Original subtitles

A ripping tale of a young man caught in a world of changing values

and forced by circumstances to the most despicable act

known to the British Army.

The reasons for what I did that fateful night in India

really began in my childhood.

I was luckier than most boys of my age,

in that my father did have enormously large amounts of money.

The endless, leisured days at Bartlesham Hall

began, as always, with the family breakfast.

The toast is frightfully good today, Barty.

Yes, yes. It's awfully good.

- Very pleasantly brittle. - Yes, it's really very, very good toast.

I think it's some of the best toast we have ever had.

Yes, yes. Could be.

I wonder who made the toast today.

Well, whoever it was, they're a dab hand.

Mrs Angel.

Who made the toast today?

Er, Judy, I think, your ladyship.

- Well, commend her. Most highly. - Yes, your ladyship.

Set her free, Mrs Angel.

She is free, dear.

Judy? Free? Surely not.

They're all free, dear. All the servants.

There has been no slavery in this country for donkey's years.

Judy? Little slip of a thing, washes floors all day long?

She's still free, dear.

Hm. I think it's a great shame.

What is a shame, dear?

Not being able to free people.

I mean, it must have been a wonderful thing to do. Just sort of...free a chap.

Some poor, miserable wretch in chains. And along you come and say,

"You're free.

"You're a free man. Off you go.

"Run about wherever you want to."

- Not in front of the boy, Barty. - What?

You are not to become emotional in front of the boy.

Oh, sorry.

What are you going to do today, Roger?

Oh, um...

I dreaded these moments, when my mother would suddenly talk to me.

Fortunately, they were mercifully few.

But I never seemed to have an answer ready.

I shall be going to Latin translation with Mr Hopper.

- Hopper? He's a child molester, isn't he? - He was, dear. He is no longer.

Mr Hopper knew no Latin at all.

In fact, his only qualification as my tutor

was a forged degree from the Department of Botany at Bangkok University.

Instead, he used to teach me social revolution.

From ten in the morning, until six every evening,

he told me all there was to know about socialism,

Marxism, the state ownership of capital,

and the bloodshed that would inevitably follow

the armed uprising of the proletariat.

Come on, Roger. Shoot away.

And another. And another. There we go.

- Come on, Barty. Kill something. - Oh, sorry.

My mother had killed more grouse than any other woman in history.

There's a nice fat one.

That's Mr Barlow, ma'am.

Oh, drat! Barty, we must not choose beaters that look like grouse.

I've just shot Barlow.

- I'll go and get him. - He's been shot before, ma'am.

I'm sure he don't mind.

It's just such a waste of cartridges.

Jolly decent sort of chap, the average slave.

Servant, dear.

Are you just gonna leave him there?

Wonderful chap anyway.

Came free and yet willing to be constantly shot at.

I don't think he wants to be shot at, Father.

I don't think anybody wants to be shot in the back.

You'd be surprised. Some of these people quite like it.

Gives them a sense of security. Means they don't have to take any decisions.

Well, it makes me feel humble.

What, sir?

Chap like Barlow. With all the world to chose from,

he will repeatedly lie face downwards in the mud without a single word of complaint.

God! I know chaps who complain about the skin on top of their porridge.

Rich chaps, too. Intelligent, well-educated.

- And yet there's Barlow, a simple slave...

...lying face downwards in the field without the slightest murmur of animosity.

Do stop talking, Barty. You haven't shot anything for ages.

Fire up, Roger. Come on.

- Shoot your own beaters. - Roger!

What on earth's the matter with the boy?

What's wrong with a bit of shooting, for heaven's sake?

Besides being immensely rich,

my father was also honorary Colonel of the Dorsetshire Rifles.

And in 1914, we found ourselves uprooted from Bartlesham Hall.

We were sent 4,000 miles away to the Punjab

to do our bit in the great war for civilisation.

Mr Hopper was so pleased to be near Russia

he changed his name to Leon Hopper and bought a new hat.

Your turn, Barty.

Nice shot, Father.

The evenings were taken up with endless regimental dinners.

The same people. The same talk.

Until one memorable night as the women were retiring...

So, ladies, shall we retire?

We'll be in to spank you later, you...

firm-buttocked young Amazons, you.

I'm terribly sorry. I don't know what came over me.

All right, Morrison.

I think you know what to do.

Yes. Yes, of course, sir.

I apologise to you all.

Pity, really. He seemed a nice enough young chap.

Yes. Talented too.

He could have been Number Two in the War Office, if he'd lived.

Friend of yours, wasn't he?

Yes, he was my best friend in the regiment.

I don't understand what makes a man ruin a career like that.

Clive! What are you doing?

- Don't you want any port? - Damn it, Clive.

- Don't be a fool. - But you like port.

Yes, but not like that.

Come on!

- Right to left. - Let's pass it the other way for once.

Damn it, Clive. Don't be a bloody fool.

Think of your wife.

And the children.

And the regiment.

Come on. Take it!

I say, Cooper, what's going on?

Oh! Er... It's nothing really, sir.

He was just...explaining...

I was passing the port from left to right.

Off you go, Cooper.

All right, I'll go.

But I want you to know that I don't care, do you hear?

I don't care.

If that's the way you want to pass the port, you pass it.

But you can pass it without me.

- Perhaps we can get on. Cigar? - Ah, thank you very much.

I want to go, too.

I think it's about time someone said what Cooper has just said.

I think anyone should be allowed to pass the port any way they want.

- Meredith. - Left to right. Right to left.

- Diagonally. - Meredith!

Under the table. Over the table. Behind one man in front of the next.

One-handed, two-handed. Right round that way and then right around the other.

- Meredith. - Two to the left. Three to the right.

Missing out every third person on one side

and every alternate person on the other side.

Meredith!

May I say,

that it's not just passing the port that's at stake here.

I believe the women should be allowed port as well.

- It must be the heat. - No, no, I want to speak.

I feel that women should be allowed to drink port.

And brandy.

And Madeira!

Daintry, you must be overtired.

And that they should be allowed to sing and dance.

And throw back their heads in laughter and toss their beautiful hair.

And smile.

And make the world a happier,

saner place.

Off you go.

Damn good soldier, Daintry, don't you agree?

Damn fine, Barty. Damn fine. Damn fine. Yeah.

And honest.

- I have wanted women in here for years. - What?!

Yes, I wanted to pass the port from left to right just like young Daintry did.

And more than that.

I wanted to do away with the Loyal Toast.

Oh, no, Runciman. Not you.

I wanted to abolish the national anthem.

I wanted to set up a socialist republic in this land,

a state where all those who do the work

should be given the full reward for such work.

- Where patronage and privilege

should be cast away and one man should be the equal with his fellow.

Smash the monarchy. Smash the ruling classes.

Break up the homes of the rich and privileged

and let all humanity share together,

equally, as God surely intended.

Mr Hopper had once told me that a moment like this would come.

When the old order would finally collapse.

And I was to let him know if it happened while he was out.

But I had plans of my own.

- Miranda? - Roger!

What are you doing here?

Have you thought it over?

Yes, but my parents would never allow it.

- Why not? - We just can't, Roger.

We're too different.

Different? How?

In a hundred ways, I mean for a start, I'm a woman and you're...

Well, you're a man.

But people of the same sex don't get married.

My fathers did.

We could run away somewhere.

And start a little shop. And sell things.

- Go into trade? - Yes, trade's exciting. It's a challenge.

I've thought it over. It's where the future of our country lies.

Buying and selling. Profit margins. Cost-effective maintenance.

Sales projections.

Those are the things that are real. Those are the things that count.

You're mad!

You'll own 16 mansions all over the world when your father dies

and yet, you want to throw it all up and go into trade.

Don't you see? It's beautiful.

Suppose I buy six dozen gross of elastic stocking hose -

I'm thinking of a chemist's sundry shop -

at 2 shillings a dozen and sell them at 4 shillings a dozen.

That's a gross clear profit of 12 shillings a dozen.

Take off a shilling for overheads - transport, heating, lights and...

it's a clear profit of 11 shillings.

That's a net profit, is it?

Yes.

Supposing one stocked a herbal remedy.

- Not the sort you need a prescription for. - Obviously not, no, no, no.

Herbal remedy in gallon cans.

And dispensed it in 2-ounce bottles at the same price.

What percentage return would that mean?

You are talking of a profit margin of 2,000%.

We couldn't do that.

We could, Miranda. We can do anything!

We could sell...toilet requisites.

And shaving accessories.

And douches. We could sell douches.

Oh, say yes, Miranda. Say yes.

No, no, Roger. I can't.

- But, Miranda. - No, no, no, Roger.

We're too rich. You must understand that.

- We could have a sale... - No, Roger!

We must have country houses and croquet parties

and grouse shoots, you know that.

But why, Miranda. Why?

Somebody has to, Roger.

- Miranda. - P... Please.

I can hear my father coming. You must go.

He's terribly rich.

Extraordinary people, the Pathans.

Who? Derek and Edna?

No, the Pathans.

Local tribe we're fighting.

Oh, yes.

They respond amazingly well to kindness.

They may be very violent,

often cruel and senselessly vindictive, but...

if you are kind to them, they respect you in a strange way.

Jellico was telling me of a chap who was kind to them.

They wouldn't leave him alone. Slept outside his door every night.

- Really? - Mind you, he was very kind to them.

Have you ever tried the cherry preserve?

You know, I often think that if people had been a little more kind to each other,

we might have avoided many of the wars that have plagued society through the ages.

- Rubbish, dear. - Well, maybe.

Just suppose for a minute,

when Wallenstein reached the gates of Magdeburg in 1631.

Instead of razing the city to the ground

and putting its inhabitants to the sword, he'd said,

"Oh, what a lovely place!

"How lucky you are to live here!

"I come from Sweden. You must come and see me sometime."

Think what a difference it would have made.

He'd have gone down in history as a...

nice chap.

Instead of the Butcher of Magdeburg.

Eat up, dear. And stop talking piffle.

Where are you going, Roger?

Erm, to see Mr Hopper, Mother.

There are eight more courses yet.

We're doing Horace today.

- Child molester, wasn't he? - No, no.

Horace is a Latin author, Barty.

I knew a child molester at Eton called Horace.

I don't know what's come over that boy. I really don't.

He's been off his kedgeree for weeks.

Perhaps we should have shown him more love and affection.

More brute force, if you ask me, dear.

Like we did with Nigel.

Nigel died.

Yes, but think what he'd have been like if he'd lived.

- Roger. - Miranda, what is it?

I've decided to come with you.

Where?

I've bought the option on a two-storey lock-up in the Euston Road,

complete with stock.

- But Miranda, I'm not ready. - Oh, it's haberdashery, mainly.

But we could open an accessories section and then

move into surgical appliances when we've built the business up.

- Well... - I'll call for you tonight.

I'll bring Rover.

That night I waited, ready.

Ready for a chance of a lifetime.

This time it had to work.

- Mr Hopper! - You've heard the news, then.

- What news? - The Tsar of all the Russias is dead.

- Isn't it wonderful? - Oh, yes.

Yes, I suppose so.

Hang on to this, Roger.

Right, we'll stack these in here.

I'm leaving.

No need, we'll start the uprising here. The whole regiment is with us.

The armed struggle of the proletariat has begun.

Today, the empire. Tomorrow, England itself.

I can't, Mr Hopper.

- What? - The honourable Miranda and I

are going home to start a little shop.

The Pathans.

- Derek and Edna? - No!

The violent but proud tribe of hill people who threaten our very existence.

- I must go and be kind to them. - Don't be silly, dear.

The servants have orders to come and tell us if there is a Pathan uprising.

I spent 14 years teaching you, training you for this moment.

You can't walk out on me now. Do you hear?

No man owns another, Mr Hopper.

Ohh! Oh-oh-oh!

Stay where you are, Roger.

Now, turn around.

My God! They're armed.

Nonsense, dear.

It's probably just Mr Mugby shooting an intruder.

- I'd better go and treat them well. - Lie down and go to sleep!

Probably shooting the intruder's family as well.

I don't know why they bring them with them.

Roger! I want you to lead the revolution.

Go away!

Oh... They're breaking the place up.

They need sympathy.

Aha, there you are, sir. Mr Hopper told us to wait here for you.

Look, I'm not in all this.

What do you reckon now, sir? Should we wait for Mr Hopper?

Well, I don't know. I'm off to start a little shop somewhere with...

Look, sir.

The men are expecting you to lead them. You can't let them down now.

I can't help that.

I'm sorry, sir. I think you better do just as I say.

Hello, Pathans. How about a drink and some hot soup?

Oh, Hopper. You haven't killed any of them, have you?

- What, sir? - The Pathans.

It's not the Pathans, sir. It's your own men.

Disguised as Pathans?

No, no, it's your own men firing.

- You mean like in a mutiny? - Yes, sir. I'm afraid this is a mutiny.

Thank God you're still with me, Hopper. My wife and I always had a soft spot for you.

- Look... - What do they want? Money? Double beds?

- Who the hell is behind this? - Sir!

- I have to tell you... - What?

Erm, I have to tell you... It's your son.

They've got him too?

No, no, he's leading them.

- My son leading a mutiny? - I'm afraid so.

You mean, little... Little what's-his-name?

Thingy. Yes.

Why?

We gave the dear boy everything.

Good home. Several good homes.

Initialled croquet mallets. What more does he want?

Perhaps he wants to found a socialist state,

with centralised ownership of capital to be used for the benefit of all.

- He wants what? - A socialist state

with centralised ownership of capital to be used for the benefit of all.

- Oh, if that's all he wants he shall have it. - I'm sorry?

No boy of mine shall ever want for anything, Hopper.

What's going on, Barty?

That boy wants a centralised ownership of capital to be used for the benefit of all, dear.

The ungrateful little bastard.

I'm going to find out what's happening. You wait for me here, Rover.

Tell them that the place is surrounded and that you're taking over personal command.

Ah, hello?

One shot and we can all go back to bed.

Can everybody hear me?

Perhaps we should just hear what he has to say, dear.

This is no time to be sentimental, Barty. We do have other children.

Er... This is very important. You must listen to everything I say.

Er, and act...accordingly.

The house is surrounded

and I am taking personal command of the regiment.

My regiment! Give me that.

Oh, Barty, give it to me.

This is at the insistence of the officers and men of the regiment.

Though I must point out that I am acting under duress.

Despite... Despite my high regard for the ideals,

er, of the men.

But I would say to them, first of all...

that obviously Mr Hopper

has been talking revolution to you

as he talked revolution to me for the last 15 years of Latin classes.

And I ask the officers and men of the regiment, what will you have achieved?

What guarantee have they that Mr Hopper or I, for that matter,

would treat them any better than my father did?

This isn't Marxism,

it's Bakuninine anarchism!

So, I say, let us grasp this opportunity to renounce the violence

implicit in any centralised authority.

And aim for total decentralisation of power!

Anarchist!

He has got our position slightly wrong.

We're not against a centralised authority as such.

- What we'd like to... - I am.

No, you're not.

- Yes! - I agree with the last speaker.

This isn't a bloody debate. It's time for action!

- Fire! - Who at?

Look what I found.

- Charge! - Which way?

- Miranda! - I'm coming, Roger!

Rover!

- Roger! - Miranda!

Exactly what happened that night in India

will probably never be known,

for no one lived to tell the tale,

save myself and the honourable Miranda.

After many adventures, we finally found our way back to England,

and there achieved our impossible dream -

to throw off the shackles of wealth and privilege

and live as simple shopkeepers.