The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp Page #14

No, I'm afraid it isn't.

I'll make the necessary enquiries

through the War Office.

I'll have a light for this cigarette now,

if you please.

RADlO:
Malta this morning had its 25th air raid

since ltaly entered the war last Monday.

It's not known if there was any damage

or casualties.

Cigarette, soldier?

In yesterday's raids one civilian was killed

and eight were wounded.

That brings us to the end of the news

and to tonight's Postscript,

which is given by Mr JB Priestley.

What on earth can have happened?

- M urdoch, do you think he's had an accident?

- I cannae think.

- I was expecting it.

- Why?

I read his speech. I thought they would cancel it.

(Distant muttering)

It's him.

RADlO:
Sorry about the slight delay.

Now here is Mr Priestley.

Where can I go?

The General mustn't find me here.

- Let me handle it.

- Oh, no fear. You let me out of here.

Hello, Theo.

If supper's ready you can serve it, Murdoch.

I'm very sorry, sir.

CANDY:
Hm? Why?

- I shouldn't be here.

I asked Miss Cannon in.

She was anxious to hear your broadcast.

Cancelled at the last minute.

Pity we hurried as we did, Angela.

We didn't leave the War Office

till five-and-twenty to nine.

There's a War Office letter, sir.

It came this afternoon.

Paul Reynaud has resigned.

Petain is Prime Minister.

THEO:
Bad news.

- What?

Oh, yes, bad news.

MURDOCH:
Sherry, sir?

Er...yes.

MURDOCH:
Sherry, miss?

- Sherry, Mr Sch... Sir?

- Yes, please.

Thank you.

How is your fiance?

- He's not my fiance.

- Oh, beg your pardon.

- How is your boyfriend?

- He's getting a commission.

Oh, congratulations.

- I ought to go, you know.

- No, no. Stay a bit longer.

Cheers.

Down the hatch.

Any news about your application?

- Turned down. Enemy alien.

- But you're an expert.

- Why didn't you ask him? He knows everybody.

- He was away.

MURDOCH:
Dinner's served, sir.

Yes.

ANGELA:
I'm going, sir.

Do you want the car any more?

MURDOCH:
I brought an extra cover, sir.

Sit down, Angela...Theo.

- Sit down, both of you.

- Thank you, sir, I've had my dinner.

Have another one, Angela.

If you're worried about sitting down

with your general, then stop worrying.

I'm not a general any more.

Clive, what has happened?

Retired again. Axed.

They don't need me any more.

I'm sorry, sir.

I...I know how that feels.

No, you don't.

I was barely 45 when it happened to me.

Different kettle of fish. You were made to do it.

But we're not finished.

Nor am l. Just starting.

I've often thought, a fellow like me dies -

special knowledge - awful waste.

Well, am I dead?

Does my knowledge count for nothing?

Experience, skill?

You tell me.

It is a different knowledge they need now, Clive.

The enemy's different,

so you have to be different too.

Are you mad? I know what war is.

- I don't agree.

- You...

I read your broadcast up to the point

where you described the collapse of France.

You commented on Nazi methods -

foul fighting, bombing refugees,

machine-gunning hospitals,

lifeboats, bailed-out pilots and so on -

by saying that you despised them,

that you would be ashamed to fight on their side

and that you'd sooner accept defeat than victory

if it could only be won by those methods.

So I would.

Clive, if you let yourself be defeated by them

just because you are too fair to hit back

the same way they hit at you,

there won't be any methods but Nazi methods.

If you preach the rules of the game while they

use every foul and filthy trick against you,

they'll laugh at you.

They'll think you are weak, decadent.

I thought so myself in 1 91 9.

I heard all that in the last war.

They fought foul then

and who won it?

I don't think you won it.

We lost it, but you lost something too.

You forgot to learn the moral.

Because victory was yours,

you failed to learn your lesson 20 years ago.

And now you have to pay the school fees again.

Some of you will learn quicker

than the others. Some will never learn it.

Because you've been educated to be a

gentleman and a sportsman in peace and in war.

But, Clive...

..dear old Clive...

..this is not a gentleman's war.

This time you are fighting for your very existence,

against the most devilish idea

ever created by a human brain.

Nazism.

And if you lose...

..there won't be a return match next year.

Perhaps not even for a hundred years.

Oh, you...

you mustn't mind me, an alien, saying all this.

But who can describe hydrophobia better

than one who's been bitten...

..and is now immune?

Well, you see, Angela,

even one's best friend lets one down.

I don't think so, sir.

You too, eh?

Kick a fellow when he's down, what?

Nobody would ever kick you, sir.

You've just got to change over, that's all.

Change over? To what?

Well, a new job. It's easy enough for a man.

You think so, eh? Swap horses in midstream.

A lot of people have had to do it in this war, sir.

- It's better than drowning.

- Bravo, Angela. I shall call you Johnny in future.

She's hit the nail on the head.

I don't know you.

You shouldn't give up so easily, my boy.

Is this the same man

who took Berlin by storm 40 years ago?

Look at me. Nobody wants me, but do I give up?

Nobody wants you and you're an expert.

I don't know anything but soldiering.

Not even that, apparently.

What about the Home Guard, sir?

They need leaders. They're becoming an army.

- If we're invaded, they're our first defence.

- There you are. You know everybody.

You could get them arms

and instructors and equipment.

Oh, what a job.

- Forming a new army.

CANDY:
Home Guard, eh?

Yes, sir. I was going to tell you myself, sir.

You're drunk, Murdoch. Tell me what?

That I joined the Home Guard, sir.

- You?

- Yes, sir. Anything wrong with the soup, sir?

How should anybody know

if they haven't touched it?

Take it away, Lance Corporal Murdoch.

Sergeant Murdoch, sir.

What have you been doing, sir, all this time?

Nothing, you blockhead, except talk.

But watch now.

(Explosion)

SOLDlER:
Be it ever so humble

There's no place like home...

Hello, what's this?

Come out.

Hm. Do for hoopla, anyway.

WOMAN:
There you go, boys - tea.

Oi, missus. Two basins for me and my old china.

- Ooh.

- Get your skates on.

See this? Major General Clive Wynne-Candy.

Blimey, what a moniker. Fill it up.

Removed to Royal Bathers' Club, Piccadilly.

He'd need a bath after this.

Good luck to the old bustard.

- Still here?

- Just off, General.

- Don't be late.

- No, sir.

- What's that?

- A gun, sir. Brother's a gamekeeper.

That's the ticket. Load with No.4.

We'll soon have Tommy guns.

Know which end is which?

- Oh, yes, sir.

- That's right.

Break it up, chaps.

Good afternoon.

By Gad, we'll have the proper weapons

or I'll know the reason why.

I won't leave that damned doorstep.

I'll make a stay-in stroke or a sit-down strike,

or whatever it is.

We'll show 'em, Angela, eh?

A real army, eh?

The men are all right. Keen as mustard.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes