All language subtitles for Ripping Yarns - S01xE02

It were always
raining in Denley Moor,

except on days
when it were fine.

And there weren't many of them.

Not if you include
drizzle as rain.

And even if it weren't
drizzling, it were overcast,

and there were a lot
of moisture in the air.

You'd come home damp
as if it had been raining,

even though there hadn't actually
been evidence of precipitation

in the rain gauge
outside the town hall.

And the humidity level
on the weather chart

was constant for the
entire period, despite...

Black pudding's very
black today, Mother.

Yes, it is black today, dear.

Aye, that's very black, that is.

Yes, dear.

-Even the white bits are black.
-Yes, dear.

-It's a very dark pudding today.
-Aye.

-Like the weather.
-Yes, dear.

-Very overcast.
-Mmm.

Mum.

Yes, Eric.

I don't think I've ever seen black
pudding quite as black as that. Have you?

That's enough, dear. Go
and get us some coal, will you?

Oh, righto, Mother.

-Mum.
-Yes, son.

You know Howard, Howard Molson.

Yes, dear.

He's got a new shovel.

Oh.

It's a lovely shovel.

-It's got a great big brass handle.
-Oh, good.

You know what he's going to do?
He's going to put it next to his other one.

Yes, dear. Look, give
our Irenie a call, will you?

-Tell her her tea's ready.
-Oh, righto, Mother.

It were always
like that at home.

-Irene! The tea's ready!
-There were never time to discuss things.

As soon as I raised
an interesting topic,

me mum would always
find something else to do,

or she'd be too busy.

Sometimes she'd feign death
just to avoid talking to me.

It was the same with me dad.

He'd pretend to be
French when he came in,

hoping I wouldn't talk to him.

Oh, quelle journée
au bas de la terre.

Je suis très fatigué
demain, Vera.

Oh, yes, dear.

Eh bien, le repas est prêt.

-What?
-Your supper's ready.

And our Irene, me sister,
she were just downright rude.

Irene, guess who's
got a new shovel, then?

Oh, shut up, you
boring little tit.

Irene, taisez-vous.

That's enough, dear.

Well, he's such a
short-arsed little creep,

he's driving me out of me tree.

Irene!

Meals were always the same.

Every time I tried to
start a conversation,

our dad would feign a bilious
attack and have to leave the room.

And as soon as
they'd finished supper,

Mum and Irene would go
for a walk round the cemetery

and leave me on me own.

Until one morning, I come down for
me breakfast to find a note on the table.

Me mum and dad had
run away from home.

They said they couldn't stand it
any longer. They didn't say what.

Maybe it were the damp weather, more
prevalent this year than last, admittedly.

Irene had gone, as well.

And they left no address.

They'd even taken
the outside toilet.

The rest of that day,

despite the likelihood of drizzle from
an occluded cold front moving slowly east

to cover all areas
by lunch time,

I looked for them
all over Denley Moor.

Excuse me, have
you seen our dad?

-No, no.
-Or me mam?

Oh, dear.

Seen our dad and mam and Irene?

Mr Ottershaw, seen our dad?
He's not been round here?

Oh, dear.

Oh...

Why? Why had they run away?

Was it something I'd said?

Or was it just the inevitability

of living with an average rainfall of
28.4 inches for the rest of their lives?

There was only one
person I could talk to -

Enid Bag,

whose father kept racing
vultures up on Scarsdale Road.

-Hello, Mrs Bag.
-Oh.

Hello, Eric.

Hello, Mr Bag.

-Hello, Eric.
-Is our Enid in?

Aye, she's up t'bedroom.

Oh, thank you.

Hey! You can't go
upstairs to t'bedroom.

I only want to talk to her.

-She's got a young man up there.
-Oh?

-Who is it?
-I don't know.

Somebody she met.

She's supposed to
be walking out with me.

Aye, she is that,
and don't you forget it!

Well, what's our Enid doing
up in t'bedroom wi' a fella?

She's just having a
little fling, that's all.

Oh.

Who is it, our mam?

It's Eric Olthwaite.

Oh.

-Can I talk to you, our Enid?
-Yes.

Er, it's very important.

Well, what is it?

Enid, it's me mam
and dad and our Irene.

-They've run away from home.
-I'm not surprised.

-What do you mean?
-Well, they never did like you, did they?

Didn't they?

Come on, our Enid, you
can't stop there talking all day.

Yes, our mam.

Well, goodbye, Eric.

E... nid.

Aye, he's an ugly
one, this Julian.

Call him a racing vulture?
He's nothing but trouble.

You know, we had Reg and
Doreen Molson here t'other day,

and Rita had forgotten
to shut t'window.

We just got sat round for
Sunday joint, and in flaps Julian.

Rips the lamb joint
apart and takes off with it.

Of course, Reg Molson, well,
you know what a daft bugger he is,

he tries to save
his portion, you see,

and old Julian takes a
couple of his fingers off.

What a terrible mess, eh?

And Doreen, of course,

well, she looks like
raw meat anyway.

-She...
-What did our Enid mean, Mr Bag?

She said me mam and
dad never did like me.

Yeah. Well, er...

I suppose you had to
find out some day, lad.

Find out what, Mr Bag?

Well... Well, you see,
Eric, it... it's like this.

There are some
people in life who are...

interesting people.

You know, they're good
company, fun to be with.

You know, people who when you
see them on the street, you say,

"Ah, there's old so-and-so.

"Isn't it grand to see him?"

People who make you happy.

People who make you feel
that... well, that life's worth living.

But you're not one of 'em, Eric.

-What do you mean, Mr Bag?
-I mean, Eric,

you're a boring little tit.

Eric, do you mind if I
give you some advice?

No, I don't suppose so.

Well, you've got to pull
yourself together, lad.

You've got to do something.

You've got to make
something of your life.

What, you mean buy a new
shovel like Howard Molson?

Forget about Howard
Molson's shovel.

It's brand-new.

You won't make yourself more
interesting by buying a new shovel.

Even a hundred new shovels.

-Hundred? That'd be good.
-No.

It's what you are
yourself that counts.

Now, do you remember what your
Uncle Arthur said just before he died?

"Urgh... urrrgh."

No, before that.

He said, the one thing you've got to
learn is to pull yourself up in this world.

And that's what
you've got to do, lad.

Get out there and pull yourself
up. You're the only one who can.

It's up to you, Eric.

OK, Julian...

It were difficult to
accept that I were boring,

especially with my
interest in rainfall.

But that day, I climbed
up on Scanley Tor,

and as I looked out over the
familiar grey world around me,

I knew he were right.

I had to do
something with me life,

something that would stretch
my capabilities to the limit

and make me into a man.

I applied for a job in the bank.

I'm afraid you're far too dull and
uninteresting for us, Mr Olthwaite.

-Am I?
-Oh, yes, I'm afraid so.

-Oh.
-To get on in banking nowadays,

you have to be
hard and ruthless.

Oh, I didn't realise that.

Banking's a cut-throat business in
which only the strong will succeed.

Oh, dear.

To get to where I am now,

I have had to tear grown
men apart with my bare hands.

Have you really?

I've had men the size of WG
Grace weeping openly in front of me.

Men as tall as Ramsay MacDonald

have thrown themselves out of
windows and under railway trains

and cast themselves
into quagmires

because of my unyielding
and implacable nature.

-Oh, I wouldn't like to do that.
-No, I can see you're not the kind.

Well, I better go and get a
job somewhere else, then.

Yes, I should, if I were
you. That'd be better.

Right!

Put your hands above your
heads. Both of you. Stand up.

I am standing up.

-Put the keys on the desk.
-Oh.

-You, open the safe.
-Hurry up!

-You won't shoot us, will you?
-Shut up!

Yes, sir, thank you.

-Come on, come on, hurry up.
-Can't do it.

Get out the way.

-Pick up the bags.
-Oh, yes, sir.

If you want any more,
there's another safe...

Shut up! Right, out the window.

-What, me?
-Yes, move.

-Come on, come on.
-Oh, right.

Get in the car.

-What car?
-That car.

-Okay, move. Quick!
-Yes, sir.

You'll never get away
with this, you know.

Shut up. Come on,
get going. Quick!

Fast as I can, sir?

-Yeah! Get moving!
-Certainly, sir.

-Take a right. Quick.
-Certainly, sir.

Reverse and take a left.

Yes, of course, sir.

Where shall I be
dropping you, sir?

-Shut up. Just keep going.
-Of course, sir.

Don't I know you, lad?

Aren't you Jean-Pierre
Olthwaite's boy?

Er, yes, that's right.

You might've seen
me down the town hall.

I used to go there every
Sunday to read the rain gauge.

Oh, aye.

It's a lovely rain gauge.

-Is it?
-Aye.

It's a pity, with such
a lovely rain gauge,

that Denley Moor has such a comparatively
static mean annual rainfall rate.

Oh, aye.

You're the boring one.

Okay, turn left.

Certainly, sir.

Stop here!

Yes, of course, sir.

-Get out the car.
-What, me?

-Yes, move.
-Oh, righto.

Shall I be waiting for you, sir?

-Do you find me boring?
-Shut up!

-Keep moving!
-All right.

I mean, you would say
if you found me boring.

I mean, would you honestly
say if you found me boring?

-Keep moving!
-Oh.

Up here?

-Yeah!
-All right.

Because I mean, some
people do find me boring.

-Me dad and our Irene...
-Go on, you first.

That's why I was
going to join the bank!

So I'd have something
interesting to talk about!

Don't you think, though,

don't you think that, you know, if... if it
were a sort of bank, a small bank, well...

Move!

Hey.

Give me those.

You didn't mind me saying that,
did you? About me being boring?

What's your name, son?

Eric. What's yours?

-Arthur.
-Oh. Hello, Arthur.

No.

I'm afraid it's goodbye, Eric.

What do you mean, Arthur?

You don't think I can
afford to let you go, do you?

What you going to do, Arthur?

I'm gonna have
to kill you, Eric.

What, completely?

Well, of course. It wouldn't be
killing you if it weren't completely.

Well, our dad always says
as how he'd half kill me.

Goodbye, Eric.

I wouldn't tell anyone
anything, honest, Arthur.

You don't think I can
take that risk, do you?

There'd be a fat price on my head,
lad. You'd be a fool not to take it.

-I don't want the money, Arthur.
-And stop calling me Arthur.

Sorry, Arthur.

-I'm not interested in money.
-Now, don't look at me while I do it.

Sorry.

-Arthur.
-What is it?

Do you think if I had more money,
people would find me more interesting?

Well, of course they would, lad.

You look at the nobs in the big houses
with the big bellies and the big cigars.

You don't think people go fawning round
them because they like them, do you?

It's their money they like.
Now, just keep your head still.

Sorry.

-Arthur.
-Yeah, what?

You're an interesting
person, aren't you?

-What do you mean?
-Well, have you got a lot of money?

I have now.

No, no. I meant before that.

Don't talk daft, lad. The
likes of me don't have money.

We have grind and sweat

and filthy homes and hungry
kids. We don't have money.

But people don't find
you boring, do they?

-What do you mean?
-Well...

Well, our Irene said I
were a boring little tit.

So did me dad. And Mr Bag.

Oh, you don't want to pay any
attention to them. What do they know?

Now, keep your head up.

Me mam finds me boring, too.

-She what?
-Aye.

She ran away from
home just to avoid me.

Your mam?

Aye, wi' our Irene and me dad.

Oh. Oh, that's
bloody terrible, that is.

No mam's got a right
to do a thing like that.

Oh, well, I did
used to go on a bit.

No, a mam's place is with
her family and her loved ones.

I tell you, Eric, if my
mam'd stayed at home,

I wouldn't be doing this now.

-Really?
-Oh, aye.

Oh, she were a grand mam,
really. Best you could have.

Oh, mine weren't the best.

Oh, our mam...

Our mam made toad in the
hole like no one else could.

Every Tuesday night, me dad used to get
them great big sausages from Hopkinson's.

And she'd make a batter
as thick as clotted cream.

And we'd all sit round
and we used to call it...

Mam's special.

Shall we sit down a minute?

Yeah.

Yeah, let's sit down.

Our mam used to make the
blackest black puddings you ever saw.

What?

-Really black, were they?
-Aye.

One day, even the
white bits were black.

-Even the white bits?
-Even the white bits!

They were all black.

Well, I never saw
a pudding like that.

Oh, it were a grand
sight. Totally black.

Well, I once did
see a pudding...

-Aye?
-Well...

-Was it really, Eric?
-Aye.

And what sort of shovel was it?

It were... It were
an 'ook shaft,

Spear & Jackson Number 3,
with a reinforced brass handle.

-Nickel scoop?
-No, no, steel scoop,

with copper rim edging.

-And Howard Molson got it new?
-Aye, only cost him £4.

-But you know what happened, Arthur?
-Don't tell me.

Copper edging came
loose on t'scoop!

No, no. The handle broke off.

The what? Off a Spear
& Jackson Number 3?

Aye, aye.

I don't believe it. Whereabouts?

Inside handle grip.

A bit of the brass hadn't been
moulded properly into the embrasure,

and split had appeared
along underside rim.

-Well, how long had he had it?
-Only a couple of weeks.

Well, that's incredible.

I've never heard
anything like that.

Well, it shows it does happen.
Even with the best shovels.

You know, Eric... Oh,
it's silly, I know, but...

it's nice to sit and talk to
somebody about shovels.

Oh, well, it's not me
main interest, you know.

-No?
-Oh, no.

There's something I'm much
more interested in than that.

What's that?

Rainfall in this area.

-That's where I've seen you before.
-What?

Rain gauge in town hall gardens!

-D'you go there?
-Every Sunday!

That night as we talked excitedly
about shovels and precipitation,

Arthur and I decided we
had so much in common

that we would form a gang dedicated
to pursuing our common interests.

Arthur, with his
long criminal record,

was loath to divulge his name,

so we called ourselves

the Eric Olthwaite Gang.

"The Eric Olthwaite
Gang have struck again

"from their hideout on
the North York Moors.

"Posing as members
of the public,

"they entered
Cudworth Public Library.

"And while Eric Olthwaite,
leader of the self-styled gang..."

Oh, get off!

"...daringly engaged the
librarian in conversation,

"his colleague removed daily average
rainfall records for the last 12 years.

"The Olthwaite Gang is now
wanted by police in three counties."

Mum! Mum! Mum!

Have you read
about Eric Olthwaite?

He's wanted by
police in three counties!

Aye.

I don't believe it.

Do you think he wants a moll?

A mole? Who'd want a mole?

Mucky little things.

Digging up t'garden and
leaving great holes in t'park.

No! A moll. Like
a gangster's moll.

Oh, don't be daft.

Stop upstairs and
have a good time.

-Oh, Mum.
-Enjoy yourself.

No! I'm bored wi' it!

Now, listen to me, our
Enid. You're only young once.

If you don't have your
fling now, you never will.

I promised your father
before the accident,

I'd never stopped
having it off with nobody

so long as they respected you.

Enid!

Enid!

I'm bored wi' it, Mum. I
want to go and be with Eric.

Up there on the moors,
living life dangerously.

-Living life to the full!
-Don't be daft.

Get back upstairs.

I'm off, Mother.

You may never see
me again till tonight.

And don't come crying to me
that I never let you have it off.

I see Eric Olthwaite's
got himself a moll.

Oh, they're bloody pests.
What's he want one of them for?

No, no. A gangster's
moll, to join his gang.

Oh, aye.

I wish he wanted a bank
manager. It's so boring here.

You think bank manager's boring?

You want to try being a mayor.

Well, they did ask me.

But I were too small. I
couldn't fulfil all the functions.

Hey, just a minute.

I've had an idea.

-What, for the carnival?
-No, no, no. Come on. Get your coat on.

I've got me coat on.

We are going to
see Eric Olthwaite.

Our gang became
feared and notorious

throughout the Leeds
and Pudsey area.

But the most exciting
thing about being on the run

was the chance to
compare rainfall conditions

in various parts of the country.

I didn't really want to
go back to Denley Moor.

But, one day, everything
suddenly changed.

We got back from a raid to find
someone had discovered our hideout.

Come out, or else!

Eric.

Oh, 'eck! We've shot the mayor!

I now became more
famous than ever.

Please, come on.
That's it. Right...

Mrs Olthwaite, did he
always talk about shovels?

Oh, yes, he was
very keen on shovels.

It was Howard Molson's new
shovel that he admired most.

Did he talk about other things?

You know, we hear he
was very keen on rainfall.

Oh, yes. Rainfall was
always a big interest.

Anything else, Mrs Olthwaite?

-Tell 'em about black puddings.
-Black pudding?

Oh, yes. Black pudding.

Oh, well, he was very interested
in the colour of black pudding.

How black they were?

Oh, yes. And I remember
him saying once,

about a black pudding
that I were cooking,

that even the white
bits were black.

In front of Eric's photo, would
you, please? Thank you. Smile!

Can we have another one,
Mrs Olthwaite, over here?

It's raining! Raining!

Mr Olthwaite, can we have a
picture of you checking the gauge?

The car's here, Mr Olthwaite!

Check the gauge...

How many shovels
has Eric got now?

I'm sorry, lads. Why don't you come
down to t'town hall and ask him yourself?

Yes, I was famous in a way
I could never have imagined.

Ladies and gentlemen,

I give you a man who has made
me the happiest man in the world

and who's graciously
accepted my offer

-to become the next mayor...
-Ooh.

...of Denley Moor.

My old friend

Eric Olthwaite!

The thing I remember
most about Denley Moor

were that it were
always raining.

Except on days
when it were fine.

And I remember saying to her,

"Black pudding's very
black today, Mother."

-Behave yourself, will you?
-It's so boring!

It's not. It's interesting.

And I said...

♪ There was a lad from Denley
Moor, from Castle Street he came

♪ He made this dark town proud
again, Eric Olthwaite was his name

♪ Oh, he told the world of
shovels to be found in Denley Moor

♪ Of the rainfall that
was static here at 28.4

♪ Oh, Eric, Eric Olthwaite,
you're the one they're singing for

♪ Eric, Eric Olthwaite,
the King of Denley Moor

♪ Having checked the rainfall
average, from the rain gauge he would run

♪ To see Howard Molson put
his shovel next to the other one

♪ Oh, Eric, Eric Olthwaite,
you're the one they're singing for

♪ Eric, Eric Olthwaite,
the King of Denley Moor

♪ Oh, Eric, Eric Olthwaite,
you're the one they're singing for

♪ Eric, Eric Olthwaite,
the King of Denley Moor ♪