The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie Page #9

You can

go on painting.

You don't really

need a model.

As this seems to be

a time for truth...

you're quite

a mediocre painter, Teddy.

You'll never be

really good.

I wonder you don't try

some other line.

You are getting on,

you know.

Generalissimo Franco

is called El Jefe, the chief.

J-E-F-E.

The "J" is silent. El Jefe.

He is

a dedicated man.

You must all grow up

to be dedicated women...

as generalissimo Franco has

dedicated himself to a cause...

as I have dedicated

myself to you.

Dedication is

the order of the day.

Oh, Mary McGregor, girls,

come and join us.

Mary, dear, is there any news

from your brother from Spain?

No, Miss Brodie.

Nothing.

Mr. Ealing at the b-bank

is sending for him...

sending d-d-detectives

to Spain.

Your brother

is being sent for?

Mr. Ealing at the bank

would send for Caesar.

The Mr. Ealings at the bank

have tried throughout history...

to stay the march

of civilization.

Why can't they understand? It should

be obvious to the meanest intelligence.

Franco's army comprises the best

elements of Spain and her supporters.

They are committed

to heroic action.

You little girls are living

in a time that will demand...

all that you have to give

of courage and gallantry.

You must become heroines.

Heroines!

Do you mean we will have to

march and shoot guns?

If you are called.

Girls?

Have you never heard

of Hannah Snell?

She was an English girl born in 1723

and sailed in Admiral Boscawen's fleet.

And fought at Araapong.

She was wounded.

But without medical aid, she extracted

the bullet from her own shoulder...

and lived

to serve again.

Hannah Snell was a girl.

- Ooh!

- Now, you, too, must be prepared...

to serve, suffer

and sacrifice.

- Are you prepared?

- Yes, Miss Brodie.

Yes, Miss Brodie.

No, Miss Brodie.

But she could

get shot.

Without medical aid, she would extract

the bullet from her own shoulder...

and live

to serve again.

It isn't funny.

She could really get hurt.

- What's going on? Who could get hurt?

- Mary McGregor.

She's run away to Spain

to fight.

- What kind of joke is this?

- It isn't a joke.

She's really gone

to Spain.

Mary McGregor couldn't negotiate

her way across Edinburgh.

- Ah, but she has a guiding spirit.

- What are you talking about?

I'm sure Miss Brodie gave Mary

very explicit directions.

The Paris train will take you

as far as Perpignan.

P-E-R-P-I-G-N-A-N.

Now, the pounds are

in this envelope marked "pounds".

And the francs are

in this envelope marked "rancs".

And the pesetas are

in this envelope marked "pesetas".

How else?

- I don't believe it.

- Nor do I.

Miss Brodie

will be frantic.

Miss Brodie

will be ecstatic.

Moving your troops

to Barcelona?

Mary McGregor has gone

to join her brother.

He is her only kin.

Yes, I heard you've been

raising funds for Franco.

I find that

extraordinary.

The times

are extraordinary.

Miss Brodie!

Miss Brodie.!

Oh!

Oh, Mary McGregor.

Girls, I have

called you together...

my special girls...

to tell you the truth

about Mary McGregor.

Miss Mackay has told you

the facts about Mary's death...

how the train was bombed and machine-gunned

as it crossed the frontier...

but only I

can tell you the truth.

Mary McGregor

died a heroine.

It was her intention

to fight for Franco...

against the forces of darkness.

So although she was killed before

she herself could strike a blow...

her intention

was a noble and heroic one.

Had she lived...

Mary would have become a woman

of great spirit and initiative.

Hers would have been

a dedicated life.

You must all grow up

to be dedicated women...

as Mary McGregor dedicated

her youth to a cause...

as I have dedicated

myself to you.

Tonight, little girls...

let your imaginations soar.

Think of Joan of Arc...

Florence Nightingale.

Think of Mary McGregor.

Who among you has

the makings of a heroine?

Yes, Clara?

May we think of you,

Miss Brodie?

Well, why not?

Deep in most of us

is a potential for greatness...

or the potential

to inspire greatness.

The day draws late.

Your families will be expecting you.

Take home the story

of Mary McGregor.

Sandy?

I thought you and I

might have tea together.

I wanted

to talk to you about Mary.

I'm sorry,

but I have some work to do.

How busy and grown-up you've become.

Well, I won't try to stop you, but you must

remember how much I do depend on you.

I'll remember.

Somebody's crying

Do you wonder who

Tears that would fill up

An ocean or two

He's too unhappy

to even feel blue

Somebody's crying for you

Somebody's crying

Pay him no mind

He's just a someone

That you left behind

Although it could be

And you'll never see

That somebody

crying is me

Yesterday's lover

Like yesterday's dream

Lost like a flower

That floats

down the stream

- Mr. Lloyd?

- Yes, I should think so.

@ Only the sorrow

@ Somebody's crying

for you

- Would you like to dance, Sandy?

- No, thank you.

I thought it was considered

a triumph of the first magnitude...

to be asked to dance

by a male staff member.

Excuse me.

- Mr. Lloyd said I could have my portrait done.

- Monica.

- Oh, thank you, Sandy.

- All right.

Somebody's crying

Do you wonder who

Tears that would

fill up

An ocean or two

You know how I feel

For sadly, but true

That somebody crying is you

Would you like

some punch, Miss Brodie?

Oh, Mr. Lloyd.

Thank you.

That's very

thoughtful of you.

Well,Jean,

how's the Franco fund coming along?

Mm! Not well.

Popular sentiment being what it is...

one can hardly plead the cause

in the Marcia Blaine assembly hall.

Yes, I dare say. I, too, am attempting

to raise funds for a worthy cause.

You? What sort of cause?

A romantic one. I am taking up

a collection to buy a wedding present...

for Lowther

and Miss Lockhart.

May I put you down

for a pound?

It's to be a simple affair in Cramond Kirk

a week on Saturday.

I'm told when they announced

their intention to Miss Mackay last evening...

her delight was so profound that she ran amok

and toasted them in neat whiskey.

- Ah, Miss Brodie.

- Oh, good evening, Mr. Burrage, girls.

- Good evening, Miss Brodie.

- I've not seen you dancing yet.

Oh, the night

is young, Mr. Burrage.

Excuse me

for one moment.

Teddy... Teddy, who told you

to come to me like that?

I volunteered. "I", said the sparrow,

"with my bow and arrow".

- I volunteered.

- And what kill, pray, did you expect to make?

Do you think I cannot,

with one snap of my fingers...

send poor Miss Lockhart

back to her gaseous domain?

It was I who

encouraged Mr. Lowther...

in his reluctant

pursuit of Miss Lockhart.

What I cannot understand is you.

I cannot understand you.

Malice.

Coming to me that way...

hoping to hurt

and humiliate me, why?

I don't know.

It's what I wanted, to hurt you.

Why? Why are you

so angry with me?

Because I'm afraid.

Because I don't feel safe with you around.

You should have married old Lowther,

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