All language subtitles for 5-¦ Galloping Foxley

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In 1929 when I was 13,
I was sent

to a famous English
boarding school for boys.

In those days,
life was pretty brutal

at schools like these,

and you won't believe this,
but even now 50 years later

if I sit for too long
on a hard chair,

I begin to feel my heart beating
along the old wounds

on my bottom,
where I was flogged.

"Do you want 6
with your dressing gown on

or 4 with it off?"

the prefects used to say to us

down there in the changing room
late at night.

This is a story
about those school days of mine,

and for once,
I have not made anything up.

It's all true.

Morning, Mr. Perkins.
Thank you.

DAHL: 5 days a week
for 36 years,

William Perkins had been taking
the 8:12 train to the city.

He liked the process
of commuting.

There is a regularity about it
that is agreeable and comforting

to a person of habit...

and in addition,
it served as a sort of slipway,

launching him gently but firmly
into the waters

of his daily business routine.

One of his special
little pleasures

was to have his
own particular seat

in the same compartment

with the same good, solid people
sitting in their right places

with the right umbrellas

and hats and ties
and newspapers

until one morning, something
rather disturbing happened.

[Train whistle blows]

Chap's taken my place.

[Whistle blows]

[Train whistle blows]

Mind the cigar?

This is a smoker.

You can do
as you please.

I just thought
I'd ask.

A matter of form really.

Form?

Well, seeing I'm
the new boy.

Pretty.

Quite a popsie,
don't you think?

I find it rather early
in the morning

for conversation,
don't you?

Good God.
You remind me

of my old company commander
in the Coldstream Guards.

If a new subaltern
so much as dared

to say good morning
to him,

he'd bark back
with 7 in rapid fire,

"Good morning,
good morning,

"good morning, good
morning, good morning,

"good morning,
good morning.

Let that suffice
for a week."

Very funny.

Good chap, though.

Worked us
into the ground.

We all slaved
under him.

[Thinking]
What's the matter with you,

letting a perfect stranger
rattle--ruin my day?

He'd better not prove
to be a regular.

Morning.
Morning.

See who's
here again?

Afraid so.

Third day
running.

Any idea who he is?

Not the foggiest.

[Train whistle blows]

Oh, my God.

It can't be,
not after all these years,

not Galloping Foxley.

You beat me to it
this morning.

Hmm?

You're sitting
in my place.

No. These
last mornings,

you have been
sitting in mine.

Oh! You should have
told me.

I'd have swapped.

I said I was
the new boy.

[Thinking]
No. I was.

I was the new boy.

Glad we motored
down, were you?

Yes.

You'll soon
settle in.

Yes.

Best days
of your life

are just beginning.

You'll see.

Jolly fine school.

Now, where's
the house?

I say.

Don't they teach you
better manners than that?

It seems to me
an apology is order.

I'm so sorry.

I don't like
your tone, sir.

Really?

You strike me as being
impudent and ill-mannered.

I can only hope

that you're
the exception here.

I shouldn't wish
any son of mine

to pick up such habits.

Ah. Mr. Perkins.

I see you've already
met our head of house--

Bruce Foxley.

Very fine sportsman.

All-arounder--
football, cricket.

His manners
leave something

to be desired.

Really?

I daresay,
it's the excitement

of being back,
eh, Bruce?

Exactly, sir.

Why don't you go
and sort out

the junior duty roster?

Take your pick
of the new chaps.

With pleasure, sir.

Well, Perkins,

I expect you'll feel
very much the new boy.

Don't worry.

You'll soon make your mark.

Just what I've
been telling him.

Report to the matron.
There's a good chap.

Chin up! Ticketty-boo!

Good-bye, Dad.

Bye, William.

Now, keep your pecker up.
Hmm? Hmm?

Write soon.

Naturally, he feels
he's walking

into the lion's den.

All the new men do,

but it soon
passes on.

New boy,
get that hat off.

FOXLEY: Perkins.

Yes?

You're mine, boy.

Am I?

My personal servant,
valet,

bed maker,

dog's body,
washer upper,

boot cleaner.

You're my slave,
Perkins.

Slaves, rise and shine!

Slaves,
rise and shine!

Slaves, rise and shine!

Slaves,
rise and shine!

OLDER BOY: Right, Perkins.
Recite your duties.

When the bell rings,
I get up,

dust the desk,
clean his shoes,

put out his clothes,

polish the fender,
clean the grate.

[Door opens]

Good morning,
Foxley.

What do you think
you're doing?

Cleaning the grate.

You're behind schedule.

No. You said--

Shut up, slave.

I'm breathing.

[Bell ringing]

You'd better get
down to the bogs.

The bogs?

The lavatories,
the water closets,

the latrines,

le petit coin,

the places
of easement, boy.

Do I clean them?

If necessary.

Then you warm
the seat for me,

and if it's not
warm enough,

then I warm yours.

Something wrong?

You're staring.

I'm sorry.

Do you imagine

we've, uh, met before
or something?

I'm sorry.

[Thinking]
I know very well

we've met before.

Oh, yes, oh, yes,
Foxley.

I could expose you

for the perfect swine
you were.

You don't recognize me,
do you, eh, hmm?

The mustache,
the mature years,

but I recognize you
all right.

Oh, yes!

No. I've decided,
Perkins,

it's going to be
with the dressing gown off.

Please.
Off!

Hurry up! Come on!

Now,
touch your toes.

Tighter,
much tighter than that.

Now, what are you?

I'm--I'm
a lazy little boy.

Who can't light a fire...

who can't polish a button

without smudging
the uniform.

What else are you?

I don't know.

I don't like
your tone, sir.

You strike me as impudent
and ill-mannered,

and your father is
very particular

about manners, isn't he?

Well?

Well?

It's a question requiring
the answer yes, boy, yes.

Yes.

Stay still.

Blubber, boy, and you'll
get an extra stroke.

This why I'm known
as Galloping Foxley.

It's because I always beat
at the gallop.

[Footsteps running]

[Gasps]

[Sobbing]

Hey, you.

Psst! Hey! Psst! Hey!

Perkins over there--

how many did he get?

Who--Perkins?
Yeah.

Oh, he got 5.

5?

With his dressing gown
off, too.

Come around.

It was going to be 4,
but he blubbed.

You always blub with Foxley
because of the run-up.

He goes down
the basement passage.

That leaves time for you
to feel the pain, you see?

At first, you don't
feel anything,

just a sort of blunt thud,
a sort of numbing,

but after a few seconds,

about 10--that's the time
it takes Galloping Foxley

to go down
the basement passage--

then it starts
like a red-hot poker

by which time
he's galloping back--

whoosh-whack, whoosh-whack!

Poor old Perkins.

Perkins, Perkins.

What?

Show us the damage.
Go on.

No!

Come on.
We're on your side.

No, please.

Come. We're ever so sorry.
Let's see the marks.

All...right.

Hmm. Rather far apart.

Not up to Foxley's
usual standard.

Two are close,
beauties, actually touching.

That low one's
a rotten shot.

But it bled.

Golly, Foxley's
really got it in

for you, Perkins.

[Door opens]

What's the idea?

Back to bed,
all of you.

So. Perkins
showing off, is he?

Is that it?

Another peep
out of any of you,

and you'll get
what Perkins got.

[Thinking]
All coming back--

small eyes,

corrugated forehead,

the wavy, oily hair,

the glove,

the white glove.

Catch!

Butterfingers.

Better.

You're improving,
Perkins.

Thank you, Foxley.
It took me all day.

At first glance,
that is,

but we'll see what
my patent dust detector

can do, shall we?

Good.

[Sighs]

[Bell ringing]

Ah. So.

You're a lazy little
bounder after all,

aren't you?

I thought I dusted
it all.

You thought?

Well, we'll meet
later on, won't we?

After prayers
in the changing room.

It was under the chair--

As my slave,
you clean my study,

and clean
means clean.

Yes, Foxley.

And you've forgotten
the wild irises

for my desk.

There wasn't time.

There is now.

But prep's at 4:30--

You'll
have to hurry.

The pond's only
2 1/2 miles

across the fields.

[Thunder]

A drowned rat.

Don't come in.

Only 4.

Hopeless.

But I couldn't reach.

That's another stroke.

Go on. Get your coat off.

We need you
to make more toast.

FOXLEY: What's your slave
like, Julian?

Shaping up.

I picked a dud
in Perkins--

idle, insolent,
incompetent,

have to beat him
almost daily.

I'm developing muscles

where I didn't even know
I had them.

You expect me
to eat this?

It's hardly done,
this side.

But you don't
like it burnt.

Useless.

[Thunder]

FOXLEY:
You've earned yourself

another stripe, Perkins.

[Thinking]
And to think,

I used to write home
and say I was all right

except I'd got
a cold

because I was caught
in the rain.

Never a word about
how he'd beaten me.

You beat me.

You!

7 minutes to
Cannon Street.

7 minutes to expose you.

Foxley. It's--
it's a thought.

Yes. Why not?
Why not?

Ahem!

I wonder if I might

have your attention,

uh, uh, just
for a few moments.

I, uh, I know it's
not customary

for us to speak very much
on this daily journey,

and I hope
you'll forgive me,

but this...

gentleman's presence
has prompted

some old memories
of my school days.

Really?
How extraordinary.

Mm.

Yes. It was a long time
ago now, of course,

but, um, I remember.

Yes. I remember very well.

You see, I suffered.

I suffered terribly
at his hands.

I was his slave,

and I could never do
anything right

because he was
a total sadist,

what in the old days--
ha ha--

we would have called
a bounder.

He made my life
a misery for a year.

I almost committed suicide
because of him.

He hasn't recognized me,
but I've recognized him.

Oh, yes.

He was, um, he was
head of my house

at public school,

and he wielded
absolute power

over the new men,

as we small boys
were called,

and as we know,

absolute power
corrupts absolutely.

This man was
a perfect Hitler to me.

Any service not performed
to his satisfaction

was a beatable offense,

and how he loved
to exercise that privilege.

Still carries the cane, see?

That's, um, that's
just like the one

he used to beat me with
so scientifically.

His peculiar talent
was torture,

mental and physical.

[Train whistle blows]

Gentlemen, Galloping Foxley.

Well, Foxley, do you
recognize me now, hmm,

William Perkins,
St. Wilfrid's?

I'm very glad
to meet you,

but I'm Fortescue,

Jocelyn Fortescue,
Eton 1928.

Ah. We seem to
have arrived.

Sorry, old boy.
We all make mistakes.

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