Original subtitles

(pleasant melodic music)

- Morning dear. Difficult to believe isn't it?

- That it's a good morning, not at all,

there for all to behold.

- Oh you know perfectly well what I mean.

Lucia as mayor of Tilling.

- Why not, the race is to the swift, home of the brave,

never the twain, a stitch in time, yes, sick.

- There's another interesting point.

- Yes, yes, we all know that.

There has to be a mayoress.

- How did you know?

- I telephoned the clerk at the town hall.

- Ah, yes.

- Yes.

- Yes, Georgie, Mayor of Tilling.

- Lucia, bravissimo.

- A momentous decision for me to make.

And of course, I shall have to discuss it with you.

- With me?

- Well I mean, it will after all affect you

to a great extent.

- Do you mean I shall be something?

- Not officially, dear, no.

But um, think of the duties that must be met by you,

the Mayor's husband.

- Duties.

Do you mean sort of Mayoress?

- A thousand times more important than that Georgino.

My right hand man.

I shall need your judgment and wisdom.

For example, Georgie, do you think I should go out

shopping each morning as I always have?

- Well I don't see why not.

- Well look at it like this.

(sighs)

Suppose a newly appointed chancellor took exercise

by trotting through Westminster streets in shorts.

What would you think?

- Not planning to wear shorts are you?

- Certainly not, a parallel case only.

I mean, there is this.

It would be intolerable to my democratic principles

if every time I went into the grocers to make some

small purchase, the other customers should stand aside.

- Well as to the Lord Chancellor wearing shorts,

I think it would depend a little on what sort

of knees he had.

And as to the other customers standing aside,

it is most unlikely.

And as to the other thing,

I mean if you were suddenly to stop shopping yourself,

people might say that you were swanking

because you were Mayor.

Elizabeth would.

- Georgie, Georgie give me your opinion, not hers.

- But why don't you just shop on Monday,

Wednesday and Friday, then.

- My dear, that would be hedging.

I never hedge.

- A hedge may save you from falling into a ditch.

- What ditch?

- Any ditch.

Tilling is full of ditches.

- I don't care about ditches.

- Well there you are.

- I care about principles.

The slums must be cleared away.

- Oh there you go, yes, milk.

- And milk, milk must be pasteurized.

Strict censorship in films.

And if I decide to go on shopping, I shall make a point

of buying very cheap, simple provisions.

Cabbages and turnips, for instance.

- Oh, really.

- Plain living in private, high thinking in public.

And you and I Georgie will set an example of simple living.

From now on, neck of mutton instead of saddle

of lamb or partridge.

- Neck of mutton.

I refuse to sacrifice my saddle of lamb or my partridge.

And I tell you this.

I am not going to give up my morning shopping.

Where else does one hear the news?

- Oh.

- And in fact, I will not set an example to anybody.

So there.

(exasperated sigh)

- Thank you for your guidance, Georgie.

- Don't bother to shut the door, will you?

Cabbage and turnips.

- Cheers.

-[Georgie] I'm so sorry, I'm a little late.

- How kind of you to come.

- Oh, not at all, Mr. Wyse.

- Now, come abruptly to the point.

- Thank you, yes.

- As you probably know, Mrs. Wyse has recently

suffered a severe bereavement.

- Oh, I didn't know. I am sorry.

- A sudden death.

- Oh I am sorry.

- Her budgerigar, she sat on it.

- Oh.

- Did you say hard or how?

- How?

- It was during its daily spell of freedom, cage open.

She suddenly said tweet tweet.

- Mrs. Wyse?

- Mrs. Wyse to the budgerigar, Blue Birdy, a male.

Answer came there none.

Oh it'll be alright, she said.

In the piano or somewhere.

Then she got up to look. She'd sat on it, flattened.

- Oh dear me, how sad.

- I think I've now persuaded her to buck up.

Carissimus poser I said, you must buck up.

You must not allow the death of a bird, however dear,

to stand between you and your wish to join dear

Mrs. Pillson as Mayoress.

- Sat on it.

- Another glass of champagne I'm sure.

- Sat on it?

- But then he, I think I might help myself

to another sherry, what about you?

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

- No?

Well then he went on a good deal about her MBE.

It bringing a cache to the post of Mayoress,

unshared by other ladies of Tilling.

- Do I see Susan as Mayoress?

I wonder.

- Well, then he hinted that she might be useful

in healing the present differences

between England and Italy.

- Good gracious, how ambitious.

- Because of his sister being the Comtesse de Faralione.

- What a frightful responsibility to have this crucial

honor in one's gift.

Who's next?

(door slams)

- Lucia beloved, it's too cruel.

- What is dear?

- Look at it.

My design for a fresco for the town hall.

The council have refused it.

- Dear me.

(indecipherable)

Look Georgie, look. Be honest.

- It's quite Botticellian.

- What?

Compare my Deep Pools of Venus

with Botticelli's anemic flapper.

- As always, Irene, so vigorous.

- So I must be your Mayoress, beloved,

to bring Tilling Council into the 20th century.

It's up to you I know, but you wouldn't be sorry.

Au reservoir.

- Georgie, it seems everybody wants to be Mayoress.

- There is one who has not yet shown her hand.

- Good morning Major.

- Well mighty kind of you to come.

- Oh, not at all.

- Well I took the liberty of gin and French.

- Oh how very kind of you.

- I didn't quite get the drift.

It was your day for polishing your, what was it?

- My bibelots.

- Yes. Yes, of course.

- Cheers.

- Well, I'm glad you're all right now.

Perhaps you'd like to sit down.

Well now my dear old man, if I may call you so.

- Oh yes, please do.

- After 25 years in the King's service.

Oh, God bless him.

- Oh yes, God bless him.

- It's best to, what?

(stammers)

- Please.

- Best to be frank and open.

- Oh yes, absolutely.

- Absolutely.

Now, what?

- Go ahead, please.

- Re the Mayoress, your lady wife, she will need

a level headed woman to assist her.

Big minded, not make any mischief.

Difficult thing to ask of any woman.

- Yes, quite.

- So, if your wife were to approach my wife,

I think the answer would be an unqualified yes.

- Well, I...

- Quernheim!

(car motoring)

(honking)

- Can I give you a lift, my dears.

- Many thanks, dear Susan, but we're just popping in

to Godiva's for a few words.

- Don't forget our little luncheon tomorrow week.

- Oh, delightful.

Proceed Drake.

- Georgie.

- Yes, I know.

- The budgerigar tacked to her hat.

- Wearing it in her hat.

- Yes, dear, we noticed.

Aren't you going to ask us in, Godiva?

- You said you had something important to say.

- Yes of course. Come on.

It's about my tearoom.

- Are you really going ahead with it?

- Most certainly I am.

You see, in here in my dining room

will be the tearoom proper.

My kitchen's there, and I can cook

all sorts of lovely things.

The big table will have to go, and I have lots

of little tables and pots and flowers and things.

Now, through here will be a kind of club room.

Well, that will have to go against the wall.

And all this will have to go.

And I shall have about four card tables.

Well, people might like a rubber after their tea,

particularly if it's raining.

- A word of warning, dear.

You cannot provide facilities for gambling

without risking a police raid.

- In dear little Tilling at tea time?

It's hardly likely.

- Well anyway, we wish you and your tearoom

godspeed, and all who sit in her, don't we?

- Yes, and now me must sail off.

- Yes of course, you're busy.

But before you go, I must tell you I wrote you a letter.

- How nice. I don't think I've received it yet.

- I tore it up.

- Good heavens, why?

- It sounded as if I was begging.

- You're hard up, dear?

You need a small loan to start your tea shop?

- No, no, no, nothing like that.

Oh, you know what I mean.

- I'm afraid I don't.

- Don't hesitate to ask me to be your Mayoress,

just because we're such friends.

Well I've lived in Tilling all my life,

and I can help you out with many a ticklish problem.

- How very kind of you, Diva, dear.

- So what are you going to do?

- We shall give a small luncheon party

for the contestants and their spouses.

And then, I shall decide.

(lively music)

(clapping)

Shall we all sit down.

Just a simple crofter's meal, wherever you like, alfresco.

- You mean higgeldy piggeldy.

-[Lucia] Yes, dear, a rough translation.

Now, where are we going to sit.

Mrs. Wyse, will you sit here?

- No dear Susan, I really cannot agree with you

about the Girl Guides.

Boy Scouts yes, all that campfire drill

is good for discipline.

- Hear, hear, zing a zing, boom boom.

As old BP used to say.

- But for girls, surely the best discipline

is helping mother at home.

Don't you agree dear hostess.

- But does that make a girl self-sufficient,

self-reliant, you know, good helpmeets.

- Helpmeets?

-[Benjy] As old BP used to say.

- Well as for letting boy or girl play with matches.

- Who's talking about matches, for heaven's sake?

- Campfires, dear. You need matches.

- Nonsense, you twiddle two sticks together.

- Which brings me to the fire brigade.

- Nothing the matter with it.

- My dear, once there is fire, the whole of Tilling

will be burnt to the ground.

- Last week, wasn't there a fire out at the Trader's Arms?

- Probably Benji boy, breathing out flammable fuels.

(laughter)

- I heard the gallant lads were there within three minutes

and the fire put out in five more.

- What we really need in Tilling is better street lighting.

Sometimes coming home at night, our Royce has to crawl

down to the whole street.

- Stronger lights to your car Susan would do the trick.

No, my priority would be the condition of the roads.

- Outside our own house for a start, don't you know.

- But surely, your prettier bird is outside

the parish boundaries.

- Grebes?

Good god, I never knew that.

- And something should be done about a quicker train

service to London.

- But how could that be a problem for the Tilling Council?

- Cause I know the brother-in-law of one of the directors.

- And as you know, my wife is the sister-in-law

of the Comtesse de Faraglione.

- What is needed is a firm hand.

(speaking foreign language)

- Susan now look here, your budgerigar!

Your raspberry souffle.

- No.

(birds chirping)

Foljambe, wait.

No, give him to me.

(sentimental music)

(knocking at door)

- You can't come in, whoever you are.

- Georgie, how many people do you know

who would want to see you in your bath

at this hour of the morning?

- It must be very important, good morning.

- Yes, it is, good morning.

- You mean you've decided?

- Yes I have.

- Who?

- Mrs. Elizabeth Mapp-Flint.

- Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

- What as that?

- Are you sure that's wise Lucia?

- Would I consider it if it weren't?

(grumbles)

- Lucia, what do you make of my new hat?

- Shhh, Georgie, I'm watching.

- Sorry.

- She's weakening.

She's passed the house four times since breakfast.

- Four

- (gasps)

What?

- Coming again.

- Where?

- No! She'll see us.

That's the fifth time, like a squirrel in a cage.

- Look, she's just opposite.

She's crossing the road.

- No.

- Yes, look.

(gasps)

There she is. (gasps)

Oh.

- Coming under the arches.

- It's just like the boat races, isn't it?

(phone rings)

- Georgie.

- What?

- Into the garden.

They'll never get it out if we're not alone.

- Mrs. Mapp-Flint ma'am.

Could she have a few moments on a private matter?

- Yes, Grosvenor, tell her I can spare five minutes.

- Very good, madam.

Would you come in madam, please?

- Lulu dear.

(playful oboe music)

- Mapp, stop!

I want that prancing action.

- Like that, my darling?

- No, this way around.

But stand on one leg.

One arm forward, one arm back.

Now hold it, Mapp, hold it.

Half an hour more, Mapp.

I never saw you so elastic.

What's up?

You've been seducing some young lad in the autumn

of your life?

- Oh, you shocking thing, naughty.

No, I've just been having such a lovely talk

with our sweet Lucia.

Shall I tell you about it?

Or shall I tease you.

- Whatever you like, I don't care a blur.

- I'll give a hint.

Make a pretty curtsy to the Mayoress.

- Rubbish.

- Not rubbish, gospel.

- Fill in the shading then.

- Well, as you can imagine, it was an utter surprise to me.

I was just strolling up by Mallards.

I often stroll by to look at the sweet old home

that used to be mine.

- You can cut all that.

- And I saw Lucia in the window looking

oh so anxious and worn.

Suddenly I had a presentiment.

So I rang the bell and kind Grosvener let me in.

And there was Lucia sitting at a table,

absorbed in some papers.

Wasn't that queer, for only a moment before

I had seen her peeping out from behind the curtain.

Then it came.

I don't blame her for holding back.

Kind of pride, I suppose, which she found

difficult to swallow.

She said, beloved friend, I cannot undertake

my duties without your support.

(screams)

- Mapp, you make me sick.

Alright she asked you to be Mayoress,

but it didn't happen like that.

- Gospel.

And when Georgie came in, he kissed my hand.

- Well here they come.

It'll be pretty to see their gratitude.

Don't go Mapp.

- I must, so much to do now.

- First beloved, is it true about Mayoress Mapp?

- She's told you then?

- Told me?

I should say she did.

She also said you'd swallowed your pride at last.

- What?

- That it was her duty to help you.

- Poor thing.

Like all habitual liars, she deceives herself

far more than she does others.

- But aren't you going to do anything?

- Dear Irene, you wouldn't want me

to lower myself to her level.

- Well I know what I'm going to do.

(seagulls squawking)

- Why didn't you tell me?

- What?

- Weren't you reading the Tilling Gazette at breakfast?

- Only the sports page and obits.

- Well what about that?

- Good god.

- Quaint Irene, a bit of fun I thought.

- Leave it to me, old girl.

Where's my whip?

- Whip?

- The one I hit the tiger in the face

with before I shot him.

- Oh that one.

- What's the name of that new editor?

- No idea, look at the headline, Mrs. Mapp-Flint,

the new Mayoress of Tilling.

- He'll regret the day he was born.

I can promise you that.

(suspenseful music)

(patriotic music)

(crash)

- Where's the wee fire?

- No one is going to insult my wife, while I'm above ground.

Out of my way.

(typewriter keys clacking)

The new editor, whatever his name is, immediately.

- You wish to see Mr. McConnell, sir?

- If that is his name, at once.

- I think he's busy at the moment.

But please sit down, and I'll go and see.

Mr. McConnell's very sorry, but he'll be tied up

for a quarter of an hour yet.

- A quarter of an hour?

I haven't come here to.

My name is Major Mapp-Flint.

- Mr. McConnell says to pass the time,

wouldn't you please care to take a drink?

- Drink?

Quarter of an hour?

Very well.

- Perhaps you better help yourself, sir.

- Just as you say.

(continuously pouring liquid)

(typing continues)

(knocking on door)

- Excuse me, madam, but it's half past one.

- Thank you Withers, I'm well aware of that.

- But cook says the Rose on toast is spoiling.

- Well if the rose on toast is spoiled,

we shall have to go on to the next course.

- But cook says the mutton's spoiling too.

- Then we shall all have to go down to Mrs. Plaistow's

and have high tea.

- Oh very good, madam.

(drunken chatter and laughter)

- This is Withers, she'll take your hat.

Thank you Withers.

Yes, yes, I know, a little tardy, but, but.

- I was wondering where you've got to.

- This is where I've got to Mrs. Mapp-Flint.

Allow me to present my very good friend, Mr. McConnell,

the new editor of the Tilling Gazette.

Mr. McConnell, Mrs. Flapp-Mint.

- Charmed Mrs. Mapp-Flint, I've heard so much about you.

A veritable pillar of the community.

- Our new Mayoress, no less. A veritable pilling of chillar.

- You'll stay to luncheon, I hope.

- It is for luncheon for which I have invited him.

- Then if you'll excuse me, pour a moment,

while I inform my staff.

I hope you like rose on toast and soups en coup de mutton.

- Potluck you know.

- I'm so hungry, I could eat the leg off the piano.

(laughter)

- Where's the whip?

- Whip?

- The one you took with you.

- Whip? Whip?

(snoring)

- A bientot.

(claps)

- So, sir Peg, Quernheim.

- Withers!

- I cannot make head nor tail of it, Mr. Pillson.

- It's Elizabeth Mapp, Padre.

- Without a doubt. But she's you know.

- You know I think I can detect quaint Irene's

fine Italian hand behind that.

- This I say call it, is a dress rehearsal.

To make sure that things are running smoothly.

- Oh very wise, Mrs. Plaistow.

- Now as you see Mr. Georgie, there are two sorts of jam,

thick and clear.

- Thick and clear, is that not soup, dear me.

(laughter)

- They're both beautifully clear, lovely hot, crisp toast.

- Yes, there should have been pastry fingers, too.

But they wouldn't rise.

- Oh, tiresome thing.

- But you must imagine them being here

for the Schilling tea.

- Oh thank you very much.

- For the Wallace Tea, there will also be potted meat

sandwiches and cream.

- May I pop in for a moment.

I have not seen you for so long.

Mr. Georgie, Padre, how do you do?

May I squiggle past?

(indiscriminate fussing)

I squiggled. Now then, thank you dear.

There we are.

- Now Elizabeth, China or Indian?

- Indian, thank you.

No sugar, just a drop of milk.

Godiva, dear, what a pretty table cloth.

And such lovely flowers.

Quite like having tea in the garden without the earwigs.

- Earwigs.

- Won't you have some tea while you're waiting?

- Oh thank you.

- Oh thank you Padre.

Yes, there would've been pastry fingers,

but they wouldn't rise.

- Oh by the by, Mistress Mapp-Flint,

have you seen the Gazette?

- Haven't set eyes on it for years, Padre.

Though with Mr. McConnell at the helm,

Benji brought him home for luncheon today,

such an intelligent man, I must take it in.

Delicious.

I can see I shant be having tea at home very often.

(laughter)

- Hot buttered toast.

- What a banquet.

- If I could.

- Thank you so much.

She was brilliant, brilliant.

Never gets the Tilling Gazette, so never

even saw quaint Irene's photograph.

Delighted to welcome one of Major Benji's new

best friends to lunch.

Mapp lies rather brilliant.

- I'm glad you enjoyed yourself.

What is a messuage.

- It's probably some misprint for message. Or massage?

- Neither makes any sense.

- Oh well there we are then.

Well don't stay up too late.

Tomorrow's the day, don't forget.

- I am fully aware of that, goodnight.

- You know, Lucia, you've picked a very good Mayoress.

Can talk her way out of anything.

Buona notte.

(slams newspaper shut)

- And I sit there, with my eyes closed,

and my pencil in my hand, and Blue Birdy by my side.

And he seems to say, tweet tweet,

and my pencil begins to write.

But I never know what it writes.

It's a queer, scrawly hand, not a bit like mine.

- 11 shilling ones so far, two one and six penny ones,

but the cream's getting low.

I've had to add milk to it.

- Then he seems to say, tweet tweet,

and I say goodbye dear.

- What sort of things does it write?

- Oh all sorts of things.

For example, this morning it kept on writing Mayor.

- You mean Blue Birdy has something to say to me?

- No dear, not Mayor.

- Oh you mean the French word, maire.

- Exactly, or something like that.

(crash of dishes)

- Only a cup and the milk jug.

- Before we start, I have to say this,

bridge by all means, but not for money.

No gambling.

- They can hardly call a penny a hundred gambling.

- It's the principle Georgie.

Look at Twistevant's son, backing horses, in debt,

married and a baby coming.

All the result of gambling.

- But Worship, how is the baby the result of gambling?

- Lizzy Bettie wouldn't have one.

(laughter)

- I have my position as Mayor to think of.

- I venture to say, dear, you will not be invited

to many bridge parties.

- Dealer may as well pick up at Hansay.

Seven no trumps doubled and redoubled

without even looking at it.

- Well, I do see your point.

For just this once and for the last time,

a penny a hundred.

- Hoorah.

- Lucia, Lucia.

- Yes dear, what is it?

- Inspector Morrison to see you.

- Did he ask for me personally?

- Yes. He knew you were here.

And my tearoom will be closed. Gambling.

It's a raid.

- The rest of you go out the back way.

I'll receive the inspector in here,

just sitting quietly.

- There isn't a back way.

- We're trapped.

- Sit down. Cards on the table.

Godiva, your tray.

- Oh Lucia.

- Show him in.

- Yes, yes, Mrs. Wyse, you could say

that the League of Nations has collapsed

like a house of cards.

- Or a ruin.

- Quite, quite.

- Inspector Morrison.

- Thank you very much.

- Yes, Inspector, Did you want me?

- Yes, your Worship, good afternoon.

Good afternoon, all.

It's a summon's needs your signature.

It's urgent.

- I am always available for magisterial business.

- I too.

- On the dotted line, your Worship.

- May I borrow your fountain pen, Georgie?

- Allow me, your Worship.

Excuse me, Mrs. Wyse.

There we are, your Worship.

Thank you, your Worship.

Very sorry to interrupt your game, madam.

- Not at all.

You were only doing your duty.

- Good day to you all.

- Good day.

- I still maintain that playing bridge

without gambling can be quite exciting.

- Well I can't see it's catching on, but there we are.

- Sometimes Georgie, I don't feel I have your full support.

- Well, it's in the same ratio as

Victoria and Albert, isn't it, after all...

- Oh, look out!

Oh!

Georgie, are you alright?

- Tiresome boy.

I'd report him if I knew who it was.

- Isn't that odd.

- What?

- I feel quite envious, not angry.

Exhilarating, what Lawrence of Arabia always loved.

Such speed.

I really must get a bicycle.

I'm beginning to feel quite secure Cadman.

You can let go for a second.

- Yes, ma'am.

- Ooooh!

- Brake, madam.

Brake, no that's the bell, madam.

Brake! Brake, left hand handle bar.

Brake, ma'am.

(playful music)

(yelling)

(bike bell dings)

- Crikes. Hold on ma'am.

(crash)

- Oh. Oh.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

I'm rather new at it.

- I guessed that, ma'am.

- Oh dear.

- Let me give you a hand.

- Thank you so much.

Thank you so much.

- No bones broken, I hope.

- Oh dear, no I don't think so.

- Have a look at your bike.

- Is it alright?

- Built to last, these things.

- I think you're right.

Oh dear, would half a crown be.

- Well, ma'am.

- Oh dear, I have no reticule with me.

- Are you alright, madam.

- Yes, Cadman, thank you.

Would you give this gentleman half a crown.

- Oh certainly ma'am.

(coins clinking)

- Thanks very much.

- Now, I shall continue to the end of the road,

turn round, and then come back.

- Shall I accompany you, ma'am.

- Thank you Cadman, no. I can manage now.

By the way, did you see Mr. Georgie?

No?

Far behind.

- I imagine so, ma'am.

- That's very good, sir.

- Is it?

- Now why don't you put your feet on the pedals now?

- Alright.

Can you help?

Oh yes, thank you Foljambe, no traffic?

- No traffic, sir.

(bell dings)

- Off we go.

- Goodbye sir.

- Goodbye.

- That's very good, sir.

(yelling)

- Back again. Oh!

(crash)

- You've done it again, ma'am.

- Quite the last thing I wanted to do.

Another half a crown?

- Well, if you insist, ma'am.

- Cadman.

- Ma'am.

- Thank you very much.

(playful music)

(yelling)

(crash)

- Oh dear. Tiresome thing.

Oh dear.

Good day, I see the road goes that way.

Well, no damage done anyway.

- Well I never did.

(coins clinking)

Oh, five bob's the going rate, Guv'nor.

- Five shillings.

- Thank you very much.

Would the lady be coming back this way, sir?

By any chance?

- Stop, madam, stop!

Madam, in the name of the law, I ask you to stop.

Now see here, whoever you are.

- Yes, Inspector?

- Oh, beg your pardon, Worship.

- You were about to say?

- Nothing Worship, nothing at all.

- No, no, no, no, no. We can't have that.

- Can't have what, Worship?

- One law for the rich, and another for the poor.

I was riding at a dangerous speed.

Ignorance as to where my brake was is no excuse.

You will proceed with a summons.

- Very good, Worship.

But I don't know what people are going to say

about me arresting the Mayor.

- Oh, too terrible, fined 20 shillings for speeding,

the Mayor, fined 20 shillings.

She brought the office of Mayor into contempt.

Perhaps in mere self-respect, I should resign

from being Mayoress.

- Well if you feel that strongly, mistress Mapp-Flint,

it's no bad a notion.

- Not a bad notion at all.

- On the other hand, I should hate to desert her

in her troubles, such friends as we are.

- Well if you'll forgive me, ladies.

I'm off on my wee cycle lesson.

So useful for tootling around the parish.

- Au reservoir Padre.

(bike bell chimes)

- The trouble with you Mapp, one of them,

is that you can't give Lucia credit where credit is due.

Get over it dear, make an effort,

be more Christian.

- Thank you for your interest in my character Godiva.

I shall know whom to come to when in spiritual perplexity.

- Pleased to advise you.

And when I get my bicycle, I shall lend it to you

for 10 minutes and see how you get on.

- Look forward to it.

Then I'll pop into your tea rooms and see if your

sardine tartlets are an improvement on the last batch.

- Charming!

(bell chimes)

- Make way there, make way.

Thank you.

(horn honks)

(playful vocalizing)

- Are we ready, Doris?

- We are, Harold.

- Here we go.

(bell chimes)

- My hat's coming off.

(laughs)

- Look out Mapp, look out.

- Next thing you know, Susan Wyse will be abandoning

her Royce and taking to her bicycle.

- Oh don't be silly Mapp.

(pebbles on glass)

- Mr. Wyse, what ever?

- Gracious lady, may I have a word with you?

- Of course, but.

- I don't want to be observed by all and sundry.

- I shall open the front door myself.

- What is it, Mr. Wyse?

- Today you'll receive an invitation from Susan

to attend a seance chez nous this afternoon.

- What a refreshing change after all my bicycling.

- But Mrs. Lucas, I mean Mrs. Pillson, I mean, Worship,

Susan is becoming unhinged, sadly changed.

No interest in life, her Royce, her fur coat,

her bridge, the game that is,

nothing but Blue Birdy's shrine.

- But how can I help?

- I have here in my very hand the source

of all our troubles.

- Blue Birdy?

But what would I do with it?

- Place it somewhere unknown to me so that I can

truthfully tell Susan that I don't know where it is.

- Very well.

Isn't there a slight odor?

- Harmless disinfectant, worshipful lady.

- But um, what will happen this afternoon at the seance?

- When she finds out that Blue Birdy has vanished,

I hope that that will be the end of it.

Dear Worship, will you please, please think

of some way of rearranging her disarrangement?

- As it happens, I do have some experience

of psychical phenomenon.

- I should've know. I shall leave it to you then.

- How you are welcome.

- Oh thank you, thank you worshipful lady, a bientot.

- A bientot.

I have been told many times that I would make

a marvelous medium, if of course, I had the time

to devote to it, which of course with my mayoral duties.

- Hush.

Surely I heard, tweet tweet.

Is that you, darling?

So soon.

It must be you Lucia, contributing your psychic force.

- Very likely, my dear.

- Tweet tweet, there it is again.

- Buona serra, Blue Birdy.

(gasps)

I felt a little brush of soft feathers on my cheek.

- Did you really?

Wait.

(screams)

It's empty.

- Oh, something wonderful has happened.

Blue Birdy has flown aloft.

- I had no idea, dear.

- I had, the de-materialization is complete.

- But what does it mean?

- All is spirit, wrapped with all of him that was mortal

in a higher sphere.

- A higher sphere, dear.

- But won't he ever come back?

- Oh you cannot be so selfish as to want that.

- No indeed.

- He is free and bound no more.

- I should miss him dreadfully.

- Oh you cannot, you cannot,

you mustn't grudge him his freedom.

(crying)

What a privilege it has been to have assisted

at such a de-materialization.

- We are greatly in your debt, Worship.

-[Georgie] Morning Grosvenor.

-[Grosvenor] Morning, sir.

-[Georgie] It's a lovely day.

-[Grosvenor] Yes indeed sir.

-[Georgie] Sorry I'm a bit late.

-[Grosvenor] I'll bring your breakfast now, sir.

- Oh, how very kind of you, thank you so much.

Oh, morning Lucia.

- Good afternoon. Quite rested?

- Oh I feel quite tired, as a matter of fact.

I expect I shall have a nap after breakfast.

- Well I have finished.

Poor Worship has to go and dictate.

- Well there we are, then.

Another silly bill.

Oh, there's a letter from Olga.

- Olga?

- Yes, Olga Bracely.

You remember, she rented the cottage at Riseholme

a few summers ago.

- Ah, yes, a prima donna.

- Absoluta.

- Charming voice. Some notes lovely.

You were rather taken with her.

- Oh yes, but she did make me laugh.

Let me read you what she says.

- Didn't she come to my house with some

Italian, a so-called musician?

- Yes, Cortesa.

- Was that his name?

- Yes it was.

- A cacophony, as I remember, some noisy

attempt at an opera.

- Well anyway, she's back from a world tour

and she'll be singing in his Lucretia at the opera house

next week, gala performance.

I'm invited with a guest, a box.

Oh and lunch the following day at the Cardon Bleu.

- How kind of her, dear thing, but I mean,

does she realize how difficult it is for me

to get away from Tilling and my duties as Mayor.

- Actually she doesn't have the slightest

awareness that we're married, let alone

that you're the Mayor.

(laughs)

She's such a scream.

Well, I'm sorry if you don't feel you'll be able

to come, but I shall go anyway.

Olga Bracely.

- Well I'll try to manage it somehow dear

for your sake.

Shall I write a letter, accepting?

- No, no, there's no need, the invitation was to me.

(sniffing) Curious smell.

(crackling fire)

Like bon fritters.

Anyway, you've already explained in great length

that you'll be much too busy.

I shouldn't bother.

(laughs)

Oh, she's such a silly.

(laughs)

Tiresome cobbles.

- There he goes now, king of my heart.

- I have just been to post a letter to Olga Bracely.

- Not the prima donna.

- Absoluta.

- Georgie, you've not been misbehaving?

- She's a very old friend.

- That's what I meant.

- We have been invited to a gala performance

at the opera house this week.

- What a temptation you are, Georgie, with your beard

and your little bloomers.

- And wither goest thou?

- To London on U train to the Royal Academy.

- To submit an oeuvre?

- Why not, the council here want none of it.

Would you like a peek?

- Oh, but they've got dressed.

- So.

- Well, it's very unlike you, isn't it?

- It's very unlike Botticelli.

- But isn't that a bit like your snapshot of Mapp

in the Tilling Gazette?

- Yes.

- And won't people say that's rather like Major Benji

up there in the clouds?

- Of course they will, stupid, unless they're blind.

- Well don't you think...

- I never think, Georgie, I feel.

If the Royal Academy accepts this, it'll punch

the lousy grundies of Tilling in the face.

- It certainly will.

(laughs)

(pleasant melodic music)