All language subtitles for 1947 - Edward Dmytryk - So well remembered

In may, 1945,

while the war on the continent
staggered to a close,

England waited.

In Lancashire,
a dismal rain was falling,

streaming off the quiet hills

and wetting down the slag heaps
in the smoky valleys.

In the mill town of Browdley,
as elsewhere,

the people heard
Hitler's death rattle

in the throat of the wireless,

listened to each
violent convulsion.

They would have preferred

one clean, dramatic
note of triumph,

but they took what they got
and made the best of it,

as they had been doing
for 6 years

and for years before that.

They came out to meet
the new world,

glass in hand.

It arrived in Browdley,
unofficially,

at midnight, the 7th of may.

There was no single
announcement,

no real confirmation.

A force that could
no longer be contained

simply broke its bonds.

Come on, hurry up!

We've got the blues
on the run

roll the barrel

for the gang's all here

roll out the barrel

we'll have a barrel
of fun

roll out the barrel

we've got the blues
on the run

zing, boom, tararrel

ring out a song
of good cheer

now's the time
to roll the barrel

for the gang's all here

roll out the barrel

we'll have a barrel
of fun...

in time,

all men felt a solemn
and vaguely disturbing note

creep under
the first exhilaration.

So much had passed,
so much was now to come.

But to no man in Browdley

was the knowledge
of peace and victory

a more complicated sensation

than it was for George Boswell,
mayor and editor.

A stranger would have thought
him insensitive to the occasion,

for the preceding hours
had held the full meaning

of a quarter-century
of George Boswell's life

into violent focus.

The present crowded around him.

He walked through it
into his past and remembered.

He remembered a day
in april 1919.

These points
will come up in order

during the library committee's
report.

Councilor Oldstock?

Item 4, page 10.

The committee opened
and voted to carry forward

its discussion of the
applicants for the post

of assistant librarian
of Browdley public library.

In order: Elizabeth
Richardson, Eleanor Wwheatley...

and Olivia Channing.

Channing?!

We are considering the
report of the library committee.

This strong feeling
about the Channing family

is not in order,

unless it can be contained
in a suitable resolution.

Mr. Mayor-

Councilor Morris.

I move
the full council

instruct
the library committee

to remove from consideration
the name of Olivia Channing.

On what grounds?

May I ask
if our radical

and somewhat tardy
young councilor

is familiar with the record
of John Channing?

Aye, I'm familiar
with that.

Then he's aware
that Channing

is a distasteful name
in Browdley.

And he will not deny
that in the reorganization

of the Channing mills
in 1903,

John Channing's behavior
was reprehensible.

I deny that.

Mr. Mayor?

Councilor Boswell.

John Channing's behavior
was not reprehensible,

if that means
what I think it does.

It was criminal.

John Channing
was a crook.

There's no better word,
however long,

for a man
who would gamble

with the life savings of
a trusting, simple people.

Hear, hear.

But I fail to see

what that has to do with
the business at hand.

I may be young,
I may even be radical.

But I fail to see
what the fact

that John Channing spent nearly
20 years of his life in jail

has to do
with the qualifications

of his daughter,
Olivia Channing,

for giving out books
at the library.

Unless, of course,

you consider it
our duty here

to punish young women
for choosing to be born

into families with
more money than morals.

Mr. Mayor, I take it that
councilor Boswell has come here

prepared to urge the
appointment of miss Channing.

I've come to see
justice done,

if possible.

Hear, hear.

I'm sure we respect
the councilor for that.

I'm sure we realize
how natural it is at times

for a young man
to confuse justice

with a beautiful
woman's smile.

Miss Channing is considered
beautiful, I've heard.

Aye, I've heard that,

but I have no
firsthand knowledge.

My romantic association
with her

has been confined
to some 30 paces

as she crossed
the marketplace.

From that distance, all I can
tell you is that she was carrying

what might have been
a package of fish.

Although she has what
in my limited experience

I would call
"a trim figure."

But as a member of
the library committee,

I am mostly interested
in the fact

that she seems better qualified
than the other candidates.

Her schooling has
included several years

in France, Switzerland,
and America

following two years
at Rodean, Brighton.

Rodean,
Rodean needn't and how.

It's time we got up off
our knees before them

and did something
about our own schooling!

Aye, it's a trim figure, all right.

George.

Aye?

You can't say
the sewage committee's

polluted with
private interests.

Why not? It's true.

Aye,
but it's slander.

And it'll still land
us in the clink.

I'm resigned to that.

After two years
mucking about,

one would think you were
ready for some honest work.

Put it right,
please, spivey.

You'll end up throwing
it away, you know that.

Why don't you write things
down the way you talk?

I try to, Annie,
but it's not easy.

Was it a good
meeting?

Aye, lively one,
anyway.

You'll need something
more substantial than paper.

Spivey,
whose dog's this?

He's mine.
His name's bBecky.

Oh.

I'm Olivia Channing.

Oh, I forgot.

You only know me
by my trim figure.

You know, it's not kind
to hold a politician up

for the things he says in
the heat of a public debate.

You didn't mean it,
then?

No, I didn't.
Yes, I did mean it!

I felt I ought
to come and thank you

for coming to my defense
this afternoon.

In spite of what you said
about my father,

it was kind of you.

It wasn't meant
as kindness entirely,

just fairness.

Oh?

I've never believed
this business

about children paying for
the sins of their fathers.

What's done is done.

Anyway, it's a bit
early to thank me.

The committee's
got to vote yet.

I think I'll win now.

I hope you do.

Come, Becky.

Here, come on, chap.

Here. Do you
have far to go?

Stoneclough.

Stoneclough?

Mm-hmm.

You still live there?

It's my home.
Where else would I live?

I don't know.
I just thought that...

it's a bit of a hill
for a bike, isn't it?

I haven't one.
I like to walk, anyway.

Good-bye.

Oh.

Is there anything
the matter?

If I can just
rest a minute.

I must have taken
all this too seriously.

Yes, yes, of course.

Annie.

No-

Annie!

No, please-

would you fetch
another cup please?

I'm quite all right.

Another cup of tea,
Annie, please.

Miss Channing
feels a bit faint.

Quickly, Annie!

Could I have some
hot milk instead?

A cup of hot milk,
then, Annie.

Just hot milk?

Aye.

Nobody wants
just hot milk.

Apparently
miss Channing does.

I shall put
a little tea in it.

Now, we'll have to find
a way to take you home.

You can't walk 3 miles.

I don't want
to be a bother.

It's no bother at all. Now you
just sit there and have your milk.

I'll see if I can't borrow
Dr. Whiteside's car.

I'll be right back.

Now don't you take
any nonsense from Annie.

Good-bye.

It was very kind
of you.

Don't bother
to get out.

Excuse me, sir.

That frequently happens

when Whiteside brings
the car up the hill.

It's something to do with
the climb, whatever it is.

Watson will have it right
in a moment.

I'm John Channing,
Olivia's father.

I'll make some tea while
you're waiting on watson.

Olivia should have
asked you in, of course.

She's a strange girl
sometimes.

Whiteside visits me
occasionally.

Not professionally,
of course,

since he's been
medical officer,

though he's promised
to find me someone.

Whiteside's about
the extent of it.

You probably know
I haven't been

overwhelmed
with visitors

since I came
home from prison.

Aye, I know that.

I suppose he's really
a good doctor.

I suppose so.

Who, Whiteside?

Yes, he's a good doctor,
all right.

You have something to do
with the town yourself?

I'm on the council.

And I manage to meddle into
affairs by way of "the guardian."

Then you're Boswell,

a friend
of Whiteside's.

Aye, more or less.

I've been grateful for
Whiteside's company.

After nearly 20 years of
one kind of loneliness,

it's difficult getting
used to a new kind.

Won't you sit down?

Thanks.

Not that Olivia doesn't
take good care of me.

We go for long walks
together.

One day, a piece of paper
blew across the path.

I thought at first
it was a white dog.

I discovered it wasn't
when it hit against my leg.

But Olivia bought me
a white dog.

Quite a nice one.

She calls him Becky.
He's about somewhere.

20 years ago,

I used to enjoy
the view from here,

Stoneclough towering
above the town,

and the mill stacks looking
like spires in the haze.

I used to think
sometimes

that they looked like the
cathedrals in amiens and cologne.

I told Olivia about that
the other day, and she said,

"perhaps they are
cathedrals

if you believe in them
enough."

She thinks
I'm still resting,

that I'll get back
to work soon

and reopen the mills.

No. The hardest thing
in the world, I suppose,

is to understand how that you
were once so vitally interested

in something that no
longer interests you at all.

Well, if the car's ready,
I'd best be on my way.

Must you?

I have some work to do.
I'm very grateful.

Good-bye,
Mr. Channing.

Mr. Boswell.

The people of Browdley
hate me, I know...

for some reason.

Tell me honestly,
do you hate me?

I hate the misery
you caused.

I hate all the poverty
and unhappiness,

the rows on rows
of filthy sordid houses.

Rows of houses.

I sometimes thought

that if I'd been sent
to prison for the houses,

it would have been
a just sentence.

You'll come back again,
won't you?

You'll visit us
as often as you can?

Aye, if you like.

Good-bye, sir.

Good-bye.

It was
Olivia's very strangeness

that fascinated George at first.

The sudden shifts of mood,

the swift darting
from girl-child to woman,

the ease with which she moved
in and out of present reality,

slipping quickly into the past,

leaving him briefly
for some world of her own.

On the clean, lovely moors,
he fell in love with her

as naturally
as he had come to hate

the ugly poverty
of the town below.

Twist that dragon's tail, Georgie.

Twist his tail.

Hello, Dick.

Or could I be wrong?

Is that a blistering
editorial you're composing?

Or a tender
argument of love?

No, I was-

come, come, Georgie,
you can't be that blind.

You're a good reporter.

You have your ear
on the town's heart.

You must know
you're a local scandal.

With her dying breath,

Mrs. Phelsby asked me
how the romance was coming.

Mrs. Phelsby?

Mrs. Phelsby,
god rest her soul.

One less unfortunate for you
to rescue from these slums.

Oh, well, if she hadn't
died of filthy food,

you'd have run her over
on your bicycle.

How's your protege
doing at the library?

Hmm?

I only ask you to consider
the people's defender

amorously linked with
a female sign of oppression.

It's a curious alliance.

Aye, I suppose
it is that.

Well, i...

you didn't tell me you were
so friendly with John Channing.

I didn't think that you'd approve
of my trying to keep him alive.

I'm not sure
I approve myself.

Well, run along now,
don't keep her waiting.

Bye, Dick.

This corrupt,
this unscrupulous man,

this swindler,

snatched it all from me
in less than 30 seconds!

Aye, and I'm not
the only one!

Mr. Horncastle,
what's happened?

I voted for you
the last time.

Aye, and I voted for you
the time before that,

but you'll get
no more of my votes.

Mr. Teesdale,
what's happened?

I'm afraid we shall have to do
something about miss Channing.

Miss Channing?
What's she done?

I can't go through
another row of this sort.

My heart won't stand it.

For heaven's sake,
what sort of a row?

Well? What is it?

I don't know
how it started,

but she was at the
handing-out desk as usual.

By the time I got there,

old Horncastle
was calling her names!

And shouting about her
father having ruined him!

She said, "I'm sorry,
Mr. Horncastle,

"but perhaps you'd best
write your filthy sentiments

in the book the way
the others do."

What book?

The account
of the Channing trial.

I didn't know
it had been marked.

That's against the rules,
of course.

At any rate, what she
said set him off again.

And the first thing
I knew,

she had picked up
quite a large book

and squashed it
squarely in his face.

She hit him?

She squashed him!

I'm afraid
she'll have to go.

Where is she now?

I can't say,

and I can't say
that I care.

She fled into the shelves,
weeping.

Oh, Livia.

Livia.

Come along, now.

You can't let
Horncastle upset you.

He's an old man and he's
always been unreasonable.

Besides, he's got
very bad indigestion.

You know,
I did tell you

you've got to expect
things like this.

Did you really push
a book in his face?

Well, it is a bit upsetting
close to, isn't it, eh?

Anyway, it's not
worth crying about.

I'm not
crying about that.

What?

I'm not
crying about that.

Then what on earth
are you crying about?

Stoneclough.

Stoneclough?

What's there about
Stoneclough to make you cry?

We're losing it.

We haven't any money left.
The bank's taking it.

I just found out
this morning.

I thought I could do this
job and pay them something.

Out of 15 shillings
a week?

Come along now. Come and
have a cup of Annie's tea, eh?

I'll grab Dick's car
and take you home.

Come on.

He must be
out on a call.

You're getting soaked.

Why don't we go back
to my place and dry off?

I want to go home.

But don't you think-

let's walk.

It's letting up
a bit anyway.

Well, it's a pity there
aren't more houses up here,

I might persuade
the town to run a bus.

After all, I am chairman

of the transport
committee, you know.

This bridge
is really mine.

My grandfather gave it to
me one day as my castle.

He said he'd give me
Stoneclough, too,

but he never did.

He said it would be mine and I
could live in it with 100 servants.

Oh, George,
what do people do?

What is there to do

when something they've always
wanted and loved very much

is taken away from them,

when they turn
in every direction

and there's
no comfort anywhere?

Olivia,
would you marry me?

I'm not much good
at this sort of thing.

I suppose I'm better
at meetings,

but I've meant to say it
for a long time.

What I mean is,
I'm not just saying it

because of what's
happened

or because
I'm sorry for you.

Olivia, I love you.

It's slacked off a bit.
We'd best go on.

George,
let me go on alone.

No-

I want to see it again.

Alone.

The decisions
Olivia made that night

were based partly
on turbulent instinct,

partly on private logic.

The course of action she chose

erupted both from the strange
lonely life she had led

and from her unrelenting dream
of the life she must lead.

George had no way
of understanding any of this,

for our knowledge of people
is never certain,

never wholly complete.

He could not have been
expected to recognize this instant

when his future hung
momentarily in space

and was then decided,
for good or bad.

Dick! Dick!
I'm going down with you!

Dick!

Dick! You all right?

Yes, I'm all right.

Channing?

Yes.

Never mind, Georgie.

You can't get him out.

He's dead anyway.

We'll call for help
from the house.

Give me a hand up,
will you?

Let me know
when the police arrive.

There's a bottle
in that cabinet.

I've got to tell Olivia.

I know, George. I know.

I begged him not to go.

Oh, George!

Livia, Livia.

I begged him not to.

I watched the road.

When the car didn't come
along the lower half, I knew.

I knew what had happened.

I can't stay here
any longer!

I can't stay here alone!
Take me away!

Take me away
with you! Now!

Aye. Aye,
of course I will.

Oh, George, I love you.

I do love you,

not just because
I need you now.

I love you.

If you still
want to marry me,

I would like to.

Darling,
I'll look after you now.

Now, you just get
a few things together

and I'll-
I'll take you home.

It's all right if
I take Becky, isn't it?

Annie won't mind?

No, it's all right.
Annie won't mind.

I'll fetch Becky, then.

George was unaware of

the stubborn image
that haunted Whiteside,

the image of a road
half washed away.

For in George's memory,
those swift days were all one.

The terror and emptiness of
violent death

were mixed with
the frightening beauty

and the hope of love.

The same bells
tolled for both,

and they were married
in St. Luke's

by the same rector
who buried John Channing.

They spent their honeymoon
in London.

They saw the tower, westminster
abbey, and hampstead heath.

With some difficulty, George
arranged to have tea on the terrace

of the house of commons.

The shape of the life
they were to have together

began to emerge out of
the misty, tangled pattern.

Mr. Wetherall,

I'm afraid I am
not quite clear

about Mr. Mangin.

I've-I've heard of him,
of course, but-

you've been editing
that paper of yours

about 3 years now,
haven't you, Boswell?

Aye, almost.

Well, I've been sitting
in commons for Browdley

a bit longer than that,

so if I may
patronize you...

all right.

Well, then, I'd say
you're keeping your nose

too close to your
paving stones.

You'll never understand
men like Mangin that way.

How many cotton mills do
you make it in Browdley

since Channing closed?

3. that's right,
isn't it?

Aye, but now you've got me doing
that "aye" business.

You should cultivate
a straightforward "yes"

now you're married into
an important family,

but look carefully
and you'll see that

Mangin has a finger in
all 3 of those mills.

I've never seen his name
among the directors.

I'm sure you haven't,

but if you look at
a list of

the directors of
the holding company

that hold the holding
company that holds the mills,

you will find it.

I didn't much want
to bring him,

but I ran into him
and there was no way out.

He seemed to want
to meet your wife.

I knew your father
quite well, you know.

Oh? If there's ever anything I can do.

Boswell, your wife
is charming.

I congratulate you.

Nothing's more important
to a man in public affairs.

I hope Olivia hasn't
given the impression that-

Browdley's small,
of course,

and it doesn't really
give George

the opportunity
he deserves.

But we'll soon be having
a house in London, too,

so that he'll be able to
do more important things.

I imagine parliament must
keep you frightfully busy.

I mean, all the meetings
and having to vote.

Well, it's a bit
of a nuisance sometimes.

Every session also, your
husband starts deviling me

to vote for one crackpot
housing scheme or other.

And regularly, once a year,

some fool introduces a bill

to revise the anglican
prayer book.

Well, I have to put a stop
to that.

It sounds
very exciting.

How did you acquire this
feeling for housing?

I was born at
number 24 mill street.

Mill street?

The drainage canal was
right at our doorstep

when it wasn't
in the parlor.

Have you ever sailed
a toy boat in garbage?

Well, I can't say that
I have.

Well, I have,

as half the boys in
Browdley are doing now.

I just want them to
have better than I had.

I see. Oh, I had a very good family.

We were just
too close together.

Mr. Mangin, do you come
out to Browdley often?

I'm afraid not.

Well, will I be
seeing you again?

I really hope so.

Then come up again
soon, both of you.

As a matter of fact,
why not make it friday?

Oh, that's a bit
- friday, then.

Good. For dinner,
if you can.

That's very kind
of you.

Thanks, Mangin.

Good-bye.

Good-bye, Wetherall.

Well, I'm afraid
we've taken up

a great deal of
your time.

At any rate, it appears
my vote is required

to settle some
momentous issue.

I'm sorry I can't
see you out.

Good-bye.
Good-bye.

Good-bye, Wetherall.

Good-bye.
Thanks very much.

George, I'm afraid
you shocked him.

Huh?

Oh, Mangin.

Oh, I don't see why.

Where on earth
did you get that idea

about a house in London?

I don't know.
I just said it.

Was it wrong?

No, well, it certainly
startled me.

It would be nice,
though, wouldn't it?

Yes, I suppose so,

but a bit impractical
for the Boswells.

George, do you know
what's the matter with you?

You're too modest.

There's no reason
why you can't be

as important as
Mr. Wetherall

or even Mr. Mangin.

You deserve to be. You
deserve so many things,

and I'm going to
help you to get them.

I know one thing.

I've got a much more
beautiful wife

than I deserve.

George, do you
like children?

Aye, of course I like children. Why?

Then I'd better get that
back garden cleaned up

so Martin will have a
place to be in the sun.

Martin?

Who's Martin?

Well, if we're
going to have children,

I'd like a boy first,

and if we have a boy, I'd
like to call him Martin.

That was my
grandfather's name.

Come on, now.
Into your mouth with it.

There's no nourishment,

messing it about
like that.

Come on, then.
Go on.

Don't mind about
the dog.

Eat up your porridge.
Here, here, in your mouth.

Come on, this way.

Come on. Never mind about the doggie.

I'm sure she'll be all
right. That's right.

Be a good boy
while we're gone, Martin.

We'll be back sunday
on the 2:00, Annie.

This should do it,
Spivey.

If you'll lock it up,
I'll help finish

the first run
when I get back.

So you're going to
London again.

Aye.

Hello, Dick.

Well, Georgie,

it's been a long time,
hasn't it?

Aye, it has.

I've come to renew an
old acquaintance, Georgie.

I wanted to talk
to you.

Well, uh... as a matter
of fact, Dick, we're just,

uh, off to catch
a train.

What is it?

I seem to have
forgotten.

Drink's an evil
habit, Georgie.

I'm happy to see you've
never succumbed to it.

Fogs the brain.

It's the dire bubonic
plague of the soul.

Whatever you do,
treat the soul tenderly.

George.

Aye.
George-

Mrs. Boswell,
I've just been

instructing your
illustrious husband

in the evils of drink.

George,
we'll be late.

I shall be brief, then.

Dick.
I shall quickly outline

the etiology of alcoholism,

how the disease begins.

First, the weight of
the world

settles on you.

A heavy depression like-
like the soft underbelly

of an elephant.

In the distance,
you see a way out-

a promising little exit,
small and round,

about the right size
to fit a cork.

Dick. It's cozy inside the bottle.

The light is
soft and green.

What happens, gradually,
is that the alcohol

breaks down the fatty tissue
between the cells

and they run together
like raspberry jam.

Dr. Whiteside-

one cell that had character

blends into another
that hasn't.

It happens so slowly, you
don't even know it's going on,

and you like it
while it's happening.

That's the worst of it.

You love it,

it's the exhilarating
process of decay.

Annie, I believe
Dr. Whiteside

is finished his
illustrated lecture.

Will you show him
to the door?

No, I will not.
He can find it himself.

Annie. He's taken out 6 sets
of tonsils drunker than that

without me
showing him anything.

He should manage
to find a door or two.

Annie, Annie.

Tread lightly on the glory and integrity

of the medical
profession.

Come on, Dick.

I'm a bit swift,
Georgie.

Aye, I can see that.

Oh, I remember
what it was

I wanted to talk
to you about, though.

I wanted to talk to you
about my report on the slums.

We're in for trouble
there, Georgie.

Aren't you
coming, George?

Aye. Get yourself
to bed now, Dickie.

You're in no condition to
talk about anything. Come on.

The next is some
chopin nonsense.

Let's put down something to
cushion the blow, shall we?

Mrs. Boswell.

Yes?

May I present
Mr. Winslow.

He's been dying to meet you all evening.

How do you do,
Mrs. Boswell?

How do you do?

If he bores you,
try and remember

that he's very rich.

George.
Aye.

These houses we own
in Browdley,

these workers' places.

As a housing expert, what do
you honestly think of them?

They're not truly as bad as your medical
officer report makes out, are they?

He's a bit, uh,
erratic, isn't he?

Who? Whiteside?

Well, I-I must say
he's inclined

to the gloomy view
sometimes,

and quite recently,
he has been

going pretty hard at
the, um...

hmm.

I'm interested, naturally,
in the health of the workers.

It's just good business,
but it's not good business

to condemn a whole section
of the town unnecessarily

and lose that rent...

I can't really believe
there's any

serious danger of epidemic
from overcrowding.

Well, there is a very
definite problem in-

I go into
these things very-

yes, I understand that,

and in normal times,
I'm quite sure I could

talk the director into
sponsoring a housing trust,

as your councilor suggests,

despite the cost
to us.

Well...

but the cotton market's
very low, as you know.

Oh, and incidentally,

we had an impartial
observer look into the thing.

This is his report.

It, uh, paints a somewhat
brighter picture

than Whiteside's,
by the way.

Read it over for me,
will you,

and give me
your reactions.

Aye, thanks, l-
no hurry.

At your leisure.

I've been wondering if
you were quite happy

with the way
things are going.

That sounds like
a riddle.

Am I supposed to guess
what you mean?

You know I'm
stepping down.

Yes.

And you know what
Mangin's getting at.

Yes.

Well? Well, I'm delighted, naturally.

I've felt for some time

that George should be
in parliament.

If he stands
and if he wins,

I shall be
very proud.

Isn't that the proper
attitude for a wife?

It would be
if the husband

were under
the proper sponsorship.

You've done quite well
under the same sponsorship.

I sometimes wonder.

But it's a mistake.
I only want to say that.

I'm sure it's a mistake,

and it's too soon.

I like your husband, but
the lad's got a lot to learn.

George.

How do you like
to stand for parliament,

for Browdley?

There's no point in
beating about the bush.

I've been watching you
for a whole year now,

and I'm prepared
to back you.

I like you.

You've got a-
a feeling for people.

Well, seat's there.

Like to make a try
for it?

Aye. As a matter of fact, I
- I think I would.

Agreed, then. We'll
get going right away.

George.

I say, George.
Hmm?

Do you like
making speeches?

Aye. As a matter of
fact, I do.

Well, first of all,

I'm no politician.

A politician is a man

who asks you to vote for him

because he knows how to
introduce the member for wigan

to the member for liverpool

without spilling tea on
the minister of labor.

But, uh, I've
better reasons than that.

I believe,
in spite of everything,

that some sort of equality of
opportunity is possible.

I can't get along with
people who say,

"the poor are always with us,"

because it's not
necessarily true.

The poor certainly aren't
with my opponent.

They're against him.

And the people who say,
"we can't change human nature"

don't really mean that.

What they really mean
to say is that

they think that
human nature is bad.

This, of course, is a very
natural conclusion,

considering how much time
they spend in their own company.

Incidentally, I do not
like to hear

my opponent attacked

just because he happened to make

a great deal of money
during the war.

Let's be fair to the man.

He couldn't help it.

It wasn't his brains
that did it.

He didn't even have to try
to do it.

The money just came rolling in

because we hadn't got the laws
or the taxes to stop it.

Yeah.

So don't, uh, so don't blame
my unfortunate opponent.

That doesn't sound like
a Mangin man.

Mangin doesn't care
how a man sounds

so long as the people
vote for him,

so long as he votes
Mangin's way when he gets in.

...to make a better life
for all of us,

in what we can do
to see to it

that our children have a still
better life than that.

Yeah.

We must work, work constantly,

and if, uh, if a canal
is polluted with sewage,

well, we've got to find out

where that sewage comes from

and we've got to
put a stop to it,

no matter the cost
to any individual, and, uh...

I thought it was just an
ordinary cold he'd taken.

I- I put his stocking
'round his neck.

Keep him warm.

Keep the other children out
of this room, if possible.

I'll be back.

All of us have
a right to be protected

from such-such license,

whether-whether in
the nature of-

of bad fish, polluted water,
or-or-or leaky roofs.

And we must particularly protect
our children,

with whom we are certainly
not in competition

from such license.

Children must not
continue to be

the victims of our
greed and carelessness.

Profits, we want high profits,

but not profits at the expense
of their health.

Yeah.

A few more like that
during the next fortnight,

and we have nothing
to worry about.

George.
George, you were marvelous.

You go on. I have
something to attend to.

But, George, Mr.
Mangin's coming to dinner.

You go on, Olivia.

All right.

Now, let's start again.

Will the honorable
Mr. Wayne...

don't you think
you've had enough?

...again with Mr. Wayne.

You made your promise
the last time...

fumbling, glorious, dobbling,

straw-headed council of
the town of greater Browdley

is in session to contemplate
its navel.

One for each of them.

Give me the mayor.

I insist we vote ourselves
into a stupor

by the correct and traditional
parliamentary procedure.

Dick.

Councilor Boswell
has the floor.

Listen to him.

Did you hear
what he said?

Aye, that's what
he said.

The poor children
must not continue

to be the victims of our
greed and our carelessness.

Did you hear that,
gentlemen?

Dick, is it true-
profits we want, aye,

but not profits at the expense
of their health.

Has it started?
Is it diphtheria?

The councilor
has a question.

He wants to know if
it's diphtheria.

What would you say
to this, councilman?

Diphtheria, or just a slight
case of procrastination?

Get the mayor. Tell him to
call an emergency meeting.

I'll try
and sober him up.

All right, then,
you fool.

Get me some coffee.

May I remind
councilor Boswell

that the report he
himself read in this room

not 4 months ago,

indicated that the
possibility of an epidemic was-

that report from
Mangin was wrong.

Our medical officer's report
was more correct,

as we now see.

Aren't we being
quick to assume

this is an epidemic?

30 or so cases doesn't
justify getting a-

...when a lighted match is
thrown into a dry wheat field,

it's not too quick to assume
there'll be a fire.

Come, come,
Georgie, let's.

If there's talk of epidemic
in town, it'll scare the-

with 6 children
to a room on mill street

and no real sanitation,
we can't stop it.

But a lot of it's

we're wasting time.

I'd like to hear what the
medical officer suggests.

I suggest you stop jabbering

like a monkey house
on visitor's day

and open a free clinic
immediately.

Then grab every little beggar
you can lay your hands on,

with our without
his parents' consent.

Take a swab of his throat.

If he's got it,
pump him full of serum.

If not, start immunizing him,

as you should have been
doing all this time.

Where would you get
all this serum-

I don't know where
you get anything,

or whether you get it
or you don't.

Gentlemen,
in my opinion,

it's time we began
to take this seriously.

We can't afford
any further procrastination-

tell Mrs. Morgan,
this is no time

to be having
anything.

All right,
all right.

Tell her to wait
10 minutes.

Do you think you're sober
enough to drive my car?

Aye.
Come on, then.

She'll need
some help.

Is there a resolution

to the effect that
the town of Browdley

will undertake a free
and public clinic

for the purpose of
immunization of

the entire child population?

Mrs. Morgan
will be that happy.

She wanted a girl
so much.

She's going to
call her Julie.

Julie it is, then,

but she'll not be called
by Mrs. Morgan, I'm afraid.

Mrs. Morgan's dead.

All right, all right. We've
got one, we've lost one.

It's a fair average.
Get Mr. Morgan.

Get out of here.

You'll be having the child
infected before she's born.

Well, where's morgan?
I got work to do.

Mr. Morgan died
6 months ago

of his wounds
from the war.

Then get somebody else.

She was
all alone.

I helped her
all I could.

For goodness sake.

Dr. Whiteside,
can you come at once?

I think richard's
taken ill, too.

All right.
Give me that shawl.

You got any stomach left,
saving the world?

Aye, a bit, anyway.

Then take Julie
to my home.

Tell Sarah
- you're not going to keep her, are you?

Tell Sarah that this is a
clinical experiment of mine-

see if it's possible
to get a child

past the age of 10
in this town.

Then come back
and give me a hand.

George.

Aye.

Mr. Mangin went back
to London on the 10:30.

Aye.

I don't really see how
this sort of behavior's

intended to help
your career.

I went to a great
deal of trouble

arranging dinner
tonight, and Mr. Mangin-

diphtheria's started.

It looks like
an epidemic.

I've been
helping Whiteside.

We've got
a clinic started up.

Mr. Froy should be down
from London in the morning.

Take Martin in for an
injection as soon as you can.

Isn't it dangerous?

It's dangerous not to.

Couldn't I take him
to a private doctor?

No, Olivia.
Take him to the clinic.

We've got to set
an example.

George, aren't you
coming to bed?

We need some new signs
and posters right away.

I may as well
get on with it.

Let me get you
a cup of tea.

Uh, no, thank you
very much.

George.

This letter of
resignation.

You're not really
serious about it, are you?

You know what it means if you
withdraw from the election now.

It means you're finished
in parliament for good.

Darling,
you're just tired.

You've worked very
hard. You can't mean it.

I read your man's
report to the committee.

They were
impressed by it.

They thought it was more
accurate than Whiteside's report.

So did i.

I voted against
condemning your houses.

I didn't think there
could be an epidemic,

but I turned out
to be wrong.

Do you have any idea
how hard I've worked

to bring things
to this point?

Just so you could casually
wave aside your future

like a second
cup of tea?

And do you realize
that it's also

my future and Martin's?

I know, Olivia, I know.

It's-it's too bad,

but there's nothing
really lost.

I've made a mistake.
I know that.

A terrible mistake, but
I've learned something.

Of what's important
and what isn't.

Isn't it time
we decided that together?

Isn't it time we decided
what we're trying to do?

But-you know what
I'm trying to do.

To rebuild mill street
and make it beautiful.

Aye, and all that means.

I'm trying to dig out
all the rottenness I hate.

That you alone hate?

George, have you any idea how I hate it?

How I've watched that
rottenness from Stoneclough.

A filthy sludge eating at the
fringes of the green hills,

and I hate it still,

because now it threatens
you and me and Martin.

I want to save him
from it.

No more than I do.
I want to save

all the children
in Browdley from it.

And then their
children's children.

Yes.

What will you do
in 25 years

when these fine new houses
you're going to build for them

have turned into
slums again?

Build more houses.
Better houses.

George, when we have
what we need

for our son
and for ourselves,

there'll be time enough
for doing whatever you want.

Olivia, in the last
2 or 3 weeks,

we've helped save nearly
100 children or more,

and all we've lost is
one seat in parliament.

All? All, George?

With that we've lost
a house in London,

a decent life for Martin,

decent schooling,
respect.

Or don't you
want that for him?

Aye, of course
I want it,

but I couldn't enjoy
giving it to him

if it cost the life of
another child.

Could you?

Yes, and why not?

Yes, if it cost the lives
of 20 other children.

500 other children,
because they're not mine,

because I didn't carry
them under my heart.

I'm not responsible for their
stupidity or their filth.

Who is, then? Who's more
responsible than the Channings?

Who brought these people, my
people, here from the south,

and herded them into these
wretched houses? Aye, the Channings,

and with the blood and
rent they squeezed from 'em,

you've got what decent
schooling you ever had

and what little respect.

Olivia, dear,
I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

We're both of us
very tired.

We neither of us quite meant
anything we said tonight.

We shouldn't, we-

we mustn't quarrel
like this.

I've only done
what I thought best.

It may not have been right, I
- I grant you that,

but it was the only
thing I could do.

Whatever I've done,
whatever I'll ever do,

will be for you.

And for Martin.

Good night, George.

Olivia.

Martin's ill, George.

How ill?

I'm not sure.

Well, thank heavens
it can't by diphtheria.

You did take him to
the clinic, didn't you?

Olivia, I was here
when you left with him.

I didn't take him,
George. I couldn't.

George blamed no one
for Martin's death.

It was a defeat at the hand
of his old enemy.

So, quite naturally,

he misjudged the lingering
shadow of death

he saw in Olivia's eyes.

He saw anger there
as well as grief.

But he related it to his own,

for he was still sure
of their love

as of a river that flows
for a time underground.

He waited for its return,

for time and tenderness
to do its work.

And in the meanwhile,
did his own.

The slums of Browdley crowded
his days and his dreams.

They even invaded his house.

I did the slum areas
in black

so we can change it
as we go along.

Aye, and there's
a long way to go, too.

Well, thanks very much.

It's very good. You can
find your way out, can't you?

Fine. Good night.

Good night.

I thought if you were
going to work late again,

you might like some coffee.

Aye, bless you.

I'm leaving you,
George.

What?

I'm leaving you.

Olivia!

No, George, don't.
Don't hammer at me.

Oh, you can if you like.
I don't mind.

I just can't stay
with you any longer.

I haven't been happy
since Martin died.

I know that, darling.
I haven't been either.

I counted so much on
Martin to make me happy.

You mean...

you weren't happy
before Martin came?

I don't think so.
Not really.

I didn't expect to be
at first.

I thought it would be
different in time.

At any rate, I know there's no
future for either of us here.

And I know you won't leave.
I don't think you could.

But I can.

There's nothing else to do.

But Livia...

we have a whole life
to live together.

Aye, I suppose I have
let you down all around.

George Boswell, the most
promising young man in Browdley.

Aye, that's what you
must have thought,

even though you didn't
know you were thinking it.

George Boswell would be able
to give you so much you wanted.

As a matter of fact, I
thought he would myself.

Oh, Livia,
this is ridic-

my mind's made up,
George.

I'm meeting some friends
at Mr. Mangin's in London.

They're going for
a holiday in switzerland,

and they've invited me
to go with them.

Switzerland?

Then...
why, but...

that's another
matter altogether.

You're friends and you're going
to spend a holiday with them.

Oh, but darling, what a
dramatic way of putting it.

You're leaving me.

Well, of course you are,
for as long as you like.

I'm glad you're going.
You need a holiday badly.

I'll miss you,
of course, but I'll-

I'll be happy knowing
you're having a good time.

You have some work
to do, haven't you?

Aye, I did have.

I won't disturb you, then.

Good night, George.

What is it, Annie?

I suppose you know it's
not been right for me

since you married,
but...

I stayed on because of
you and the little lad.

But now that
it's different-

and I'd rather you
didn't try to persuade me;

that'll only
make it harder-

I'd like to give notice.

As you like, Annie.

I was thinking
of going now,

if you'd pay my respects
to Mrs. Boswell tomorrow.

Mrs. Boswell is going
away tomorrow, Annie.

Going away?

Aye, she's going for a holiday
in switzerland with some friends.

She'll be leaving
in the morning.

She'll be coming back?

No, Annie.

She won't be coming back.

Then you'll need
looking after.

So maybe I'll
stay on for a bit,

if you don't mind.

As you like, Annie.

Hello, George.

Hi, Dick.

Come in, come in.

Thanks.

I was just out
for a stroll,

and thought I'd
drop in on you.

You sure it's
all right?

I mean, I didn't
get you up, did i?

No, no. Sarah's out
and I'm minding Julie.

I'll get you a cup
of tea if you'd like.

Thanks.

Wait, wait, wait.

How's mill street coming?

All right.

Here, do you know anything
about this sort of thing?

Hmm?

Uh, well, I've seen
it done, of course.

Come on, give me a hand.

The thing keeps
getting away from me.

Between the two of us,

we ought to be able to fake
some sort of arrangement.

Doesn't have to last
the rest of her life, anyway.

So, as Julie's
life was beginning,

the life George had hoped for
and planned came to an end.

He met his private
unhappiness head on,

overwhelming it
with public work.

Browdley added his marriage
to the ugly Channing legend,

and returned him to office
again and again

to continue his endless
impatient battle

against poverty and injustice.

Through it all, his mind
held tightly to Julie.

She was tangible evidence
of his belief in people,

his faith in the town
and in himself.

Her birthdays
were bright candles

stuck in the grey, uneventful
passage of his years.

Stoneclough rotted on the hill
as he matured,

slipping gently into
the interval of middle age.

He advanced from
councilor to alderman,

and the year the war began,
from alderman to mayor.

Julie, 20 years
ago today-

come, come. Anyone can see the
girl's quite a medical achievement,

and I'm sure she's
very grateful to you.

I love you both.

You know, I've often wondered,
why didn't you ever get married?

Oh, I know you're disagreeable,

but there must've been someone.

After all, George managed it,

shy as he is.

George, you sure you
won't change your mind?

No thanks, Dick. No.
I must be off.

I've got some work to do
before a meeting in the morning.

Good night.

Good night, Georgie.

Oh, George.

Hmm?

Oh.

Good night.

Good night, Julie.

What happened to Olivia?

He never mentions
her anymore.

No.

She's married again?

She was,

but her husband
died abroad.

Any children?

One.

What?

A boy, I think.

Good evening, George.

Mary!

That is the Channing
blower, isn't it?

Aye.

I'd know the pitch of
Channings in me grave.

George,
is it a mistake?

There's no warning.

No, no.
Evidently not.

Must be a rat stuck in the
works or something of that sort.

Somebody'll catch it
- one of those R.A.F. chaps or all that.

Annie tells me that you and that
quarrelsome guardian of yours

are coming over
for supper.

We'd like to.

I don't suppose you
have any influence

that could get us a bit
of sugar, have you?

I'll see what I can do.

Good-bye.

Hello?

What is this
medieval prejudice

you hold against
the medical profession?

Oh. Oh, it was?

I think it's
fine, as far as it goes.

Mm-hmm.

The only mistake I made
was giving you an education.

I see.
Well, all right.

Thanks very much.

...caused
by a lack of...

I can't see how you
wonderful, superior men

can take much pride
in the mess

you've got us
into up to now.

The blower
was a mistake.

The machinery was being
tested today when it went off.

The mills are being
bought back.

Who was that?

Masterson
from the bank.

Bought back?

Who bought them back?

To be bought back they'd
have to be bought back

by whoever
owned them before.

Olivia Channing.

Is she here
in Browdley?

She won't be a Channing
now, will she?

What was his name,
this man she married?

Winslow, I think.

And he left her enough money
to do this sort of thing?

Buying back mills?

Apparently he did.

She probably
planned it that way.

She doesn't sound very
nice from what I've heard.

Why did you marry her?

He was in love
with her. Why else?

Oh, I don't mean that.
That's too general.

I mean really why.

He married her because she was the
most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Because he felt
sorry for her.

Because she promised something
twice as exciting and worldly

as anything he had
ever known here in Browdley.

And because he didn't
have any choice

once she set out
to get him.

Aye, I suppose
that's about it.

How do you feel about
seeing her again?

I don't know.

You won't go
to see her?

No, I suppose not.

Well, will she
come here to see you?

Mr. George,

the sector warden
wants to know

if you'll take over
number 10 post

on shawgate tonight.

All right, Annie.

Tell him
I'll be along.

You stay here and
get your tea, Dick.

I'll walk down
with you.

I'm due back at
the hospital anyway.

Good night, Dick.

Good night, George.

I'll come home as soon
as I can get off.

Julie.

Oh, he doesn't mind.

Good night.

I'm sorry, George.

I didn't mean to be
rude or pry about Olivia.

Oh, you weren't.

I was just
interested.

It doesn't matter.

In fact, I think I like
being able to talk about it.

Have you thought
about her much?

Aye, dear.
I suppose I have,

whether I've always
realized it or not.

But, uh...
less lately.

Easy, now, lad!

You've had enough
drink here.

He's showing
a light there.

I know you will, but we
don't want any trouble here.

Now, be a good lad,
Channing, and off you go.

The name's Winslow
to you, sprog.

Half Channing,
and that half better

than any man
you've got.

One bomb, and-

all right, lad.
All right.

Let's get you home.

That's enough.
Get that light out.

Easy, Boswell.

So, here we
have Boswell.

And what does
milord mayor want?

I want that light out.
Pull the black out.

He wants
the light off.

The great caesar
with a tin hat

want the light off.

Come on-

well, I want him
out of my way.

George!

You all right,
George?

Aye.

This is a mess,
all right.

What'll we do
with him?

He's got a very nasty cut.

Help me get him
into the house.

You know who he is?

Yeah, I think I do.
Come on, give me a hand.

Cheer up, hero.
You'll live. Here.

Hold this.

Are you sure
you're all right?

I've got
a very hard head.

Why did you bring me here?

You were bleeding all
over the main street.

We didn't want it
mucked up.

Your name is
Winslow, isn't it?

Surname is Winslow.

Christian name, Charles.

Wouldn't be a bottle
in the house?

If there were, I'd slap
you across the ears with it.

George Boswell.

My mother lived here,
did she?

Aye.

That's very funny.

My mother lived here.

What's funny about it?

I don't really know.

But all right.

You've patched me up
and I feel terrible.

What do I do now?

You can do
anything you like.

But you'd do better
to rest here awhile.

Which way out, Mr. Mayor?

Julie, catch him up,
will you,

and see he gets home
all right?

What?

These streets are bad enough
knowing them all your life.

Run along.

Oh, hello.
Want a job?

Uh...

I'd like to talk
to you, sir.

Aye. Sit down.

I'd rather not.

I'm just awfully sorry
about last night.

I wanted you
to know that.

How do you feel?

Terrible.

Did Julie see you
home all right?

Why, yes, she did.

I don't quite know what
I thought I was doing.

The thing had built
up in me somehow,

and it had
to go off.

I heard your name and
I suddenly hated you.

I don't know what I
expected you to be like.

But at any rate, something
quite different, I suppose.

I'm sorry.

Oh, that's all right.

The Winslows have never
been very good at drinking.

Or perhaps I should
say too good at it.

You know my father drank
himself under the ground.

No, I didn't know that.

Well, anyway, I'm
in the tradition.

My best friend- he's Julie's
guardian, by the way, a doctor-

he went after the bottle
pretty hard for a time.

It turned out he was
fighting back that way

at a situation he didn't
quite know what to do about.

Well, the situation
cleared up.

And I don't have to
fetch him home drunk now

more than twice a week.

Well...

are you here for long?

I'm just starting
14 days' leave.

Oh, well, come back then.

Come for tea tomorrow.

I'll see if I can't
get Julie along.

All right, sir.
Tea time tomorrow.

Spivey, set this up,
will you?

Aye.

Once Olivia was
reinstalled at Stoneclough,

she was apparently content
to stay there,

in the old house,
brooding above the town,

remote from
its wartime problems.

Few people saw her.

She didn't come
to see George,

and he made no attempt
to see her.

But somehow, the town
felt her presence.

And when the ancient, creaking
machinery began to turn again,

something of the old Channing
tradition returned to Browdley.

The old thing's
a blinking booby trap.

We all know that.

A sausage
machine, more like.

There's one reason
Channing's was opened,

and we know that,
too.

To toast a couple of
buns while the fire's hot.

Money will be
made here.

None will be spent
if it can be helped.

It's one for the
ministry, that's all.

Yes, yes, conditions
are bad here.

We grant that.

But we need
the cotton stuff.

It's not easy.

Have you been
to the management?

Yeah, and a fat lot
that got us.

What did it get you?

A cheery old chap and come
again, lad, that's all.

Well, at least we can
get everyone together

and try and find out
what the answer is.

You know where our
answer is well enough.

Up at Stoneclough, high
and mighty, having tea.

There's a strike in the
wind unless I'm wrong.

Well, let's have
a look around.

Then I'll go up and
see what can be done.

Mr. Boswell, madam.

Thank you, Robert.

Well, George.

Hello, Olivia.

May I give you
some coffee?

Aye, thanks.

Sit down, won't you?

This was Martin's.

My grandfather's.

It went at the auction,
of course,

but I traced it to a dreadful
little shop in London,

dug it out,
brightened it up.

I bought it for
Charles, actually.

Or did you know
I have a grown son?

Aye. As a matter
of fact, we've met.

Oh?

You know, he's quite
fallen in love with it here.

And I want to do all
I can to have things

the way they were for him
before the war is over.

It can't last much
longer now, can it?

I hope not.

The same George,
as I knew you would be.

So wonderfully,
cautiously optimistic.

And you've done well,
haven't you.

I understand you've made some
progress with your housing scheme.

Aye, I did.

We've been at a standstill
since the war, of course.

But this is an official
visit, isn't it?

You said on the telephone you'd
like to talk about the mills.

Yes. I, um...

I agreed to discuss
these points with you.

I'm afraid I don't
really know much about it.

I never intended to do any of
the actual managing, of course.

That's for Charles
when he comes back.

In the meantime, I'm trying
not to meddle in the operation,

leaving things much
as they've always been.

That seems to be the
principal complaint.

Too much as they've
always been.

I should imagine they'd
think themselves lucky

considering they're
not really fighting

and Browdley's missed
all the raids so far.

They do.

It was good of you
to bring this, George.

I'll try and look it over.

Although I'm not at all sure
I'll understand it.

Olivia...

conditions at the mill
aren't good.

The machinery can't be
replaced now, of course,

but things can be made
cleaner and safer.

Unless they are, you'll
have a strike on your hands.

I've got the workers to
hold off until I talk to you,

but I promised them some sort
of an answer in the morning.

So you'd best
read that now.

Madam.

Yes, Robert?

The telephone, madam.
From Mulcaster.

Mulcaster!

Hello?

Yes.

Robert! Robert!

Yes, madam?

Is there enough petrol
for mulcaster?

I'm afraid not,
madam.

George.

It's Charles, George.

Can you drive me to the
hospital at mulcaster?

Aye. You better
get a coat.

Thank you.

I'm sorry,
Mrs. Winslow,

but the medical officer
has no further information.

He was shot up
over Germany.

He got back, but it
was a sticky landing.

May I see him now?

I'm sorry,
that's not possible.

May I speak to
someone in charge?

I am in charge.

May I speak to your
superior, please?

Please.

Olivia...

what is it
you people want?

Oh, yes,
a beautiful factory

with sunlight streaming
through the windows.

No, this is
not the time-

oh, surely you want
to talk about it now.

You promised them
my answer tomorrow.

And they're making
such a great sacrifice

consenting to work
10 hours a day.

Well, take them
my answer.

Tell them I feel
sorry for them

because their selfish
bodies are still whole.

Go on, tell them
how sorry I am.

But tell them I've looked
at real sacrifice.

I know what
a face looks like

with half the flesh
torn away

and half my own
heart with it.

Olivia, I...

I understand.

I'm more terribly
sorry than I can say.

But this-
this is no time

to discuss anything.

You'll see it
all differently.

I'll see nothing
differently

until every one
of your workers

can match what
Charles has given

and when they face
the loss I face.

Every family
in Browdley has

in one way or another
faced what you face.

Most of them have
faced it better.

Shall I drive
you home?

I'll wait for
the operation.

In the bleak, weighty
winter that followed,

George accepted the task
of finishing the war

as a personal responsibility.

He was mayor, editor, friend,

impatient of all delay,

a terrier at the heels
of inefficiency.

In the early spring,

in addition to all
his other work,

he became a self-appointed
lending library.

It gave him a natural
opportunity

to visit Charles for one thing,

and he enjoyed
the bus trip for another.

He smelled hope in
the fragrance of may

and was exhilarated.

Good morning, Max.

Hi, George.

Good morning, lads.

Good morning.

How are you getting on, eh?
All right?

Fine. Oh, you got some
color this morning.

Not surprising.

Now, what have
we got here?

Let's see now.

You can have any of
these except that one.

That's for Winslow.
Is he around?

He's probably
down by the river.

Go on,
take it.

Am I supposed
to drink this?

Not necessarily.

It's only water.

Just a ruse.

Was your mother
here this morning?

Yes.

Julie...

how would you
like to be

mistress of
Stoneclough?

I thought that
position was filled.

You could be, you know.

Could i?

Could anyone?

Well, if I'm to be
lord of the manor-

I thought we decided
against playing aristocracy.

We're not right for it.

What else am I
right for now?

Oh, a lot of things.

Joining a few
clubs perhaps...

ha.

You know,
I could become

quite a good
type clubman.

Old Winslow,

got knocked about
in the war,

sits in the third
chair from the bar-

that makes fewer steps
for the wine steward.

The last time he
spoke to anyone else

was 10 years ago.

Oh, no, no.

He's no good for
business of course.

Did have a go
at it once.

Uh, posed for
advertisements.

You know,
the handsome young man

who wears crisp collars

and smokes
expensive pipes.

Charles!

Oh, Charles.

Remember me?

I'm the girl who doesn't
really care what you do...

as long as you don't do
things like this to me.

I've only got
a certain amount

of strength
for fighting.

I'm no Florence Nightingale.

Sometimes I'm as frightened
of the future as you are.

I don't pretend to know
what's going to happen

or whether it's going
to be good or bad.

From what I've seen,

living is a pretty messy
business at the best.

But I hang onto this.

It would be a lot more
fun with you than alone,

or with anyone else.

There's only one thing I'm
going to be stubborn about:

No clubs.

Unless they admit women.

Julie!

I'm terribly sorry.

Don't let me
do that again.

Julie!

Hello, George.

I didn't know
you were here.

Oh, there's been less
work to do at Browdley.

I made arrangements
to try and come down

to help out a bit.

Oh. Is Charles about?

Why, yes!

As a matter of fact,
I just left him.

I think he's
sleeping.

Oh, well, I won't
disturb him then.

You might-you might
see he gets this book.

Will you?

How is he doing,
by the way?

All right.

Physically
all right, I mean.

And uh...
otherwise?

Oh, George!

There ought
to be a law

against women
like Olivia.

It takes 3 days
every time

to undo one
of her visits.

His face is really
quite all right.

He looks
different, yes,

but I don't know
how she does it.

She manages to imply
somehow that it isn't-

that it's so awful,

no one else in the world
could love him.

Why, you'd think she had
a private monopoly on love.

I thought at first
she was just foolish,

but she isn't.

She's foolish
like a snake.

She's wrapping
herself round him.

She's destroying him.
She's...

oh, I'm sorry.

I didn't mean
to blow up.

How's the mill?

Well, it's not
shut down.

That's the most
you can say.

We got a stalemate,
more or less.

Oh, I wish I knew
what to do.

He needs help
so badly.

He needs someone.

Aye.

And he's lucky it's you.

See that he gets
the book, Julie.

Keep your chin up.

Open up 48.

I could use one of
those things myself.

You're Julie morgan,
aren't you?

Yes.
I thought so.

I... I've just been
trying to decide.

Dr. Whiteside's
your foster father.

Yes.

You know
George then.

Yes.

That's quite a coincidence, isn't it?

Isn't what?

The whole thing.

You from Browdley,

a foster daughter
of my ex-husband's

closest friend here

looking after
my son.

It is a coincidence,
isn't it?

Is it?

Are you in love
with him?

Yes.

And he's in love
with you.

I think so.

And you want
to be married.

We've talked about it.

Have you wondered
how I'd feel?

Charles has.

I don't care.

Thank you.

I just wanted to
have it straight.

Charles, darling!

Hello, mother.

How are you?

All right.

The matron tells me

you've been to
the village.

Yes.
Was that wise?

I had permission.

Oh, darling, you-

what's wrong?!
This isn't a prison.

Wasn't it
tiring?

Yes, a little.

You should have
let me drive you.

It wasn't too bad,
was it?

You didn't mind
too much?

If people are going
to stare at my face,

they're going
to stare at it.

I might as well
get used to it.

I know, I know.

People can be so cruel,

and you want to
fight back at them.

But not yet.

You're not strong
enough to fight yet.

There'll be no need
to now, anyway.

I've pulled it off.

You're coming home
with me.

When?

Robert's waiting to help
with your things.

You don't have to
stay a minute longer.

Oh, it'll be
so wonderful,

and it'll be so
good for you-

just the two of us.

Oh, Charles,

we can walk together
and read

and talk by
the fire.

And you won't have
to see anyone-

no one to stare
or ask questions.

Charles,
what's wrong?

We planned all this

and now it's
really happened.

What's wrong? Tell me.

Nothing's wrong.

It's just that...

I- I didn't
think you'd be

able to arrange it,
I suppose.

I- I really didn't.

It's not usual.

But I managed it.

The doctors agreed
that all you need

is quiet and peace
in the right surroundings

to give you
confidence again.

This isn't good
for you here.

Stoneclough will
bring you back.

You'll be home-
home with me.

I can't go.

Charles,
what's happened?

Nothing's happened.
I just can't go.

No one will see you.

It's not that,
it's just that...

I'm-I'm used
to it here.

I'm used to it here.

I can't leave.
I can't!

Charles!

Charles,
darling!

It's all right,
nurse.

It's all right.

Oh, darling.

Darling.

Charles,
I understand.

Oh.

You're
all right now.

I'll get Robert to
help with your things.

...the United
States only.

The italian patriots say
they have executed Mussolini

and most of his fascist cabinet.

Here is the news.

This morning's only news
of total german surrender-

expected at any time now-

is a doenitz ceasefire
order to all u-boats,

and more swedish reports
that the germans in norway

will soon give up.

Today's weather...

of course, this
can go on forever.

What do you say?

I don't know.

Sounds over with.

Shall we say
it's over then?

Got a spot of
very fine brandy

put away for
the occasion.

Will you join me?

No, I'll wait for
the news and keep dry.

George?

Aye, as a matter
of fact,

I think I will.

It's pretty good
cognac, Georgie.

Very expensive.

Well, I doubt
it's more harmful

than a cheaper kind.

Good night, Vicar.
Good night.

Ah, here we are.

Are you sure that's
the right bottle, Dick?

Oh, I don't make
any mistakes

where this
is concerned.

Thanks.

Where's Julie?

Oh, not back from

the R.A.F. establishment, I suppose-

whatever it is.

Well, Georgie, this
is a great moment-

come, come now.

We've just been deciding
the war's over.

This is no time
to behave like this.

Julie, Julie, now,
what is it, darling?

Tell us. Tell us
what's happened.

She-she's taken him home.

She got him out
of the hospital.

How in the world
did she manage that?

I don't know!

He knew she wanted
him to come home,

but...

he promised me
he wouldn't

no matter what happened.

But when it came
down to it, he did!

He's too ill to
stand up against her.

He needs me.

Well, he'll have
you then, Julie.

Now, don't worry.

When I found out
he'd gone,

I rang up Stoneclough,

and they wouldn't even
let me speak to him.

I- I'll never get him
away from her now.

She's too strong.

Why, in another week and...
we'd have been married.

Another week and who'd
have been married?

I mean...

we'd even got a license.

I said another week and
who'd have been married?

Julie
and Charles.

Who's Charles?

Winslow.

Olivia's boy.

What? That
sniveling alcoholic

who bashed you that night?!

Now, look here-

all right, Dick,
all right.

This is no time for
fatherly indignation.

You're not much
good at it anyway.

You knew all this
was going on?

Aye, and you
would have, too,

if you'd kept
your eyes open.

He's a good lad,
Dick.

Now, stop your
blustering.

Just what's
Olivia up to?

She's trying to
break it up, Dick.

Why?

It should be
perfectly clear why

just looking at her.

She wants Charles
for herself.

She doesn't want anyone
else to have him.

She wants to wear him
around her neck.

He knows it's wrong,
but he can't help himself.

She'll break him.

She'll kill him!

And I suppose
she could, too.

She could kill him
as she killed your son.

Yes, I say
she killed him.

As a doctor, I
say she killed him.

Why didn't she take
him to the clinic?

'Cause the other children
were runny at the nose.

I call that murder-

whatever
you call it.

She murdered him...

just as surely as she
murdered her father.

Dick, that's going too far.

Where did you
leave Olivia

the night Channing
was killed?

What?

Uh, on the road.

Below the landslide,

where we went
over the side.

Aye.

Before she got
up to the house,

I had been talking to
Channing about you.

Everybody in town knew
what was going on anyway.

When she came in,
he faced her with it.

I heard the row
from downstairs,

and I heard her tell him
to mind his own business.

Then he came out,

said he was going
down with me to see you.

He liked you, and he
wanted to stop it.

I think he knew what she was
capable of doing to people,

and he didn't
want it done to you.

She let him go.

She let us both go,

knowing that the road
was washed out.

She couldn't have
missed it.

I can't believe it, Dick.

I- I can't believe it.

What did she say to you
when you got up there-

in the library?

She...

didn't say anything.

She...

she seemed to
know it already.

She seemed to know
it had happened.

Dick...

you've known all this.

Why didn't you-

I wanted
to tell you,

but I was never
really sure.

Before I knew it, you
were married to her.

And you were
in love with her.

There was no point
in telling you then.

There was less point
after she left you.

Well, there it is.

Georgie, where
are you going?

Georgie!

Didn't have
his brandy.

You wouldn't
like it, would you?

You sure?

Might pull you
together.

Is Mrs. Winslow at home?

Mrs. Winslow is
not at home, sir.

She was expected
before now,

but she's been delayed.

Mr. Charles here?

Mr. Charles is not
to be disturbed, sir.

He's-he's not well.

I beg your pardon,
sir,

but I have
the strictest orders

from Mrs. Winslow-

Robert,
who's that?

Ah!

A stranger adrift
on the moors.

Bid him welcome, Robert.

See to the stranger's horses

and stir up the fire.

Yes, sir.

Come in.
Come in.

Come in
and savor the dark.

She has a cool hand.

She'll hold you softly
in her black arms.

The dark is my mistress,

and I'll share her
with you.

She doesn't care what
your face looks like.

Charles...

are you in love
with Julie?

Love?

Love is a rationalization, mayor.

Love is a secretion
we wrap around the ego-

the way an oyster
wraps a pearl

around a grain of sand...

to keep it from hurting.

Charles,
listen to me,

are you in love
with Julie?

In love with Julie
with a face like this?!

Look at my face, man!

There's nothing wrong
with your face.

Uh-uh.

I think I'll stay here...

where it's warm
and comfortable

and dark.

We'll see what the London
butchers can do.

She'll be back
any minute now,

and we'll know what
the London butchers

think they can
do about the face.

Charles...

there's nothing
wrong with you.

You're just using
your face as an excuse.

You're a coward!

Go away.

Let me alone.

You're in love
with Julie,

but you're afraid to
do anything about it.

All right, all right!
I'm in love with her!

But I'm not afraid
of anything.

I'm not doing
anything about it

because I'm strong-

strong enough to
know it's wrong.

You're a coward,
and you know it.

I told you to get out of here!

I'm frightfully sorry,

but I'm afraid
I'm going to be sick.

Come on, lad.

I know,
Charles, I know.

It's-it's almost
impossible to believe,

but it's true.

I've had to face it,

and you'll have
to face it, too.

I'm so confused.

I don't know
what to do.

There's but
one thing to do.

I can't.

I can't have
her married to

a patched-up job that
may not hold together.

That's ridiculous.

All right, all right.
The face is beautiful.

It's not mine,
but it's beautiful.

I'm still not sure
I'll get well.

How can I ever be sure?

You can be sure you'll
never get well here.

I'm very sorry, sir.

It was the gale.
It blew the door open.

Did you come in a car?

Aye.

Take me down, then.
Take me to her.

We'll be
married today.

Good lad.

Well, come on.
What are we waiting for?

We were about to drink
to victory this afternoon

when you walked
out on me.

Well, I brought the
bottle of brandy along,

so if we can just locate
a couple of glasses.

Too late, Georgie.
This is your show.

Where is he, George?
Where's Charles?

It's all right,
Annie.

I'm expecting
Mrs. Winslow.

Where is he, George?!

I don't know.

It's no use lying to me.

You're no good at it.

You're lying to me.

Perhaps I am.

It doesn't matter now.

He's here.

He's here.

Oh, what a pathetic fool
you are, George.

What a pathetic,
childish mind you have.

Don't you see what
a hopeless game this is?

Don't you see that no matter
where Charles is now,

my love holds him
close to me?

Don't you know how
carefully I've planned?

Aye. I know how
carefully you've planned,

but part of your
plan's gone wrong.

You're very confident.

You've tried to
bully the world

into behaving the way
you wanted it to.

Well, that won't
work forever.

It's been tried.

It won't even work if
the plan's a good one,

and yours never was.

What did you want
from your father?

What did he
refuse to give you

that you thought you
might get from me?

Power, importance?
What?

How little you see.

I see you more
clearly now, Olivia,

all the way back
to something

you probably didn't
quite understand yourself.

And I know more
about that night

I proposed to you
under the bridge.

I know that when you
went on up the road

that night, you must have
seen it was washed out,

and you must have
let your father

start down
knowing that...

because he was old and
useless to your plan.

You killed him,
Olivia.

You let him go.

And you could have
stopped him.

And supposing I could have,

could you send me
to prison for that?

Could you convict me for
wanting you that much?

No, and I have
no desire to-

though it wasn't me
you wanted so much.

I'm just determined
to see you

ruin no more lives.

Will you tell me
where Charles is?!

He needs me! He's ill!

If he's ill, it's
because you've planted

the illness there
to cripple him.

Have you no
thought for me?

Think of what he's
been through.

The war
- all right, blame the war for it.

Then look around for
someone to blame the war on.

You may come around
full circle

and find you're staring
yourself in the face.

Aye, you're as much
to blame for it

in your own way
as anyone else.

You're not
important,

but you're part
of the sickness.

You're infected with
the fear and hate

and selfishness
that makes war.

You want a special life

according to your
own private plan!

You'll fight and you'll kill to get it!

George, where is he?!
Where's Charles?!

He's married, Olivia.

Charles and Julie were
married this afternoon.

You're too late.

You've lost him.

You're lying.

You're lying.

How could they have
been married today?

They had the license.

They were married
at the registry.

They've gone away.

So, you think
you've beaten me?

So, this is your victory?

This is your revenge, is it?

The mousy little
mayor of Browdley

has played his hand.

All right. All right!

Sit back, you smug,
dirty, grubby,

cheap-

have you ever
considered

standing for
parliament, Georgie?

Sometimes you speak
with great feeling.

We'll drink to victory,

however sad it tastes.

Aye.

It does have
a sad taste, Dick.

And we've not seen
the last of her yet.

There's a long way
to go.

To victory.

I'm putting
an extra blanket

on the foot of the sofa.

You sure you'll sleep
all right, dear?

Aye, Annie.

Dick, there wouldn't
be anything...

habit-forming
in this at my age,

would there?

I don't suppose
the young folks upstairs

will be wanting the tea
too early in the morning,

will they?

No, Annie.

No, I suppose not.

The barrel

we'll have
a barrel of fun

roll out the barrel

we've got the blues
on the run

zing, boom, tararrel

ring out a song
of good cheer

now's the time to
roll the barrel

for the gang's all here

roll out the barrel

we'll have
a barrel of fun

roll out the barrel

we'll have the blues
on the run

zing, boom, tararrel

ring out a song
of good cheer...