That's not quite what I had in mind.

"Hear this, young men and women
everywhere, and proclaim it far and wide.

The earth is yours
and the fullness thereof.

Be kind but be fierce.

You are needed now
more than ever before.

- Take up the mantle of change...
- Stop.

...for this is your time."

You were 24.

All energy and hope
and passion and fire.

It's remarkable.

You found something you liked
in that young man?

I did.

Good morning.

The time is eight o'clock on the 7th
of December, and here is the news.

The serious fog that brought much
of the capital to a standstill yesterday

continues this morning, with emergency
services struggling to cope

and widespread disruption
reported across the nation.

Flares are being used to guide motorists
in parts of the capital.

Trains are stopped
or running hours behind schedule

from major London railway stations.

The Prime Minister is facing criticism

for failure to deal
with the mounting crisis.

London Airport is closed again today,
with all flights grounded.

- Piss.
- The unmoving fog,

which has spread to over 30 miles wide,
is likely to cause complete darkness

by two o'clock this afternoon.

Are you all right?

You're not.

- Come on, let's get you up.
- No, no. I'm fine. I promise.

It's just because the window was open.
Now go to work. You've got a job to do.

Let us start with the unrest in Egypt,

where anti-colonial passions
continue to run high,

and where our soldiers continue to come
under fire from nationalist insurgents.

It is vital that we remain
and successfully defend the Suez Canal,

a point that I will be making in person
to the Commonwealth Heads,

when I host them
for the weekend at Chequers.

Weather permitting.

Indeed.

What is the latest information
that you have?

About the weather?
It's fog, ma'am. It will lift eventually.

I was hoping
for something more scientific.

Then I will ensure
that a barometric report

is included in your box tomorrow,

complete with isobars and isohumes.

It has been an unusually cold winter,

and there are only so many things
that I, as Prime Minister,

am prepared to inflict on your subjects
as a reward for winning a World War

and prevailing over fascism,
evil and tyranny.

Letting them freeze is not one of them.

- You do not seem unduly concerned.
- I'm not.

You do know that my late father wrote,
many years ago, to your predecessors,

to express his deep concern
about the inner city power stations

that your party was building.

Indeed.

And I was sympathetic
with your father's concerns at the time.

I also have sympathy with the leader
articles in the newspapers today,

baying for blood.

Wanting my head.
People have to be angry at someone.

But as leader,
one cannot simply react to everything.

We need the power stations,
we need the coal.

The people need to burn coal
to warm their homes.

- It is weather. It will pass.
- Well, I do hope so.

Not least because my husband's mood
is intolerable.

Why?

Well, being caged in like this.
He can't fly.

- Fly where?
- Well, nowhere, he is learning to fly.

Whatever for?

Have we not enough qualified pilots
to take him where he needs to go?

No, he wants to fly himself.
It's a boyhood dream.

- It's what he's always wanted.
- Why was government not consulted?

Because it's a private matter.
And I am in favor.

Nothing you or His Royal Highness do
is a private matter.

And the father
of the future king of England

risking his life needlessly is...

quite unacceptable.

Please. Do not curtail my husband's
personal freedoms any further.

You've taken away his home.
You've taken away his name.

There comes a time
where one must draw a line in the sand.

And the job of drawing that line
falls to Cabinet, ma'am. Not to you.

Something your dear late papa
would certainly have taught you

had he been granted more time
to complete your education.

And now our time is up.

Until next week.

Sir.

Meteorological report.

Good morning. The time is
eight o'clock on the 8th of December

and here is the news.

The choking, eye-watering fog which
has already caused two days of chaos

across the capital
has worsened overnight.

The great coal-burning electricity
stations in Battersea and Fulham,

have attempted to reduce emissions

of poisonous sulphur dioxide
from their chimneys.

But we've been told that it is unlikely

they'll be able to make any significant
change to the air quality.

The government is expected
to make a statement later today.

- Come on, let's get you to hospital.
- I'm fine.

You're not. Come on. Let's get you up.

Shoes.

Off we go. Arm in. And the other.

- I can't breathe.
- Do as I say and hold onto me.

Come along.

Quick, hold my hand.

Make way!

You all right, lady?

Control of this story
is getting away from us.

The opposition's blood is up.
We have to respond.

Respond how?

I would suggest
by commissioning a public enquiry.

An enquiry would be expensive.

Winston, people are angry.
They see us as the culprits.

Culpable for what? It's fog. Fog is fog.
It comes and it goes away.

Well, I'm glad that the Prime Minister
finds time for levity.

Perhaps I should remind him exactly
how serious the situation has now become.

This morning a suburban train
collided with a gang of railway workmen,

killing several
and injuring a great many more.

In parts of the capital, there is now
a total breakdown of law and order.

Hospitals are filling up,

as our citizens are breathing in
poisonous sulphur dioxide.

Sometimes we have sunshine.

Too much sunshine
and they call it a drought.

Then we have rain.

Too much rain, and they call it a deluge
and find a way to blame us for that too.

It's an act of God, Bobbety.

It's weather. And for better or for worse,
we get a great deal of it on this island.

Frankly, there are more pressing matters
to deal with.

- Like what?
- The Duke of Edinburgh.

Telephone, sir.
The Marquis of Salisbury.

Oh, not now.

He asked me to stress
the importance of the matter.

- Bobbety.
- Thanks for taking my call, Dickie.

- Are you alone?
- Yes.

Can anyone overhear what you're saying?

- No.
- Good.

- It's chaos.
- I know.

Every ward is full. Every corridor too.

Most of the doctors are sick now,
and those that are well can't get in.

It was better than this in the war.

What do you need?
More equipment? Or masks?

Masks are bloody useless.
They're just for show.

To make it look like the government
is doing something.

- Then what is needed?
- Money. People. Trained staff.

Help is what is needed. Urgently.

Let her rest for now.

Maybe I can put a word in
with the people who make a difference.

- Such as?
- The Prime Minister, for example.

I see. You're just going to walk into
Downing Street and whisper in his ear.

Yes, something like that.

You know, my day is bad enough without
some delusional girl playing jokes.

Now, excuse me. Nurse? Nurse.

- I'll show you.
- Get out of the way.

- Jim, where are you?
- Over here.

Someone phone for an ambulance.

How much longer
are you going to give the old man?

Their majority is tiny.

A vote of no confidence
and he'll be toppled.

You know what he calls you?

Yes, I know.
A sheep in sheep's clothing.

Perhaps it's time to prove you're not.

Very well.

Let's put a motion down on paper
and brief the whips.

Thank you, sir.

- Anything interesting?
- Yes.

- Care to share it?
- No.

I'd be happy to share glide ratios
and adiabatic lapse rates with you.

As part of a quid pro quo arrangement.

One glide ratio in return
for some cabinet minutes, for example.

No? A dihedral angle
or an absolute ceiling.

These are very interesting concepts.
You might learn something,

in exchange for a foreign office briefing?

Am I going to have to explain
my position again?

- No.
- Good.

"Once you have tasted flight,

you will forever walk the earth
with your eyes turned skyward,

for there you have been
and there you will always long to return."

You know what's remarkable
about those words?

- Go on.
- They were written 300 years

before man first got in a plane.

Leonardo da Vinci.

Look, Philip, I know...

Lord Mountbatten, Your Majesty.

- Uncle Dickie. What's he doing here?
- I know as much as you do.

He said it was important, ma'am.

Thank you.

Elizabeth.

- Hello.
- I came as soon as I could.

So...

Oh, is this a meeting
with Elizabeth your niece, my wife?

- Or the Queen?
- The latter, I'm afraid.

Right, then I know my place.

- What's the matter with him?
- Nothing.

He's just feeling a little grounded.
Ignore it.

Right, all ears.

I received a telephone call today
from Bobbety Salisbury.

It seems that even among his own people
the feeling is that our Prime Minister

is not able to deal
with a national crisis.

Indeed he could be seen
to be responsible for that crisis.

Hospitals are overflowing. People dying.

As sovereign,
you have the right to demand

that a government in your name
shows effective leadership.

The opposition are now calling
for a motion of no confidence.

So, I would say the time has come

for you to... summon Churchill and...

And what?

Insist that he go.

- I can't do that.
- You can, and should.

But wouldn't that violate
the constitution?

As queen...

you have the right to be consulted.

The right to encourage. The right to warn.

Also, to appoint a new Prime Minister
in the event of incapacity

and many would say that Churchill's
behavior now constitutes incapacity.

- Then a revolution must come from within.
- They are trying.

- Well, then, they must try harder.
- They will.

But would prefer it to be bloodless.

So have asked for your help and influence.

I cannot do it. I will not do it.

Let's not forget it was Churchill
who denied Philip's children

- his own surname...
- Dickie.

...and insisted that you live
in Buckingham Palace.

- As, alas, did everyone else.
- And now with looters on the street

and hospital corridors
stacked with the dead,

he is interested in only one thing.

Stopping Philip flying.

- What?
- At a crisis cabinet meeting this morning

when there should've only been
one thing on the agenda,

the unfolding national emergency...

all our Prime Minister wanted to discuss
was your husband's new hobby.

- I'm so sorry, sir.
- Who are her parents?

Her father is a clergyman. From Suffolk.

- They've been notified.
- I want to go to the hospital.

There is an emergency meeting
at the House. A meeting you must attend.

The House can wait.

- You wished to see me, Your Majesty?
- Yes, Tommy.

I know how much my father
depended on you.

And how closely you worked together.

Which is why I wanted to ask your advice.
Now...

It seems our Prime Minister, a man
who's led the country through many crises,

is no longer leading us at all.

Representations have been made to me,

through an intermediary
from the heart of the government,

to intercede and bid him stand down.
Make way for a younger man.

Which brings me to my question.

What are my responsibilities,
as head of state?

What should I do?

When it's in the national interest?
How far dare I go?

I'm not sure if her Majesty is aware,

but shortly before your father died
the Foreign Secretary, Mr. Eden, came,

begging his late Majesty to intervene,

if not on an official level,
then on a personal one.

As a friend.
To bid the Prime Minister to resign.

- What did my father say?
- Well...

His Majesty was,
like his father before him,

a stickler for convention and tradition,

and would never have done anything
that violated the constitution,

or overstepped the mark.

- Then I have my answer.
- But...

that was His Majesty, not Your Majesty.

And I do read the newspapers,
and I do listen to the wireless,

and the situation we're in today
is quite different,

than the one we were in when Mr. Eden
came to see your father.

Different situation, different sovereign.

Wait for me here.

Sir.

Just a child.

A beautiful child.

I just received word
from Buckingham Palace.

- The Queen has requested an audience.
- When?

At your earliest convenience.

"All energy and hope
and passion and fire."

Sir?

- Do the newspapers know I'm here?
- No.

- But it could easily be arranged.
- Then do it.

And tell the Queen
I'll be there first thing in the morning.

After the papers.

Good God.

Dear God.

Just come on in, the Prime Minister
will be here in a few moments.

- They're ready for you, sir.
- Yes, yes. One moment.

Quiet. Please. Settle down.

- Mr. Churchill?
- I have witnessed scenes here today,

the likes of which we have not seen
since the darkest days of the Blitz.

But alongside the suffering,
I have also seen heroism.

And where there is heroism
there will always be hope.

Only God can lift the fog,
but I, as Prime Minister,

am in position to ease the suffering.

To that end, I pledge to make available
with immediate effect,

more money for hospital staff,
more money for equipment,

and a full and independent public enquiry
into the causes of air pollution...

to ensure that such a calamity

may never befall us again.

Thank you all.

"The Prime Minister
was alone among senior politicians

to visit hospitals
and respond to the crisis in person.

And was rewarded by cheers and applause,

by those suffering through the worst smog
this city has ever witnessed."

The headline reads,
"True leader in a crisis."

Ma'am, the Prime Minister's here.

"The parallels
between his appearance yesterday,

and the war time years was striking.

And his personal popularity
among the people remains undimmed."

Hello?

Clem, are you still there? Hello? Clem?

Clem, can you hear me? No, right...

The Prime Minister, Your Majesty.

Your Majesty.

- You asked to see me, ma'am?
- I did.

There is a delicate matter
which I felt I needed to discuss with you.

- In person.
- Concerning what?

Your position.

My position?

Yes. Your position...

as Prime Minister.

Go on.

At that point she hesitated...

and then she asked me to pick
either Khawaja Nazimuddin of Pakistan

or Sidney Holland of New Zealand.

- Whatever for?
- To sit next to at dinner!

No, she summoned you for that?

Oh, no, I think she summoned me

to haul me over the coals
for my handling of the fog,

but then the fog lifted,

and she had to make a decision
right then and there, in the room.

You could see the wheels
turning behind her eyes.

And then she switched her tack
without so much as a flicker. Clever.

- No, no, not clever. Ingenious.
- Why?

Because it disarmed me.
And made me switch tack too.

What about?

About allowing Philip to learn to fly.
He can now.

Good.

But he still has to ask Cabinet
permission to do rolls and spins.

What, dear girl?

But what if the fog hadn't lifted?

And the government
had continued to flounder?

And people had continued to die?

And Churchill
had continued to cling to power

and the country had continued to suffer?

It doesn't feel right,
as Head of State, to do nothing.

- It is exactly right.
- Is it?

But surely doing nothing is no job at all?

To do nothing is the hardest job of all.

And it will take every ounce of energy
that you have.

To be impartial is not natural,
not human.

People will always want you to smile
or agree or frown.

And the minute you do, you will have
declared a position. A point of view.

And that is the one thing as sovereign
that you are not entitled to do.

The less you do,
the less you say or agree or smile...

Or think? Or feel? Or breathe? Or exist?

The better.

Well, that's fine for the sovereign.

But where does that leave me?

So go on.

How long would it take me to get my wings?

Well, normally, a trainee would spend
anything between 100 and 120 hours

in one of these things.

Do you think I could do it
in three months?

That would be unusual, sir.

I'm a fast learner, and believe me
when I say I've got nothing else to do.

I couldn't help notice
you filled her right up.

- Starboard and port. Eighteen gallons?
- Yes.

- Fancy lunch in Edinburgh?
- Edinburgh?

They made me Duke there, so I
should probably show up from time to time.

Unless you have
more pressing engagements?

No, sir.

All right, I'll adjust RPMs
and cruising speed for range flying.

We'll have to land to refuel,
sir. RAF Finningley.

- Oh, really? Where's that?
- Doncaster.

Doncaster? Right.

Sync and corrections by explosiveskull
www.addic7ed.com