All language subtitles for LOTSW (DVDRip) - S03E01 - The Man From Oswestry

Knock it down, why don't you?!

Another little nudge and you'd
have had it off the hinges.

I thought to myself,
"Oh, I've been jack-knifed into
by some huge articulated vehicle."

Imagine my surprise when I opened
up and found it was just some
undersized scruffy little twit!

I thought thy'd be open.
Well, that's a natural assumption,

if you ignore the drawn blinds and
a 40-foot sign that says "closed"!

Tea or coffee? Haven't you got
a wider choice than that?

I'm getting fed up with
tea and coffee all the time.

What do you want, then?
I don't know - you're the expert.

Tempt me.

How about a still lemonade?

Oh, I don't want that rubbish.

That's right,
think about it objectively!

How about a fizzy lemonade?

Oh, it gives me the wind.

I need something to give me a lift.

I don't suppose you'd care
to press off and try a
passing lorry, would you?!

I think I'll have, er...

cocoa.

What's up -
all the racing been cancelled?

I don't bet
all that much on the gee-gees.

Over the year, it averages out.

I lose a few bob
and then I go back

and I lose a few more.

Sounds very thorough.

Well, you've got to have a system.

It's times like this
when I'm getting low on fags
I miss old Cyril Blamire.

Have you heard from him?
Not a postcard.

It'd be more appropriate
if he sent thee a cigarette card.

Nah. It were just a game. I used to
cadge his fags, he used to make a
fuss, but he didn't really mind.

He knew he could always
have one of mine. Very true.

Providing he had
a pin to hold it with.

Do you think he'll marry this woman?
I wouldn't be surprised.

He were off like a shot when he
heard that she'd become a widow.

I never thought I'd hear
the day when you'd admit
to missing Cyril Blamire.

Well, it's so quiet.

There's no-one
to shout at me anymore.

It's been weeks since
I've had a right rollicking.

We used to argue every day.

You miss things like that.

Have you ever thought of
getting married? That's not funny.
Oh, now he tells me!

Did anyone utter so much as a
whisper when I went to the altar,
when there was still time?

Drink your cocoa.

Oh, very delicate -
he'd have loved that.

It seems to me there's a great deal
of enjoyment gone out of life.

I bet that bird of his doesn't
slurp her cocoa like you do.

Well, it serves him right,
then, don't it?

Morning, Norm. Huh.

There.

There.

You see? It's not the washing - it's
getting them back in their creases.

A pair of trousers washed
by the home handyman is something
I could easily give up for Lent.

And why is it, if there's such a
shortage of oil, it keeps appearing
on my trouser bottoms?

Have you got any petrol?

Oh, God, is he off
tea and coffee an' all?

Here, lighter fuel. HE wanted cocoa.

I'll bet it leaves a ring.

Here's a cloth.

Oh, ta.

Now...

Vernon Hislop broke his pelvis.

There's some round the back. Oh, ta.

I said,
Vernon Hislop went and broke his...

'Ey-up, Vernon, you'll have to do
better than that if you want to make
an impression round 'ere.

Did you see him? No.

I had an eye-witness account at the
bookies from a bloke called Trigger.

That's not a bloke -
that's Roy Rogers' horse.

No wonder you can't pick winners
if you can't tell the difference.

Trigger were there when
Vernon slipped and fell!
Well, that doesn't prove anything.

But if he is Roy Rogers' horse,
you can tell in a minute if you
try him with a lump of sugar.

Can he undo knots with his teeth?!

Ah, shut up!

He's got it on him
this morning - dead moody.

Ah, well, he's not getting enough
exercise now that Cyril's left.

You know what Cyril was like -
restless, energetic,

crackers.

When are we going
to do something exciting?

You're sensation-mad.

Poor old Vernon Hislop -
breaks his pelvis, and he's bored
again within five minutes.

Well, I tell you what we're going
to do for starters, we're going
to meet the 11 o'clock bus.

Is that from Cyril? He wrote it?
Yep, it came this morning.

Is he going to be on the bus?
No. He's not going to be on the bus.

Then what the hell are we going to
meet it for? Why don't you shut
your flap and let him tell you?

"Oswestry, Saturday. Dear all,
weather remains mixed, wind variable.

"By the way, if you should see
my former landlady, please enquire

"if the blue socks are back
yet from the laundry.

"I have acquired decent
accommodation in one of the
better residential areas.

"Several persons of good standing are
eager to propose me for membership
of the Conservative Club..."

Bah, the poor demented capitalist!

"The social circle is grateful
for new blood, now that
the barracks are closing.

"It's very sad to see this
once-proud military establishment

"guarded now by a person
with dandruff

"and an apparently well-speaking
Alsatian from Securicor.

"Certainly, the brute's comprehension
of English is very inferior...

"and so is his dog's,
because when I attempted to visit

"the barracks on a nostalgic
pilgrimage,
the damn thing wouldn't let go!

"The security fella was just
as unpleasant, but at least he
hasn't got me elbow in his mouth.

"However,
the bruises have almost gone now,

"thanks to the sympathetic
and skilful ministrations
of a certain lady."

The poor dozy pillock!

Can't you see him? Eh? Can't you see
him there in the darkened NAAFI, eh?

All blushing
as she strokes his elbow.

Ooh-hoo! No wonder the Tories
don't breed as fast as Labour.

They wouldn't breed so fast, would
they, if they thought it was hard
work? Wait till it's nationalised.

They'll take five of the beggars
where only one was needed before.

And since the Sex Discrimination Act,
all five could turn out to be women.

Aye. Do you ever get the feeling
that living in the second half

of the 20th century is a bit
like being detained
on Her Majesty's pleasure?

Read the letter. Oh, right.
Well, now we're getting to the
gritty-nitty, because Cyril says...

"You'll be interested to hear
that among the last few people to be

"employed at the barracks
was old Foggy Dewhurst."

It says here...
"You remember Foggy Dewhurst?"

I do. He were always sick
every playtime at school.

He were in the Specials
before he went into the Army.

Great, long, gormless streak
from Arnold Crescent.

His mother wore brown boots.

He were always on traffic duty.

Blue uniform, white face.

Looked like a pencil
with a rubber on the end.

I thought he was dead.

Nah. I had this feeling that he'd
either died or something unspeakable

had happened to him, but I never
imagined anything as morbid as this.
What's that?

Well, he's been in Wales
all this time. Oh.

Cyril says...
"Foggy has been employed

"at the barracks here
in a civilian capacity
since he retired from the Army.

"We were stationed here together
for several months in 1947.

"As you can imagine, he was delighted
to see me, and we held a small
but thoroughly depressing reunion.

"So many of the old faces are gone,
and it gave us no comfort

"to recognise that,
thanks to this Labour government,
when the Russians finally come,

"practically all we shall
have left to throw at them
is one Welsh-speaking Alsatian.

"On top of which, he's a reedy
tenor who bursts into song
at the slightest provocation..."

Oh, no, that's the guard!

I thought he meant the Alsatian.

"Old Foggy's
returning home to an empty house

"in Arnold Crescent, with all his
relatives passed on or moved away.

"It would be a friendly gesture
if you could meet him and show him

"that comradeship
which will help him over
this difficult transitional period.

"It is with confidence that I commend
to your care old Foggy Dewhurst,

"one of the finest
corporal signwriters with whom

"it's ever been
my privilege to serve.

"A master of the Gothic script...

"and a keen leader of men."

Has thy ever heard
of Yehudi Menuhin?

No.

No, neither have I.

You know what
I always feel sorry about?

Go on.

That I didn't buy
them encyclopaedias.

That bloke said if I'd have really
dipped into them, I could have
been up to degree standard.

Who was he then,
Minister of Education?

He said he grew lupins.

Oh, well, he must have had some
shreds of self-respect,
then, if he grew lupins.

Take care, monsieur! I am the
most feared swordsman in France!

With what you're showing,
I'm not surprised!

Is that a new vest?

Ah, the other one were past it.

Keep that thing the right way up,
will you? ..Ah, Clegg?

Simonite.

Cor. Now...

Take...

take that bag, will you? Come on!

Now, look, keep your eye on that -
it's a lifetime collection of
hand-painted army office door signs.

No, you men... No.

I'm trying to keep that the right
way up! It should have travelled on
t'platform, should this, you know.

He sneaked it on back at t'terminus,
didn't he? While we were
snatching a quick cuppa.

I didn't sneak it -
I marched it on in good order
and military discipline.

Aye. Then you jammed it like
a cork in t'back seat.

Jam?
That's a preposterous suggestion.

That anyone with my instinctive
delicacy of touch could
do anything so clumsy as jam.

Then how come it's taking three of
us to throw the blasted thing off?

I just tucked it in neatly,
that's all.

I warn you not to throw that thing.

Take that man's number! What?

I must check the contents of these
bags to make sure that that fool
hasn't broken anything, you see.

Now, could we, er...

Yes, could we go in there,
do you think?

Welcome home, Foggy.

Yes, well, if we can just
put everything down in here.

Carefully - put it down carefully,
won't you now?

I'll give you a hand with this,
because I want to make sure that
fella hasn't broken these things.

He threw it down
unnecessarily hard, I thought.

Oh, no, those are all right,
aren't they? Oh, yes. Yes.

Oh, I think everything's all right.

Oh, would you like to have a look?

Handle them very carefully,
won't you?

Now, I usually
keep a slip of paper about me
for the purposes of note-taking.

Oh, no, no.
That's my equipment list.

Now, let's see what's in here now.

Oh, no, that's the
suggested daily schedule.

What... what a performance!

Let's have a look at this.

Oh, have you finished?
Did you enjoy those?

Now, what I'm going to do
is to make a note of it on here

and then transfer it later
to its proper piece of paper.

Now, I don't mind disorder,
but you have to remember that

flexibility is the fourth
dimension of good planning.

And the main thing is to make
a decision and push on with it.

Now, you see, for the purposes
of note-taking, I usually carry a
free-flow slimline ballpoint pen...

Pen...

What's he doing now?

He's doing all right.

You get depressed sometimes and begin
to believe that there aren't any real
old-fashioned idiots left. And then,

out of the blue

comes a genuine 14-carat
gilt-edged barmpot like this!

He looks a bit weird to me sitting
there with his mouth open.
You know...

silent, like.

I've got it. I don't need it!

It amazes you, that, doesn't it?

No, it's just a little trick,
you see, that I've perfected

for bringing all the mental powers
to bear on the subject in hand.

I call it my little
planning sessions.

I thought he were having a stroke.

Oh, no, no. No, you see, I had
to remember what I'd done with
my little ballpoint, so I had

one of my little planning sessions,
you see, played over certain actions
in the kaleidoscope of the mind,

and bingo, within seconds, I know
exactly what I've done with it.
What HAVE you done with it?

I've left it on the bus.

Did you notice I paused for
a second back there on the hill?

Throwing a map-reader's
eye over the ground.

Just for an instant, but long enough

to recognise that the place
hasn't changed much.

Oh, I don't know,
there's a kind of sparkle
through the beads of perspiration.

How much luggage has thy got, Foggy?

Well, what I suggest is, we take
this lot round to Arnold Crescent

and have a breather,
then go and collect the heavy trunk
from the parcels office.

I think we'd better give him
a few lessons about my bad back!

Are you sure you've actually left
the Army and not brought it with you?

Foggy? Foggy?

Are you there, Foggy?

It began with a B142.

What did? That man's number.

But are you sure?

Not completely, no.

Ooh! No, but...

What are we carting these
old bits of wood about for?

They happen to be the nucleus
of a unique collection of
hand-painted army office door signs.

Oh, you don't say?

But are they worth anything?

Not individually, no.

I see. I don't suppose the
doors are in the trunk, are they?

Isn't that right, Foggy?

That man's got
a hole in his trousers!

Ah, yeah, it's just his little
way of showing his individuality.

39, please, gents. Ta.

No. No, no, no, no.

Don't you pay -
I'll pay for the refreshments.

Well, you were good enough to assist
me in transit with the baggage,
personal lightweight.

What's he on about - lightweight?!

Well, don't forget,
we haven't seen the trunk yet.

Is your, er, friend doing
anything productive, do you think?

Or is he just having a good scratch?

Here we are... No, no, no, no.

No, nobody buys the first round
except Corporal Dewhurst.

Fancy, and to think when he started
looking, he was only a private.

Thank you.

That's a real
commando's purse, is that.

Napoleon started as corporal.

And he's ended up as a Josephine.

To Operation Swordblade.

What the hell's
Operation Swordblade?

No, don't ask me
to say any more at the moment.

No, it's just a little enterprise
I was proud to be associated with
when I was on the active list.

It's enough for you to know
at this moment, under alien skies,

a little handful of brave men is
still to be found to have made
liberty their watchword.

Shall we have a sit down?

Norman, what he's on about?

You know, the western world.

In the balance. Fate of.

Isn't he lovely?

No, it is my intention to transform
the current Arnold Crescent

into a small but efficient
outpost of all the military virtues.

And if on the currents
that move in Arnold Crescent
are obstinately civilian?

Yes, well, now, standing orders,
reveille 0600 hours.

Oh, that's early. 0630 to 0700 hours,
physical training.

And it's a bit like
love-making, you know - it's a vice
if you practise it alone.

Spend time in your garden.

Not what I've been trained for.

Oh, paint it white if you have to.

You don't paint all of it white -

you just pick
out a few of the stones at
the edges of the paths and borders.

Come walking with us. Ah!

Now, I've reserved Tuesdays and
Thursdays for route marches
and other map-reading schemes.

We just pop up the hill
and have a fag.

You don't still smoke
filthy cigarettes?

You must have lungs
like tangled boot laces.

Well, I intend to resist this
sloppy process of civilian decay -
I have a will like iron.

Well, you'll find that stiff
cardboard is more than adequate
for today's standards.

I'm a fairly tolerant sort of bloke.

If tha's going to be a non-smoker,
I suppose I can get used to it.

Here, I hope you're not going to be
one of them chain non-smokers, Foggy,

that can't finish not having one
before you start not having another.

Aye. I can take non-smokers
in moderation,

but what whittles me
is how much longer
he's going to be walking about

dressed up like
the regimental mascot.

Oh. Oh, don't you provoke me
like that.

No, I'm all right now.

I'm all right. Just that I get
these... murderous tempers, you see.

No, on the whole,
you really shouldn't say anything

to me that you couldn't safely say
to John Wayne.

Tha's not like John Wayne.

We're the same height.

People are always remarking on it.

You've never seen him
in a hat like that, though.

Look who's giving
advice about dress.

Even for a civilian, you're a mess.

And I am at the height of my
mental and physical fitness.

I have a body like whip cord.

And I have control, you see,

thanks to this ancient trick
I picked up in the East.

Like Mrs Bhattacharya.

Like iron self-control.
You great nelly!

You can't even control that
piece of string around your neck.

These are my regimental colours.

I will fight any man here
who insults these colours.

All right, Foggy...

This is no place
to be issuing challenges.

This is something of a sporting pub.

I don't like those colours.

That's my little cousin,
Big Malcolm.

How's your mam, Big Malcolm?

Nicely, thank you, Cleggy.

He just got home today,
Big Malcolm, he's back from Wales.

Fancy.

And up to now,
it's been his lucky day.

Yes, well, I think what we've got
here, Big Malcolm, essentially,

is a situation that's still
open to peaceful settlement.

I can't do it, Cleggy.

I've got to live in this pub.
If there'd been nobody in,
we could have had a drink and laugh,

but they've all heard.

I feel that I should warn you
that I'm no stranger to the
deadly arts of unarmed combat.

Now, listen, little Big Malcolm.
Listen to me. Can't tha let him off?

Look at him. I mean, on account
of the fact that he's... crackers.

Of course I've sworn never
to use these deadly arts for
my own personal advantage.

I'd appreciate the loan
of this bit of rag round your neck,

on account of some unsteady twit
spilling beer on our domino table.

Yes, well, I mean,
you see the dilemma I'm in.

Oh, very clearly. I mean, if he
provokes me sufficiently to arouse
battle frenzy, I could hurt him.

A man of discretion at this stage,
Foggy, would almost certainly
retire via the concert room door.

Yes, well, it's a matter of honour.

Yes, well, I've give you once
last chance to apologise for
the rude remarks you've made...

SMACK! Oh!

You've made such a mess!

Oh, oh...

Oh, you've no idea
how glad I am I didn't hurt him.

Oh. Oh.

Is he all right, Cleggy?

Oh, nicely, thank you, Big Malcolm.

How long you had him? Just today.

Well, if you can keep him alive,

you might get some mileage
out of him.

I can't understand why anyone with
a death wish needs so much baggage.

Will tha stop pulling that trunk
and try pushing this one?!

To be brutally honest,
I'm not too enchanted about getting

my head down so close to your...
scandalous civilian hindquarters.

Then close you eyes!

Oh, I'm almost equally
at home in the dark.

I've got senses like a cat.

Oh, heck.

He's off again! No, I've got
a very low sleep threshold too.

The first snap of twig,
and I'm there,
balanced on the balls of my feet.

I think I may never drink again
without toasting
Operation Swordblade.

I wish tha'd stop encouraging him!

Hang on a minute...

Stop, Cleggy. Cleggy!

Cleggy, stop!

I order you to stop!

Like a cat, he says.
He's more like a gyppo's horse!

Oh, dear!

Stop it!

I didn't tell you to release the
thing, did I? I said stop it,
not let go of the damn trolley.

We were acting on our own initiative.

You must remember
that flexibility is the fourth
dimension of good planning.

Cut me loose, will you?
Cut me loose.

There's a knife in this pocket.

Which pocket?

Try the other pocket.

Oh, heck.

Here we go again.

Mind your jumper.

Hey! Does tha think he's allus
weird or is it just today?

I think the signs are very promising.

I think the chances are that
he's potty on a full-time basis.

I hope that trunk's all right,
you know.

I've got a very valuable
optical gunsight in there.

It only wants a bit of machining
and a ground glass or two.