Original subtitles

Thank you.

The Journal of Rachel Harris.

An account of the life and works of her employer and fiancé, Plantagenet Evans,

photographer and genius.

People ask me sometimes, why does an artist of the calibre of Evans stay in

backward area?

Why does an artist of the calibre of Evans stay in this backward area?

Home rule or tool, Welsh fanatic.

What are you doing?

I'm

followed

everywhere, you know.

Special branch.

Rubbish.

It's because you can't see them that you know they're there.

Right. I ask you about Evans because who knows him better than you?

You who live under the same roof as him.

Cohabitation it amounts to. I have my own apartment.

And you think you had respectable employment at the haulage?

How? There you go then.

Translate that into Welsh.

I would have married you, you know.

Will he marry you?

Ring?

Why can't he go somewhere more artistic, full of hot airs, he is?

He'd do well in London.

He's made his home here.

Well, he made your home here. That's what we'll do.

I have the unbridled admiration

of Gwyneth Meg Williams.

What's your Gwynedd Meg, William?

A natural blonde, which is rare in these parts.

Relax, Willie, relax.

Persist ye not in the way of the hernia.

Do something manual with the stuff in the trailer, will you?

Unload it, Willie.

He tries hard to please.

Oh, yes.

I shall always find it in me to forgive him, whenever he's so reasonable in the

way of remuneration.

What remuneration?

Feeding him, aren't I?

Training him, aren't I?

Thoroughly untutored he was in the way of the motor car before I took him in

hand.

And how can I pay him, tell me that, if you're going to make excessive bids for

old mirrors in auction?

Vanity, vanity.

I never intended to make a bid.

Your arm shot up in the air. I should think it did shoot up in the air. What

earth were you doing with your cold hands?

Just a lover's greeting.

A small token of my affection.

The hand of friendship seeking a little warmth.

Am I to be barred from the assets of my own company?

Why didn't you just explain that it was an accident?

Because I'd sooner buy the damn mirror than confess to a hall full of people

exactly what kind of accident.

Oh, it's like I've always said, you don't have to go all the way to Puchelli

all you're after is a view.

You don't have to look.

I don't have to look, no.

It's all a question of where your interest lies, isn't it?

I mean, some people are stirred by great art.

For others, it's shooting large holes in small animals.

And some people, indeed, find themselves deeply moved by such classics of make

-believe as the Guardian newspaper.

With me, it's legs.

Always has been, always will be. Oh, not any old kind of legs, of course. I

mean, I might be in breach here, call me sexist if you like, but I can't help

discriminating in favor of those that are female.

Fascinated I am by the interplay between the smooth, And the knobbly bits.

What knobbly bits?

Bone structure, girl.

Oh, nothing detrimental.

I don't know the Latin, but find Welsh legs you've got with prominent high

cheekbones.

Oh, my God.

I've got knobbly bits.

My own sister riding unmarried in an open car.

And with a paralytic soldier, too.

They must be reserving his phone to tuck in that condition. They're all dead.

What

are

you doing, girl? Sitting here with a scale model of a soldier?

Coming to turn with my knobbly bits. Huh?

Oh.

Oh, Bron, you can tell me, as a sister, have you ever heard any adverse comments

about my legs?

Please. Not an underprobert.

Things like legs never pass between us.

So, he named the date yet for your wedding?

Not exactly.

It has to be exactly, girl.

There's no room in this family for anything short of exactly.

Exactly.

If only you didn't live under the same roof.

Bad enough sharing a darkroom together.

We're engaged.

I hope you're taking precautions.

We do have a safety light.

Oh, your father would die.

He did die.

I told you.

We turn to chapel.

I'm preaching next week.

Listen to Probert, will you? We have wisdom.

big eyes and his mouth wide open.

Oh, I see you probe it makes friends easily.

She threw himself at me.

He's not for sale, I'm afraid, but I've got a nice oval antique mirror you can

have for practice in your sermons, if you like.

I've no time for vanity.

Oh, well, you must make time and make time.

Don't let your life be all hurry, hurry, hurry.

Oh, felicitations, Bronwyn.

Daughter of rectitude?

Sister -in -law to be?

When is what we'd all like to know.

Be quiet, Oprah.

Working at it, aren't we?

That's common knowledge.

I have my own apartment.

That's true. I know it well.

Home rule or two?

Taking your bicycle for a walk, is it?

I fell off it, didn't I?

I would have married her. like a shot.

That's a proud boast for a man with a front fork in that condition.

We're always thinking of you over here.

Thinking's one thing. Ringing me up's another.

Wish you'd pack it in.

You know where we are, if you need our assistance.

Bron, I'm happy with them.

I have no right to be happy. You should be getting married.

We'll have the ham a shade thicker in future.

Modern caterers these days seem to be obsessed by the continual urge... to

a piece of meat transparent.

Did we bring the Dijon mustard?

Oh, come on now. Surely a car of this classic calibre is fitted with Dijon

mustard?

If not a standard, then surely among the optional extras.

Toss the salad, Willie, will you?

Can he do salad?

Oh, you'll get the hang of it.

Important career move, this, for you, Willie.

Big step.

On the road to gentleman's gentleman, see?

Oh, yes, you're going to be a great asset to me, you are, Willie, as

gentleman. Me, who has to snatch hasty meals between working assignments?

Cushion me, you could, against the continual pangs of a digestive system

tormented by stress.

Good day, ladies.

You must plead.

Nice of you to say so.

Mind you, you should know if anyone does.

Get Willie started on the salad. Will you instruct him in the art of agitating

the lettuce and exciting the cucumber?

Now, hold the plate on, Willie, and shake the bowl up and down.

if he tossed it in his hat.

Being connected in a close personal capacity to a man of genius is a

vast extension education -wise when compared with my former occupation as

invoiced clerk typist to Mrs North Wales Road Hallage Limited.

However, not all his ways are wise and wonderful and without embarrassment.

The artistic temperament has a tendency to...

overstep the bounds sometimes when it comes to shooting off its mouth.

No, no, Willie, the groom.

Bring me the groom.

You'll find him sitting on a gravestone somewhere looking pensive.

Don't bring me his elderly relatives.

I am the groom.

Oh, he's the groom.

Late developer, aren't we?

If you'll forgive the photographic expression.

First flush of youth must have come with your out, is it?

How's the bride, then, if she ever gets here?

She says you do not, ladies their age.

My mum says she's older than that.

He's suffering terribly from a nasty attack of insufficient tailoring.

I tell you what we're going to do with you.

We're going to have you sitting on the gravestone by there, in pensive mood,

classical posture of reflection.

I hope it won't damage the suit.

Don't bend a lot, my ma 'am said.

What kind of unnatural advice is that for a man on his wedding day?

Heading a few sticks of furniture.

Oh, no, living my mom's. Oh.

Oh, is that your old mom up there?

Forceful, grey -haired woman standing in the doorway?

Looking rather unconvincing in a gay little hat?

Aye, that's her.

Yeah. How's she off the furniture?

House is full of it. Yeah, they don't give an inch, do they?

Never mind. You mark my words, son.

There will come a time when you will be able to see your way clear to setting up

a home of your own. And what better way to see your way clear than by becoming

the proud owner of an antique, ornate oval mirror.

See your way clear in that, all right?

I don't care how big she is round there.

If he listened to it, ma 'am, he wouldn't be getting married.

75 quid.

Property of a Welsh nobleman.

Tell you what, 73 and we'll deliver.

It's very nice, but my ma 'am wouldn't have it in the house.

Oh, is she?

So you haven't even got home roll at home?

Tell you what, it would make a marvellous present for Gwyneth Meg

A natural blonde, uncommon in certain places.

I was just passing.

Carry on passing as often as you like.

A musical reach, but thrifty.

Supernaturally skilled in all the harmonies of hanging on to their money.

you, I nearly had him. A few moments more exposed to that mirror, I would

had him.

Why are people fascinated by mirrors?

They don't seem too fascinated at 65 pounds.

Maybe it's too expensive.

I shall overlook that remark on account of how well you have adapted to my

photographic requirements since abandoning heavy rural underwear.

We should be quiet.

Willie can hear you. Oh, don't worry your pretty little legs about Willie.

Willie keeps everything under his hat.

Including his ears and most of his nose, apparently.

Yes.

You can keep that under your hat and all.

You should pay him out of it.

Well, I'm scouring the sale rooms, and I never go to the Oxfam shop, Sam.

No, no, no. As soon as one comes up reasonable, he shall have it. I intend

kit him out first class, gradually.

You ask me about the fascination of mirrors.

There's a powerful magic in mirrors. They are objects of occult significance.

Oh, I don't believe in all that.

Don't ever say that to Bela Lugosi. He's dead.

Especially now he's dead.

You believe in him, don't you?

Willie, you remember Bela Lugosi?

No, no, no, that's wee Georgie Wood, you silly old fool.

No, no, barely Lugosi. He had to turn to vampiring on account of his terrible

accent, you know.

His reflection never showed in the mirror, did you know that?

All you ever saw was his top hat and the dim outline of his dickie.

We mustn't forget, we've got to be there by 5 o 'clock for the photo. I'd better

do the lunch.

What photo?

The three winners of the fishing contest.

Five o 'clock by the river. Oh, yes, I remember.

Dangling some poor dead fish.

Worse than Bella Lugosi.

Dear man, just a brief note from my own apartment to tell you that everything's

fine and I'm very happy.

I know you never brought me up to be happy and I'm sorry if I've broken a

family tradition, but the work here is interesting.

and often full of little surprises, such as were rarely, if ever, available at

Messrs North Wales Road Haulage Limited.

Mr Higgins, what have you got in there that feels so un -Welsh and weird?

Oh,

that's

it, Willie.

Sneak up on it quietly like a good fisherman.

Why did you dress him up like that? Well, it was an idea which came to me

I was browsing through an old pair of trousers.

I thought, kit him up like a fisherman, I thought. Yes, worked out very well,

piscatorily, that.

I thought I would dress him into the picture, you see, just to fill up a gap.

Only don't smile like that, will you? Otherwise we'll finish up with a bigger

gap than we started.

Off you go, love.

Street on a bright Wednesday. A challenge artistically to catch the

fasten for all time the essence of this passing moment.

It's all entangled.

Come on. Things are not being passed very fast this passing moment, are they?

Come on, man. Don't make me lose the mood.

Illusiva smoked the sweet Welshness of things.

And here I am snagged in warm polyester. Don't put it on your head. It's ungold.

Is there no way out of this photographic assistant?

What's he making her do in broad daylight?

Some kind of unmarried strapped horse.

Oh, the hair's wicked.

Is my hair a mess now?

No, entirely suitable, you look.

Flushed and dishevelled as if fresh from a nuptial bed.

Be quiet!

Oh, you don't have to worry about all, Willie.

Notoriously deaf he is, in weirdness.

What is this driving in bumps? Enough of this pauses put upon the pedal, if you

don't mind. You put him in big rubber boots. He can't drive in waders.

Put you in black stockings. You didn't immediately lose control of both legs,

did you?

Apart from one magic night, I remember, when wild you'd grown due to a surfeit

of Barry Manilow records.

It weren't the Barry Manilow records.

I'd been taking this stuff on prescription on account of a mild virus

Oh, Yes, you've got the bug, all right.

Oh, stop!

What's this?

The Welsh kamikaze?

You told him to stop!

I know.

He's getting too obedient.

I'll have to stop him watching that sheepdog programme.

We will inquire of yonder yokels how far we are from the river.

Do you think they'll tell us? Oh, yes.

Steeped in local know -how they'll be.

I can smell it from here.

Drive on, Willie, as far as yonder peasants.

Him look.

Hot one.

The artist?

Or is he a theatrical hoofdarm?

Good morrow, country fellows.

Too lazy, see?

Oofta.

Far from the river, are we?

What's the river?

That's it, yes, the river.

I told you, caught on in no time, yeah?

Oh, she was the river for that. Never again went it all, is he?

Oh, no, not in a hut like that.

Look at those country faces. Those lines etched on by years of struggle against

all but the simplest concepts.

My old granny had a heart like that.

Humanity's hardcore.

All the sensitivity of a free -range turnip.

Maybe it is your old granny's heart.

Those expressions, like three holes in the universe.

Drive on, Willie.

Faces like cow pats in cropped grass.

Drive on, Willie.

Centuries of inbreeding and careless personal hygiene.

My old granny had a ribbon in it.

Flighty as that, was she.

Bet she's flighty, that Rachel Harris.

They say she has her own apartment.

That's what I want. A nice tight group.

Then when I give the word, Willie will step into midstream and be there in the

background, adding life and movement to the composition with his championship

casting. Can he do casting?

Oh, yes, he'll get the hang of it.

Are you ready, Willie?

Here we go, then.

Can he do droning?

No, no.

Poor Willie.

He looked so small when the fishermen dragged him out, didn't he?

I'm surprised they didn't throw him back.

Still, it all turned out very well on the whole, didn't it?

Daring action shots I got of greater river rescue.

And then back we came to dry our Willie on the premises.

I'm changing.

You certainly are. You'd never have done that when you first came here.

The choice is entirely mine, I realise, huh?

I, um, I brought all her equipment in from the car.

I know. I saw you from the window.

There she goes, I thought. My love, my personal assistant.

Moving proudly.

Her little shoulder blades waggling just as though she was wearing her breasts

on backwards.

Oh, you're scandalously frank with these parts.

Oh, to hell with convention, woman. I say it again.

Shoulder blades.

Shoulder...

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