Original subtitles

Good evening.

You know, I think it was GK Chesterton who once said...

-"The follies..." -"The follies of my youth..."

-"Men's youth..." -"Of men's youth..."

"Are in glorious retrospect..."

"Are, in retrospect, glorious..."

And so, our story tonight...

No, "Are, in retrospect, glorious."

-Our story, in retrospect... -No, "Are, in retrospect, glorious."

"Are, in retrospect, glorious..."

"Compared..."

"Compared..."

By Eddie Waring!

-"Compared to..." -"Compared..."

"The follies of men's youth are, in retrospect, glorious compared to..."

To...

"Compared to the follies of their old age."

"Compared to the follies of their old age."

Our sherry tonight...

No, no. "I think it was GK Chesterton who once said,

"The follies of our youth are, in retrospect, glorious"

"compared the follies of our old age."

And so our story tonight concerns a boy confronted at one and the same time

with the follies of youth and old age.

That's it.

Is that okay? Is that okay?

Okay, fine, fine. That felt good. That felt good.

It's really good. Really great.

♪ My school, my school

♪ How bravely she stands

♪ Long steeped in the memory

♪ Of time's ageing hands... ♪

I had been at Graybridge for two weeks,

and the dour, forbidding place had produced such misery in my soul

and fear in my mind as I had never known in my whole life.

Everything about the place seemed designed to crush the soul

and break down any reserve of pride I ever had.

Thank you, Foster. Next, please.

Beating the headmaster was just one of those ghastly chores

which produced such depression within me.

Ooh! That's better.

There was also the compulsory fight with the grizzly bear

which all new boys had to go through.

And there was St Tadger's day, when, by an old tradition,

boys who had been at the school for less than two years

were allowed to be nailed to the walls by senior pupils.

The days always began the same way.

We were woken by Alsatians at 3:30

and after two games of football,

we assembled for morning prayers in Big Hall.

O Lord, we give thee humble and hearty thanks

for this, thy gift of discipline,

knowing that it is only through the constraints of others

that we come to know ourselves

and only through true misery can we find true contentment.

We ask thee especially today, O Lord, to remember

the owner, trainer and rider of Doncaster Boy in the 4:15 at Chepstow.

And may the fire of thy just and awful wrath fall upon

Biggs, Normanton, Putter Minor and Tookey. Amen. Amen.

It has come to my knowledge that certain boys

have been helping masters to escape.

Small parts of a glider have been found in the History Sixth Form library

and this must not repeat.

How I longed to be able to hop like the second-year boys,

and not to have to ask permission to breathe out after 10:30.

And how I dreaded, as we all did, the sight of Grayson, the school bully.

He had twice won the Public School's Bullying Cup.

And last year, beat the extraordinarily vicious Aykroyd of Charterhouse

at a kick-in of fags at the Hurlingham Club.

I say, sorry, Grayson.

You call me School Bully,

you miserable little tick.

Five weeks after the start of term, I had an amazing stroke of luck.

I was accidentally shot in the stomach by Monsieur Point during French translation

and I ended up in the school sanatorium.

Now at last my parents would come to visit me

and I could tell them of the horrors I was going through.

I felt sure they would understand.

Hello, Mummy.

Hello, Tomkinson.

-How are the wounds? -Oh, not bad. Not bad.

-Here, I brought you these. -Oh.

-What are they? -Shoe trees, dear.

Oh! Super.

Where's Daddy?

-He's at the South Pole again, dear. -Oh, lucky Daddy.

I wish I could be there.

-Tomkinson... -Yes, Mummy?

He may... He may not be back from the Pole.

-You mean... -Yes, he has a woman down there.

-Another woman, Mummy? Besides you? -I'm afraid so.

He keeps going back there, you know.

This is his 146th expedition.

Yes. I never realised. I thought he was...

Mapping the annual movement of the polar ice shelf.

Yes, so did we all.

-Mummy, perhaps I should come home. -No.

No, I'm afraid you must stay here, Tomkinson.

A nice gentleman has agreed to pay your school fees for four years.

And the headmaster says you can stay on here free during the holidays.

Oh, but, Mummy.

I'm afraid it's the only thing we can do, Tomkinson.

I shall continue to send you cakes, of course.

-Mummy, please... -I'm afraid I must go now, dear.

I do hope the wounds heal up.

They're nothing, honestly. Mummy, please, let me just come back.

Are you coming, Elspeth?

Yes, Mr Rogers.

Bye-bye, Tomkinson.

Bye-bye, Mummy.

I was shattered.

I couldn't believe that my father would just go off like that with another woman.

He was a homosexual, for a start.

From that moment on, I resolved to do everything in my power

to escape from Graybridge at the first opportunity.

Well played.

Well played. Well played there, boy. Get in there. In there! Come on!

Come on! Get him. Get him. Get him. Get him.

Come on!

Well taken. Oh, well taken, Tomkinson.

Well played, Tomkinson. Come on, Tomkinson, run.

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.

Well played, boy. Well played.

Well played. Tom...

Tomkinson?

Tomkinson!

Tomkinson!

Tomkinson!

I was 17 miles from Graybridge

before I was caught by the school leopard.

Two weeks later, I tried to get out disguised as a woman.

Morning, Chaplain.

But I was caught by Mr Moody, the Spanish master.

Tomkinson!

From then on I was confined to indoor activities only.

Jolly good. Jolly good. Now, what are you boys doing?

Oh, that's rather good. Hmm.

Now, what's this, now? Oh, yes.

Jolly good.

What is that, Tomkinson?

It's a model icebreaker, sir.

-It's a bit big for a model, isn't it? -It's a full-scale model, sir.

It's not a model if it's full scale, Tomkinson.

It's an icebreaker.

Yes, that's good, isn't it, sir? It's got three engines, an enormous...

No, no, no. That's not the point.

That is not a model.

There'll be a hell of a stink if this comes up at speech day exhibition.

You're a very stupid boy, building icebreakers like this, Tomkinson.

-Yes, sir. -I won't say anything to the headmaster

if you can get it down to a minimum of four foot.

Sir, there's 1,500 tonnes of steel in this thing.

Do you want to come and see the headmaster with me?

-No, sir. -Well, melt it down at once.

Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.

There seemed no way I could escape from this prison.

Daily, my depression and misery mounted, until one day,

amongst the usual games announcements on the school notice board,

something caught my eye.

"On June 12th in big school

"Rear Admiral Sir Vincent Smythe-Obleson,

"the polar explorer, will address the school."

I wondered. Could this be my chance?

For our school lecture this term, we are very fortunate to have secured the services

of one of our most famous and distinguished old boys.

The polar explorer

Rear Admiral Sir Vincent Smythe-Obleson.

Applause! Applause!

Hello, boys. How nice it is to be here.

-Speak up! -Who said that?

-I would like to take... -Shut up!

Who was it?

Right, the entire back three rows will come and beat me this evening.

-Carry on. -Well, I've just returned from exploring

one of the enormously interesting polar ice caps.

I explored for over three months, eight hours a day.

I got up at 9:00 and explored until 6:00,

with a one-hour non-exploring break for lunch.

And during that time, I can safely say

I have explored, in His Majesty's name,

an area the size of Yorkshire.

-This area... -Stop it!

If the school refuses to show its appreciation spontaneously,

I shall be forced to close it down instantly

and burn selected boys.

-This area... -Wait!

Is that clear?

Right! Go on.

This area of polar ice cap

I have called Graybridge Land.

This was the moment I'd been waiting for.

You know, boys, there's nothing worse

-than seeing a human body abused. -Rubbish!

-Who said that? -Mr Mayan, sir.

Oh, I see. Sorry. Thought it was one of the boys.

Carry on.

And the future of our children and our children's children...

Let's all stand and sing the school song.

♪ My school, my school... ♪

The lecture finished, and soon I felt myself being lifted up.

It had worked.

At last I was on my way out of Graybridge.

Hardly daring to breathe, I looked out on a new world outside.

Yes, that was, er, very good, Ellis. Very good indeed.

-Thank you, Headmaster. -Should save a little bit of money there.

But why... Why the school song?

I thought it was a jolly good wheeze for ending it, sir.

-It just sort of came to me. -Well, stick to the script in future, Ellis.

Oh, no!

After the incident with the trunk, things became really hard for me.

My ears were sewn back and I had to do three weeks detention

in a sack on the school maggot pit.

But for the first time, I became the centre of some attention at Graybridge

and I found myself once again in the presence of Grayson, the school bully.

Come.

In return for not hitting any of the masters,

the head had allowed Grayson certain privileges.

Such as having unmarried Filipino women in his room,

smoking opium and having a sauna instead of prayers.

He had just returned from a winter term cruise to South America

and looked fit and well.

Oh, Tomkinson.

Oh, you appalling little creep.

Yes, you really are the ugliest and most unpleasant little piece of vermin

it's ever been my misfortune to encounter.

I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he liked me.

Now, some filthy little creeps in lower school

have been telling me all about your escaping tricks.

-That's right... -Don't answer back, you snotty little oik.

Sorry.

Don't you know that all escape routes from the school

are managed by myself and the chaplain.

No!

Well, why do you think the chaplain's always laying gas mains and doing sewage work?

-I thought he liked it. -Shut up. I'm talking.

Of course he doesn't like it.

He does it because I tell him to and because I'm the only person he knows

who's ever likely to get him anarchbishopric.

Is Mr Hoskins going to be an archbishop?

When he's finished digging.

Trouble is, he thinks that it's going to be York or Canterbury which is sad, really.

-Why? Where is it? -Soligorsk.

It's in the Ukraine. It's bitterly cold and the food's unspeakable,

but I can't help that.

Anyway, the point is the chaplain has nearly completed

a network of tunnels over 12 miles long.

The last thing we need is for spotty little twerps like you...

School Bully.

Ah!

Yes, we were just talking about you.

What? No, no. I'm afraid it hasn't come yet.

What? No, no. I'm afraid it hasn't arrived.

He wants to know about the hat.

The archbishop's hat.

No, I'm sorry.

No, you can't start this weekend.

Why? Well, the old one has to die for a start, that's why.

No, I could not do that.

What's the hurry, anyway?

What?

Oh, you haven't.

Oh, you idiot!

Uh, Tomkinson. Yes.

You're very keen to get out of this place, aren't you?

-Rather. -Yes. Yes.

Pick him up. Pick him up.

Well, though I loathe and detest the sight of your odious little face,

I am prepared to let you be the very first to try out the chaplain's new tunnels.

Oh, thank you. Thank you, Bully.

-Yes, do you like... Do you like girls? -Who?

-Suki? -Yes, School Bully?

Suki, how would you like to show Tomkinson here the tunnels, eh?

Keep him company, you know.

-Gosh! -Cigarette?

So it was that four hours later,

carrying 200 cigarettes, completely drunk

and with a half-naked, unmarried Filipino lady,

I emerged behind the writing desk in the headmaster's study.

The chaplain, now 74, and impatient to get his archbishopric,

had finished the tunnel just 100 yards too early.

I was found guilty of smoking, drinking, lying, thieving,

breaking the headmaster's writing desk and escaping without permission.

I was sentenced to the most awful penalty the school could provide.

The 30-mile hop against St Anthony's.

Training for the hop was a nightmare.

But after three weeks of these nightmares, we had a hopping team second to none.

I'll never forget the day of the hop.

The whole school was in a fever.

Mostly dysentery and beriberi

and a few cases of blackwater fever and scurvy amongst the older boys.

Our opponents, St Anthony's, a Buddhist public school in Yorkshire,

were legendary hoppers.

As soon as we were in line, Mr Craffitt,

who was gundy for the day, gave us each the traditional palfreys.

Laddie for a palfrey! Hit!

Tall laddie for a palfrey. Hit!

Wee laddie for a palfrey. Hit!

Ow!

Medium-sized laddie for a great big palfrey. Hit!

Thank you, gundy. Good luck, Graybridge.

Boys of St Anthony's and Graybridge school,

hop ye and hop ye good this day.

On your marks.

Get set.

Hop up, Graybridge!

We all did our best, God knows.

But we were severely weakened by our training.

We were no match for the St Anthony's boys,

many of whom had hopped internationally.

As we headed into the mountains, the rocks began to take their toll of young bodies

ravaged by three terms of athlete's foot and Dobie's itch.

After 12 and a half miles, I saw Venner of 5A fall and die of exhaustion.

And after 17 miles, he was joined by Apsley,

Credworth, PE, Spitwell, Emerson and Zappa Major.

I knew that my own time would soon be up.

On the 21st mile, a wave of darkness swept over me.

I could go no further. This was it.

Well, hello there, you snivelling little creep.

Hello, School Bully.

Look, you little toad. I'm sorry about getting you into this spot.

Oh. Oh, well.

It'll be all right. Right?

Of course it won't, you pathetic little twerp.

You won't last the course. Nobody from Graybridge ever has.

So I've got something here that might help a little bit.

Now then, you just have a little sniff of that.

What is it?

Well, it's a sort of... Sort of smelling salts.

I just...?

Well, yes, you do. You just sniff it.

Gosh!

Yes, well, there you are. That'll keep you on your foot for a bit.

Well, good luck,

you dismally untalented little creep.

I didn't know what Grayson had given me,

but the mountains looked wonderful that day.

Huge, grey-green monsters

grappled with the black, Satan-like demons of the cliffs and crags.

I could hear sheep talking and the grass reciting poetry.

My father always said Nansen was on something when he explored Greenland.

And now I could understand it.

I felt I could hop forever, anywhere.

My mother, is she in? I must see her.

Oh, I'm afraid she's busy, sir.

I don't care. I must see her.

-Well, she's playing tennis, sir. -Thank you.

-Do you want a bit of... -No. Thank you.

Mummy!

Tomkinson!

Oh, good Lord, Mr Bradman.

What a service!

I've thought about it, Mother. I've got nothing else. That's why I'm here.

You can't just let your schooling go, Tomkinson.

You owe it to me and you owe it to your father.

Mummy, you can't send me back to that prison.

Now don't be silly, dear.

You don't know what it's like. They torture you and beat you and humiliate you.

It's very nice, dear.

-Mother, I'm never ever going back. -Now, listen.

Before your father started out on that last fateful polar journey,

I made a solemn promise that I would always, always keep you at school.

Just let me go and see him. He'll understand.

Don't be a fool, dear.

He's at the other end of the earth.

Surrounded by five million square miles of uncharted ice and snow.

How on earth do you think you'll find him?

Well, you've got his address.

Yes, but I couldn't give it to you.

-Mother, I... -He made me promise

never to reveal his whereabouts to a member of the press.

-But I'm not a member of... -No, you must go back to Graybridge.

As he would have wanted.

And I must get on with the gardening.

-But surely... -Here's some rhubarb for the journey.

-Goodbye, Thompson. -Tomkinson.

Sorry. Tomkinson.

Bye-bye, Mother.

-Who is this? -Who is what?

-This man. -What man?

Oh, good Lord.

-Get off! -Yes, get your hands off my mother.

Tomkinson!

Daddy!

Enter!

Sorry I'm late, Bully. I was detained at prayers.

Heard the good news, have you? Tomkinson won the hop.

Yes, yes, yes. Jolly good.

Yes, yes, it is... Jolly... Jolly good.

-Are you going anywhere, Bully? -Yes, I've been offered a job at Eton.

-At Eton? -Yes, Eton.

You have heard of it, haven't you, you silly little headmaster you?

Yes, yes. Of course, Bully.

You see, their school bully's left to join the government.

And, uh, they offered me the job.

It's £1,000 a year.

Meals sent up from London. A house in France during prep.

And insurance cover on all boys damaged. I think it's very good.

Look, Bully, you can't just leave like this, you know.

Parents send their boys to Graybridge just to be bullied by you.

Oh, I'm afraid that's your problem, you scruffy little creature.

Look, let's not be hasty about this. Let's think about it.

I mean, Graybridge has got a good name for bullying.

Well, you can appoint somebody else easily now, couldn't you?

Bully, you can't do this to me.

You know there's no one in this school with your... Your strength, your...

-Your effortless, almost superhuman... -What about Tomkinson?

I was going to make him head of school.

Oh, come along now. He deserves more than that.

I mean, after all, he's the only one we've had who's ever won the hop.

Goodbye, Suki.

Yes, yes. Yes, he won the hop, but, Bully...

Bullying...

It's a different sort of thing, you know. I mean...

Do you think he's up to it?

As I cycled back through the leafy English countryside

towards Graybridge,

a thousand memories crowded into my mind.

Of the horrors that had blighted my life there

and the lives of so many of my friends and companions,

that was to ruin my life for three more years.

How could a system like that ever change?

There was no hope left.

-Here he comes. -Come on, boys.

Stand straight. Come on. He's here.

At first I couldn't believe what was happening.

Then slowly I realised.

Perhaps there was a chance to change Graybridge.

Boys, three cheers for Tomkinson.

-Hip hip... -Hurray!

-Hip hip... -Hurray!

-Hip hip... -Hurray!

And for some reason, it was being offered to me.

Jolly good show, Tomkinson.

But of course, I knew I would have to do it in easy stages.

Call me School Bully, you ghastly little toad.

Jolly good, eh?

I knew you'd make a go of it, Thompson.

Tomkinson, cloth ears.

Oh, sorry, School Bully.

Let's all sing the school song.

♪ My school, my school

♪ How bravely she stands

♪ Long steep in the memories

♪ Of time's ageing hands... ♪