Baldrick,
what are you doing out there?
I'm carving something on this b*llet, sir.
What are you carving?
I'm carving "Baldrick", sir.
Why?
It's a cunning plan, actually.
Of course it is.
You see, you know they say
that somewhere there's a b*llet
with your name on it?
Yes?
Well, I thought if I owned the b*llet
with my name on it,
I'd never get hit by it,
'cos I won't ever sh**t myself.
Oh, shame.
And the chances
of there being two b*ll*ts
with my name on them
are very small indeed.
That's not the only thing around here
that's "very small indeed".
Your brain, for example,
Is so minute, Baldrick,
that if a hungry cannibal
cracked your head open,
there wouldn't be enough inside
to cover a small water biscuit.
Tally-ho, pip-pip,
and Bernard's your uncle.
In English we say, "good morning".
- Look what I got for you, sir.
- What?
It's the latest issue of "King & Country".
Oh, damn inspiring stuff!
The magazine that tells the tommies
the truth about the w*r.
Or alternatively,
the greatest work of fiction
since vows of fidelity were included
In the French marriage service.
Come, come, sir.
Now, you can't deny that this fine newspaper
is good for the morale of the men.
Certainly not,
I just think that more could be achieved
by giving them some real toilet paper.
I'm not with you at all, sir,
what could any patriotic chap
have against this magnificent mag?
Apart from his bottom?
Well, look at it.
I mean the stuff's about as convincing
as Dr. Crippen's defence lawyer.
The British tommies are all portrayed
as six-foot six with biceps
the size of Bournemouth.
Thoroughly inspiring stuff.
And look, sir, this also
just arrived for you this morning.
Hmm, do you know what this is, Lieutenant?
- It's a good old service revolver.
- Wrong.
It's a brand new service revolver,
which I've suspiciously been sent
without asking for it.
I smell something fishy,
and I'm not talking about the contents
of Baldrick's apple crumble.
That's funny, sir, because we didn't order
those new trench-climbing ladders either.
- New ladders?
- Yeah, came yesterday.
I issued them to the men,
and they were absolutely thrilled.
Isn't that right men?
Yes, sir,
First solid fuel we've had
since we b*rned the cats.
Something's going on,
and I think I can make
an educated guess what it is.
Something which you, George,
would find hard to do.
Ah, true, true.
Where I was at school,
education could go hang
as long as a boy could hit a six,
sing the school song very loud,
and take a hot crumpet
from behind without blubbing.
I, on the other hand,
am a fully-rounded human being
with a degree from the University of Life,
a diploma from the School of Hard Knocks,
and three gold stars from the Kindergarten
of Getting the sh*t Kicked Out of Me.
And my instincts lead me to deduce
that we are at last about to go over the top.
Great Scott, sir, you mean...
You mean the moment's
finally arrived for us
to give Harry Hun a darned good
British-style thrashing,
six of the best, trousers down?
If you mean are we all
going to get k*lled, yes.
Clearly, Field Marshal Haig is about to make
yet another gargantuan effort
to move his drinks cabinet
six inches closer to Berlin.
Right!
Bravo-issimo!
Well let's make a start, eh?
Up and over to glory,
last one in Berlin's a rotten egg.
Give me your helmet, Lieutenant.
Yes, some sort of clever hat camouflage
might be in order.
Permission to speak, sir.
Granted, with a due sense
of exhaustion and dread.
I have a cunning plan
to get us out of getting k*lled, sir.
- Ah, yes, what is it?
- Cooking.
I see.
You know staff HQ
is always on the lookout for good cooks?
Well, we go over there,
we cook 'em something,
And we get out of the trenches that way.
- Baldrick, it's a brilliant plan.
- Is it?
Yes, it's superb.
Permission to write home
immediately, sir!
This is the first brilliant plan
a Baldrick's ever had!
For centuries we've tried,
and they've always turned out
to be total pig swill.
My mother will be as pleased as punch.
Hmm, if only she were
as good-looking as punch, Baldrick.
There is, however,
one slight flaw in the plan.
Oh?
- You're the worst cook in the entire world.
- Oh, yeah, that's right.
There are amoeba on Saturn
who could boil a better egg than you.
Your filet mignons in sauce béarnaise
look like dog turds in glue.
That's because they are.
Your plum duff tastes like
it's a molehill decorated
with rabbit droppings.
I thought you wouldn't notice.
And your cream custard has
the texture of cat's vomit.
Again, it's...
If you were to serve
one of your meals in staff HQ,
you'd be arrested for
the greatest mass poisoning
since Lucretia Borgia invited
of her close friends around
for a wine and anthr*x party.
No, we'll have to think
of a better plan than that.
Right, how about a nice meal,
while you chew it over?
What's on the menu?
Rat.
Sauté or fricassee?
Oh, the agony of choice.
Sautéed involves... ?
Well, you take the freshly shaved rat,
and you marinade it
in a puddle for a while.
Mm-hmm, for how long?
Till it's drowned.
Then you stretch it out
under a hot light bulb,
then you get within dashing distance
of the latrine,
and you scoff it right down.
So that's sautéing. And fricasseeing?
Exactly the same,
just a slightly bigger rat.
Well, call me old Mr. Unadventurous,
but I think I'll give it a miss this once.
Fair enough, sir.
- More for the rest of us. Eh, sir?
- Absolutely, Private.
Tally-ho, barf barf!
Hello, the Savoy Grill.
Oh, it's you... .
Yes... .
Yes, I'll be over in minutes.
Who was it then, sir?
Strangely enough, Baldrick,
it was Pope Gregory IX,
inviting me for drinks
aboard his steam yacht "The Saucy Sue",
currently wintering in Montego Bay
with the England cricket team
and the Balinese Goddess of Plenty.
- Really?
- No, not really.
I've been ordered to HQ.
No doubt that idiot General Melchett
is about to offer me some
attractive new opportunities
to have my brains blown out for Britain.
What do you want, Darling?
It's "Captain Darling" to you.
General Melchett wants to see you
about a highly important secret mission.
- What's going on, Darling?
- Captain Blackadder to see you, sir.
Ah, excellent.
Just a short back and sides today,
I think, please.
Er, that's Corporal Black, sir.
Captain Blackadder is here
about the other matter, sir,
the secret matter.
Ah, yes, the special mission.
At ease, Blackadder.
Now, what I'm about to tell you
is absolutely tip-top-secret.
- Is that clear?
- It is, sir.
Now, I've compiled a list of
those with security clearance.
- Have you got it Darling?
- Yes, sir.
Read it, please.
It's top security, sir,
I think that's all the captain needs to know.
Nonsense! Let's hear the list in full!
Very well, sir.
List of personnel cleared
for Mission Gainsborough,
as dictated by General C.H. Melchett.
You and me, Darling, obviously.
Field Marshal Haig,
Field Marshal Haig's wife,
all Field Marshal Haig's wife's friends,
their families, their families' servants,
their families' servants' tennis partners,
and some chap I bumped into
in the mess the other day
called Bernard.
So, it's maximum security, is that clear?
Quite clear, sir.
Only myself and the rest of the English-
speaking world is to know.
Good man.
Now, Field Marshal Haig
has formulated
a brilliant new tactical plan
to ensure final victory in the field.
Ah. Would this brilliant plan involve us
climbing out of our trenches
and walking very slowly
towards the enemy, sir?
How could you possibly
know that, Blackadder?
It's classified information.
It's the same plan that we used last time,
and the seventeen times before that.
E-e-exactly!
And that is what is so brilliant about it!
It will catch the watchful Hun
totally off-guard!
Doing precisely what we have done
eighteen times before
is exactly the last thing
they'll expect us to do this time!
There is, however, one small problem.
That everyone always gets slaughtered
in the first ten seconds.
That's right!
And Field Marshal Haig is worried
that this may be
depressing the men a tadge.
So he's looking to find
a way to cheer them up.
Well, his resignation and su1c1de
would seem the obvious solution.
Interesting thought.
Make a note of it, Darling.
Take a look at this...
I'm sure you know it ..."King & Country".
Ah, yes, without question
my favourite magazine...
soft, strong and thoroughly absorbent.
Top-hole, Blackadder,
I thought it would be right up your alley.
Field Marshal Haig's plan is this:
To commission a man to do
an especially stirring painting
for the cover of the next issue,
so as to really inspire
the men for the final push.
What I want you to do, Blackadder,
is to labour night and day
to find a first-rate artist
from amongst your men.
Impossible, sir.
I know from long experience
that my men have all the artistic talent
of a cluster of colour-blind hedgehogs...
in a bag.
Hmm, well that's a bit of a blow.
We needed a man to leave
the trenches immediately.
- Leave the trenches?
- Mm-hm.
Yes, I wonder if you've enjoyed,
as I have sir, that marvellous painting
in the national portrait gallery,
Bag Interior,
by the colour-blind
hedgehog workshop of Sienna.
I'm sorry, are you saying
you can find this man?
I think I can.
And might I suggest, sir,
that, having left the trenches,
it might be a good idea
to post our man to Paris
in order to soak up a little
of the artistic atmosphere...
perhaps even Tahiti...
so as to produce a real masterpiece.
Yes, yes, but can you find the man?!
Now, I know I can, sir.
Before you can say "Sunflowers,"
I'll have Vincent Van Gogh
standing before you.
No, don't stop, sir.
It's coming, it's definitely coming.
I, hmm, yeah, er, hm.
I just wonder whether two socks
and a hand grenade
is really the sort of thing
that covers of "King & Country" are made of.
They will be when I've painted them
being shoved up the Kaiser's backside.
- Ah, now, now, this is interesting.
- What is?
Well, Private Baldrick is obviously
a bit of an impressionist.
The only decent impression he can do
is of a man with no talent.
What's it called, Baldrick?
"The Vomiting Cavalier"?
No, sir, that's not supposed to be vomit.
- It's dabs of light.
- No, it's vomit.
- Yes, so, why did you choose that?
- You told me to, sir.
Did I?
Yeah, you told me to paint
whatever comes from within,
so I did my breakfast.
Look, there's a little tomato.
Hopeless.
If only I'd paid attention
in nursery art class
instead of spending my entire time
manufacturing papier maché Willies
to frighten Sarah Wallis.
You know, it's funny,
but painting was the only thing
I was ever any good at.
Well, it's a pity you didn't keep it up.
Well, as a matter of fact, I did, actually.
I mean... I mean normally
I wouldn't show them to anyone,
'cos they're just embarrassing daubs really,
but you know, ah,
they give me pleasure.
I'm embarrassed to show them
to you now as it happens,
but there you go, for what they're worth.
To be honest, I should have
my hands cut off, I mean...
George! These are brilliant!
Why didn't you tell us
about these before?
Well, you know,
one doesn't want to blow
one's own trumpet.
You might at least have told us
you had a trumpet.
These paintings could spell my way out
of the trenches.
Yours?
That's right, ours.
All we have to do
is paint something heroic
to appeal to the simple-minded tommy.
Over to you, Baldrick.
Um, how about a noble tommy, standing,
with a look of horror and disgust,
over the body of a m*rder*d nun,
what's been brutally done over
by a nasty old German.
Excellent.
I-I can see it now:
the Nun and the Hun.
Brilliant!
No time to lose.
George, set up your easel,
Baldrick and I will pose.
This is going to be art's greatest moment
since Mona Lisa sat down
and told Leonardo da Vinci
she was in a slightly odd mood.
Baldrick, you lie down
in the mud and be the nun.
I'm not lying down there, it's all wet.
Well, let's put it this way:
Either you lie down and get wet,
or you're knocked down
and get a broken nose.
Actually it's not that wet, is it?
No.
Who are you going to be then, sir?
The noble tommy?
Precisely, standing over
the body of the ravaged nun.
I want a wimple.
You should have gone
before we started the picture.
You know, the funny thing is,
my father was a nun.
No, he wasn't.
He was so, sir.
I know, 'cos whenever he was up in court,
and the judge used to say, "Occupation?"
He'd say, "None."
Right. You're ready?
Just about sir, yes.
Um, if you just like to pop
your clothes on the stool.
I'm sorry?
Just pop your clothes
on the stool over there.
You mean, you want me..."tackle out"?
Well, I would prefer so, sir, yes.
If I can remind you
of the realities of battle, George,
one of the first things
that everyone notices
Is that all the protagonists
have got their clothes on.
Neither we nor the Hun
favour fighting our battles au naturel.
Sir, it's artistic license.
It's willing suspension of disbelief.
Well, I'm not having
anyone staring in disbelief
at my Willie suspension!
Now, get on and paint
the bloody thing... sharpish!
Brilliant, George, it's a masterpiece.
The wimple suits you, Baldrick.
But it completely covers my face.
Exactly.
Now, then, General Melchett
will be here at any moment.
When he arrives,
leave the talking to me, all right?
I like to keep an informal trench,
as you know,
but today you must only speak
with my express permission, Is that clear?
Is that clear?
Permission to speak.
Yes, sir, absolutely.
Attention!
Dugout, attention!
Excellent, at ease.
Now, then, Blackadder,
where would you like me to sit?
I thought just a simple trim
of the moustache today,
nothing drastic.
We're here about the painting, sir.
Oh, yes, of course.
Good Lord, George! Ha ha ha!
How are you, my boy?
I said how are you?
Permission to speak.
Absolutely top-hole sir,
with a ying and a yang and a yippetty-doo.
Splendid!
And your Uncle Bertie sends his regards.
I told him you could
have a week off in April.
Don't want you missing
the boat race, do we?
Permission to speak.
Certainly not.
Permission to sing boisterously, sir?
If you must.
# Row, row, row your punt #
# Gently down the stream #
# Belts off, trousers down,
isn't life a scream? #
Fabulous.
University education, you can't b*at it.
Bravo! Now, what have we here?
Name?
Permission to speak.
Baldrick, sir.
Ah, tally-ho, yippety-dip,
and zing zang spillip.
Looking forward to bullying off
for the final chukka?
Permission to speak.
Answer the general, Baldrick.
I can't answer him, sir,
I don't know what he's talking about.
Aah, are you looking forward
to the big push?
No, sir, I'm absolutely terrified.
Ah, the healthy humour of the honest tommy.
Ha ha ha, don't worry my boy,
If you should falter,
remember that Captain Darling
and I are behind you.
About thirty-five miles behind you.
Right, well, stand by your beds.
Let's have a look
at this artist of yours, Blackadder.
- Next to me, Darling.
- Thank you, sir.
So, ah, have you found someone?
Yes, sir, I think I have.
None other than young George here.
Oh, bravo!
Well, let's have a shufti then.
It's simply called "w*r".
Damn silly title, George.
Looks more like a couple of socks
and a stick of pineapple to me.
Ah, permission to speak, sir?!
Uh, I think not, actually.
Quite right!
If what happens
when you open your mouth
Is anything like what happens
when you open your paintbox,
we'll all be drenched in phlegm!
Oh, no, this isn't what we're looking for
at all, is it, Darling?
- No, sir.
- No sir!
There is this, sir.
It's Private Baldrick's.
He's called it
"My Family And Other Animals."
Oh, good Lord, no!
Well, I'm afraid that's about it, sir,
apart from this little thing.
Ah, now that's more like it!
Who painted this, Blackadder?
Well actually, it was me.
Permission to speak
really quite urgently, sir!
Damn and blast your goggly eyes,
will you stop interrupting, George?!
This is excellent!
Congratulations, man.
It's totally inspiring!
Makes you want to jump over the top
and yell, "Yah boo, sucks to you, Fritzie!"
Thank you, sir.
Are you sure you did this, Blackadder?
Of course I'm sure.
- I'm afraid I don't believe you.
- How dare you, Darling?
General, I can't let that slur pass.
What possible low, suspicious,
slanderous reason
could this office boy have
for thinking that
I didn't paint the picture?
Three reasons, as a matter of fact.
- Firstly, you're in it.
- It's a self-portrait.
Secondly, you told us you couldn't paint.
One doesn't like to blow one's own trumpet.
- Permission...
- Denied.
And thirdly,
it's signed "George."
Well spotted.
But not signed George,
dedicated to George.
King George.
Gentlemen, The King.
The King!
- Where?
Bravo, Blackadder, I have absolutely
no hesitation in appointing you
our official regimental artist.
You're a damn fine chap,
not a pen-pushing,
desk-sucking blotter-jotter
like Darling here.
Eh, Darling?
No sir.
No sir.
Well, accompany us back
to HQ immediately.
Ten shun!
Permission to jolly well speak
right now, sir,
otherwise I might just
burst like a bloody balloon!
Later, George. Much later.
Congratulations on your
new appointment, Blackadder.
Thank you, sir.
And may I say, Blackadder,
I am particularly pleased about it.
Are you?
Oh, yes.
Now that you are
our official w*r artist,
we can give you the full briefing.
The fact is, Blackadder,
that the King & Country cover story
was just a cover story!
We want you, as our top painting bard,
to leave the trenches...
Good.
- Tonight
- Suits me.
And go out into No-Man's Land.
- No-Man's Land.
- Yes.
- Not Paris.
- No.
We want you to come back
with accurate drawings
of the enemy positions.
You want me to sit in No-Man's Land
painting pictures of the Germans?
Precisely... good man!
Well, it's a very attractive proposition,
but unfortunately, not practical.
You see, my medium is light.
It'll be pitch-dark...
I won't be able to see a thing.
Ah... that is a point.
I tell you what...
We'll send up a couple of flares.
You'll be lit up like a Christmas tree.
Oh, excellent. Glad I checked.
All right... total and utter quiet.
So, for instance, if any of us
crawl over any barbed wire,
they must on no account go...
Aaahhh!!!!
You just crawled over
some barbed wire, sir?
No, Baldrick,
I've just put my elbow
in a blob of ice cream.
Well, that's all right.
Now, where the hell are we?
It's a bit difficult to say.
We appeared to have crawled into an area
marked with mushrooms.
And what do those symbols denote?
That we're in a field of mushrooms?
That is a m*llitary map,
It is unlikely to list
interesting flora and fungi.
Look at the key and you'll discover
that those mushrooms aren't for picking.
Good Lord, you're quite right, sir.
It says "mine".
So these mushrooms
must belong to
the man who made the map.
Either that, or we're in the middle
of a mine field.
Oh, dear.
So he owns the field as well?
They're f*ring, sir, they're f*ring!
Yes, thank you, Lieutenant.
If they hit me, you'll be sure
to point it out, won't you?
Get on with your drawing
and let's get out of here.
Surely we ought to
wait for the flare, sir,
you see, my medium is light...
Just use your imagination,
for heaven's sake!
Wait a minute... that's the answer.
I can't believe I've been so stupid!
That is unusual,
'cos usually I'm the stupid one.
Well, I'm not over-furnished
In the brain department.
Well, on this occasion,
I've been stupidest of all.
Oh, now, sir,
I will not have that.
Baldrick and I will always be
more stupid than you.
Isn't that right, Baldrick?
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Yeah... stupidy, stupidy, stupidy!
The stupidest stupids
In the whole history of stupidityness!
Finished?
I think the obvious point is this...
We'll go straight back to the dugout
and do the painting from there.
You do the most imaginative,
most exciting possible drawing
Of German defences
from your imagination.
I say, now, that is a challenge.
Quite. Come on, let's get out of here.
Oh, sir, just one thing...
If we should happen to tread on a mine,
what do we do?
Well, normal procedure, Lieutenant,
is to jump feet into the air
and scatter yourself over a wide area.
Are you sure this is what you saw,
Blackadder?
Absolutely.
There may have been
a few more armament factories
and not quite as many elephants,
but that's generally it.
Well, you know what this means.
If it's true, sir, we'll have to
cancel the push.
Exactly.
- Damn!
- What a nuisance.
Exactly what the enemy
would expect us to do,
and therefore, exactly what we shan't do!
Ah. Now...
If we att*ck where the line is strongest,
then Fritz will think
that our reconnaissance
is a total shambles.
This will lull him into a sense
of false security,
and then next week we can att*ck
where the line is actually badly defended,
and win the greatest victory
since the Winchester flower arranging team
b*at Harrow by sore bottoms to one!
Tell me... have you ever
visited the planet Earth, sir?
So, best fighting trousers on, Blackadder!
Permission to shout "Bravo"
at an annoyingly loud volume, sir!
Permission granted.
Bravo!!!!
That's the spirit!
Just your kind of caper, eh, Blackadder?
Oh, yes.
Good luck against those elephants.
Get me a chisel and some marble,
will you, Baldrick?
Taking up sculpture now, sir?
No, I thought I'd get my headstone done.
What are you gonna put on it?
Here lies Edmund Blackadder,
and he's bloody annoyed.
We're going over, are we, sir?
Yes, we are, unless I can think
of some brilliant plan.
Would you like some rat au vin
to help you think?
Rat au vin?
Yeah, it's rat, and it's been...
...run over by a van.
No thank you, Baldrick.
Although it gives me an idea.
Telephone, please.
I suppose Blackadder and his boys
will have gone over the top by now, sir.
Yes. God, I wish I was out there with them,
dodging the b*ll*ts,
instead of having to sit here
drinking this Chateau Lafitte
and eating these fillet mignons
with sauce bernaise.
My thoughts exactly, sir.
Damn this Chateau Lafitte.
He's a very brave man, Blackadder,
and of course that lieutenant
of his, George.
Cambridge man, you know.
His uncle Bertie and I
used to break wind for our college.
Slightly unusual taste,
this sauce bernaise.
Yes, and to be quite frank,
these mignons are...
are a little... well...
What?
Well, dungy.
What on earth's wrong with our cook?
Well, it's rather strange story, sir.
Oh? Tell, tell.
Well, sir, I received a phone call
this afternoon
from Pope Gregory IX
telling me that our cook
had been selected for
the England cricket team
and must set sail
for the West Indies immediately.
Really?
Barely a moment later,
the phone rang again.
It was a trio of wandering Italian chefs
who happened to be in the area
offering their services.
So I had the quartermaster
take them on at once.
Oh? Jumping Jupiter!
Are you sure these are real raisins
In this plum duff?
Oh yes, I'm sure they are, sir.
Everything will be all right
once the cream custard arrives.
Jolly good fun, sir, but dash it all,
we appear to have missed the big push!
Oh, damn, so we have.
One thing puzzles me, Baldrick...
How did you manage
to get so much custard
out of such a small cat?