01x01 - Episode 1

[bunniefuu]

MAN: Rise.

[People standing]

[Organ playing]

Look ahead to a life
worth living

Full of hope, full of faith,
full of cheer

To a life that
is made for giving

Without stint,
without shame, without fear

Look ahead
to the One who leads us

To the Lord
who guides our ways

We shall follow,
follow, follow

We shall follow Him
all our days

Captioning made possible by
Acorn Media

Sit, please.

Again it is my unhappy duty
to have to inform you

of the deaths of two more
of our Old Boys--

Arthur Burton Smith
and Jonathan Melbury.

Both were k*lled
in action in France.

You will also, I'm sure,
be sorry to hear that

Mr. Edgerton will not be
returning this term.

He has resigned
his position here

for reasons
of ill health.

We wish him
a speedy recovery,

and we hope to be able
to welcome his successor

in the very near future.

[Door slams]

[Steam hissing]

[Bombs exploding]

Bamfylde you'll be
wanting, wasn't it?

Yes, that's right.

And the school,
that'd be?

That'd be the school,
wouldn't it, sir?

Yes.

Not much else beside
the school at Bamfylde.

You'd be from
up the line.

[indistinct]

Will they be sending
anyone for you?

No.

No, I--l don't
suppose so.

It's a tidy walk
up to the school.

It's not going to rain,
though, I don't think.

Just turn left
out of the station

and follow the road.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

MAN: Now, listen to me.
You're all right now.

You're in England.
You're getting better.

Who are you?

You're Second Lieutenant
Powlett-Jones

of the South Wales
Borderers.

Who are you?

Who are you?

David Powlett-Jones.

Good man.

[Clock ticking]

[Boys cheering, shouting]

Ah, Carter, you've
no idea how safe I feel.

It really is
too good of you.

Eh? Sorry.

You will be sure to
let me know

the very moment you see
the Hun advancing,

won't you?

Then I'll have plenty
of time to put on

my tin hat and crawl
into my dugout.

[Chuckling]

Oh, yes,
very funny, Howarth.

Thank you,
Carter.

Aagh.

Anyone who doubts that a new
Dark Age is coming upon us

has only to spend a few hours
with the Lower Fourth.

I despair. I despair.

I say...
Aagh!

I am,
as you all know,

a pacifist by nature
and conviction,

but if a German soldier
were attacking Pinkley Minor,

I should be hard put to it
not to come to his aid--

the German soldier's,
I mean.

I think it must be
Algy's new chap.

Who? Where?

Look there--
just coming down the hill.

Oh, yes.

Walking under
his own steam, is he?

Yes, he looks
all right.

Count his arms,
Ferguson.

He's perfectly
all right, Howarth.

Physically fit Englishman
applying for

a schoolmaster's post,
and the w*r still on?

Oh, Carter,
I'm dreadfully afraid

he may be another
beastly pacifist.

Well, that's where
you're wrong, Howarth,

because he's
in khaki.

Wearing khaki, eh?

Will he be able to help you
with the Corps, Carter?

I say,
that's an idea.

Uhhh.

Do you have
anything to say

about the OTC,
Howarth?

No, no.

Good.

But, um...

before you get too
carried away with

your dreams of
military comradeship,

perhaps you ought to
consider what the deuce

a soldier
who isn't crippled

might be doing here.

We're all crocks here,
man, all crocks.

Aren't we, Judy?

Eh? Uh...

HOWARTH:
One way or the other.

What sort will he be,
I wonder.

My guess is that
he'll be gassed

or shell-shocked
or both--

a mental cr*pple,
Carter.

Now, you listen
to me, Howarth.

You may think it clever
to talk in those terms

about a man you've
never even met.

I think it is
contemptible and childish.

I hope he does get
Edgerton's post,

and if he does,

he'll get a damn warm
welcome from me, for one.

[indistinct shouting]

[Whistle blowing]

[Muffled explosions
and g*nf*re]

He's late.

Not late,
Ellie, my dear.

He's 5 minutes late.

Oh, that's
hardly late, Ellie.

Would you tell me
what it is, then,

Algy, my dear?

Well, it's a kind of
scrupulous courtesy.

It gives us that
extra few moments

to compose ourselves.

Ah, he'll be worse
than the last one.

At least Edgerton
turned up on time.

Mr. Powlett-Jones
doesn't seem

able to find
his way here.

Oh, you've saddled
yourself with

another lame duck,
that's what you've done.

[Knock on door]

He's here.

So, he did find
his way, did he?

Well, are you going to
let him in, or shall I?

Oh, no, no, no,
I shall, I shall.

And Ellie's to get
the tea, I suppose.

I wouldn't put you
to that trouble.

Aha.

I'm

Mr. Powlett-Jones.
Come in, come in.

Ellie didn't think
you'd find us,

but I knew you
would.

Come on, that's the
way, come along.

Ellie, my dear, it's
Mr. Powlett-Jones.

Bring us some tea,
my dear,

in the study,
will you?

I do like tea
in the study.

Come on.

Ah, now,
you sit there,

Mr. Powlett-Jones.

Oh, I'm sorry
you had to walk.

We had an old
boneshaker here

until Christmas.

Groundsman used to
rattle around in it.

Then he took it into
his head

to do his bit.

Joined the Army
Service Corps. Huh!

He had a penchant
for taking

shortcuts across
bogs.

Ha ha!

Rum sort of fellow

in more ways
than one.

Here now.

Oh, uh...

But I'm sorry
you had to walk.

I, um...I enjoyed
the walk, sir.

The countryside,
it's...

much wilder
than the country

near the hospital,
and, and...

of course it's,
uh...

I like walking.

How long were you
out there,

Mr. Powlett-Jones?



I've been luckier
than most.

And there's no
possibility

of your returning?

Oh, no.
I--I'm boarded now, sir.

I'd be no use to anyone
out there now.

You have to be...

Look here. Come on,
look at this.

Now that is my 1913
First 15.

An ugly-looking lot
of beggars, eh?

He's dead.

He's dead.

He lost his legs.

Well, there's


Mr. Powlett-Jones.

On the eighth of
July, 1916,

I recorded 8 names

in one week's
casualty lists.

My boys.

So, you see, there's
no need to feel

isolated from it
here.

We've lost 87 boys

from this school
so far.

Does that help
at all?

Daffy!
Come here.

Who won, Daffy?

DAFFY:
Havelock, sir. 11-5.


leading 5-nil at halftime?

DAFFY: Yes, sir, but Monkey
scored a try

early in the second half,
and Dodger converted...

Yes. Oh, yes.
Thank you.

...in the last 5 minutes.

Yes. Thank you,
Daffy, thank you.

DAFFY: Yes, sir.

[Chuckling]

He's a nice boy,
Daffy,

but, oh, dear me,
he does go on.

Now, then...

Oh, it's ridiculous, sir.

I mean, it's not
gonna work, is it?

I'm sorry
I've wasted your time.

You haven't
wasted my time.

Tell me,
what makes you think

it's so impossible--
your teaching here?

Well, everything.

Well, you read the
medical report, for a start.

Your neurologist seems

extremely enthusiastic
about the experiment.

He thinks you're ready to
take on the challenge.

Now, who are we to
question his judgment?

We're not medical men.

And, you know,

you'd start here with
special advantages.

I'm stuck with
a dozen tired old men

called out of
retirement.

The young chaps
are all C3 men.

The boys are
running them ragged.

And look at you--



twice wounded,
an officer, why,

that's a flying start
with the boys, man.

Ah, but there, I...

I'm not officer class,
am I?

When all the officers
are dead,

they have to promote
someone.

But that doesn't
really count, does it?

I mean, anyone can see
I'm not a real officer;

not a proper officer.

I don't know anything
about schools like this.

I never knew anyone with
an accent like you've got

and they got,
except in France.

Where I come from,

the people that
talk like that

are the people that
own the land

and own
the coal mines.

Oh, they come down
every once in a while

to inspect
their property.

People like that
don't have

anything to do with
people like me.

Just because a person
talks in a different way

doesn't make him
superior to you.

I know that!

It's just that...
well, I don't think

I've got any
business here.

My father and
two of my brothers

were k*lled
down the pit.

Sacrifices, see?

I mean, with
the greatest respect,

I wasn't kept
out of the pits

so I could come cap in hand
to a place like this.

Licking bosses' boots--

that's what my brother Emrys
would call it.

I see.

You know, I always
like it when people say,

"with the greatest
respect.”

It always means they're
going to be rude.

Now, go on.

I'm sorry.

I don't intend to
be rude, sir,

but it's just that, well,
surely in a public school,

the boys here just assume

they've got a right to
the best of everything,

and they haven't!

They've got an unconscious
assumption of privilege.

Do they, indeed?

Well, I doubt if they'd
be able to remain

unaware of it if I
let you loose on them,

Mr. Powlett-Jones.

I doubt if that's
very likely now.

You don't think you're
doing very well, do you?

I was out the moment
I opened my mouth,

I should think.

A great prospect.

Sorry.

Didn't need
to be rude, did I?

I'd better go
right away.

What, and miss the tea?

Oh, Ellie
would be disappointed.

Her teas are a true
test of stamina,

Mr. Powlett-Jones.

But you've had enough of
challenges, haven't you?

I--1 don't know
what you mean.

Oh, yes, you do.

You've just tried to
bluster your way

out of this job because
you got frightened.

Now, what could be
so frightening

about the job, I wonder,
for a man who spent


at the front, hmm?

Boys can be very noisy,
of course.

I'm afraid I'd jump

every time I heard
the door close.

Yes. I don't think it's
that, though, do you?

So, what was that
other thing about

licking the bosses'
boots?

Well, teaching's
a job, you know.

You'd just be selling
your labor, wouldn't you?

You wouldn't be
selling your soul.

Nothing magical
about teaching.

It's just a job
like any other.

No, it's not!

Isn't it? I thought
you might think that.

Well, now for
the next step.

I think I know why
you're frightened.

Yes, I do.

Oh? Well, I'd be
delighted to hear it.

Oh, dear. Ha ha ha!

You're so
splendidly touchy.

Oh, you'll have
such quarrels here.

All right,
I'll tell you.

I sense that underneath
all this, you have

a very high opinion
of your capabilities,

and what you're
frightened of

is that you might not
live up to it. There!

But I haven't even
got a degree.

Oh, degrees!

You know and I know
brainy chaps like you

can mug up a degree
in no time.

But what I want to know
is this.

Why are you so sure
in your heart

that you're God's gift
to teaching?

I'm not sure, sir.

It's just that,
well, I don't think

I could stand
being mediocre.

I knew it!

I knew it!

Chaps like you
are thin on the ground.

You haven't even
got a degree.

You've got the shakes,

and you think you're
God's gift to teaching.

I take my hat off to you.
I really do.

Ooh, you've got
your work cut out.

Still, there's nothing like
starting with ambition.

Now, it's history,
isn't it?

Modern history.

Yes, I thought as much.
Well, that can't be helped.

You'll have to do
a bit of English

with the Lower School
as well--

parsing, Palgrave's
"Golden Treasury,"

container for the thing
contained.

You know the style.
Can you do it?

Well, I--

Course you can.
It's money for jam.

Well, not much money.

Genteel poverty,
I'm afraid.

That's the style
for ushers, but...

there it is.

Going to give it a try?

You're offering me
the job?

Seems as if
I have done, yes.

Have I blundered?

Uh, could I have a minute
to think about it?

Oh, my dear chap,

I can give you
the whole evening.

Stay the night.

Now, I'll just go and
chase up that tea, eh?

I--1 think
I'll give it a try.

Oh, good.

Ellie, my dear,

this is
Mr. Powlett-Jones,

who is going to
join us.

There, now.

How do you do,
Mr. Powlett-Jones?

He sees
our little world

as seething with
arrogant

and thoughtless
privilege.

ELLIE: Oh.

Mr. Powlett-Jones is
very perceptive for his years.

But he's going to
put it all

to rights, my dear.

He thinks that,
does he? Ha ha!

Old man, what a lot
he has to learn.

[Ellie chuckling]

Now, you mustn't
mind Ellie.

I can see she's really
taken to you.

Sit down.

Oh, you'll get used
to us soon enough.

Oh, I'm so delighted
you're going to join us.

Thank you.

Go on. And I'll
tell you what.

I'll bet you
don't feel like

going back to that
hospital now, do you?

Why don't I telephone
for your things?

You could stay here
for a couple of days

and get settled in

before you start
work, eh?

You could, uh,
wander around a bit,

get acclimatized,
get the, uh...

get the smell
of the place.

I'd like that.

Good.

And now let's see
how you face up

to your first
big challenge.

And afterwards,
we could have

a walk around before
it gets dark, eh?

Off with you.

Sir.

Well, what is this?

Pencil stub, sir.

Pencil stub?

Tosh, gibberish,
and nonsense, boy.

A pencil becomes
a pencil stub

when it is
too small to hold

in the fingers.

Take it back
and sharpen it.

My goodness,
Farquarson,

if we were all as
prodigal as you,

this country would
have no battleships.

What's this, then?
Come on, come on.

It is full.
Really, sir.

[indistinct shouting
in hallway]

Well, well,
all right.

Can't see the point to
these margins, though.

Can you, Ferguson?

For the masters
to write in, sir.

Oh, is it?
Oh, I see.

Well, why don't
they, then?

Here, look at this.

Smell it.

Lovely new book.

Wasted on you,
Ferguson.

You'll just fill it
with rubbish.

Off with you.
Sir.

Here, here.

And what do you
call this?

It's a full book, sir.

Full book?!
Full book?!

Tosh and gibberish.

Who sent you
here with this?

Mr. Meredith, sir.

You'd better just

take that back
to Mr. Meredith

with Mr. Cordwainer's
compliments,

and tell him that
new books are issued

when old books are full.

And full means full--

a solid mass of ink
and toil.

Sir.

Off with you, boy.
And what do you want?

A new pen nib, sir.

New pen nib? What...

Now, now, now, come on,
settle down.

You've all got work to do.
There's no excuse for it.

[Banging]

Will you stop
that ridiculous noise?

You, boy!

What noise, sir?

You know very well.

All right.

All right, now,
you've had your fun,

and I'm warning you--
quiet.

[Laughter]

Please.

HERRIES:
Ah, here's the spot.

Peaceful, eh?

Now, this folly is
quite old, you know.

Rumor has it

it was built by
Capability Brown.

Oh, my dear fellow,
I'm so sorry.

I trot everywhere.

I was quite
forgetting your...

You take
a breather, eh?

I call this
my thinking post.

l used to
come over here

when I was a boy.

You were a boy here?

Oh, I was a boy
here, all right--



That was in old
Wesker's day.

Ooh, he was a brute.

He used to flog
whole forms of boys

for mistakes
in dictation.

Oh, I was so terrified
of that man.

That's why I started
coming over here--

place where
he couldn't get me.

That sounds a bit more
like the kind of school

that I knew about.

Yes. Well, not much
privilege about it, eh?

And I'll tell you
another difference.

You could get away
at the end of the day.

It's not like that
for the boys here.

Till term ends,
this is all they know--

boys and masters.

And now I'm
the headmaster.

Now you flog them,
do you?

Only for two offenses:

persistent lying
and persistent bullying.

You think
I'm soft, do you?

I don't know. I...

I don't know what
they're like.

I don't know that
a punishment does

any good at all to
the one who is punished.

So why punish anyone?

Oh h* h*!
Dear, oh, dear.

A statement of belief;
a declaration of intent.

Make mistakes in dictation,

but don't lie,
and don't bully, eh?

All right?

You know, you're lucky
to be in a job at all.

Oh, I know--

a Welsh lout
with the shakes.

Oh, now, don't start
feeling sorry for yourself.

You're like me now.
You're out of it.

You're alive.

No reason to think
you're going to die

before your time, hmm?

Not like our older boys.

The ones with any wit know
they've not got much chance,

and even the daft ones
seem to feel it somehow.

Look around you,
and be thankful, hmm?

It's beautiful, isn't it, eh?
Oh, I love this place.

Uh, Powlett-Jones,
is it?

Oh. Yes.

You're in my chair.

Oh. I-I'm sorry.
I... didn't know.

Clearly.

Is there anywhere
I can sit?

Of course, my dear fellow,
as you see.

You're quite sure?

I just said so,
thank you.

Perfectly safe there,
Powlett-Jones.

Oh. Uh, thank you.

Don't mention it.

Powlett-Jones, isn't it?

Yes, that's right.

Name's Carter.

Very glad to
have you with us.

Are they
making you welcome?

Yes, I see.

Well, it's sink or swim here.
I can tell you that.

It was with me,
at all events.

I got off to a bad start.
I sat in Cordwainer's chair.

So did I.

I say, I'm damn glad
you're with us.

Oh? Why is that?

Well, you know.

You're not like them,
are you?

In what way?

Well, I mean, you've
seen a bit of service.

And you have, too,
have you?

I can't get over
your voice, old man.

Where on earth
do you come from?

Pontnewydd.

Near Abergavenny.

South Wales.

Oh, yes, yes.

But you were an officer,
were you?

Oh, yes,
believe it or not.

They delayed it
as long as possible,

but in the end,
they had to promote

some of the most
peculiar people.

Do you know
I even met officers

who'd never had
a nanny?

No offense, old man.
None taken, I hope.

Oh, no.

That's good,

because there are some
damn touchy people about.

It's this w*r, you know.

Is that what it is,
is it?

Oh, yes.
Yes, I'm sure of it.

It gets on people's nerves.

Yes, well, I must admit
it got on mine a bit.

I know, old man.

Oh, I know.

No, I didn't get out there,
unfortunately.

The damn knee let me down.

[Chuckles]

I'm sorry, you were saying
something, Ferguson?

Me? Oh, no, no, Carter.

No, no, nothing at all.
Do go on.

Please.

We'd like to hear
about your knee, Carter.

Football injury.
Would you believe it?

I was fit; I was trained;
I was full of beans.

I could hardly believe
they meant it.

You know,
the damn thing gave out

the week my draft was due
to leave for France.

Kept out by a gammy knee.

Where did your draft
go, then?

Most of them finished up
on the Somme.

You were lucky, then.

I wouldn't say that,
old man.

I saw a bit of fighting
around there.

Oh, yes?

Not very nice.

No.

No, well, I did hear
most of them went west.

I mean--well, it was a damned
awful show, the Somme.

Badly bungled, I gather.

Even so, I'm damn sorry
I missed out on it.

You don't know what
you're talking about.

I say, there's no need to adopt
that tone with me, old man.

I'm only trying
to be friendly.

I'm--I'm sorry.

I'm a bit on edge.

It's all right, old man.
I know how you feel.

Don't you worry.
I understand.

No, I try and do my bit
here, you know.

I run the OTC--

a small thing,
but mine own.

What you have to say here,
Powlett-Jones, is,

"Jolly good show, Carter.

More power to your elbow."

I wasn't aware that we'd asked
for your opinion, Howarth.

Oh, hadn't you,
Carter?

Frightfully sorry,
old man.

I'll keep mum, then.
Frightfully sorry.

Twisted mentality.
God knows why.

My advice is steer clear
of that bird.

Look, I'll say no more
about the Corps.

Subject's very close
to my heart,

but if you'd like
to join us,

I'll leave it to you
to make the first move.

All right. Thanks.

[Coughs]

What are you teaching, old man?
History, is it?

Yes, that's right,
and a bit of English.

Dates, eh?

What?

History. Dates.

I could never be dealing
with them.



It's a dry subject,
history.

Ahem. I--
I don't think so.

Well, I haven't tried
teaching it yet,

but I should have
thought that, well,

if you can get the boys
interested in

asking themselves why things
happen the way they do

and if they have to
happen that way

and if there might not
be some alternative,

I mean, well,
surely it's possible

to capture their
imagination, isn't it?

With a bit
of encouragement.

Boys have too much
imagination as it is.

"Why things happen.”
They don't want to know that.

None of their business.

A man used to be
reasonably sure

of a bit of peace and quiet
in the evening here.

Hope it's not going to turn into
a talking shop.

Bark's worse than
his bite, old man.

But about what
you were saying,

I'd go easy on the encouragement
if I were you

till you've got them
where you want them--

like that, hmm?

Boys and masters
are natural enemies.

You've got to show them
who's got the whip hand.

You don't want to end up
like Edgerton or, um...

You look disgracefully
pleased with yourself.

Do 1? Indeed.

Now, I wonder
why that should be.

You think you've made a
good appointment, don't you?

Oh, I think it might be
the most frightful blunder

I've made for years, dear.

The man's a crock, Ellie--

a brisk walk up
to the thinking post,

and he was all
but done in.

Nerves, too.

He's got no degree,
no experience,

he comes from
a Welsh mining valley,

and he's sure to rub
all the other fellows up

the wrong way.

Inexperienced and arrogant.

Oh, dear, oh, dear,
I have been irresponsible.

He's an idealist, Ellie.

Oh, I could tell that.

There are not many
of those about.

You see yourself
in him, don't you?

No, dear,
of course I don't.

You think he's another
idealistic eccentric,

but I say,

what if he's just
another nervous wreck?

He'll be teaching
the Lower Fourth,

so we shan't have to
wait long to find out.

Good heavens.

That is taking a header
into the deep end.

Couldn't you
have found a way

of easing him in
more gently?

He'll get by.
We can't do it for him.

Anyway, I'm trusting
my instinct.

Hmm-hmm!

And I'm glad
you like him, too.

Ohh!

Ah!

Now for a jolly good sleep.

Keep down!

Keep down!

[Bombs dropping, g*nf*re]

[Explosions]

[indistinct chatter]

Good morning.

BOYS: Good morning, sir.

Sit down.

Now, I understand
that with Mr. Edgerton...

that--that with--
with Mr. Edger--

Would you like to say
something to the class?

Would you?

No, sir.

Good.

All right.

Now, I understand
that you were studying

or were about to study
the causes of the Civil w*r.

Am I right?

Well, I imagine

that you're not so deeply
immersed in the subject

that a little revision
wouldn't come amiss.

I take it that you prefer
oral revision.

Or shall we make it
a written test?

Well, I'd been led to believe
that you were a talkative class.

Put your hands up
if you'd prefer a written test.

Good. I'd prefer
oral revision, too.

Now, G.M. Trevelyan.

I'm sure
you've all heard of him.

G.M. Trevelyan thinks
that the first civil w*r

was the decisive event
in English history--

not one of the decisive events,
but the decisive event.

Would you agree with him?

Um...

Dobson. Where's Dobson?

Would you stand up,
please?

Would you agree with him?

I don't know, sir.

No opinion, Dobson?

No opinion at all?

No, sir.

You have done something
on the Civil w*r, have you?

Well, sort of, sir.

I see, sort of.

Well, what were Mr. Edgerton's
views on the Civil w*r?

Presumably, if he didn't
invite your opinions,

he favored you
with his own.

Did he, Dobson?

Uh, not exactly,
sir.

Then how did he tackle it?

He sort of stood where
you're standing now

and shouted for us
to be quiet.

Threw chalk at us, sir.

And ran out
of the room, sir.

I see. Thank you.

Thank you. Be quiet.

Well, I'm afraid

you're going to have to do
a bit of thinking.

I'm sorry
if you're not used to it.

Well, let's start
with a question

that you can answer,
Dobson.

Which side was victorious
in the Civil w*r?

King or Parliament?

Um...

Come along, boy.

Parliament, sir.

Thank you, Dobson.

Sit down.

Well, let's try a new way

to work around
to my original question.

Now, let us just suppose
that Parliament hadn't won.

What would have happened
if Charles had won?

Or what sort of country
would we be living in now?

Yes, you?
Well, come along.

Well, that's
not history, sir.

No.

No, perhaps it isn't,
but that's a big question.

What is history,
do you suppose?

Things that really
happened.

Well, that's right.
And who says what happened?

The history books,
of course, sir.

And who writes them?
Not you or me, eh?

No, sir.

Not Charles I either.

The history that we read tends
to be written by the winners.

Well, you can all see that
that's true, can't you?

If the Royalists
had been victorious,

they'd have written
the history of the w*r,

and we wouldn't just be
reading different facts.

We'd be reading about
how valuable and essential

the Royalist victory was,

just as the history of the w*r
that we're engaged in now

will be written by the country
that wins it.

We may think that
we know the truth now,

but our descendants will...

[Boy grunts]

History textbooks
like this will...

It's Boyer, sir.

I think he's having
a fit, sir.

It's all right.
I know what to do.

Take him to Matron, sir.

Put a spoon
in his mouth.

No. Now, wait--
wait a minute.

No, it's all right,
really, sir.

I'm his friend.
He's had them before.

Oh, that's it, sir.
He always does that.

I'm gonna have to loosen
his collar and drag him

over to the window.

BOY:
He doesn't, sir.

Now, wait.

Aah!

Sir, he's possessed!

He's got the strength
of 10 men, sir!

All right, be quiet!

Now get back to your places!

Move!

[Boyer gasping
and coughing]

I was only trying
to help, sir.

Get up, Boyer.

Well, that's quite
a performance.

You're very good. You are.

It's that partner of yours
that lets you down.

Well, look at him.

I mean,
he's hopeless, man.

I've seen better actors
in performing dog acts.

[Laughter]

All right.

I think it's only fair
to warn you, though,

that I'm familiar with all
the forms of hysteria there are.

In fact,
I'm an expert, see?

I spent the last 7 months
in shell-shock wards.

I know what
the real thing's like.

Feeling a bit better now,
then, are you, Boyer?

Yes, sir.

Well, that's good.

All right, sit down.

Having started, I might as well
be frank with you.

This is my first go
at teaching--

teaching schoolboys,
that is.

Up till now,
the only teaching I've done

is trying to teach recruits
to look after themselves

and not get shot
their first week out.

There wasn't time
to be patient, see,

and I never had to learn
to suffer fools gladly.

That might take me a bit
of time, Mr. Dobson.

Until I do,

maybe you'd better keep
your head down, eh?

Yes, sir.

Good.

All right, how many
of you were in on

that little performance
of Boyer's?

Well, that's honest
enough, anyway.

Mr. Boyer here was good enough
to provide the entertainment

along with his assistant,

but I don't see
why he should carry

all the blame,
though, do you?

Anyone disagree?

Good.

You can all copy out
of the chapter

on the causes of the Civil w*r,
pages 68-73.

Yes, I know
you deserve far worse,

but they say every dog
is allowed one bite.

All right?

And I daresay, Mr. Boyer,
you are too young to know

that your little act
was in damn bad taste.

I didn't know about--

I didn't know
about the hospital, sir.

Not hard to guess,
I daresay.

It was a joke, sir.

We do it to
every new master.

All right, I believe you.

Sit down.

Look...

you haven't got any exams
this term, have you?

Boyer?

No, sir.

So there's no set syllabus?

Has anyone tried a bit of
up-to-date history with you,

like the causes of the w*r
we're fighting now?

No?

Well, if it goes along
like this,

you may yet be in it.

You might as well find out
what you're--

what you're fighting for.

It sounds like Bolshevism
and pacifism to me, sir.

Well, the boys
come to me, sir--

chaps in the OTC.

Obviously
it bothers them.

I mean, the chap is
supposed to be here

to teach history,
isn't he?

Not to hold forth
in this defeatist way

to a c*ptive audience.

I didn't know you cared so much
about history, Mr. Carter.

I don't, but...

I care about the boys.
I know what's right.

Well, that's a gift
many a man would envy.

Oh, dear Carter, I hoped
you were going to take

to Powlett-Jones,
make him feel at home.


I did my best.

I offered him a share
of the Corps.

I would've let him
lead it, too.

I'm not proud.
He's seen service.

I haven't.
Turned me down flat.

No, there's
something morbid,

unhealthy about the way
he dwells on the w*r.

I know it is not
his fault,

but he shouldn't be
with boys.

Sorry. Said too much.

I feel like a sneak--
silly.

Waiting for me
to reassure you, Carter?

No, sir.

Good. Then I won't.

POWLETT-JONES:
"The house is crammed:

"Tier beyond tier they grin
and cackle at the Show,

"while prancing ranks of harlots
shrill the chorus,

"drunk with din;

"We're sure the Kaiser
loves our dear old Tanks!"

"I'd like to see a tank
come down the stalls,

"lurching to rag-time tunes,
or "Home, sweet Home."

"And there'd be no more jokes
in Music-Halls

to mock the riddled corpses
round Bapaume.”

Right, then, ha'penny each.
Come on, now.

[indistinct]

BOY: Look at him
pounding away.

Do you think he's got
a screw loose?

Of course he has.

Wouldn't be here
otherwise.

Mind you,

he's his own special
sort of loony.

Might be a spy.

What, reporting
back to the Kaiser

on k*ller Carter
and the Corps?

No, he's just
a pro-Hun loony.

Pro-Jerry loony.

Well, he should know.

I'll bet he won't
last long.

No, more's the pity.

Well, he's interesting,
anyway.

Come in,
Mr. Powlett-Jones.

He's waiting
for you.

You don't look
any fatter.

No, sorry.

There's no use
being sorry.

You've just got
to set to

and eat
your head off.

Go on in.
He's in there.

[Knock on door]

Come in.

Oh, David.
Just a minute.

Ellie, my dear,
would you make us some--

[Door slams]

I think
she'll make some.

Ah. Now...

I have a request
to make of you.

I'm--I'm afraid
it's a bit painful.

Oh.

Yes, well, I can't say
I'm surprised.

No?

It hasn't worked,
has it?

You're asking
for my resignation?

Oh, goodness me, no.

Whatever put that idea
into your head?

I can't have
my masters resigning

all over the place.

Ellie! No, no, no, no.

You're doing just what
I hoped you'd do.

You're stirring them up.

Ellie, my dear,

he thought I was
going to sack him.

Oh, he'd never do that.
You're Algy's bright idea.

I'm afraid failure isn't
a possible option for you.

You see, whether you
like the idea or not,

I'd say you're
a born teacher.

You could have them
eating out of your hand.

No, no, no.

No, it's your help
I want.

You know
young Briarley?

Yes, of course.
He's in the Lower Fourth.

His father's been
k*lled on the Lys.

Captain in
the r*fle Brigade.

We got the news
this morning.

You want me to tell him?

Oh, no, no, no.
Ellie does that.

Well, what?

He didn't say anything
when I told him.

Not a single word.

The poor little toad

is sitting out
in the forecourt now.

I thought you might like
to have a word with him.

But what could I say

that Mrs. Herries
hasn't already said?

I don't know.

Oh, something about

all the chaps who've
gone on ahead,

what it's all
in aid of.

You know what I mean.

Yes.

All right.

Was he a professional?

Yes.

They taught us
all we knew.

We wouldn't have lasted


Maybe I knew him.

I served in
the Lys sector twice.

What was he like?

Maybe I knew him.

I never saw much
of him.

He came here once
on leave.

Yes.

Said if anything
happened to him,

I had to look after--

look after my sisters
and the mater.

That's something to bear
in mind, isn't it?

That's quite a job.

How could I do that?

I don't know.

Telegram said,
"k*lled in action," sir.

What exactly
does that mean?

It means exactly
what it says.

He was k*lled outright
while in action.

Yes, I see.

Thanks.

I'd better go and pack.

Thank you, sir.

[Bell ringing]