Hope and Glory Page #11

EXT. ROSEHILL AVENUE - DAY

NEIGHBOURS run in the direction of the FALLING AIRMAN. Some

WOMEN carry garden forks and others pick up rocks on the

way. GRACE and the children hurry back into the house.

EXT. ROHAN HOUSE - GARDEN - DAY

They go out through the back gate to join an excited throng

of NEIGHBOURS.

EXT. BUILDING SITE - DAY

The PILOT drifts on to the wasteland where the barrage

balloon bravely flies. People rush in from all sides, as he

makes an elegant landing and gathers his parachute. A crowd

of women, children and OLD MEN encircle him. He looks no

more than twenty-years old. The crowd watches every move he

makes. They edge back as he reaches into his pocket. But it

is only a silk handkerchief that he pulls out. He wipes his

hands, puts it away. He moves to an empty oil drum and sits

on it. He crosses his legs and carefully lights a

cigarette. His affects the greatest nonchalance as he

smokes. A little way off a huge hoarding gives the

impression of the houses that were to be built on this

site, an idyll of suburban bliss. The PILOT looks at the

idealized family group on the poster and then at GRACE and

her children. He smiles ironically.

GRACE:

England is so beautiful, and he

had to land here of all places.

Finally, a rather aged POLICE CONSTABLE arrives on the

scene. The onlookers thrust him forward. He advances a few

paces, the stops. Hesitating, quite at a loss. He looks at

the PILOT then back to the crowd. They egg him on.

Resolutely, the CONSTABLE pulls out his truncheon and steps

forward.

CONSTABLE:

Now then. Now then.

The German PILOT gets languidly to his feet. The POLICEMAN

Retreats a pace. A TITTER or two ripples through the crowd.

Encouragingly, the PILOT half raises his hands in the

'stick-em-up' position, the cigarette held delicately

between the pale fingers. It is a taunting but oddly gentle

gesture. The CONSTABLE takes him by the arm and leads him

off. The crowd opens up to let them pass. As he does, DAWN

catches his eye and he winks at her. She gives him a

flirtatious smile. GRACE is horrified. She seizes DAWN and

forces her face against her own breast, hiding her gaze

from the lewdness of the enemy.

INT. ROHAN HOUSE - DAWN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

DAWN is bent over, looking between her legs at BILL as he

tries to draw a stocking seam up the back of her calf. He

must continuously lick the brown crayon. She holds a hand

mirror in such a way that she can see the progress of his

work.

DAWN:

It's crooked. Rub that bit out

and do it again.

She cuff's him and he resumes. He stops halfway up her

thigh.

DAWN:

Well, keep going. Don't stop now.

He goes higher, then hesitates again.

BILL:

Nobody is going to see this far

up.

She leers at him.

DAWN:

Don't be so sure.

He blushes. She stands up and pirouettes, her flared skirt

swings out, exposing her knickers.

DAWN:

When I jitterbug.

INT. DANCE HALL - NIGHT

DAWN, swinging as she jitterbugs with a young CANADIAN

SOLDIER, BRUCE. They are good. He hoists her over his

shoulder. They whirl and swirl. The music changes to a slow

waltz.

BRUCE:

It was great for me, how was it

for you.

DAWN:

A bit too quick.

BRUCE:

Well. Now we can do it slow. Are

those some kind of stockings

you're wearing?

DAWN:

They might be.

BRUCE:

I mean, no suspenders. They just

kinda' disappear up your ass.

She slaps his face. He Holds up his hands in mock horror

and backs away.

BRUCE:

Quit it. Help me someone. The

girl's beating on me.

Jeers and laughter from fellow CANADIANS on the dance

floor. DAWN turns and walks off, head in the air, but not

forgetting to wriggle her bottom as she goes. BRUCE grins

admiringly and stalks after her on tiptoe. His pals love

it.

EXT. SKY - DAY

BLACK AND WHITE:

A SPITFIRE is attacked by a GERMAN PLANE. The pilot twists

and turns away, trying to escape. The pilot is BILL! His

eyes bulge with fear as the enemy bullets rip into his

fuselage. The rat-a-tat of the gunfire wakes him up.

INT. ROHAN'S HOUSE - CHILDREN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

COLOUR:

BILL opens his eyes, and they alight upon his MODEL

SPITFIRE suspended on a thread over his bed. The cannon

fire gradually resolves into a TAPPING on the WINDOW.

Blearily he gets up and unlatches it. A Dishevelled DAWN

climbs through, threading her way between the model

airplanes hanging from the ceiling and stepping down over

the table on which BILL has his shrapnel collection spread.

BILL:

(whispering)

Mind that shrapnel

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