The History Boys Page #5

- With Dakin?

- With anybody.

That's sensible.

One of the hardest things for boys to learn

is that a teacher is human.

One of the hardest things for a teacher

to learn is not to try and tell them.

- Is it a phase, sir?

- Do you think it's a phase?

Some of the literature

says it will pass.

I'm not sure I want it to pass.

But I want to get into Oxford.

If I do, Dakin might love me.

Or I might stop caring.

- Do you look at your life, sir?

- I thought everybody did.

I'm a Jew, I'm small,

I'm homosexual,

and I live in Sheffield.

I'm f***ed.

So, all this religion.

What do you do?

(sighs) Go to church. Pray.

Yes?

It's so time-consuming.

You have no idea.

Yeah? What else?

Well. Er... it's what you don't do.

You don't not wank?

- Jesus! You're headed for the bin.

- It's not forever.

Yeah, well, just tell me on the big day

and I'll stand well back.

What bothers me is the more you read,

the more you see

literature is actually about losers.

- Ugh, no.

- Yeah.

It's consolation.

All literature is consolation.

I don't care what Hector says.

I find literature really louring.

This is Irwin, isn't it?

A line of stuff for the exam.

No.

Well, it isn't wholly my idea.

I've been reading

this book by Nieshaw.

- Who?

- Nieshaw. He's a philosopher.

Frederick Nieshaw.

I think that's pronounced Nietzsche.

Oh, sh*t. Sh*t!

- What's the matter?

- I talked to Irwin about it.

He didn't correct me.

He let me call him Nieeee-shaw!

- He'll think I'm a right fool. Sh*t!

- What have I done?

Nothing. You've done nothing.

The world doesn't revolve

around you, you know.

Ah! Irwin! How are

our young men doing?

- Are they on stream?

- I think so.

(stammers) You think so?

Are they or aren't they?

Must always be

something of a lottery.

A lottery? I don't like

the sound of that, Irwin.

I don't want you to f*** up.

We've been down that road

too many times before.

(rock music)

Oi!

He's coming.

(cheering)

They took the lead off the roofs,

they used the timbers to melt it down,

and time did the rest,

and all thanks to Henry VIII.

If you want to learn about Stalin,

study Henry VIII.

If you want to learn about

Mrs. Thatcher, study Henry VIII.

While you and Dorothy are taking them

through the history, I'll pitch camp.

Though, Irwin, I am

constantly available

for the provision of useful quotations -

sorry, gobbets - on request.

"Bare ruin'd choirs, where

late the sweet birds sang."

Remember, boys, festoon

your answers with gobbets

and you won't go very far wrong.

(Irwin) Actually,

singing was the least of it.

The monks were farmers,

clothiers, tanners, tailors...

- (Akhtar) This was a toilet?

- (Irwin) One of them.

- A bit draughty on the bum.

- That was the drain down there.

And then they drank out of it?

F***ing Christians.

What about the Ganges?

You're just as bad.

- I'm Muslim, knob.

- You all look alike to me anyway.

- So, what was this, then? Chapel?

- No, it was a storeroom.

A barn. All the produce

would come in here.

- You know it all, don't ya?

- It interests me.

No, that's good. That's good.

- All-male community, was it, sir?

- Of course. They were monks.

- Bit of that, you think?

- What?

- Same-sex stuff.

- You blushed, sir.

- Have I f*** blushed.

- Sir, this is consecrated ground!

(Akhtar) Not to me, sir.

To me it's a pagan temple.

Only you did blush a bit, sir.

So, is that why Henry VIII put the boot in,

then, sir - because of them bunking up?

It's what he said.

Not much else for them to do,

was there?

- I mean, in the time off.

- Pray?

Posner would make a good monk,

except he's Jewish.

- Do Jews have monks?

- Yes. I'm one now.

In your own time, sir.

Pass the parcel.

That's sometimes all you can do.

Take it, feel it, and pass it on.

Not for me. Not for you.

But for someone, somewhere.

One day.

Pass it on, boys.

That's the game I want you to learn.

Pass it on!

(click)

(buzz of conversation)

Hector. A word.

Er, this is not the first time, apparently.

But on this occasion, she managed

to make a note of the number.

(stammers) For the moment,

I propose to say nothing about this.

But, fortunately, it's not long

before you're due to retire.

In the circumstances,

I propose that we bring that forward.

I think we should be

looking at the end of term.

Have you nothing to say?

"The tree of man was never quiet;

Then 'twas the Roman, now 'tis I."

This is no time for poetry.

Erm, I'm assuming

your wife doesn't know.

I've no idea.

What women know or don't know

has always been a mystery to me.

And are you going to tell her?

I don't know.

I'm not sure she'd be interested.

Well, erm... there's another thing.

Strange how even

the most tragic turn of events

generally resolve themselves

into questions about the timetable.

Irwin's been badgering me for more lessons.

In the circumstances,

a concession might be in order.

In future, I think

you and he might share.

- Share?

- Share!

In the meantime,

you must consider your position.

I do not want to sack you.

People talk.

It's so... untidy.

It would be easier for all concerned

if you retired early.

Look, nothing happened.

A hand on a boy's genitals at 50mph

and you call it nothing?

The transmission of knowledge

is in itself an erotic act.

- In the Renaissance...

- F*** the Renaissance!

And f*** literature and Plato

and Michelangelo and Oscar Wilde

and all the other shrunken violets

you people line up.

This is a school,

and it isn't normal.

- Still here?

- It is Wednesday, sir.

I thought with the day trip

to Fountains and...

Well, it's only half past four.

- Well, in that case, where's Dakin?

- With Mr. Irwin, sir.

Ah. Of course.

He's showing him

some old exam questions.

Ah, with all the appropriate gobbets,

no doubt.

Well, no matter. We must

keep up the fight without him.

- What have you learned this week?

- "Drummer Hodge", sir. Hardy.

Ah, nice.

"They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest

Uncoffined -just as found:

His landmark is a kopje-crest

Which breaks the veldt around;

And foreign constellations west

Each night above his mound."

"Young Hodge the Drummer never knew -

Fresh from his Wessex home -

The meaning of the broad Karoo,

The Bush, the dusty loam,

And why uprose to nightly view

Strange stars amid the gloam."

"Yet portion of that unknown plain

Will Hodge for ever be;

His homely Northern breast and brain

Grow to some Southern tree,

And strange-eyed constellations reign

His stars eternally."

Good. Very good.

Any thoughts?

I wondered, sir, if this "portion

of that unknown plain will Hodge forever be"

is like Rupert Brooke, sir.

"There's some corner of foreign field,

In that dust

a richer dust concealed."

It is, it is. It's the same thought.

Though Hardy is better, I think.

It's more... more, er...

well, down-to-earth.

Quite literally down-to-earth.

- Anything about his name?

- Hodge?

The important thing is,

he has a name.

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