The History Boys Page #10

And what will they be?

Akhtar, what are you?

A headmaster, Miss.

In Keighley, near Bradford.

One of you is a magistrate, I know.

- And, Timms, what are you?

- Chain of dry-cleaners, Miss.

And I take drugs at the weekend.

- And are you all happy?

- (murmurs of agreement)

Kids don't help, though, Miss.

Dakin, you're happy, I'm sure.

Of course I'm happy.

I'm a tax lawyer. Money's incredible.

For f***'s sake!

Despite knowing,

along with Wittgenstein,

that the world is

everything that is the case,

Lieutenant James Lockwood of the

First Battalion York and Lancaster Regiment,

is wounded by friendly fire

and dies on his way to hospital.

He is 28.

Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner.

- Rudge, I'd forgotten you.

- As usual, Miss.

You're a builder.

Carpeting the Dales in handy homes.

Rudge homes are at least affordable homes

for the first-time buyer.

I take wives around the showhouse.

I tell them I was at Oxford.

I get fucks galore.

There is one journalist,

though on a better class of paper -

a career he's always threatening to abandon

in order, as he puts it, "really to write".

Hector always

said I was a journalist.

And so you were. School was just

an apprenticeship for television.

I enjoy your programmes,

but they're more... journalism than history.

(murmuring)

But of all Hector's boys,

there is only one

who truly took everything to heart,

remembers everything

he was ever taught.

The songs, the poems,

the sayings, the endings.

The words of Hector never forgotten.

Slightly to my surprise,

I've ended up, like you, a teacher.

I'm a bit of a stock figure.

I do a wonderful school play, for instance.

And though I never touch the boys,

it's always a struggle.

But maybe that's why

I'm a good teacher.

I'm not happy,

but I'm not unhappy about it.

He was a good man.

But I don't think there's time

for his kind of teaching any more.

(Hector) No. Love apart, it is

the only education worth having.

Pass the parcel.

That's sometimes all you can do.

Take it, feel it, and pass it on.

Pass it on, boys -

that's the game I want you to learn.

Pass it on.

# I'm wild again

# Beguiled again

# A simpering, whimpering child again

# Bewitched, bothered and bewildered

# Am I

# Couldn't sleep, and wouldn't sleep

# When love came and told me

I shouldn't sleep

# Bewitched, bothered and bewildered

# Am I

# Lost my heart, but what of it?

# He is cold, I agree

# He can laugh, but I love it

# Although the laugh's on me

# I'll sing to him

# Each spring to him

# And long for the day when I'll cling to him

# Bewitched, bothered and bewildered

# Am I

# After one whole quart of brandy

# Like a daisy I'm awake

# With no Bromo-Seltzer handy

# I don't even shake

# Men are not a new sensation

# I've done pretty well, I think

# But this half-pint imitation

# Put me on the blink

# I've sinned a lot

# I mean, a lot

# But I'm like sweet 17 a lot

# Bewitched, bothered and bewildered

# Am I

# I'll sing to him

# Each spring to him

# And worship the trousers that cling to him

# Bewitched, bothered and bewildered

# Am I

# When he talks

# He is seeking

# Words to get off his chest

# Horizontally speaking

# He's at his very best

# Vexed again

# Perplexed again

# Thank God I can be oversexed again

# Bewitched, bothered and bewildered

# Am I

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