This Happy Breed Page #3

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to any great extent with the bourgeoisie.

- What's that?

- I think it means "common" in a nice way.

- Oh.

- Order.

I cannot help but feel that today, what with

being Christmas and one thing and another...

it would be but right and proper

to put aside all prejudice and class hatred -

Very nice of you, I'm sure.

But, as you well know, there are millions

and millions of homes in this country today...

where Christmas is nought

but a mockery...

where there is neither warmth

nor food...

nor even the bare necessities of life...

where little children, old before their time,

huddle round a fireless grate.

Well, they'd be just as well off if they stayed

in the middle of the room then, wouldn't they?

Oh, shut up, Queenie. Sam's quite right.

That sort of remark, Queenie,

springs from complacency...

arrogance and a full stomach.

You leave my stomach out of it.

It is people like you - apathetic, unthinking,

docile supporters of a capitalistic system...

which is a disgrace to civilization -

who are responsible for at least three quarters

of the cruel sufferings of the world.

As long as you can earn

your miserable little salaries...

and go to the pictures and enjoy yourselves,

the rest of suffering humanity can go hang, can't it?

You're too busy getting all weepy

over Rudolph Valentino...

to spare any tears for the workers

of the world.

Don't get excited, Sam.

Queenie didn't mean it.

I am not excited, and Queenie

doesn't mean anything to me anyway.

Oh, pardon me all while I go

and commit suicide.

But what she represents,

what she symbolizes, means a great deal.

She is only one of the millions

who, when the great day comes...

will be swept out of existence

like - like so much chaff on the wind.

Well, it's nice to know, isn't it?

I've said my say.

Thank you very much.

Hear, hear! Bravo.

I don't know what you're saying "bravo"

about, I'm sure. I think Sam's being very rude.

Oh, come on, Sam. Come up

to my room a minute and have a cigarette.

- Don't let your father catch you.

- Why, I'm sorry if I was rude.

It doesn't matter, Sam.

But you can't expect everybody in the world...

to feel just the same as you do, you know?

Oh, come on, Sam.

- All right to clear away?

- Yes, but you needn't stay and wash up, Edie.

- We can do it later.

- Thanks ever so.

You were awful, Queenie.

If you hadn't have gone on at Sam the way

you did he wouldn't have got so excited.

Oh, silly great fool.

- How's your father's neck, Edie?

- Father was up all night poulticing it.

It was still paining him terrible

when I left this morning.

They say if you have one

you generally have seven.

Well, this is his third,

so we only got four more to go.

There are some crackers left in the box

on the sideboard, Edie.

You might care to take them home

to your little brother.

- Get them for her, Queen.

- Thanks ever so.

Here you are, Edie.

You can pile them on the top.

Now, that's right.

Now, you two draw up the sofa

to the fire.

Right. Phyll, give us a hand with this.

- [Doorbell Ringing]

- Righto.

- Front door. Answer it, somebody.

- Answer it yourself.

- Hello, Billy.

- Hello, Mr. Gibbons.

I thought it was your father.

Have you come to see Queenie?

Uh - Well, I thought as matter of fact

that Reg wanted -

- You'll find her in the living room.

- Well, thanks.

- There.

- Hello, Queen.

- Hello.

- Billy. What a surprise.

- Thought you was going back this morning.

- No, not till tonight.

- Do you know Miss Blake? Mr. Mitchell.

- Pleased to meet you.

- Have a choc?

- No, thanks. I've been eating me head off.

- Where's Reg?

- Upstairs with Sam.

Oh, he's here, is he?

We ought to be going back

into the other room.

Mum will be wondering

what's happened to us.

Be a sport and go on in then, Vi, will ya?

I want to talk to Queenie a minute.

- Oh, so that's how it is, is it?

- I don't know what you're talking about, I'm sure.

Come on, Phyll.

We know when we're not wanted.

Well, I don't see why

we don't all go.

Well, I want to talk to you a minute.

I just said so, didn't I?

- Oh, well, maybe I don't want to talk to you.

- Come on, Phyll. See you later, Billy.

Don't go without saying good-bye

to Mum and Dad.

You bet I won't.

Oh, now, fancy asking Vi and Phyll

to go out and leave us alone.

You ought to have known

better than that.

- I shall never hear the last of it.

- Oh, so that's what's worrying you, is it?

Oh, it's not worrying me at all.

I just thought it sounded sort of silly, that's all.

Well, I don't know what's silly about it.

Vi knows we went to the Majestic

on Friday night...

and she saw us with her own eyes

walking down Elm Park Road on Sunday.

She must guess there's something doing.

Well, if she does, she's wrong, so there.

There isn't.

Here half a minute.

What's got into you?

I haven't done anything wrong, have I?

Well, I don't like being taken for granted.

No girl does.

How do you mean,

taken for granted?

You can't hold hands with someone

all through Desert Love...

and the next minute expect them

to treat you like the Empress of Russia.

[Clicks Teeth]

Don't talk so silly.

Well, it's you that's silly.

- I'm going into the drawing room.

- Here, wait a minute.

Aren't you going to kiss me good-bye?

We shan't be able to in there.

I should think not indeed.

Look here, Queenie.

If you think I oughtn't have said that about

wanting to talk to you alone in front of Vi...

I'm sorry, see.

I can't say fairer than that, now, can I?

No, I suppose not.

Well, then.

Oh, all right.

I do love you, Queenie.

You know that, don't you?

Yes.

And I wouldn't do anything to upset you.

That is, not meaning to.

- You know that too, don't you?

- Oh, Billy.

I wish you weren't going away so soon.

Will you write to me

every now and again?

Even if it's only a postcard?

- Yes. If you'll write to me.

- Oh, well, that's easy.

- Promise?

- Cross my heart.

You're the sweetest girl

I ever met in all my life...

or ever will meet either.

Oh, that's easy to say,

but how do you know?

What? Well, never you mind,

it's true anyway.

I say, Queen.

A little later on,

when I'm earning a bit more...

do you think we might have a shot

at getting married?

Oh, Bill, how do I know?

Oh, you might be in China or anywhere.

You might have forgotten all about me by then.

More likely to be the other way around.

A pretty girl like you

working at being a manicurist...

talking to all sorts of different fellows

all day long.

It isn't all jam being a sailor's wife, is it?

Well, it won't be so bad, you know,

if I get my promotion all right and get on.

Well, don't say anything about it now, hey?

Just think it over.

Oh, no, Billy. I wouldn't be the right

sort of wife for you. Really I wouldn't.

I want too much.

I'm always thinking about

the kind of things I want, and...

they wouldn't be the kind of things

you'd want me to want.

Well, how do you mean?

Oh, I know it sounds silly,

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