Original subtitles

Man: Come on, boys.

- Come on. - Gee up, gee up.

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Of course, the responsibility of being chairman

is simply incalculable.

The entire club relies on my expert guidance.

As interesting as all of this is...

I'm actually reporting on the County Cup Final?

Ah.

Great Slaughter takes on Stowington.

Chance to finally get one over on the local rivals, eh?

And here's the man who's gonna help us to do it.

Norman, meet Humphrey Lash, star player and team captain.

Humphrey used to play for Oxfordshire Young Cricketers.

Get it right, Hector.

Played and set the record for the most runs

in an entire season.

Who is that?

Felix: I believe it is Valerie Vandemeer.

She's Stowington's new chairwoman.

Norman: Got given the club as part of her divorce settlement.

Along with all the rest...

Ms. Vandemeer.

Always a pleasure.

Although I out to point out the match

doesn't actually start until tomorrow...

I'm aware of that, Mr. "Lose-ley."

I actually wanted a chat, given I'm now

leaseholder of this land.

I've been speaking to my accountants.

This club hasn't paid its rent for the last two months.

Well, clearly these -- these a-accountants --

I've seen the books myself.

And you'll be aware that our agreement states

that if you miss another payment then I'm allowed to kick you

and this club to the curb... permanently.

A lot of potential here.

Can I get a photo of you guys for my article?

Doubtless a mere oversight.

I'll make sure you get paid in full.

Let's hope so.

Or this match tomorrow might be

the last Great Slaughter ever plays.

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Oh, this is most exhilarating.

The first cup final between Great Slaughter and Stowington

in over 30 years.

I forgot you were such a fanatic.

Mrs. Clam: Egg sandwiches and cucumber on this side please.

Vera, where would you like this?

What is it?

Started life as a Victoria Sponge.

Though I forgot halfway

and thought I was making a chocolate cake.

And that was before I added the walnuts and lemon drizzle...

Mrs. Clam. A word.

So, can we expect another century today?

Blimey. Put pressure on a bloke.

Don't you think it's time for a new pair?

Andy: Wish the quarry's wages stretched that far.

Still, these are my lucky ones.

Like we said at practice, Tom.

The bat faces this way.

Hey! You're late.

Relax, old man.

It's "coach." And show some respect.

I'm not sure if anyone's told you, Coach,

but "ze war" ended decades ago.

It's time to move on, hey?

Oh, we thought you'd got lost.

- Sorry, I was... - Getting ready?

Honestly, the way you've been dressing up lately,

I'd say you were out to impress.

Ah, heads.

We'll bat first.

Andy!

Brilliant, brilliant. I'm looking forward to it.

Who says we show them how it's done?

With that thing?

Dear, oh, dear.

It seems withdrawals have been made using this chequebook.

And judging by these stubs, they've taken the lot.

Who would be so despicable?

Someone who had access to this office,

which could be practically anyone on a match day.

So in effect you're saying

that this club hasn't got a penny to its name?

Ah!

Ms. Vandemeer, we were just discussing --

Stop.

I'm getting flashbacks to that appalling

amateur dramatics show you were in.

What?

So you really have no way of paying me?

Well, um, uh...

The prize money.

T-T-The prize money.

If we win this match, we'll have more than we owe.

And if you don't?

Please!

You have seen who our captain is?

##

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Yo!

- Get a jog on! - No, no, no.

Ah.

Did you do that on purpose?

- Oi! - Felix: Hey!

Did you see what he did?!

I'm sure it was a misunderstanding.

Yes. Of course.

Here. Don't give him the satisfaction.

##

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Care to try my Victoria, chocolate, walnut,

and lemon drizzle cake?

Mm.

So, Elsie, someone informs me you've been accepted

into nursing college.

Start next month.

Off to the big smoke.

Can imagine how proud her mum would have been.

Excuse me.

##

- This arrived for you. - Thank you.

That's in!

Yeah.

Hey!

Catch!

Oh!

Oh!

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Time!

Simply superb!

Sir? Look.

Stop! Stop!

- Problem? - What? Humphrey's on 111.

Known as a Nelson.

The unluckiest number a cricketer can be on?

Surely another over wouldn't hurt?

Play's been called, and my boys are gassed.

Need their rest for tomorrow.

Whilst I appreciate that some of us

wouldn't know the difference between a stump,

silly mid on, or a googly, tradition states --

It's fine. It's fine.

Never bought into any of that superstitious rubbish anyway.

Well, there are several theories as to its origins,

the most common being Horatio Nelson --

the fact he had one eye, one arm, and one leg.

If you want to sit somewhere else...

No, CC Lowsley, he asked me to keep an eye on Humphrey,

given what's happened.

Ah. My favourite little scorer.

We're leaving.

But, Dad, I've still got...

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I think it's time to go home.

Oh, give over, man. I'm --

Needed at your best tomorrow, right?

Let's go home.

You don't believe in this Nelson nonsense, do you, Sister?

Well I've always found it best not to judge the beliefs

of others, even if it is the cricketing gods.

Miss Thimble: Hoping this one goes down a bit better.

Though I ran out of raspberries and had to improvise.

Is that Spam?

Someone's beaten us to it.

Well, I can tell you I wasn't at all happy

with the presentation of the Scotch eggs yesterday.

Oh! If it's not one thing it's another.

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Felix: You don't think...

Sister Boniface: I've deduced this to be the fatal blow.

Caused by the screen falling on him?

Certainly meant to appear that way.

Though the shape of the wound

isn't consistent with the framing.

Observe -- the lack of bruising,

suggesting that he was already dead by the time it fell.

Then there's the grass-stained drag marks on his whites.

Implying the body was moved.

Sam: "Yell"? What does that mean?

I'm not sure.

Though I am certain of one thing.

Someone has used the alleged curse of scoring a Nelson

as a way to commit...

- Murder? - I'm afraid so.

Which means we'll have to call off today's match.

You'll do no such thing.

But, sir, the entire club is now a crime scene.

Look, um, recently, there's been a few...irregularities.

A large -- well, substantial amount of money stolen.

- By whom? - Could be anyone, apparently.

But if we don't win this match and get that prize money,

then Valerie "No-Idea" -- sorry, Vandemeer -- will.

Of course.

- This is her. - Sir?

Well, Humphrey was the only thing standing

in her way of getting this place.

Arrest her on sight.

Sir...

We'll allow the match to go on.

You just focus on that.

Yeah, I guess I'll just...

Not so fast. Our man on the inside, huh?

Fine. But we're relieving Button of her scoring duties.

Sir, we're still down a player.

Hmm.

Mrs. Clam, when you arrived this morning

did you notice anything suspicious?

There was that corpse beneath the screen thing.

No. We -- We arrived.

We walked up to the gate.

Only, it was unlocked.

Humphrey had a key?

Not to my knowledge.

And I definitely locked everything up last night.

Which means whoever did this

must have had access to the club.

Mrs. Clam finally gave me a set.

Can practise when I want then.

Yesterday at the match, you and Humphrey had an altercation?

Yeah, because he got me out.

Couldn't stand the thought of anyone stealing his thunder.

I sometimes lock up after practice.

What was your relationship like?

Well, we weren't on each other's Christmas card lists.

He clearly felt he was above being coached.

That looks particularly vexatious.

The depth and colouration signifying an electric burn?

I tried to do some rewiring at home.

Ask Elsie if you don't believe me.

I'm the leaseholder. Of course I have a key.

And now a greater chance to do what you want with the place.

You said it had great potential?

That was me trying to get your boss to actually pay his rent.

I wouldn't know what to do with a place like this.

- Are we done? - Just one more thing.

I'll compare their handwriting samples to the paper we found.

Oh, and I've also acquired Humphrey's

from his member registration form.

I still don't understand why he came back.

You know, when I took him home, he looked ready for bed.

Perhaps someone telephoned him last night,

asked to meet here.

We've searched the entire area. No sign of a murder weapon.

Good work, Button. Would you contact the GPO?

See if anyone dialled in

or out of Humphrey's house last night.

Sir, is that you?

Huh?

Sister Boniface: "Sam Gillespie --

Star player for the Steeple Hampton youth team."

- A distant memory. - Is that a moustache?

Sister Boniface: Oh, yes.

Uh, call records, Button.

Sir.

Felix: Anything of interest?

Sam: Found this in Humphrey's bag.

I assume it was sent in that.

Felix: Oh, there's a sender's name and address.

Sam: There's a page missing.

Felix: Sir?

What are you...

Stepping up to the breach, Livingstone.

I'm a tad rusty, but I'll soon get into the swing of things.

Oops.

It appears Humphrey's wound contained traces

of willow and linseed oil.

Which indicates our murder weapon...

- Was a cricket bat? - Affirmative.

And that piece of paper you found?

Doesn't match any of our handwriting samples.

Equally frustrating are the fibres on the back.

Completely transparent,

removing the possibility of a dye test.

What exactly could it mean -- "yell"?

So, it turns out it was an old teammate

who sent Humphrey the magazine.

Apparently has a photo from when they were part of

the Oxfordshire Young Cricketers.

Really?

Must be this page torn out.

Annoyingly, it was his only copy.

Perhaps -- Perhaps it's worth contacting The Bugle.

They might have an archive for this sort of thing.

I'm sure Norman would happily assist.

But, sir, I was hoping to catch the match.

Fine.

- Anything else? - Well, let's see.

The rust on the gate's padlock

made it impossible to lift any prints.

But what I did find were traces of methylparaben,

propylparaben, and butylparaben.

Individually, just common parabens.

Yet, combined, they make the perfect formula

for hand cream.

About an hour after the game I came back,

with some property developers.

They think this is the perfect spot for a housing project.

So when you said you wouldn't know

what to do with the place...

We were shooting the breeze. A conversation.

Strange one to have, given Great Slaughter's lead.

Unless you knew their star man

wouldn't be around for much longer.

Look, I can't say

that I'll ever understand this insomnia cure you call cricket.

But what I do know is that it's just a game.

And games can change at any point.

So I was looking at my options.

Last I checked, that wasn't a crime.

##

Norman?

Peggy!

Hi.

I was literally just, um...

Do you want to...

Or you can stand.

Or you can... do whatever you like.

Thanks.

I need a favour.

Without wishing to sound intrusive,

was there a reason you gave up the gentlemen's game?

Couldn't find the time once I joined the force.

Also discovered other ways to occupy myself.

- Oh, excellent batting, Felix. - Thank you.

Victoria will undoubtedly be "bowled over" by your efforts.

Yeah. It's just a shame she's not here to see it.

Oh, there'll be other times, I'm sure.

Is Lindsay about?

Mrs. Clam said he went home with Elsie.

She was upset about Humphrey. Inordinately so.

Huh.

We were seeing each other. Couple of months now.

- I loved him. - Did you know about this?

Last night.

Just before she announced she'd given up her place

at nursing college.

Because of Humphrey?

- No. Because -- - Of course it was.

Been filling her head with nonsense.

I should have realised what was going on

with all the new make-up, jewellery.

You can't have been best pleased.

Oh, come on, Sam.

You can't honestly think that...

You know, last year, before we lost Suzanne,

I made her a promise.

That I'd always be around for Elsie --

our little girl -- no matter what.

So to think I'd do anything that might put that at risk...

What about you, Elsie?

Living here you have access to your father's keys.

She was in all night. I can vouch for that.

Vice-versa if it puts your minds at ease.

Come on, please, let's just get back to the game.

- Bowling! - Good shot.

##

Man: Break.

Magnificent innings, Livingstone.

Thank you, sir.

Lunch is served!

With me.

Thank you.

##

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Ooh! I do love a good bin rummage.

Find anything interesting?

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I think I just might have.

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Bingo.

We have our murder weapon.

Both the willow and linseed oil match that on Humphrey's wound.

Well done, Felix.

Ah, but perhaps most significant,

uncovered beneath the fibreglass --

several hairs.

The colour and microscopic features

suggest they belong to --

Andy Fitch?

Well, how did you --

Turns out he'd invited two guests to the match.

A background check from Button

identifies them as professional cricket scouts.

I know how it looks, but -- but I didn't kill him.

After I was run out I went home, left my bat here.

When I turned up this morning, it was gone.

Why didn't you report it missing?

I was worried how it might look, given that barney we had.

And the fact that he'd

potentially sabotaged your career?

I just wanted a chance.

To show them my potential, escape a life in that quarry.

He must have spotted them, decided to get me out.

The kinda bloke he was.

Where is it? My bat.

It shattered on impact, I'm afraid.

Might not even matter. Those scouts ain't coming back.

Reckon I've blown any future I had in this game.

So have you been playing long?

Yeah, since I was a little kid, actually.

I have to say, your uniform looks...

All right, Peggy?

Yep. Just trying to have a conversation.

Sports editor has got the entire collection.

Part of their archives.

Thanks so much, Norm.

Actually, Peggy, I was wondering if, uh,

if you're free later,

maybe you fancy a trip to the picture--

and you're gone.

A few of my boys fell ill unexpectedly,

so we had to regroup.

These guys are from Australia and the West Indies.

Helping with a project I'm hoping to start.

And you expect me to swallow that codswallop?

I mean, you've clearly just gone and...

Found replacements for those unable to play?

A bit like you did this morning.

What?

Felix: Why would anyone tear this out?

Could do a background check on the players?

Might be a link to our suspects.

Good idea, Button.

Whoa!

No-ball! Bowler's foot was over the line!

Needs glasses, that one.

I've been thinking.

Even if there's something in this photo,

it's hardly a coincidence that Humphrey died at the same time

someone was stealing from the club.

Either way, the chances of them winning it back

are getting slimmer by the wicket.

For those of you tuning in, we bring you news

of Great Slaughter's emphatic defeat

at the hands of Stowington,

Who will now receive the much-coveted winner's cheque.

A cheque.

How was the money being stolen again?

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It appears our thief

was none other than Humphrey himself.

So maybe someone found out, decided to teach him a lesson.

Or perhaps they were an accomplice,

wanted it all for themselves.

Sir, I've just had a message from the GPO.

Someone did ring Humphrey's house last night.

- Do you have a number? - Yes, sir.

Although it doesn't belong to a particular person.

So, once these are out...

Then Stowington are batting,

and we haven't given them much of a target.

Oh, give me strength. Tom! The other way!

Oh...

Did I hit it?

Great Slaughter all out for 210.

Valerie: Very good.

I'm beginning to like this game.

Right, listen to me.

We are having an emergency practice session.

I'm sorry?

So you should be after that spineless performance.

Half of this lot couldn't bat an eyelid.

- They did their best, Hector. - Their best?

Sorry, but aren't you the chap

that led entire squadrons into battle?

Or did you leave your fighting spirit up there?

- Come on, lads. - What?

No. No, no, no, no, no, no.

Come back here. Come here immediately!

Ple-e-e-ase?

None of the neighbours saw anyone use

the telephone last night.

- Anything? - Aside from severe neck ache?

It seems the receiver's been handled too frequently

to find a clear print.

So that's it?

We've no way of knowing who called Humphrey.

What is it?

A flowerhead.

Evidently fallen from a piece of jewellery.

And I know exactly who it belongs to.

Sister Boniface: Given what we now know, might I assume

that bracelet was purchased using the club's finances,

along with the other items you've started wearing?

What happened last night?

We got back from the pub, Dad fuming.

I, uh, went up to my room,

waited till he fell asleep.

Then I snuck out, called Humphrey.

We'd always meet at the club.

I told him Dad knew.

But I didn't care

because it meant no more hiding.

He seemed happy, told me I could stay at his.

And as we left I...

he said he'd forgotten something inside.

That's when I saw the office lights on.

- What are you doing? - Hello, darling.

It's, uh, a little gift for us.

Wait. You're not stealing from the club?

Well, there wouldn't be a club without me.

And if the star player can't treat himself...

Or you for that matter.

No. You can't do this.

Excuse me.

I can do whatever I like.

Oh, dear.

Oh, trust me, sweetheart.

There'll be bigger disappointments

than me in your life.

I saw who he really was for the first time.

And I just left.

- Came back here. - Els?

Elsie was with Humphrey at the club last night.

But I didn't kill him, Dad.

And it wasn't because of him why I gave up my college place.

I do still want to be a nurse one day.

But before then

I'd actually like to travel a bit, see the world.

Losing Mum made me realise...

we're only here once.

You're right, love. We are.

You're still here, sir?

Over 150 years old, this place.

Survived two world wars.

I can't quite accept that it might all end...

...and I couldn't stop it.

Sir...

As much as I admire everything you do --

you know, the cricket, the amateur dramatics,

the church bell ringing...

Morris dancing.

Yeah. That too. Uh...

There perhaps comes a point where you should ask for help.

And stop trying to do everything yourself.

When I joined this club,

the first thing that the members reminded me of was its motto.

Unum quadrigis simul.

"One team together."

Maybe you should remember that as well.

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Oh. Someone's eager.

Or a cynical evasion of Mrs. Clam's breakfast.

No, I just keep thinking about this paper.

Surely there's something we've missed?

Some clue as to our killer?

Given your discernible frustration,

said clue is yet to materialise?

Morning.

You're looking very bright, Button.

Thought I'd wear something nice for the last day of the match.

- Well, yellow suits you. - Thank you.

Of course. Yellow.

The fibres on the back of this paper.

I didn't run any initial tests due to them being colourless,

when in fact

clothing can be a mixture of coloured fibres

and colourless ones which contain fluorescein,

the latter being invisible to the naked eye.

Yet...

Where is it?

When examined under UV...

Oh, look at that.

We can determine which colour of clothing they belong to.

"Yell," short for "yellow."

So it's a label for someone's clothes?

Why would anyone label their clothes by colour?

If they were unable to tell the difference?

Colourblind, perhaps?

Yellow. Colourblind.

But that doesn't make any sense.

Anyway, sir, I followed up on some of the other players.

Not a single connection to any of our suspects.

Why would someone tear this page out?

Sister Boniface: Well, knock me for six.

Sam.

Can we have a word?

Sam. What are you...

Ah, wait. You can't still think --

Sister Boniface: We discovered some yellow fibres

on some paper at the crime scene.

Ones reminiscent of the jumper that you wore

on the day of the murder.

Though it's the colourblind aspect

which was most perplexing.

- What on earth are you -- - The signs were there.

Namely your electrocution burn gained through rewiring,

implying a failure to differentiate

between red and green.

Yet, if you were colourblind,

you'd have been ineligible to join the RAF,

let alone become wing commander.

We found a copy of this in Humphrey's bag.

There was a photo missing,

which we thought might relate to his death.

Turns out it's what's on the other side that really mattered.

Sister Boniface: Lindsay Calder-Marshall.

Taking part in an RAF charity game.

Except that person isn't you.

During the war,

we were stationed on the same base in Italy.

Him in the RAF, me in the Army.

You being?

Scott Ellis.

Private Scott Ellis.

What?

Els.

What are you talking about, Dad?

Sweetheart, listen. I came from the slums.

A world you can't even imagine.

If you'd found a way to escape...

Escape? What are you saying?

The war was ending.

But we still had to fight.

Them in the air, us on the ground.

And during that last offensive,

I found him,

his plane shot down, his body just...

Well, this was my chance.

And nobody realised?

Barely anyone survived that last day.

And he was a bachelor. No real family.

Not long after, I was demobbed, so I returned to Britain,

moved as far away from home as I could

to a place called Great Slaughter

and built the most amazing life for myself.

Did she know? Mum?

I told her before we got married.

She helped me keep it a secret.

She labelled your clothing.

Hence no handwriting match.

So what happened with Humphrey?

After I went to bed last night, I couldn't sleep.

Then I heard Elsie sneak out. I saw my keys were missing.

So I decided to come up here and have it out with them both.

But by the time I arrived, she'd gone.

Oh, you're disgusting.

Chasing girls half your age?

You don't get to lecture me.

The man whose entire life has been one big lie.

Came in the post today.

I couldn't believe it when I was flicking through.

You can't tell anyone.

I'm going to tell everyone.

When they all know the truth,

I'll get little Elsie all to myself.

Oh! Hey!

You're pathetic.

Lindsay: I couldn't let him leave.

And then I realised I could make it look like an accident.

The curse of the Nelson.

We're all waiting.

Get away from me. You're a liar.

No, you're right. I was never Lindsay.

I was never an RAF wing commander.

But the one thing I always was is your father

and your mum's husband.

Those things were entirely me and always will be.

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Now, I appreciate that a lot's happened recently.

Captain murdered, coach stealing the identity of a war hero.

I also appreciate that I haven't helped things.

The truth is I've --

I've discovered that the club is facing

severe financial difficulties,

and if we lose today's match we will cease to exist.

Now I-I realise that I should have told you all sooner.

I also realise that I need to stop trying

to do everything myself,

whether it's my work or other commitments,

theatricals, bell ringing.

My flower arrangements.

Which is why I am taking a step back from the team.

Luckily I've found a chap

who's actually played on a winning cricketing team!

Not a word, Sister.

Let's hope you're on form today.

Because of the club and yourself.

I called them yesterday. I explained everything.

And they're excited to see you play.

Thank you.

So, if this does turn out to be our final game,

just get out there...

and ruddy well make Great Slaughter proud!

That's it.

So, gather it into your chest, make sure you don't drop it.

These two look pretty handy, so we'll do two on the boundary.

Who's feeling brave?

Okay, perfect.

We're gonna start with one of you two.

Felix, you bowl first. There you go.

Come on, boys.

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Yes!

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Yeah!

- Catch it! - Yes!

Ball in!

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Yes!

Now, come on! Come on now, move down!

Move! Move your little feet!

That's it! Move, move, move! Come on!

Man: Catch it!

Oh, very good.

Um, excuse me.

##

- Mrs. Thimble: Oh. - Mrs. Clam: Oh!

Dotty!

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Lowsley: Wait!

Excuse me.

You realise what this means, don't you?

Bowl one more player out and we win the match.

But regardless, you've done me and the club proud.

Unum quadrigis simul.

Thank you, sir.

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Catch it!

Yes!

Go on, lad! Good man.

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Excited to move forward with you.

- Our pleasure. - Thank you.

Ah, marvellous. Thank you very much.

Oh, and some silver.

Thank you.

Perhaps as a consolation prize,

I could offer you some tickets

to our next appalling amateur dramatics show.

I'll be giving my Bottom in "Midsummer Night's Dream."

Just pay your rent on time.

Actually, the consolation will be us

winning back that trophy next year.

These past few days.

Something kinda special about that leather on willow.

Though I'll now be building the strongest team possible.

Well, as the saying goes,

the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

Fighting talk, Lowsley. We'll see.

Sir.

Oh! Come here, Gillespie!

- No, sir -- - Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes!

You're one of the team now.

You can't escape.

If everyone could sort of move in.

After me. Three, two, one.

Together: Great Slaughter!

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