Ethel & Ernest Page #4

- Ted! - Over here, Ern!

- On the left. That!

- Go on, left window.

- Come on!

Left.

Watch out!

Oh, at last.

Are you all right?

Tired.

Been in the docks.

14 hours.

Here. Let me get your boots off.

- There.

- Loads of dead.

Little kiddie.

All in bits.

I had to...

There, there.

Have a good cry.

Cor! This Beveridge report!

Sickness pay, unemployment pay,

old age pensions, kiddies welfare,

free medicines, free hospitals.

Don't read, Ernest. Help!

Social security from

the cradle to the grave.

The welfare state.

It's what the workers have

always fought for. We've won!

- It will have to be paid for.

- Course it will.

We all chip in, that's the whole idea.

You can't chip in if you're out of

work, or off sick, or on a pension.

No, well...

Course not. It's all got to be worked out.

It's economics, see?

Economics will see to it.

There.

All done.

Oh, Ernest.

I know. I know.

- Auntie Flo.

- Yes, dear?

Mm... I wish I could

sleep in my own bed again.

Course you do, dear. That Mr.

Hitler's on the run now, Raymond.

I'm sure you'll be back

in London soon enough.

There. All done.

You there?!

- What's up, Ette?

- Dearest, I've been promoted.

- Clerk, grade B3.

- Cor!

No more packing parcels in

that rotten freezing warehouse?

No, I'm going to work in an office.

And that's not all, Ette.

Look, a letter from our boy.

They reckon he can come home now.

Oh! Oh, Ernest!

That's it, son.

Dig, dig, dig Feel

your muscles getting big

Keep on pushing in the spade

The turnip tops The

potatoes and the carrots

Cannot sprout without your aid

Don't mind the worms

Just ignore the squirms

When your back aches

Laugh with glee!

And keep on digging till

we give our foes a wigging

Dig, dig, dig to victory!

- Cup of tea, boysie?

- Thanks, Dad.

That country air has got you fit.

Dad?

Come on, son!

- Down the shelter! Run!

- Take cover!

Doodlebug!

Get down, son! Get down!

Engine's cut out.

Christ, it's coming down!

Cor. That was close.

- I didn't know they were bright blue underneath, Dad.

- Come on, son.

Shelter. Before any more

of the blighters come over.

We'd better get you back

down the country tomorrow.

Crikey, dear. Sounds like

a lot got through tonight.

I can't hear anything.

Hold tight, duck.

Some shelter. Full of glass.

Morrison shelters. That Mr.

Morrison must be a proper twerp.

Good job the boy wasn't in it.

He's only been gone two days.

The old Dorothy Perkins is still in bloom.

She survived.

Pity he didn't take his teddy with him.

Oh, Ernest.

How much more of this is there going to be?

- Ernest? - What? - Careful,

that's your second glass of beer.

- Victory in Europe, Ette!

- Yeah!

- Any time you're Lambeth way...

- Look! Look at Dad!

Any evening, any day

You'll find us all

Doing the Lambeth walk, oi!

Every little Lambeth gal

With her little Lambeth pal

You'll find 'em all

Doing the Lambeth walk, oi!

Everything's free and easy

Do as you darn well pleasey

Why don't you make your way

there? Go there, stay there!

Come on, Arthur! It's VE Day!

Cheer up. You look like a

dog that's lost its tail!

I lost my boy.

Oh, yeah...

I'm sorry, mate.

I'm sorry, I forgot.

Sorry.

Cor. Just think, there'll

never be another war.

Jessie's Bob is still fighting

the Japs, don't forget.

And you can knock this thing down.

When I finish tidying it.

Look. It's come up.

- What's that, son?

- A pear tree.

Auntie Flo gave me the

pips from a pear we ate.

Better not get too big, it

will block out all the light.

Don't discourage the boy, Ernest.

I like a nice pear.

Darling!

Labour's won!

We're in!

Such a shame for poor Mr. Churchill.

The working man will be

all right now. At last!

He saved our bacon in the war.

- Bloody marvellous.

- Ernest!

Mr Churchill never

swears. He's a gentleman.

- I'm Labour, Mum.

- Shush, dear.

It is now estimated

that casualties from the atomic bomb

dropped on the city of Hiroshima

could exceed 100,000 dead.

100,000 dead from one bomb.

Well, at least it will put paid to wars.

- Eh? Why?

- Well, you can't fight a war with bombs like that.

- Why not?

- Everyone would be dead the first day.

Mm.

Oh!

He's passed the scholarship!

He's going to the grammar school!

Hmm. I hope he won't get too posh for us.

Oh, Ernest.

And there. There we are. Now

turn around, sonny. Show Mummy.

Oh, Raymond.

You do look smart.

Oh, wait a minute.

Can't have a dirty face, can we?

Not at the grammar school.

Quite so, madam.

- Languages, eh?

- Oh, yes.

He has to do French and Latin. And maths.

Oh, like arithmetic?

No, not just arithmetic.

Um, it's called alge...

Um, alge-bra.

Oh. And sport?

- Does he do his football?

- Oh, no. They play rugger.

Ethel!

Oh, sorry, must go.

- You shouldn't go on about it to Mrs. Bennet, dear.

- Why not?

Well, her boy didn't get in

anywhere. He's a bricklayer now.

- I don't see why I shouldn't be proud of my own son.

- Yeah? Well, OK.

- Hey, hey!

- Mum! Look!

- What do you reckon?

- Smashing, Dad!

- It's electric, son.

- I hope you can keep control of it, Ernest.

- Can I have a go on it? - Just you keep

away from it. - Oh... - It's dangerous.

See you later.

Bye!

Hello, Ern.

Hello, Alf.

Ta.

- How goes it, then?

- Oh, not good.

My old lady, she's getting a bit much.

Oh?

- Rows, you mean? Money?

- No, no, no. You know...

The other.

- Mm?

- It's the change.

She's on the change.

Too demanding. Do you know what I mean?

I can't cope. It's too much for me.

So... if you ever fancy, you know...

- You'd be doing me a favour.

- Eh?

What? You mean, er...?

I'll be out next Saturday, football.

Fulham's at home. So...

You mean you...?

Yeah, like I say, you'd

be doing me a favour.

Ah, blimey, no. No, mate.

No, I couldn't. Sorry, no.

I've got a barrow to push.

Er, no hard feelings.

Nor me neither.

Ta-da, Alf.

- See you, Ern.

- Alf!

- Mrs. Briggs?

- Yes.

Detective Sergeant Burnley, CID.

Oh, no. Whatever is...?

Your son was apprehended breaking

and entering the golf club

and stealing valuable billiard cues.

- No!

- He's lucky.

This time we're letting

him off with a caution.

In you go, sunshine.

Next time, it will be borstal.

No. No, it's not possible. He...

He goes to grammar school.

You wicked, wicked boy!

I could kill you!

- Sorry, Mum.

- How could you?

Borstal. Borstal!

Whatever's going on?

Well?

- I see your boy came home in a police van.

- Yes.

Yes, he did. That's right.

He's been helping the police

with their investigations.

- In a Black Maria?

- Yes.

He reported some stolen

property he found in the woods.

The Chief Inspector said

he was a very clever boy.

Hmm.

Look. More scrap Anderson.

Oh, fits perfect.

We'll own all the coal soon.

They're going to nationalise it.

I bet we still have to pay for it.

Of course we'll have to pay

for it, you daft ha'p'orth.

So we won't own it then, will we?

Well, er, not exactly, but

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