Mrs Henderson Presents Page #6

Mrs Henderson

would like to speak to you.

Who's the flower for?

The girl inside the fan.

Speak up, dear.

- The girl in the fan.

Oh. Yes.

- How old are you?

- 21.

21?

Too young for her, I suppose.

Come back tomorrow night.

Sweet.

I was always afraid that someday

I'd end up working in a florist shop.

- And now you are.

- I'm getting hay fever.

And who is Paul?

I have no idea.

Are you girls decent?

Oh, good.

I've brought someone.

This is Paul.

Oh. I see. Erm...

Girls, can you er...

- I was... looking forward to...

- Speak up, dear.

Would you mind

if I had a moment alone?

Thank you.

- You've sent all these flowers.

- Don't be foolish, my dear.

I recognised the name of your florist.

He can't afford this sort of thing.

He comes from

a very distinguished family.

- Mrs Henderson!

- Well...

Truth is so prosaic.

He's young. That's all.

And rather well put together,

wouldn't you say?

That face.

He's young.

And in five days he goes to the front.

And he may not come back.

- And it's so lonely out there in the...

- Trenches.

Yes, I know the word.

Books have been written

about the last war,

and I have actually read some of them.

And I suppose he saw me on stage

and fell in love.

Mrs Henderson,

one night my bicycle went off the road

and the next thing I knew,

I was an illusion.

Because that's all we are up there.

But the odd thing is I'm still in

that river, and I want to be rescued.

But not by some drum roll

or applause or a soldier's fantasy.

Oh, dear,

you're such a tiresome generation.

You all want love.

We got along very nicely without it,

thank you very much.

I don't see why that boy's fantasy

is any more foolish than yours.

Oh, damn.

She loved your flowers, dear.

What flowers?

Trouble, boss.

- Is it that bloody woman again?

- No, not this time, VD.

Open up!

Do you want me to

knock the door down?

You'll hurt your shoulder.

Get inside.

You can't do this.

- Why not?

- You're part of our family.

A terrible choice of words.

- What are you talking about?

- I don't want to discuss it.

But you have to tell me what's

behind this. You owe it to me.

My concern for

the aesthetics of Revudeville.

What?

I don't think you want a nude on stage

who is pregnant!

- Oh, Christ!

- 'Scuse me, Mr Van Damm.

We were having

a private discussion.

- We have a quick change.

- Yes.

That was a particularly fine

programme, Mr Van Damm.

- I am pleased I recognised your talent.

- Go back into the theatre.

I do have a few notes

about the comedy routine.

We don't have time for nonsense.

We have a crisis.

Why? Whatever's wrong?

Maureen has just sent me

a letter of resignation.

Don't be ridiculous.

Why would she?

Because she's pregnant.

Two minutes, girls!

- Oh, my dear...

- I need some air.

Look... You can work in the show

as a singer for the next few months.

We'll keep you on salary,

until you...

I can't think clearly. I need some air.

I'm so sorry. Was it?

Well, who else would it be?

He sent me a letter.

After he's demobbed,

he's going back to his girlfriend.

His girlfriend!

They all have girlfriends.

The crazy thing is, I fell for him.

Oh, it's not your fault. I'm a grown girl.

I knew what I was doing.

But he had such a sweet face...

They all have sweet faces.

You live in your own world,

Mrs Henderson.

I'm sorry. Excuse me.

I don't want to say something

I shouldn't.

I need some tea. And some air.

She said, "It's not your fault. "

That can only mean one thing.

- Which is?

- That it Is your fault!

- What have you been up to?

- Nothing.

- Have you been giving advice?

- I don't like these questions.

Excuse me, Mr Van Damm.

I want to take some air as well.

You can't goout, Mrs Henderson.

The sirens went.

We didn't hear anything.

- A few minutes ago.

- Maureen's gone out.

- When?

- Just now.

Why didn't you stop her?

Where's she going?

- For some air.

- No, to tea, she said.

You foolish, foolish woman.

Look what you've done.

I thought, "Yes, well,

she's selfish and rude and eccentric,

but that goes with her class.

I can live with that. "

I was a fool.

You don't know anything

about the real world, do you?

It's not the same.

The boys love it, boss.

I'm from the Lord Chamberlain's office.

This is for you.

We have to close your theatre.

What?

It's causing too many people

to congregate in front of it.

Telephone the newspapers.

Get them down here.

Yes, boss.

Maggie...

I know where to find her.

Tell her to come to the theatre

immediately.

Mrs Henderson would like to see

Lord Cromer as soon as possible.

Here, at the theatre.

I don't think

the Lord Chamberlain is available...

Nonsense.

Mrs Henderson wishes to see him.

Pray, pass the message.

There's nothing I can do.

The theatre is closed.

Manners, manners.

Clear a path, please.

Please, clear a path.

We need to see the girls.

We ain't moving

until you open up the theatre.

- Open up!

- There's nothing I can do.

I see the press are here, Van Damm.

Yes.

I don't know how they got hold of it, sir.

- Good afternoon, Mrs Henderson.

- Maggie.

This way.

There seems to be a nationwide desire

to keep this theatre open.

Nationwide?

Please don't be delusional.

I have learnt in these many years

of dealing with artists

to detest imagination.

Excuse me.

Sorry.

This street must be clear.

It presents a very clear public danger.

I may have to ask the police

to interfere.

I'll talk to them.

What a commotion.

They think the theatre encourages

what they call overcongregating.

It seems that we're too popular.

What, you mean we'd stay open

if we were a failure? How ridiculous!

Listen, everybody.

We have no choice.

The government is forcing us to close.

One more light...

dimming in the heart of London.

He's turning into Winston again.

What Herr Hitler

was unable to do,

Our own leaders

are determined to accomplish.

They are going to close the Windmill!

Oh, really.

Excuse me, excuse me,

would you please let me through?

Excuse me.

Excuse me.

Oh, that's so kind of you. Thank you.

Thank you.

Oh, that's most kind, thank you.

Thank you.

Excuse me. Mr Van Damm.

Hello, everybody.

Um, may I intro... Oh, hello, Tom.

May I introduce myself?

I'm Mrs Henderson.

You might see my name

on the billboard there.

Well, I am that Mrs Henderson,

and I have presented the Windmill

for four years now.

Now, let me tell you why.

Oh, dear, are you able to see me?

No...

Here you are, ma'am.

Oh, that's so sweet.

- Are you American?

- Yes.

Strange people, lovely manners.

...there was a war before this one.

It was meant to end all wars.

I lost my son in that war.

My only son. Alec.

He was 21.

He perished from poison gas,

I believe,

On a field in France.

After - some time after - I went to

his room to clear away his things

and I discovered

the most amazing thing.

What I believe you call

a French postcard.

A photograph of a naked woman.

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