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

BOTH: # Gory stories, we do that

# And your host, a talking rat

# The past is no longer a mystery

# Welcome to

(GREGORIAN CHANT-STYLE) # Horrible Histories. #

Horrible Histories presents:

(JAZZ DRUM BEAT PLAYS)

(WIND AND BRASS INSTRUMENTS PLAY JAZZ MUSIC)

BOTH: # Roaring '20s

# Oh, what is in store for us?

# Let me tell you what has gone before

# I'm all ears

# New world order

# Falling dynasties

# New chapters for the Russians and Chinese

# Sounds like the bee's knees

# In Mexico and Europe, revolution

(INAUDIBLE)

# Empires crumbling right before your eyes

# What a hullabaloo!

# Independence seemed like the solution

# Rulers, they were fleeing for their lives

# What's a king and queen to do?

# Einstein's theory

# The Titanic too

# Unsinkable

# Turned out that wasn't true

# But look on the bright side

# Great War over

# No more Spanish flu

# Gal's got the vote # But there's still more to do

# I gotta wait till I'm 30

# It wasn't just a tale of mass destruction

# New inventions, there were quite a few

# Ain't this the cat's pyjamas?

# Motor cars went into mass production

# Dishwashers and vacuum cleaners too

# Oh! # Boo, boo, be-doop!

# A new decade

# '20s, here we come

# An era of peace and optimism

# Things can only get better

# Best foot forward

# 1910s can say farewell

# The Roaring '20s are gonna be swell! #

Yes! We're living it up, 100 years ago.

Welcome to the 1920s,

One of the greatest ever eras of change.

Here at the start of the '20s,

everyone is full of hope for the world.

The First World War and the Spanish flu pandemic

are finally over,

and normal life can start again.

One group of rich youngsters

have even dedicated themselves to having fun.

They're racing cars, throwing parties, dressing up,

and generally having the best time of their lives.

Read all about it!

The outrageous young posh people who are shocking the nation

and who the papers are calling the Bright Young Things.

Oh! I don't know why the papers are so obsessed

with our divine little treasure hunt, Zeta.

You wouldn't think that hiding sweet little clues around the city

for our friends to find would be of such interest.

Oh, a car! (HORN HONKS)

BOTH: Oh!

Ooh, the police car! (SIREN WAILS)

There's dozens of the chaps right now chasing after us.

(BOTH GIGGLE) Hi!

Theresa? Mm?

Want to break into the Hovis factory

and leave a clue in a loaf of bread?

(LAUGHS) Do I?

Drive on, sister! (BOTH LAUGH)

NEWSPAPER BOY: And would you believe it -

Baron's daughter caught speeding.

Darling, I didn't know there were any speed limits

don't surely apply to people as posh as me.

They apply to everyone.

And don't think we won't look into all those jewels came from.

My daddy gave me them, of course.

Some kind of baron, is he?

Yes. Baron Alington, in fact.

Pull the other one.

Aristocratic young ladies behave properly.

Everybody knows that. Not any more, darling!

It's the modern age. Anything goes.

Now, take one more photo, will you, sweetie?

The papers will adore it.

There's also exclusive photos from

the Bright Young Things' latest party.

What do I look like? Someone who's NOT rich?

(LAUGHS) See ya.

Good to see you. Wow. (LAUGHS)

Relax, old chap.

This is not a normal, boring party thrown by your parents.

This is a party thrown by me, Stephen Tennant!

And I know how to have fun.

We're young, we're rich. There's no war on.

And it's a wild party.

A wild Wild West party, to be more specific.

Ch-pow! Ch-pow!

You're wearing makeup? Of course I am.

It's 1920s. Rules don't exist.

At least, not for us rich youngsters.

We can wear whatever we want.

There you go. It's a cowboy party, after all.

Then, what has he come as? Oh, don't mind him.

That's Viscount Chiddingly-Ripe.

He just hasn't gone home

since last week's baby party.

OK, everyone smile!

Read all about the Bright Young Things!

Oh, look, I'm in the paper!

Mummy will be so proud.

(LAUGHS)

The '20s are a time of exploration and discovery.

British archaeologist Howard Carter

has found and opened the tomb of Egyptian Pharaoh Tutankhamun.

It's full of wonderful treasures,

but also contains a powerful, deadly curse

that strikes all those who go inside.

Or, at least, that's what some people think.

Hello there.

I'm Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,

writer and creator of Sherlock Holmes.

Welcome to Ghosts Definitely Exist!

(EERIE WAIL)

This week on Ghosts Definitely Exist...

(EERIE WAIL)

..the Curse of the Mummy!

WOMAN: What's that, darling?

Not you, Mummy.

In 1923, Howard Carter, his financial backer Lord Carnarvon,

and Carnarvon's daughter Evelyn

entered the tomb of Pharaoh Tutankhamun,

unleashing the Curse of the Mummy!

(FARTING)

Oh! Someone's unleashed something in here.

Well, it certainly wasn't me.

Carnarvon! Ugh. Daddy!

MAN: After they entered the mummy's tomb,

the curse claimed its first victim, right outside Howard Carter's house.

(SCREAMING, DRAMATIC FANFARE)

A dead canary.

Coincidence? Hah!

Carter's canary was eaten by a snake,

and a cobra is the sign of the pharaoh.

Of course, it's actually pretty common

for snakes to eat birds,

so it's hardly conclusive proof.

Conclusive proof there.

Shortly after, the mummy's curse claimed its first human victim.

MOTHER: Artie, want a cup of tea?

Not now, Mummy. I said...

Yes, though, please.

And some bikkies. Thank you.

Two months after the tomb was opened,

my father, Lord Carnarvon, who funded the dig, sadly died.

They say his death was mysterious, but we all know what happened.

He was bitten by a mosquito and died of the infection.

Plus, he was a sick old man who ignored all of his doctor's advice.

Personally, I don't think the Curse of the Mummy

had anything to do with it.

The mummy's curse had struck again.

But he wasn't the only victim.

My own friend, Bertram Fletcher Robinson

died, just three...

..years after writing about a mummy.

The curse was spreading!

Who would be next?

Next time on Ghosts Definitely Exist

with me, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,

more on my investigation.

We talk to the man at the centre of the curse,

Egypt expert Howard Carter.

58 people entered the tomb,

and only 12 of those died over the next ten years.

Many of them were either already ill or pretty old.

I was one of the first people in the tomb, and I'm fine.

The curse is utter rubbish.

La, la, la, la, la! Not listening!

I guess we won't be talking to him after all.

See you next time.

Unless the Curse of the Mummy strikes.

(EERIE WAIL)

MOTHER: Darling, I'm popping out.

OK, Mummy. good.

Don't forget the eggs.

VOICEOVER: This summer,

the Roaring '20s become the Exploring '20s

in a true story of courage, adventure,

and an almost ridiculous disregard for safety

in Transatlantic!

Don't worry about the plane, guys. It'll be fine.

Oh. Um...

(SIGHS)

(GRUNTS AND GROANS) Yeah. Wait. Uh...

Lindbergh,

you're trying the impossible. Meh.

Lindbergh will be attempting to fly solo

non-stop across the Atlantic from New York to Paris.

Any malfunction will lead to almost certain disaster.

Yeah, but they'll give me $25,000 when I make it.

IF you make it. At least take a parachute and a radio.

They'll weigh me down. Don't worry!

I practised for over an hour.

The flight takes 33 hours!

You need some safety equipment.

I KNOW that!

I've got five sandwiches

and some cotton wool to block out the sound of the engine.

Ooh, it's loud!

Charles Lindbergh flies the Spirit of St Louis

in Transatlantic.

Why did you say?

And, after 24 hours of the journey across the ocean,

Lindbergh will face his darkest moment.

Oh, no. Wee-wee can's full!

(WHISTLES NONCHALANTLY)

MAN: (FRENCH ACCENT) Sacre bleu! It is raining pee-pee!

(CRASH!) Ouch!

Must be over France. Now, where's Paris?

Oh! Um...

But, with courage and determination,

finally, Paris airport will be within his grasp.

And he won't notice.

He'll just fly right by it.

But after 33.5 hours, a man will land and become a legend.

(CHEERING)

I've got his hat!

And another man will steal his hat,

causing people to mistakenly think he is the legend.

Uh, hello?

WOMAN: Bienvenue! Hey, guys! I'm Lindbergh. Me!

Charles Lindbergh in Transatlantic,

because when you've got sandwiches and a tin to wee in,

the sky's the limit.

OK, give me some privacy. I need to pee again.

WOMAN: Recording, Louis.

Hi.

I'm Louis Armstrong.

I rose to fame in the 1920s,

becoming one of the world's most influential

jazz singers and musicians.

(LAUGHS) But even the best make mistakes.

During one recording, I dropped my music.

But tell me, what did I do next?

Did I:

(LAUGHS) The answer is

C - I made stuff up.

(SCATS)

(LAUGHS) We call that 'scat' in the clubs.

That was amazing!

This is going to be the first mainstream record

ever to contain scatting.

Oh, you don't want me to sing it again with the right words?

No! No way.

This is going to change music forever.

Soon everybody's going to be doing it.

# A scree! A flap! A doodly-wah!

# A-we-gah, doody, it's a quarter to flap! #

(LAUGHS) Yeah, well, hopefully not everybody.

The Roaring '20s are amazing!

But, let's be honest, they're not roaring for everyone.

In fact, for some people, things stink.

And not in a good way, like a cow plop,

or a rotten old fish. Mm. Yum.

Poor people are having to live in

overcrowded, unsafe, rundown houses called slums,

which are pretty miserable.

Even I wouldn't want to live there, and I live in a sewer.

Hello, I'm Phil.

And I'm fabulous.

And our couple today, Steve and Jo from Surrey,

want to buy a home in East London.

But I can tell, just by looking at their clothes,

that they'll never be able to afford a home in MODERN London.

So we're here in the 1920s.

Welcome to...

BOTH: Historical Location, Location, Location.

Don't do it with us, please.

So for value for money,

we're going to be looking at a so-called rookery.

A charming name for a slum in 1920s east London.

Yeah, well, I suppose it's got character.

Yes. Try not to get any of it on your shoes.

Ah, yeah. You weren't lying, you know?

Come on, Steve. Yeah. I'm coming, I'm coming.

So, as you can see,

the room comes with both a tin bath

and a rather handsome original feature.

Easy, tiger!

So you're my new housemates?

Uh, no. We were thinking of buying the house for just us to live in.

(LAUGHS) Unlikely, here in the slums, Jo.

Many houses are overcrowded.

But the good news is he's included in the price.

But what's the Wi-Fi like?

The wifey? She's dead, unfortunately.

So she's not included. Sorry.

Could we just draw attention

to the freestanding, totally mobile bath?

You mean the tin can with the naked man in?

It's a big selling point. You can move it anywhere in the house

and enjoy a bath wherever you like in your property.

Once you've filled it up from the only tap in the street

and then warm the water through on the fire.

So there isn't a bathroom.

Oh, there's actually no plumbing at all.

Or another way of looking at it - every room is a bathroom.

So hold on. Where'd you go to the toilet, then?

I'm actually really glad you asked that.

No-one wants to use his bath water after I'm done with it, do you?

No, thank you. Ah, perfect.

(BUBBLING)

That's another method of warming the water up.

Hang on. (BUBBLING)

So, guys, is it your dream home?

Absolutely not. Well...

Alright, well, I'll see you out, then.

Whoa, whoa, wait, wait! Nope. No.

Please, can we go?

Nope. Well, there's one original feature I didn't need to see.

Ugh.

(CHURCH BELLS PEAL) Congratulations, Rosemary, I guess.

(BURPS AND FARTS)

I know! Finally, I'm married.

Would you look at my Nigel? (CONTINUES FARTING)

Ah! Sorry to take one of the last eligible men in the village.

I'm sure I'll cope.

No, you've got to be quick, Belinda,

because there are many more women than men these days.

Some women are trying to steal other people's husbands.

I mean, look at that lot!

Can't keep their eyes off him.

Hello, ladies!

Oh, it's Nigel's dad.

He's newly single. And you are looking for a husband.

Oh, I'm sorry, ducky, I'm not interested.

Oh. Still grieving your poor wife, aren't you, Mr Crud?

Nope. Just playing the field. (LAUGHS)

There's never been a better time to be a single man. (LAUGHS)

What with World War, the Spanish flu,

so many young men have died.

And there's almost 2 million women out there

who can't find a boyfriend.

The papers call them surplus women.

(LAUGHS) Ladies!

Well, I'm just so lucky to have my Nigel.

Ugh. Are you, though?

Of course! It's natural for a woman to want to be married.

You can stay at home, cook and clean.

Well, I won't be doing much of that.

I have a very important job.

She's a very talented engineer.

You'll have to give all that up now that you're married.

I'm not giving up my job. Well, you'll have to.

What? Aren't you lucky?

OK, I think we're done here.

You may be the best of a truly awful lot,

but I am not giving up my job for anyone.

By Nigel. Oh, well. You'll do.

Welcome to the family.

Oh! Rosemary, wait for me.

Ugh! Ah-ha!

Ooh!

Another man down.

(FARTS)

The '20s are tough for a lot of us.

We haven't got much money,

even though we miners spend all hours doing backbreaking work.

That's why we're calling a general strike.

We want to be paid more and treated better.

It's 1926, and all around the country,

people are stopping working, in sympathy with us.

And as you can imagine, the government are not happy about it.

VOICEOVER: Sorting out the beefs of the past...

Philip IV of Spain,

this 30 Years' War has gone on long enough.

..with the Justice of today.

Stop it at once. or you'll get this gavel right up your Habsburgs.

Welcome to:

The British government, led by Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin,

is fighting millions of ordinary workers

who were planning to down tools and go on a general strike

in support of the miners,

who are fed up with the pay and conditions of their job.

(BANGS GAVEL)

First off, everybody,

apologies for the court's toilets being out of order.

It is, I'm afraid... (FARTS)

..unfortunate timing. (FARTS)

Not to worry, Your Honour. We bought our own chamber pots.

Some of us like to empty them onto that lot over there.

How awful! I'll tell you what's awful.

The government wants to lower our pay and make us work longer hours!

Not a penny off the pay. Not a minute on the day.

What does the Prime Minister have to say about all of this?

Your honour, these people are ruining our country

with their greedy demands.

They're threatening to stop working for nine whole days.

What do you think would happen if I did that?

I don't think anyone would notice. (LAUGHTER)

That, does it! Prime Minister smash!

(GROWLS) Order, order!

Prime Minister, stop challenging that docker to a fight.

That's something I never thought I'd ever say again.

You know what? Fine.

I don't need to get involved myself anyway.

I've hired 50,000 special constables

to take care of this lot, in London alone.

They'll get these lazy workers back to work.

50,000? Whatever did you find them?

Well, a lot of them are middle-class shopkeepers and businessmen.

But we've also recruited from the upper classes.

Tally-ho! (BUGLE PLAYS HUNTING CALL)

Hello.

We are members of the polo club

and we've signed up to keep these greedy poor folk in their places.

Hi-yah! Such fun.

They gave us truncheons.

That's not a truncheon, That's a chair leg.

Yes, we ran out of truncheons.

OK. You might have support from SOME in the middle and upper classes,

but we've got King George V on our side.

Ooh!

Your honour, these workers need support.

You try living on their wages before you judge them.

Certainly not.

Takes a three-week all-inclusive holiday in Blackpool

to get a tan like this. That doesn't come cheap.

Your honour, the simple truth is, we do not need these workers anyway.

We can just get people from higher classes

to work at the docks instead.

Eh, what's a 'dock'?

Ooh, one of those little furry chaps with a waggy tail.

That's a dog. (LAUGHTER)

Stop laughing at us, or I shall give you a right good chair-legging!

Bring it on!

Oh! I've got a poo pot on my head!

I cannot work in these conditions.

Well, neither can we! Join our strike.

No way! Why don't you join our strike?

I went to law school for seven years for this.

Things are hard for many people, alright.

But at least they've got some stuff to take their minds off it.

There are huge stars in the '20s,

like Louis Armstrong, the comedian Charlie Chaplin,

and my personal favourite,

the singer, dancer and political campaigner Josephine Baker.

She's American, but she moved to Paris

to make a name for herself

and she's becoming a big star.

Mind you, she does hang out with some pretty surprising characters.

(JAZZ MUSIC PLAYS)

(KNOCK ON DOOR)

Yes? Miss Baker, may I come in?

Oh, Monsieur Duval! Now's not a good time.

I'm about to go on stage to perform my act.

(SQUEAKING, CHITTERING)

And I have some friends over.

Miss Baker, that sounded like a spider monkey.

No! It was...Norwegian.

Yes, Bjorn, you may have some cake.

Well, if that is everything...

Miss Baker, your singing and dancing

have made you and the Folies Bergere theatre the talk of Paris.

However, we do ask that you keep your animals at your apartment

and not in your dressing room.

Sure! I know that. No animals here.

(PARROT SQUAWKS) Hello!

That was my friend, the painter Pablo Picasso.

(SQUAWKING) He has an odd laugh.

Who's a pretty boy, then? You are, Pablo!

Well, if that is everything...

Guys! You have to keep it down. (GRUNTING)

Miss Baker, we know you have animals in there.

I do not! You said that you would take me to court

if I kept animals in my dressing room.

Yes. And there is a snake around your neck.

Excuse me. Miss Baker...

Get off, Sidney! you're strangling me.

I've brought the raw meat from the hotel for you, Miss Baker.

Who is the raw meat for? Um...

Me! Thank you, Albert. You're a godsend.

I'm gonna name my pig after you. Ooh!

Miss Baker, I know you have a pig, a snake,

a spider monkey, and a parrot in there.

Oh! You mean the cheetah got out?

There's a cheetah in there? (GROWLING)

Oh. He sounds hungry.

Excusez-moi.

Here, Chiquita!

Miss Baker, it was bad enough when you kept the pig in the kitchen.

We had to break the doorway down to get him out!

I know you have animals in there. (PIG SQUEALS)

I do not! What proof do you have?

Miss Baker, the cheetah's trying to eat the parrot!

Albert was just joking. That's it! I've had enough.

I'm going to get to the bottom of this.

(ANIMALS SQUEAL, SQUAWK AND GROWL) (SCREAMING)

You'll be hearing from our lawyers.

Oh...

Ah! So this is a Hollywood bash, is it? (LAUGHS) Yes.

(GASPS) Oh, my goodness!

Excuse me. You're Charlie Chaplin, aren't you?

The amazing comedy actor?

(LAUGHS) I'm Winston Churchill,

and I'm a deep admirer of all of your films.

You're clowning ability is beyond compare.

Mr Chaplin, you wouldn't do me the honour, the privilege

of perhaps doing one of your funny bits, or an impression of some sort.

Sure. Why not?

See if you can guess who this is. Um...

Ah!

Uh, uh, uh... Queen Victoria! Einstein! Greta Garbo.

No, it's Nap... Napoleon! Yes, yes.

The very next thing I was going to say. Took the words out of my mouth.

Do it again, Mr Chaplin, please.

OK. Right.

(LAUGHS)

Do it again! Do it again!

Mr Churchill, please! It's 3:00 in the morning.

No more Napoleon.

It's such a good impression.

I insist that you play Napoleon in your next film.

We'll see. I don't have a script, so...

Oh, Mr Chaplin, never fear. I shall write your script.

So, we open on Napoleon and he's in a rage.

You can do your famous funny walk like that.

Yes. It's perfect! And he's hungry.

All he has to eat is a shoe,

like you ate your shoe in your hilarious film, The Gold Rush.

Ah! Ah, hah! Oh! What are you doing?

That was a fake shoe, made of liquorice, for the film.

I'm really sorry. It's getting very late,

so I'm going... Oh, don't worry.

I've got all night. Oh, good. Lucky me.

So, Napoleon is in his bathtub.

Just think of the comic possibilities!

So he's there, and he's arguing with his brother.

And then Napoleon splashes water all over his brother's clothes.

It's action, it's fun! (LAUGHS)

Exactly! That's exactly the thing.

Wonderful! Wonderful slapstick. Do it again.

Mr Churchill, you acting like a complete clown!

That...

..means the world, coming from you.

Oh! (SNIFFLES)

You have made my year, Mr Chaplin.

Hi, there. I'm 1920s legend Gertrude Stein.

and I spent much of my time in Paris with my wife, Alice Toklas.

Hi, there. Eyes on the road.

You know, I like nothing better than being driven around the city.

But what surprising thing did I like to do in the car?

Was it:

The answer is C,

doing impressions of Joan of Arc.

(FRENCH ACCENT) Ouch, ouch! My French bottom is on fire!

Oh, quit kidding around and tell them the real answer.

OK! The real answer is

B! I did some of my best writing in the car.

The sights and sounds of the Parisian streets

inspired me to come up with some of my best ideas.

(KLAXON BLARES)

Sometimes you could even read them.

Eyes on the road! Sorry!

Paris is one of the most exciting places to live in the 1920s.

It's jam-packed with artists and writers

like Gertrude Stein, Ernest Hemingway

and F Scott Fitzgerald.

Together, they're known as the Lost Generation.

And who better to play us out?

# Writers flocked to this town

# Talkin' 'bout Lost Generation

# And started hanging around

# Paris was our destination

# American literary types

# Looking for new inspiration

# Disillusioned with the Stars and Stripes

# Leaving behind our nation

# A novelist, Gertrude Stein

# Writer of great reputation

# Had these guys around all the time

# Dropping in for a conversation

# I knew all the artistic greats

# For art, she had appreciation

# Picasso and Matisse were my mates

# For art, with great dedication

# Lost Generation

# For us American expats

# The Lost Generation, baby

# Paris is where it's at

# Hemingway, journalist and writer

# Was held in great admiration

# Also a handy bar room fighter

# Useful in an altercation

# F Scott Fitzgerald, author supreme

# Great Gatsby was his creation

# Got new ideas from the Paris scene

# It fuelled our imagination

# Lost Generation

# To be creatively free

# The Lost Generation, baby

# Paris is the place to be

# Sylvia Beach is my name

# Ran a bookshop on the banks of the Seine

# James Joyce, the author of Ulysses

# I'm actually Irish, if you please

# These writers often met round mine

# A coming together of brilliant minds

# She published my greatest work

# I thought he was a bit of a jerk

# Lost Generation

# An intellectual melting pot

# The Lost Generation, baby

# Paris has got the lot

# Lost Generation

# Came up with that phrase on my own

# America's my country, baby

# But France is my home

# Talkin' 'bout Lost Generation. #

Hello? I'm Phil...

(LAUGHTER)

Is it your dream home? Wow!

(LAUGHTER)

# The past is no longer a mystery

# Hope you enjoyed

(GREGORIAN CHANT-STYLE) # Horrible Histories. #

Captions by Red Bee Media