Original subtitles

We've got him.

Presume he's armed.

Message from the roof, sir.

Do you happen to know, please,

the precise type and calibre of the weapon our friend is alleged to have in his possession?

Standard Browning 9mm automatic.

- Type of ammunition, sir? - Soft nose, I should think.

But not a stopper or a dumdum?

- Why the hell would he want a dumdum? - I don't know, sir, do I?

How many rounds has our friend got?

God's sake! He's not a maniac! He's not going to start a bloody great...

Assume one magazine and one spare.

- How's his marksmanship? - He's been trained.

- He's good. - Thank you.

How do you know all about the gun?

Poppy told me. Who else?

Oh, yes, of course.

Poppy knew everything.

Poppy.

I appeal to my young brethren,

I appeal to my beloved brethren, all,

let them guide you

like the stars above that guided the Wise Men across deserts to the cradle of truth.

God's light that reaches even into the pit of sin!

Covetousness is sin, my brethren!

Greed is sin!

There is much peril in youthful ambition!

Oh, what temptation lies in wait for the young!

What stern resolve must be taught to resist and vanquish Satan in all his guises!

Lift your eyes to those stars, my brethren!

The stars of ideals!

Millions of miles may separate us from them,

but strive, strive always,

lest ye shall know such agonies as ye have never known before!

Strive to reach those stars!

Make them your goal! Your life's journey!

Ideals, my brethren!

Ideals!

Hey!

Rick! Bogeys, a lot of them.

Keep them down here, Syd.

Magnus.

- You girls know nothing.

You've come for tea. Mrs Pym. Little Magnus. Christmas treat.

Like Mr Pym likes to give his office staff, all right?

All right, all right! I'm coming! Hang on!

There's hundreds of policemen in the garden!

I saw them through the window!

What are you doing?

What are you doing? What are you doing?

Don't ever hit me again, son.

When I am judged, as judged we all shall be,

God will judge me on how I have treated you, make no bones about it.

Why are the policemen here?

Your old man has a temporary problem of liquidity, son.

Tell me if they're coming up, there's a good chap.

..in a respectable English household, gathering at the fireside?

It hardly seems the right and proper time for this kind of line of enquiry, gentlemen.

Mr Pym, who really is a very busy man indeed,

with all manner of wondrous responsibilities in the business and financial world!

Mr Richard Theodore Pym

we're talking about here!

His father, in case you didn't know, was Thomas Pym.

Alderman Thomas Pym,

great war hero of the trenches, who rose from nothing to be Mayor of Brinkley,

which is Rick's... That's Mr Richard Theodore Pym's home town!

Now, Mr Pym's entitled to warmth and comfort and joy in his home life...

Give this key to Mr Muspole, no one else.

- Come with me. - You'll remember that?

We'll do the landing.

- Love your old man? - Yes.

Well, then!

Excuse me, madam.

Sorry about the disturbance.

- That's my dad's. - Yes. I'm afraid it's ours just for now, lad.

I'm really very sorry, madam.

All right, then.

- Did they take the Bentley? - Yes, Magnus.

They never took the Bentley before.

No.

What's a working holiday?

- Did Rick tell you that? - Yes.

- Hmph! - I thought it was one of his jokes.

I'll do the best I can, Dorothy. Course I will, you know that.

But once the bailiffs have had their turn and the repossessing shopkeepers, there won't be much...

I mean, Dot, you know you won't be able to stay here, of course? You know that, don't you?

"Old Muspole will be making arrangements," Rick said.

"Best accountant in England.

"Salt of the earth, old Muspole," Rick always said.

- Dotty, if there's nothing left... - Don't call me that.

- I'm sorry. When Rick's here we always... - He's not here.

- We've had things taken away before. - Different, this time.

Dorothy, I've got to get that cabinet away. If they get their hands on...

Yes, yes, go on! Look after Ricky!

It's for you as well, and Titch.

Yes. Yes!

You'll go to your brother, won't you?

He'll see you and Titch right.

Bound to. Kith and kin. Bygones be bygones.

Best thing! Only thing, really.

In spite of all.

- D'you want me to carry him up to bed? - No.

I'll see to him.

You'd better go.

Take that filing thing away.

- I can see myself out, Dorothy. - I know. I want to lock up behind you.

You remember Uncle Makepeace, don't you, Magnus?

Course you do.

And Aunt Nell.

Of course he doesn't. How could he?

I meant your names. You remember Uncle's name, don't you, Magnus?

Well, what is my name?

Magnus. Don't be shy.

Speak up, darling.

Hello, Uncle Makepeace. Are you going to see us right?

What's that? Couldn't hear.

Hello, Aunt Nell. Bygones be bygones?

Be quiet.

Uncle Makepeace isn't used to children,

so you mustn't be like you can be with Rick and Syd

and Mr Muspole and the others.

Just answer politely when he asks you something.

You can say "sir" to him sometimes.

He'll like that, Magnus.

But you must never say anything about Rick,

or things like Rick's parties or going to the races or...

- Or Rick's neverwozzers? - No, not anything like that.

Uncle Makepeace is very religious. He doesn't like hearing...

Especially if you say it. He'll think you're wicked, you see?

You will be good, won't you?

Promise Mummy.

Be good. And quiet.

And do as you're told.

A shock? Shock?

Oh, don't be absurd!

The man was made for prison.

Don't imagine this will be the only time.

- Him and...my sister! - Oh, don't!

Thief! Blackmailer!

Blackmailer!

You chose him!

That!

Too much a young man of the world to waste his life here!

But the handsome young man of the world had no money, had he?

How to get it?

Steal it.

Church funds, of course!

Where better? He was treasurer, wasn't he?

£900 of donations!

That's when he should have gone to prison.

Would have!

But for you!

But for my sister!

Why did you have to come back?

I didn't want to!

But there's Magnus!

His child!

Yes. His.

Rick's child! Rick's!

Rick's!

Thief. Blackmailer.

Fancy Mr Makepeace Watermaster, elder of the chapel,

ever so good,

having it off with his little sister!

Blackmailers.

What are you doing here?

I wasn't sleepy.

How long have you been sitting here?

Don't know.

Not very long.

Honestly. Not very long.

You little canary! Come here!

Come back!

Wipe your feet.

Aunt Nell gets her wobblies out of a bottle!

I know where she hides it!

She does! I've seen her, Dorothy!

No. Don't say that.

You must never say that again, Magnus. Swear to me you won't.

Aunt Nell's ill.

It's a secret illness, and she takes a secret medicine for it

and nobody must ever know, or...

..or else Aunt Nell will die

and God will be very angry.

Swear you won't say it.

Will she die if I tell someone else?

Aha!

Little Mr Muddy Clogs! Come to say you're sorry for what you've done to my nice clean floor?

I hope you're gonna say you're sorry, young man!

I can't abide a gawping child.

Mrs Bannister?

Aunt Nell gets her wobblies from a bottle.

- Liar!

Liar!

Child of sin!

I won't have the devil in my house!

- Your father's son!

Doing his evil for him!

They've taken her to a place where she'll be happy.

It's not the same place as your father. I've told you that, Magnus.

She's being looked after by kind people.

It's all for the best.

Will I be taken somewhere if I'm ill?

You're not ill, so that's another of your silly questions.

If I wet the bed again, will I be taken somewhere?

No, you will not. But I'll tell you what will happen.

You'll be put into nappies like a little baby, and you won't like that.

- But suppose I was ill? - I don't want to hear any more of that.

Billy!

Billy Thompson's had a fit!

- I am a pretty boy!

Ah. Oh!

Oh! Agh!

Oh! Oh!

Whatever's this?

Oh!

Magnus? Is this one of your games?

Oh! Oh! Oh!

Well, I don't know...

Fetch Nanny.

Drink it down.

If little boys are ill, they must take their medicine and stay in bed until they're better,

and we'll see how long that takes.

Think you can play me up?

Oh! Ah! Ah!

Ah! Aah!

Get him to the hospital myself.

Observation.

- Could be appendicitis. - Thank you, Doctor.

Soon have you well, young man.

What was he doing in my study in the first place?

He said he wanted to tell you about the pain, sir. He had to tell YOU about it.

I hope they've cleaned up that mess.

Now, then, old son.

This is the life, isn't it?

- Did you have a good holiday? - There's worse hotels than this one, Titch.

We can tell you.

- Glad to see your old man? - More than anything.

Well, then.

Look, there's another one!

Is your journey really necessary?

Yes, it is!

Don't you know there's a war on?

Of course we know there's a war on, ducky!

You hear about poor old airy-fairy Ivor Novello, eh?

Got sent down for a month. Wormwood Scrubs.

Did a fiddle with his petrol allowance. Very naughty. Yeah, they're all at it these days.

I don't know what the country's coming to. Lead the way, then, squire!

I hope you put Rick in the bridal suite! Cheap at the price, for all this stuff.

Be a life sentence if the bogeys cop us.

Now, this old lady that we're going to see is very old

and we have to be extra nice to her.

So I don't want you to scratch your head and pull a face.

You look her straight in the eye and smile.

- That's the way to treat old people. - Yes, Rick.

It's like Syd says, Magnus.

If you're gonna shave people, you've got to learn to rub the soap in first.

Don't talk to him like that, please, Millie.

- Enjoy your steak tonight, son? - It was super.

There are not 20 boys in England who ate steak tonight. D'you know that?

I know.

Give us a kiss, then.

- Goodnight, old son. - Goodnight.

- Don't forget his fingernails. - They'll be like glass, Ricky.

My dear dead father, Mrs Ardmore,

was a Mason and a Liberal,

just like your very respected late husband.

And it was Alderman TP,

as everyone called my father,

who pointed me towards this service,

upon which I am now devoting my small talents, such as they are.

But my strength comes from God, Mrs Ardmore. And he'll see you right.

Should ever I so much as take one step aside from the good Lord's path of certitude

in business,

there is always this man here behind me, Mrs Ardmore.

The best solicitor in England, I swear it,

who is ever present as the legal representative

of the Magnus Star Equitable Insurance Company.

Whose service, Mrs Ardmore,

is to see to the comfort and the security

of the elderly, the disabled and the needy.

My flesh...may be weak when the spirit is willing

but Mr Perce Loft,

the prince of lawyers,

will never miss a trick on your behalf.

Ten per cent guaranteed, plus profits,

for as long as you are spared.

My dear dead father had a vision of moments like this.

"Come to me, all ye that are heavy laden."

The service we offer

is security, safety.

Let us take the burden of your business and financial tribulations.

Ten per cent, guaranteed. With profits.

Marcus are you called?

Oh, such a dear little boy.

Such good manners.

BY JIMMY DORSEY

Can we send some money to Dorothy? Then she can come out of hospital.

- Your mother's not well enough. - She said she was.

Said?

Have you been reading my letters?

I made it up.

Are you getting fed up with your old man?

I thought we were having fun.

Aren't we having fun?

All the fun in the world, Rick. Goodnight.

God damn it! We'd taken care of that! Exempted from military service on compassionate grounds.

- Watertight, you said. - So it was.

Delicate kid. Mother in the nuthouse. You can't beat that for compassion.

- Where's the compassion now, then? - Changed their minds.

Information laid, by the look of things.

- You mean someone's peached on me? - Smells like it.

It's a damn shame, that's what it is! Get after it, Loft.

First Syd, then old Muspole.

Damn shame.

Just as the business was getting up a decent head of steam! It's persecution!

- I'm losing a packet selling it like this! - You'll think of something, Rick.

They've no respect for commerce, that's their trouble.

Catterick Camp, blast their eyes! North Yorkshire!

Cold as charity!

Remember the racecourse?

Bad luck for me, Catterick Races. Neverwozzerland. I don't like it, Loft.

You'll find something new. Just you put your mind to it.

I must fix up that boy of mine. Soon as I can get home again and get some leave.

Topsie! Watch those eggs!

Damn it all!

Ha-ha-ha! Ooh!

Ha-ha-ha-ha!

So, then, son.

It's time for you to set those fine feet of yours on the road to becoming Lord Chief Justice.

And a credit to your old man.

I'll have that now. There's been too much lazy fare about, and you're part of it.

Look at his hair. Look at his shirt.

No man ever did business in a dirty shirt.

That's why it's boarding school for you, son.

They'll keep you straight. Make you a true Englishman.

And a credit to your father.

So, God bless you.

God bless me, too.

- Love your old man? - Yes.

Well, then.

Topsie, where's that new dartboard?

Present to the sergeant's mess.

If I can land that job as a catering clerk, I should be able to see you right throughout the shortages.

Looking for money, are we, Titch?

Save yourself the trouble, I would.

It's all tick, with your dad. I've looked.

He told me there was a bar of chocolate.

There's three gross of army milk and nut sitting in the garage,

along with the sugar and the nylons and gin and whatnot.

Help yourself.

It was a special kind of bar.

Huh! I don't give a bugger how he got it. It's having it, that's what counts.

He had a good war, I believe. Did a lot...

Really, Waterstone for Parliament! What a...

Army surplus by the ton!

Don't ask him how he got his hands on it! He'd do it to anybody.

One of nature's gentlemen. Saw my Vera right, anyway. Harley Street.

She's a nice girl, is my Vera.

We were just saying he's no angel, is he?

To be absolutely honest, he can't get enough!

Shortages won't last for ever. They're becoming a risk business. You need something new.

- I know, Loft. - Course he does.

Got the old brain working at 50 to the dozen. I know you, Ricky.

Reconstruction. Rebuilding the nation, that's the coming thing.

Quite right, and we must do our bit.

There's a lot of old property going very cheap.

- I've been looking at Fulham. - No capital, you know that.

- You can raise it. - Millstone.

No, I'll find a way.

Magnus, bring the bottle.

There must be someone here who knows...

someone who knows someone who knows someone.

Now, then. Flora lovey, just you tell Mr Pym...

Rick, Flora.

Call me Rick.

Just tell Rick the same as you told us, in the jockeys' bar at the Winning Post Tavern,

about your friend Mr Dobbs.

Have a little one, love.

Tell Rick what your friend's profession is, Flora.

My Dobsy's an architect, in the City.

- And he's just got a new job, hasn't he? - Yeah, it's to do with the government.

And what job is it, dear?

Assessing the compensation.

Compensation for what, lovey?

Bomb damage compensation.

That's an interesting job, Flora.

So, all Dobsy does, he hops on his bicycle,

he nips round to a bombed house, gets on the blower to Whitehall

and he says, "Dobbs here. I want 20,000 quid's worth by Thursday and no backchat."

The government pays up like a lady. And why is that?

Cos Dobsy is impartial!

And don't you forget it!

Oh, my Lord! It's a natural!

It's a start, Syd.

- Would you care for a cigar, sir? - Yes. Thank you, my boy.

- May I cut it for you? - Ah.

So,

that's what the stripe-arsed civilians were doing while I was engaged in a certain contest,

risking me neck amid shot and shell.

My father was in the war, sir. Tortured by the Gestapo, actually.

Although he never talks about it.

- You won't say that I told you, will you, sir? - Oh, quite so, my boy. Quite so.

Mr Dobbs, Mr Pym's so sorry to have kept you waiting,

but he and his colleagues are ready for you now, if you'd like to join them.

Has Mr Pym Junior been looking after you?

Mm? Oh, yes, thank you.

Fine boy.

Welcome, Mr Dobbs!

Welcome to an historic occasion.

In this room today, we are gathered for a vision of the future.

We are here today to dedicate ourselves to the great challenge,

our children's heritage.

Let me introduce you to your fellow toilers in the vineyard,

Mr Lemon, Mr Loft,

Mr Muspole,

and our advisors from His Majesty's Government, to keep us ever on the straight and narrow,

Mr Crabbe and Mr Fox.

Let's put it this way, Titch. Dobsy, with his bomb-damage compensation he's got,

let's call it...money looking for a home.

Now, his little pal Foxy,

his responsibility is earmarking land for building on.

Then there's old Crabbe, who's got the running of a friendly society

that concerns itself with supplying, shall we say, modest dwellings to people with slender means.

There's your vital elements, Titch,

but it takes a brain the size of your dad's to put them together and make a project out of 'em.

- There's genius there, Titch. - Well, what did you think of that? He's on form.

Tell me, boy, what does your father do, exactly?

He...seems to be some kind of free-wheeling businessman, sir.

I don't know, really.

Does he live in some kind of luxury?

By comparison with the standards that apply to other parents here.

I suppose he does, sir, yes.

Do you approve or disapprove of the kind of life he leads?

Disapprove a bit, I suppose.

Has it occurred to you that you may one day be obliged to choose between God and Mammon?

Yes, sir.

- Have you discussed this with the padre? - No, sir.

- Do so, boy. - Sir.

Tell me what you know about your mother.

She just sort of vanished when I was young, sir.

Who with?

With an army sergeant, sir.

He was already married.

So he took her off to Africa to elope.

- Does she write to you? - No, sir.

Why not, boy?

I suppose she's too ashamed, sir.

- Does she send you money? - No, sir.

She hasn't any. He swindled her out of everything that she had.

We are speaking of the sergeant still, I take it?

Yes, sir.

- He asleep? - He's sleeping.

Is your father an admiral of the fleet?

No, Sefton Boyd!

Was your father a Spitfire pilot in the Battle of Britain?

No!

- Was he ever parachuted behind enemy lines? - No, Sefton Boyd!

And do you solemnly swear to Almighty God

that you will never boast about him again within the precinct of this school?

Yes, Sefton Boyd!

The staff lavatory is out of bounds at all times,

as you well know, Sefton Boyd!

Mere trespass is a beating offence.

Ha-ha-ha!

It's Stanley Matthews dribbling down the touchline.

He beats one man.

He beats another man.

He beats a third man.

- Are you all right? - Oh, son!

With you beside me

and God sitting up there

and the Bentley waiting to take us home,

I'm the most all right fellow in the world.