Episode 5 Horrible Histories

# Terrible Tudors, gorgeous Georgians,

# Slimy Stuarts, vile Victorians Woeful wars, ferocious fights

# Dingy castles, daring knights

# Horrors that defy description

# Cut-throat Celts, awful Egyptians Vicious Vikings, cruel crimes

# Punishments from ancient times

# Roman, rotten, rank and ruthless

# Caveman savage, fierce and toothless

# Groovy Greeks, rainy sages

# Mean and measly Middle Ages

# Gory stories, we do that

# And your host, a talking rat

# The past is no longer a mystery

# Welcome to HORRIBLE HISTORIES! #

Hi, I'm a surprisingly-handsome, Anglo-Saxon scientist

and I'm going to tell you about the wonders of the Anglo-Saxon universe.

It's amazing!

Some people think that, just because it was sometimes called

the Dark Ages, us Anglo-Saxons were all stupid and didn't know anything.

They haven't got a clue.

I bet they're not as handsome as me, either?

The Venerable Bede was an amazing Anglo-Saxon monk,

and he wrote a book called On The Reckoning Of Time.

It's a book. Like Harry Potter!

Bede explained how the length of daylight changes

because the Earth is round

and he showed how the tides were affected by the motion of the moon.

See, he wasn't stupid, was he? He knew loads. Amazing!

OK, thanks, Brian. That's great, thank you.

Hang on, I've got another brilliant Anglo-Saxon scientific fact.

Right, are you sure you don't want to quit while you're ahead?

No, it's amazing!

Great, well, you can't say we didn't warn you.

We Anglo-Saxons were the first people anywhere in the world

to discover the scientific fact that storms are caused by people

from a cloud country in the sky called Magonia.

Oh, here we go! >

They'd use the bad weather as cover to come in their giant airships

and steal our crops.

That's why we have to pay a weather wizard to keep them away.

OK, fellas, usual routine. Let's go, come on.

No, no, no, it's true.

We've even caught a Magonian spy.

Well, you know, a woman picking fruit off a tree, after a storm.

Shame they weren't all as smart as that Bede fellow, eh?

Comets are dragons! It's Anglo-Saxon scientific fact!

The term Anglo-Saxon comes from two tribes who settled from England,

the Angles and the Saxons,

but there were also other tribes, like the Jutes.

They all believed in magic,

so when the Pope sent a monk called Augustine

to convert them to Christianity,

King Aethelbert thought he was a wizard.

Have heart, men, our enemy may have mystical powers

beyond our imagining, but he made his first mistake

by agreeing to meet us out here.

The open air will limit his magical powers.

Sire, the dread wizard approaches.

I am Aethelbert, King of Kent. Speak!

Brother Augustine. St Augustine, one day, fingers crossed,

try not to be too big-headed.

Oh, slap wrists, naughty. Anyhoo, I have a message.

Sire, where's the rest of them?

This bloke's the least scary person I've ever seen in my life.

Do not be fooled by this man's puny body and silly face.

Erm, hello, I can hear you both, actually. Quite hurtful.

Now, when you're ready, I have a message from the Pope.

Nice and slow.

He's been most interested in the Angles ever since

he saw one in the market place in Rome.

It's a funny story, actually.

He said, "Who's this strange-looking blonde person?"

And his assistant said, "That's an Angle," and the Pope said,

"An Angle? More like an angel."

HE LAUGHS

Sorry, which was the funny bit?

Well, he's a Pope, isn't he?

He's not a professional comedian. What do you expect?

Anyway, he's so keen on you Angles that he sent me

on my mission to Britain.

An invasion?

No, he doesn't want us to take over,

he just wants to convert you to Christianity.

Oh, is that it?

All right, I'm in.

Oh, what? That's a miracle.

Well, not really, my wife's a Christian

and I've been thinking about it for a while, so...

Would she like to build a church in Canterbury?

Already built one of those...for the wife.

Right, then, just, er, carry on. God be with you.

-Oh, what does he want to be god of?

-I'm sorry?

It's just we've got loads of gods we've been worshipping for years,

so we're not going to stop worshipping them.

-Our God is the God of everything.

-It's a bit greedy, isn't it?

I don't think you're quite getting the hang of this.

Maybe I should stick around.

Er, I'll call myself the Archbishop of Canterbury, how's about that?

You could be god of something, if you want?

No, no, there only is one God.

Ah! And that's...you?

-No, no, that's Him.

-Me?

No, not you. God.

-The god of...

-Everything.

-Like dreams?

-Yeah, dreams.

And smells?

If you like, yeah.

Introducing the latest weapon in the war against the plague.

The Whiffy jar.

Hello, I'm a Stuart doctor.

Now, we all know that the plague is spread by bad smells.

Well, there's only one way to stop it.

That's right, with more bad smells. Makes sense, doesn't it?

-Not really.

-It makes sense!

You simply take a jar and collect as many guffs as possible in it.

HE BREAKS WIND LOUDLY

There.

Then, as soon as anyone is feeling unwell,

you simply give them a whiff of it.

HE RETCHES

There you go, old boy. Feeling any better now?

No, if anything, I feel worse.

Oh! That's worse than his.

-Seriously, are we doing this now? I'm ill.

-Sorry.

Here's how we think it works.

The bad air of the trump

fights off the bad air

that's carrying the plague.

Leaving you 100% plague-free.

In tests, the Whiffy Jar proved just as effective

as wiping a chicken's bottom against your plague sores.

The Whiffy Jar.

Now, with a new, easy refill system.

HE RETCHES AGAIN

Oh, dear, I think we'd better...

BREATHES IN DEEPLY

Argh! Better safe than sorry.

The Whiffy Jar...

We Stuarts may have had some slightly odd ideas about medicine,

but we did have some great scientific thinkers.

So, Charles II established the Royal Society as a place

for clever folk to meet -

people like diarist Samuel Pepys, and astronomer Edmund Halley.

Here is your tea, Pepys.

Oh, thank you.

"Britain's favourite diarist enjoyed a cup of tea with Mr Halley."

Must you write EVERYTHING down, Pepys?

If a man is to keep a diary of everything that happens

in London town,

he must keep a diary of EVERYTHING that happens in London town!

"..replied the quick-witted diarist, to the bumbling astronomer."

It's finished, it's finished, it's finally finished!

"Sir Isaac Newton did enter the Royal Society in high spirits."

Must you write everything down, Pepys?

Oh, if a man is to keep a diary...

Don't get him started. So, what have you finished, Newton?

Only the single most important literary work

in the history of science - the Principia.

It contains the law of universal gravitation,

the laws of motion,

the very foundations of classical mechanics.

Blah, blah, blah, boring, blah, blah, blah, blah, yawn.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Why, this is brilliant!

This will change the way people understand the mechanical workings

of the universe.

Pepys, the Royal Society must publish this forthwith.

Er...

Is there a problem?

It's just possible that I may have spent

all of the Royal Society's money.

On what?

On publishing this.

-BOTH:

-The History of Fishes...

"At which point, everyone did agree, The History of Fishes

"was the most marvellous book ever."

Who on Earth needs to read a massive book on the history of fishes?

Why, fish historians, of course! "Countered the razor-sharp diarist."

And how many fish historians do you know?

One.

Apart from the bloke who wrote the book!

None.

You're an idiot. Write that down.

Don't want to.

Write that down!

Don't...

"'I am an idiot," wrote the idiot, Pepys."

My quill...

All right, all right. There's a way we can work this out, Newton.

There is?

I am not without means myself. Loaded, yeah, pretty loaded.

So, perhaps, I could advance you the £50 you need

to publish your Principia.

But Halley, thanks to fish-brain here,

the Royal Society is now penniless.

How will it ever pay you back?

With unsold copies of The History of Fishes?

THEY SNIGGER

Useful in winter, I suppose.

"Good to read in front of an open log fire,

"agreed the popular diarist."

Good to use, instead of the logs.

HE SNIGGERS

It's true.

Sir Isaac Newton, the man who discovered gravity,

nearly didn't have his most important book published, at all,

because of a big book about fish.

I "squid" you not!

All right, you come up with a better fishy pun, then!

"Mullet" over and let "minnow"!

Bam, bam!

'Then come to the Sorby Research Institute

and let me experiment on you!

I'm Dr Kenneth Mellanby

and here, in this ordinary suburban house in Sheffield,

I'd like to give you a horrible parasitic infection,

for which there is no known cure!

Great.

Come on.

Why not help us cure scabies?

Scabies affects millions of soldiers and, by being a human guinea pig,

you can help us cure it.

Just wear some scabies-infested pants and uniform.

And let the microscopic mites burrow into your skin.

It's so itchy!

Isn't it just? Sadly, we haven't found a cure, yet.

But don't worry, we promise we won't stop experimenting on you

until we do.

Actually, that does feel a bit better.

Wow. Who'd have thought that all we had to do was paint you

from head to toe in benzyl benzoate?

But don't worry, the suffering doesn't end there.

You'll really work up a thirst with our water deprivation programme.

Open wide!

Mmm, or see how long you can go without taking Vitamin C!

Not for you!

And if you're feeling really brave, you can take the malaria challenge.

All our boys out in Africa have it.

Now, you can, too!

Oh, and possibly help us find a cure. Probably not.

The Sorby Research Institute,

where the only person you'll hurt

is yourself!

Is it too late to sign up for battle?

You'll never pass the medical.

Yeah.

To win World War II, everybody did their bit.

And when I say "everybody", I mean everybody.

Even Princess Elizabeth, you know,

the one who went on to be Queen Elizabeth II.

That's the spirit!

# Each army mechanic has to go to school

# There's a war on, ladies Learn to use a tool!

# All our figures have to be first class

# And one is royal blue!

# The young princess who's changing this tyre is future Queen Liz II! #

One's gloves are ruined.

# You can't get quicker than a Queen-fit fitter! #

One's the one to trust!

# At Queen-fit fitters we get the job done!

# We'll fix your truck right away.

# Whatever you need you can count on one.

# Princess Elizabeth rules OK! #

One doesn't rule yet.

# You can't get quicker than a Queen-fit fitter!

# You can't get posher than a Queen-fit fitter!

# You can't get better than a Queen-fit fitter! #

One's the one to trust!

When Queen Elizabeth II was a young Princess,

she worked as a mechanic and ambulance driver.

Yeah! Less 999 and more "one, one, one".

We Spartans got into a lot of trouble, if we were ever cowardly.

And a sure sign of being a coward was to throw away your shield.

Go, Sparta!

-Altheus.

-Oh!

You're still alive, you old dog!

No Persian soldier is going to get the better of me!

I didn't think for a mo... Where's your shield?

What?

Erm, well, I certainly did not throw it away, so I could run away

from a Persian soldier and I resent you even suggesting it.

I didn't.

Right. Well, anyway, I didn't throw it down and,

and run away like a coward, no, no.

Not me.

-I should hope not.

-Good.

You're shield doesn't just protect you,

it protects the Spartan beside you in the phalanx.

To lose your shield is to put their lives at risk.

Every Spartan should return from battle

either holding his shield or be carried home dead upon it.

Yeah.

So, tell me, Altheus.

How exactly did you lose your shield?

Well, it, er, it would take quite a long time to explain.

-I've got time.

-Of course you have.

Er, well, it's quite complicated actually, er, I'll tell you what,

why don't you lend me your shield and I can show you what happened?

Oh, yeah, yeah.

Yeah? OK.

Right. Well, erm, er...

HE LAUGHS

Hey! Hey!

Oh, you think you know someone...!

Everything all right..? Where's your shield?!

Well, it's just that...

I'll tell you what, lend me your shield and I'll show you.

Yeah, all right.

You're it!

HE LAUGHS

Oh, you... You're kidding me!

Spartan mothers used to say to their sons,

"Come back with your shield, or upon it."

Basically, they meant, come back victorious or come back dead.

"Thank, Mum, I'll miss you, too."

Yes, the Spartan women were just as tough as the men.

Who wants to play with that doll

when you can play with new Spartan Girl?

Yes, now available in her adorable wedding outfit.

A shaved head and men's clothes.

Spartan Girl takes part in all sorts of exciting activities

alongside the boys.

Each with a fabulous outfit. There's gymnastics...

With no clothes.

-Wrestling...

-Still no clothes.

-Races...

-Yes, you've guessed it!

Can I dress her up?

No! Spartan Girl doesn't wear clothes while she's training.

But she does have all her Spartan girlie accessories.

Hooray!

Sword, javelin, hunting knife and a Chihuahua in a handbag.

Hooray!

-No, not the last one.

-Oh!

And also available...Spartan Baby.

Oh, you're so cute!

But make sure they're strong and fit or else they're left

on a mountainside to die.

Mountainside not included!

Spartan Girl and all-new Spartan Baby available now.

Can I have my pretty dolly back?

No. SHE SOBS

Do you want to be left out on a mountainside?

That's better.

A locked door, a prison cell and a desperate prisoner,

hellbent on breaking out.

That can only mean one thing...

You're watching History's Greatest Escapes.

I'm Gary Chubb and I've come all the way

to the year 1716 in the Georgian era, to witness an escape so audacious...

SNORING ..so dramatic, so breathtaking...

Sorry, can we wake him up, please?

It's just completely going against what I'm doing.

Know what I mean?

So, Lord Nithsdale.

Tell us how you ended up imprisoned here in the Tower Of London?

-AFFECTS SCOTTISH ACCENT:

-I was involved in the Jacobite Risings,

trying to return the Stuart bloodline to the English throne.

But I was captured and King George,

who is really touchy about people trying to kill him,

threw me in the Tower.

-I'm due to be executed tomorrow.

-So, what are we thinking, escape-wise?

A frontal assault on the guards,

levering out the window bars or the classic tunnel under the wall thing?

None of the above. This is the Tower Of London.

-Escape's impossible.

-Right.

Yeah, it's just, um, someone from our show spoke to your wife

and she assured us there'd be an exciting escape attempt.

Also, I've cut short a holiday in France for this.

You've got five minutes.

-Darling!

-Snookums!

Sorry, I'm Winifred, his wife.

Oh, right, so the escape attempt's still on, yeah?

-Oh, yes.

-Great, so what we thinking?

Blow down this wall and let loose your secret ninjas

on the panicked guards, while you two leap 200 feet

-into the icy river below, yeah?

-No, I'm dressing him as a woman.

-Right.

There is a show called World's Stupidest Escapes.

-I can give you their number, if you like.

-Ladies, get to work.

You see, I told the guards that my friends and I wanted

to come and say goodbye to my husband,

banking on them not counting

-how many of us came into the cell.

-Ow! Corset.

-We dress him as a woman,

then we sneak him out in the middle of the group,

like he's one of the girls.

-You look lovely, snookums.

-I look ridiculous.

-Watch this.

SHE KNOCKS THE DOOR

(See you later.)

All right, so... your husband's clear of the Tower,

but how are YOU going to get out?

-Easy.

-LOW-PITCHED VOICE:

-Er, anyway, I think I need to be alone now,

so I can do a nice wee pray.

-HIGH-PITCHED:

-I understand completely, my lover.

Erm, see you in the next life, bye.

SHE KNOCKS

We've said our goodbyes, but I beg you,

please don't disturb my husband's final prayers.

-Yes, of course, Countess Nithsdale.

-Thanks.

Wow!

Well, it didn't sound like much of a plan,

but what an escape that was.

Next time on History's Greatest Escapes,

I'll be in the Middle Ages with Matilda,

daughter of Henry I,

who'll be trying to escape from Oxford Castle in a snowstorm

by wearing nothing but white.

Yeah, pretty cool. I'll see you, then,

If I can work out how to get out of this Tower.

No probs.

KNOCKING AT DOOR Excuse me, can you let me out please?

-Shut up, Nithsdale.

-No, I'm not Nithsdale.

Yeah, right. Do you think we're all stupid or something?

I'm from the television!

Can you let me out, please? I'm from the television!

They were captured and eventually executed.

Tudor Wildlife Magazine,

it's the new must-have magazine for all animal and bird enthusiasts.

If you love wildlife, you'll love Tudor Wildlife Magazine.

Become an expert in how and where to spot

all the fantastic animals living in the Tudor countryside

and learn how much you'll be paid to kill them.

Excuse me? Paid to kill them?

That's right, thanks to my most excellent new law -

The Preservation Of Grain Act.

All these animals are now categorised as vermin,

so you'll be paid a bounty

for each and every one that you kill.

In issue one, we've got a list

of how much you'll get for each dead creature,

from the red kite at 1 pence, to the badger, at an incredible 12 pence.

Hold on, hold on. Your Majesty,

why do you want to kill all these animals?

Because of the poor harvests and the shortage of food.

Every man, woman and child

has to kill as many of these vermin as possible,

to stop them eating your crops.

Well, red kites don't eat crops. Don't they eat the real vermin -

the mice and the rats that do eat the crops?

-Are you calling me stupid?

-No.

Because I can have you put on the official vermin list, you know.

Buy issue one on the red kite

and get issue two, on the hedgehog, absolutely free!

Plus, find out how hedgehogs suck milk from cow's udders at night.

It's true!

It's a well-known Tudor fact. Yeah, little horrors.

Oh, there's one now.

Come here, you spiky little milk thief! Yeah, yeah.

Tudor Wildlife Magazine, buy it now, while species last.

Price - 4 pence or one squashed hedgehog.

Those poor animals, such a terrible waste of life.

But they weren't the only stupid deaths in Tudor times.

# Stupid deaths Stupid deaths

# They're funny Cos they're true, woo!

# Stupid deaths Stupid deaths

# Hope next time it's not you! Ha-hee! #

Oh! Oh, you've got something on your chin there.

Oh, it's a beard! Sorry, looks totally stupid. Suits you.

Next.

Whoa, hold the sausage, now that's a beard, that is a beard.

Tell me it's not fake.

Of course not, it's my pride and joy.

Almost one and a half metres long.

Wowsers, and you are?

Hans Steininger.

"Weirdy beardy."

Do you mind? I'm very proud of my beard.

Oh, sorry, sorry, how very rude of me.

Now, I'm trying to place your accent.

Where are you from? Is it Weirdy Beardy Land?

I'm from Austria!

All right, all right, keep your facial hair on.

Come on then, tell us your stupid death.

Well, there was a huge fire in my home town

and I had to run for my life.

Now, normally when I run I roll my beard up into a ball, like this.

And then hop, I hop along.

-Uh-huh.

-But as the flames licked around me, I panicked and ran.

And you forgot to roll your beard up!

Exactly, I tripped over my beard and broke my neck.

-That wasn't a close shave.

-Ja.

-Because you died and... and you have a beard and...

-Ja.

Anyway, you're through to the afterlife. Oh-ho! Wonderful.

-Don't forget to roll your beard up!

-Thank you.

You're welcome. You better stop growing that now.

Might be the death of you.

You can talk.

Zing, zing, zing, zing. I'm on fire.

Next!

# Stupid deaths Stupid deaths

# Hope next time it's not you, hoo-hoo! #

In the Hundred Years War,

we French were getting a real pasting from the English,

but you won't believe who came to our rescue.

Oh, wow, congratulations, huh?

Not! Because that was a joke, because it was awful.

They call it the Hundred Years War,

it feels like the Thousand Years War.

The English, they beat us again.

So, I am Le Dauphin, I am heir to the throne of France,

so I have decided we need a new manager.

We need someone to come in with new ideas,

ideas that come straight from God.

-That sounds like exactly what we need.

-Oh, yah, yah.

Soldiers of France, I give you your new leader -

Joan Of Arc.

-Pardon?

-Hiya.

This is going to be so amazing,

cos I told Raquel I was going to be in charge of the army

and she was like, "No way".

But I said God told me to and everything.

She was like, "whatever".

So she's going to be so jealous when I tell her, actually.

Pardon, Monsieur, who is this little girl?

Er, I'm not little, actually. I'm 4 foot 10,

which is quite tall for my age.

Anyway I'd rather be a bit short, than stinky, like you.

She's, er, a little bit, er, annoying, er...

I'm not taking that from a dolphin.

It is Dauphin. It means prince. I am heir to the throne of France.

It also means dolphin.

She told me that God speaks to her,

to tell her to help win

some of the battles, so now we give her a chance.

But what does she know about war?

Jean-Claudsey, I want you up front with your crossbow men.

Gerard, you're on the right wing.

I want the cavalry in wedge formation, destriers only.

-Actually, she's quite good.

-Ah, oui.

I'll be leading from the front.

Last one to kill an Englishman smells of poo!

-But still really annoying.

-Allez-y!

CHEERING

It's true, Joan Of Arc really was an ordinary teenage girl,

who turned the French army from loser to winners.

So, if you've got a big sister, do be nice to her,

she might end up commanding an army.

Yes, Joan's story really was a remarkable one.

# OK!

# Pamplemousse?

# Baguette and Brie

# Are you ready?

# I'm Joan of Arc, from Domremy

# Religious visions came to me

# God said Save France from the English

# And make Dauphin Charles king

# Dauphin means heir to the throne

# But England claimed the crown as their own

# We'd had 100 years of war

# This girl had to do something

# So I did it like a dude Cut my hair

# Gave up wearing dresses Bought a pair

# Of trousers No blouses

# Said I want to fight Angleterre!

# Charles let me join the army, army, army

# Though that might sound barmy, barmy, barmy

# I proved impressive

# Hit by an arrow and lived

# English troops I over ranny, ranny, ranny

# Defeated them at Patay, Patay, Patay

# We saved Orleans

# And Charles was crowned, tres bon

# Me, leading troops - a long shot

# But I was a lucky mascot

# Inspired soldiers with bravery

# Fought injured and survived

# But, in 1430

# Burgundians captured me

# King Charles wouldn't pay my ransom

# No-one told me why

# Being prisoner was not my style Tried escaping from my captors vile

# But then the English who'd fought me bought me

# Made me stand trial

# So, where was King Charlie Charlie, Charlie?

# He'd given up and left me Left me, left me

# In the English snare

# Whole thing so unfair

# Said put me in a...uh-huh N-nunnery

# They said don't be...uh-uh F-funnery

# If you dress like a male

# We'll put you in men's jail... #

Joan of Arc, you're charged with sorcery.

You're just jealous, cos God speaks to me.

You say you speak to saints.

In this discourse, what language do they speak?

French, of course!

Pah! Now you're in prison, they have failed yer.

I say it's God's plan that you're my jailer!

Here's a trick question in that case,

do you think that you are in God's grace?

If I am not, may God put me there.

And if I am, may God so keep me.

Oh, your smart remarks go round the houses.

You're guilty of heresy and wearing men's trousers.

# Despite my testi-mony, mony, mony

# Condemned for reasons Phoney, phoney, phoney

# But my will did not break

# So, they tied me to a stake

# Burned alive was my destiny, tiny, tiny

# And here is the irony, rony, rony

# My death led France to put on war paint

# And crush the English So, now I'm a saint. #

# Tall tales, atrocious acts We gave you all the fearsome facts

# The ugly truth... #

Can't get enough of Horrible Histories?

Then go to the CBBC Website

and click on the link. See you there.

# The past is no longer a mystery

# Hope you enjoyed Horrible Histories. #