Original subtitles

♪♪♪

♪♪♪

♪♪♪

EDITOR: Sorry to keep you waiting.

Balloon's gone up.

EDITOR: Chaos, deadlines brought forward

- printers on the warpath, all kinds of merry hell

- but that's Fleet Street for you.

ROBERTS: I wouldn't know about Fleet Street but

I'm familiar with Merry Hell.

EDITOR: Oh of course. Of course. The, uh, war.

EDITOR: Now.

EDITOR: You have impressive references here.

From Mr. Gilbert Frankau and Mr. R.C. Sheriff.

ROBERTS: Yes I knew them back then when we were

all working on tenth Avenue.

EDITOR: Tenth Avenue? In New York?

ROBERTS: No, No. In Flanders. It was a trench.

EDITOR: Oh yes, the war. Very good.

I couldn't go of course. Eyesight.

ROBERTS: I'm sorry. You missed quite a show.

EDITOR: Really? Yes, it must have been hell.

From what I've read.

ROBERTS: We had some bad times. But we had some good times too.

EDITOR: I'm sure.

So perhaps you could tell me about yourself, Mr..uh?

ROBERTS: Roberts, Fred Roberts. You do have my Curriculum Vitae?

EDITOR: Yes. But I'd like to hear about you

in your own words.

ROBERTS: Frederick Roberts.

Formerly of the North Midlands Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire

regiment otherwise known as the Sherwood Foresters.

A mining engineer by profession - I worked in the Kimberley

diamond mines in South Africa until friend Fritz kicked off

the firework party.

EDITOR: I see.

So you have mining qualifications?

ROBERTS: Jolly useful in a pioneer battalion charged

with trench repair and maintenance...

EDITOR: Though less useful in a newspaper office.

ROBERTS: Oh I don't know.

ROBERTS: Digging up all that muck.

EDITOR: Yes, Mr. Roberts.

My problem is that what we need here is men

with relevant experience.

EDITOR: So tell me.

EDITOR: Do you have any relevant experience?

♪♪♪

[explosions/armaments]

ROBERTS: Come on. Come on, Quick lads.

[explosions/armaments]

PEARSON: Move it. Move it. Move it.

[explosions/armaments]

ROBERTS: All alright?

HARRIS: Alright. Come on. Come on.

ROBERTS: Come on lads.

ROBERTS: Everyone alright?

ROBERTS: Good lads.

Oh to be in Flanders now that winter's here.

PEARSON: It's April.

ROBERTS: Is It? I find it frightfully difficult to tell.

PEARSON: Usual drill Sergeant.

HARRIS: Oy! Smith, Dodd, Henderson, Barnes.

You heard the officer.

HARRIS: Search the place for anything we can use.

ROBERTS: Preferably of the metal or timber variety.

DODD: Alright sir.

ROBERTS: And be sharp about lads.

ROBERTS: Fritz's love tokens seem to be arriving

with greater frequency.

HARRIS: 4.2's sir.

ROBERTS: That's a relief. Thought for

a minute they were 5.9's.

[explosion]

HARRIS: No. Those are 5.9's sir.

ROBERTS: The hell are you doing Dodd?

DODD: Die Boche vermin!

ROBERTS: You're wasting your time.

ROBERTS: Put your bayonet away before you hurt someone.

DODD: But it's a rat sir.

ROBERTS: Yes, I'm.. I'm familiar with the species, Dodd.

We've encountered one or two since we've been in Ypres.

DODD: Ypres, Sir?

ROBERTS: It's what the Belgians call Wipers.

DODD: Oh right, sir. Funny lot, the Belgians.

It's like the Napoo Rum they got over here sir.

Never seem to get any.

PEARSON: Napoo it's from the French, Dodd.

'Iln'y en a plus'. There is no more.

DODD: Well.

Why don't they just say that then, sir?

HARRIS: Nothing here Captain. DODD: Napoo salvage, sir.

ROBERTS: Very good, Dodd. We'll make a sapper of you yet.

[explosions]

ROBERTS: Quickly. Quick.Quick. Come on lads.

HARRIS: Come on. Move your feet. Dodd.

[explosions]

ROBERTS: Find me something lads.

HENDERSON: Look what we have here sir!

Boxes of paper.

PEARSON: Excellent. Exactly what we're looking

for to reinforce trench 132.

DODD: Really, sir?

ROBERTS: Er no, Dodd.

I'm afraid you'll find when you've been out here for a while

that paper doesn't offer much protection

against crumps and whizzbangs.

PEARSON: Unless you're a red hat in HQ with a cushy job and then

the paper stops you getting anywhere near

the shooting gallery at all.

ROBERTS: Your cynicism could become wearying Lieutenant

Pearson except fortunately I find it quite amusing.

HENDERSON: There's some tarpaulin here sir.

ROBERTS: Well, that might be useful.

HARRIS: Blimey.

SMITH: Now what the bloody hell is that?

HARRIS: That Smith is an Arab.

SMITH: I'm not stupid Sarnt.

The Arab is an Anglo- American hand-fed Platen Press.

It's probably the finest in the world.

It's a manual, pedal operated printing machine patented in

1872 by Josiah Wade..

HARRIS: Manufactured in Halifax and

subsequently sold all over the world.

In short, it is a work of art.

DODD: So, shall we smash it up?

HARRIS: No. Stupid Dodd.

HARRIS: Look it's even got the blocks and the trays of type.

Go on stick that over there, Smith.

SMITH: Sarnt.

ROBERTS: How on earth do you know all this Harris?

HARRIS: Well I was a printer in civvy street sir.

ROBERTS: Good grief. You kept quiet about that.

HARRIS: Well it didn't seem relevant to fighting Fritz, sir.

ROBERTS: No. But it might be now.

ROBERTS: Can you make this work?

HARRIS: Well, I mean, she's not been used for a while.

HARRIS: Y'know the type's all over the countryside.

A few unwelcome visitors.

But given a bit of time I reckon so, sir.

Yes, sir.

HARRIS: How's it work then Sarnt?

HARRIS: Well you stick the ink on that plate there.

HARRIS: And the rollers come down onto the block there.

HARRIS: Paper goes in there.

HARRIS: Don't touch it!

PEARSON: Very interesting.

PEARSON: What are we going to do with it?

ROBERTS: We're going to borrow it.

PEARSON: Isn't that looting?

ROBERTS: No, no. It's temporary requisitioning of

civilian facilities for military purposes.

PEARSON: Oh right. Sounds like looting.

ROBERTS: Have you ever done any journalism, Pearson?

PEARSON: Good God, no!

ROBERTS: Excellent.

ROBERTS: Me neither. Because what we're going to do

is we're going to produce a newspaper.

Aren't we Sergeant?

HARRIS: If you say so, sir.

HENDERSON: What, like the Daily Mail?

ROBERTS: I was thinking something rather more accurate.

PEARSON: The Times?

ROBERTS: The Wipers Times.

[explosions/armaments]

PEARSON: Okay lads. Move it.

HENDERSON: Away lads.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: We've got plenty of ink, plenty of paper.

In fact, according to Harris, the only thing we

seem to be lacking is 'copy'.

PEARSON: Uh huh.

None of us is writing men.

PEARSON: We haven't done any journalism.

ROBERTS: Well there's a first time for everything.

It can't be that hard.

ROBERTS: I.. I think we should aim to produce something a bit

like Punch, except with jokes.

PEARSON: So what are we actually going to write about?

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Damn you Fritz. I can't hear myself think.

Put on The Bing Boys would you Jack?

PEARSON: So will the Wipers Times address

the big questions of the war?

ROBERTS: Certainly.

PEARSON: And how will we do that?

ROBERTS: Well I suggest we do so by just writing down any old

thing that comes into our heads.

HARRIS: Trial page proof sir.

Looks pretty good, though I say it myself.

Who do I show it to?

Who's the editor?

ROBERTS: Well as senior officer I am of course the editor.

ROBERTS: But I will need a sub-editor.

Any volunteers, Jack?

PEARSON: Ugh.

ROBERTS: Bad grammar is simply something

I will not put up with.

PEARSON: Up with which you simply will not put.

ROBERTS: Alright Jack the job's yours.

ROBERTS: Here

HARRIS: The only drawback sir is

that we're short of Y's and E's.

ROBERTS: Well it's just well we're not based

anywhere called Ypres then.

PEARSON: Ah.

HARRIS: Now sir, what about some copy?

ROBERTS: Dammit Harris, haven't you heard of writer's block?

HARRIS: Only everyday sir, come deadline time for the newspaper.

ROBERTS: Very well Harris. But you are very annoying.

HARRIS: Very good, sir.

PEARSON: Hmmm you know he's right Fred.

ROBERTS: Et Tu Pearson?

I'm going to hold this pencil..

ROBERTS: .. And see what happens.

ROBERTS: Something's bound to turn up.

PEARSON: You are an incorrigible optimist.

ROBERTS: Optimism.

ROBERTS: Now there's a dangerous thing.

Particularly in a war.

ROBERTS: Do you suffer from Optimism?

PEARSON: Men!

PEARSON: Do you suffer from Optimism,

but fail to recognize the telltale signs? Many do.

ROBERTS: Is it serious, Doctor?

PEARSON: I just need you to answer a few simple questions.

PEARSON: Do you sometimes wake up in the morning feeling that

all is going well for the Allies?

ROBERTS: Yes Doctor.

PEARSON: Do you sometimes think that the war will be over,

within the next 12 months?

ROBERTS: Absolutely Doctor.

PEARSON: Do you consider that our leaders are competent to

conduct the war to a successful issue?

ROBERTS: I should say so Doctor.

PEARSON: Oh Dear. This is the worst case of

cheerfulness I've encountered.

ROBERTS: Oh Good.

PEARSON: No. It's terrible.

PEARSON: But don't worry I promise I can cure you of

optimism within two days and effectively eradicate all traces

of it from your system.

ROBERTS: Really Doctor?

And how are you going to do that?

PEARSON: I'm writing something for you now,

which should do the trick.

ROBERTS: Is it a prescription Doctor?

PEARSON: No. It's your orders.

I'm sending you to the front line.

ROBERTS: Thank you Doctor.

[explosion]

PEARSON: Not sure about this piece about optimism.

ROBERTS: Are you questioning the judgment of a superior officer?

PEARSON: Er, yes.

ROBERTS: Good. So as a superior officer, of course,

I shall ignore you.

PEARSON: Seriously, do you not think it's

gone a little bit too far?

ROBERTS: How can you accuse me of going toofar - when the

entire 24th Division has gone precisely ten yards

in the last six months?

And that was sideways.

PEARSON: I'm just saying we have to be careful.

ROBERTS: Yes.. I guess you are right.

We must be responsible.

As will be made clear in my editorial.

PEARSON: You haven't written an editorial.

ROBERTS: How's your shorthand? PEARSON: Non-existent.

ROBERTS: Good. ROBERTS: Take this down.

ROBERTS: Editorial.

PEARSON: Hmm excellent.

ROBERTS: Having managed to pickup a printing press,

slightly soiled, at a very reasonable price.

ROBERTS: We have decided to produce a paper.

ROBERTS: There is much we would like to say in it.

ROBERTS: But the shadows of censorship enveloping us cause

us to refer to the war, that we hear is taking place in Europe.

PEARSON: Careful.

ROBERTS: In a cautious manner.

ROBERTS: We apologize for any shortcomings in the production

of our paper on account of..

PEARSON: Editorial inexperience?

ROBERTS: Quite so.

ROBERTS: We hope to publish The Times weekly.

ROBERTS: Despite the attentions of Messrs.' Hun & Co..

PEARSON: Our local rivals.

ROBERTS: Excellent!

And we take this opportunity of stating that we accept no

responsibility for the views expressed..

PEARSON: We?

ROBERTS: Yes. And we disassociate ourselves from any

statements in the advertisements.

PEARSON: Well that bit's true. There are no advertisements.

ROBERTS: No? Why Not?

PEARSON: There's a problem with potential advertisers such as

theatres, restaurants, hotels, small businesses etcetera..

ROBERTS: Well what's the problem?

PEARSON: There aren't any.

They've all been blown to buggery.

ROBERTS: Is that anywhere near Poperinghe?

PEARSON: No it's not.

And you didn't hear that Sergeant did you?

HARRIS: No sir, but it was most amusing.

ROBERTS: Harris, you're our expert.

We can't be a proper newspaper without advertisements, can we?

HARRIS: No sir, that's what the front page is for.

PEARSON: So what do we do?

♪♪♪

♪♪♪

DODD: Taxi! Taxi! I say, Taxi!

ROBERTS: Are you having trouble getting home?

Not anymore, with our fleet of handsomely appointed taxicabs.

DODD: But how will I recognize your taxis?

ROBERTS: Easy they have a red cross painted on each side.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Is your friend a soldier?

ROBERTS: Do you know what he wants?

No? We do.

Send him one of our latest improved combination

Umbrella and wire cutter.

ROBERTS: No more nasty colds caught when cutting the wire.

ROBERTS: He will be absolutely delighted with the combination

Umbrella and Wire Cutter.

ROBERTS: Just fifteen francs.

ROBERTS: Quite right, Miss. Now you can rest assured your

soldier friend will stay fit and healthy out in no-man's land.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Calling all harassed subalterns.

PEARSON: Who, Me?

ROBERTS: Yes, you! Is your life miserable?

Do you hate your company commander?

Of course you do.

Then why not buy him one of our new patent

'Tip Me Up' Duck Boards?

PEARSON: But how does the 'tip me up' duck board work?

ROBERTS: You just get your company commander on the end.

ROBERTS: And the duckboard does the rest.

ROBERTS: Every time a blighty!

ROBERTS: That's our promise. Remember..

ROBERTS: .. If once he steps onto the end.

To take a month his face to mend.

PEARSON: Thank you, 'tip me up' Duck board.

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Excellent work Sergeant.

When can we roll the pressers?

HARRIS: Soon as it eases off a bit, sir.

PEARSON: Surely you're not bothered by a spot of rain?

HARRIS: No. It's more the bombardment, sir.

Fritz is getting a bit too close to the

print room to be pleasant.

ROBERTS: Well, when Herman knocks off for his evening

sausage let's print the blighter.

[explosion]

HARRIS: Everything alright?

SMITH: I'm fine Sarnt.

HARRIS: Not you, the print blocks.

Get in there.

♪♪♪

HARRIS: Don't get your hand caught in the plate Dodd.

HARRIS: Or you'll come a cropper.

HARRIS: A phrase incidentally derived from the printing

presses of H.S. Cropper do you know that?

BARNES: That's very interesting Sarnt.

HARRIS: As is the phrase.. HARRIS: Mind your P's and Q's.

HARRIS: It comes from a common mistaking of the

P for the Q in a tray of type.

BARNES: That's even more interesting Sarnt.

HARRIS: Whereas the expression..

HARRIS: 'Get the wrong end of the stick'.

HARRIS: Now that comes from grabbing wrong end of the

compositing stick and getting your hand covered in ink.

HENDERSON: It means thinking you're being

interesting when really..

HARRIS: Yes Henderson?

HENDERSON: Very, very interesting indeed Sarnt.

HARRIS: Correct.

HARRIS: Right, here we go. Grab it Smith.

SMITH: Here it is Sarnt.

HARRIS: We have a result.

If I say it myself.. It's a thing of beauty.

HARRIS: Unlike any of you lot.

♪♪♪

[♪♪♪/faint laughter]

SOLDIER: Oi Bill..

SOLDIER: This Wipers Times. Does what it says.

HOWFIELD: Have you seen this poppycock, sir?

MITFORD: Yes, I have.

HOWFIELD: It's downright insubordination.

MITFORD: That's maybe why the men seem to like it.

HOWFIELD: The men also like the ladies of the Poperinghe Fancies

neither are exactly conducive to winning the war.

MITFORD: Really? Have you seen the ladies of

the Poperinghe Fancies?

HOWFIELD: Of course not!

MITFORD: I think they're doing their bit

MITFORD: Jolly buxom girls.

MITFORD: They can't sing.

They can't dance, but..

MITFORD: ..no one seems to care particularly.

I believe the chaps call them Glycerin and Vaseline.

No idea why.

HOWFIELD: We're getting off the point here, sir.

Which is surely that some of the material in this publication is

not merely unsuitable, it's downright treasonable.

MITFORD: Like what, in particular?

HOWFIELD: Like this.

MITFORD: Oh. Answers to correspondence.

HOWFIELD: Whoever wrote this should be court-martialed.

MITFORD: I like this item advising young officers not to

wear turned up slacks or shoes when going over the top.

HOWFIELD: What?

MITFORD: Perfectly sound advice.

MITFORD: A chap wearing turned up slack on the battlefield not

only looks a bloody fool, but it advertises the fact that he's an

office to any half-awake sniper.

HOWFIELD: No, no, no.

That is not the offending article.

HOWFIELD: I'm referring to this response to a supposed query

from a junior officer.

HOWFIELD: Dear Subaltern.

HOWFIELD: No, the death penalty is not enforced in the case of

murdering a senior officer as you will always be able to claim

extenuating circumstances.

[laughter]

MITFORD: That's a joke.

HOWFIELD: It's an incitement to mutiny, I'll have him shot.

MITFORD: Not if he shoots you first.

MITFORD: That's also a joke.

HOWFIELD: The war is not funny, sir.

MITFORD: I think the authors are aware of that.

I have a feeling that may be the point.

MITFORD: I mean.

MITFORD: It's not all cocking a snook at the general staff.

Although quite a bit of it is.

I mean some of its deadly serious.

Words from the heart.

HOWFIELD: Such as?

MITFORD: 'People we take our hats off to:

The French at Verdun... the British Navy at Jutland...

The Canadians at Ypres' Saluting our fallen comrades is hardly

sedition is it?

HOWFIELD: They also take their hats off to the officer in

charge of the costume department of the Poperinghe Fancies.

HOWFIELD: They are just a gang of backchat comedians

deliberately undermining morale with this impertinent,

unpatriotic rag.

HOWFIELD: Can you think of anything more likely to produce

discontent amongst the men?

MITFORD: Yes. Banning it.

♪♪♪

HARRIS: Put your back into it Henderson.

HENDERSON: Yes, sir.

ROBERTS: Sergeant. Sergeant. We're running out of timber.

Go and see if you can borrow something from the

communications line.

ROBERTS: Henderson. Barnes. You work on the parapets.

BARNES: Yes sir!

HENDERSON: Keep down Barnesy.

Unless you want a sniper taking your head off.

ROBERTS: Smith, Dodd.

ROBERTS: Start on the supports.

SMITH: Do I have to work with Dodd, sir?

ROBERTS: Yes, you do poor Dodd drew the short straw.

Now get on with it Smith.

PEARSON: What's the plan?

ROBERTS: What I think we should do Jack..

ROBERTS: Up the cover price.

Get in some new writers, and cut down on the poetry.

PEARSON: You don't think you might be getting

rather obsessed with the paper?

ROBERTS: Don't be ridiculous.

I'm a model commanding officer executing

my duties in exemplary fashion.

[explosion]

ROBERTS: What do you think of the poetry?

PEARSON: I think poetry's essential

in the modern battlefield.

A bit like mud.

ROBERTS: If only it were just mud.

PEARSON: Yes.

PEARSON: Perhaps better not dwell on the..

PEARSON: . . unmentionables. Better left unsaid.

ROBERTS: That's why I'd rather think about the paper.

It's important to me because it's not important.

PEARSON: Oh dear, you're getting aphoristic.

ROBERTS: Am I? Apologies. So what are we thinking?

PEARSON: I think we should crack out another couple of issues.

And if it keeps going this well. Try and sell it back home.

ROBERTS: You're getting obsessed.

[singing in the distant]

ROBERTS: Oh listen. Listen. Fritz is in fine voice.

DODD: What are they singing, sir?

Sounds like an hymn, sir.

ROBERTS: It is.

ROBERTS: Called the Hymn of Hate.

PEARSON: It goes something like this.

PEARSON: You we will hate with a lasting hate.

PEARSON: We will never forego our hate. Hate by water..

PEARSON: And hate by land.

PEARSON: Hate of the head and hate of the hand.

PEARSON: Hate of the hammer, hate of the crown.

Hate of 70 millions choking down.

PEARSON: We love as one. We hate as one.

We have one foe and one alone.

Eng-er-land.

DODD: That's not very nice is it, sir?

ROBERTS: Spot on, Dodd.

SMITH: We don't have any songs like that do we sir?

ROBERTS: No we don't and if we did they'd certainly

be a lot funnier.

DODD: Your Wipers Times should put that right sir.

PEARSON: Good idea Dodd.

ROBERTS: Since Dodd has joined the editorial conference

ROBERTS: I propose we take his excellent suggestion on board

and include something suitably melodious in the next issue.

PEARSON: What do you have in mind?

DODD: We all love the music hall sir!

[♪♪♪/cheering]

ROBERTS: Ladies and Gentlemen!

ROBERTS: Welcome to the Cloth Hall at Ypres.

ROBERTS: The best ventilated hall in the town.

ROBERTS: Tonight for your delectation,

we proudly present positively the greatest collection of

performers ever collected in one place at one time.

Yes!

ROBERTS: It's Mr. Thomas Atkins and co.

in his stupendous new revue "The Bing Bangs are Here!"

[crowd ooh's]

ROBERTS: With music by Mr. R. Tillery

ROBERTS: And, not to mention,

Mrs. Mini Werfer who always meets

with a thunderous reception.

ROBERTS: And not forgetting, 'Bouncing Bertha'

who's only 17 inches high.

ROBERTS: But is guaranteed to bring the house down.

ROBERTS: And there's more. With Hind and Berg.

Sword swallowers and nail eaters.

ROBERTS: And introducing the world's favorite comedian,

Kaiser Bill.

ROBERTS: And his little Willy.

ROBERTS: That's the crown prince I'm talking about.

ROBERTS: Thank you but I promised you a song and

a song you shall have.

A pleasing patriotic performance from our very own privates.

ROBERTS: The Atkins Brothers.

ROBERTS: Thomas and Tommy!

BARNES: I heard the bugles calling.

HENDERSON: Join up, I felt I must.

Now I wish I'd left them bugles go on blowing til they bust.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Yes this show is going to run and run

and run and run and run..

SMITH: Dodd, did you go swimming?

DODD: Give it a rest Smithy, I was switching patrols.

ROBERTS: As you were, Smith.

PEARSON: Great news Fred.

Apparently the war will be over within the week.

ROBERTS: Says who?

PEARSON: Says: Hilaire Belloc.

ROBERTS: Didn't he say the war was going to be over

within the week last week?

PEARSON: I rather think he did.

ROBERTS: And the week before.

PEARSON: Now, you're just jealous because we don't have a

war correspondent of our own.

PEARSON: Someone who really knows what's going on.

ROBERTS: Yes, you're right.

Perhaps we should employ our own. Hilary Belloc.

PEARSON: What about Belary Helloc?

I hear he's very well informed.

ROBERTS: Really?

ROBERTS: So what is Mr. Helloc's latest take on the war?

PEARSON: Good evening.

I'm the famous Belary Helloc and tonight my subject is

'why we are going to win the war'.

PEARSON: Everything points to a speedy

disintegration of the enemy.

So let's just have a look at the figures.

PEARSON: There are 12 million fighting men in Germany.

Of these, 9 million are already killed,

or are being killed as we speak.

Leaving just 3 million.

PEARSON: Of these 2 million 5 thousand are temperamentally

unsuitable for fighting owing to obesity, due to eating sausages.

PEARSON: This leaves us just 500 thousand

as the full German strength.

Now of these 497,250 are suffering

from incurable diseases.

PEARSON: And I think we know which ones.

Leaving just 2,750 men.

Of these; 2,150 are on the Eastern Front.

And of the remaining 600 we see that 584 are generals and staff.

Thus we find..

PEARSON: There are in fact just..

PEARSON: 16 men on the Western Front.

Clearly not enough to resist one final big push, or maybe two,

three; four at the very most.

And that is why we are going to win the war.

If we haven't already by the time you've heard this.

HENDERSON: Letters for you, sir.

ROBERTS: Thank you, Henderson.

ROBERTS: Ah, news from the home front.

ROBERTS: Has my wife..

ROBERTS: ..been raising money for noble causes

such as providing warm woolens for war worn Walloons?

PEARSON: Is mine selling flags for Blue Body Belts

for Bucolic Belgians?

ROBERTS: Touché.

ROBERTS: Always a bit of a mixed blessing, isn't it?

The letter from home.

PEARSON: A reminder of a land where the gas-gongs,

whizz-bangs and the Minenwerfers are not allowed.

ROBERTS: Good heavens - my wife has sent me a

clipping from the Tatler.

We've been mentioned in Despatches!

PEARSON: What? Fame at last? What did they say?

ROBERTS: 'We hear news from the front of an amusing periodical

designed to entertain the troops.

It is entitled the Wipers Times after the town of Ypres where

its enterprising creators are currently quartered.

So we salute the anonymous wits of the 6th Division... '

PEARSON: We're the 24th Division.

PEARSON: Nincompoops.

ROBERTS: Ah dear. Appears we're not to be famous after all.

PEARSON: Oh damn journalists, can't they get anything right?

ROBERTS: Is that a rhetorical question?

SMITH: Yes, sir.

Uh, it's Lieutenant Colonel Howfield's ADC sir.

ROBERTS: Little bobbing Bobby.

PEARSON: The one who has little red star flashes

on his jim-jams?

ROBERTS: Ah Captain, how can I help?

ROBERTS: Of course. Yes.

ROBERTS: Looking forward to it sir.

Thank you, Smith.

SMITH: Sir.

ROBERTS: Lieutenant Colonel Howfield has granted us the

privilege of a full inspection.

PEARSON: When?

ROBERTS: Now. Initiate 'operation panic'.

PEARSON: Where is that 'tip me up' duckboard when you need it?

HARRIS: We under attack, sir?

ROBERTS: Quite the reverse we've got an inspection by the

divisional staff, which means for as long as they're here

there won't be any action at all.

PEARSON: Not even our artillery would open fire when there's a

brass hat down here.

HARRIS: Henderson, Dodd, shift these trays.

HARRIS: Put them under the books.

HARRIS: Barnes-y gets hold of this.

PEARSON: To say an old adage.

War is long periods of boredom punctuated by sheer terror.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Sir.

HOWFIELD: At ease Roberts.

HOWFIELD: Hope I'm not interrupting anything.

ROBERTS: No, sir.

HOWFIELD: Well I should be, shouldn't I?

HOWFIELD: Boche, obviously, not keeping you

occupied and vice versa.

You've got time on your hands Roberts,

and time is the soldier's greatest enemy.

HOWFIELD: Isn't it Bobby?

BOBBY: Yes, sir.

ROBERTS: Apart from the gas and the flamethrowers.

HOWFIELD: So are your boys fit, Roberts?

ROBERTS: As a fiddle, sir.

HOWFIELD: Because the men have got to be fit for the big-push.

HOWFIELD: What about you, Roberts?

HOWFIELD: Keeping busy?

ROBERTS: As a bee, sir.

HOWFIELD: So no distractions? Finding things to do?

ROBERTS: Yes, sir.

Doing our best to make a little cover for the lads who are

hanging onto the remnants of Belgium in the teeth of every

disadvantage, discomfort and peril.

ROBERTS: Sir.

HOWFIELD: So not too much 'paperwork', then?

ROBERTS: Not at all, sir.

HOWFIELD: That's good to hear, isn't it Bobby?

BOBBY: Yes, sir.

HOWFIELD: Because the problem with the

whole damn line is inaction.

HOWFIELD: We're getting bogged down in a

mire of defensive passivity.

There's no forward movement.

HOWFIELD: No sorties. No raiding parties.

No mining activity.

ROBERTS: You're right, sir.

It's almost as if we were entrenched.

HOWFIELD: Quite so.

HOWFIELD: And the question you have to ask yourself,

and you particularly as Commander, Roberts.

Is: are you being offensive enough?

ROBERTS: I'm not sure, sir.

ROBERTS: Are we being offensive enough? Pearson?

PEARSON: No, sir. I.. I think we could be a lot more offensive.

HOWFIELD: Good man, Pearson.

So from now on, you're going to be a lot more offensive.

ROBERTS: You hear that men?

ROBERTS: From now on.

ROBERTS: We are all going to be as offensive as possible.

HOWFIELD: Very good, Roberts.

HOWFIELD: Isn't it Bobby?

BOBBY: I'm not altogether sure, sir.

ROBERTS: You heard the colonel. We must attack something.

PEARSON: How about .. PEARSON: ..stupid moustaches?

ROBERTS: Good idea. far too many of them around.

I blame Charlie Chaplin.

[explosion]

ROBERTS: I say, that was a bit friendly.

ROBERTS: Put the gramophone on, would you?

[explosion]

[music from the gramaphone]

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Well saved. No..

ROBERTS: It's not enough.

ROBERTS: I'll have to play the piano.

PEARSON: Oh dear.

[piano music]

ROBERTS: There are various types of courage,

there are many kinds of fear.

There are many brands of whisky.

There are many makes of beer.

There is also rum which sometimes

in our need can help us much.

But tis whisky whisky whisky hands the

courage which is Dutch.

[piano]

ROBERTS: There are various types of courage,

there are many kinds of fear.

There are many brands of whisky.

There are many makes of beer.

There is also rum which sometimes in

our need can help us much.

But tis whisky whiskywhisky hands the

courage which is Dutch...

HARRIS: Bad news, sir. We've had a direct hit.

HARRIS: Bloody Boche. Excuse my French sir.

ROBERTS: French excused Sergeant.

ROBERTS: Is there nothing that can be done?

HARRIS: I think it's finished, sir.

HARRIS: It's the end of the Wipers Times.

PEARSON: It was good while it lasted Fred.

ROBERTS: I've tried.. ..Throughout this war to

maintain my sense of humour

but now I am really unamused.

♪♪♪

[laughter]

PEARSON: What are you men so happy about?

HENDERSON: Captain Roberts. He's on grand form tonight sir.

PEARSON: What do you mean?

HENDERSON: Well the orders that he gave the men were not

strictly according to the drill manual.

PEARSON: Really?

DODD: Yes, sir..

DODD: He said fall in you blank blankblankblankblank blanks.

We're going up the blanking line and if you see any blanking

Boche we're going shove their blanking bombs

up their blanking shirts.

PEARSON: Did he actually say shirts, Dodd?

DODD: No, sir.

PEARSON: You'll have to excuse Captain Roberts.

I'm afraid he's taken the loss of the printer somewhat badly.

HENDERSON: Sir.

[explosion]

ROBERTS: At least the old girl has been put to some use.

PEARSON: A distinguished end to her literary career.

PEARSON: As a part of a transverse wall of C4 trench

number six post.

NCO: Raiding party coming through.

ROBERTS: I assumed it wasn't a delegation

for the general staff.

OFFICER: You wouldn't find them at this end of the muddy stick.

OFFICER: You must be Roberts.

ROBERTS: Sir.

OFFICER: I hear you're quite the thorn

in the red hat's backsides?

OFFICER: Good man.

OFFICER: Off we go, boys!

ROBERTS: Good luck, Colonel.

♪♪♪

PEARSON: Who was that?

ROBERTS: Commanding officer of the Royal Scots Fusiliers.

PEARSON: Why was he wearing a French tin hat?

ROBERTS: A bit of a personality, somewhat eccentric.

ROBERTS: Always suggesting the top brass come down to the front

and get a taste of the action.

PEARSON: He won't last long, will he? What's his name?

ROBERTS: Name's Churchill.

HARRIS: Heard a rumour sir.

ROBERTS: Don't tell me.

The Kaiser has been arrested by Field Marshall Hindenburg

and shot as a spy.

HARRIS: Not exactly, sir, no.

it's a friend of a friend of a friend, has told me ab..

HARRIS: He happens to know the whereabouts

of a lovely little hand-jigger. off C-R.

PEARSON: Speak English Sergeant.

HARRIS: It's a printing press sir,

and word has it there's a lot more type.

ROBERTS: Priceless Sergeant.

HARRIS: Only drawback, sir, is its current location.

PEARSON: Which is where? HARRIS: Hellfire corner.

PEARSON: Oh dear. That's the Hellfire Corner the most

dangerous place on the Salient.

HARRIS: Hottest place in the world sir.

ROBERTS: Where life expectancy is about, what?

60 seconds?

HARRIS: If that, sir.

ROBERTS: Well, it would be an act of pure folly to risk lives

rescuing a printing press.

ROBERTS: So no sensible commanding officer could

possibly sanction it, is that clear?

HARRIS: Very clear, sir.

ROBERTS: Good luck, Sergeant.

DODD: Why do they call it Hellfire Corner, Sarnt?

HARRIS: Why do you think, Dodd?

SMITH: Dodd doesn't think.

BARNES: Oh shut up, Smithy.

HENDERSON: Before Fritz shuts you up for good.

SMITH: This bloody thing weighs a ton.

HARRIS: Yeah, well if you drop it you're putting up with

hellfire from me, now run you bugger.

♪♪♪

PEARSON: Ah well. So that is a hand jigger.

ROBERTS: Hm yes, pardon my French.

God bless this printer and all the jokes who fail in her.

HARRIS: Ey, sir! Careful of the printer.

PEARSON: Careful of the champagne more like.

You mustn't waste this stuff there's a war on.

ROBERTS: Is there? I had no idea.

better make sure the Germans don't get hold of it.

ROBERTS: Too slow.

PEARSON: There we go.

How on earth did you get hold of this?

ROBERTS: Well I had a bit of luck at cards with some of the

brass hats billeted at the chateau.

As it turned out, magnificent cellar.

ROBERTS: To the hand jigger.

[♪♪♪/cheering]

ROBERTS: Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the latest venue in

our grand tour of Flanders.

ROBERTS:The Neuve Eglise Hippodrome,

where our doors are always open.

ROBERTS: Tonight we are honored to present a show to die for.

ROBERTS: The Grand new revue "Over The Top"..

ROBERTS: Positively the greatest spectacular

performance ever staged.

And topping the bill, it's musical merriment from our very

sapper songbirds, Trench and Foot,

with their delightful ditty 'Minor Worries'.

HENDERSON AND BARNES: If the Hun lets off some gas - never mind.

If the hun attacks in mass - never mind.

HENDERSON AND BARNES: If your dugout's blown to bits

Or the C.O.' s throwing fits

Or a crump your rum jar hits, never mind.

Oh, never mind.

HENDERSON AND BARNES: If your trench is mud knee-high never

mind, You can't find a spot that's high never mind..

HENDERSON: Oh, never mind.

BARNES AND HENDERSON: If a sniper has you set,

through dents in your parapet And your troubles

fiercer get never mind.

Oh, never mind.

BARNES AND HENDERSON: If machine guns

join the muddle, never mind.

Though you're lying in a puddle, never mind.

BARNES: Oh Never Mind!

BARNES AND HENDERSON: If the duckboard barks your shin.

And the barbed wire rips your skin.

'tis reward for all your sin.

Never mind. Oh never mind.

[cheering]

VOICE: Gas, Gas, Gas!

[♪♪♪/coughing]

[♪♪♪/coughing]

ROBERTS: Looks good Jack.

Harris and his devil's have done a fine job.

[coughing]

ROBERTS: It's nothing to worry about.

The quacks say I'll be right as rain and back

on the front line in no time.

PEARSON: Are you sure?

ROBERTS: Thank you. I'm one of the lucky one's.

I'm still here.

PEARSON: Well you were lucky.

Apparently Fritz has developed a new type of stink bomb.

PEARSON: Makes you wretch so you have to take off your gas mask

and then the chlorine kills you.

ROBERTS: Fiendish.

[coughing]

ROBERTS: Excuse me.

[coughing]

ROBERTS: What about Henderson?

I'm very sorry.

PEARSON: Well, the good news is we still have plenty

of material coming in from our distinguished contributors.

ROBERTS: Please tell me it isn't all poetry.

PEARSON: Fine. It isn't all poetry.

That's a lie. It is all poetry.

ROBERTS: Damn and blast.

Alert the medical orderlies Jack.

There's been a serious outbreak of poet-itus.

PEARSON: Subalterns are being seen with notebook in one hand,

a bomb in the other, absently walking near the wire in deep

communion with the muse.

ROBERTS: It's probably because Spring is in the air.

PEARSON: The picture of little lambs gamboling among the

whizz-bangs is so beautiful and romantic.

ROBERTS: I've had enough verse. Doctor!

ROBERTS: I demand an injection of prose.

PEARSON: What we do have is, a lot of letters to the editor.

PEARSON: There's a chap here wants to know why we don't write

more about the war?

ROBERTS: I rather thought we did?

PEARSON: No the 'wider' war.

The 'big picture' etcetera.

ROBERTS: Oh well we can't write about the 'wider war' because we

have no idea what's going on.

We're just fighting in it.

PEARSON: Well it's lucky we have illustrious war correspondents

like William Beech-Thomas to keep us informed.

ROBERTS: Teach Bomas? That idiot.

Are you trying to make me feel worse?

PEARSON: He's highly respected because he always manages to

write from the 'thick of the action'.

ROBERTS: It's funny how we've never actually

seen him though isn't it?

PEARSON: Now Fred, you're being cynical.

PEARSON: He must know what he's talking about.

PEARSON: He's in The Daily Mail.

♪♪♪

PEARSON: I am here, in no-man's land,

where all hell has broken loose.

PEARSON: The air is thick with bullets and shells

but I don't mind that.

And now I'm climbing up a conveniently dangling rope into

an observation balloon.

I'm now right above the battle and looking down on the gallant

charge of the, hmm, Umpshires.

PEARSON: Yes. The, [pauses]

brave men of the 13th Umpshire regiment.

PEARSON: Charging straight at the elite Prussian guard;

who are all surrendering.

Yes, they are shouting "Kamerad" and putting up their hands.

PEARSON: Same again, please.

I am now over the German battle lines where I can tell you,

with complete confidence that the cavalry are laying down a

barrage of shells.

PEARSON: Whilst the submarines have advanced into the wood.

This has been me, William Teach Bomas,

writing exclusively from the middle of the bottle.

PEARSON: Sorry, 'Battle'.

ROBERTS: Stop it, Jack. You're hurting me.

NURSE: Shhh, would you two please behave!

There are very sick men here, this is not

the palace of varieties.

ROBERTS: No, no, the girls here are much prettier.

PEARSON: Splendid Harris. That's much better.

PEARSON: You can be very pleased with that.

HARRIS: Thank you, sir.

PEARSON: Ah, what is it, Barnes?

BARNES: Are you still taking submissions, sir?

PEARSON: We are as long as there is no poetry.

The editor has decided he is sick of rhyme.

The paper cannot live by poems alone.

BARNES: Oh.

PEARSON: What have you got for me?

BARNES: Nothing, sir.

PEARSON: Show me.

PEARSON: "To My Chum".

Sounds suspiciously like a poem to me, Barnes.

BARNES: It's about Henderson, sir.

PEARSON: Ah. Well I'm sure we can make an

exception in that case.

BARNES: No more we'll share the same old barn.

The same old dug-out, same old yarn.

BARNES: No more a tin of bully share.

Nor split our rum by a star-shell's glare.

BARNES: So long old lad.

What times we've had, both good and bad.

We've shared what shelter could be had.

BARNER: The same crump-hole when the whizz- bangs shrieked.

The same old billet that always leaked.

BARNES: And now - you've "stopped one".

BARNES: We'd weathered the storms two winters long.

BARNES: We'd managed to grin when all went wrong.

Because together we'd fought and fed.

BARNES: Our hearts were light.

BARNES: but now - you're dead. And I am mateless.

[explosions]

[explosions]

ROBERTS: Missed, bad luck. Not artillery by any chance?

ROBERTS: Sir.

MITFORD: Good to see you, Fred.

Fully recovered?

ROBERTS: Fighting fit, sir.

MITFORD: Ready to be as 'offensive' as possible?

MITFORD: Ah excellent.

Ah, so now it's the Kemmel Times?

ROBERTS: Well they do keep moving us around sir.

Now we have seemed to become Infantry.

MITFORD: Modern warfare is about flexiblity Fred.

Take the calvary, now they are riding tanks.

Whatever next. Anyway you'll be glad to hear you'll have a

change of scenery, your days's in the Salient are over.

ROBERTS: I'll miss it, sir.

Unlike the Boche artillery which has made rather a mess of it.

ROBERTS: I'm not altogether keen on their

idea of landscape gardening.

MITFORD: I think you'll prefer your next post.

PEARSON: Ah!

ROBERTS: Frere Jacques!

PEARSON: Bonjour. How was leave?

ROBERTS: Well Amiens really is most agreeable.

ROBERTS: Top-notch cathedral.

Which, sadly, I didn't have time to visit.

Here, fromage.

PEARSON: Oh. Merci.

ROBERTS: Fromage Bleu.

PEARSON: Oh, merci buckets.

ROBERTS: But Madame Fifi assures me it's one of the finest

examples of Gothic Architecture in Northern France.

PEARSON: And Madame Fifi is?

ROBERTS: Absolutely charming.

ROBERTS: Runs a delightful little club where if you buy a

bottle of champagne the girls, very kindly,

agree to sit on your knee.

PEARSON: Oh.

ROBERTS: You really must go there Jack.

In fact everyone must go there.

ROBERTS: I'm giving all rank's one day's leave in Amiens.

ROBERTS: And that's an order!

PEARSON: It's a bit far isn't it?

ROBERTS: Well it won't be..

ROBERTS: ..we're on the move again.

PEARSON: Really? Where to?

ROBERTS: Oh you'll love it.

Apparently it's very pretty indeed.

PEARSON: Oh capital, what's it called?

ROBERTS: The Somme.

[♪♪♪/marching]

♪♪♪

PEARSON: Zero minus three.

ROBERTS: I'm sorry Jack this issue's a bit thin.

Not even sure we'll make the deadline.

[explosion]

PEARSON: Well we have had other calls on our time.

ROBERTS: Perhaps we should wait and bring it out

after the grand show.

[explosion]

PEARSON: No. I think sooner is better than later.

ROBERTS: A harpsichord of hate.. ROBERTS: ..performed to an

audience of terrified teutons.

PEARSON: I rather like that.

ROBERTS: Yes?

ROBERTS: I must remember it if I ever get out of this.

Rum ration.

PEARSON: Rum ration, Sergeant.

It's time to give the boys a tot.

HARRIS: Sir.

[distant gunfire/explosions]

SMITH: Dodd's too young. I'll have his.

HARRIS: We don't want you incapable Smith.

BARNES: How would you tell Sarnt?

SMITH: Any chance of seconds?

HARRIS: No, it's bad for your health.

[explosion]

PEARSON: Swine.

Can't even let a man have a drink in peace.

DODD: S'cuse me for asking sir but there's rumours going round.

Is this the big push?

ROBERTS: I'm afraid such information is hush-hush Dodd.

Who told you that?

DODD: Germans, sir.

They've been shouting out across no-man's land.

ROBERTS: Yes well, perhaps it isn't the best kept military

secret in the history of the British military.

[explosion]

PEARSON: Zero minus one.

ROBERTS: Alright men.

Just wanted to say..

ROBERTS: Whatever happens.

You know you can rely on the old division to give

a good account of itself.

SMITH: Even Dodd, sir?

ROBERTS: Especially Dodd.

ROBERTS: So, here's to all you lads.

ROBERTS: The game's started. So keep the ball rolling.

And remember the only good Hun is a dead Hun.

[cheering]

PEARSON: No jokes?

ROBERTS: A bit short of jokes.

There was a young girl of the Somme.

Who sat on a number 5 bomb.

PEARSON: She thought was a dud 'un.

But it went of sudden.

ROBERTS: Her exit she made with aplomb.

[laughter]

[yelling/explosions/gunfire]

[yelling/explosions/gunfire]

♪♪♪

HOWFIELD: Did you know it's still going on?

MITFORD: The War? Yes, apparently it is.

HOWFIELD: No, this mutinous magazine.

MITFORD: They promised to stop producing it, erm,

when the war is over.

HOWFIELD: Just listen to this. "Realizing that men must laugh.

Some wise man devised the staff".

Is that supposed to be funny?

MITFORD: Well it's funnier than what I'm reading.

HOWFIELD: It's a subversive attack

on the entire high command. It continues..

HOWFIELD: "Let them lead the simple life far

from all our vulgar strife."

HOWFIELD: My God, that's us they're talking about.

HOWFIELD: "..lest their relatives might grieve.

Often, often give them leave."

HOWFIELD: "Decorations too, galore.

What on earth could man wish more?"

HOWFIELD: We cannot allow this scurrilous

insubordination to unpunished.

MITFORD: "And yet, alas, as goes the rumour.

The staff all lack a sense of humour".

HOWFIELD: Utter rubbish.

MITFORD: It's not all rude rhymes.

In fact, er, they've put in a rather helpful

glossary of military terms.

HOWFIELD: Really?

MITFORD: Hmm. "'Duds', there are two kinds.."

MITFORD: "A shell, on impact, failing to explode

is called a 'dud'.

These are unhappily less plentiful than

the other kind of 'dud'.

HOWFIELD: Go on.

MITFORD: "The kind that draws a large salary and explodes for no

reason far behind the fighting area."

HOWFIELD: The battlefield is not a place for humour!

MITFORD: Humour, my dear Howfield,

is what separates civilization from incivility..

MITFORD: ..us from the Boche.

While Roberts and his merry men are busy writing poems poking

fun at us brass hats.

The German's equivalent literary contribution is a

'Hymn of Hate'.

MITFORD: Have you heard it?

HOWFIELD: 'course I've heard it.

MITFORD: It has all the subtlety of a dawn barrage

from Big Bertha.

HOWFIELD: What the Germans sing or don't sing is irrelevant.

HOWFIELD: We have to maintain discipline in our army or the

result is defeatism and anarchy.

I still say something should be done about Captain Roberts.

MITFORD: Oh? Something has been done.

He's been awarded the Military Cross for Gallantry.

♪♪♪

MITFORD: Captain F.J. Roberts,

12th Sherwood Foresters, 24th Division.

For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty in the battle

of the Somme on August 12th 1916.

MITFORD: Captain Roberts showed outstanding leadership under

fire as Company Commander.

Throughout he behaved most gallantly.

ROBERTS: If you're waking call me early,

call me early, Sergeant Dear.

For I'm very, very weary, and my warrant's come I hear.

It is Blighty for a spell, my old troubles are all packed.

So keep the war a' going Sarnt, it's all yours 'til I'm back.

ROBERTS: Maître D? Ma..Matre D?

ROBERTS: Oh I .. I was saying Pearson.

Pearson's priceless and Harris is an ace with the inkies.

And you'd be amazed at the sort of stuff that

comes in from the chaps.

The spoofs of Kipling and Sherlock Holmes and..

the Rubiyat of Omar Whatsit.

And limericks and jokes from all sorts of unlikely..

KATE: Slow down Fred, I'm not going anywhere.

ROBERTS: But did I tell you about the poet,

Gilbert Frankau contributing?

Now there's someone who's actually famous,

now he's working for us.

KATE: You did mention it once or twice.

ROBERTS: There's a very promising writer called Sherrif

who's good at little dramatic squibs.

ROBERTS: And, oh, one of the men has started

carving drawings on woodblocks.

So we're almost up there with the Illustrated London news.

KATE: You make it all sound such fun?

ROBERTS: It would be if the infernal general staff didn't

keep insisting on us fighting all the time.

Oh Sommelier?

ROBERTS: Sorry could we have another bottle of the '97?

KATE: Darling, can we afford all this?

ROBERTS: Of course we can't.

ROBERTS: Not on a Captain's pay.

But as luck will have it I ran into a General on the boat home

and I won a hand or two at cards.

ROBERTS: I do hope he's better at strategy

than he is at Bridge.

KATE: Same old Fred.

FRED : Well not quite.

ROBERTS: It's the quiet.

It's keeping me awake.

KATE: What's it really like?

ROBERTS: You know what the basis for this war is? Mud.

And sticking through the mud at various places you

can see pieces of towns.

And out there are the trenches.

One set for our men, one for the Boche.

With thick wire fences in front of them.

And time passes slowly.

So, by way of amusement, one side will try to get in the

other's trench and bring back a man.

And the score is one-nil for the night.

May seem a bit slow, taking the enemy one by one,

when there are millions more out there.

It all helps to pass the time.

'til Christmas when the war's going to end.

KATE: Is it?

ROBERTS: Oh yes. We just don't know which Christmas.

KATE: We are winning?

ROBERTS: I'm not sure anyone knows.

ROBERTS: I fought in a battle which was an epic of futility.

No one could even speculate what the battle

was supposed to achieve.

In fact there was never the slightest chance

of achieving anything at all.

Apart from the flower of British manhood being hurled to a

squalid death.

KATE: This isn't like you Fred.

ROBERTS: I'm sorry. Most of us have been cured

of any illusion we may have had

about the pomp and glory of war,

and now know it as the vilest

disaster that can befall mankind.

ROBERTS: War is nothing more than wallowing in a dirty ditch.

KATE: Are you going back?

ROBERTS: Of course.

[♪♪♪/marching]

ROBERTS: If you can live on bully and a biscuit.

And thank your stars that you've a tot of rum.

ROBERTS: Dodge whizz-bangs with a grin.

ROBERTS: And as you risk it, talk glibly

of the pretty way they hum.

ROBERTS: If you can crawl through wire

and crump-holes reeking.

ROBERTS: With feet of liquid mud and keep your head turned always

to the place which you are seeking.

ROBERTS: Through dread of crying you will laugh instead.

ROBERTS: If you can grin, at last, when handing over.

ROBERTS: And finish well, what you have well begun.

ROBERTS: And think a muddy ditch a bed of clover.

You will be a soldier one day then, my son.

[♪♪♪/marching]

PEARSON: Attention halt!

HARRIS: Give us a cigarette Dodd.

PEARSON: We.. ..Are..we must be here.

Because this, here, is over there.

ROBERTS: Hmm.

DODD: Where are we, sir?

PEARSON: If I'm not mistaken.

PEARSON: We're back at Wipers.

DODD: Are you sure, sir?

PEARSON: Pretty sure.

ROBERTS: We've come a long way in the last 18 months,

haven't we?

PEARSON: I'd say approximately 30 yards.

ROBERTS: Find out what the hell Monsieur thinks he's up to,

would you Jack?

PEARSON: Monsieur? Bonjour. Qu'est ce vous faites?

ROBERTS: Sergeant?

HARRIS: Sir?

ROBERTS: Make sure the printer's come in one piece.

I thought the GS wagon we put it on looked pretty ropey.

HARRIS: Sir.

ROBERTS: Thank you.

PEARSON: I don't think you're going to believe this.

ROBERTS: Try me.

PEARSON: He's with the Michelin guide.

PEARSON: They're preparing a tourist handbook

for the battlefields.

ROBERTS: Oh, so this is..this is going to be

a holiday destination?

PEARSON: Apparently so.

We should consider ourselves fortunate we're among the first

to have seen the sights.

ROBERTS: Yes.

Did you ask him to recommend any top class restaurants

in the vicinity?

PEARSON: This is beyond parody. You couldn't make it up.

ROBERTS: Right. Come on men. Forward march.

ROBERTS: Onwards.

ROBERTS: They'll be putting us out of a job soon.

Shall we go and see if the old editorial den is still standing?

PEARSON: It'll be like old times.

ROBERTS: Yes. Very old times.

Back when there were no buildings at all.

ROBERTS: Oh, tell me Sergeant how many E's in Wenceslas?

HARRIS: As many of the little blighters as I can find sir.

Which, at the moment, is none.

ROBERTS: Very well.

ROBERTS: Always though The Good King' was

over-encumbered with E's.

HARRIS: We're also short of paper, sir.

ROBERTS: We.. We've got a bumper Christmas issue to produce.

PEARSON: I'm sure the readers will understand if the issue's

less than the advertised 20 pages.

We've dropped the pen in favour of the sword and gone to

liberate some French villages.

ROBERTS: No we promised our readers 20 pages,

and 20 pages they shall have.

HARRIS: Well that's all well and good, sir,

but that doesn't get around our problem.

HARRIS: Napoo paper.

ROBERTS: If I can find something funny to say about another

Christmas on the front line.

ROBERTS: Then I'm sure you can find some paper

in Ypres, Sergeant.

HARRIS: I'll do my best sir.

ROBERTS: Thank you.

ROBERTS: I had a profitable hand of Brag with Bobbing Bobby.

PEARSON: If this issue comes out at all it'll be a miracle.

ROBERTS: A miracle at Christmas.

ROBERTS: This is the story of a soldier, Alfred Higgins,

or number 249921 Private Higgins A.

as he was officially known.

ROBERTS: It was Christmas morning and

Alfred was holding the line. All was peace and good will.

ROBERTS: The Gas Gongs were chiming out their message of joy

to all mankind and the merry bark of the pipsqueak,

aided by the staccato cough of the Howitzer combined to

reassure Alfred that all was well with the world.

ROBERTS: Alfred began to doze.

When at last his sergeant came in sight.

HARRIS: Higgins. ROBERTS: Said the Sergeant.

HARRIS: Have you been drinking rum?

HARRIS: No sergeant. Honestly Sarnt.

ROBERTS: Said Higgins. HARRIS: Well then.

ROBERTS: Said the Sergeant.

HARRIS: You best have some of mine.

ROBERTS: Alfred was treated for severe shock.

ROBERTS: And never went to the front line again.

ROBERTS: A happy Christmas and new year to all!

ROBERTS: And may next Christmas, the whole damn business over.

PEARSON: Bravo Fred.

PEARSON: A festive tale to gladden the heart.

It's given me an idea.

Permission to go into the pub business?

ROBERTS: Permission granted.

What on earth are you talking about?

PEARSON: Alright. Merci. Au demain.

Demain deux fois, deux fois encore.

ROBERTS: Very good.

PEARSON: Welcome to the Forresters Arms.

ROBERTS: Very impressive.

PEARSON: Well something had to be done.

The ambulances can't keep up with the casualties and get the

wounded back to base quick enough so..

PEARSON: ..this is a sort of first aid post.

ROBERTS: Or, rather, thirst aid post?

ROBERTS: I'm terribly sorry.

PEARSON: That's dreadful.

PEARSON: Well done lads.

PEARSON: There we are. One franc.

SOLDIER: I've no money, sir.

PEARSON: Oh dear, well then I shall have to insist on giving

it to you for free.

SOLDIER: Cheers sir.

HOWFIELD: What the bloody hell is going on here?

You're meant to be a soldier not a bloody publican.

PEARSON: Yes, sir, I was just..

HOWFIELD: I want it closed down immediately.

CHAPLAIN: I'm afraid that's not possible.

HOWFIELD: What?

CHAPLAIN: The Forrester's Arms is providing

a vital service to these men.

CHAPLAIN: And following a petition from the divisional

Chaplaincies the Forrester's Arms has been authorized to

continue its essential work.

HOWFIELD: On whose authority? General Mitford's?

Field Marshall Haig's?

CHAPLAIN: Higher than that.

HOWFIELD: You damned devil dodgers are going

to undermine the whole war.

ROBERTS: May I add my own note of caution..

ROBERTS: Captain Pearson?

PEARSON: Sir?

ROBERTS: I hope this new venture, however admirable,

will not get in the way of your duties.

ROBERTS: May I remind you.. ROBERTS: ..that you are,

first and foremost, assistant editor of the Wipers Times.

PEARSON: Yes, sir.

ROBERTS: The General Staff are under severe pressure from the

good ladies of the temperance society.

PEARSON: Why?

ROBERTS: From their unique vantage point on the home front

they attribute all of the army's reverses in the field to the

effects of alcohol.

They seem to be under the impression that the trenches are

awash with the demon drink.

PEARSON: I can't imagine why they would think that.

ROBERTS: Rum business, war.

ROBERTS: But high command has given the ladies their blessing.

Whether we like it or not we will all have to acknowledge

that alcohol is a serious issue.

PEARSON: So what do you propose?

ROBERTS: Well, obviously, we'll have to do our bit.

ROBERTS: And place a suitable advertisement

in responsible trench newspaper.

ROBERTS: Do you have a drink habit?

Do you have a drink habit?

ROBERTS: Do you have a drink habit?

ROBERTS: If not, I can help you acquire one in three days.

If you, or anyone you know, does not drink alcohol regularly they

need my new book 'Confessions of an alcohol slave'.

I can cure anyone. Take this once sad wretch.

PEARSON: I was a rabid teetotaler for the first fifteen

years of my life but thanks to Dr. Supitup and his miracle cure

I now never go to bed sober.

ROBERTS: All cases are treated in absolute confidence.

This incredible three-step guide to

being a bonafide toper is yours now.

ROBERTS: Just write to me Dr. Supitup at Have-another

Mansions, in Bedfordshire.

ROBERTS: You wanted to see me sir?

MITFORD: Come in Fred

ROBERTS: If it's about ragging the temperance society?

MITFORD: No, no, no it isn't..though I have had

complaints that your version of the war consists of nothing but

wine, women and song.

ROBERTS: Well there has been the odd visit to Madame Fifi's.

MITFORD: I'd keep quiet about that if I were you, Fred.

MITFORD: Madame Fifi's is closed.

ROBERTS: Napoo Madame Fifi? Quelle damage.

MITFORD: Sadly she had to leave her cosy club one dawn for an

appointment with the firing squad.

ROBERTS: Madame Fifi was a spy?

MITFORD: Apparently she was extracting information from

excitable young officers.

MITFORD: And passing it straight to Berlin.

ROBERTS: My conscience is clear sir.

I can't have given anything away about the war because

I don't know anything.

ROBERTS: Like all British officers on the front line,

I'm kept completely in the dark.

MITFORD: I am amazed that, after all this time,

you can find anything funny.

ROBERTS: Oh I don't know sir, you would have to concede that

it is somewhat comical that we have spent years..

ROBERTS: Fighting our way through Flanders.

ROBERTS: Only to end up right back where we started.

MITFORD: Then I think you'll find the news of your next

deployment hilarious.

ROBERTS: I can hardly wait, sir.

MITFORD: 24th division is being sent back to The Somme.

ROBERTS: And why not, sir?

ROBERTS: It was such a success last time,

why not do it all again?

MITFORD: That's the spirit. War's waking up.

Second's out of the ring. Last round coming up.

PEARSON: Zero minus one.

ROBERTS: Right lads. You all know the drill by now.

What's that you're drinking Barnes?

BARNES: Water, sir.

ROBERTS: Don't you know the water is not for drinking?

ROBERTS: It's for putting in the radiators of the staff cars.

PEARSON: Don't do anything risky, never mind the water.

Try some whisky.

BARNES: Sir.

ROBERTS: Ready men!

ROBERTS: Forward the Foresters.

ROBERTS: Give the Fritzes hell!

[yelling/explosions]

[♪♪♪/yelling]

ROBERTS: Stop. Men.

ROBERTS: Stop!

ROBERTS: Hold your fire!

HARRIS: Sir?

ROBERTS: They're already dead.

ROBERTS: It's the gas. They're own gas.

ROBERTS: The wind must have changed.

PEARSON: I thought they were a bit..passive.

ROBERTS: What, you mean they didn't put up much of a fight?

PEARSON: Not very sporting is it?

PEARSON: Signing off before the show has even started.

ROBERTS: Spoils the whole fun of war.

[laughter]

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: There was a little Hun and a war, he tried his hand.

And while the Hun was winning war was fine, you understand.

ROBERTS: When the others hit him back he shouted in alarm.

ROBERTS: "A little drop of peace wouldn't do me any harm"

♪♪♪

♪♪♪

[marching]

ROBERTS: There was a young man of Avesnes..

PEARSON: Who took a stroll down a long shady lanes..

ROBERTS: He trod on a dud..

PEARSON: Half-hidden in mud..

ROBERTS: He never will do it agains.

PEARSON: Well up to our usual terrible standard.

DODD: Sir, we've heard a rumour that

the Germans have surrendered.

PEARSON: Well if that is the case corporal.

PEARSON: Someone really ought to tell their artillery.

ROBERTS: Yes and if Fritz really is waving the white flag,

he might have the decency to stop firing at us.

DODD: So you don't think it's true then, sir?

ROBERTS: All I'm prepared to say is that the tide is apparently

turned and perhaps, at last, we can all look

forward to better times.

PEARSON: Better Times.

It's a good name for a title.

♪♪♪

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Letter to the editor.

PEARSON: Is it genuine?

ROBERTS: Absolutely, I just genuinely made it up.

ROBERTS: "Dear sir.."

ROBERTS: I hear that when it's all over,

the people who joined up early are going

to be de-mobilized first.

This is very unfair since they were obviously much more eager

to be in the army than those of us who joined

up reluctantly later.

ROBERTS: So surely we should go home sooner.

ROBERTS: Yours, Lance Corporal A. Slacker.

PEARSON: Very convincing argument.

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Are you sure about this title Better Times?

PEARSON: Apparently we only need one more big effort and we can

completely bust the Hun.

ROBERTS: You seem to be suffering from optimism.

PEARSON: Oh talking of which.

PEARSON: Harris thinks we can go to a weekly edition.

PEARSON: Despite brother Boche's best efforts..

PEARSON: ..to prevent all forms of journalism.

By filling the office with shrapnel yesterday.

ROBERTS: Why weekly? Why not a daily?

PEARSON: Now who's suffering from optimism?

ROBERTS: We're selling like hot cakes.

PEARSON: Is that good?

I can't remember what a hot cake tastes like.

ROBERTS: We're even selling out on the home front.

PEARSON: It would take a lot more copy.

ROBERTS: Well surely there's enough jokers out there and more

than enough poets to fill the space.

[explosion]

HARRIS: It's a signal for you, sir.

ROBERTS: Thank you Harris.

ROBERTS: My god!

PEARSON: What is it?

ROBERTS: It's all over.

HARRIS: What, sir, just like that?

ROBERTS: Official radio from Paris. 6:01 am.

November the 11th 1918.

ROBERTS: Marshal Foch to Commander in Chief.

Hostilities will be stopped along entire front

at 11 o'clock.

PEARSON: Fini la guerre.

ROBERTS: Looks like it.

PEARSON: NapooBoche.

ROBERTS: So it would seem.

It's an armistice.

HARRIS: No big show then, no final push to Berlin?

[explosion]

HARRIS: Shall I, er, tell them men then sir?

[explosion]

ROBERTS: Thank you Sergeant.

And tell them to keep their bloody heads down

until 11 o'clock.

HARRIS: Sir!

ROBERTS: So Jack.

ROBERTS: Our swords are going to be turned into ploughshares.

PEARSON: Mmm.

ROBERTS: The order of the bowler hat for us.

ROBERTS: We're going home.

PEARSON: Shouldn't we be celebrating?

ROBERTS: I suppose we should.

♪♪♪

HARRIS: Okay lads, well. Just received a wire.

♪♪♪

♪♪♪

HOWFIELD: Now that we've actually won the war I hope that

your scribbler friends in the Wipers Times will treat the

staff with a little more respect.

MITFORD: Yes indeed. In fact they're recommending

the staff be awarded more medals.

HOWFIELD: About time.

MITFORD: They want special recognition for all those

martyrs who've had to endure wearying years of soft

jobs back at the base..

MITFORD: And have missed out on all the fun on the front line.

[♪♪♪/cheering]

ROBERTS: And, welcome back to the European theatre

for our grande finale.

ROBERTS: Sadly Keiser Bill Hohenzollern will not be

appearing as he has an alternative engagement singing

'my old Dutch' in Holland.

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Also not on the bill are the famous crumps.

ROBERTS: And..The little pipsqueaks.

ROBERTS:And.. Duddy whizz bang!

♪♪♪

ROBERTS: Yes! The show mustn't go on.

You've seen the horrors of war.

Now prepare for the horrors of peace.

ROBERTS: You were an army of occupation.

Now you're going to be an army of no occupation.

ROBERTS: So without further ado.

Let us have one last encore from Tommy Atkins with a delightfully

delicious ditty - costumes kindly provided by

Messrs.' D.Mob And Co - the celebrated

tailors of Cheap Street.

♪♪♪

ALL: So scrap the mortar mine and shell.

The job's completely done and well.

We're done with mud and rats and stench.

ALL: Hope never again to see a trench.

ROBERTS: That'll do lads we don't want to end the

show on a low note.

ALL: No more we'll hear machine guns rattle.

The minny's din, the roar of battle.

The long lost years have been well worth.

ALL: If once again we've peace on earth.

ROBERTS: That's more like it now come on everybody.

Let's see that de-mobilization smile.

ALL: Farewell to you, to dear old Wipers.

ALL: For better times have come to pass..

ALL: And if they ask us back to Flanders..

ALL: We'll all say shove it up your.

ROBERTS: A little decorum gentlemen, please!

You are not in the army now!

[♪♪♪/cheering]

EDITOR: Hmm.

EDITOR: It's all very amusing.

EDITOR: But I'm not sure that it is journalism.

Nowadays ours is a very modern high pressure business.

ROBERTS: Have you ever sat in a trench,

in the middle of a battle, and corrected page proofs?

ROBERTS: You should try it.

EDITOR: I'm sure.

But that was quite a long time ago.

EDITOR: And your CV is a bit sketchy on

your more recent career.

ROBERTS: I went back to prospecting.

Spent some time in Africa. Looking for gold.

Had some ups, had some downs.

ROBERTS : Came home, and thought I'd have a last shot at

something which people were once kind enough

to say that I was good at.

ROBERTS: I thought if old Beech-Thomas can get a job then

surely I'd be in with a chance.

EDITOR: He's 'sir' William Beech-Thomas and he's one of our

most distinguished correspondents.

ROBERTS: Of course. I'm sorry.

Only he was a bit of a joke in the war.

EDITOR: Yes. We're not really interested in jokes.

Modern writers tell the truth about the war.

ROBERTS: Then perhaps I should write you a harrowing article

about how all was not quiet on the Western Front,

and how with shells raining down upon us,

and the chilly November air being rent with fury,

the sub-editor and I drank a case of whiskey and shot the

padre for cowardice.

And said goodbye to all that.

EDITOR: Well that's more like it.

ROBERTS: No.

This was my truth.

ROBERTS: I'm sorry for wasting your time.

EDITOR: No, no, no. don't be so hasty.

EDITOR: Here's the thing.

EDITOR: I like you Mr. Roberts. I really do.

EDITOR: And it's clear you're clever with words.

EDITOR: So I think I might have something for you here.

EDITOR: How about you start work on the er..

EDITOR: ..the crossword?

ROBERTS: You want me to compile the crossword?

EDITOR: Er no, 'help' compile the crossword.

EDITOR: See how things go.

EDITOR: Better not rush things.

ROBERTS: It's not exactly the front line

of the circulation war, is it?

EDITOR: A chap in your position can't expect too much.

EDITOR: What do you think?

ROBERTS: I think..

[explosion]

♪♪♪

EDITOR: Er you haven't given me an answer Mr. Roberts?

EDITOR: Mr. Roberts?

EDITOR: Do you want this job or not? Mr. Roberts?

♪♪♪