All language subtitles for Sir Henry At Rawlinson End (1980)-eng

(Glass shatters)

(Church bells ring)

(Man) There we are, my darling,
look at the camera.

That's it, big smile, wonderful.

Sir, don't be solemn,
it's a lovely day, look.

See the camera there sir?
Marvellous! Keep looking Sir.

Sir, what a marvellous day for you, eh?
Not losing a daughter, but gaining a son.

Lovely. Look at the camera sir,
'cause I want to take a nice picture.

(Belches)

(Man) God bless, eh, Mr Slodden?

(Narrator) English as tuppence,
changeless as canal water,

nestling in green nowhere,

armoured and effete, bold flag-bearer,

Lotus-fed Miss Havershambling,

hermit crab-type fist eremite,

Feudal still, reactionary,
Rawlinson End.

Sir Henry Rawlinson
surfaced from the blackness,

hot and fidgety,
fuss, bother and ditch,

Conscious mind coming up
too fast for the bends,

through pack-ice throbbing seas

boom-sounders, blow-holes,,,

Filth hounds of Hades!

Harsh croaked, blind pews

tip-tap-tocking for escape
from his pressing skull,

With a gaseous grunt,

he’d slit-peered at the cold trench
Florrie had left on her side of the bed.

Black spot.

(Deep bell rings once)

God's turban and tutu!

Ow! Oh!

Do I need a dare of the hog.

(Mutters indistinctly)

(Deep bell rings once)

(Horse neighs)

(Sir Henry yells) Mrs E...

Cock over! Safety off!

(Gun discharges twice)

(Church bells ringing)

(Yells) Mrs E!

Yes?

I don't know what I want,
but I want it now!

Fried or fried, dear?

- (Yells) Now!
- Fried?

I want my meat burnt, like St. Joan.

Bring me Calvin's horseradish
with vicious mustards

to pierce the tongue
like Cardigan's lancers.

(Mrs E) 'l don't know
how I got out of bed this morning.

'Had it all down one side,
put me foot down,

'gawd, it was like plugging
into the mains.

'It shot right up and I came over
all giddy.'

(Church bells ringing)

(Mrs E) 'l thought, oh no! I’m going!
I could smell the lilies. Lovely.

'Just wanted to lay back, but I can't
recline, he's put me on tablets

'l can't sleep, not since Mr E.
passed over.

'It's like having a leg off,
you think it's still there, in the bed.

'l mean, it was 33 years last Tuesday.

(Sighs) 'He used to like doing it for him.'

(Gas hisses)

So they put him to sleep with his mouth
clamped open, dear.

Yes, and they put a little pat of butter
on the pillow.

There was this male nurse
standing by with a club, all night.

(Bang)

So that when the tapeworm popped out
for the butter, she'd bash it one!

Mornin' Ma'am.
I’ve filled in the grave nice.

(Farting)

- Would you care to wash your hands?
- Er...no, thank you, Miss Florrie.

I did that up against that big
tree out there before I came in here.

Very well.

I’d like you to set up the cards and put
down some saw-dust in the dining room.

My brother, Lord Tarquin Portly and the
Lady Philippa Staines are coming over.

For the Blazing!

(Sir Henry yells) Scrotum!

(Huffing and panting)

(Sir Henry yells) Scrotum!

Get a shufti on, will you?

I reckon it will be smarter
if the Master will let me buff it up a bit.

Shiny always looks dandy.

For the umpteenth time, I’m supposed
to be an impecunious jungle-bunny,

not the bonnet of me Rolls.

God's teeth, you bought me another pair
with seams up the back.

Legs don't have seams!

Now, creek off, check the library.

(Sighs) Hello, Sahib!

(Door squeaks)

It’s about time you got that thing
well oiled.

If I can manage it every day,
why should books stay sober.

Disguised as a person
of foreign extraction,

Henry monthly rode
to the sewage farm in Concreton,

where, stepping over
the revolving sprinklers,

he found in the muck blessed relief
from his lumbago,

It was filthy work,
fraught with fearful dangers,

Hello!

(Chuckles)

Hello mush, where are you off to?

You impertinent lout, do you know
who I am? I'm Sir Hen...

I'm Hugh...Bliette.

Er...what are you,
some sort of artist then?

Yes. I’m especially fond
of Michael an' Jello,

the two men responsible
for the Cistern Chapel.

I like the moderns, too - Avocado
da Vinci and Anonymous Bosch,

the secret Nazi.

Then there's Albrecht Durex,
the sensitised German woodcutter.

Strange man, always made a pin-hole
in every hundredth of his editions.

Listen mush, I don't reckon
you're a proper sambo at all.

For starters, your bacons
are all streaky.

What? I decidedly is a sambo.
Regard my earrings.

They look like cotton reels to me.

Cotton reels? These are
my ancestral ear-drums

- You're not elephant's trunk, are you?
- I’m as sober as a judge.

I’m also a magistrate!

There were horrid rituals, pater!

Red spots to the corner hole!

I never met a man I didn't mutilate.
(Laughs)

The tropics, damn 'em!
Murderous, yet curiously magnetic.

(Two gunshots)

He couldn’t bear to see
even the lowliest of creatures in pain,

Hmm...

(Sir Henry) Seems a novel enough way
to commit suicide.

Pass me me pistol. I’ll see if I can't
bring the blighter down in the lake.

What are you doing cowering
down there?

It's just out of respect, sir.

(Yells) You're supposed to love me
you vile jelly. Take that.

(Gunshot)

(Three gunshots)

(Splash)

(Three gunshots)

(Two shots and a hiss)

(Yells) Up! Up! Boar's tusks!

Not those, you idiot! The ones I use
for defacing Readers Digest.

I'll see 'em off the premises myself.

The hounds are all fagged out after
yesterday's Jehovah's Witnesses.

We don't want blood
all over the lawns again.

(Distant singing)

Argh! Those simpering Nancy boys
are in the house!

(Yells) Scrotum!

Swabs and trolleys. Argh!

(Singing echoes)

(Marching feet)

- # ...You friends will say that's
- # Nice

- # And Tidy
- # That's Nice! #

(Marching feet)

Sir Henry! How nice to see you.
To see you...

Do you know what a palmist
once said to me?

She said, ''Will you let go?''

I am a bulldog, and you will know
my bite is worse.

(Yells) Heyshi! Heyshi! Heyshi!
(Nigel) Oh!

(Nigel gurgles)

I’m terribly sorry the place
is such a mess.

Will you stay for a macaroon?

Buller kept his mincers peeled
and glued to his '"borrowed''binoculars,

To see Sir Henry stomp to the place
of his most jealous and secret passion,

that barbed wire cage,
wherein the Krauts,

playthings - long post-war -
for the Fuhrer of Rawlinson, cowed.

But to please their Fuhrer, they had
constantly to devise ways of escape,

that Henry might thwart them,

It was well-fed work,
but a dread-filled-nuisance,

(Piano music plays on radio)

Germany calling! Germany calling!
(Mimics trumpet)

The witches attempt to keep mum
in this cathedral.

Ah! Sorcery, kidnapping
and desecration!

The solution is in eight,
with a 'Y' at the end.

Innate, inborn, native...

Savages and jungle-bunnies!

Doner kebab und blitzen,

Blitz!

- Coventry, Coventry.
- (Air raid siren wails)

Coven-try... Fill in Coventry
immediately, my dear Joe.

Coventry! Pig hounds.

Dead men don't need haircuts.

- Surely not before breakfast?
- Argh!

If I need your opinion
I'll thrash it out of you!

(Yelling and indistinct murmuring)

(Explosions and gunfire)

(Explosions and gunfire abruptly cease)

On pleasant
English evenings,

Henry's brother Hubert went angling,

Hubert put it about that swans
were really giant snorkels

and that they betrayed
dinosaur leviathans

gliding cold-eyed beneath the lake,

As a child, Hubert was unusual,

In his adolescence, during the summer,

in a northerly direction
parallel to the earth's axis,

he would throw himself naked
onto the lawn -

and, with that loathsome
bluey Roman clock-face

tattooed about his private parts -

think about Jean Harlow very hard,

and from the shadow cast, tell the time
with remarkable accuracy,

He had been told the lake embosomed
enormous barbels, and this,

translated through his ear-trumpet
and giggles,

became 'anonymous barbers'.

He wondered how and why

these hairdressers stayed
submerged for so long,

and was determined to catch one,

But, it was a waste of time,

for white-aproned and deep beneath
the mirror surface,,,

- # God bless us
- # Stripe me a pinkie

# We will never bite

# - There's been many a...
- # Close-close shave

- # But we slippery un-customers
- # Stay safely

- # Here-cut
- # Dried and happy

- # Down here, under where
- # Down under where

- # We blow, wave, perm, shampoo
- # Game and set

# Fly cast away refracted fellow

# Forget, forget, for...

# Would you like to see
the back of your head, René...

# Magritteings to you

- # Bye
- # Bye

# Bye #

(Car engine)

(Dog barks)

This same English evening,

as Hubert angled and dangled
unhappily on,

the intimate family assembled
for the Blazing dinner,

an annual do spoiled
only by the inevitable guest,

The Lady Philippa, who enjoyed
the odd small sherry,

and her husband, Lord Tarquin,
who enjoyed paying for it,

And, being the brother of Florrie, paying
for everything else at Rawlinson End.

Capital punishment and corporal
punishment must be reintroduced,

and should be public, properly staged
at the Wembley Stadium.

- It should be seen, seen. Death is...
- Argh!

Buller's ferrety eyes clocked
the entry of Peregrine Maynard, twit,

and his popsie, the enchanting
porcelain young thing,

Hey-o!

Coo-ee!
(Laughs)

Anybody at home?
(Laughs)

(Hollers) Hello?

Coo-ee!
(Laughs)

Anyone at home?

(Man blows)

- Cousin Peregrine!
- Ralph, old egg!

You look as tanned
as an old Etonian's bum!

The tropics old fruit!

And who's the lady?

My dry cleaner's best friend!

- Heavy petting?
- Rather!

Listen, have you heard the one
about the two...

Henry detests water.
He even cleans his teeth in rum.

All red and watery.
She lost all her eyelashes.

I had to wash the crusts off
with bicarb of soda.

Soda? I never trusted anything
without a cork in it.

Learned that sloggin' me guts
out in the Kalahari against Rommel.

I thought Kalahari was a form of
Japanese suicide. They slit the stomach.

(Laughs) No, no, you silly.
That's Kamikaze. Kami-kaze.

Kami-kaze?

Brainwashed nips diving head first
into the lav.

This gravedigger had tied a piece
of cardboard to his back saying,

''I’m a Turkish student, please stop me,
and I’ll show you my bum for a shilling.''

Could I scratch mirrors...
and see them bleed?

Sister!

(Both laugh)

(Gong echoes)

It came on very quickly.
Must have been all that fatty food.

One of them was stuck in a duct
in his privates,

and when they cut it out
it was as big as an orange.

Golly! 9:42 and 37 seconds,
by the old quartz digital.

- We better be going in for dinner.
- Not me, sporting.

Got something a bit exotic
up in me room.

Oh, yes! Passion fruit, eh?

(Laughs)

(Chuckles)

(Blows nose)

That was inedible muck,
and there wasn't enough of it.

(Belches)

I say, how dare you belch
in front of my wife!

(Sir Henry) Sorry.
Didn't know it was her turn.

The pudding was scrumptious.
Any chance of a whisper more?

Don't you think there was too much
gristle in the blancmange?

If I had all the money I’d spent on drink,

I’d spend it on drink.

(Door creaks)

(Footsteps)

(Man)
'Another year dead, mother.'

(Mother) 'You are without breath,
my son, and trousers.'

(Man) 'True. The corridors
are spiked and endless.'

(Mother) 'Will you never rest?'

(Man) 'Improperly attired,
Mama? No.

'No son of Rawlins should be seen
without trousers.

'And yet, the Blazing, soon.
And I must walk.'

(Mother) 'Your brother Henry
will be cross.'

(Man) 'Normal people
like being frightened.'

(Mother) 'But Henry isn't...'
(Man) 'Eat up your Haddock, Mama.'

(Door creaks and shuts)

(Mother) 'Too cold.
Too cold and very tired.'

(Footsteps)

(Shrieking violins play)

(Man) 'Hello Gums, old man.

'Almost time for walkies.

'Perhaps, tonight.'

(Toilet flushes)

Generally speaking, when I’ve eaten
something I don't want to see it again.

Would you care to be the fourth man,
Sir Henry?

My dear lady, I wouldn't care
to have been even the first.

You know, Henry dear,
if filthy fingers were trumps,

why what a splendid hand you'd have.

Mind you, the jungle-bunnies

are not without their own
peculiar brand of decency.

I’ll give you an example -

they wouldn't kill a man if he was asleep.
Have to wake him up.

One of them told me -
charming fellow,

lips like inner tubes,
and under torture, naturally -

that should the victim's spirit be out
of the body at the time of death,

it would, on its return, be so outraged,

it would pursue and torment him
for eternity,

like the Greek Harpics of mythology.

Understandable, if you believe
that sort of guff.

Well, the firing squad formed a circle
and Bunny Winwood gave the order...

Did I hear a flush? 'Cause the cramps
he had were awful, dear.

I said, ''Have a nice bowl of liquid
paraffin Jelly, it'll loosen you up''.

''Oh no'', he said.

So I said, ''A warm half pint of olive
oil and a funnel. I don't mind doing it''.

But not him. He undressed
with the light off.

I said, ''Shove a pellet of soap up
with a good squirt of cucumber juice...''

(Sir Henry) Mrs E, when I require
an evacuant,

I swallow thirty feet of towelling
and wait.

(Farting)

These are the only spirits I want
tormenting my body.

When you're dead, you're gone.

(Footsteps)

Afterlife, aftershave.
Don't hold with any of it.

I don't give a toss what you do with me
when I’ve shrugged off me mortal coil.

(Footsteps and squeaking wheels)

(Wails) Oh! Oh!

Now, about these chaps, put a hand
on your chest to wake you up

a chink of reality, and you're gone.

Slit your throat, gouge your eyes out.
No compunction.

I was in Africa. Spent some time
in the land of the Gibber.

(Thudding footsteps)

Picked up a little Gibberish, too.

(Tarquin) Frustrating!

I understand the man on top
of a trolley-bus with a tommy-gun.

(Gags)

Water?

Wazz? Dilution?

Rope's end, Humbert. Tether snapped.
This is an outrage. You have to go.

(Barking)

And how do you propose to proceed
with this eviction?

My dear lady, if a thing's worth doing,
it's worth forcing someone else to do it.

Oh Henry, may we employ an exorcist?
Bells, books and...

They say that that Mr Slodden's
an exiscrutionist.

He got rid of Mrs Headstuffing's
boogey-boogies with one blow.

(Mumbles indistinctly)

All right, send for him.
Now, where was l?

(Glasses and cutlery clink)

Many years ago,

understandable mistake,

me brother Humbert
and meself out duck shooting.

An understandable mistake?
The kind of trifling, piffling bosch-shot,

that might well chance
on any Englishman

in receipt of two bottles of Entre Deux
Legs and nine balloons of brandy?

(Distant quacking)

With a flatulent farewell,
the brothers parted.

(Mimics quacking)

Humbert, to seek other
and juicier game,

sniggering in the tell tale reeds,

Primed and cocked to bag two birds
with one Rosie One tooth,

timed to a tease,

Oh, Rosie! Mistress of the fool
and bladder she,

hidden hand of all damp sheet guilt,
gung-ho, the brutish hump,

(Hollers) Rosie!

- (Narrator) 'And.,, '
- (Yells) Rosie!

The reckoning, interruptus,
with husband Seth,

Swollen, erogenous, cuckold rage

and Shylock-black
how-much-is-it-worth-ness

warred for ascendancy in sturdy Seth,

The beast in man
left holding the trousers,,,

(Seth) 'Rawlinson trousers!
You won't get far without those.'

Lolling in a sodden
alcoholic 1805,

Henry blear-eyed the mizzen masts,

and to gallant rushes, waving defiance
to bold Agamemnon and victory

and saw kiss me Hardy,

Some dago frenchie, begod!
And.,,

(Gunshots)

An understandable
mistake, Perhaps not,

Henry's love of Florrie, or more
particularly, her brother Tarquin's money,

which would be denied him
had Humbert lived,

would surely be motive enough
for an '''understandable mistake'.

And might not the ghost, freed from
his search for trousers, speak,

and if so through whom,,,the dog?

I’ve been very, very naughty.

I’d like to entertain you all
with a bird impression.

Mummy! Mummy! This is so horrid,
horrid. I’m going home.

But darling, you'll miss the Blazing.
All the bumpkins jumping up and down...

(Mrs E) He used to chew cloves and
swizz with creosote, for his bad breath.

So I put a rubber sheet and give him
a strong drastic dear.

(Record plays ukulele music)

What's thinking got to do with decisions?

Oh...

(Violent retching)

(Watch ticks)

(Muffled footsteps)

(Footsteps and squeaking wheels)

(Chuckles)

(Gunshot)

(Indistinct yelling)

# Naming all the flowers so friendly

# Shouting at the shrubs so thick

# Lo and behold Lobelia

# One bite and the bishop was sick

# How nice to be in England

# Now that England's here

# I stand upright in my wheelbarrow

# And pretend I’m Boadicea #

So, that's why Gerald spent all that
money on Plasticine.

Tush!

Willies.

Oh!

Had he known Humbert,
equipped like a stallion.

Oh, Humbert, and the Blazing tomorrow
night and Humbert will walk. Oh.

It’s a stair carpet, my once love.

Oh, how I thrilled when you stood
in a hole to kiss me.

You called me a perfect brick.

Perfect!

You huge...

Foolish thoughts for a woman already
in the twilight of her autumn.

# Chop, Chop, the axe do drop,
the scrapin' song of the saw

# The dead goo drink,
the horns goo blow

# At the Blazing, oh, the Blazing #

Hmm...

A little closer with the tips, I think.

A little more Rossetti with the paws.

Almost.

(Shouts in German)

It was a bold try.
And damn close too!

(Laughs)

(Twig snaps)

(Distant clatter)

- Oh!
- I am the Anti-Christ, will you deny me?

- Oh, Mr Slodden, for Holy Joe's sake...
- The very reverend...

The very reverend! Leave it out!

I will cling to the old rugged cross.

It is a Te Deum and serendipitous day
to rejoice, Bullethead.

I have been summoned.

Well. it’s a suit, collar
and tie job, in it?

There's bound to be an old
boiler on the bench.

Give her the eye job,
she'll see you all right.

You're too old for Borstal. And they'd
never send down a sky pilot.

Your wit would not threaten a shrew's
brain for occupation.

I have been summoned to Rawlin's End

to lay, explicate
and exorcise their ghost.

Nice one, nice one. An inside job.

It is, Bullethead, and Deo volente

a job that requires a deft eye for the
Delft Blue, and the Tang and Ming.

I don't think there's a lot
of minge about.

I refer to the Wedgwood, the Waterford,

precious and most portable of objects,

without which a great house
would be naked and graceless.

'Ere you are, guv,
have a gander at the gaff.

Lilliput!

I have a macrocosmic view
of things temporal...

- (Rustling)
- Who's that?

It's a Br'er juicy rabbit.
One for the pot, one shot.

Would you slaughter
one of God's creatures?

- It's worth a couple of sheets.
- Kill it.

- (Dog growls)
- (Scrotum) You're expected, Mr Sodden.

Perhaps you'd like to lean there
for a moment while I fetch the mistress.

# Time for time to flash her
dazzling dentures

# Heigh ha ho, the way things are

# The cracks are showing... #

Excuse me. What's that?

# The cracks are showing #

(Hollers) I am indeed hard of hearing.

The confessional, you see,

I hear the poor deaf folk on Thursdays.
They shout a lot.

I said, I hate drafts.

The prisoners, I like to comfort them
on their way to the gibbet.

In nomine Patris et cum,,,
bless them.

But you, sir, with your natural bearing
and dignity can only be...

I am Hubert. I do not know
my last name.

I was found in a snowdrift
clutching a tiny bundle

and on my finger no wedding band.

Do you like riddles?

Conundrums, anagrams, acronyms,
teasers, they all...

I’m easy to bend, I begin where I end,

I’m soft and I’m pink and I’m shy,

I’m legless and armless,
and hairless and harmless.

I’ll give you three guesses.
Who am l?

The search for the self,
the psyche, the soul,

the id and alter ego...

God loves sheep.
Nudis verbis, Per obscurum obscuris,

The answer is a worm.
You have two guesses left.

I’ll keep them by me.
There are some things l...

I like things. Horace, he donated
his head to the family.

Ah, the Satires, the poetic arse...

I mean the Ars Poetica.

Perhaps I should have that drink
you mentioned.

This is where Humbert walks.

Ooh-ooh.

I don't like stories without pictures
I can understand. I get sleepy.

I like surprises.

- He's behind you!
- What?

(Roll of thunder)

He got anthrax off his shaving brush.

The bristles were made of horse hair.
Oh! Oh!

(Squelching)

(Ukulele plays)

Slodden intended to make
his esoteric calling pay,

Butin Hubert's room, his collection of
fruit, gooseberry glades, banana ha-has,

coconut follies rearing
in a rhubarb moat,

and the syrup, acid biting
the floorboards,

French-kissing the beams, seeped
sugarly into the dining room below.

Thus for most meals,
Henry sensibly sported a sou'wester,

(Squelching)

- 'Tis the road to Damascus.
- Oh, Mr Slodden, let me help.

Himself, ma'am. Himself.

Poor Slodden, servant of the
supernatural, expert in theosophy.

Religions of all persuasions
including the curiosities...

So very happy.

Er...Baptism, Exorcism, Galvanism,
and the stuff of Mesmer.

The very Zorro of Zoroastrianism...

Oh, sorry.

Gastroentera.

Mr Slodden, I believe it's the ectoplasm!

(Two gunshots)

(Yells) Pull!

(Two gunshots)

(lndistinct chatter)

(Trap springs,
followed by two gunshots)

(Trap springs,
followed by two gunshots)

(Whispers) The answer, Mr Slodden,
you have it?

The answer is only for the ears
and pocket

of the Master of Rawlinson.

Madame, I have found the only
possible conclusion to this vale of...

- Rain stopped play, what?
- (Gunshot)

Hello, Holy roller. Come to see
about the rats, have you? Why?

Mr Slodden is a divine, he will speed
poor Humbert to rest.

Stop the racket, hmm?
What's your stripe?

The rainbow is a measure
of my spiritual diameter.

I am both Anglican and Papist,

Buddhist and ipsissimus
to the severalth degree.

Let me unfold my pedigree. I am...

You will not be staying over. The priest
holes are stuffed with empties.

No... No...

(Grunts)

Incidentally, before I get drunk,
have you killed?

Those prejudices which,
Errare est Humanum, With grace l...

The Hun?

The Lutheran was a reformer,
but did mean well. But extrapolated...

- I’ve engaged him?
- Henry be kind.

- What kind of kind, Mr...
- Slodden.

The ghost of your dear departed
brother Humbert

will not rest without trousers
to suit.

You're an incumbent, pluralist, a druid
and a bonzery bible-puncher.

- Hush, Henry.
- Hush?

Slodden, I knew a man of the cloth -
Hargreaves.

You see, the natives believed
that a chap's soul was pure

if the snake bites didn't harm him.

He died in horrible agony.

- My blueprint for a solution...
- You have a map?

A blueprint for peace and quiet.

- No violence, no shooting?
- Hush, Henry...

When I kept silence,

my bones waxed old through shouting
through the night.

- Henry!
- Ah, the psalm 32...

Sir Henry, in short, the ghost
of your brother Humbert

will not rest until furnished
with appropriate trousers.

I have an Oriental acquaintance

who can manufacture, in a twinkling,
just such a pair.

Let us arrest the ghost in his wanderings
for the briefest of fittings.

Then we will reveal him
with incantations.

There is, however, the question of
remuneration. A trifle perhaps to cover...

Cods! C.O.D., Slodden -
cash on delivery.

Deliver me, Slodden.

- A man of infinite compassion, madam.
- And the way, Mr Slodden?

It’s hard and expensive, spiritually.

For your minds' sake, Humbert must be
put to rest and for his own.

- And the way involves Cads.
- Cads?

C.A.D.S. Concreton Amateur
Dramatic Society.

Their recent production of Macbeth,
at great expense,

has left Birnam Wood
to come to Rawlinson at my beckon.

Help us, I beg you.

Madam, it is my purpose to furnish
the unready with the wherewithal.

- And the ready?
- Must be fuelled by the quick.

We will pose as trees,
the beast will pause...

A ruse? How thrilling!

Garlic flowers in every room.

- Should you need me...
- I have only to...

Cough up.

Felix culpa, they steal the lead
from the roof of our compassion.

Buller's plan
was fiendishly stupid.

To get out, tickle the old trout -
meaning Sir Henry -

play him along, tog up as a patriotic
pair, Buller would supply the togs,

Talk of Vera and Gracie, Monty, Winnie

and rehearse your hatred of spam,

I’m sick of spam
but careless talk costs lives.

Nor a day nor an hour to be lost.

Get a shufti on.

How do I keep that pre-war feeling?

- (Knocking)
- Oh, lovely bacons, Vera.

- All right for the night, Jerry?
- I should coco, will you?

Darling, I drink Halls tonic wine.

(Man) Have a go at the gang from
Compton. After 1 5 plates of cabbage...

(Sings indistinctly)

# He walks to the bloody tower... #

Take it not lightly. Fear is the root
of all courage, and profit.

Come on, chief!
Don't tell me you believe all this.

I traffic in the unexplicable...
Ah, good luck, Mr Onetooth.

Would a butcher deny death
in defence of his trade?

Well, if you're going to be so
pound notish...

we'll split this down the middle, eh?

Two sheets, Buller.

Bigger game tonight,
when I lay the ghost.

Ah, Mr Stumpy, just a large one.

May you grasp the Javelin
as firmly as you grasp the faith.

Look, the trees are in a bag, right?

And we're in, right?

Let us pray.

Listen. Me and the Krauts
are as Titus A. Crabsarse. Like this!

I’ll be waiting. Crates of bubbly,
bangers, caviar,

and all the Health and Efficiency
you can read, eh?

(Agonising scream)

Hello, what's going on here?

Did you know there is no proper name
for the back of the knees?

Face jumping, lad. Always face jumping
on All Squids Day.

(Scream)

Through my vast, though yet unresolved
catalogue of general know-it-all,

may I remind you of the exploits of one
William Barker, of Manchester.

In the 1 890s, Billy cleared a canal
35 feet wide,

making a running jump,
jack-knifing into a second,

to land perfectly, and quite dry,
on the other side.

Eh, he's got no chance.
He's wearing spiked running shoes.

- It could be...
- Not my old cow. Sir Henry's Ma.

Has she eaten it all then?

Not at all. A nice bit
of smoked haddock it was, too.

Has been lying there getting cold
for the last three years.

Eh, by heck! Three years?
Did she do aught?

Not at all. She just lays there sayin'
nothing with her mouth wide open

catching flies and playin' with rats.

Sir Henry says she'll get not more
till she eats that last lot.

(Chuckles)

(Man) Did you know rats cannot be sick.

Yes, I’ll do that.

(Mutters indistinctly)

# Out in the fields the farmer boys
are working hard, sir

# Old Sol scorches
bumpkin leather necks

# Our Rosie's pulling pints
down at the Fool and Bladder

# Where rustics will relieve
themselves of aches

# Last night dripping custard
on our rhubarb crumble

# Now we're dripping sweat
upon the soil

# Wake up six and seven,
still we mustn't grumble

# Weekends we'll forget about it all,
singing

# Lay down yer spade,
tomorrow comes too quickly

# Whistling Mademoiselle
from Armentier

# A wise man knows his onions
are strong and pickly

# Swill 'em down
with dear old Rosie's beer

# The village populace
jumping on faces

# Catching the javelin,
heading the shot #

(Coughs)

(Chanting and beating drum)

Thirsty priests, black magic
and bloody Humbert.

Owls and Werewolves -
Balderdash,

But now the night and Slodden ruse
to trouser the ghost,

Florrie thought it all very Agatha,

Nept my mother night
in a snoo shadow.

(Hums)

(Woman) I don't like clocks.

They remind me of space.

I prefer stars.

They show me the throb of things.

(Paper rustles)

- 58, trousers, no life.
- Uh-huh.

(Chanting and drumming)

(Hums)

(Footsteps)

(Footsteps and squeaking wheels)

(Barking and howling)

(Wails) Oh! Oh!

(Drum beats drums and horn blows)

Old Raw!

Thrice named by Harild king of Danes

as man of note for his mighty
plunderings,

his sword Shortener was sung of.

Old Raw...drinks deep in Valhalla.

All on our Jack Jones tonight, hmm?
And in civvies.

- Prerogative of the individual, sergeant.
- That's what we're fighting for, lad.

The individual!

No use crying over spilt youth, Private.

What's a few a few blinks in the eye
of the great face of time, Sergeant?

Never, in the history of human conflict,
have so many...

Owed so much.

- To so few.
- Tremendous stuff, lad.

- Weekend Pass?
- Demob, Sarge.

You lucky dog.

Still, better take a decko at your l.D.
Just routine.

All seems to be in order.

(Hollers) Spenser, darling!

Gracie.

Gracie.
I’ve nothing to offer but blood.

- How do you keep that pre-war feeling?
- I drink Walls hine tonic.

There is not a day nor an hour to be lost.
Sergeant, adieu,

- Guns before mutter,
- Mother! She isn't...

London can take it.
I’m wearing beet roots.

- We'll fight on the beaches.
- We'll beat on the roots.

And tho' the British Empire
will last a thousand years...

- Men will still say...
- I hate spam.

# We'll meet again

# Don't know where,
don't know when

# But I know we'll meet again

# Some sunny day... #

Oh...bum!

(Distant chants and drums)

The Blazing roars
for the end of the old year,

And while the bumpkins jumped,

Mr Slodden reptiled to engorge
the glazed fruits of victory,

But Henry, dazed and rhino-raged
with losing his toys,

While Buller waits
with ''Health and Efficiency',

and the thought of bubbly to come,

Why do male nudists wear towels
to play tennis?

Buller! Buller!

Now let old Raw's son,
son of Rawlinson, show how he...

(Harmonica music plays)

- Germany calling.
- What's that?

(Sighs wearily) Germany calling.

(Speaks in German)

What's all this? What is it,
a B.F.P.O. Radio?

(Speaks in German)

Kidneys.

Oh, yes, bedevilled kidneys, my squire.
And for myself, a double egg.

Bacon and cabbage with spuds
for a treat.

And fancy cakes for feast days.

Yes, a fancy cake and fish paste.

Danke, Corporal.

- You will be well rewarded.
- (Laughter)

(Chuckles)

(Laughter)

Old Raw threw off his pelt-skin
and woman...

(Chuckles)

And the new painted long ships

were pulled to a sullen sea

by men too maimed to...

(Cheering)

Raw rowed the dragon!

Shocked the skies Old Fearsome Raw.

Not for him the oceans maw,
Raw rode the dragon.

(lndistinct chant)

Came to land on England's shore.

Raw rode the dragon! Come to!

(Crowd shouts) Sir Henry!

(Anguished cries and screams)

Dawn tripping foul-mouthed

through the severed limbs
and snoozing boozes,

Old Scrotum, the wrinkled retainer,

staggers fora hair of the dog
that last night bit him,

and to wash away the taste of Mrs E,

While the one-time prisoners
awoke free and fresh,

dropping their shackles
like an orchestra of falling teeth,

Thus all to the Fool and Bladder,

(Mutters indistinctly)

Hey! Seth.

Get up!

(Glass shatters)

Laugh? When Old Bob
fell out of the tree,

Sir Henry said
it would have been nasty

if the ground hadn't broken his fall!

Mind, Bob can't half play a Polka
when he's had a few.

Did you know Beethoven
was a terrible dancer?

Fiddle, cello, big boom-boom.

Bassoon, flute and euphonium.

(Men sing indistinctly)

I reckon he's that talented, he could get
a tune out of a cheese roll.

- Gawd, strewth!
- Two lager beers.

(Man) Oh...

Splendid morning, Mrs E!

Oh...

(Chuckles)

Germany calling, Germany calling.

(Chuckles) 'Germany calling,
Germany calling.'

- What is it?
- (Yells) Mrs E!

(Mutters indistinctly)

Whiting, ham and tongue. Ptarmigan...

This is my finest hour.

Argh!

That was when I had my turn.
The doctors call it the turn of the ear.

She reckoned it was a boil, but I knew it
was Derbyshire neck.

I said you ought to get that seen to,
but ooh no!

It was wobbling on her neck
like a bag of giblets.

(Sir Henry) 'Breakfast call,
breakfast call.'

Just a porridge, cornflakes...

Listen, I’d just go, a nice plate
of Fish and chips.

- No chips!
- Oh!

(Chuckles)

(Bird chirps)

Ah!

(Hisses and bangs)

(Alarm bell rings)

(Whistle blows)

(Buller screams) 'Ere, turn it in!

Oh...

Rapunzel!

And so now to that green
nestling nowhere,

where whelks are nostrils in reverse
and winkles earplugs,

Peace, in a dawn lovely
as an octopod's pinky nativity.

Far from the madness,
through limp alleys,

endless shy, simper dripping elms
to there,

where glowering, fierce stone bulldog,

repeat, massive crumbling,
mastiff-bristle,

defiant in self poison, puff
and stately unseat,

Normal, at Rawlinson End.

But next time,
Ralph has his upper lip pierced,

so he can see where he's
going whilst whistling,

Why the hermit eats turd sandwiches,

and Hubert, ever the gentleman,

offers his seat to a lady
in a public lavatory,

There is considerable
misunderstanding,

# Time for Time to flash
her dazzling dentures

# Heigh, ha ho, the way things are

# The cracks are showing...

(Splat)

(Splat)