Original subtitles

Right

Baldrick, what are you doing out there?

I'm carving something on this bullet, 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 bullet with your

Yes. Well, I thought if I owned the bullet with my name on it, I'd never get

by it.

Because I won't ever shoot myself.

Oh, shame.

The chances of there being two bullets with my name on them are very small

indeed.

It's not the only thing around here that's very small indeed.

King and Country. Oh, damn inspiring stuff. The magazine that tells the

the truth about the war.

Or, alternatively, the greatest work of fiction since Vows of Fidelity were

included in the French Marriage Service.

Some concern. 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

toilet paper.

Not with you at all, sir. What could any patriotic chap have against this

magnificent mag?

Apart from his bottom?

Yes.

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.

Now, look, sir. This also just arrived for you this morning.

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

either. New ladders? They came yesterday. I issued them to the mayor,

were absolutely thrilled.

Isn't that right, men?

Yes, sir.

First solid fuel we've had since we burned the cats.

Something's going on, and I think I can make a rounded human being with a degree

from the University of Life, a diploma from the School of Hard Knocks, and

gold stars from the kindergarten of getting the shit kicked out of men.

My instincts lead me to deduce that we are at last about to go over the top.

Great stuff! You mean the moment's finally arrived for us to give Harry

a... Darn good British -style thrashing, six of the best, trousers down.

Are we all going to get killed? Yes.

Clearly, Field Marshal Haig is about to make yet another gargantuan effort to

move his drinks cabinet six inches closer to Berlin.

Bravoissimo! 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.

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 killed, sir. Ah, yes. What is

Cooking. I see.

You know Staff HQ's always on the lookout for good cooks. Well, we go over

there, we cook them something, and we get out of the trenches that way.

Baldrick, it's a brilliant plan.

Is it? Yes, it's superb.

Permission to ride home immediately, sir. This is the first brilliant plan a

Baldricks 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. 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 mignon in sauce bearnaise look like dog turds in blue.

That's because they are.

Your plum duff tastes like it's a molehill decorated with rabbit

I thought you wouldn't notice.

And your cream custard has the texture of cat's vomit.

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 500 of her close

friends round for a wine and anthrax party.

Now 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.

Is sautéed involved?

Well, you take the freshly shaved rat and you marinate 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.

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!

Hello,

the Savoy Grill.

Oh, it's you.

Yes.

Yes, I'll be over in 40 minutes.

Who was it, then, sir?

Strangely enough, Ulrich, 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

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 there, I think, please.

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.

What I'm about to tell you is absolute security. Is that clear?

Quite clear, sir. Only myself and the rest of the English -speaking world is

know. Good man. Now, Field Marshal Haig has formulated a brilliant new tactical

plan to ensure final victory in the field.

Ah. Will 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 17 times before that.

Exactly.

And that is what is so brilliant about it.

It will catch the watchful hand totally off guard. Doing precisely what we've

done 18 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 10 seconds.

That's right.

And Field Marshal Haig is worried that this may be depressing the men at hand.

He's looking to find a way to cheer them up.

Well, his resignation and suicide would seem the opposite.

Interesting thought. Make a note of it, darling.

Take a look at this. And so you know it. King and country. Ah, yes. Without

question, my favorite magazine.

Soft, strong, and thoroughly absorbent.

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 labor 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

talent of a cluster of colour -blind hedgehogs in a bag.

Can you find us a 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, I don't know.

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... I just wonder...

Whether two socks and a hand grenade is really the sort of thing that covers a

king and 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.

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.

If only I'd paid attention in nursery art class instead of spending my entire

time manufacturing papier -mâché willies to frighten Sarah Wallace.

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,

normally,

of course, I wouldn't show them to anyone because they're just embarrassing

daubs, really. But, you know, 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, it wasn't like a 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

body of a murdered nun what's been brutally done over by a nasty old

Excellent! I can see it now! The nun!

I'm home.

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 knock 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. Well, 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, because whenever he was up in court and

the judge used to say occupation, he'd say nun.

I'm sorry?

Just pop your clothes on the stool over there.

You mean...

You want me tackle out?

Of course, 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 licence. It's willing suspension of disbelief. Well, I'm not

having anyone staring in disbelief at my willy suspension.

Now get on and paint the bloody thing sharpish.

Brilliant, George.

It's a masterpiece.

The wimple suits you, Bullrick.

Why, it completely covers my face.

Exactly.

Now then, General Maltred will be here at any moment. When he arrives, leave

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.

Tension!

Back out!

Tension!

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 hear about the paintings.

Oh, yes, of course.

Permission to speak?

Absolutely. Top holes are with a ying and a yang and a yippity -doo.

Splendid. And your Uncle Betty 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 punts gently down the stream.

Belts off, trousers down, ears alive for scream.

Fabulous. University education.

You can't beat it.

Now, what have we here?

Name? Permission to speak?

Baldrick, sir.

Oh, tally -ho, yibbity -dap and zing -zang's billet. Looking forward to

off for the final chucker?

Permission to speak?

Answer the general, Baldrick.

I can't answer him, sir. I don't know what he's talking about.

No, sir, I'm absolutely terrified.

The healthy humour of the honest Tommy.

Don't worry, my boy. If you should falter, remember that Captain Darling

are behind you.

About 35 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.

Have you found someone?

Yes, sir, I think I have.

None other than young George here.

Oh, brother.

Well, let's have a shifty then. It's simply called War.

Damn silly title, George.

Looks more like a couple of socks and a stick of pineapple to me.

Permission to speak, sir?

I think not, actually.

Quite right.

If what happens when you open your mouth is anything like what happens when you

open your paint box, we'll all be drenched in phlegm.

That 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

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 good.

Blast your goggly eyes. Will you stop interrupting, George?

No, this is excellent.

Congratulations, man.

Oh, it's totally inspiring.

Makes you wonder, jump over the top and yell, your 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?

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?

Well, 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.

Well, one doesn't like to blow one's own trumpet.

Denied.

And thirdly, it's signed George.

Well spotted.

But not fine 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 pin -pushing, desk -sucking, blotter -jotter

Darling here.

Eh, Darling?

No, sir.

No, sir. Well.

Accompany us back to HQ immediately.

Get set.

Permission to jolly well speak right now, sir, otherwise I might just burst

a bunny balloon.

Later, George.

Much later.

Congratulations on your new appointment, Blackadder.

Thank you, sir.

And may I say, Blackadder, I'm particularly pleased about it.

Are you?

Oh, yes.

Now that you are our official war artist, we can give you the full

The fact is, Blackadder, that the king and 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, gentlemen, but

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, excellent. Glad I checked.

All right, total and utter quiet.

Do you understand?

So, for instance, if any of us crawl over any barbed wire, they must on no

account go, ah!

You've just crawled over some barbed wire, sir.

No, Bordick, I just put my elbow on a blob of ice cream.

Oh, that's all right.

Now, where the hell are we?

Well, it's a bit difficult to say. We appear to have crawled into an area

with mushrooms.

What do those symbols denote?

That we're in a field of mushrooms?

Lieutenant, that is a military map. It is unlikely to list interesting flora

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.

Yes, thank you, Lieutenant.

If they hit me, you'll be sure to point it out, won't you?

Now, come on, get on with your drawing and let's get out of here.

Well, surely we ought to wait for the flare, sir. You see, my medium is light.

Now, just use your imagination, for heaven's sake.

Wait a minute.

That's the answer.

What? I can't believe I've been so stupid.

Yeah, that is unusual, because you usually aren't the stupid one.

Well, I'm not over -furnished in the brain department.

Yes, 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,

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Yeah. Stupid -y, stupid -y, stupid -y.

Stupidest, stupidest in the whole history of stupidity does.

Finny?

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

from your imagination.

I see. Now, that is a challenge.

Well, 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 200 feet into the air and

yourself over a wide area.

enemy would expect us to do and therefore exactly what we shan't do. Ah.

Now... If we attack where the lion is strongest, then Fritz will think that

reconnaissance is a total shambles. This will null him into a sense of full

security. And then next week, we can attack where the lion is actually badly

defended and win the greatest victory since the Winchester flower arranging

beat Harrow by twelve 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?

Oh, you're taking up sculpture now, sir?

No, I... Thought I'd get my headstone done.

What are you going to put on this? Here lies Edmund Blackadder, and he's bloody

annoyed.

We're going over, aren't we, sir?

Yes, we are.

Unless I can think of some brilliant plan.

Would you like some rat -o -van to help you fix it?

Rat -o -van.

Yeah, it's rat that's been run over by a van.

No, thank you, Baldrige.

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 bullets instead of

having to sit here drinking this Chateau Lafite and eating these filet mignon

with sauce bear maize.

My thoughts exactly, sir.

Damn this Chateau Lafite.

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, um, unusual taste, this sauce, Bernays.

Yes. And to be quite frank, these mignons are a little, well... What?

Well, dungy.

What on earth's wrong with our cook?

Well, it's a 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 Indian 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.

Are you sure these are real raisins in this blooded -up?

Oh, yes, I'm sure they are, sir.

Everything will be all right once the cream custard arrives.

Well, it was all jolly good fun, sir, but, dashable, 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?