Ethel & Ernest Page #5

it means the profits will go

to the government instead of

lining the pockets of the bosses.

- And then the government gives the money to us?

- No.

So what's the difference, then?

Cor. 50,000 GI brides going to

America. Kiddies with them, too.

Children? But they're not married!

Yeah, well.

I expect some of them jumped the gun a bit.

You know what they say about the

Yanks... one yank and they're down!

- What are down?

- Er, well, I don't know. It's just a saying.

Yaaay!

Blimey. There's going to

be 1,000 miles of motorway.

A terrific network.

What about the green belt?

All that lovely country?

Yeah, well, it will bypass it, I expect.

I thought you said there were going

to be lots of bypasses already.

Yeah, well, so there are. It

will bypass the bypasses, then.

And what about the ring roads?

Look, it will bypass the ring

roads and bypass the bypasses.

- And bypass the green belt?

- Yes, and bypass the green belt!

That's all right, then.

Only it does seem a bit of a muddle.

He's passed!

He's passed the school certificate.

It says he's matric...

Matriculated. Or something.

Is that good?

Well, of course it's good!

- What does it mean?

- I don't know what it means.

Not our place to know.

- Morning, Mr. Briggs.

- Lovely morning.

Whatever's the matter, dear?

He says he wants to leave the

grammar school and go to art school!

Art school?!

- Oh, blimey.

- Such a shame.

He could've gone to Oxford and Cambridge

and got a nice job in an office.

He could've been a foreman,

or even maybe a manager.

There's no money in it.

He'll never earn a living at it.

That lot's all long hair, drink and...

- nude women.

- Oh, Ernest!

It was confirmed today

that Russia has exploded

its first atomic bomb.

The test took place in a

remote area of Kazakhstan...

Russia explosion, atomic bomb.

Oh, blimey. That's been

and gawn and done it.

Ernest, do speak properly.

Dad, when you come home from work,

why don't you wash in the bathroom?

Blimey, son. I'm filthy, look.

Yes, I know, but that's

what the bathroom is for.

No, I couldn't wash in the

bathroom. Not in this state.

But this is the kitchen,

Dad. Mum cooks in it.

- Ooh-ooh!

- No, I couldn't, son.

- Not in the bathroom.

- Oh, Dad!

Hello, dear. Had a good day at college?

Oh, what's up with him?

They called it adolescence, dear.

They don't understand.

That launderette is a godsend.

I did the whole blessed lot

for 2/9 and it's all bone dry.

I could get an electric

thermostat for the tank.

Hot water in the summertime, all modern.

Electric thermostat, electric

fridge, electric milk float.

My old mum and dad never

knew the meaning of the word.

- What word, duck?

- Electric!

At home, there was nothing

electric in the whole blessed house.

We all grew up all right.

Two of you died as children, dear.

What's that got to do with electric?

Well, it's progress, Ette. Scientific.

It's scientific progress.

Blimey, what's this?

Meat ration to be cut by tuppence.

That's the lowest it's ever been and

six years after the end of the war!

We had more meat under Mr. Churchill.

Yeah, all right.

- Middle of the Blitz we had more meat.

- Yes!

- Battle of Britain...

- All right!

You can't blame Hitler now.

No!

Just your Labour Government.

- Bye, Mum!

- Bye, dear.

Have you finished your sketch?

Just look at the pair of them.

Her in black stockings

and just look at his hair!

Well, they're art students, dear.

He'll grow out of it

when he gets a proper job.

He'll never get a proper

job with hair like that!

Cor blimey.

There's a candidate here

in the general election.

Not only is she a woman, but she is 26.

I'm old enough to be her father.

And she's a Tory.

What is the world coming to?

I thought your Labour believed

in equal rights for everybody?

Well, yeah, of course, but... blimey!

She's old enough to be married,

have a baby, go to work,

drive a car, be in the

Army, fly a plane in the war.

Yeah, but...

Blimey. I'd like to see her do my job.

Oh, she doesn't want your

job. She wants to be an MP.

- She's educated.

- And I'm not, I suppose?

Well, no, you're not

educated, are you, dear?

Nor am I.

We couldn't be MPs.

- Aw!

- Oh.

Who wants to be an MP anyway, eh?

Cheese ration cut to 1oz!

Seven years after the war... 1oz.

It's not enough for a mousetrap.

There's your Tory government for you, look.

Your Mr. Churchill's cheese.

I hope you washed your hands

before touching that cheese.

It's my call-up papers.

I'm going in the Royal Corps of Signals.

Well, don't you go and get

sent to that Korean War.

Oh, that's all over, bar the shouting.

It isn't! Mrs. Hammond's boy, Michael,

was killed there only last week.

Blimey, was he?

He used to help me on the milk

round when he was a nipper.

He was just 19.

Then, when you come to attention...

Attention!

You have to slam your boot down so hard

- the blood spurts through your lace holes.

- Oh, don't, dear.

It's true, mum.

- Are you going to do parachute jumping, son?

- No.

I'm going to be a draughtsman in an office.

Oh, good. That's nice, an office.

And thank goodness you've

had a proper haircut at last.

Mrs. Morgan's boy is

going to be an officer.

- Oh, yeah?

- Don't you want to be an officer, dear?

Not likely, Mum. They want

head boys, team captains,

prefects, preferably public-school.

I'm just a common little

suburban grammar school oik.

Oh, but the uniform is so much nicer, dear.

And you could wear nice brown shoes.

Boots... they're so common.

Our very own phone.

Who'd have believed it?

Oh, dear, what shall I do

if it rings when you're out?

Well, answer it, you daft ha'p'orth!

I don't think I like it.

Argh!

Oh, quick, quick, quick,

Ernest! It's going off!

Ahem!

Hello?

Yes?

No.

Oh, right, goodbye.

Wrong number, dear.

Oh, Ernest.

It's just like the pictures.

Yes, we might get Victor McLagen.

- He's dead.

- They could still put him on.

Oh, I prefer Tyrone Power.

He's more modern.

You get it, Ernest.

Oh, blessed thing!

Fancy our little boy having a motor bike.

It's a scooter, Ette.

Lambretta. They're Italian.

He's far too young for motorbikes.

And I see it's back to

the long hair already.

Well, he's demobbed now, dear.

Cheerio, Mum! Cheerio, Dad!

- Bye, dear!

- Bye, son!

He's got three certificates now.

Yeah, but they're only art certificates.

They won't get him a job.

One is from London University.

- Yeah, I know, but...

- He can put letters after his name.

Just like a doctor.

Hello, Susie.

It says they're wanting

to legalise homosexuality.

Oh.

What's that?

Well, you know.

It's like two blokes...

only instead of with a woman,

it's sort of with one another, like.

I don't know what you're

rambling on about, Ernest,

and I don't think you do either.

I'll put the kettle on, shall I, duck?

A nice cup of tea.

Surprise, dear!

- What?

- Hey, presto!

Mind, the sun will fade my loose covers.

Look.

What?

- Do you see anything?

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