Testament of Youth Page #15

GEORGE:

I’m sorry. None of it makes any

sense.

Vera holds out a hand.

VERA:

You’re very kind. I won’t forget

it.

George takes her hand, presses it between his; suddenly drawn

to that strength and resolve of hers.

Vera turns and walks away. He watches her go.

119 OMMITTED. 119

120 INT. DORMITORY, CAMBERWELL - NIGHT 120

Vera sits in her small room, writing a letter to Victor.

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VERA’S VOICE

Dear Victor. I met the officer in

question, he...

She stops, thinks. Takes up her pen again.

VERA’S VOICE

He confirmed what Roland’s

colleague told us. It was a

painless and noble death. Comfort

yourself with this, dear Victor,

as you face the trials ahead.

121 EXT. LEIGHTON HOUSE, LOWESTOFT - DAY 121

Vera is heading up the snowy garden path when Roland’s

distraught sister Clare comes running out to greet her.

CLARE:

Roland’s kit. They’ve sent it

back to us!

Clare runs back into the house. Vera hesitates, not sure if

she can face this.

122 INT. LIVING ROOM, LEIGHTON HOUSE - SECONDS LATER 122

Vera walks into the living room to be met by a terrible

sight. Mr. and Mrs. Leighton are standing frozen in horror,

looking at a heap of blood and mud-stained khaki clothes in

the centre of the room. The smell is terrible - Vera covers

her nose and mouth with her hand.

MRS. LEIGHTON

How could they do this?! How

could they send us that....that,

it’s not my Roland!

Mrs. Leighton turns away from the horrible sight.

MRS. LEIGHTON

Take it outside, take it!

Mr. Leighton steps forward, but Vera stops him.

VERA:

Wait.

She goes over to the bloody heap, stares at it for a

moment. Then kneels down beside it. She has to brace

herself to breathe normally, because of the smell.

VERA:

Oh God....

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She reaches across, picks up a damp, blood-soaked item -

Roland’s vest, ripped and torn.

She picks up his cap, all flattened and squashed. Next, his

jacket, covered in dried viscera. Vera holds it up. She has

to look, she has to check....Bracing herself, she reaches

into the inside pocket. The filth of the trenches comes off

on her hands, but she carries on. She feels something -

pulls out Roland’s wallet. Her fingers are trembling, but

she opens it. Inside, is a photo of her. Vera wipes hair

from her face, gets a streak of dirt across it. She feels

something else, reaches in and pulls out - a sheaf of

papers.

Vera lays them down. They’re splattered, filthy, but she

smooths them out. They’re poems, headed “For Vera”. One has

dried violet flowers folded into it.

Vera gazes at them - overcome, her emotions rising to the

surface; sobs of grief and joy combined. At last -

something from him. At last, she can grieve...

123 EXT. GARDEN, LEIGHTON HOUSE - LATER 123

Vera and Mr. Leighton are digging a hole in the frozen

ground, as Mrs. Leighton watches, Clare pours boiling water

from a kettle to help thaw the soil. Over this:

ROLAND’S VOICE

Violets from Plug Street Wood,

Sweet, I send you oversea.

Vera and Mr. Leighton shovel Roland’s kit into the hole. Then

they start to bury it.

ROLAND’S VOICE

(It is strange they should be blue,

Blue when his soaked blood was red,

For they grew around his head;

It is strange they should be blue.)

CUT TO:

124 EXT. PLUG STREET WOOD, BELGIUM - DAY (SPRING) 124

We see Roland as he spots some violets growing beneath a

tree. He walks over to pick them - sees a man’s semi-

decomposed corpse lying there, very still. The violets are

growing in the blood-stained earth around his head. A bird

twitters somewhere, leaves rustle in the breeze.

ROLAND’S VOICE

Violets from Plug Street Wood

-Think what they have meant to

me -

Life and Hope and Love and You.

(MORE)

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ROLAND’S VOICE (cont'd)

(And you did not see them grow

Where his mangled body lay,

Hiding horror from the day.

Sweetest, it was better so.)

125 INT. CORRIDOR, 1ST LONDON GENERAL - DAY (SPRING) 125

Vera hurries down a hospital corridor, towards a ward.

ROLAND’S VOICE

Violets from oversea,

To your dear, far forgetting

land:

These I send in memory,

Knowing you will understand.

126 INT. WARD, 1ST LONDON GENERAL - DAY 126

Vera approaches a man sitting in a chair by his bed, his

head entirely bound in dressing save for the lower face and

one eye. It’s Victor.

VERA:

Victor...

He stirs. He looks different - shrunken, almost child-like.

Vera tries to make eye contact, but his one eye stares back

at her, sightless.

VICTOR:

Who is it? Is that...?

We realise he’s blind. The shock...she takes his hand.

VICTOR (CONT’D)

Vera.

VERA:

Oh Victor....

VICTOR:

(trembling attempt to be

light)

What a fix, eh.

He plucks at the blanket across his lap.

VICTOR:

This blanket’s driving me mad,

it’s far too itchy!

VERA:

I’ll take care of it.

Upset, she takes the blanket off, then sits back down,

trying to keep her voice steady.

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VERA:

Does Molly know? Would you like

me to contact her for you?

A beat.

VICTOR:

There’s no Molly, Vera. There

never was.

On Vera - stricken.

VICTOR (CONT’D)

(managing a smile)

Couldn’t have you feeling sorry

for me, could I?

127 INT. DORMITORY, 1ST LONDON GENERAL - DAY 127

A thoughtful Vera is getting ready to go out - coat and hat

on. She checks her appearance in the mirror - gazes at her

face for a moment, gaunt, worn. Then she goes over to a box

of cakes, closes it carefully up, and readies to leave.

128 EXT. GARDEN, 1ST LONDON GENERAL - A LITTLE LATER 128

Vera is settling herself down in a chair next to Victor,

who has been brought outside to get some fresh air. The

opened box of cakes is beside him.

VICTOR:

I’m getting a visit from an

officer who lost both eyes at the

start of the War. He’s going to

tell me about Braille.

VERA:

That’s the Victor I know, always

the optimist.

VICTOR:

(A new cynicism)

Yes, inspirational stories for

the damned. What about you? Still

writing?

VERA:

Writing! Goodness no.

VICTOR:

Really? You’ve got some material

now.

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VERA:

That belongs to another life. I

have much more important things

to interest me, like being here

with you.

Victor gropes for her hand, she takes it. He gives it a

squeeze.

VERA (CONT’D)

I’ve been thinking, Victor, and I

want to look after you. We belong

together now, don’t we? You’re

going to need someone, and I -

Victor listens, alert and very still.

VERA (CONT’D)

(swallowing)

-well, Roland would like it. You

knew him better than anyone in

the world, except Edward.

VICTOR:

Poor Vera. Are you proposing to

me now?

VERA:

Yes, yes I am.

Victor lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it.

VICTOR:

(gently)

Then I must turn you down.

A moment - as Vera accepts, gradually realising he’s right.

They sit there, lost together, holding hands.

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