Original subtitles

Terrible Tudors, gorgeous Georgians Slimy Stuarts, vile Victorians

Woeful wars, ferocious fights Dingy castles, daring knights

Horrors that defy description Cut-throat Celts, awful Egyptians

Vicious Vikings, cruel crimes Punishment from ancient times

Romans, rotten, rank and ruthless Cavemen, savage, fierce and toothless

Groovy Greeks, brainy sages Mean and measly Middle Ages

Gory stories, we do that And your host, a talking rat

The past is no longer a mystery Welcome to...

Horrible Histories. #

Being held prisoner in the Middle Ages could be pretty nasty.

But that wasn't always the case.

His Majesty John Balliol, the rightful King of Scotland.

Hey, did you see that grouse?

Here, give those to cook. Tell her to add them to tonight's banquet.

You, play me a song. Something soothing.

It's been a very busy day

and who the devil are you?

- I'm the legal expert you sent for, Sire. - Ah, the lawyer.

Excellent. Come on.

Now, I am hoping that you can help me

overturn a terrible miscarriage of justice.

There is a very important man currently languishing

in the most famous jail in England and I want you to get him out.

Of course, your Majesty, and who is this man?

It's me, you idiot!

You wouldn't keep an animal like this. It's inhumane.

Fruit, Sire?

I don't like grapes. You see what I mean?

So this isn't your castle, then?

This is the Tower of London.

I am the King of Scotland.

Well, I was, until your stupid King Edward stole my throne

and trapped me in here.

I am a King reduced

to the status of a bum.

HE SNORTS

Don't laugh at bum, Terry.

It demeans us both.

Well, Sire, if I'm completely honest.

I've visited a few jails in my time

and the conditions here are...

..not the worst I've seen.

It would seem you've just been out hunting.

And your point is?

Most prisons, they don't tend to let you out.

In fact, as far as I can see,

the only real punishment here is how much you must miss your family.

Why would I? They're right next door.

- All right, kids? - Hello, Daddy!

Well, in that case, if I may speak frankly,

I've no idea what on earth you're complaining about.

Of course you don't.

Because you're not a Scotsman.

You don't know what it's like to have your body here in London,

when your heart and soul lives only in the Highlands

and until I am returned to my homeland,

I shall be a prisoner every day of my life.

I could probably get you banished to France.

Done! Actually that's better, cos the weather's nice.

OK, everyone. We're moving to France.

ALL: Yeah!

Not you. Come on, everyone. Join on.

Vive la France, hey! Vive la France, hey! Vive la France...

That's 100% accu-rat.

John Balliol, King of Scotland was released from the infamous

Tower of London in 1299 and allowed to go to France.

But not everyone found it quite so easy to escape the Tower.

Stupid deaths, stupid deaths

They're funny cos they're true

Wooh! Stupid deaths, stupid deaths

Hope next time it's not you. Hee-hee! #

Yes, they've been a bit boring today.

Sometimes I worry we'll never find another really, really stupid death.

Next!

Woah! Hold the phones. We've found a doozy. Name?

- Griffith Ap Llewelyn. - Let's hear your story.

I can't wait. Come on, come on.

So, I was a prisoner locked high up in the famous Tower of London.

But I wasn't going to hang about.

- I had a brilliant plan for escaping, see. - Go on, go on.

So I made a rope out of bed sheets

and lowered it out of the window to escape from the Tower.

Ye-es?

Down and down I went until...

- Please be good! Please be good! - I ran out of bed sheet!

HE LAUGHS

I made it 10 metres too short!

I fell, landed on my head and died.

Aha-ha-ha-ha!

- That's why I've gone like that. - And that's why you're "Uurgh!" Oh, hey.

Er, what do you call the Welshman who tries to escape

with a rope that's 10 metres too short?

- Dai the Stupid Death. - THEY LAUGH

Spelled D-A-I. Cos it's a Welsh name.

- Yeah, it's like the Welsh name, Dai. - Do you get it?

- Well, me and him get it. - That's right.

Very good. Congratulations. You're through to the afterlife.

- See you later. - Oh! Er, mind how you go.

There's a bit of a drop on the other side.

HE LAUGHS

- I'd land on my bottom and my head would pop back out. - It might do!

- Off you go, now. - OK, See you later. - Don't milk it.

I like him a lot. Best we've had today. I mean it.

I won't hear anything else.

Shh! Next!

Stupid deaths, stupid deaths

Hope next time it's not yo-o-ou. #

Good morning, Mrs Grimshaw.

- And how are we feeling today? - Oh, my throat is killing me.

- Don't you worry. The doctor will be here soon. - Yeah.

- It's amazing what they can do with modern medicine, isn't it? - Mm, yeah.

But unfortunately, you won't be getting any.

You're doctor's from Ancient Rome.

Hail, patient. I'm Dr Galen.

What appears to be the problem?

This is Mrs Grimshaw.

She was admitted late last night with inflammation of the throat.

Oh, yes. She appears to have a rash.

Possibly a reaction to a bite.

- Nurse, bring me a spider immediately. - What for?

The best cure for a spider bite

is to crush the body of the spider in the bite.

I don't think it's a spider bite.

A snake? Then we should pour wine up her nostrils

and smear the bite in pig poo.

No, I don't think it's a bite at all.

She says the pain is inside her throat.

Yeah, yeah. It's red raw. I could barely breathe last night.

I thought I was having some sort of seizure.

Hail, Seizure. Well, that could be epilepsy but don't you worry.

A nice glass of gladiator's blood and you'll be right as rain.

Mm, nutty.

- You said it, love. - Doctor, here's a crazy idea.

Why don't you come round here and have a look down her throat?

Mm. Couldn't hurt, I suppose.

All right. Open wide.

Oh. Looks like tonsillitis.

Er, nurse, fetch the surgeon.

Don't worry, Mrs G.

- We'll have those nasty tonsils out in no time. - Finally!

- Someone who knows what they're doing. - I wouldn't be so sure.

- Hail, Claudius. - Hail, Geoff.

So, whipping out the old tonsils, are we?

Oh, is that going to be painful?

Yes! Yes, it is. But don't worry.

Us Roman surgeons are specially trained

to completely block out the sound of screaming.

THEY LAUGH

Now, then.

- Waaaah! - Did anyone hear something?

Waaah!

Couldn't hear a thing. Couldn't hear a thing.

It's true. Roman army surgeons

really were trained to ignore shouting and screaming.

As are us rats, when we're spotted in the kitchen.

They were actually very good at healing wounds

and thanks to them, lots of soldiers

survived some pretty terrible injuries.

But not all Roman medicine was as sensible. No, no.

Hi, I'm a shouty man and I'm here to tell you about

new Criminal's Head.

It's the Roman medical sensation.

You won't believe all the things new Criminal's Head can cure.

Do you suffer from gum disease?

- Uurgh! - I'm no scientist,

but I'll take that as a yes.

Simply pluck a tooth from new Criminal's Head

and scrape it against your diseased gums.

It'll get rid of those nasty painful sores

and make them up to a bit percent better.

- I don't think it worked. - It did.

And there's more. Have you been bitten by a dog?

- Grrr! - I'm no scientist,

but I'll take that as a yes.

Then simply swallow one of these pills,

made from the skull of new Criminal's Head

and your dog bite will be cured in no time.

Is there nothing you can't do? And that's not all.

New Criminal's Head will cure all known diseases, or no money back.

Are you sick?

I'm no scientist,

but that looks contagious. Is it contagious?

Then simply take a hair from new Criminal's Head

and you won't believe... Oh, dear. Never mind.

And for this month only, buy new Criminal's Head

and get Hanky Dipped in Blood absolutely free.

That's right. New Hanky Dipped In Blood,

dipped in the blood of new Criminal's Head.

Guaranteed to bring you good luuuuuu...

Or no money back.

The answer is

all three.

In fact, before the French Revolution of 1789,

the lives of the rich and poor couldn't have been more different.

This week, we're in France for a special royal edition

of Historical Wife Swap.

The King of France, Louis XVI and his wife, Marie Antoinette

will be doing a Wife Swap with...

Mr and Mrs French Peasant.

But how will these two extremes of the French class system get on?

Welcome to my humble abode, Mrs Peasant.

Oh, your trousers. They appear to be around your ankles.

I know! I do it all the time to make my friends laugh.

A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Because I am your loveable, eccentric King Louis XVI.

Ah, we are going to have so much fun!

Benoit, you show Mrs Peasant to her room. Oh!

If you don't like it, you can pick another one.

We have 700 rooms here. Hah?

Meanwhile, over at the Peasant cottage...

Which way is my room?

- This is your room. And my room. It is - THE - room.

Ha-ha-ha! Oh, very funny!

My husband also likes to drop his trousers.

I've lost so much weight zat they keep falling down.

Us French peasants are starving to death.

Well, anyway. It's very funny when Louis does it.

So, are things going any better at the royal palace?

- Tell me, Mrs P, would you like some cake? - Oh, yes, please.

Benoit? Bring some cake, please.

Ah! SPLAT!

Oh, I am a loveable eccentric, non?

Am I not, Benoit?

Oui. Tres amusant(!)

Oh, do you mind? Only I haven't eaten for weeks.

- Be my guest. - Mm.

Ze King just asked me if I wanted to have a bath in crushed strawberries.

These royals, they are so out of touch!

We peasants are starving and they are having baths full of strawberries?!

Obviously, I will scoff the lot. I am a starving peasant.

Mm!

It's supper time at the peasant cottage.

You don't expect me to eat grass! Do you think I look like a cow?

Serious question?

But surely you peasants don't really eat grass?

Last year, there was a terrible harvest

and now the price of wheat is so high, we can't afford bread.

So yes, some of us have resorted to eating grass.

I must say that this whole experience

has been a real eye-opener for me.

I mean, the poverty, the hardships,

I have learnt so much.

Like never hang out with peasants. Yuck!

The Wife Swap is at an end,

and it's time for the royals and peasants

to settle their differences.

Oh! Look at that. Your trousers are round your ankles.

This country does not need a loveable eccentric for a king.

France is penniless and yet you royals,

you're spending money like it grows on trees.

Which is silly, because it...doesn't?

How can you bear to see your country in such a state?

Er, excuse me.

I'm from Austria. This isn't actually my country.

It's true!

I don't think you are helping.

- Let's start a revolution. - Oui.

BOTH: Down with the royals! Vive la revolution!

Don't worry, darling. I know exactly how to deal with this.

Tick. Tock.

Boom, voila!

A-ha-ha-ha! Look!

I don't think it's working. Run.

- Vive la revolution! - Wait for me.

And so began the French Revolution.

Louis XIV and Marie Antoinette tried to escape the angry peasants

in Paris by fleeing disguised as servants.

They were arrested after a merchant recognised the King

from his face on a coin.

Heads you lose, eh?

Which, as it happens, is exactly what happened to Louis. Ha-ha-ha!

What?

Oh, he got his head chopped off. It's a joke! Tut, suit yourself.

The British Army had help from all kinds of countries

in the First World War, so you could've been in for a surprise

when you arrived in the British trenches.

Private Tommy Jones reporting for duty, sir.

Proud to be part of the British Army, sir.

Pardon, monsieur. Er, nous somme le Bataillon Canadien.

Er, am I in the French Army trench?

Non, monsieur. We are Canadian soldiers.

Part of the British Forces here to fight le Germans.

- Oh. Where can I find the British Regiment? - That way, my chum.

OK, Thank you. Bit weird, but cheers.

Private Tommy Jones reporting for duty, sir.

Proud to be part of the British Army, sir.

At ease, ya limey shark biscuit.

If you're looking for the other pommy cobbers,

you need to go up there and dip your lid to the bludger with the stripes.

- YELLS: Where are the British Forces? - Just hang on a tick, mate.

- We - ARE - part of the British Forces, ya cheeky larrikin!

Your lot are up there.

All right. Thank you.

Private Tommy Jones reporting for duty, sir. Er...

I guess you're not looking for the South African Division, my friend?

No, I'm not. Do you know where the British part

of the British Forces are?

Oh, yeah. You want to head down here,

do a left at the West Indians, then a right at the Ghurkhas

head straight through the Indian division,

and stop just before the New Zealanders.

- All right? God save the King! - Yeah, whatever.

- Excuse me. - Yeah.

Is this the part of the British Forces with the actual British in?

- That's right. - Oh, thank goodness for that.

I've spent the last hour looking for you lot.

Half the British Forces are from other countries.

- I couldn't understand a word they said. - Don't worry. You're here now.

collect your bunk, your fleabag and your daisies from the devil-dodger,

watch out for chats and Canutes,

you should avoid getting chin-strapped

or sent to the rest camp with a meat ticket cause you're a landowner.

Know what? I think I might go back to that French lot.

Au revoir!

That's right.

In World War I, soldiers from Canada, Australia, South Africa,

India and other countries fought for Britain in France.

Thousands of miles away from their homes and families.

Alongside troops from England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland.

Because your legs are beautiful,

because your skin is beautiful,

because you're worth it,

wear ladies tights beneath your kilt.

- Hang on, that's a man!? - That's right.

Scottish soldiers always wear ladies tights in the trenches.

For one, it keeps you nice and warm and for two,

ye dinnae want bare legs if there's a gas attack.

Here's the expensive graphic-y bit.

In tests, ladies tights have been proven to stop up to 90%

of the damage enemy gas attacks cause to naked legs.

So now, whatever the Germans throw at you,

you can wear your kilt with confidence.

New ladies tights for men.

Because in the trenches, a man's best friend is his ladies tights.

Oof! Though they don't half ride up a bit. Oh!

Our Tudor Queen Elizabeth I was a very difficult woman to impress.

Happy Christmas, your Majesty.

A ring. Why thank you, Cecil.

Have this put with all the other presents I don't like and never use.

Yes, your Majesty.

Lord Robert Dudley.

Lord Dudley.

May your Yuletide merriments know no bounds, your Majesty.

Oh, a present.

- Whatever could it be? - What does one get the Queen who has everything?

Why, something that nobody has.

How did this tiny clock get stuck in this bangle?

'Tis a wrist clock, your Majesty. The first of its kind.

Ah, with your permission.

Now, when there is no clock around, you can tell the time

with a simple look at your wrist.

Oh!

Why, this is far and away my favourite present ever.

- Isn't it marvellous, Cecil? - Mm, yes, your Majesty.

Let us drink to this new invention.

- To the wrist clock. - The wrist clock.

Mm! Oh, dear me.

There's no clock here in the throne room

and I need to know the time.

Ah, oh! Would you happen to know what time it is, your Majesty?

Oh! Why, it is...

Oh, dear, Lord Dudley,

there appears to be a serious design flaw with your wrist clock.

Indeed, your Majesty.

(Yes!)

Historians believe that Elizabeth's gift, a wristwatch,

was possibly the first of its kind in the world.

Though when ugly Elizabeth looked at it, the glass cracked! Ha-ha-ha!

Oh, what a horrible thing to say. Oh, I do apologise, your Majesty.

Yes, there were all sorts of new fashion accessories

on show in the Tudor era.

Oh, honestly. The state of these Tudor streets.

One can avoid the occasional poo,

but the whole street is just covered in it.

Ooh, my long dress is quite ruined.

Oh, Alice.

Is it my imagination or have you grown?

- Oh, that'll be my new platform shoes. - Oh.

I got them in the local shoe shop. Look!

Now I can walk around in a poo-filled street

without getting my lovely dress all mucky.

Ah!

SPLAT!

You were saying?

THEY LAUGH

Hiya, fashion fans, and welcome to another Historical Fashion Fix.

This week, a Tudor peasant will be swapping sack cloth

for silk in an amazing makeover. So let's meet our grubby commoner.

It's Pete.

- Are you ready, Pete? - No.

Then let's get started!

Right. First thing's first, we need to do something

about that horrible hair. Am I right, Pete?

- Actually, I... - Of course I am.

So to help us out, I've invited a personal friend

all the way from the 1500s,

it's Tudor barber, Bob the Barber.

- She's here. - Mwah, mwah. - Where did you get this?

- It's vintage. - Lovely.

So, Bob. What are we going to do about Pete's horrible, horrible hair?

I'm just going to do what I do to all Tudors

who can afford a haircut. Cut it all the same length,

just above the shoulder. I call it the bob,

after myself!

Can't wait to see the results.

- There we are. All done. - Thanks, Bob. You look fierce, Pete.

Apart from that hideous wart. I can't stop looking at it.

Luckily, we've got a surgeon who can get rid.

It's Tudor surgeon, Bob the Surgeon.

Bob?! I thought he was a barber.

No, all Tudor barbers were surgeons too.

Hair, limbs, It's all cutting, isn't it?

- What?! - Can you hack off Pete's horrible wart?

I'll give it a go.

- I feel sick! - Oh, I can sort that out too, love.

Bit of bloodletting. Do you the world of good.

Bloodletting?!

Not only does it cure many ailments,

but bloodletting is great for that pale complexion

that's all the rage in Tudor times.

We took our inspiration for Pete's new outfit from Henry VIII.

The king wore big, baggy clothes

to hide his big, bloated belly, so everyone else started doing the same.

Let's see if all that hard work has paid off. Here's Pete.

Every inch the Tudor lord.

- How do you feel Pete? - Can I have my mucky clothes back?

You can't. We burned them.

That's all we've got time for this week on Fashion Fix.

Join us next time when we'll be perking up another pongy peasant.

- See ya. - Can someone wipe some muck on me, please?

Can you show some gratitude, please?

- Here, mate! Have you got any mud on you? - Disgusting.

I hate him. I actually hate him.

Hello and welcome to The News At When.

When? Ancient Egyptian times, over 3,000 years ago,

when the ruler of Egypt

was a nine-year-old boy called Tutankhamen.

He had a very strange family.

For more details, here's Bob Hale with the pharaoh report.

Thank you, Sam. Well, it's 1341BC and we're over here

in Ancient Egypt, where a wickle baby has been born

and his name is Tutankhamen.

Now, he's also known as Tutankhamen, Tutankhamon, Tutenkarten,

Amen-tut-ankh, Steve and King Tut.

Though probably not Steve. And King Tut's dad was also a king.

A pharaoh called Akhenaten. At least, we think that's his dad.

It's hard to be sure. It was so long ago, no-one can remember.

Not even my nan and she's really old,

though she doesn't look it. Love you, Nan.

What we do know is that when King Tut was just 6 years old, Akhenaten died.

Yes, his daddy became a mummy, which is a very complex operation

and King Tut's big brother Smenkie becomes pharaoh

and then promptly dies. Then replaced by his sister, Neffie.

Who then promptly dies. Meaning that at just 9 years old,

- Tutankhamen becomes pharaoh, which I thing is - pharaoh-nuff.

All right, no more jokes. Running a country is no job for a 9-year-old

because it's far too boring, so King Tut's uncle turns up.

- A chap called Ay and he says he will keep an - Ay - on things. Sorry, sorry.

Forgot. So Uncle Ay runs the country

so that King Tut can get on with doing all the fun stuff

that kids do, like play games, go to school and get married.

Yep, getting married. If you thought that was weird,

to keep his royal blood line pure, his new wife is his sister. Yeugh!

And she used to be his stepmum, so it's double-yeugh!

Anyway, King Tut grows up,

Uncle Ay hands over power to Mr and Mrs Tut

and they rule Egypt together as husband and wife-mum-sister.

And that's the end of that.

Or so we thought.

But history books say Uncle Ay didn't want to give up power,

so he killed King Tut by bashing him on the head, like that.

Yep. That'd do it. Except it didn't.

It turns out the history books were wrong and King Tut actually died

from an infected broken leg, leaving Mrs Tut with a broken heart

and the Crown of Egypt, which of course Uncle Ay wants for himself.

How does he plan to get it? Well, by marrying Mrs Tut,

even though she's his granddaughter, which is yeugh!

Times this much.

Ooh! But Mrs Tut has other ideas.

She decides to marry a foreign prince called Zannanza instead

because he's got such a cool name, but sadly Zannanza gets cold feet.

Cold everything, because he dies. Killed on his way to Egypt

by a very jealous Uncle Ay who then finally marries his granddaughter.

They live happily, ruling Egypt together

for ages and ages and that's the end of that.

What a life. Born in Dublin to a blind darts player, the first woman to swim across Ireland,

and would you believe it? She's 99 today. So, come on everyone.

Happy birthday to you Happy birthday to you

Happy Birthday, Nanny Bob Happy birthday to you. #

And back over to Sam to blow out the candles. Sam.

Tutankhamen was one of Egypt's most famous pharaohs

but not quite as famous as this one.

Rah rah, Cleopatra

Famous beauty coming at ya

Rah rah Patra-Cleo

Guys all go gaga for me, oh

I am a leader and a lady and a queen

I'm Cleopatra, such a queen never been seen

I am a pharaoh yet they're all meant to be guys

But I don't care-o I just wear a beard disguise

My mum and dad were pharaohs I thought I was too

But both my older sisters thought that they should rule too

Oh, dear, they both died I wonder who that will leave

Little me, oh pharaoh Cleo OK, no time to grieve

Think that's alarming you'd be right but it gets worse

Married my half-brother and we ruled the Universe

That bad romance led to an overcrowded throne

But then died boo-hoo so now I'm all alone

Wow wow wow wow wow

All hail Lady Cleo

Wow wow wow la la

Coolest pharaoh by far

Fashion took my list of vices

Bathed in ass's milk and spices

Then I dress liked goddess Isis

Long black hair in ringlets nicest

Vipers too for men entices

Finest linen robe, top prices

Married another brother He's an OK geezer

But never told of my love for Julius Caesar

Had Caesar's child and hoped that he'd be crowned king

My bro said no, I said oh and I murdered him

Cos I am Cleopatra Egypt's royalty

The ruling pharaoh Don't you dare all mess with me

My poker face smiles only when I see

A man who takes my fancy like Oh, Mark Anthony

Wow wow wow wow wow

Another Roman leader

Wow wow wow la la

No Egyptian crowd pleaser

Rah rah Cleopatra

Finally I'd met my match-a

Rah rah Patra-Cleo

Ends in death for him and me-o

My life was a drama

I was one kooky mama

Wow wow wow, you know

Today I'd be a favourite of the paparazzo. #

No pictures, no pictures.

Tall tales, atrocious acts

We gave you all the fearsome facts... #

Want some more Horrible Histories?

then come with me down the Time Sewers.

Just go to the CBBC website and click on Horrible Histories.

See you down there.

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