All language subtitles for Ripping Yarns - S01xE01

Good evening.

You know, I think it was GK
Chesterton who once said...

-"The follies..."
-"The follies of my youth..."

-"Men's youth..."
-"Of men's youth..."

"Are in glorious retrospect..."

"Are, in retrospect,
glorious..."

And so, our story tonight...

No, "Are, in
retrospect, glorious."

-Our story, in retrospect...
-No, "Are, in retrospect, glorious."

"Are, in retrospect,
glorious..."

"Compared..."

"Compared..."

By Eddie Waring!

-"Compared to..."
-"Compared..."

"The follies of men's youth are, in
retrospect, glorious compared to..."

To...

"Compared to the
follies of their old age."

"Compared to the
follies of their old age."

Our sherry tonight...

No, no. "I think it was GK
Chesterton who once said,

"The follies of our youth
are, in retrospect, glorious"

"compared the
follies of our old age."

And so our story tonight concerns a
boy confronted at one and the same time

with the follies of
youth and old age.

That's it.

Is that okay? Is that okay?

Okay, fine, fine. That
felt good. That felt good.

It's really good. Really great.

♪ My school, my school

♪ How bravely she stands

♪ Long steeped in the memory

♪ Of time's ageing hands... ♪

I had been at
Graybridge for two weeks,

and the dour, forbidding place
had produced such misery in my soul

and fear in my mind as I had
never known in my whole life.

Everything about the place
seemed designed to crush the soul

and break down any
reserve of pride I ever had.

Thank you, Foster. Next, please.

Beating the headmaster was
just one of those ghastly chores

which produced such
depression within me.

Ooh! That's better.

There was also the compulsory
fight with the grizzly bear

which all new boys
had to go through.

And there was St Tadger's
day, when, by an old tradition,

boys who had been at the
school for less than two years

were allowed to be nailed
to the walls by senior pupils.

The days always
began the same way.

We were woken
by Alsatians at 3:30

and after two games of football,

we assembled for
morning prayers in Big Hall.

O Lord, we give thee
humble and hearty thanks

for this, thy gift
of discipline,

knowing that it is only
through the constraints of others

that we come to know ourselves

and only through true misery
can we find true contentment.

We ask thee especially
today, O Lord, to remember

the owner, trainer and rider of
Doncaster Boy in the 4:15 at Chepstow.

And may the fire of thy
just and awful wrath fall upon

Biggs, Normanton, Putter
Minor and Tookey. Amen. Amen.

It has come to my
knowledge that certain boys

have been helping
masters to escape.

Small parts of a glider have been
found in the History Sixth Form library

and this must not repeat.

How I longed to be able to
hop like the second-year boys,

and not to have to ask permission
to breathe out after 10:30.

And how I dreaded, as we all did,
the sight of Grayson, the school bully.

He had twice won the
Public School's Bullying Cup.

And last year, beat the extraordinarily
vicious Aykroyd of Charterhouse

at a kick-in of fags at
the Hurlingham Club.

I say, sorry, Grayson.

You call me School Bully,

you miserable little tick.

Five weeks after the start of term,
I had an amazing stroke of luck.

I was accidentally shot in the stomach by
Monsieur Point during French translation

and I ended up in
the school sanatorium.

Now at last my parents
would come to visit me

and I could tell them of the
horrors I was going through.

I felt sure they
would understand.

Hello, Mummy.

Hello, Tomkinson.

-How are the wounds?
-Oh, not bad. Not bad.

-Here, I brought you these.
-Oh.

-What are they?
-Shoe trees, dear.

Oh! Super.

Where's Daddy?

-He's at the South Pole again, dear.
-Oh, lucky Daddy.

I wish I could be there.

-Tomkinson...
-Yes, Mummy?

He may... He may not
be back from the Pole.

-You mean...
-Yes, he has a woman down there.

-Another woman, Mummy? Besides you?
-I'm afraid so.

He keeps going
back there, you know.

This is his 146th expedition.

Yes. I never realised.
I thought he was...

Mapping the annual
movement of the polar ice shelf.

Yes, so did we all.

-Mummy, perhaps I should come home.
-No.

No, I'm afraid you must
stay here, Tomkinson.

A nice gentleman has agreed to
pay your school fees for four years.

And the headmaster says you can
stay on here free during the holidays.

Oh, but, Mummy.

I'm afraid it's the only
thing we can do, Tomkinson.

I shall continue to send
you cakes, of course.

-Mummy, please...
-I'm afraid I must go now, dear.

I do hope the wounds heal up.

They're nothing, honestly. Mummy,
please, let me just come back.

Are you coming, Elspeth?

Yes, Mr Rogers.

Bye-bye, Tomkinson.

Bye-bye, Mummy.

I was shattered.

I couldn't believe that my father would
just go off like that with another woman.

He was a
homosexual, for a start.

From that moment on, I resolved
to do everything in my power

to escape from Graybridge
at the first opportunity.

Well played.

Well played. Well played there,
boy. Get in there. In there! Come on!

Come on! Get him. Get
him. Get him. Get him.

Come on!

Well taken. Oh, well
taken, Tomkinson.

Well played, Tomkinson.
Come on, Tomkinson, run.

Run. Run. Run.
Run. Run. Run. Run.

Well played, boy. Well played.

Well played. Tom...

Tomkinson?

Tomkinson!

Tomkinson!

Tomkinson!

I was 17 miles from Graybridge

before I was caught
by the school leopard.

Two weeks later, I tried to
get out disguised as a woman.

Morning, Chaplain.

But I was caught by Mr
Moody, the Spanish master.

Tomkinson!

From then on I was confined
to indoor activities only.

Jolly good. Jolly good. Now,
what are you boys doing?

Oh, that's rather good. Hmm.

Now, what's this, now? Oh, yes.

Jolly good.

What is that, Tomkinson?

It's a model icebreaker, sir.

-It's a bit big for a model, isn't it?
-It's a full-scale model, sir.

It's not a model if it's
full scale, Tomkinson.

It's an icebreaker.

Yes, that's good, isn't it, sir? It's
got three engines, an enormous...

No, no, no. That's
not the point.

That is not a model.

There'll be a hell of a stink if this
comes up at speech day exhibition.

You're a very stupid boy, building
icebreakers like this, Tomkinson.

-Yes, sir.
-I won't say anything to the headmaster

if you can get it down
to a minimum of four foot.

Sir, there's 1,500 tonnes
of steel in this thing.

Do you want to come and
see the headmaster with me?

-No, sir.
-Well, melt it down at once.

Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.

There seemed no way I
could escape from this prison.

Daily, my depression and
misery mounted, until one day,

amongst the usual games
announcements on the school notice board,

something caught my eye.

"On June 12th in big school

"Rear Admiral Sir
Vincent Smythe-Obleson,

"the polar explorer,
will address the school."

I wondered. Could
this be my chance?

For our school lecture this term, we are
very fortunate to have secured the services

of one of our most famous
and distinguished old boys.

The polar explorer

Rear Admiral Sir
Vincent Smythe-Obleson.

Applause! Applause!

Hello, boys. How
nice it is to be here.

-Speak up!
-Who said that?

-I would like to take...
-Shut up!

Who was it?

Right, the entire back three rows
will come and beat me this evening.

-Carry on.
-Well, I've just returned from exploring

one of the enormously
interesting polar ice caps.

I explored for over three
months, eight hours a day.

I got up at 9:00 and
explored until 6:00,

with a one-hour
non-exploring break for lunch.

And during that
time, I can safely say

I have explored, in
His Majesty's name,

an area the size of Yorkshire.

-This area...
-Stop it!

If the school refuses to show
its appreciation spontaneously,

I shall be forced to
close it down instantly

and burn selected boys.

-This area...
-Wait!

Is that clear?

Right! Go on.

This area of polar ice cap

I have called Graybridge Land.

This was the moment
I'd been waiting for.

You know, boys,
there's nothing worse

-than seeing a human body abused.
-Rubbish!

-Who said that?
-Mr Mayan, sir.

Oh, I see. Sorry. Thought
it was one of the boys.

Carry on.

And the future of our children
and our children's children...

Let's all stand and
sing the school song.

♪ My school, my school... ♪

The lecture finished, and
soon I felt myself being lifted up.

It had worked.

At last I was on my
way out of Graybridge.

Hardly daring to breathe, I
looked out on a new world outside.

Yes, that was, er, very
good, Ellis. Very good indeed.

-Thank you, Headmaster.
-Should save a little bit of money there.

But why... Why the school song?

I thought it was a jolly good
wheeze for ending it, sir.

-It just sort of came to me.
-Well, stick to the script in future, Ellis.

Oh, no!

After the incident with the trunk,
things became really hard for me.

My ears were sewn back and I
had to do three weeks detention

in a sack on the
school maggot pit.

But for the first time, I became the
centre of some attention at Graybridge

and I found myself once again in the
presence of Grayson, the school bully.

Come.

In return for not hitting
any of the masters,

the head had allowed
Grayson certain privileges.

Such as having unmarried
Filipino women in his room,

smoking opium and having
a sauna instead of prayers.

He had just returned from a
winter term cruise to South America

and looked fit and well.

Oh, Tomkinson.

Oh, you appalling little creep.

Yes, you really are the ugliest and
most unpleasant little piece of vermin

it's ever been my
misfortune to encounter.

I breathed a sigh of
relief. At least he liked me.

Now, some filthy little
creeps in lower school

have been telling me all
about your escaping tricks.

-That's right...
-Don't answer back, you snotty little oik.

Sorry.

Don't you know that all
escape routes from the school

are managed by
myself and the chaplain.

No!

Well, why do you think the chaplain's always
laying gas mains and doing sewage work?

-I thought he liked it.
-Shut up. I'm talking.

Of course he doesn't like it.

He does it because I tell him to and
because I'm the only person he knows

who's ever likely to
get him anarchbishopric.

Is Mr Hoskins going
to be an archbishop?

When he's finished digging.

Trouble is, he thinks that it's going to be
York or Canterbury which is sad, really.

-Why? Where is it?
-Soligorsk.

It's in the Ukraine. It's bitterly
cold and the food's unspeakable,

but I can't help that.

Anyway, the point is the
chaplain has nearly completed

a network of tunnels
over 12 miles long.

The last thing we need is for
spotty little twerps like you...

School Bully.

Ah!

Yes, we were just
talking about you.

What? No, no. I'm
afraid it hasn't come yet.

What? No, no. I'm
afraid it hasn't arrived.

He wants to know about the hat.

The archbishop's hat.

No, I'm sorry.

No, you can't
start this weekend.

Why? Well, the old one has
to die for a start, that's why.

No, I could not do that.

What's the hurry, anyway?

What?

Oh, you haven't.

Oh, you idiot!

Uh, Tomkinson. Yes.

You're very keen to get
out of this place, aren't you?

-Rather.
-Yes. Yes.

Pick him up. Pick him up.

Well, though I loathe and detest
the sight of your odious little face,

I am prepared to let you be the very first
to try out the chaplain's new tunnels.

Oh, thank you. Thank you, Bully.

-Yes, do you like... Do you like girls?
-Who?

-Suki?
-Yes, School Bully?

Suki, how would you like to show
Tomkinson here the tunnels, eh?

Keep him company, you know.

-Gosh!
-Cigarette?

So it was that four hours later,

carrying 200 cigarettes,
completely drunk

and with a half-naked,
unmarried Filipino lady,

I emerged behind the writing
desk in the headmaster's study.

The chaplain, now 74, and
impatient to get his archbishopric,

had finished the tunnel
just 100 yards too early.

I was found guilty of smoking,
drinking, lying, thieving,

breaking the headmaster's writing
desk and escaping without permission.

I was sentenced to the most awful
penalty the school could provide.

The 30-mile hop
against St Anthony's.

Training for the hop
was a nightmare.

But after three weeks of these nightmares,
we had a hopping team second to none.

I'll never forget
the day of the hop.

The whole school was in a fever.

Mostly dysentery and beriberi

and a few cases of blackwater fever
and scurvy amongst the older boys.

Our opponents, St Anthony's, a
Buddhist public school in Yorkshire,

were legendary hoppers.

As soon as we were
in line, Mr Craffitt,

who was gundy for the day, gave
us each the traditional palfreys.

Laddie for a palfrey! Hit!

Tall laddie for a palfrey. Hit!

Wee laddie for a palfrey. Hit!

Ow!

Medium-sized laddie
for a great big palfrey. Hit!

Thank you, gundy.
Good luck, Graybridge.

Boys of St Anthony's
and Graybridge school,

hop ye and hop ye good this day.

On your marks.

Get set.

Hop up, Graybridge!

We all did our best, God knows.

But we were severely
weakened by our training.

We were no match for
the St Anthony's boys,

many of whom had
hopped internationally.

As we headed into the mountains, the rocks
began to take their toll of young bodies

ravaged by three terms of
athlete's foot and Dobie's itch.

After 12 and a half miles, I saw
Venner of 5A fall and die of exhaustion.

And after 17 miles, he
was joined by Apsley,

Credworth, PE, Spitwell,
Emerson and Zappa Major.

I knew that my own
time would soon be up.

On the 21st mile, a wave
of darkness swept over me.

I could go no
further. This was it.

Well, hello there, you
snivelling little creep.

Hello, School Bully.

Look, you little toad. I'm sorry
about getting you into this spot.

Oh. Oh, well.

It'll be all right. Right?

Of course it won't,
you pathetic little twerp.

You won't last the course.
Nobody from Graybridge ever has.

So I've got something here
that might help a little bit.

Now then, you just
have a little sniff of that.

What is it?

Well, it's a sort of...
Sort of smelling salts.

I just...?

Well, yes, you
do. You just sniff it.

Gosh!

Yes, well, there you are. That'll
keep you on your foot for a bit.

Well, good luck,

you dismally
untalented little creep.

I didn't know what
Grayson had given me,

but the mountains
looked wonderful that day.

Huge, grey-green monsters

grappled with the black, Satan-like
demons of the cliffs and crags.

I could hear sheep talking
and the grass reciting poetry.

My father always said Nansen was on
something when he explored Greenland.

And now I could understand it.

I felt I could hop
forever, anywhere.

My mother, is she
in? I must see her.

Oh, I'm afraid she's busy, sir.

I don't care. I must see her.

-Well, she's playing tennis, sir.
-Thank you.

-Do you want a bit of...
-No. Thank you.

Mummy!

Tomkinson!

Oh, good Lord, Mr Bradman.

What a service!

I've thought about it, Mother. I've
got nothing else. That's why I'm here.

You can't just let your
schooling go, Tomkinson.

You owe it to me and
you owe it to your father.

Mummy, you can't send
me back to that prison.

Now don't be silly, dear.

You don't know what it's like. They
torture you and beat you and humiliate you.

It's very nice, dear.

-Mother, I'm never ever going back.
-Now, listen.

Before your father started out
on that last fateful polar journey,

I made a solemn promise that I would
always, always keep you at school.

Just let me go and see
him. He'll understand.

Don't be a fool, dear.

He's at the other
end of the earth.

Surrounded by five million square
miles of uncharted ice and snow.

How on earth do you
think you'll find him?

Well, you've got his address.

Yes, but I couldn't
give it to you.

-Mother, I...
-He made me promise

never to reveal his whereabouts
to a member of the press.

-But I'm not a member of...
-No, you must go back to Graybridge.

As he would have wanted.

And I must get on
with the gardening.

-But surely...
-Here's some rhubarb for the journey.

-Goodbye, Thompson.
-Tomkinson.

Sorry. Tomkinson.

Bye-bye, Mother.

-Who is this?
-Who is what?

-This man.
-What man?

Oh, good Lord.

-Get off!
-Yes, get your hands off my mother.

Tomkinson!

Daddy!

Enter!

Sorry I'm late, Bully. I
was detained at prayers.

Heard the good news, have
you? Tomkinson won the hop.

Yes, yes, yes. Jolly good.

Yes, yes, it is...
Jolly... Jolly good.

-Are you going anywhere, Bully?
-Yes, I've been offered a job at Eton.

-At Eton?
-Yes, Eton.

You have heard of it, haven't
you, you silly little headmaster you?

Yes, yes. Of course, Bully.

You see, their school bully's
left to join the government.

And, uh, they
offered me the job.

It's £1,000 a year.

Meals sent up from London.
A house in France during prep.

And insurance cover on all boys
damaged. I think it's very good.

Look, Bully, you can't just
leave like this, you know.

Parents send their boys to
Graybridge just to be bullied by you.

Oh, I'm afraid that's your
problem, you scruffy little creature.

Look, let's not be hasty
about this. Let's think about it.

I mean, Graybridge has
got a good name for bullying.

Well, you can appoint somebody
else easily now, couldn't you?

Bully, you can't do this to me.

You know there's no one in this
school with your... Your strength, your...

-Your effortless, almost superhuman...
-What about Tomkinson?

I was going to make
him head of school.

Oh, come along now. He
deserves more than that.

I mean, after all, he's the only one
we've had who's ever won the hop.

Goodbye, Suki.

Yes, yes. Yes, he won
the hop, but, Bully...

Bullying...

It's a different sort of
thing, you know. I mean...

Do you think he's up to it?

As I cycled back through
the leafy English countryside

towards Graybridge,

a thousand memories
crowded into my mind.

Of the horrors that had
blighted my life there

and the lives of so many of
my friends and companions,

that was to ruin my
life for three more years.

How could a system
like that ever change?

There was no hope left.

-Here he comes.
-Come on, boys.

Stand straight.
Come on. He's here.

At first I couldn't believe
what was happening.

Then slowly I realised.

Perhaps there was a
chance to change Graybridge.

Boys, three cheers
for Tomkinson.

-Hip hip...
-Hurray!

-Hip hip...
-Hurray!

-Hip hip...
-Hurray!

And for some reason, it
was being offered to me.

Jolly good show, Tomkinson.

But of course, I knew I would
have to do it in easy stages.

Call me School Bully,
you ghastly little toad.

Jolly good, eh?

I knew you'd make
a go of it, Thompson.

Tomkinson, cloth ears.

Oh, sorry, School Bully.

Let's all sing the school song.

♪ My school, my school

♪ How bravely she stands

♪ Long steep in the memories

♪ Of time's ageing hands... ♪