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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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Captioned by the National Captioning Institute

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