All language subtitles for Hard Times 1977 EP1

Excellent, sir.

Excellent.

Facts.

Those are facts.

Facts.

Mark that children.

Facts alone are wanted in life.

Plant nothing else.

And root out everything else.

The minds of reasoning animals,

and that is what you are, and
what I am, and that is a fact,

can be properly
formed only by facts.

That is the principle on which
I bring up my own children.

And in this school you
will be brought up on it, too.

Stick to facts, sir, that
is your charge here.

Girl number twenty.

Who is that girl?

I don't know that girl.

Sissy Jupe, sir.

Sissy is not a name.

Don't call yourself Sissy.

Call yourself Cecilia.

But it's father always
calls me Sissy, sir.

He always did.

Then he has no business
to do it. Tell him he mustn't.

Who is your father?

He belongs to horse-riding,
if you please, sir.

We don't want to know anything about
horse-riding here, don't tell us of that.

And tell him there
must be no more Sissy.

Give me your
definition of a horse.

Girl number twenty
unable to define a horse.

Girl number twenty
possessed of no facts

in reference to one of
the commonest of animals.

Some boy's
definition of a horse.

Yours.

Quadruped.

Graminivorous.

Forty teeth, namely

twenty four grinders, four
eye teeth, and twelve incisors.

Sheds coat in spring,

and in marshy countries,
sheds hoofs, too.

Hoofs hard, and requiring
to be shod with iron.

A horse, sir.

Cecilia Jupe.

Now you know what a horse is.

Yes sir.

Now, boys and girls,

would you paper a room
with representations of horses?

The answer is no.

Do you ever see horses walking up
and down the walls of rooms in reality,

in fact?

Of course no.

Why, then, you are not to see
anywhere, what you don't see in fact.

This is a new principle,

a discovery,

a great discovery.

Now,

if you are proposing
to carpet a room,

would you use a carpet with a
representation of flowers upon it?

Yes, sir.

Girl number twenty.

So you would use a carpet with
representations of flowers upon it.

Why would you?

Sir, I'm fond of flowers.

And have people walking
over them in heavy boots?

Well they would be the pictures of
what was very pretty and pleasant, sir.

- And I fancy that...
- Fancy!

You mustn't fancy.

That's it, you are
never to fancy.

You are not to have in any
object of use or ornament

what would be a
contradiction in fact.

You do not walk
upon flowers, in fact,

you cannot be allowed to
walk upon flowers in carpets.

Mr M’Choakumchild.

Africa.

Name the countries
of central Africa.

The countries of central Africa—

are—

[unintel],

Timbuktu,

[unintel],

Ladies and gentlemen,

our aim is to amaze you,

and to delight you.

Come and see the Magnificent Mandini,

as he walks the tightrope,

at the risk of life and limb,

high above your heads.

See the astonishing feats

of Senor Changa,

as he combines the twin gifts
of strength and equilibrium,

to poise
one-handed

upon the neck of
a wine-bottle.

Graceful Miss Josephine Sleary

will enchant you,

as she performs her
Tyrolean Flower Act,

upon the back of her
trained steed, Sovreign.

Ladies and gentlemen,

we bring you wonders from
the four corners of the earth.

King Tago, a fire-eater
from the forests of Africa,

Signor Merino,

the Italian daredevil,

...back-handed over his head,

thus forming a fountain
of solid iron in midair.

...Adolphus and the dancing bear!

...and we can offer
you the privilege

of viewing the human
medical wonder

of the universe!

Ladies and gentlemen,

there is money to be won

by any bold-hearted
gentleman of Coketown,

who is ready to challenge

the champion boxer of Bavaria!

Louisa!

Thomas!

In the name of all
idleness and folly!

What are you doing here?

We wanted to see
what it was like.

This?

Yes.

Thomas, though I
have the fact before me,

I cannot believe that
you could so readily forget

all your training and bring
your sister to a scene like this.

I brought him, father.

I asked him to come with me.

I'm no more pleased to hear that.

It makes Thomas no better.

And you, Louisa, much worse.

What can you both
possibly want from this—

frivolity?

Haven't I provided you with a wealth of
fascination at home and your schoolroom?

What purpose can
this idleness serve you?

We were tired.

Tired?

Tired of what?

Of everything.

That is too childish
of you, Louisa.

This is too childish
of both of you.

What would our friends
say if you were seen here?

What would Mr Bounderby say?

What would
Mr Bounderby have to say?

It's wise for a man in
his prime to stop and look

where he stands from
time to time, Mrs Gradgrind.

Especially—

a bachelor.

There's so much
business to attend to,

he's likely to overlook
his own condition of life.

Indeed, it's good for him
to know what year he's at.

So that he can size up the advancement
in his past against the time it took.

And plan his future.

Against the time that's left.

And I'm not frightened to put
myself on the weighing scales.

Weigh me against
the opportunity my birth

gave me and then you'll
see the tonnage of me.

I'm sure you look in—

robust health, Mr Bounderby.

- I only wish—
- I am now, ma'am.

But if you'd seen me
on my tenth birthday,

you wouldn't have bet a basin of
oatmeal that I'd live to stand here now.

Let alone stand as I do.

I was one of the most miserable
little wretches ever seen.

I was so sickly, so
ragged and dirty,

you wouldn't have touched me

with that pair of tongs.

My tenth birthday
I spent in a ditch

and that was proper enough
since I was born in one.

I hope 't was a dry one
for your poor mother's sake.

A foot of water in it.

Enough to give a baby a cold.

Cold?

I was born with
inflammation of the lungs,

and as for my poor
mother, as you call her,

I can tell you nothing about
her because I never knew her.

She bolted.

Left me to my grandmother,

and I've known that woman
lie in her bed and drink

fourteen glasses of
liquor before breakfast.

She kept me in an egg box.

You'd like to know
how I pulled through it?

I wish I could tell you.

I was—

determined, I suppose.

Nobody threw me a rope.

Schooling?

I learned my letters from
the names on the shops.

Learned to tell the time from
the steeple clock at St Giles's,

under the direction of a drunken cripple.

I was a vagabond,

errand boy,

laborer,

porter,

clerk,

chief manager,

small partner,

Josiah Bounderby of Coketown.

And those, madam,

are the antecedents,

and the culmination,

of Josiah Bounderby.

You may force him
to swallow boiling fat,

but you shall never force him
to suppress the facts of his life.

Now then, Grandgrind,
two young faces in the

dumps, what's this?

Father caught us at the circus.

An amusement for the illiterate.

Circus!

Oh.

It's enough to make one
regret having had a family at all.

I have a great mind
to say I wish I hadn't.

Then what would you have
done I should like to know.

And why aren't you studying?

You've got shells, and—

minerals, and—

things—

instead of—

circuses!

We've never seen a circus.

No. With my poor head in its—

present state—

it's—

all I could do to remember the—

the mere names of half the facts

you have to attend to.

I'll be down in a few
minutes, Mr Bounderby.

There are things I
want to talk to you about.

Go to your study.

Tell me what put all this nonsense
into your head about circuses.

You could have asked
me about these strollers.

I've seen their kind
many times on my travels.

How did you come to
learn about them, Louisa?

A girl came to the
house yesterday morning.

She said she was
from the horse riding.

And she wanted to go
to father's school.

Since she tries to go to school, if there
is one, whatever town her people are in.

Mother called me
to speak to the girl

because she had
such a timid little voice.

Mother couldn't properly
hear what she was saying.

I must go.

Well, that's all right, Louisa.

The child made you
inquisitive, I can see that.

You're vexed your
father, that's plain.

But I can set
this right for you.

Your spirit of inquiry—your
father shall understand that.

Now then, Louisa.

That's worth a kiss, isn't it?

You can take one, Mr Bounderby.

Always my pet,
aren't you, Louisa?

- Ah. Mr Bounderby.
- All right, Gradgrind,

I've a full answer for you,

and you and I are
going for a walk.

Let's go and have a
look at these vagabonds.

You've a few questions
to ask there, I think.

You'll rub a hole in your face, Loo.

You could cut the piece out with
your penknife if you like, Tom.

I wouldn't cry.

That girl will have the whole school
in the horse riding within a week.

You'd best turn her
to the rightabout.

But she did ask to go to my
school; that's admirable enough.

You see more good in the
world than I do, Gradgrind.

I know these sort of people—I've
shared gutters and garrets with them.

There's much of the same
spirit in half of my hands.

They won't buckle down.

They hanker for the old,
idle days of their hand looms.

Taking their time Monday in bed if
you please if it took their fancy.

Now they come begging
for a place in my factories.

They want my wages but they won't
stomach the discipline of my machines.

Hardly a day goes by without I've
got some new deputation in my office,

either the hours are too long,
or the breakfast time is too short,

or I'm not paying enough.

We'll have money to
spend their nights guzzling

and conspiring in
their thieves' kitchens.

I've received some tabular
statements from the Teetotal Society.

They do make very grave reading.

Tabular statements, eh?

I've seen more drunkenness than all
your tabular statements will show you.

I see the hands,

and the hands drink.

With all your teetotal societies and
your Bible Christians and Unitarians

and Connection Methodists
and Congregationalists

and Sandemanian Baptists
and all the other denominations,

they won't stop the hands
drinking and that's about it.

They're a bad lot.

They want a life of venison
and turtle soup with a gold spoon.

And I'll tell you this about
your denominations, Gradgrind,

There's too much singing and
ranting in every one of them.

That's not what we
want from religion.

That's your circus
and your day off again.

I'm assured they
preach industriousness.

It shouldn't need
to be argued for.

That is a fact.

If it's argued for, today, it can
be argued against, tomorrow.

They're just common working
men, half these preachers.

It's your wondering, and your
iffing and butting, Gradgrind,

I don't want that from my hands.

True, true.
No wondering.

Now you're going to learn something.

See some pretty stuff here.

Mr Jupe!

Is there a Mr Jupe here?

Or Mrs Jupe, then?

Jupe.

[unintel]

I'd like to know the
whereabouts of a Mr Jupe.

I haven't a great
deal of time to wait.

Come along.

You see, my friend, we are the kind
of people who know the value of time,

and you are the kind of people
who don't know the value of time.

If you want to cheek us you
pay your ochre at the gate.

This is an obtrusive lad!

Oh, we'd have had a young gentleman to
meet you if we'd known you was coming.

Stow it, Kidderminster.

There's been no Mother
Jupe for six seasons.

And we haven't seen the
clown since this morning.

Went off with his bundle,
Merrylegs with him.

That's his dog, does
tumbles with him.

Took off as soon as
sent little girl to school.

He were crying with
the drink when he went.

Stow it.

A drunkard, is he?

Not for me to say.

He was a good
clown in his time.

Is the girl here alone, then?

She can choose a mother,

father, sister, brother.

No one will refuse her here.

She'll never believe it of him,

but he's cut away and left her.

So he's a rogue and a runaway
vagabond; that's what he is, in English.

I'm telling your
friend what's the fact.

If you don't like to
hear it, you can clear off.

You give it mouth enough, you do,
but give it mouth in your own place.

This is our place.

You've got a place of
your own, I dare say.

Have you?

Perhaps so.

What's your
business with the girl?

Business beyond you, sir.

Who's in charge here?

Sleary's Horse-Riding.

Is there is Sleary?
Where is Sleary?

He's in there.

You'll be ready for the spring.

Here's a new clown
and a dog, Mr Sleary.

Stow it.

Two more times round the ring, now.

Hold your head up, show
the customers your smile.

Mr Sleary, sir.

Am I addressing Mr Sleary?

Squire.

That's me name.

Your servant.

Gradgrind is my name.

This is Mr Bounderby.

I came here to
enquire of a Mr Jupe,

your clown, I believe.

His daughter is at my
school, my concern is with her.

What'll it be, squire?

Is it to be sherry?

Give it a name, Mr Schoolmaster.

Nothing for me, I thank you.

Mr Gradgrind, sir,

is neither a drinker
nor a schoolmaster.

He has the mind of one
hundred schoolmasters

He is a gentleman, retired
from the hardware business,

and going in for Parliament.

He has established a school
based upon his own principles,

but you are not to
call him a schoolmaster,

because there is much, much
more to this gentleman than that, sir.

It is the matter of the child's presence
at my school that I've come about.

She's to attend no more; we'll have
no more of her fancy influence.

Is that your message, squire?

It sounds hasty.

It is hasty.

You'll forgive me, Bounderby,

I made no decision like that.

Mr Sleary,

I feel some involvement
with this child.

It seems her father sent her
to my house, into my school,

as a preparation
for his own desertion.

By the look and sound of
things, it is desertion, isn't it?

His dog with him and his effects.

I wish he hadn't taken his dog.

It's an inconvenience to
have the dog out of the bills.

And yet, Merrylegs would never have
performed without his master, so

it's just as broad as it's long!

Is it your intention to do
something for the poor girl, squire?

Carefully, Gradgrind.

I have something
to propose to her.

I'm very glad to hear it.

Not that I want to be rid of her

any more then I want
to stand in her way.

Excuse my voice, squire.

It's a little husky to
them as is not used to it.

but if you’d been
chilled and heated,

heated and chilled,

chilled and heated in
the ring as often as I have,

your voice wouldn't have
lasted no more than mine.

Fine stuff, this, for a
man that's raised himself.

Help me out with
the girl here, squire.

My mind is clear.

I see a duty to this child.

Not one I asked for,
but it's here all the same.

The child is distressed.

An infernal shame
upon us all, it is.

Where is he?

An't he come back yet?

He will, I know he will, he
sent me for the nine oils.

There's no sign
of him yet, Sissy.

No news yet.

What's the use of this "yet," sir?

Tell the girl straight—
let me tell her, since I was

run away from before I could
talk, let alone being her age.

Child,

the fact of it is, that your
father has absconded,

and you mustn't expect to see
him again as long as you live.

I tell you what, squire!

I suggest you speak
plain and short, now.

And don't give your friend any
time to say any more of that kind.

They're very good natur'd
people, my people are,

but they’re accustomed to be
very quick in their movements;

and one more ounce
of that out of him,

and damned if I don't believe
they'll pitch you both in the canal.

I'll be practical.

Jupe.

Listen to me.

Whether your father is coming
back soon or some time in the future,

is something none of us knows.

The fact is, he is gone now,

and some provision
must be made for you.

I'm willing to take charge of you,
to care for you in my home.

Where I hope you'll
make yourself useful.

Especially to Mrs
Gradgrind, who is ailing.

And to educate you.

The only conditions I make are,

that you decide whether to
accept my offer now, at once.

And that if you come with me,

you undertake not to
communicate with your friends here.

That is the whole
of the case from me.

Except to remind you
that your father appears to

have recognized the
value of a sound education.

On the other side
of the banner, m'dear,

is this offer from me.

You can be apprenticed here,

and you know the work.

My wife will be a mother to you.

And Josephine a sister.

I don't pretend to
be of the angel breed,

and I don't say that I shan't
swear an oath or two at you.

I never did a horse
or a rider an injury yet.

And I don't suppose I should
change my nature at my time of life.

That's where I stand.

When father comes back,

how will he know
where to find me?

If he comes to me I shall
tell him where you are.

And Mr Gradgrind will
have no power to keep you.

He knows that.

So be it, m'dear.

My last words to you is this.

Stick to the terms
of the arrangement.

Be obedient to the squire.

And forget us.

But if, when you were
grown up and are married

and are well-off,

you come across any
of the horse-riding ever,

don't be hard on it,

don't be cross with it.

People must be amused, squire.

They can't always be
working or learning.

Make the best of us.

Not the worst, squire.

Collect your things, Cecilia.

I brought the bottle for father.

It's the nine oils,
t' rub him with.

The nine oils;
for hurts in the ring.

My people bruise
themselves often badly.

Let me keep it for your father.

He'll want it when
he comes back, Sissy.

Isn't the Gradgrind boy too
young to be of use in your office?

He has his education to
finish first, Mrs Sparsit.

That boy never
know his good fortune.

At his age, I'd been forced to make myself
of use in a dozen offices and warehouses.

Nobody offered me a mild start,

an hand,

and an exchange of one bed of
feathers for another just as soft.

Paving-stone was my bed.

But I shouldn't talk to you about
paving-stones and warehouses, should I?

You know nothing
about that, do you.

When it was paving-stones and attics
and warehouses for me, it was the opera,

and May Fair,

and lords,

and honourables,

and white satin and jewel for you.

Wasn't it?

Come on, madam, admit it. You were
born in the lap of luxury, weren't you?

Certainly, sir, I was familiar with the
Italian opera at a very early age.

And crack society weren't
you, in tiptop fashion.

That's true.

My own family are Scadgers.

But my late husband was
a Paola on his mother's side.

Had he possessed a fraction
of your business acumen,

I should not now be managing
your household for you.

I trust you're satisfied, sir.

Coming from the scum of
the earth as I do, madam,

I am privileged to have
your delicate services here.

And I hope I've learned to
accommodate myself to life's changes.

You seem unusually slow, sir,
with your breakfast this morning.

Is there something unpalatable?

I can't get this—

whim of Gradgrind's
out of my head.

This business of taking
in the tumbling girl.

It seems generous
of Mr Gradgrind.

Not the company I'd
choose for the little puss.

Why "little puss?"

Are you referring to
young Miss Gradgrind?

I ask because there are
two little girls in question.

I'm speaking of Louisa, madam.

Louisa.

You're quite another father
to little Miss Gradgrind.

Give an example?

Isolead, being solid, will become liquid
by receiving a sufficient accession of heat.

What is the name
given to this process?

Fusion or liquefaction.

I'm tired, Loo.

There's a lot more
to do yet, Tom.

What is conjulation?

Are you well, lad?

Missed you going home from work.

Did you leave early?

Sometimes we're early,
sometimes we're late, you know that.

Better we don't walk
too much together.

There's some as laugh at us
for keeping our distance, you know.

What sin would it be if we sat together
and sang together and prayed together?

Better not to.

It can't be.

Aye, it'd to make
folk talk, wouldn't it?

Even about you.

But if some laugh at us,

why not let others talk, eh?

It can't be.

There might come a time.

It's hard to think it can't be.

It's hard as it is.

But I take your word as law,

and a bright, good law it is, too.

Better than some real ones.

Let the laws be, Stephen, don't
fret about them, let them be, lad.

Yes, let them be.

Let everything be.

It's a muddle and that's all.

Always a muddle.

Yes, lass, always a muddle.

That's where I stick.

I get into a muddle a million
times and I never get beyond it.

Good night, dear lad.

Good night Rachel.

God's mercy!

- Woman.
- Back!

Yes, again.

And again and again.

Yes, why not?

I'll have you sold off,
again and again and again!

Homogenous solids dilate
equally throughout their volume.

Thomas.

Explain combustion.

Certain bodies, when
surrounded by atmospheric air,

being heated to a certain degree,
will enter into a chemical combination;

the oxygen gas which forms one
of the constituents of the atmosphere.

And Louisa, what is the
consequence of that combining?

The combination will be attended
with a large development of heat,

which is accompanied usually
by incandescence and flame.

Thus

the gaslight.

Excellent, children.

Indeed, yes.

How satisfying is
the possession of fact,

that disperses any mystery
concerning our daily life.

For tomorrow, I
wish you to learn

section sixteen

from Connection
of the Physical Sciences.

From the paragraph,

"The atmosphere
is not homogeneous,

it appears, from analysis,
that of one hundred parts,

seventy nine are azotic
gas and twenty one oxygen,

a great source of
combustion and animal heat.

These proportions are found
to be the same at all heights

hitherto attained by man."

To the paragraph,

"Shellfish which have the
power of producing a vaccuum,

adhere to the rocks by this
pressure of fifteen pounds

upon every square inch of contact."

Thank you, children.

Do you know what I wish, Loo?

I wish I could gather
all the facts in the world,

all the figures,

and all the people
who found them out.

And I wish I could put a thousand
pounds of gunpowder under them,

and blow the whole lot up.

I'm tired of everything,
I hate everybody,

except you.

Wish I knew how
to talk to you, to—

lighten your mind.

When I go to live with
Bounderby, things will change.

Mr Bounderby thinks
just as father thinks.

I know how to manage
old Bounderby, though.

- How?
- Through you.

You're his little pet.

He'll do anything for you.

Whenever he says
anything to me I don't like,

I'll only have to say,

My sister Loo will be hurt and
disappointed in you, Mr Bounderby.

That'll bring him round.

Fire away, Blackpool.

There's just one thing, though.

This lady here,

Mrs Sparsit,

is a high-born lady.

You are not to suppose that
because she keeps my house for me,

that she has not been
very high up the tree.

At the top of the tree.

So if you have anything to say that
shouldn't be said before a born lady,

then this lady will
leave the room.

I asked to see
you in private, sir.

This is private, Blackpool.

Private enough for you.

So out with it, lad.

I've come, sir, because—

I need your advice.

I need it bad.

I was married on Easter
Monday nineteen years since.

Yes, I know about this. I
know all my hands, madam.

It's my business to know.

I know the ones who expect
to be set up in a coach and six,

and to be fed on turtle soup
and venison with a gold spoon.

Will you hear me out, sir?

I know about you and your
wife; she took to drink, gave up working.

Sold the furniture,
pawned the clothes.

And generally played
old gooseberry, right?

I was patient with her.

Well you made a mistake.

But I know about this,
what do you want with me?

She went from bad to
worse and then worse still.

I tried and tried, but—

I'd come home and find
everything I had in this world

vanished not once
but twenty times.

She'd leave me but
she'd come back and back.

I'd walk the streets all
night sooner than go home.

I've come near to
drowning myself off bridge.

- Yes—
- I've paid her to keep away from me

for five years, I've paid her, and
she stayed away, but last night—

she came back.

Was it an unequal
marriage in terms of years?

I were twenty one,
she were nearly twenty.

I only ask because often unequal ages
are the cause of unsatisfactory marriages.

Go on, Blackpool, what's next.

Come to ask you, sir,

how I'm to be rid of this woman.

Well you took her better or
worse, man, you can't be rid of her.

There must be.

I've read in the papers that

great folk are not bonded
together as fast as we.

They can live asunder
and marry again.

I want to be free of this woman,

and I want to know how.

Free of her?

Sir,

if I do her any hurt,

there's a law to
punish me, isn't there?

There is.

If I desert her,

there's a law to punish me.

Of course.

If I marry another,

there's a law to punish me.

Of course, again.

If I live with her
without marrying her,

there's a law to punish
every innocent child we have.

Yes.

Well then in God's name,

show me a law to help me.

Well, there is such a law,

but it is not for
the likes of you.

Not at all.

Cost you a mint of money.

How much.

Well, you'd have to go to lawyers in
chambers, and then you'd have to go to—

a court of Common Law, and then
you'd have to go to the House of Lords

and get an Act of Parliament
to enable you to marry again.

Might cost you—

I suppose—

anything between one
thousand, fifteen hundred pounds?

Could cost you twice that.

There's no other way?

Certainly not.

Ah it's a muddle.

Sooner I'm dead,
the better for me.

Don't you call the laws and institutions
of your country a muddle, my lad,

or you'll find yourself in a real
muddle one of these fine mornings.

Don't talk about things
you don't understand.

The only thing you've got to do is
to buckle down to your work—what—

what have you got to do
with the law? Nothing! You just—

mind you—ah—
Tell you what, Blackpool.

I always thought you
were one of the steady hands.

But from you've just been saying, it looks
to me as if you're taking the wrong road.

Are you shocked, madam?
Y-you see?

You've offended this
lady with your unhallowed views.

I see traces of the turtle soup and
venison and gold spoon about you, yes I do.

By the Lord Harry, I do!

Thank you, sir.

Good day, sir.

Your young lady fetched me.

[inaud]

I get everything wrong, I know I do.

There are lots of mistakes.

You seem to go by
the sound of words.

Or by their letters.

You mean National
Prosperity I think.

Not natural.

I expect so.

You're going to withdraw from
the school at the end of the month.

Won't have to worry about
such matters soon.

Mr Gradgrind says I've
disappointed him, Miss Louisa.

He says I'm extremely—

deficient.

In your facts.

Yes, in my facts, Miss Louisa.

My mother would be pleased.

You'll be able to give her all
your attention in the house.

She likes having you about her.

I think so, Miss.

Did your father know so much that
he wishes you to be well taught too?

But Mr Gradgrind says
I must never talk about it.

No one hears us.

What was he like?

Could he read and write?

Well, it was as much
as he could do to write.

It's more than people in general
can do to read his writing.

I can read it.

When he writes to
me I'll be able to read it.

I used to read this book to him.

- What was it?
- It was about fairies, miss.

And a dwarf, and—

Sultan.

The old lady who used to tell
her Sultan stories about magic.

Mr Gradgrind said it was all
destructive nonsense, miss.

My father loved it.

He loved me, Miss Louisa.

Could your mother read?

Don't know.

She died when I was very small.

She was a dancer.

Why did your father leave you if
he loved you as you say he did?

Only for my good.

I understand
why he did it.

You see he knew that
I'd never leave him.

To go to school
and to better myself.

And he had to travel
about country all t' time.

Making people laugh.

Only sometimes
they wouldn't laugh.

Lately they hardly ever laughed.

And that made father sad.

When he was alone
with me, he used to feel—

shrunk up.

He was scared and trembling.

He kept saying he was a
helpless, ignorant man.

Tell me how your
father left you.

Now I've asked so much,
you tell me the end of the story.

Well, night before,

when he got back from t' booth,

he sat a long time,

rocking in front of t' fire.

He wouldn't speak,

although I kept asking
him if he'd hurt himself.

They all do, sometimes.

I could see he was crying.

And the more I asked him,
the more he hid his face.

Then he shook all over.

He took me in his arms, and he said,

"My darling.

My love."

That was all.

My darling, my love.

My darling my love.

I see his face.

Over and over.

My darling, my love.

Why are you staring at the fire?

Think about

red flame

coming out of

cold black coal.

And I look at the red sparks

dropping out of the flame, and

whitening,

dying.

Makes me think how
short my life will be.

How little I can
hope to do in it.

Subtitles by:
The Hampstead Titlebats