All language subtitles for blackadder.s04e06.1080p.bluray.x264-stories

By the centre, quick march!

(MARCHING MUSIC PLAYING)

Eyes right!

Eyes right!

-Care for a smoke, sir?
-No, thank you, erm...

-Private?
-Oh, thank you, sir.

Oh, dash and blast
all this hanging about, sir!

I'm as bored as a pacifist pistol.

When are we gonna see some action?

Well, George,
I strongly suspect that your

long wait for certain death
is nearly at an end.

Surely you must have noticed
something in the air?

Well, yes, of course,

but I thought that was Private Baldrick.

BLACKADDER:
Unless I'm very much mistaken,

soon we will at last be making
the final big push.

That one we've been
so looking forward to all these years.

Well, hurrah with highly
polished brass knobs on!

-About time.
-(PHONE RINGING)

(CLEARS THROAT)

Hello. The Somme public baths.

No running, shouting or piddling
in the shallow end.

Ah, Captain Darling.
Tomorrow at dawn.

Oh, excellent.
See you later then. Bye.

Gentlemen, our long wait
is nearly at an end.

Tomorrow morning,
General Insanity Melchett

invites you to a mass slaughter.

We're going over the top.

Well, huzzah and hurrah!

God save the King, Rule, Britannia,

and boo sucks to Harry Hun!

Or to put it more precisely,

you're going over the top.
I'm getting out of here.

Oh, now come on, Cap.

It may be a bit risky, but it sure
was bloomin' hell worth it, guv'nor.

How can it be possibly be worth it?

We've been sitting here
since Christmas, 1914

during which millions of men have died,

and we've advanced no further
than an asthmatic ant

with some heavy shopping.

No, but...

But this time I'm absolutely pos
we'll break through.

It's ice cream in Berlin in 15 days.

Or ice cold in no man's land
in 15 seconds.

No, the time has come to get
out of this madness once and for all.

What madness is that?

Oh, for God's sake, George.

How long have you been in the army?

Oh, me?
Oh, I joined up straight away, sir.

August 4, 1914.
Oh, what a day that was.

Myself and the rest of the fellows

leap-frogging down to the Cambridge
recruiting office

and then playing tiddlywinks
in the queue.

We'd hammered Oxford's tiddlywinkers
only the week before

and there we were,
off to hammer the Boche.

Crashingly superb bunch of blokes.

Fine, clean-limbed.

Even our acne had
a strange nobility about it.

Yes, and how are all the boys now?

Oh, well, er, Jocko and the Badger

bought it at the first
Ypres, unfortunately.

Quite a shock, that.

I remember Bumfluff's housemaster
wrote and told me

that Sticky had been out for a duck,

and the Gubber had snitched
a parcel sausage end

and gone goose over stump frogside.

Meaning?

I don't know, sir, but I read in
the 7imes that they'd both been killed.

And Bumfluff himself?

Copped a packet at Gallipoli
with the Aussies.

So did Drippy and Strangely-Brown.

I remember we heard
on the first morning of the Somme

when Titch and Mr Floppy
got gassed back to Blighty.

Which leaves?

(EXHALES) Gosh. Yes, I...

I suppose I'm the only one of
the Trinity Tiddlers still alive.

Blimey, there's a thought,
and not a jolly one.

My point exactly, George.

A chap might get a bit mis,

if it wasn't for the thought of
going over the top tomorrow!

Right, sir. Permission to get weaving.

-Permission granted.
-Thank you, sir.

-Baldrick. This is a crisis.
-Captain B.

A large crisis, in fact,
if you've got a moment,

it's a 12-storey crisis
with a magnificent entrance hall,

carpeting throughout, 24-hour porterage

and an enormous sign on the roof saying,
"This is a large crisis."

A large crisis requires a large plan.

Get me two pencils
and a pair of underpants.

Right, Baldrick, this is an old trick
I picked up in the Sudan.

We tell HQ that I've gone insane,

and I will be invalided back
to Blighty before you can say "wooble."

A poor gormless idiot.

But I'm a gormless idiot, sir,

and I've never been invalided
back to Blighty.

Yes, Baldrick,
but you never said "wooble."

Now, ask me some simple questions.

Right. What is your name?

Wooble.

-What is two plus two?
-Oh, wooble wooble.

-Where do you live?
-London.

-Eh?
-A small village on Mars,

just outside
the capital city, Wooble.

All men present and correct, sir?
Ready for the off, eh?

I'm afraid not, Lieutenant.

I'm just off to Hartlepool to buy
some exploding trousers.

Come again, sir?
Have you gone barking mad?

Yes, George, I have.
Cluck, cluck, gibber, gibber.

My old man's a mushroom, et cetera.

Go send a runner
to tell General Melchett

that your captain has gone insane.

I must return to England at once.

But, sir, how utterly ghastly for you.

I mean... (LAUGHS)

Well, you'll miss
the whole rest of the war.

Yes, very bad luck. Beep.

-Right.
-Beep.

Now, Baldrick,
I'll be back as soon as I can.

Papa.

Whatever you do, don't excite him.

Fat chance.

Now all we have to do is wait.
Baldrick, fix us some coffee, will you?

And try to make it taste slightly
less like mud this time.

Not easy, I'm afraid, Captain.

-Why is this?
-Cos it is mud.

We ran out of coffee 13 months ago.

So every time I've drunk
your coffee since,

I have in fact been drinking hot mud.

-With sugar.
-Hmm.

Which of course
makes all the difference.

Well, it would do if we had any sugar,

but unfortunately we ran out
New Year's Eve, 1915,

since when I've been
using sugar substitute.

-Which is?
-Dandruff.

Brilliant.

Still, I could add
some milk this time...

-Well, saliva.
-No...

No, thank you, Baldrick.

Call me Mr Picky,
but I think I'll cancel the coffee.

That's probably cos you're mad, sir.

(LAUGHS) Well, quite.

Well, it didn't go down at all well,
I'm afraid, sir.

Captain Darling said
they'd be along directly, but, well...

You'd better be damn doolally.

Don't worry, George, I am.
Okay. Okay.

When they get here I'll show them what
totally and utterly bonkerooni means.

Waff.

Until then we've got bugger-all
to do except sit and wait.

Well, I don't know, sir, we could, er...

We could have a jolly game of charades!

Oh, yes!

And a sing-along of musical hits
like Birmingham Bertie

and, er, Whoops, Mrs Miggins,
You're Sitting On My Artichokes.

Yes, I think bugger-all
might be rather more fun.

Permission to ask a question, sir.

Permission granted, Baldrick,

as long as isn't the one about
where babies come from.

No, the thing is, the way I see it,

these days there's a war on, right?

And ages ago,
there wasn't a war on, right?

So, there must have been a moment

when there not being a war on
went away, right?

And there being a war on came along.

So, what I want to know is

how did we get from the one case
of affairs to the other case of affairs?

Do you mean how did the war start?

Yeah.

The war started because of the vile Hun
and his villainous empire-building.

George, the British Empire at present
covers a quarter of the globe

while the German Empire consists of
a small sausage factory in Tanganyika.

I hardly think that we can
be entirely absolved from blame

on the imperialistic front.

Er, oh, no. No, sir. Absolutely not.

Mad as a bicycle.

I heard that it started when a bloke
called Archie Duke

shot an ostrich cos he was hungry.

I think you mean it started when
the Archduke of Austro-Hungary got shot.

No, there was definitely
an ostrich involved, sir.

Well, possibly.

But the real reason for the whole thing

was that it was just too much effort
not to have a war.

By gum, this is interesting,
I always loved history.

The Battle of Hastings,
Henry VIII and his six knives, all that.

You see, Baldrick,
in order to prevent war in Europe,

two super-blocs developed, us,
the French and the Russians on one side,

and the Germans and Austro-Hungary
on the other.

The idea was to have
two vast opposing armies,

each acting as the other's deterrent.

That way there could never be a war.

But this is a sort of a war,
isn't it, sir?

Yes, that's right. You see,
there was a tiny flaw in the plan.

-What was that, sir?
-It was bollocks.

So the poor old ostrich died
for nothing?

DARLING: Attention!

Right, they're here. Erm...

Baldrick, you keep him warm.
I'll go prepare the ground.

-Sir!
-George, how's the patient?

Well, it's touch and go,
I'm afraid, sir. I...

I really can't vouch for his behaviour.

He's gone mad, you see.
Stir-fry crazy.

I see. Is this genuinely mad?

Oh, yes, sir.

Or has he simply put his underpants
on his head and stuffed

a couple of pencils up his nose?

That's what they all used to do
in the Sudan.

I remember I once had to shoot
a whole platoon for trying that.

Well, let's have a look at him.

DARLING: Attention!

And the other thing they used to do
in the Sudan

was to get dressed up like this

and pretend to be mad.

But don't let me catch you
trying that one, Baldrick,

or I'll have you shot, all right?
Dismissed.

Well, hello, sir.
Didn't hear you come in.

Well now, Blackadder,
they tell me you've gone mad.

No, sir. No, no.
Must be a breakdown of communication.

Someone obviously heard I was mad
with excitement, waiting for the off.

There you are, you see, Darling?

I told you there'd be
a perfectly rational explanation.

Right, George, have your chaps fall in.

-Very good, sir.
-Well, it's rather odd, sir.

The message was very clear,

"Captain Blackadder gone totally tonto.

"Bring straitjacket for immediate return
to Blighty.”

Don't be ridiculous, Darling.
The Hero of Mboto Gorge mad?

Well, you've only got to look at him
to see he's as sane as I am.

(EXCLAIMS)

Would that be the Mboto Gorge where
we massacred the peace-loving pygmies

of the Upper Volta
and stole all their fruit?

No, a totally different Mboto Gorge.

Oh.

Cup of coffee, Darling?

Oh, thank you.

-Baldrick, do the honours.
-Sir.

-Sugar, sir?
-Three lumps.

Think you can manage
three lumps, Baldrick?

I'll rummage around,
see what I can find, sir.

Make it a milky one.

BALDRICK: Coming up, sir.

Well, George,

you must have been delighted
to hear the news of the big push.

Absolutely, sir. Our chance to show
the Hun that it takes more than

a pointy hat and bad breath
to defeat the armies of King George!

-That's the spirit!
- (BALDRICK SPITTING)

-Here you are, sir.
-Ah, cappuccino.

Have you got any of that, erm...

Any of that brown stuff
you sprinkle on the top?

-Well, I'm sure I could...
-No, no.

Attention.

Ah, well. Fine body of men
you've got out there, Blackadder.

Yes, sir. Shortly to become
fine bodies of men.

Ah, nonsense.
You'll pull through. (LAUGHS)

I remember when we played
the old Harrovians back in '96,

they said we'd never break
through to their back line,

but we ducked
and we bobbed and we wove

and we damn well won the game 15-4.

Yes, sir, but the Harrow fullback
wasn't armed with a heavy machine gun.

No, that's a good point.

-Make a note, Darling.
-Sir.

"Recommendation for
the Harrow Governors,

"Heavy machine guns for fullbacks."

Bright idea, Blackadder.
Now then, soldier,

you looking forward to giving
those Frenchies a damn good licking?

Er, no, sir. It's the Germans
we shall be licking, sir.

Don't be revolting, Darling.

I wouldn't lick a German
if he was glazed in honey.

-Sorry.
-Now then, soldier,

-do you love your country?
-Certainly do, sir.

-Do you love your King?
-Certainly don't, sir.

And why not?

My mother told me never to trust men
with beards, sir.

(LAUGHING) Excellent!
Native cockney wit.

Well, best of luck to you all.

Sorry I can't be with you,
but obviously there's no place

at the front for an old general
with a dicky heart and a wooden bladder.

By the way, George,
if you want to accompany me back to HQ

and watch the results as they come in,

I think I can guarantee a place
in the car.

Oh, no, thank you, sir.
I wouldn't miss this show for anything.

I'm as excited
as a very excited person

who's got a special reason
to be excited, sir.

Excellent. Well, chuff-chuff, then.

See you all in Berlin
for coffee and cakes.

Right.

(SPITTING)

What is the matter
with you today, Darling?

I'm so sorry, Blackadder.
Come on, Darling, we're leaving.

Righto, sir, I'm glad
you're not barking any more.

Well, thank you, George.
Although quite clearly you are.

You were offered a way out,
and you didn't take it.

Oh, absolutely not, sir!

No, I can't wait
to get stuck into the Boche!

You won't have time to
get stuck into the Boche!

We'll all be cut to pieces
by machine gun fire

before we can say "charge."

-Right, so, what do we do now?
-Shall I do my war poem?

How hurt would you be
if I gave the honest answer?

Which is,
"No, I'd rather French kiss a skunk."

So would I, sir.

All right. Fire away, Baldrick.

"Hear the words I sing
War's a horrid thing

"So I sing, sing, sing

"Ding-a-ling-a-ling"”

Oh, bravo, yes!

Yes. Well, it started badly,

and it tailed off a little
in the middle,

and the less said about the end,
the better.

But apart from that, excellent.

Oh, shall I do another one, then, sir?

No, we wouldn't want to exhaust you.

No, don't worry.
I could go on all night.

Not with a bayonet through your neck,
you couldn't!

This one is called 7He German Guns.

Oh, spiffing! Yes, let's hear that.

"Boom, boom, boom, boom

"Boom, boom, boom

"Boom, boom, boom, boom"

"Boom, boom, boom?"

-How did you guess, sir?
-I say, sir! That is spooky!

I'm sorry,
I think I've got to get out of here!

Well, I have a cunning plan, sir.

All right, Baldrick,
for old time's sake.

Well, you phone Field Marshal Haig, sir,
and you ask him to get you out of here.

Baldrick, even by your standards
it's pathetic!

I've only ever met Field Marshal Haig
once, it was 20 years ago,

and, my God, you've got it,
you've got it!

Well, if I've got it,
you've got it too, now, sir.

I can't believe I've been so stupid.

One phone call will do it.
One phone call and I'll be free.

Let's see, it's 3:30 a.m.
I'll call about 5:45.

Excellent, excellent.
Well, I'll get packing.

You know, I won't half miss you chaps
after the war.

Don't worry, Lieutenant,
I'll come visit you.

Oh, will you really?
Oh, bravo! Yes.

Jump into the old jalopy
and come down and stay in the country,

we can relive the old times.

What, dig a hole in the garden,
fill it with water

and get your gamekeeper

to shoot at us all day?

You know, that's the thing

I don't really understand
about you, Captain.

You know, you're a
professional soldier, and yet,

sometimes you sound as though

you bally well haven't enjoyed
soldiering at all.

Well, you see, George,
I did like it, back in the old days

when the prerequisite
of a British campaign

was that the enemy should

under no circumstances carry guns.

Even spears made us think twice.

The kind of people we liked to fight
were two feet tall

and armed with dry grass.

Oh, now, come off it, sir.

What about Mboto Gorge,
for heaven's sake?

Yes, that was a bit of a nasty one.

Ten thousand Watusi warriors
armed to the teeth

with kiwi fruit and guava halves.

After the battle,
instead of taking prisoners,

we simply made a huge fruit salad.

No, when I joined up,

I never imagined
anything as awful as this war.

I'd had 15 years of military experience

perfecting the art
of ordering a pink gin,

and saying, "Do you do it doggy-doggy?"
in Swahili,

and suddenly four-and-a-half million
heavily armed Germans hove into view.

That was a shock, I can tell you.

I thought it was
going to be such fun, too.

We all did.

Joining the local regiment
and everything.

Turnip Street Workhouse Pals.

It was great. I'll never forget it.

It was the first time
I ever felt really popular.

Everyone was cheering, throwing flowers.

Some girl even come up
and kissed me.

Poor woman.
First casualty of the war.

And I loved the training.

All we had to do
was bayonet sacks full of straw.

Even I could do that.

I remember saying to my mum,

"These sacks will be easy to outwit
in a battle situation."

And then, shortly after,
we all met up, didn't we?

Just before Christmas, 1914.

Yes, that's right. I'd just arrived

and we had
that wonderful Christmas truce.

Do you remember, sir?
We could hear Silent Night

drifting across the still,
clear air of no man's land.

And then they came, the Germans,
emerging out of the freezing night mist,

calling to us.

And we clambered up over the top
and went to meet them.

Both sides advanced more
during one Christmas piss-up

than they managed in the next
two-and-a-half years of war.

Do you remember the football match?

Remember it? How could I forget it?

I was never offside!
I could not believe that decision!

And since then we've been stuck here
for three flipping years!

We haven't moved!
All my friends are dead,

my pet spider, Sammy.

Katy the worm. Berty the bird.

Everyone except Neville the fat hamster.

I'm afraid Neville bought it, too.
I'm sorry.

Neville gone, sir?

Actually, not quite gone.
He's in the corner, bunging up the sink.

Oh, no!

It didn't have to happen, sir!
If it wasn't for this terrible war,

Neville would still be here today,

sniffling his little nose
and going, "Eek."

On the other hand, if he hadn't died,

I wouldn't have been able to insert
a curtain rod

in his bottom and use him as a dish mop.

Why can't we just stop, sir?

Why can't we just say,
"No more killing, let's all go home?"

Why would it be stupid
just to pack it in, sir, why?

Now, now, now, look here,

you just stop
that conchie talk right now, Private.

It's absurd, it's Bolshevism,
and it wouldn't work, anyway.

-Why not, sir?
-Why not?

(STAMMERING) What do you mean?
Why wouldn't it work?

(STAMMERING) It wouldn't work
because they're...

Now, you just get on with
polishing those boots, all right?

And let's have a bit less of that lip!

I think I managed to crush
the mutiny there, sir.

Well, to think, sir,
in just a few hours, we'll be off.

Of course, not that I wouldn't
miss all this, sir. But, uh...

I mean, we've had some good times.
We've had damnably good laughs, eh?

Yes, can't think
of any specific ones myself.

-Darling?
-Sir.

No, no. Sit, sit, sit.

-Can't sleep either, eh?
-Ah, no, sir.

Thinking about the push, sir.

Hoping the Boche will forget
to set their alarm clocks,

oversleep, and still be in their pyjamas
when our boys turn up.

Yes, yes.

I've been thinking, too, Darling.

-Sir?
-You know,

over these last few years,

I've come to think of you
as a Sort of son.

Not a favourite son, of course.

Lord, no! More a sort of illegitimate
backstairs sort of sprog, you know?

A sort of spotty squirt
that nobody really likes.

But, nonetheless,
still fruit of my overactive Loins.

Ah, thank you, sir.

And I want to do
what's best for you, Darling,

so I've given it a great deal of thought
and I want you to have this.

A postal order for 10 shillings.

No, sorry.
That's my godson's wedding present.

Ah, here.

Er, no, sir. This is a commission
for the front line, sir.

Yes.

I've been awfully selfish,
Darling, keeping you back here

instead of letting you join
in the fun and games.

This will let you get
to the front line immediately.

(STAMMERING) But, sir, I don't want to.

To leave me? (LAUGHS)

I appreciate that, Darling,

but damn it,
I'll just have to enter Berlin

without someone to carry
my feathery hat.

No, sir,
I don't want to go into battle...

Without me? I know,
but I'm too old, Darling.

I'm just going to have to
sit this one out

on the touchline
with the half-time oranges

and the fat, wheezy boys
with a note from matron,

while you young bloods link arms

and go together
for the glorious final scrum down.

No, sir. You're...

You're not listening, sir.

I'm begging you. Please.

For the sake of all the times
I've helped you

with your dicky bows
and your dicky bladder...

Please, don't make me...

Make you go through the farewell
debagging ceremony in the mess.

(LAUGHS) No, I've spared you that too,

you touchingly sentimental young booby.

No, no fuss, no bother.
The driver is already here.

-But...
-No, no. Not a word, Kevin.

I know what you want to say.

I know.

Goodbye, Kevin Darling.

Goodbye, sir.

It's stopped raining at last, sir,
begging your pardon.

Looks like we might
have a nice day for it.

-Yes, it's nearly morning.
-Good Lord, so it is.

Right, time to make my call.

Hello, Field Marshal
Sir Douglas Haig, please.

Yes, it's urgent.

-Haig.
-Hello, Sir Douglas!

Who is this?

Captain Blackadder, sir.

Erstwhile of the 1945th
East African Rifles.

-Good Lord. Blacky!
-Yes, sir!

-Haven't seen you since...
-'92, sir. Mboto Gorge.

By jingo, yes.

We sure gave those pygmies
a good squashing.

We certainly did, sir,
and do you remember...

My God, yes.
You saved my damn life that day, Blacky.

If it weren't for you,

that pygmy woman with the sharpened
mango could have seriously...

Well, exactly, sir.

And do you remember then that you said
that if I was ever in real trouble,

if I ever really needed a favour,
that I was to call you,

and you'd do everything
you could to help me?

Yes, yes, I do, and I stick by it.

You know me,
not a man to change my mind.

No, we've noticed that.

So, what do you want? Spit it out, man.

Well, you see, sir,

it's the big push today,

and I'm not all that keen
to go over the top.

Oh, I see. Well...

It was a viciously sharp slice
of mango, wasn't it, sir?

Well, this is most irregular,
but, erm...

All right. If I do fix it for you,

I never want to hear from you again,
is that clear?

Suits me, Dougie!

Very well. Listen carefully, Blackadder.

I won't repeat this.

Put your underpants on your head
and stick two pencils up your nose.

They'll think you're crazy
and send you home.

Right, favour returned!

I think the phrase
rhymes with clucking bell.

Does that mean you'll be
going over the top now, sir?

-(PHONE RINGS)
-Field Marshal?

(LAUGHING) Well, not...
Not quite, Blackadder! At least not yet.

No, I just wanted to let you know

that I've sent
a little surprise over for you.

Sir!

-Captain Darling.
-Captain Blackadder.

Here to join us for the last waltz?

Erm, yes.

Tired of folding the General's pyjamas.

Well, this is splendid, comradely news.

Together, we'll fight
for King and country,

and be sucking sausages
in Berlin by teatime.

Yes, I hope their cafes
are well-stocked.

Everyone seems determined to eat out
the moment they arrive.

No, really, this is brave,
splendid and noble!

-Sir?
-Yes, Lieutenant?

I'm scared, sir.

I'm scared too, sir.

I mean, I'm the last of
the tiddlywinking leap-froggers

from the golden summer of 1914.

I don't want to die.

Really, I'm not over keen
on dying at all, sir.

How are you feeling, Darling?

Erm, not all that good, Blackadder.

Rather hoped
I'd get through the whole show,

go back to work at Pratt and Sons,

keep wicket for the Croydon gentlemen,

marry Doris...

Made a note in my diary
on the way here.

It simply says, "Bugger."

Well, quite.

-MAN: Stand to!
-Right, let's move.

MAN: Fix bayonets.

Don't forget your stick, Lieutenant.

Oh no, sir, wouldn't want to face
a machine gun without this!

(ARTILLERY FIRING IN DISTANCE)

Listen. Our guns have stopped.

-You don't think...
-Maybe the war's over.

Maybe it's peace.

Well, hurrah!
The big knobs have gone ‘round the table

and yanked the iron out of the fire!

Thank God! We lived through it.

The Great War, 1914 to 1917.

-Hip hip!
-Hooray!

I'm afraid not.

The guns have stopped
because we're about to attack.

Not even our generals
are mad enough to shell their own men.

They think it's far more sporting
to let the Germans do it.

So we are in fact going over.
This is, as they say, it.

I'm afraid so, unless I can
think of something very quickly.

MAN: Company, one pace forward.

Oh, there's a nasty splinter
on that ladder, sir!

A bloke could hurt himself on that.

MAN: Stand ready.

I have a plan, sir.

Really, Baldrick?
A cunning and subtle one?

Yes, sir.

As cunning as a fox
who's just been appointed

Professor of Cunning
at Oxford University?

Yes, sir.

MAN: On the signal,
company will advance.

Well, I'm afraid it'll have to wait.

Whatever it was, I'm sure it was better
than my plan to get out of this

by pretending to be mad.

I mean, who would have noticed
another madman around here?

- (WHISTLE BLOWING)
-Good luck, everyone.

- (WHISTLES BLOWING)
-Charge!

-(YELLING)
-(MACHINE GUNS FIRING)

(ARTILLERY EXPLODING)

(SOMBRE MUSIC PLAYING)