Original subtitles

Finding the right cottage is the most important thing. We were very lucky.

Did someone put you onto it?

No, we were out driving one weekend, and we saw it from the road.

It was evening, and the sunset dramatized it a bit, I think.

Anyway, it looked interesting and pleasantly isolated, so we drove up fast

and had a look.

It's getting harder and harder because all the decent ones are getting snapped

up. Of course, it was little more than a ruin, really.

Doors and windows bordered up in nettles, three feet high, right up to

the walls.

But we like the area, and it's reasonably convenient for London.

And anyway, Rachel fell in love with it.

It's lovely, Rachel, it is really. I do envy you.

It's funny about houses, isn't it? It's friendly here.

You know how a house sort of welcomes or repels you the moment you open the door?

We've been looking for years on and off, but Dan seems to think the beautifully

decorated cottages just sit there in idyllic surroundings waiting for him to

take out his checkbook. I felt it the very first time we came inside.

Almost as if something was saying, you're welcome here.

The whole place was completely derelict. Been standing empty for years and years.

It is a bit off the beaten track, I suppose.

We had a devil of a job finding out who owned it, actually.

Took my solicitor the best part of six months. And then it was only the land,

not the building. As far as we can make out, there's no trace of any owner for

the house. Even by descent.

We drew a complete blank.

Whoever owned it, farm labourers must have lived here.

Family after family of them. Right back into the 18th century.

My dad said...

Ten generations of men who lived on bread and cheese, and now us.

He sees it as symbolic.

And I bet you've got it for about 50 pounds, didn't you?

A bit more than that.

Not much more, though.

You must have had the kitchen built on.

It was a sort of shed thing, but we had to rebuild it almost completely.

And the loo and the bathroom, of course, that's all new. Well, if one's going to

live in the country, at weekends one must provide for the creature comforts.

I can't bear all those dreadful people who live civilized lives in offices and

suburbs all week, and then go back to nature and live like cavemen at the

weekends.

They deposit their dung in piles outside your bedroom window because it's good

for the soil.

They give you a cup of tea, it's full of boiled moose. Don't worry, we're very

civilized here.

You've just worked on the lot, haven't you?

Shower?

Stereo radio?

There's so much we had to do, they didn't seem any point in half measure.

Oh, this is us, is it? The guest room? The stairs look draughty, but they're

not, actually.

The central heating is adjustable to each room.

It must have cost a bomb.

Too much.

I've got some photographs downstairs we took before work started.

I'll get them out for you after dinner.

Darling, if you didn't, I don't think I could bear it.

Christmas with Dan is usually ghastly. I don't know what you've let yourself in

for. Margaret, you're biased.

It's the same every year. He overeats like a pig at dinner, fills himself up

with gallons of red wine, and snores and groans his way through to Boxing Day.

It's a memorable experience.

What does your dad think of all this?

Sore points.

Has he seen what you've done to it? We had him down for a weekend a month ago.

Rowed non-stop for 48 hours. I can't help admiring her, old man.

I must do an article on him one of these days.

That's a shame.

Please. It would be nice, wouldn't it, if we could all keep our simple beliefs,

regardless of the facts?

Medium or dry?

Medium. What did he say?

Oh, asked me if I had anything better to do with my money, which is blood money

anyway, as far as he's concerned.

Advertising, public relations, market research, any of the selling

professions, all out over there with the goats.

I should have been here and put the lot on tape. The working class and its

wealthy sons.

It's worth a page or two in the Statesman any day of the week. He fixed

me this branch meeting look and said, any my son, this is no way for a

socialist to look. Indeed.

So I told him in that case I'm not a socialist.

What did he say to that?

Nothing very much. I think he was rather shattered.

So was I.

Oh, the blackmail that goes on between parents and children.

The other way around.

After all, if one is forced to live in a bourgeois society against one's will, as

it were...

I don't see why one shouldn't enjoy legitimate rewards.

I think we should be concentrating on how to be socialist and rich.

Politics are forbidden at Christmas.

Don't let him tempt you, Edmund. He's only collecting material for an article.

I already told him that.

Sherry? Gin, please.

How long now, darling?

Not long.

Time for a glass of cherry.

Well, we're both green with envy. Darling, Edmund's having an attack of

guilt. They had a traumatic weekend with his father. Oh, it wasn't that bad.

They get into those two chairs and they go at each other like hammer and tongs.

They enjoy it.

Poor old boy's probably lonely.

There's nothing better than to come down to his son's place and have a good old

round. I think that's right.

What is this beautiful machine?

another affluent indulgence? that's my clavichord. Edmund brought his items

from practice.

it is an indulgence really.

central heating doesn't do it any good. of course that didn't occur to me. a

beautiful instrument. something gentle and civilized to usher in the feast. you

are pompous. how do I endure?

play madam play. ignore the interruption.

let me see.

Mark had one, you know.

And his son.

Beautiful

song.

Just right for the cottage.

Small scale.

Intense.

What's the matter?

That music.

Something in the back of my mind.

Darling?

What was it, that piece? Do you know?

No. No, I never heard it before.

No, neither have I.

Sorry, I can't think where that came from at all. I don't know what it is or

why I played it.

Funny. It's something lodged in your memory from years ago.

I suppose so. You must have played hundreds of pieces like that. You could

never remember them all.

Sorry to make such a fuss.

For a moment, I was quite... ...preffered.

Right.

Déjà vu.

What? It's déjà vu.

That strange feeling of having said or done something before.

Like when you recognize a place you're sure you've never been to. It happens to

everybody, like... When a goose walks over your grave.

You can't beat him, can you? Always on hand with a superficial explanation. No,

it's true. The wires get crossed in the mental computer and they come up with

the wrong answer.

Rachel's head, for instance, is full of music, but for a moment the filing

system went wrong.

Oh, do shut up, dear man, or I shall begin to get embarrassed.

Well, I'll go and get the dinner out, if you'll excuse me.

Pour some more, Sherry, darling. Put the lights on. It's getting dark.

Well, I can't bear all this mystic rubbish age of Aquarius and all that

nonsense. It's just an easy way out for people who can't be bothered to think

things through. My darling, it's true that you know very little about the

mind. What really happened to Rachel then at the clavicle? She forgot the

title of a piece of music.

And why did it frighten her?

Precisely. The mind absorbs facts through the senses, we know.

But how does it evaluate them and then act on that evaluation? What powers does

it possess beyond the obvious ones?

Thank you very much. What do you mean?

Powers of...

Survival? Well, possibly.

There are countless examples, for instance, of people separated by

thousands of miles who are aware of the death of someone close to them.

But if mine could be projected through space, why not through time?

Haven't you ever stood on a battlefield, felt the presence of the dead? That's

just imagination.

You see a bleak-looking field, and because you happen to know a lot of men

died there, you people it with ghosts.

The mind covers the facts to suit its own preconceptions. It's more than that,

though, isn't it? The mind can have a definite physical effect, even change

the state of the body in certain circumstances.

You're proving my point, not his.

These are rational explanations.

They depend on cause and effect. But the point is that the reason alone can't be

trusted. It can look at the facts, and because of its preconceptions, it can

come up with the wrong answer.

Do you remember that party game, Nelson's Eye?

Oh, it used to frighten the life out of me. No, what was that?

Oh, it was a favorite at every children's party I was ever invited to.

I can't remember the details, just the traumatic bit. Yes, I remember this. You

were blindfolded and you had to touch certain objects and guess what they

were. And at the end, they plunged your finger into a raw egg and told you you

were poking it into Nelson's blind eye. It still makes me shiver to talk about

it. Well, that's a perfect example of what I've been saying. And I've just

thought of an even better one, my darling.

Close your eyes.

What?

What are you up to now? Now, shut your eyes.

Now, stay like that for a moment.

What's he doing?

I don't know.

You know the trouble with Dan, don't you? He got to the age of 30 and started

going backwards. God help me when he's 15.

Are your eyes still shut?

Yes.

Dan, what are you doing?

I'm blindfolded. Why?

It's the rules of the game. Edmund, don't say anything. Just watch.

Dan.

I have in my hand.

An open razor. What? An old-fashioned cutthroat razor.

It's very, very sharp.

Really? The things some married people get up to. Quiet.

Concentrate.

I'm going to come very close to you.

And with this open razor, I'm going to cut open your cheek.

Oh, are you charming. I'm coming now.

The razor's wide open.

It's so sharp that I don't even feel it. It would lay open my finger at the

slightest touch. My husband is quite mad. Quiet!

I make the most of the last few seconds before the pain.

I'm very close now.

The razor's about two inches from your cheek.

Can you feel it?

Dan, what is this? I told you, with this open razor, I'm going to cut open your

cheek.

There I am.

An ice cube melting.

No damage done.

Oh, my God, that did frighten me.

Point proved, I think. It's the coldness and then the wetness on my cheek.

You can kill a man with a drop of water on the back of his neck.

If you tell him, it's a guillotine.

What was that noise?

Don't worry, darling, a little practical psychology from Dan. It's my husband

frightening the life out of me, quite normal. It's party games, my darling,

don't be alarmed.

Well, the dinner's ready now, so if you'd like to come through.

Behold the feast. Car, please, darling.

Margaret, would you like to sit here? Dan, you here? Ah, Rachel, you've gone

far too far. I warn you, I'm a terrible pig. I can't leave any of you.

And I've already made your excuses.

My darling, have you noticed the carving light?

Neatly on the table. A little idea of the architect.

Two, three little things that count after all. That's real style.

You're beginning to embarrass me. You can't be a socialist with a spotlight on

your carving plate, lad.

Oh, no, no, he shouldn't laugh.

What's he going to do for Christmas, the old man?

Oh, we did invite him in. The fact is, he'd be much better off there. He'd

enjoy himself much more. Ah, yes, I suppose he would, really. I've forgotten

the wine.

What wine? I've got a couple of bottles of Burgundy over there. Oh, my darling,

this is a very special bottle that I brought down to crown the celebration.

I've had it on all the... Get it, dear, and shut up.

We've left in the other room to settle down after the journey. Down as a wine

-boar. You can think yourself lucky you didn't get the whole decanting bit.

Corkscrew. Now, does everybody eat anything?

You can work on that, Principal. Here we are. Then there's some broccoli and

sprouts, potatoes.

Don't worry, we'll manage. Let me see about this.

Suddenly, I'm very hungry. How are you doing, Danny? Not too badly.

Oh, no.

That must be the bell.

Oh, it's the kitchen as well.

Oh, hell.

How about that for timing?

Must be a fuse. I'm sorry, everybody.

Oh, don't fret, dear man. No harm done.

It's rather nice by Ken's side. But it's this carving light. It's a special toy.

It won't be a minute.

Well, don't worry. We'll wait if it won't spoil.

It should survive a few minutes. Yes, and I'll save you the first glass of

wine.

Now this is too much.

Don't worry, I've taken over, and I'm carving quite beautifully, even without

the benefit of a special angle spotlight.

Is everything alright?

It isn't. What's wrong? Looks as if we've got a disaster on our hands.

Disaster? Just a minute while I check the other room.

Bloody electrician.

What's wrong with you? It's about the bloody everything. It's not the fuses.

As far as I can see, we've lost all electric power throughout the house. No

light, no heating, cookers, central heating, television, all gone.

Kaput. Even the phone. Oh, God. There is no need to panic. You've all forgotten

the obvious solution.

What is that?

This is England, remember? What always happens every year as soon as it snows,

I want two people to put their cookers and heaters on at once.

A power cut. Correct power cut.

Either that or the government's decided to give the miners another lesson, and

what better time to do it than Christmas? I do hope you're right.

Oh, of course I'm right. There'll be a great big inquest in the papers, and

they'll all talk about how democracy's at stake and revolution's round the

corner, and they'll all forget about it. No, it can't be a power cut. Why not?

The phone's gone. That's nothing to do with the power.

Don't worry, it doesn't matter. But I haven't finished the pudding or the

coffee. There's enough food here to last us a month. Just wait till I see that

bloody electrician. Six months has been done, that's all. That's all. And you

mentioned it cost me. It's probably something very simple, like a little

join or leave. You will gather from that remark that my husband is no electrical

genius. But darling, the heating's gone as well. The fire will keep us warm,

Rachel. Don't... I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid this has spoiled everything.

No, we've been dead lucky, actually. The food's cooked to perfection. We've got

gallons of wine and brandy, so we won't miss the coffee. But I can't even just

say so. I vote we forget all about the minor inconveniences and eat this

fabulous meal. I shall propose you as a perfect guest. We've all been hostesses

in our clients. I think I'll just get some candles out.

I'm going to do it now before we all start falling over one another. Well,

I'll come and give you a hand. The lady's finished serving.

You know, Ed, the...

Marxists go on about how society determines consciousness. Well, it's not

true.

Technology determines consciousness these days. Take those, will you?

Last year, during the strike, Margaret and I spent whole evenings reading aloud

to one another.

I'm sure if we'd had a piano, we would have sung duets.

No, any minute now. I shall begin to get the giggles.

Oh, I planned it all to be so splendid. The sight of Dan trying to be helpful is

more than I can bear. I suppose we could always make coffee in a saucepan on the

fire. I wouldn't give him a candle. He'll burn the house down.

a cross and a censer and I'm ready for anything. Do

you

know anyone who wants a beautiful cottage or a modcon except that none of

it works?

This is becoming a very moral tale.

See, our civilization hangs by a thread.

You throw a few switches and we're back in the dark ages.

Fire's nice.

Dan, I don't understand it. What? What's that?

Well, if it was a power cut, the phone would be working, but it's not.

It's not conceivable that the phone and the power should have given out

simultaneously, surely.

In England at Christmas, anything's possible.

I don't see what it could be that could affect both.

Well, for instance, a pylon could have fallen on a telegraph pole.

You lack imagination, Edmund. Come and eat.

Well, we can see to get up the stairs at least. Well, I suggest that we forget

all our little setbacks and concentrate on enjoying ourselves.

I second that. Calm down, Rachel.

I'm going to set them all rolling with this bottle of wine. Yes.

Merry Christmas, everybody. Merry Christmas. Now, you try that for size,

Edmund. Cheers, everyone.

Cheers. Cheers. Rachel, where's your glass?

Oh,

darling, what evil.

Look what you've done to the table.

Must have gone down the wrong hole.

What do you mean it's not wine? Of course it's wine.

It's blood.

What?

Blood?

It's blood, it is.

It's blood.

Don't be silly.

It's blood! Taste it! I'll get a cloth.

It's burgundy.

It's very good burgundy. Taste it.

It's burgundy.

It's beautiful.

I don't understand.

Well, here, taste this. I'm not joking. Here.

I must be going mad. It smells the same.

Look.

Now, that is not blood, is it?

To me, it is.

I mean it. Stop it, Ed. Stop it.

What do you mean? Whatever sort of game you're playing, stop it. Rachel, it is

not a game to me! It's wine!

Obviously it's wine!

Look.

It's wine.

Well, don't worry, old fellow. I won't insult you next year by bringing my own

bottle. Dan, I'm not joking, you know.

I believe you when you say that it's wine, but to me... It's not

possible, is it?

Let's all eat our dinner quietly and privately, shall we?

Wine or no wine.

Before it all finally gets cold.

It's a very good idea.

What is it? Curried turkey?

Recipe time, is it? It's the meat.

Is it chilies and pepper seeds? It's the meat, too. It's a joke. This is the big

joke Christmas. It isn't any joke. I cooked it in the normal way and it

tastes like fun.

Oh, it's the meat. You poisoned us.

What's happening here?

It's burning my throat.

Drink water. Drink lots of water.

Oh, it's better.

Oh, my God.

It's going off.

That's Rachel.

Where is it, darling?

In there.

On the bed.

Something on the bed.

It's nothing.

Can you see anything?

No, just the bed.

Darling, there's nothing on the bed.

Nothing? Just the bedspread.

What do you see?

I saw a dead child.

I saw the skeleton of a dead child.

Come on, let's go downstairs.

What's happening, Dan?

Something very strange.

I feel quite all right now. So do I.

I've not been hungry anymore.

No trace of the pain?

No, none.

No?

What about Rachel?

Did you feel?

Yes. A terrible sort of hot, griping pain in the stomach.

With me, it went quite suddenly.

Yes, and me.

But none of us tasted blood except Edmund.

No, no.

I can still hardly believe it.

And now this upstairs.

I definitely saw it. I didn't imagine it. I looked for quite a long time to

make sure it was the skeleton of a child about two feet long with bits of

clothing on the bedspread. I promise you, I really did see it. Darling,

nobody's saying you didn't.

But equally, none of us did.

But we've all seen or felt something.

Edmund the blood, the rest of us the food and the pain that just disappeared,

and now Rachel this.

And all of us the house.

What do you mean?

We've all experienced the failure of the machinery in the house.

That's just straightforward, simple mechanics.

Is it? What are you implying?

That this whole thing, the power failure included, is some kind of mass

hallucination? Can you suggest anything better?

Well, if it is, then we're still in the grip of it.

Because the lights are still out, the clocks are still dead.

If it's some form of mass hysteria, something that our four minds are

creating between us, then we're still under its spell.

Nothing's been right since the lights went. Before that, the music.

What are we going to do then?

There must be some kind of rational explanation. I don't need any rational

explanation. I just wanted to stop. Look, if it's some form of mass

hysteria... It can't be. We're four sane, mature people. We know what we're

doing, what we're saying. Do we, then?

We all think the lights have failed.

But maybe they're on all the time.

Maybe they're blazing away across the fields for miles.

If you tasted blood and Rachel saw a dead child on the bed, that's just as

possible. Our perceptions tell us that we're sane and balanced and that those

are the facts.

But maybe that's the prime constituent of our hysteria. So that we've lost all

distinction, you mean, between what's really happening and what's imagination?

Well, how else do you explain what's been happening in the last 15 minutes?

I mean, these delusions have come from somewhere.

If not from our own minds, where?

If what you say is true, then what we need to do to reassert reality, ordinary

daily reality where wine is wine and all the machines work, is to get out of

here. If necessary, separate.

break whatever it is that's mentally binding us together. So I suggest we go

out, get in the cars, drive away to some nice uncomplicated hotel where they have

an emcee and dancing and they're playing silly, innocent Christmas games so that

we dissipate whatever it is that's been distorting our perceptions here. Do you

agree? Yes, I think that's a very good idea.

Dan? Yes?

There's no such thing as absolute darkness, is there?

It's never absolutely dark.

I don't think so. Why?

I can't see anything.

I can't see the dark shapes where the trees and the hedges should be, or the

grass under the window.

I can't see anything at all.

Let's see.

There's light coming from this room, from the candles and the fire. It should

shine out onto the path.

There's nothing.

It's like a black coat.

It won't budge.

Help me to shoulder it.

It's not going to open, is it? No, it's not.

This window's the same.

It's like the bottom of the sea.

We're caught in here, I know it.

Something has got us trapped.

You can check the windows upstairs. I'll look at the other door. Okay.

Don't worry, Rachel. There must be some kind of rational explanation.

No, there isn't. We're caught.

It's black as pitch. Nothing at all. That door's the same as the front.

So that's it. We stay and sit it out, whatever it is. Well, if there's some

sort of mental force that's holding us in here, let's see if it'll stand up to

this.

I'm going to have a brandy.

I hope.

This window's made of perfectly ordinary glass.

The builder broke a pane when he was putting it in by dropping his trowel on

it.

So this should do the trick.

A brandy's okay.

Well, all I can say is we must be a very strong-minded lot.

Can I get anybody else a drink?

All right, let's try and work it out. It's a waste of time. Why

not just sit back and enjoy?

In a sense, we're privileged. We're experiencing something that's probably

unique. Inside this house, several extraordinary things have happened,

which we can only explain by suggesting that we're all sharing the same

hysterical delusion.

I'm glad I married a rationalist. I always knew it would come in useful.

But by now, the house itself has become part of that delusion. We look out of

the window and we see nothing.

And some inexplicable force keeps the doors and the windows shut.

The house itself?

What do you think is beyond these walls, outside the door?

I mean, do you think it's the two cars and the grass track and the track

leading to the main road?

Or is it something else?

Just space, perhaps?

It'll be just space. Your rationality's wearing a little thin.

What time does your watch say?

5.30 it's stopped.

Edmund?

5.30. Rachel?

5.30. So does mine.

So does the electric clock.

I'll bet you every other clock in your house says 5.30 too. That must be the

time the lights went. So, everything stopped at 5.30. All started?

Everything. I wonder what time it is now. You know, for a rationalist you're

getting extremely fanciful. I prefer to wait and see before entering the realms

of science fiction. After all, we're all okay.

There's nothing happening to us at the moment. It's the house. I'm sure it's

the house.

Everything began when the house stopped functioning. And the machinery in the

house. It may be that the house itself is working perfectly well. I think we've

been selected.

What do you mean?

Chosen in some way. The four of us. What for?

Something nice, I hope. No, I don't think so.

We don't achieve anything by getting all intense and visionary about it, do we?

What we need to do is to keep our eyes open and our minds at full stretch and

whatever we find happening to us, try to understand it. Oh, our antennae, you

mean. You have always placed too much reliance upon the intellect.

Look at Rachel.

She's got all her receivers working at full power, but it's nothing to do with

the intellect, what's registering on her.

You want to believe it, don't you? That's what it is.

Well, I don't. I want to know.

Dan, do you remember those photos I told you about? What photos?

Photos of the house.

Coming nearer. I can feel it.

It's almost here.

The two sets I took, one before we started and one after. I wonder.

So do I.

The choice has been made.

What is it, Rachel?

Coming nearer, I can feel it. It's coming nearer. What can you feel?

The two sets of prints, before and after.

What's coming nearer? Where's it coming from? It's here. It's here in the house.

What?

These are the before ones, you see.

That's how it was.

The choice has been made.

Now it's beginning to work. What choice? What's been chosen?

Us. The four of us. We've been chosen. Just like this? Just as I took it. But

look at this.

And this.

This should be the modernised ones, but... Dan, I... I did not take these

pictures. No, I can see you didn't.

I've never seen the cottage looking like this. No, you haven't, because these

pictures were taken 200 years ago.

But, I mean, that's impossible.

I mean... Look.

Look at this one. There's someone at the window.

It's a woman.

A fair-haired woman with a shawl. Yes, a fair-haired woman with a thin face and a

shawl. It's beginning.

How does she know?

Listen.

Listen.

What is it?

Be quiet.

Concentrate. Watch what happens.

Rachel!

The house is falling down!

What

is

it, Rachel? Tell us.

There's nothing more to be done.

The children have cried themselves to sleep.

And we're all too weak to move now.

I can only lie here talking to the walls, wondering how long it will be.

What is she saying? Our children. Just listen. Go on, Rachel. We can all hear.

If I could write, I would write it all in a book for the whole world to know

what they've done to us. But no one bothers to teach the poor.

So even that comfort is denied me.

But I have to speak. I have to make it known, even if only to the bare walls.

Who is it? Who is it speaking?

I don't know. Just listen.

Hi.

Sarah Jane Morby.

Born a Christian, aged 26 years. A married woman, but now a widow.

I'm lying here on a straw mattress with my two children, Robert and Jane.

There's a little water, but nothing to eat.

We have none of us eaten for well over a week at least.

I don't remember when.

Yeah. In this house.

Listen. My husband Robert was a hard-working man and we were all happy

till the bad times came.

And people had to leave for the times and many houses in the village stood

empty.

There was no trade and no work till bread became too dear to buy. Then there

was none at all to be had.

The squire told us that there was no more work and we must fend for

ourselves.

And the parson told us to pray to God.

We did pray.

We prayed to him day and night, but the food got less and less, and my husband

was in despair.

He talked of going out at night.

Some nights he'd come back with a rabbit or a hen, even a lamb one time. We

managed to live for several months that way. But the gamekeepers got stricter. A

man in the next village was hanged. There was no more game to be had with

half the county living on it.

A man came one night with a book in his hand.

And he talked to Robert till dawn. They spoke angrily and cried out, so that I

heard it, and the children stirred in their sleep.

The next night, Robert went out with that man and some others.

And he didn't come back the next morning.

And I heard there were fires in the fields, and the ricks were burning, and

the squire's barn had been burned down.

And that my Robert had been taken by the soldiers.

Rachel, darling.

You must let her finish. I went to the Assizes.

I saw my Robert in the dock with the other men looking pale and ill.

I was praying for transportation.

expected to do without food.

But the judge spoke grandly about property and rights and I was dragged

from the court.

I took the two children to see their father hanged.

I told them to remember what was being done to him so they should grow up to

avenge his death on all the wicked men responsible.

That will never happen now.

The doctor told me it takes 20 minutes for a hanging man to die.

I stood there all the time, watching his poor face,

giving him all my love to help him bear that terrible death.

He moved a little at first, but gradually became still.

But I waited for over half an hour to be quite sure.

None of us cried.

Not even the children.

Barbarians.

Barbarians. That evening I went round to see the squire.

But I was chased away angrily and told that my husband was a criminal.

I crept round the side of the house hoping to go in and tell the squire of

my children's hunger.

Ask for his mercy.

When I got to the window, I could see them at table.

The squire was there, and his brother, the parson, and his sons.

There was a side of beef and several roast chickens.

The squire's daughter was playing music, a sweet, melancholy tune,

whilst my husband lay dead, and my children were

crying for food.

And I thought, this can never be forgiven.

No circumstance, no degree of self-interest.

Not even ignorance can excuse this feasting and dancing whilst on the same

planet, in the same village, people are starving.

And I knew then that I was beaten.

That where there was no conscience, there was no hope, there was nothing to

be done.

That this wickedness and injustice was too great a monster for me to grapple

with.

I came home and closed my door.

And since that day, no one has bothered to open it to see who may be inside.

Here, she means.

She means here.

I used to believe in God.

But this world is man's work. I recognize it by the bloodstains.

If God still sees us, he sees us with despair.

Like Pilate.

He shakes his head and washes his hands, unable to save us.

I know we will soon be dead now.

The worst pain is over.

My bodily weakness is almost comforting, like the beginning of sleep.

I have no forgiveness for the selfishness and greed which has

destroyed my family.

The hardest thing of my dying is to know that our murders will go unpunished.

Someone surely must pay for our unjust deaths and all the other deaths like

ours, for I know that we are not unique.

If no ear can ever hear my accusations, no eye ever read them,

let my words burn themselves into the fabric of these walls.

so that the brickwork beams and plaster shall remember the agony and injustice

of those dying under this roof how

can this ground ever be easy when there is no atonement for crimes like these

the soil is bitter with my children's blood

Say anymore.

Justice cry against injustice from the dark centuries.

Jane is dead now, I think.

And Robert in a deep... from which he will never wake.

I can't speak anymore.

I have to save my breath to face the reality of this starvation

which is slowly draining my life.

Whilst we sleep in our pauper's grave, let someone...

Somewhere.

Remember.

Us.

The Chosen Four.

Where are you going?

Follow me.

Dan, hold my hand.

Don't be frightened.

I told you you were privileged.

Yes. I understand now.

Now I understand.

The chairman of the World Famine Relief Organization, speaking at a UNESCO

conference in Paris on Europe and the underdeveloped world, has called for a

radical heart-searching on the part of the developed countries.

It is well known, he said, that under the present circumstances, far from

rectifying the situation, the rich countries are getting richer and the

poor countries are getting poorer.

How much longer are we prepared to let this situation continue, he asked the

assembled Democrats.

His question was received in silence.

Finally, news is just coming in of a bizarre Christmas tragedy.

In a remote country cottage, four apparently healthy people in their

middle 30s have been found dead.

An air of mystery surrounds the story at the moment, said a spokesman at Scotland

Yard, but foul play is not suspected.

The four bodies, when found, were in an extremely emaciated condition.

and although the house was full of food and drink and a sumptuous christmas

dinner was laid on the table apparently untouched all four people appear to have

died of starvation

Okay.