All language subtitles for Rumpole s02e06 Retirement.eng

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(Machine whirs)

Mmm! Who's a pretty boy, then?

(Radio) 'The work of crime detection
is becoming more frustrating.

'And when you catch them, there's
always some clever-dick barrister... '

There's the new one, Percy.
That Detective Inspector Brush.

No bloody manners. Old Whitey at
least gave you time to finish breakfast.

- What's in the garage, Percy?
- There's nothing in the garage.

The lead from the Deptford job
went last week.

(Gasps) Electric blankets!

No, girl. The electric blankets
are not due until Saturday.

- Don't worry.
- Oh, good...

Open up, Percy.

Are you interested in borrowing
my banger, Mr Brush?

- Want us to break it down?
- Lovely old Austin.

One owner, the vicar of Gravesend,
and he only used it for funerals.

We know what you've got there, Percy.
We know exactly what you've got.

Nothing, I do assure you, Mr Brush,

what is not perfectly legitimate.

Jesus!

And finally, members of the Jury,

counsel for the defence in this case

has chosen to challenge
the police evidence

as he is entitled to do.

But you are entitled to form your own
opinion of that evidence

quite independently of the views
of Learned Counsel,

however long he may have been
practicing at the Bar.

(Rumpole) 'The nudge-nudge-wink-wink
summing up.

'Why don't you just tell 'em
Rumpole's past it? '

We all enjoy Mr Rumpole's speeches.

We always find his little jokes
most amusing.

But you and I have a more serious duty
to perform.

'And I'm only here to provide the light
relief. Bring on the dancing Rumpole! '

So will you please go now
and consider your verdict?

The only question for you
is whether Melvin Glassworth

is guilty as charged.

Mr Jury Bailiff...

(Bailiff) I swear that I will conduct
the jury to some private place...

'Please, old darlings.
Consider the feelings of an old man.

'Give it more than five minutes.'

Mr Rumpole?

- (American accent) Er... Mr Rumpole?
- Mmm? Yes?

- Professor Kramer.
- Oh?

I've heard a lot about you.
You're famous in America.

- Oh, I shan't believe that.
- Oh, yes, sir.

I practiced as an attorney myself
for many years.

Of course, I didn't wear the rug.

- The what?
- The headpiece. Horsehair perruque.

Oh. Well, of course,
we're invisible without it.

The judge can't see me
unless I've got it on.

I must say, sometimes I am tempted
to remove it altogether

and disappear entirely from view.

I can understand
exactly how you feel.

Can you?

Well, the learned judge seemed to
regard you as a senior citizen.

I'm not all that senior.
And he's not all that learned.

I gave up the dust of conflict
for the Groves of Academe.

What do they call
an academic lawyer here?

They don't encourage
bad language here.

Head of Department of Laws
in the University of Baltimore.

- Mr Rumpole?
- Baltimore? Did you say Baltimore?

- They're coming back, Mr Rumpole.
- My son Nick teaches sociology there.

He's got his own small department
and a new house.

1106 East Drive. Know it?

- Well, he's the brains of the family.
- They're back with the verdict.

Oh, how extremely rude of them.

I can see you're busy.
Our business will wait.

- I've got to go. Professor...
- Kramer. Julius Kramer.

I shall be in touch. Back to the dust
of conflict, Mr Rumpole.

I have to tell you.
It's great to be out of it.

Ha ha! Yes...

Three years?

Take off one for remission,
that just leaves two.

Two years...

I suppose you want me to be grateful.

No, not exactly, Mr Glassworth.

I'm a man of a certain fastidiousness.
I have to have two shirts a day, me.

Two clean shirts is not an indulgence,
as far as I'm concerned, it's a necessity.

Do they still have slopping out?

- Yes, I'm afraid they do.
- I've spent my life

in the acquisition of beautiful objects.

I suppose that's what
the three years were for.

Slopping out?

How can I live through it?

And the sickening sexual advances
of beefy warders.

- (Mutters) I wouldn't count on that.
- What did you say?

- Oh, nothing. I'm sorry, Mr Glassworth.
- You're sorry?

You can go home, have a bath
with a decent tablet of French Fern,

dry yourself on a warm, fleecy towel,
use talcum powder and eau de toilette.

Well, I don't, actually.

Attacking the police. That wasn't
a smash hit with the jury, was it?

- No.
- Those jokes in your final speech.

- They didn't bring the house down.
- The judge did go a little too far

in his summing up, Melvin.
I'm sure we can think of an appeal.

You know what you want to be thinking
about, you? Retirement.

That's what he ought to do, Mr Turner.
He ought to bloody retire.

Yes.

There's a Mr Turner on the phone,
Mr Brush.

I want your autograph, Percy. I want this
case barrister-proof, that's my intention.

It's his lawyer.

Oh, yeah. It's bound to be, isn't it?

Yeah?

Percy Timson? No, I'm afraid I can't
tell you where he's being held.

No, I'm not prepared to let him
see a lawyer.

Yes. Well, if he is an innocent man,
he hasn't a thing to worry about, has he?

All he's gotta do is answer my questions
fully and frankly.

You don't want me to stop him
doing that, do you, Mr Turner?

"You may see your client, Mr Turner,
when we've completed our enquiries."

Percy's getting too old for it, Mr Turner.

The whole family told him.
Too old for it altogether.

He ought to retire. I mean, fancy keeping
Jesus in his lock-up garage?

He's getting that careless.

Not sufficiently careless, let us hope,

as to give Detective Inspector Brush
his autograph.

We've got Noreen.

We've got your wife, Percy.
We've got her downstairs.

Want her charged, do you?

Tell me. How long is it exactly since your
old woman saw the inside of Holloway?

We want a statement in your own words,
Percy.

What were his own words, exactly?

"I received the religious artwork
in my garage

"well knowing it to be stolen

by a person whose name
I'm not prepared to divulge."

- No doubt on the advice of his lawyer.
- What lawyer?

"I was intending to dispose of the picture
at the earliest opportunity."

All right. Like, when I went up
The King's Elm on Saturday

and met some of my contacts.
I want that in.

Like, when I went
up The King's Elm Saturday

and met some of my contacts.

Sign on the dotted line, Percy.

- You will get Mr Rumpole?
- Now, look, Noreen. Mrs Timson...

Look, whatever Percy done,
we want Rumpole.

That's the motto of the Timson family,
isn't it? We want Rumpole.

Hasn't it ever occurred to you that
Rumpole himself might want to retire?

Can't go on forever, you know.
No one can do that.

(Rumpole) 'It little profits
that an idle king

'by this still hearth,
among these barren crags

'matched with an aged wife,

'I meet and dole unequal laws

'unto a savage race that hoard
and sleep and feed

'and know not me.'

Professor Kramer!

Professor!

(Sighs)

- (Hilda) Rumpole?
- Yes.

"Matched with an aged wife,
I meet and dole

"unequal laws unto a savage race."

- (Hilda) Come and sit down, dear.
- Yes. Coming,

O Master Of The Blue Horizons,

She Who Must Be Obeyed.

Ah.

Are you tired, dear?

Ah...

- What did you say?
- I said, "Dear, are you tired?"

Yes, how peculiar.
That's what I thought you said.

Well, make yourself comfortable.
Why not put your feet up, hmm?

And I'll get you a nice gin and tonic.

Feeling all right, Hilda?

A day in court
is such hard, physical labour.

For a man of your age.

Oh, yes. You take your life in your hands
in the law.

There's always a chance of slipping
down the steps gents loo in Pommeroys.

You don't want to die in harness,
do you?

You remember poor old Daddy
died in harness, didn't he?

Oh, really? I thought he died
in the Tunbridge Hospital.

You don't want to drop dead in court.

- What are you doing?
- I'm knitting.

- Bed socks?
- No. No, it's for Miss Trant's baby.

- Ah.
- You know, your Miss Phyllida Trant.

Your nice young girl in chambers.

Yes, our Portia.

She'll have to give up the Bar
now that she's got the baby.

Birth and death.
They silence us all in the end.

- What are you knitting, a dust sheet?
- No, no, Rumpole.

It's a matinee jacket. Oh, I've just
remembered. There's a letter for you.

Will the baby go to many matinees,
do you think?

What's this? Oh, Baltimore!

- Baltimore?
- Might be from Nick.

Ah. From the desk
of Professor Julius Kramer.

Oh, yeah. Baltimore University.

Nick's university. What a coincidence.

Dear Mr Rumpole. Your name has long
been known to us as a legal luminary.

Ah. There you are, then.

We would wish to invite you,
and of course your good lady,

to visit us on campus
during the autumn semester

and deliver a series of lectures
on the alienation factor

and the psychological aspects
of owner deprivation.

- What on earth does that mean?
- (Phone rings)

Owner deprivation? What it feels like
to have your things nicked.

Yes? Yes.

Yes, it's Mrs Rumpole speaking.

Oh, Nick! Yes, we were only just
talking about you.

Yes, yes, he's here.
Rumpole, it's our son.

Nick, Nick! Hello. You sound very near.

I can't hear the Atlantic.

You what? Coming to visit us?
Nick, that's marvellous.

Oh, yes, keeping busy.
But we'll have a day out.

I'll take you to lunch
down at the Bailey.

Good lord. It looks even older than I feel.

He's an extraordinarily talented baby
for his age.

He has these long prehensile fingers.

- Oh, yes?
- And an amazingly powerful grip.

That'll be for hanging onto his mother's
tail as they swing from bow to bow.

I think
he has a remarkably intelligent look.

- I can't get Phylli to see it.
- Oh, quite remarkable.

He'll be picking up briefs any day now
from the Chancery Division.

Horace, I thought you might have been
seriously interested.

Oh, no. Truly, Claude, I am.

With an expression like that, we should
find him a place on the bench.

- Are these all your witnesses?
- (Laughs)

(Mutters) My client's family.

The sort to breed from, the Timsons.
They've kept me in work for years.

- But this isn't a fight, surely?
- Ah, now, Erskine-Brown.

My dear Claude,
let's say more of a little skirmish.

- But the picture was in your garage?
- Yeah.

- You signed a confession.
- Yes.

That means I start
with a considerable handicap.

Well, I suppose that's fair enough,
considering your usual criminal ability.

Rumpole, I was hoping for a quick plea.

I'd rather like to get home
in time for the four o'clock feed.

Ah, you indulge in high tea, do you?

Not my four o'clock feed, Rumpole.
Tristane's.

Tristane's?

My son.

Oh. Yes.

I would say
that it was absolutely priceless.

Quite so. But...
if you had to name a figure?

How can you put a price on beauty?

It has been done in the past,
Mr Rowland,

by some quite well-known ladies.

(Rumpole) 'Oh, highly risible.

'Fancy drawing Vosper twice.
It's like a bad run on the black.'

Should we say half a million?

Pounds, not dollars.

Thank you, Mr Rowland.

Mr Rowland, you say this is a painting
by Taddeo di Bartolo.

Nicknamed II Zoppo, the lame one.

A Siennese master of the 14th century.

Il Quattro cento.

Ah, Quattro Centro. Yes, I'm obliged.

Is it a typical example
of the master's work?

Oh, no. I would say
it was a remarkably fine example.

Yes. Il Zoppo, the lame one.

Is um... Is he a painter well-known
to the general public, would you say?

He's extremely well-known
to connoisseurs.

Oh, yes, I'm sure he is. I just wondered
if his work was instantly recognisable

by the crowd
at The King's Elm on a Saturday night.

- (Claude) I don't know...
- (Rumpole) What's the answer?

I would say probably not.

No. And a drinker in the saloon bar

who chanced to recognise
the lame one's work

and wished to purchase it

would have to be provided with half
a million pounds for the transaction.

I really can't imagine
what the relevance is...

The relevance, My Lord, is, that in his
so-called voluntary statement,

my client said he intended to flog
the painting up The King's Elm

next Saturday night.

Judicial knowledge, My Lord,
must encompass the fact

that The King's Elm is not Sotheby's.

And even your extensive knowledge
of crime, Mr Rumpole,

must encompass the possibility
that your client himself

had no idea
what the value of the painting was.

'AII right, old darling.
One-Iove in the first set.'

Your father wanted me to bring you
straight down to court.

Albert used to bring you here
when you were home from school,

whenever Mr Rumpole Senior had
a nice murder to attract your attention.

He always thought his murders
more suitable than the cinema.

How is he, Henry?

Well, much the same as always,
to be frank with you, Mr Rumpole.

My mother says he's been looking tired.

Yeah, he does look tired, sometimes,
I've got to admit it.

But he perks up wonderfully
when he's got a policeman in the box.

Would you have allowed my client Percy
Timson to have seen a solicitor

at the time this precious document
was signed?

No, I would not.

So this elderly man
without any legal experience

was left absolutely without advice.

Are you putting your client forward
as a man with no legal experience?

'Touch�, old darling. Time for Rumpole
to skate off onto some thicker ice.'

Are you aware that my client has been
married to his wife Noreen

for nearly 30 years?

Are you putting your client forward
as a perfect husband, Mr Rumpole?

No, My Lord.
Merely as a loving husband.

Did you tell my client that you had
brought his wife to the station?

I may have done.

- I have here the station book.
- Yes?

There is absolutely no record
of Mrs Noreen Timson

being brought to the station
on that or any other day.

- I accept that.
- Then why did you lie to my client?

I did not lie to him.

Why did you tell him his wife had been
brought to the station and charged?

I expect I said it because
I intended to do exactly that.

- You intended to charge her?
- Yes.

- Why did you change your mind?
- There was no need to.

No need to charge her.

After my client had signed his so-called
confession statement.

- Is that what you mean?
- No need to after that, no.

No. After he'd fallen into your trap,
the bait could be thrown away.

You had got what you wanted,
hadn't you?

- Had I?
- Oh, yes. An untrue confession,

signed in the hope of saving his wife

from the welcoming gates
of Holloway Prison.

- Mr Rumpole?
- Yes, My Lord?

Aren't you rather forgetting something?

This admirable example
of Italian Renaissance art

was actually found
in your client's garage.

Isn't that the point?

Yes. Members of the Jury,
shall we say five minutes past two?

(Clerk) Be upstanding.

If he's guilty anyway, I mean...

If he's guilty anyway, why bother
to squeeze a confession out of him?

I know the Timsons, Nick. Their activities
paid for your school fees for years.

They never sign confessions.

- You'll be able to lecture on that.
- Lecture?

You met him. Julius Kramer.

Was that your doing, Nick?

You must come to Baltimore. Really,
there's lots of room in the new house.

Well, maybe, if we can get away.

Of course you can get away.
You've really got to get away.

- Got to?
- Ma says you've been looking tired.

- Ah, your mother's always...
- Enjoying the pantomime?

Is that what you call it?

- Well, don't you?
- No, I call it a trial.

It's based on the quaint,
old-fashioned notion

that a man is innocent
until he's proven guilty.

This is my son.

Following in your father's footsteps,
are we?

No, actually, I'm not.

Come on, sir. You know Percy Timson
has been a fence for years.

Course, it er... makes money
for you gentlemen.

Saving up for your retirement, are you?

Oh, yes. Got it all ready.
The villa in Positano.

Fly down there every weekend
to keep an eye on the yacht

and check up
on the pickled walnut plantation.

Really? What's the name of this villa
of yours, Mr Rumpole?

Rumpole's Retreat?

No, it's called La Mort. Morte.

I hope to take possession
when I'm dead.

Oh, yes, yeah. Very amusing.

I suppose you'll be going through
the motions again this afternoon.

- Oh, yes.
- A man of your age...

I really don't know why you bother.

Detective Inspector Brush,
the new Broom.

He considers trials
an unnecessary interruption

in his fearless fight against crime.

- All the same...
- All the same what?

It's not as if it's one of the murders you
took me to. They were serious cases.

You used to enjoy those murders,
Nick, didn't you?

If Percy Timson
really is a professional fence...

Oh, yes, he is. Quite professional.

Well, then. Why bother, really?

Pink ribbons, you see?

It is a girl, isn't it?

- Actually, it's a boy.
- Oh, dear.

Rumpole seemed quite vague about it.

Anyway, I don't suppose it matters.

Not at all. It's lovely. Thank you.

I really wonder that you have time to
come out for tea, what with the baby.

- Claude, my husband.
- Claude... Oh, yes. Mr Erskine-Brown.

They had a day off court
so he's holding the fort with the baby.

Actually, he enjoys it.

Oh. Rumpole's not having a day off.

He had to go for a conference
at Wormwood Scrubs.

Anyway, he's doing far too much
for a man of his age.

He looks tired. Don't you think so?

Oh. Well, I think he looks just as usual.

Oh, no, he's desperately tired.
We simply can't wait to get him away.

To get Rumpole away?
Where to, exactly?

America.

I want them both to come
and live with us. Baltimore.

- You want him to give up the Bar?
- Well, to retire.

Everyone retires, don't they?

Everyone, possibly. But Rumpole?

Well, he's not immortal, Miss Trant.

Rumpole's hardly immortal.

Not a word to him at the moment,
because, you see, we are luring him

across the herring pond

by an offer of lectures
at Nick's university.

- Lectures?
- Yes.

But as I say, mum is the word.
Nick has arranged it all quite brilliantly.

I've got him an offer from a professor.
He's going to lecture on law.

Rumpole on law?

Oh, really, Miss Trant.
Surely he knows about the law.

- No, hardly anything.
- But Miss Trant...

He could lecture on how to tear up paper
during the prosecution speech.

Or how to trick his opponent into boring
the court with unnecessary cases.

That's the one I got when I first started.

He knows all about
how to cross-examine

and which members of the jury
to get on his side

but if you ask my honest opinion,

Rumpole doesn't know anything
about the law.

Oh.

Well...

Well, it's only the bait to get him over.

We've put this flat on the market
so we shall have a little money.

- Living with Nick...
- Once he sees the house, he'll stay.

Nick has a swimming pool,
so he tells me.

And a sort of... camp fire.

Barbecue, Mother.

Is Rumpole tremendously keen
on the swimming?

Well, if you ask me, he's bored to tears
with what he's doing now.

Dad's in a hopeless position
with the judge and police against him.

- Then I know exactly how he's feeling.
- Pretty depressed, I imagine.

No. I should think, by now,
he's just starting to have fun.

- Hello.
- Ah, Mr Glassworth.

- Mr Turner.
- There we are.

Well, the screws are treating you
all right, are they?

Some of them are rather sweet,
but you've got to get me out of here.

Well, I've found at least ten places

where the judge failed to remind the jury
of our defence.

Then you'll tell the Court of Appeal.
Well, you will, Mr Rumpole, won't you?

Well, I may not be able to take your
case on. Pressure of work, you know.

If you've found ten good points,
you're duty-bound.

Well, we'll see what we can do.

Meanwhile, perhaps you can help me,

as an expert in stolen art works.

An expert? Me?

Well, I suppose I am.
What do you want to know?

A painting might be too well-known
to dispose of.

You get that trouble, yes.
It's hopeless trying to flog a Goya.

Or a Taddeo di Bartolo,
nicknamed II Zoppo?

They're never charging me with that one,
are they? Me?

Well, not as yet.

But suppose you had a well-known
painting of di Bartolo's,

The Benediction, for example.

Well, you would never sell it.
Too well-known.

- Well, what would you do with it?
- You mean,

what would whoever had purloined
such an artwork do, Mr Rumpole.

- Exactly.
- Dump it.

- Oh, really?
- Only thing to do with it.

Of course, it might pay you

to let the insurance company
know where it got left.

Dump it, eh?
What sort of place, exactly?

Somewhere anonymous, I suppose.

Somewhere that couldn't be connected
with you.

- The municipal rubbish tip.
- Oh, has that been used?

It has been known...
Look, about this appeal.

It's bloody impossible in here.
I can't get a decent shampoo.

I wash my hair daily, me.

Yes, well, as I say, Mr Glassworth,
we'll see what we can do.

Thank you.

Poor old Glassworth.
He's not taking it very well.

- No, I'm afraid not.
- Very fastidious fella.

Well, perhaps it'll make him
think twice next time.

- There are grounds...
- (Woman hollers) Mr Rumpole?

Could I have a word with you...
in private?

- Well, yes. I'll catch you up.
- Yes. I'll be in the car.

I'm up on a visit to old Charlie Timson.

- Oh, yes?
- You remember Charlie.

Well, it's not easy to remember
all the Timsons.

Well, I'm Vi, married to Fred Timson.

You remember, Mr Rumpole? You got
our son Jim out of a bit of bother.

Course. Young Jim, yes. How is he?

Oh, he's doing very nicely, Mr Rumpole.
Yes, thank you.

He's got his own little window cleaning
firm now.

- Sorry to hear it.
- Yes...

Well, what I wanted to tell you,
Mr Rumpole, is...

You see, I don't agree with what the
family done to Uncle Perc.

What the family done... did?

Poor old Auntie Noreen.
She's going up the wall about it.

Well, it wasn't really the whole family.
It was Cyril, mostly.

- Oh?
- See, he was ever so angry

when Uncle Perc sold all that
foam-backed carpet for 20 quid.

- Look, Vi. Would you like a cup of tea?
- Oh, I'd love one.

I think you'd better tell me all about it.

Yes, well... I said you might recognise
the odd actor.

Right, now. Port, brandy or something?

- Lovely.
- Over here, by the fire.

Mmm...

Ah. Guthrie Featherstone.

- Good evening, Judge.
- We don't often see you at the club.

- Keeping you pretty busy?
- Snowed under. Completely under.

You want to come and relax
on the bench.

I'm always in the club by teatime,
aren't I, Simon?

- Yes, Daddy. Always.
- Oh, this is my son Simon.

Guthrie Featherstone, QC MP.

Simon has just finished his pupillage.

Naturally, he's looking for a seat
in a first-class chambers.

- Aren't you, Simon?
- Yes, Daddy.

- Oh, Margaret?
- Yes, sir.

Would you care for a drink?
Four large gins and tonic.

- Yes, sir.
- Will that do you?

- Oh, yes. Thank you.
- (Simon) Thank you, Daddy.

I don't think you know
Claude Erskine-Brown.

Erskine-Brown.

I brought him in for a delayed
celebration. He's just had a baby.

Really?
You've made a remarkable recovery.

Ha ha...

Yes, as I was saying, Simon is looking
for a seat in a first-class chambers.

The trouble with our chambers,
Judge, is we're chocablock.

Well, of course you are. But if you could
manage something for Simon.

Well, er... There might be a vacancy,
as a matter of fact, Judge.

I haven't told Guthrie this,
but apparently Rumpole's retiring.

He's going to live with his son
in America.

Rumpole retiring?

Yes.
Mrs Rumpole had Phylli round to tea.

I gather it's pretty immediate.

Well, it can't be too soon for me.
I've got him before me at the moment.

Yes, I know, Judge. I'm prosecuting.

So you are.

Hardly noticed you.
Rumpole simply hogs the limelight.

It's a hopeless case,
but you can't stop the fellow fighting.

I er... I wanted to discuss with you,
as a family,

your Uncle Percy's defence.

Yes, Mr Rumpole. Mine's a coffee, dear.

We rely on you.

The Timson family have always
been able to rely on Mr Rumpole.

Oh, yes? But can Mr Rumpole
rely on the Timson family?

- Mine's the lemon tea, Vi.
- Oh. Sorry.

- What do you mean, exactly?
- Well, as you well know,

half a million nicker and artworks
from the Italian Quattro cento

are hardly in Uncle Percy's league,
are they?

So I'll have to put him
into the witness box

to explain to the jury
exactly what his league is.

What do you mean?

(Lowers voice) I mean
he's going to tell the judge

how he disposed of 4,000
Green Shield stamps for you, Fred.

And a couple of lorry-Ioads
of nylon tights,

innumerable canteens of cutlery
and 25 yards of foam-backed carpet

from the local Odeon from you, Cyril.

And a consignment of electric blankets

and three freezer loads of stolen scampi
from you, Vi.

Well, I ain't got no convictions.

- No, Cyril's clean.
- Thanks to you, Mr Rumpole.

You've got a legitimate job, now.
Where is it?

Crane driver.
On the municipal muck heap.

A municipal muck heap? Now, isn't that
an extraordinary coincidence?

- What do you mean, Mr Rumpole?
- It was on a municipal muck heap

that some far more cultivated villain
than any of us

dumped The Benediction
by Taddeo di Bartolo.

Uncle Percy hasn't been doing too well
lately as a fence, has he?

- Not too brilliant, no.
- No, we've got to admit that.

- Uncle Percy's getting past it.
- Getting past it? Oh, yes. I know.

Letting your hard-won consignment
of electric blankets go at half price.

Gossiping in pubs
with some minor grass listening.

He got our lad Jim six months
chattering like that.

Silly old fool. He's a menace
to everyone, is Uncle Percy.

Then why have you all decided
he ought to be retired?

- What did you say, Mr Rumpole?
- Retired. Put out to grass.

Rusticated. Put on the shelf.
Given his cards.

The whole family
decided he was getting past it.

You wanted him to retire quickly.

We couldn't persuade Percy
it was time to go.

Honestly, he wouldn't listen to reason.

The man was dangerous
going around at his age.

So Cyril, with a clean record,
plants a picture on him

and rings up DI Brush
with the information.

(Tuts) Ah, dear me...

Hardly a golden handshake, was it?

Not even a gold watch
from the company.

The trouble with you all
is that none of you is Bernard Berenson.

Not what, Mr Rumpole?

Not even Lord Clark. You don't
watch Civilisation even on the telly.

You couldn't tell the difference
between a genuine Fra Angelico

and the top of a biscuit box.

And because of your total abysmal
ignorance in matters artistic,

Uncle Percy's up
on a half-a-million-pound handling

and three-quarters of the way
to Parkhurst.

Well, what are you gonna do about it,
Mr Rumpole?

No, Cyril,
what are you going to do about it?

You'd better think quick.

Uncle Percy is going to give
his evidence tomorrow.

(Door opens)

Oh, it's you, Nick.

- How are you?
- Where's your mother?

I think she's visiting the baby.

Oh, the Erskine-Brown's baby? Ha ha.

Seems to exert
an extraordinary influence

over She Who Must Be Obeyed.

Are you tired, Dad?

I do feel a little down this evening.

Yes, a little low.

Bad day in court?

Detective Inspector Brush wants
to reverse the burden of proof,

revoke Magna Carta
and abolish barristers.

Well, I suppose that would be all right,

if only he could resist gingering up
the evidence a bit when he feels like it.

There's no honour among thieves
any more, Nick.

I'm ashamed of the Timson family.

I've always thought your job
must be pretty depressing.

They all decided that old Uncle Percy
ought to be retired

and they cooked up
the most diabolical plot.

Oh, I don't know. I don't know
what things are coming to.

- A drop of G and T?
- Yes, thanks.

Look. I think you've got yourself
into a terrible rut.

Ah...

"Matched with an aged wife,
I meet and dole unequal laws

"unto a savage race."

"It is not too late to seek a newer world,
push off

"and sitting well in order,
smite the sounding furrows."

You remember it, Nick!

Ha ha! Poor old Alfred Lord Tennyson.

"For my purpose holds to sail
beyond the sunset and the baths

"of all the western stars until I die."

You're going to, aren't you?

- What, die?
- Of course not.

Sail beyond the sunset.
You are coming to Baltimore?

Ah, Nick. It's such a long way
from the Old Bailey.

I saw Professor Kramer today.

Yes. Only trouble is,
he's no longer at the Savoy.

They've taken him
into the St Thomas's Hospital.

- Oh, dear.
- He collapsed while jogging.

Jogging, eh?

Well, I've always said that exercise
is a short cut to the cemetery.

Cheers.

(Mutters) Good...

Ah. Erskine-Brown?

I'm so glad I caught you.
I'm rounding up members of chambers.

(Lowers voice) It's um... It's this
business of Rumpole's retirement.

I thought of laying on a dinner
at the club.

At the Sheridan? Yes, he'd enjoy that.

- I think we should give him a send-off.
- Of course we should.

And I suppose
some sort of presentation.

Can you think of anything
Rumpole needs?

Well, he needs a new hat.

Yes, I suppose he does.

The problem is, you can't engrave
our signatures on a hat.

Well, what about
some kind of a loving cup?

Have to hold a good deal of claret.

We don't need to go that far.
Perhaps we could settle for a clock.

Oh, I say. Here he comes.

Well, Erskine-Brown. Ready for battle?

I think we might have
a little surprise for you.

- Really?
- Ah, Horace. Um...

Would you be free by any chance
next Thursday evening?

I shouldn't think so.
I'll probably be with my wife.

No, we'd like Hilda to come too,
of course.

And Nick. I believe he's over.

Er... Come where?

A dinner at my club, the Sheridan.
Most of the chambers will be there.

So pencil it in now. There's a good chap.

What's come over
our learned Head Of Chambers?

Has he come into money or something?

(Erskine-Brown)
Let me understand you correctly.

You found the picture
on the municipal rubbish dump.

Where I work. Yeah.

And you put it
in your Uncle Percy's garage.

Well, I had the key. He lent me his 1100
when they went on holiday.

I see. And... you put it there at night,

without telling your uncle
what you'd done?

I did it quietly, at night,
not wanting to waken the old couple.

But why store it
in Uncle Percy's garage?

Well, I ain't got no accommodation.
Not for a thing that size at home.

Mr Timson, can you suggest one reason

why the members of the jury should
believe this extraordinary story?

Yeah.

You see, members of the Jury,
I phoned the local nick that night.

I told them there was a picture, and they
could find it in Uncle Percy's garage.

They were round first thing next morning
with the dawn patrol.

(Rumpole) Mr Timson...

Who did you speak to
when you rang the local nick?

(Whispers) Mr Erskine-Brown.

Mr Featherstone says
can he have a cheque for �10?

Your contribution, sir.

To Mr Rumpole's clock.

Mr Featherstone suggested that we
waited in the members' splendid hall

and he'll be joining us in a few moments.

Thank you, Henry.

Well! Judge George Frobisher.

Hello, Rumpole.

Jailed any more Romeos
since we last met?

What's the theme song
of your courts again?

"Hello Young Lovers...
You're Under Arrest".

- I was only doing my duty.
- That's the old excuse, isn't it,

when one wants to do something
particularly bloody?

You're meeting someone here, are you?

I'm having dinner with you, Rumpole.

Remind me. When did I invite you?

You didn't. Featherstone did. Hmm?
Dinner in your honour.

Oh, in my honour.
That's very decent of you, George.

Yes, yes...

Well, George, even though you have
assumed the mantle of Judge Jeffries,

I must say, I miss you
round Pommeroys of an evening.

No friendly jar
when the day's work's done.

It's the one disadvantage
of being a circuit judge.

The job finishes at teatime, and you're
not allowed to go to the pub.

I say, Rumpole. You're not
a member here, are you?

No, Judge. I don't believe I am.

Well, you're sitting
on the members' sofa.

- Oh, dear.
- I suppose you plead ignorance?

No, Judge, I plead exhaustion.

Mr Rumpole's party, Mr Featherstone's
waiting in the dining room.

- Thank you, Henry.
- Splendid. Come along, dear.

Oh, hello, George.

(Mutters) Mr Justice Vosper. Thank God
we're not having dinner with him.

But Rumpole...

Ah, Rumpole!

- Here he is, guest of honour.
- Rumpole of the Bailey!

Rumpole, my dear fellow.
And Mrs Rumpole and Nick.

So delighted you could come.

Are we feeding
the entire Rumpole family?

What is this, a wedding or a wake?

Erskine-Brown, Miss Trant.

- Mrs Erskine-Brown.
- Oh, of course, yeah.

I say, where's the baby?
Left home, has it?

It's actually in its carrycot
with our next door neighbour.

I'm afraid one of us will have to leave
early to give it its ten o'clock feed.

One of us.

Oh, I'm sure
Rumpole will find plenty to do.

That's the wonderful thing
about retirement.

He'll do all the things
he never had time for.

Is there anything
Rumpole hasn't had time for?

He's had time to do the crossword,
drink claret.

Well, he'll have time for reading.
You know how fond he is of poetry.

Does Rumpole read poetry?
I thought he only said it.

We shall miss Horace, Mrs Rumpole.

I always think of your husband as one
of those wonderful links with the past.

Like those lovely old gaslights
at the Temple.

Oh. Really?

Can't say I've ever thought of Rumpole
as a gaslight in the Temple.

Rumpole is a pillar of the Criminal Bar.

Of course he is, Mrs Rumpole.
Of course he is.

Marigold realises that.
Don't you, Marigold?

All right. Lovely old pillar, then.

I dare say so. I suppose it's nice for you
to go out on a win.

Go out? Out where?
Oh, out to dinner. Rather!

I didn't enjoy our case very much.

Quite honestly, I find that these days
I really prefer paperwork at home.

- It gives one more time with the family.
- And I love court.

Of course, there'll be an awful lot
of spare crime going now.

Oh, really?
Do you foresee an outbreak of villainy?

I'm sure once Dad gets over there
and sees the house, he'll settle down.

- And are you, Nick?
- The ridiculous cases he's doing now.

There must be something
more important

than whether Percy Timson receives
a stolen picture or the cutlery?

I doubt there's anything
more important to Rumpole.

You know, the one reason I enjoy tonight
even more than our case

is the complete absence
of Mr Justice Vosper.

- Oh, Rumpole!
- Oh, my God...

Only your judge...

- I don't think you know my son, Simon.
- No, I don't think I do. Should I?

Simon is endlessly grateful for the
favour you are doing him, Rumpole.

- Aren't you grateful to Rumpole?
- Yes, Daddy. Of course I am.

I say,
that was an outrageous win you had.

- Your client should have been potted.
- Sorry you miscued.

Miscued? Oh, that's funny.

I dare say, Simon, that
you'll have some outrageous wins too,

as soon as you get your bottom
onto Rumpole's chair.

(Featherstone) Ah, Judge!

What on earth's he babbling about?
Getting his son's bottom on my chair?

Is Justice Vosper getting past it?

- Come along, Rumpole.
- Eh?

I've ordered pheasant,
game chips with trimmings,

the very best the Sheridan can offer.

Oh, I say, the last time I had pheasant
was in old Willoughby Grimes's day.

We had a chambers dinner
in Simpson's in the Strand

and they dished us up pheasant.

- Come on, Uncle Tom. Sit down.
- The occasion was Tiny Benstead

being made Recorder of Swindon,
which was quite an honour at the time.

Dinner's ready, Uncle Tom.

He got a little bone stuck in his gullet
and they had to rush him to hospital.

Death by suffocation.

He never did sit as Recorder.
Quite a disappointment to his wife.

Oh, is this my...
Ah, Horace. Hello. Well, well...

Um... Just a few words from me.

Horace has become part of our lives
in chambers,

rather like a valued antique
which we see every day

and only notice and miss, perhaps,
when it's gone.

- Could have been said better.
- Where's your husband?

He had to go. The baby.

I sincerely hope
that you and Mrs Rumpole

will accept this clock
as a token of our affection and esteem.

And may it give you many happy hours
in the future.

- (Henry) Speech, sir.
- (AIl) Speech!

Well, unaccustomed as I am...

(Featherstone) Nonsense!

If Your Lordship pleases.

She... Er... Hilda.

Nick. And my friends.

My dear friends.

This occasion
has cheered me enormously.

(Laughter)

Because there have been times lately

in the long hours
in Your Lordship's court...

Pretty long for me, too, Rumpole.

Listening to the continuing attacks
on our profession by the police.

There have been times when I wondered
if I wasn't getting into some sort of rut.

Exactly what I've been thinking.

"Matched with an aged wife,
I meet and dole unequal laws

"unto a savage race
that hoard and sleep and feed...

"And know not me."

- Really, Rumpole...
- In these moods, I must confess...

I have been tempted to jack it all in,
to retire and go out to grass.

Very understandable.

But... your support,

your affection,

and, above all, this very handsome gift,
have completely changed my mind.

- What's this?
- Rumpole?

- What?
- He's talking about the clock.

It's not too late to seek a newer world.

- A newer world? He is going after all.
- Of course he is.

"Though much is taken, much abides,

"and though we are not now that strength

"which in old days
moved heaven and earth,

"that which we are, we are."

- What are we?
- What we are, Uncle Tom.

That's nice to know.

"One equal temper of heroic hearts..."

- Still makes a good final speech.
- "...made weak by time and fate.

"Yet strong in will
to strive, to seek, to find.

"And not to yield."

Well, is that it?

This handsome timepiece,
my dear friends,

will encourage me to forget all thought
of surrender and retirement.

And not to yield in all my future cases

at the Old Bailey,
London Sessions, Luton Crown,

and even before
the Uxbridge Magistrates.

And I will never be late.

This will always
get me to the court on time.

# For every bear that ever there was

# Will gather there for certain
because

# Today's the day
the teddy bears have their picnic #

What I can't understand is Horace
Rumpole hanging onto our clock.

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