The History Boys Page #8

- What?

How does stuff happen, do you think?

People decide to do stuff.

Make moves, alter things.

- I'm not sure what you're talking about.

- No? Think about it.

Some do, make moves. I suppose.

Others react to events. In 1939, for instance,

Hitler made a move on Poland, Poland...

- Gave in.

- Is that what you mean?

(both) No.

Not Poland, anyway.

- Was Poland taken by surprise?

- To some extent.

Although they knew something was up.

- What was your essay about?

- Turning points.

Ah, yeah. That's moments

when history rattles over the points.

- Shall I tell you what you've written? Dunkirk.

- Yep.

- Hitler turning on Russia.

- Yeah.

- Alamein.

- Yeah, all those.

More? That's good.

When Chamberlain resigned

as prime minister,

Churchill wasn't the first thought.

Halifax more generally acceptable.

But on the afternoon the decision was taken,

Halifax chose to go to the dentist.

If Halifax had had better teeth,

we might have lost the war.

- That's terrific.

- Well, it's subjunctive history.

Come again?

Subjunctive - the mood used when something

might or might not have happened.

When it's imagined.

Hector's crazy about the subjunctive.

- Why are you smiling?

- Nothing.

Good luck.

(Mrs. Lintott) You may begin.

Sh*t.

- Yes?

- Bit hit-and-miss, Miss.

I was so nice about Hitler,

a much misunderstood man.

Queen Elizabeth, Miss.

Less remarkable for her abilities

than the fact that, unlike so many of

her sisters, she got a chance to exercise them.

That's the stuff!

Hope they don't mind trainers.

They're all I've got.

It's not an exam in footwear.

Somebody told me it's four miles to the bogs.

Do you want somewhere with a sh*t degree

but has toilets en suite?

I say if they don't like me, then f*** 'em.

Oh, Peter, I wish

I had your philosophy.

- What'll you do? Flutter the eyelashes?

- I think the half-smile with a hint of sadness.

F*** off!

(Irwin) Get in, sit down.

Good luck.

(excited chattering)

# Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye

(all) # Cheerio, here I go on my way

# Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye

# Not a tear but a cheer, make it gay...

(# "A Forest" by the Cure)

- (knocking)

- Come in.

Mr. Lockwood?

No Irwin here.

- This is Corpus, isn't it?

- Yeah.

They liked my Hitler answer, praised

what they called my "sense of detachment".

They said it was

the foundation of writing history.

- Ah, f***ing hell!

- (bell tolls)

(Posner) It's like a stately home.

My parents would love it.

This is Mr. Rudge, who, if he comes up,

is hoping to read history.

- Who is he?

- Rudge.

- What's he want us for?

- No idea.

- Pep talk?

- Bit late for that.

It's probably about Hector.

- I sort of know.

- I imagine everyone sort of knows.

- Does his wife?

- He doesn't think so, apparently.

But I imagine she's another one

who's sort of known all along.

The husband on a low light.

That's what they want,

these supposedly unsuspecting wives.

The husband's lukewarm attentions.

Just what they married them for.

Oh, he's a fool,

but he was also unlucky.

For a start, the lollipop lady's

only on duty a couple of hours.

Five minutes later,

she'd have gone off.

And what if the lights

had been green?

Or if there'd been

no children coming?

The smallest of incidents,

the junction of a dizzying range of...

alternatives.

Any one of which could have

had a different outcome.

If I was... a bold teacher -

if I was you, even -

I could spend a lesson dissecting

what the headmaster insists on calling

"this unfortunate incident".

And it would teach the boys

more about history

and the utter randomness

of things than...

well, than I've ever

managed to do, so far.

I wonder how they're going on.

- Don't you ever want to go back?

- To Oxford?

I'm not clever enough.

- I'm not anything enough, really.

- (door opens)

Dorothy, a word.

Trouble at t'mill.

(sniffs) That's the news he's aching to impart.

My marching orders.

- I sort of knew.

- Ah.

Dakin told me.

Did he tell you why?

(sighs) I've got this idea

of buying a van,

filling it with books and taking it

round to country markets.

Shropshire, Herefordshire.

"The open road, the dusty highway."

"Travel, change, interest, excitement."

Poop-poop!

See, what I didn't want

was to turn out boys

who would claim in later life

to have a deep love of "literature".

Or who would talk

in their middle age

of the lure of language

and their love of words.

"Words" said in a reverential way

that is somehow...

Welsh.

That's what the tosh was for -

Gracie Fields, Brief Encounter.

It's an antidote.

Sheer, calculated silliness.

Has a boy ever made you unhappy?

They used to do.

See it as an inoculation, rather.

Briefly painful, but providing immunity

for however long it takes.

Given the occasional booster,

another face,

another reminder of the pain,

it can last you... half a lifetime.

- Love.

- Who could love me?

- I talk too much.

- Do they know?

They know... everything.

Don't touch him.

He'll think you're a fool.

- It's what they think of me.

- (door opens)

You knew as well, I gather?

And the boys knew.

Well, of course the boys knew.

They had it at first hand.

I didn't actually do anything.

I mean, it was a laying on of hands.

I don't deny that.

But more my way of...

benediction than gratification.

Hector, darling, love you as I do,

that is the most colossal balls.

- Is it?

- A grope is a grope.

It is not the Annunciation.

(wails) You twerp!

Anyway, what Felix wanted to tell me

is that when I finish next year,

he's hoping he can persuade you

to step into my shoes.

(sighs) Irwin.

For your information,

they're a size seven court shoe, broad fitting.

(# "Papa's Got a Brand-New Pigbag"

by Pigbag)

Chris! Chris!

Adi!

(excited chattering)

David!

Evening. Lockwood, 4C.

- (noisy hubbub)

- Ah, Irwin!

(shouts) Splendid news!

Splendid news.

Posner, a scholarship.

Dakin, an exhibition.

And places for everybody else!

(all cheer)

It's more than one would

ever have hoped for.

Irwin, you're to be congratulated

on a remarkable achievement.

Oh, and you too. You too, Dorothy, of course,

who laid the foundations.

- Not Rudge, Headmaster.

- Not Rudge. Oh, dear.

- The others have all had letters.

- It was always an outside chance.

It's a pity. It would have been good

to have a clean sweep.

Still, as I've said all along,

you can't polish a turd.

Rudge!

You haven't heard from Oxford?

Perhaps you'll hear tomorrow.

Why should I?

They told me when I was there.

I'm sorry.

What for? I got in.

How come?

What, how come they told me,

or how come they took a thick sod like me?

I had family connections.

Somebody in your family

went to Christ Church?

Well, in a manner

of speaking. My dad.

Before he got married

he was a college servant there.

This old... parson who'd just been sitting

there most of the interview suddenly said

was I related to Bill Rudge who'd been

a scout in staircase seven in the 1950s.

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