All language subtitles for Up.The.Women.S02E04.WEBRip.x264-NH

♪ Nana was a suffragette
never thought to fail

♪ Nana was a suffragette

♪ spent the night in jail

♪ singing, "votes for
women is just a beginning

♪ "you haven't seen anything yet"

♪ oh, Nana was a suffragette. ♪

She sighs

oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh!

Morning!

Oh, Eva! Thank goodness! I'm very
anxious to catch the 11.03 train.

But it's nine o'clock. I'm
cutting it fine, I know.

No, no! No time, leave
it on, leave it on.

Oh! Where's master Thomas?
He's in the kitchen.

Thomas!

I've got some clothes for
his work-shy drunkards.

I think you mean the destitute,
dipsomaniacal men of the workhouse

that Thomas is charitably
endeavouring to clothe?

Yes, those.

Thomas, I've got some
bits for your no-hopers.

Wonderful, mrs Moore. Those poor
wretches forced by circumstance

to huddle against the elements

will surely be truly grateful
for your generous donation.

There!

Keep those gypso-maniacals'
little tootsies warm.

Ah! Thank you!

Actually - I've just remembered where
the other one is to that pair.

Thank you for your... Sock.

I shall put it with the other things.

I've also brought some essential
ladies' travelling items, Margaret,

for our trip to London.

I got a nice little
cushion, a footstool,

a seat cover - in case of boy fleas.

Got some spare hats and gloves and...

Oh, no! Where's my special
"going to London" umbrella?

Right, I have to go back and get it.
No, no. No time.

Are we ready for London?

Ah, yes, no. No, keep it on.
Keep it on.

I'm anxious to attend the great
Japanese exhibition in white city

to see if the emperor
meiji's wax effigy

is as impressive as the man himself.

I met him in '72.

He saluted me with his
ceremonial sword.

Well, perhaps after our
suffrage business.

Oh, yes, I'd forgotten about that.

That is the purpose
of our trip, myrtle.

Are those our travel provisions?
Yes. I'm afraid you'll have to

make do with a little
picnic I made myself.

Gwen is not with us today.
What have you made?

A flask of tea, a treacle loaf,

beetroot, egg and fish paste sandwiches

made with my unleavened salt bread.

That's not food - that's punishment.

Where is Gwen? She's visiting
a clairvoyant in Oxford.

She's very anxious to find out where
her father put the key to the privy.

But hasn't he gone to the other side?

Yes, yes, hence the clairvoyant.

Her mother's worsening rheumitis
means she simply cannot continue

to crouch to use the... Er...

The, er... oven?

No, the, the...

Bucket... Bucket.

Oh, hello, Emily! Hello! I brought
some of daddy's clothes for Thomas.

Well done, you! He's in the kitchen.
Can you hurry him along?

We've only got one hour, 52
minutes before our train leaves.

Morning, ladies!

Morning, Frank. Ooh, is
that your bicycle, Frank?

Yes.

What a smart two-Wheeler!

She's my pride and joy! She?

I call her lady Agatha.

I once knew a bike called lady Agatha.

If you'll forgive us, Frank, we are
in a state of urgence and readiness

for our imminent departure.

Tea, myrtle? Well, you'll
find banbury all a-buzz

with the big news.

News?

The police have foiled
another attack by

the banbury free suffragette army!

The bfsa? What're those
show-offs up to now?

They were seen loitering
at the station,

hatless and smoking cigarettes!

Oh! Hatless?!

Alarming, yes, but smoking a
cigarette whilst not wearing a hat

can hardly be considered an attack.

Oh, no, they were overheard
discussing a plan

to catch the train carrying
Winston Churchill,

to present him with an incendiary
pie, set to go off in his face!

Goodness!

How terrible! Thrilling!

The ladies were arrested

and the pie was taken to the quarry
and exploded from a distance.

Imagine that!

I wonder what sort of pie it was?

I assume it was a fruit-based pie

as the boiling point of jam
is 275 degrees fahrenheit.

And the flaky pastry would have
acted as pie crust shrapnel.

Yes, terrifying.

Quite!

What I couldn't fathom

is why suffragettes would want
to attack such a fine gentleman.

A boer war hero!

Because he is vehemently
opposed to female suffrage.

I see.

Who is Winston Churchill?

He's the home secretary, Eva.

Well, perhaps he should
have stayed at home then.

Yes, very good, Eva.

I knew Winston's mother, lady Randy.

Wonderful woman, so
generous with her husbands!

Oh, miss Emily. Those put-upon
vagabonds will be most grateful.

I brought shirts, collars, a tweed
suit, two pairs of plus fours

and some obsolete sock suspenders.

Banbury shall have the smartest
unfortunates in the shire!

Isn't it curious how
we truss ourselves up?

Yes, quite.

Do you suspend your socks, Thomas?

I confess I do. Am I
too terribly decadent?

No.

No. There is nothing more
distracting than the sensation

of a stocking being pulled
slowly down an unsuspended leg.

I'm here. I'm here.

Oh, hello, Helen! I'm glad
you decided to come with us!

Don't be. I haven't. Where is Emily?

In the kitchen. With Thomas!

Emily!

Put down your father's
suspenders and come out at once!

What are you doing?

Thomas is clothing the unfortunates
because he's brave and kind.

Oh, is he?

Well, since you undertook to strip
your father's entire closet bare,

Lawrence was forced to attend
the annual general meeting

of ball bearing manufacturers
in a sports jacket!

There are men in banbury who
have never even owned a sock

let alone a sports jacket.

This is not a discussion. Come out
of this kitchen at once. I shan't.

Then you shan't join Margaret's
pointless jaunt to London!

It's hardly a jaunt, Helen. The
banbury intricate craft circle

politely requests women's suffrage...
No, Emily, don't sit, no time.

..Has secured an appointment

at the London office of the official
righteous union of male patriarchy.

And then we're going to the shops.

You are meeting with trump?

No, we are meeting with torump.

That's what I said,
t-o-r-u-m-p - trump.

No, you said "trump".

I am well aware of
what I said, Margaret,

and I am well aware of
the t-o-r-u-m-p - trump.

Lawrence and I are
supporters of the society

and of its leader, sir
bismuth albemarle.

Yes, I am looking forward
to my suffrage presentation

and a heated intellectual
exchange with sir bismuth

when we take tea with him at
four o'clock this afternoon,

which is in... oh, goodness!
..Only six hours' time.

Wait. You are taking tea
with sir bismuth albemarle,

the great physician and thinker?

The lady-hater and anti-suffrage
campaigner - yes.

I simply adore sir bismuth's work!
Lawrence and I quote to each other

from the unexpurgated case
against female suffrage.

Indeed, I am currently reading
his latest collected essays.

Oh, as am I! D'you mean this drivel?

'Tis pity she's a woman.

"A study on the limitations
and reverberations

"of a hysterical female physiognomy.

"Why women are incapable
of mental reason."

Of course they're capable.

But are they though?

No, they are not, and I quote,

"why not let women vote or make
any significant decisions?

"The answer is simple.

"Due to the phenomenon
of the detached femalia,

"which wander giddy and illogical

"amongst the muddled organs
of the female internum,

"it is my empirical, medical conclusion

"that all women are mad and stupid."

Does that include you, Helen?

I cannot fathom why you
would heed such nonsense.

You, a woman neither mad nor stupid.

Thank you, Margaret, but I find that,

by accepting the natural
order of things,

I garner a peace of mind and
strength which eludes those women

hellbent on asserting
their rights and freedom.

How can any woman have a
peace of mind in a society

that continually and openly
asserts her inferiority?

Well, why don't you come with us

and meet this biswas aftermath,
seeing as you like him so much?

Please, no.

While I detest spontaneity
of any kind...

I most certainly will come!

No, don't sit. There's no time.

Oh! Perhaps I can persuade
him to sign my copy

of his diatribe against women.

Right, well, I am very glad
you've decided to join us.

We are leaving now for the 11.03.
Come along, everybody.

Because the ten-minute
journey to the station

is going to take us two hours.

Ladies, did you intend to
travel by train? No. Camel.

Yes, Frank, I know it's early,
but we must be prepared

for any unforeseen delays.

What about foreseen delays?

Only, on account of the
bfsa's incendiary pie plot,

banbury station has been closed
to all people of the woman kind!

All women are banned
from banbury station?

Yes. Does that mean us?

Yes.

Oh, well, we shall just go from
king's Sutton station instead!

It is rather far...
Approximately five miles.

Yes, and begging your pardon,
the police are on the lookout

for suspiciously suffragetty
gaggles of women.

Oh, I'm so sorry, everybody.
What a disappointment!

I won't be able to get my
essential fripperies now.

Oh, I'll never see the
emperor's weapon again!

Perhaps we could take Frank's bike?

Will we all fit?

No, Eva.

But, Margaret, you could
take Frank's bike

and go on behalf of all of
us to crush sir bismuth.

Yes! Take lady Agatha!

Everyone else has.

May I borrow your iron steed, Frank?

I would be most distraught
should anything happen.

Don't worry, Frank.
I'll be perfectly fine!

I was thinking of my bicycle.

Oh, I see. I will
cherish her, I promise.

Are you sure it is fitting for a
woman of your standing to bicycle?

It's 1910, Frank! Women have
been wheeling about for years.

Yes, but you have no cycling knickers.

What if a breeze were to... yes?

Nothing. No.

Please, Frank?

The future of the female
suffrage movement

could be in yours and
lady Agatha's hands!

Very well. Thank you.

The biccprws and the women
of Britain are in your debt!

Margaret, I hate to ask you this...

Oh, no. Don't worry, Helen, ask away!

Oh, I'm not worried. I
genuinely hate to ask you.

Would you be so kind as to take my
book to be signed by sir bismuth?

Er, yes, well...

Ask him to make it out to "mrs bute -

"a woman thrilled for her
husband's hand to be upper".

If I must.

You're sure you know how it all works?

Oh, yes, Frank! I recently
attended a lecture on gyroscopes

at the royal locomotion society.

There was a fascinating
aside on bicycles.

The gyroscopic force of
the front wheel, its mass

and the spontaneous turn of the
handlebars all act together

to keep the bicycle rolling forwards.
Do you see? It's very simple.

Yes. But have you ever
actually ridden a bicycle?

No. But really, Frank,
how hard can it be?

Lady Agatha!

Margaret! I'm all right.
I'm quite all right.

Well, that's the end of that adventure.

No, no! When one is
thrown from a horse,

one must persevere and leap
straight back in the saddle.

Once again, we are thwarted!

Once again, women are
barred from the world!

Treacle loaf, anyone? No, thank you.

Don't feel too inadequate,
ineffectual and hopeless, Margaret.

I don't. Oh!

Perhaps you should.

Sir bismuth explains quite clearly

that women are not physiognomically
capable of hand-pedal coordination.

You pedal with your feet,
Helen, not your hands.

You do if you can ride a bike.

Face it, Margaret - "'tis
pity you're a woman"!

One day, I believe that
women will move freely

in an androgynous, sexless utopia!

Oh, I hope I'm dead by then.

You will be, mother, rest assured.

Right, ladies, I'm off. I'm going
to take Agatha for a spin.

Oh, hello, Frank!

Good day, sir.

Hello, everyone. Just thought
I'd pop in on my way to Oxford.

Oooh! Treacle loaf,
Margaret - delicious!

Shall I be mother?

Gwen! Is it?! It is you! But...

Is it really Gwen? Gwen,
you're dressed as a man.

Well spotted.

Yes, I'm in my man clothes.

Man clothes?

Yes, man clothes, you know,

that you wear to get round the
bother of being born a woman.

We've all done it, haven't we?

No, Gwen, we most certainly have not.

Speak for yourself.

What if you have to go
somewhere women can't?

You don't go there,
because you are a woman.

I think it's splendid.
Have you always done it?

I'd've been no good to
mother had she not been able

to put me in a cloth cap

and pass me off as a boy
when it was needed.

But when would you need to be a boy?

To pop down the bookie's
when mother had a hunch,

or take father's place down the
pit when he went doolally tap.

I was even a merchant
seaman for two days,

until I realised that I'd have to...
Psschh! ..Over the side.

I had to abandon ship.

Well, I fell overboard.

How thrilling! Do you do it often?

Not so much these days, but when I
do, it all comes flooding back.

It's a bit like riding a bike.

Can you ride a bike, Gwen?

Oh, yes! Much easier in trousers!

Right, I'd best be off. I've got
me train to catch in 15 minutes.

But you'll never make it! And they've
banned women from the station.

I know!

Gwen! You are a genius!

Oooh! Hang on!

The key to the privy. Oh,
mother will be pleased.

Gwen, you're so magnificently clever!
Oh, not really, no.

I should have probably
checked father's waistcoat

in the first place!

You know, Gwen, I have always
desired the manly pleasure

of facial furniture.

Oh, why don't you grow some?

I am ashamed to admit that I cannot.

A fact which has caused my
fellow men much consternation.

Yes, it is most men's belief
that without facial hair

one is merely weak and feckless.

Oh, Thomas, that's just not true!

Yes, I have endured such taunts.

Lady cheeks, hairless wonder...

..Bumface.

Oh, dear, I am sorry.

I don't have that problem.

I can give myself as much or as
little whiskers as I desire.

Would that I could enjoy the
tickle of a pencil tache,

the thrill of a mutton chop,

the hearty exhilaration of a box beard.

Well, with a lock or two of hair,

my nail scissors and
some rabbit glue...

You can have whatever you want!

Do you mean... A van dyke?

Perhaps a handlebar puff.

Or even - but no, dare I?

A full chin curtain?

Oh, grandmama, that hat looks splendid!

Doesn't it?

I must say, before, my only physical
concern was the girth of my fingers.

But were we to permanently
wear male reach-me-downs

I should also have to concern
myself with the chunk of my calf

and the heft of my derriere!

Oh, nonsense, Eva!

In 100 years' time, when women
are trouser-wearing voters,

we shall be evaluated on our
wit, not our waist size.

Imagine that!

Yes, we will be admired for
our opinions, not our pins!

Today of all days, it is not our
derrieres that should concern us.

It's our demeanours. In
order to pass undetected,

we must cloak ourselves
in the ways of maleness!

I have invented a male name for myself.

I shall be Ernest trueheart - a
brave mountaineer and scientist

who is allergic to tomatoes and has
hereditary ganglions like Thomas.

Who will you be, mummy?

Oh, I will be, um...

Hel... Nry...

Bute.

Anti-suffragist.

If you must.

I shall be Charlie Moore - husband.

After my husband, Charlie Moore.

Imaginative. Thank you.

Who will you be, Margaret?

Oh, I shall be...

Northcote brusk - novelist,
thinker, inventor,

likes cheese, excellent on the piano.

Brilliant, Margaret.

Northcote. Sorry, northcote.

And you, grandmama?

I shall be sir ozymandias silk.

Traveller, poet, artist,

wonderful lover.

What do you think, master Thomas?

Very convincing.

You look very convincing
too, master Thomas!

Yes, mrs Moore, I am a man.

I should have had mutton chops, mother.

This moustache makes
me look like a walrus.

It's not the moustache.

It's a very odd effect that as
my alter ego, northcote brusk,

my timekeeping anxiety seems to
have completely disappeared.

I don't seem to care if I'm late
at all now. It's very liberating.

What is your male name, Gwen? John.

Oh! My John's called John.

Clears throat so, ladies -

a few tips if you want to pass as men.

First, walk as if you've
got a trouser goitre,

or at least a septic upper leg.

Yes, that's it, good, good, good.

Now, add in the occasional
pocket shuffle.

Pocket shuffle, Gwen? Pocket shuffle.

Don't have any pockets.

Oh, you can do it on the outside...
Pocket shuffle!

And speak louder and
deeper than everyone else.

Louder and deeper. How do you do?

Good lad! Good lad!

Good show! Hear, hear! Good day!

On your own, Eva. On your own.

Hello. My name is Charlie Moore.

I think perhaps... Clears throat

..Charlie is a mute. All right.

Anything else, Gwen?

Yes, finally, most importantly,
you need a firm, manly handshake.

How do you do? Ernest trueheart.

Helnry bute.

Ow! Oh, sorry, Thomas.

No, no, quite all right.

Gentlemen. Shall we?

Yes, let us go! Come
on, chaps, follow me.

Plenty of time, no hurry!
After you, sir.

Train whistle blows

we did it! We slipped through the
net in our masculine guises!

We were fortunate the stationmaster
was remiss in his duties.

Too busy searching under the train

for suffragettes clinging
to the undercarriage.

I never realised that facial furniture

would garner such aggressive
attention from my fellow men.

I've had no bother.

I do wish this train would move.

We shall be late for our
appointment with sir bismuth.

Not that I care! Ha-ha-ha-ha!

Men talking

sh! Sh! Men! Act natural.
Me. As we are... Were.

Oh! We shall surely be discovered!

Oh, it's my husband! And daddy!

Look! Lawrence looks ridiculous
in that sports jacket.

Why is this blasted train not moving?

Suffragettes on the track.

Insufferable-gettes, more like!

Yes, dratted nuisances. Well,
between you and me, Larry...

Lawrence. Lawrence, I'm
grateful for them.

My little woman has herself a whopper
of a shopping spree lined up.

Wanted double her pin money and
hat stipend. A chap can't say no.

My wife is the model of thriftiness.

She has no use for hats or
other prettifying fripperies.

If only she could teach Eva
some housekeeping tricks.

I mean, I know all the
dresses and the doodads

are entirely for my benefit,

but frankly I'm happiest when she's
dressed as god intended, what?

Hmm. Well, Helen and I both pay

very little attention
to her appearance.

Oh, really? What else is a wife for?

Oh, I think of Helen less as a
wife and more as a... Colleague.

Ah, yes.

Well, we all have our own ways
of keeping our ladies in line.

My little pudding is never more placid

than when she's in the family
way, which is all the time.

How many have you got now?

What, wives? Oh, just the one!

Ha-ha!

Just the... no, I lost count of the
litter when she popped out number 14.

14? Almost got enough

for a rugger team! Oh,
sadly not, old man.

Just the one boy, tiny John.

What's a fellow to do with so
many fillies in the paddock?

Helen and I drew the line at two.

One of each. We both agreed we
had no use for further progeny.

The boy will be a captain
of industry, of course,

and dear Emily could have
any man she chooses,

but she's got herself all pie-eyed
about some pimply poodlefaker.

And what's he like? I've never met him.

Still, more than one
daughter's superfluous.

Oh, count yourself lucky. I've
got to marry off 13 of them!

Now, that's superfluous.

Yes!

What does "superfluous" mean?

Er, superb. As good old
sir bismuth says...

"Where would we be without our
precious, mad, stupid little women?"

Much richer.

They laugh

hello...!

Haven't we met?

Were you at harrow?

Do you cricket?

The pipe society? Henley?
Royal enclosure?

Clay pigeon shooting?

Well, come on, man,
cat got your tongue?

I'm a mute.

Wait a minute...

I've got it.

We weekended at the Fitzsimmons'
last season, didn't we?

When they poured
champagne into the lake

and we all swam in the nuddy?!

Ha-ha, remember that! Oh...

Charles? Eh?

There's something very
strange going on here.

Oh, really? You, sir!

Is that... A false beard?

Are you posing as a gentleman?

No, sir...

I am a gentleman, as
are we all gentlemen

in this full carriage of gentlemen.

Absolutely. Yes, yes.

Men! Men! Men!

Then why are you in disguise?

No gentleman I know would dream
of deceiving his fellow gentlemen

by simulating facial bushyness.

Out with it, bumface!

Stop clegging on the boy.

It's not his fault he can't
grow a beard as god intended.

Now, steady on, laddie... Ah,
no, I'm no laddie, I'm a man.

Now d'you want to see yourself out

before you insult any more
of these good gentlemen

and I do summat I'll regret?

Yes... well, perhaps we should
seat ourselves elsewhere.

Come, Charles! Yes.

I'm keeping my eye on that rangy one.

Thought he was going
to take a swing at me!

Thank you, Gwen.

John. John. Thank you, John.

I wonder why he was
swimming in the nuddy?

Ah, perhaps he forgot his bathers?

Yes.

Stop fussing, man. I
will sit where I please.

Very well, sir. There's a seat here.

Oh...

Good day, gentlemen.

Good day!

All off to London?

Yes!

'Appen we have an appointment
with a bismuth beeswax albumath.

Who?

Bismuth albemarle!

Bizzo albemarle?! What do you
want with that old curmudgeon?

You know him?

Know him? Put it this way -
if I weren't me, I'd be him.

The man is a legend.

He can sink a gallon of claret
without drawing breath,

outsmart every don in
Oxford, swear in Greek,

drive in reverse without
even looking, kill a swan.

Goodness. An outstanding man.

Anything bizzo can't do?
Like... Respect women?

Laughs oh, no, bizzo
doesn't mind fillies,

just thinks they ought to stick
to what they're best at.

What do you chaps want
with bizzo, anyways?

We intend to change his mind
about us - them! Women.

About women.

Why is that of concern to you?

Because we are men...

Yes, yes, yes, we are.

Men.

..Who wholly support
the suffrage cause.

That's right! Not me.

Here's a tip for you boys. If
you want to outdo bizzo, don't.

Go home. He will demolish you.

Will he demolish an emotive ballad
honouring history's unsung heroines?

Will he demolish an
exhaustive dismantling

of his 67-page invective
'tis pity she's a woman?

Will he demolish a
cogent suffrage treatise

delivered in rhyming couplets?

Yes, he will.

I don't know why you suffrages bother.

You're fighting a battle you
are never going to win.

Stop whingeing! Give up.

We will never give up, sir. We
will fight, sir, and we will win.

We will keep fighting like men.
As men. We are men.

Men, men!

We shall fight with growing
strength and growing confidence.

Aye! Yes!

We will defend our women's right
to vote, whatever the cost.

Yes!

We will fight in the fields. Yes!

We will fight in the streets. Yes!

We will fight in the hills. Yes!

We will fight on...

The beaches.

The beaches? What, with your bucket
and spades? Oh, now I'm scared!

We shall never surrender!

Absolute balderdash, sir, but
I like the way you said it.

You may defend the rights of
women wherever you choose,

but you cannot alter the facts.

As sir bismuth puts it, "there
exists in the world a natural order,

"at the head of which
is the human male..."

Human male.

"..While there will always be...
Aberrations,

"the male is irrefutably superior
in physique and in intellect."

The ladies may not like it,
but they like the pin money

they receive from their
husbands, what?!

Hear, hear! Bravo, sir!

Oh! Ooh! And a firm handshake to boot.

Name? Bute. Hel... Nry bute.

Well, helnry bute...

Bizzo could not have put it
better were he here himself,

all 6 foot 5, and 28
gout-ridden stone of him!

I see you are a man who
has no respect for women.

Thank you.

Sir, there's bad news.

The line's been closed,

the suffragettes have now dug
up a section of the track

and they're refusing to
say where they've put it.

How tiresome.

My dear mother always said

suffragettes should be
forcibly fed common sense!

There's a car waiting
for you outside, sir.

Gentlemen, I'd offer you a ride,

but I cannot abide what you stand for.

But to you, sir... The doors
of torump are always open.

If only we had a few more

clear-thinking, rational chaps
like you in the cabinet.

Cheerio. Officer!

Yes, mr Churchill!

Did he say Churchill?!

Winston Churchill!

Remind me again...

Winston Churchill has offered
me a place in the cabinet!

What an honour, Helen.

A seat at the highest
table in the land.

"'Tis pity you're a woman."

♪ Nana was a suffragette

♪ never thought to fail

♪ Nana was a suffragette

♪ spent the night in jail

♪ singing, "votes for
women is just a beginning

♪ "you haven't seen anything yet"

♪ oh, Nana was a suffragette. ♪