Pardon Me Porridge

SLAM!

'Norman Stanley Fletcher...

'You have pleaded guilty to the charges brought and it is now my duty to pass sentence...

'You are a habitual criminal who accepts arrest as an occupational hazard,

'and presumably accepts imprisonment in the same, casual manner.

'We therefore commit you to the maximum term allowed.

'You will go to prison for 5 years.'

Er...1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7...8.

Huh! Would you Adam-and-Eve-it... "Go to jail!"

"Move directly to jail. Do not pass Go..."

-Just get on wiv it!

-All right... All right!

I know every card. I've been playing for donkey's years.

You don't have to get so grumpy!

-My go.

-Three and four's seven.

All right...I can count! I may be old but I've got all my facilities, haven't I?

Four, five, six, seven...

Oh, I've knocked a hotel off! Reach me it, will you, Fletch?

Come off it, Blanco! I know that ploy of old.

Ploy...!?

While I'm down here picking up your hotel, you help yourself. I lose Trafalgar and Fenchurch St!

That's a lie! I'm not like you lot. You take cheating as a way of life.

I've got an older man's sense of values.

-If you don't care about my sciatic nerve, I'll get the hotel meself!

-I'm sorry. Listen...

Honestly, I'm sorry. We're all so corrupt, we forget about the odd honest soul.

-That's right. You do.

-I'll get it for you.

-Thank you.

-I can't see it anywhere.

-It doesn't matter, Fletch. I'll get it.

All right, then.

-No more talk about cheating. Let's get on with the game.

-Right.

-Right.

Now, then...

-My go.

-Yes.

-Oh, I should be in jail!

-That's right.

-I've got to stay cos I've an odd number.

-Your go.

-My go.

-You want 7 to land on my hotel.

-Oh, no...

Ten! I'll miss you! I'll miss you!

-1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10!

-Don't have a heart attack. Get your Chance card.

-Right!

-What's Barrowclough doing?

-Looking for criminals(!)

-Yes.

-He wants to look down here. No, no - that's your Raquel Welch - your Community Chest.

-Oh.

-"Go back three spaces."

-Oh, yes?

-Here we go... One, two, three... Oh, no...!!

-Oh, dear, dear...(!)

-STILL playing?

-They could make the Guinness book of records.

-It's stalemate.

-Double 7. I'm out.

-Come on. It's lock-up in five minutes.

Other people want to use the board. You two "monopolise" the game(!)

"Monopolise." Get it?

Very witty, Godber.

-Pretty sharp.

-Quick as a flash.

-What's brown, lives in the sea and attacks young mermaids?

-No idea.

Jack the Kipper(!)

-Do you hear all this?

-Aye.

-Palace of bleedin' varieties!

"Jack the Kipper..."?

He's away to work it out. You shout them out.

Come on. You promised you'd wash your shirt to look presentable for the Parole Board.

In a minute!

Silly to jeapordise it for water and soap!

-All right. 'Ere... I've two of those.

-All right.

I'll come in a minute. I'll make the tea. I have your mug.

He nags worse than my daughter!

I thought he WAS your daughter.

He keeps the cell nice and clean.

Anyway, don't worry. You'll be off out soon, won't ya?

Nothing's definite.

It's a mere formality, that.

Even Mr Barrowclough will bet on it and you know what HE'S like.

-What's that?

-Just saying you're loath to commit yourself, Mr Barrowclough.

You like to hedge your bets, don't you?

I'm as positive as the next man!

Then you'd say it was a formality going out on parole?

Er...one has to consider both sides.

-Are you sure you're not sure(?)

-Positive!

-Huh!

-He should've been out years ago.

-You're on your way. Harry Grout's giving odds.

-Don't bank on it. I know disappointment.

You know YOUR trouble? You always protested your innocence.

It's better to be guilty but ashamed rather than innocent but defiant.

-You've gotta show 'em HOW you've reformed.

-Yeah. That you're NOT a despicable nerk.

Parole's a doddle for junkies, alcoholics and them in women's clothes.

What's my chances with a lapse into petty crime, but from a good home and with an "O" level in Geography?

You'd best get yourself a cocktail frock with matching handbag(!)

In other words, naff all, mate! Naff all!

-Fletch...

-Yeah?

Do you think Blanco's a cert for parole?

Course! Need the beds, don't they?

What was he originally sent up for?

Now, now. You can't ask that. It's not what people WAS, it's what they ARE!

Nothing you could say would set me against him.

He's one of the nicest blokes here.

He done his wife.

What!?

Done her in.

Locked her in a deep-freeze.

And we knock around with that despicable old scroat!

That's why you don't ask!

Oh, yeah... I'm sorry - irrational outburst.

-Anyway, it was long ago.

-I see...

It's all right to refrigerate your old lady if it was in 1959(?)

He's had time to repent, like.

His point is, he never did it in the first place.

-He reckons his wife had a lover who killed her.

-WAS it him?

Possible. The lover disappeared a bit smartish.

That was a long time ago. Too long to find out.

A wife can't testify against her husband so modern science is no use.

What do you mean?

There's no point in defrosting her and asking her what happened.

-Here...

-Where?

-I know summat you don't.

-That'll be the day.

-13 across for a start!

-Don't, Godber. It's bad manners, that is.

-Anyhow, it's 'Rook'.

"Type of bird...." R...blank...blank...k. Rook.

Not necessarily.

-R...blank...blank...k. What else could it be?

-It could be 'Rilk.'

'Rilk'(?)

'Rilk.' 'Rilk.'! R...blank...blank...k. 'Rilk.'!

There's no such bird!

You're wrong! You're not as smart as you thought you was.

What's a flaming 'Rilk' then?

A 'Rilk' is a migratory bird from the North Baltic shores of Finland.

It's main distinguishing feature is that it flies backwards to keep the sh... snow out of its eyes.

Go on. Ask me another, Bamber(!)

-I bet it's 'Rook'.

-It's not 'Rook'. It's too obvious.

Look, 'R-i-l-k'. I've put it in. What's the other bit of information you have?

-The parole results.

-And...?

-Gibson, in for car theft is turned down, but Brown in for manslaughter's OK.

-It reflects modern standards.

-How d'you mean?

Well, it takes one minute to create a life and ten to make a car.

And about five for it to fall to bits again, an' all!

Oh, look, here they come - Nat Mills and Bobbie!

-He did it this time!

-You worked your parole?

-Sailed through it!

-It was a doddle!

-The shirt did it!

-Come in.

Come and sit down, granddad.

-We're very pleased for you.

-Yeah!

-Surprise, surprise!

The old Max Jaffa cakes! Look at them!

You'll notice a few changes since 1959.

I sold a hot car in 1959. Zodiac, it was. Two-tone with wing mirrors.

Took the wife to Butlins.

I were in Junior School. Sat with Ann Podmore. She were left-handed.

Fascinating(!) I bet he got on the right side of her!

I remember 1959 as the year I were put away for something I didn't do.

Here, here... Come on. Don't get all gloomy.

We're all festive for the occasion.

Oh, aye.

-Now you're going out, you can tell your mates... Were you innocent?

-I WAS!

You'd like to think I'd screwed the System all this time.

The truth is, the System's screwed ME for 17 years! So I've decided...

-Decided...?

-Aye.

All these years I've been claiming me innocence...

If I accept parole I'm admitting my guilt.

No, no, no. Parole means it wipes the slate clean.

-You're free and clear.

-It's NOT a pardon!

It says you've done what they put you in for. It's NOT good enough. It says "Don't be a bad lad again"!

I were never a bad lad in the first place, so they can take their parole and shove it!

-You haven't, have you?

-I have.

-Told 'em to stuff it?

-Aye.

-What did the Governor say?

-Put the wind up his clappers!

You could be on the streets - free!

Queueing up at the Labour Exchange.

Standing in the rain waiting for a bus.

I've waited long enough. A bit longer won't make no difference. Fetch me that scraper.

Your rhubarb's coming on.

You can't wait to get your hands on my rhubarb!

-You thought you'd get it in lieu of me monopoly debts.

-Don't be daft!

-AND me strawberries! It's MY allotment.

-We'd look after it till you come back in.

I reckon you would.

Just like life, prison. You make plans and do naff all about it. Look at this place.

I was gonna do so much... Caulies and spring onions...

Nice runner beans.

Raspberries and maybe a few goosegogs. Never got round to it!

-Didn't one Governor let you grow grapes?

-That were over there.

I'd read all about vines and I KNEW I could grow grapes in this neck of the woods.

And I did an' all. Oh, it were bloody marvellous seeing those big, ripe beauties.

-They made me pack it in in the end.

-Why?

-Grapes make wine, don't they?

Do they really(?) I always use potato peelings and anti-freeze(!)

They didn't tumble. Not till we'd put down about a dozen bottles.

-Nice drop, was it?

-I don't suppose it were a classic.

But to a man who hadn't had a drink for eleven years, Chateau Slade was the finest drop...!

-You could be outside now supping champagne.

-I've got my pride!

Freedom's pride.

I want BOTH, Fletcher!

Yes. Well, we'll have to see what we can do.

What's this? Saturday, and you lot stuck inside!

-CROW, sir.

-Pardon?

It's the Campaign Headquarters for CROW, sir.

-What's that?

-Campaign for the Release of Old Webb, sir - that's Blanco, sir.

We were going to call it Campaign for the Release and Pardon of Old Webb, but it's C-R-A-P-O-W!

-We thought that too rude for the Home Office.

-The Home Office!?

Eventually, but first the Governor.

-Blanco don't want to go out free and guilty, but free and innocent.

-That's what CROW's for.

-We've 300 signatures.

-What is it FOR?

-Well...

-I'll tell him. There are two ways to spring the old man... a retrial...

After all this time!? The judge, jury and witnesses will be dead by now!

That MIGHT help! Know what I mean?

Or the Governor could ask the Home Office for a pardon.

Under Sub-section 23, Paragraph D, Part 3 of the Penal Code as amended in 1972.

-Really?

-Oh, it's well-known.

But WE are going for a retrial, hence the petition.

-Fletch... I've 63 signatures from the mailbag room.

-Give it here!

Just a minute... Sixty-three!? There's not above forty fellows work there!

Shows the strength of their feelings!

There's twenty-three X's here!

Yeah, there's a lot of fellas can't write.

-Are they genuine?

-Of course they are - they're all in different handwriting!

There's one bloke spelled 'X' with a 'Y'. I'll cross him off.

It's a very praiseworthy effort, but I fear the Governor's attitude.

He has built-in resistance to ideas from YOU lot!

You could maybe help us, Mr Barrowclough - lend weight to our pitch.

-Give us credibility.

-How?

Well, you're a humanitarian, aren't you?

-You play fair.

-Always.

-See our point of view.

You brought reason and compassion into a world where violence prevailed.

I've always considered you as here to be helped rather than punished.

-Yes.

-Yes.

-Quite right!

-I've always tried to understand.

I respect your rights and if you have a just cause, I'll back it up.

-I never doubted it, sir. Just append your moniker.

-Er...what?

-It's a just cause.

-Use my pen.

-That's MY pen!

-There's no time for that. Mr Barrowclough...

-No blinking fear!

I'm up for promotion. I won't jeopardise that by joining a conspiracy!

Well, I never...!

Hardly the humanitarian we thought!

He's brainier than we thought.

Pity. Other screws might follow.

-Yeah. Well, no bother then... 'H. J. Barrowclough...'

-Hey!

-Can you forge his signature?

-How do you think we got them ping-pong balls?

-You'll be for it if they trace it to you!

-They're more likely to trace it to you - it's your pen!

-It's trouble with a capital T. It must be stamped out NOW.

-All right, Mr Mackay. Bring them in.

-Mr Barrowclough...

-All right, lads... Left, right, left. Halt when you're there.

STAND STILL IN FRONT OF THE GOVERNOR!

STAND STILL!

Er...the petitioners, sir.

I'm not in favour of prisoners' pressure groups.

They have that right under Sub-section 13 which states that...

Don't spout the Penal Code at me!

We appreciate your seeing us, sir. There is the petition for the retrial of Old Man Blanco.

Do we have this many men in here?

It's an expression of feeling inside Slade prison and a tribute to your enlightened administration.

Is it?

Oh, yes! All them felons putting names down. They'd have torn a less enlightened place apart, sir.

-Is that a threat?

-No, Mr Mackay. Just an observation based on experience of incarcerated males.

The mood is THAT strong?

And getting uglier every minute - present company excepted.

Of course.

What's the point of this, sir? Webb was offered parole. He should accept gratefully.

-He wants to clear his name.

-He's a stubborn old fool.

-Stubborn, yes...but not a fool.

I think there's something heroic about... No, as you say, the man IS a fool!

It was too long ago for a retrial.

But this petition could make it a national issue, sir.

-National?

-Blanco could be a national hero. We want the media on the old fella.

Media!?

Get him in the papers and on television.

YOU might be a celebrity and get on the Michael Parkinson show! Or at worst, on Esther Rantzen's.

Fletcher, no way could this petition become a national issue.

No, Mr Mackay. That's why we need the hunger strike.

Hunger strike? What hunger strike!?

Blanco, sir. But don't worry. He shouldn't last more than a week.

Yes...well...er... You can leave this here.

-We should discuss this.

-On your way, Fletcher!

-Back to your cells.

-Very good, sir!

Come on, then. Left wheel out there. Left, right, left, right.

O-o-o-h-h... Hunger strike!

Typical of Fletcher to try and turn the old man into some kind of a martyr!

The LAST thing a prison needs is a martyr.

-What d'you think, Fletch?

-Keep 'em crossed, son.

-Caused a panic.

-Which was intended.

-They'll have to scratch round for an alternative.

-Pardon?

-I said they'd have to find an alternative.

No... P-a-r-d-o-n.

Oh... Granted!

Yes. Come in.

-Could I have a word, sir?

-You've left them out there alone!?

-Mr Collinson's seeing to them.

-We lost a typewriter last week. Remember?

What is it, Mr Barrowclough? Well, sir...there's a solution to our problem.

As I'm sure you're aware with your knowledge of the Penal Code. Er...yes...

Refresh my memory.

Sub-section 23, Paragraph 'D'.

Good old Sub-section 23, Paragraph 'G'.

Paragraph 'D', sir.

'D'...'D'... Yes, of course! 'D'. Jog my memory again, Mr Barrowclough.

As you know, sir, the Governor of a prison has the right - if he feels it is warranted...

Y-e-s...?

..to request the Home Office for a prisoner's pardon. A pardon?

-That's right, sir.

-A PARDON!?

Y-e-s...of course! It would put paid to any idea of a hunger strike being splashed across the papers.

I DID think it was a good idea!

Yes. Well, I'm paid to come up with good ideas in such situations!

I'll put through a recommendation now. Look at all this nonsense...

Mr Barrowclough... YOUR signature's on this form!

No, sir. There must be some mistake.

Look at that. What IS that, Mr Barrowclough?

-Is that not your signature?

-It must be a forgery!

Oh, no... that IS my signature. I must have signed it. I must have.

-So, miracles DO happen. He's out today, is he?

-Yeah. Free pardon.

They're all claiming credit for it. The Governor says he thought of it.

-Barrowclough's miserable because he says HE thought of it first, but WE know who DID.

-Yeah, ME!

-What d'you mean, Godber?

-I'm only joking.

Never mind. I haven't got over Jack the Kipper yet!

-Hello, Lukewarm!

-Gentlemen, may I present the best-dressed man in Slade Prison.

-Wow!

-Ho-ho!

Oh, that's very elegant, innit, eh?

Where did you nick that from, eh?

-Did you nick it from War on Want?

-Fifty Shilling Tailor, that was.

-You was robbed, mate!

-No, it were the January sale, 1959.

-'59... Oh-ho...!

-It'll be back in fashion.

-Really?

1959... I was wearing Italian pin-stripe suits and shirts with Billy Eckstein collars.

-I wore grey flannel shorts.

-Oh, all right!

-I wore this to the wife's funeral.

-It's hardly black.

-I couldn't afford a new suit. I'd just paid for that damn freezer.

-O-o-o-h-h...

Aye. Terrible to think that she were to end up inside it.

It were fitting in a way, cos all her life she were a cold woman.

-Don't be too long, Mr Webb. The bus is waiting.

-Thank you, driver(!)

By gum, you don't know how good that sounds... 'Mr' Webb!

-You can go outside now, my son, and hold your head up high. All right?

-Right, Fletch.

Well, you know... I'm not very good... Y'know... After all this time...

..at expressing my gratitude.

I know what you've done, and I'll not forget it.

You're going outside. That's all that matters, innit, eh?

Don't waste your time nattering to us.

-I don't want much.

-It's nice to know justice has been done. Albeit a bit late.

The pardon's for your family name. It's for your grandchildren, innit?

You can look anybody in the eye without any shame or guilt.

-Life's taken a great deal out of you, mate. All you need back is your pride.

-Right, Fletch.

-Ta-ra, Blanco. Keep yer nose clean.

-Ta-ra, son. Same to you.

-One thing more...

-What's that?

-Sue the Government for every penny they've got.

-Too bloody right!

Ta-ta, Blanco. I'll miss you.

God bless ya. Thank you for looking after me.

I'll try and get that scented notepaper you asked for.

Come here. Listen...

We all know you didn't kill your old lady. Some other bloke did and you've paid for it.

-But don't go out there harbouring any thoughts of revenge. All right?

-No...

I know him what did it. It were her lover. But don't worry. He died years ago.

-It's all right then.

-That I DO know. It were ME that killed him!

Subtitles by Charlie Menzies BBC Scotland