The History Boys

BRASS BAND PLAYS "Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye"

This film contains very strong language.

PLAYING THROUGH HEADPHONES: # Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye

# Cheerio, here I go on my way

# Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye

# Not a tear, but a cheer Make it gay

# Give me a smile I can keep all the while

# In my heart while I'm away

# Till we meet once again, you and I

# Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye. #

REVEREND: ..The peace of God, which passeth all understanding,

keep your hearts and minds

in the knowledge and love of God,

and of His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord,

and the blessing of God almighty,

the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,

be upon you and remain with you this day and always.

Amen.

Will that do the trick, do you think?

Got to find out.

MUSIC: "Blue Monday" by New Order

Jimmy!

Ready?

Ready.

Mum, please. Lads, one...

Just get in the car.

I'll be back in five minutes.

HE SIGHS Let's get it over with.

Ah, just give me a minute.

BOYS ALL TALK AT ONCE

Fiona, let's see.

Three A's! I got three A's! Three A's!

Three A's! Three A's!

Told you we would, mate! Full house! full house!

Hey, what did you get?

A and two Bs.

ALL CHEER

Hey, Dakin!

Stu, what happened?

Are you not going to look?

I got mine last night.

I bet you did!

You jammy sod!

MAN: Lockwood! Felix.

Lockwood.

Sir?

Why are you dressed as a milkman?

Working, sir, for the holidays.

As a milkman?

After the holidays, you'll be coming back

to try for Oxford and Cambridge.

Your A-level results are the best we've ever had,

and they demand that you return for an extra term

to work for the examination

to our ancient universities.

One more term, boys.

One more push.

In the meantime, try and do something, er...fitting.

I'm in a bookshop, sir. Good. Good.

I'm on the bins, sir. I'm a bouncer, sir.

Lavatory attendant, sir.

Gigolo.

WOMAN: Congratulations, boys!

Mrs Lintott!

Three A's! Three A's!

Mr Hector!

So we shall be meeting again, after all.

Yes, sir. Yep.

At school, you don't get parole.

Good behaviour just brings a longer sentence.

Ah, you poor boys.

See you next term, sir!

Bye! Thank you, sir.

Thank you, Vince.

HECTOR: "To happiest youth, viewing his progress through,

"what perils past, what crosses to ensue,

"would shut the book, and sit him down and die."

Congratulations, Dorothy.

You must be very pleased.

Good morning!

LINTOTT: You are entitled,

though only for five minutes, Dakin,

to feel pleased with yourselves.

No-one has done as well.

Not in English, not in science,

not even, dare I say it, in media studies.

And you alone are up for Oxford and Cambridge.

So, to work.

First essay this term will be "the Church on the Eve of the Reformation."

Not again, miss.

This is Oxford and Cambridge.

You don't just need to know it.

You need to know it backwards, Timms.

Facts, facts, facts.

HEADMASTER: They're clever,

but they're crass.

And, were it Bristol or...or York,

I'd have no worries - but Oxford and Cambridge...

We need a strategy, Dorothy.

A game plan.

They know their stuff.

But they lack flair.

Culture they can get from Hector,

history from you, but...

I'm thinking aloud now.

Is there something else?

Think charm.

Think polish.

Think... Renaissance man.

Leave it with me, Dorothy.

Leave it with me.

Yes, Headmaster.

Wilkes. Ah, yes.

An innovation to the timetable.

PE.

Yes, Headmaster.

For the Oxbridge set? Surely not, you say,

but why not?

This is the biggest hurdle of their lives,

and I want them... galvanised.

Galvanised. Yes, Headmaster.

In the timetable, our esteemed headmaster

has given these periods the dubious title

of General Studies.

I will let you in to a little secret, boys.

There is no such thing as general studies.

General studies is a waste of time.

Knowledge is not general,

it is specific,

and nothing to do with getting on.

But remember, open quotation marks,

"All knowledge is precious

"whether or not it serves the slightest human use,"

close quotation marks.

Who said, Akhtar?

Timms? Lockwood? Dakin?

"Loveliest of trees, the cherry now."

AE Houseman, sir.

"AE Houseman, sir."

Wasn't he a nancy, sir?

Foul, festering, grubby-minded little trollop.

Do not use that word!

But you use it, sir.

I do, sir, I know, but I am far gone

in age and decrepitude.

You're not supposed to hit us, sir.

We could report you.

I know, I know.

Yeah. You should treat us with more respect.

We're scholarship candidates now, sir.

We're all going in for Oxford and Cambridge.

Oxford and Cambridge?

What for?

Old, sir. Tried and tested.

No. It's because other boys want to go there.

It's the hot ticket. Standing room only.

Where did you go, sir?

I went to Sheffield.

BOYS SNIGGER I was happy.

"Happy is england, sweet her artless daughters,

"enough her simple loveliness for me."

Keats.

We won't be examined on that, will we, sir?

Keats. Happiness.

FOOTSTEPS APPROACH

You are...?

Irwin. Irwin?

The temporary contract teacher.

Quite so.

The examinations are at the end of term,

which gives us, er...

three months, at the outside.

Well, you were at Cambridge, you know the form.

Oxford, Jesus.

I...I thought of going.

But this was the...the '50s.

Change was in the air.

A spirit of adventure.

So where did you go?

I was a geographer.

I went to Hull.

They're a likely lot, the boys.

Um, they're all keen.

One oddity - Rudge.

Determined to try for Oxford.

And Christ Church, of all places.

No hope.

Might get into Loughborough, in a bad year.

Otherwise, all bright,

but they need polish, edge.

Your job.

We are low in the league.

I want to see us up there with Manchester Grammar School,

Haberdashers' Aske's, Leighton Park.

Or is that an open prison?

No matter.

There is a vacancy in history.

That's very true.

In the school.

Ah.

BOTH CHUCKLE

Get me scholarships, Irwin.

Pull us up the table and it's yours.

I-I-I'm corseted by the curriculum,

but I can find you, er...

three lessons a week. Not enough.

No, I, yes, I agree, I agree.

However, I think I know

where we can filch an hour.

# Elle ecoute la java

# Mais elle ne la danse pas

# Elle ne regarde meme pas la piste

# Et ses yeux amoureux suivent le jeu nerveux

# Et les doigts secs et longs de l'artiste

# Ca lui rentre dans la peau par le bas, par le haut

# Elle a envie de chanter C'est physique

# Tout son etre est tendu Son souffle est suspendu

# C'est une vraie tordue de la musique. #

APPLAUSE

Ou voudriez-vous travailler cet apres-midi?

Je voudrais travailler dans une maison de passe.

Ooh, la, la!

Qu'est-ce que c'est?

A brothel.

He'd like to work in a brothel.

Ah, oui. Tres bien.

Mais une maison de passe

ou tous les clients

utilisent le subjonctif, ou le conditionnel.

THEY GROAN

D'accord, monsieur. Voila.

HE KNOCKS Voila.

Deja un client.

IN HIGH-PITCHED VOICE: Bonjour, monsieur.

IN GRUFF VOICE: Bonjour, cherie.

THEY LAUGH

Entrez, s'il vous plait.

Voila votre lit...

..et voici votre...prostituee.

Ooh, la, la.

Je veux m'etendre sur le lit.

Je voudrais...

I would like to stretch out

on the bed in the conditional or the subjunctive.

Continuez, mes enfants.

Mais les chaussures, monsieur, pas sur le lit!

Excusez-moi, mademoiselle. Excusez-moi.

Et votre pantalon, s'il vous plait.

Oh, come on!

Oh, quelles belles jambes!

Et maintenant, Claudine!

Oui.

La prostituee, s'il vous plait.

HE GIGGLES

THEY WOLF-WHISTLE

A quel prix?

Dix francs.

Dix francs.

Pour dix francs je peux vous montrer

ma prodigieuse poitrine.

GASPS

Non, non, non, non.

Ca vous couterait quinze francs.

Pour quinze francs...

KNOCKING Pour...

Un autre client.

Ah! Cher monsieur le directeur!

Mr Hector, what on earth is happening?

Uh-uh-uh...

L'anglais, c'est interdit.

Ici on ne parle que francais...

en accordant une importance particuliere au subjonctif.

Oh...um...

Qu'est-ce que s'est passe ici?

Pourquoi cet garcon...

Um... Dakin, isn't it? Sir.

..est sans ses...trousers.

HECTOR: Oh!

Quelqu'un?

Oh, ne sois pas timide.

Dites a cher monsieur le directeur

ce que nous faisons.

Je suis un homme qui...

Vous n'etes pas un homme.

Vous etes un soldat.

Un soldat blesse.

Vous comprenez, cher monsieur le directeur,

"soldat blesse"?

Wounded soldier, yes, yes, of course.

Ici, c'est un hopital en Belgique.

Belgique?

Pourquoi Belgique?

A Ypres, sir.

Ypres? Ypres.

Ypres.

Pendant la guerre mondiale numero un.

Ypres... C'est ca.

Dakin est un soldat blesse.

Un mutile de guerre.

Et les autres sont des medecins, infirmiers

et tout le personnel d'un grand etablissement medical

et therapeutique.

Continuez, mes enfants.

THEY SCREAM

Qu'il souffre!

Ma mere! Ma mere!

Il appelle sa mere.

Mon pere, mon pere...

Il appelle son pere.

Il est distrait, il est distrait...

Il est commotionne, peut-etre.

Comment?

Commotionne.

Shell-shocked.

C'est possible.

Commotionne - oui, c'est le mot juste.

Permettez-moi d'introduire

Monsieur Irwin, notre nouveau professeur.

Enchante. Bonjour.

Enough of this silliness. No, no, not silliness.

Mr Hector, you are aware these pupils are Oxbridge candidates.

Are you sure? Nobody's told me.

Mr Irwin will be coaching them,

but it's a question of time.

I've found him three lessons a week,

but I was wondering... I'm not listening.

..purely on a temporary basis. The last time, I promise.

The last time was the last time also.

I'm thinking of the boys.

I, too. No.

Absolument. No. No, no, no.

C'est hors de question. Et puis, si vous voulez

m'excuser, je dois continuer la lecon.

A tout a l'heure.

BELL RINGS

Fuck.

DOOR CLOSES

It's true, though, sir.

We don't have much time.

We don't even have to do French.

Now...

Who goes home?

Well, surely I can give somebody a lift.

Who's on pillion duty?

Dakin?

Not me, sir. I'm going into town.

Crowther? No, I'm off for a run, sir.

Akhtar?

Computer club, sir.

I'll come, sir.

Oh, no, never mind.

I'll come, sir.

Ah, Scripps.

The things I do for Jesus.

It's never me.

You're too young still.

DAKIN: It'll happen.

Now that you've achieved puberty.

If rather late in the day.

Mr Hector is likely, at some point,

to try to put his hand on your knee.

This is because Mr Hector is a homosexual

and a sad fuck.

The drill is to look at the hand and go,

"And what does Mr Hector want?"

He has no answer for this, and so will desist.

Thrutch up.

I just think I should have been told.

Well, he comes highly recommended.

So did Anne of Cleves.

Who?

He's up to the minute, Dorothy, more "now".

Now? I thought history was "then".

Felix.

Anne of Cleves - remind me.

Fourth wife of Henry VIII, sir.

Of course.

She was the one they told him was Miss Dish,

only when she turned up, she had a face

like the wrong end of a camel's turd.

Quite.

What's the matter, with you, lad?

Oh, I've got a note, sir.

How much for?

I don't do notes.

Get changed. Sir...

God doesn't do notes either.

Did Jesus say, "Can I be excused the crucifixion"?

No.

Actually, sir, I think he did.

Change.

One day, it'll save your life.

Nothing saves anyone's life, sir.

It just postpones their death.

Jesus Christ will save your life, lad,

if you only let him into your heart.

I'm Jewish, sir.

I'm Muslim, sir.

Very good.

That was excellent.

Go on, Charlie.

Lad, lad, lad.

You're letting yourself down,

you're letting God down.

What's God got to do with it?

Listen, boy, this isn't your body.

No?

No, this body is on loan to you from God.

Fuck me.

I heard that.

Give me 20.

20 what?

Hail Marys?

Do it.

You're late.

Get your kit off.

I'm on the staff.

COACH: I've never seen you.

What's this?

Do you need a hand with that, sir?

Is it joined-up writing?

So, Mrs Lintott's given me a view

of some of your latest essays.

The experience was interesting,

the essays not.

Dull...

Dull...

Abysmally dull.

A triumph...

The dullest of the lot.

Well, I got to all the points.

I didn't say it was wrong, I said it was dull.

Its sheer competence was staggering.

You've got crap handwriting, sir.

It's your eyesight that's bad, and we know why.

Sir, is that a coded reference

to the mythical dangers of self-abuse?

Possibly, it might be a joke.

DAKIN: A joke, sir?

Are jokes going to be a feature, sir?

We need to know as it affects our mind-set.

AKHTAR: You don't object to our using the expression "mind-set", sir?

Mr Hector doesn't care for it.

At the, er... at the time of the Reformation,

there were 14 foreskins of Christ preserved,

but it was thought that the Church of St John Lateran in Rome

had the authentic prepuce...

Don't think we're shocked by your your mention

of the mention of the word foreskin, sir.

No, sir.

Some of us even have them. Not Posner though, sir,

cos he's... well...

Jewish. It's one of several things he doesn't have.

That's not racist, though, sir.

Isn't it?

It's race-related, but not racist.

Has anybody been to Rome or Venice?

Florence?

No, cos the other candidates will have been,

and they'll have done courses

on what they've seen there, most likely,

so they're going to know,

when they come to do an essay like this, on the Church

at the time of the Reformation...

Ooh, look! ..some silly nonsense

on the foreskins of Christ will come in handy,

so that their essays, unlike yours,

will not be dull.

They're not even bad, they're just boring.

You haven't got a hope.

So why are we bothering?

I don't know.

You tell me. You want it.

Your parents want it.

The headmaster, he certainly wants it.

Me, I wouldn't waste the money.

I'd go to Newcastle and be happy.

Of course, there is another way.

Oh, wow.

Cheat!

Possibly.

Dakin...

Sir?

Don't take the piss. There isn't time.

What a wanker.

They all have to do it, don't they?

Do what?

Show you they're still in the game.

Foreskins and stuff.

Oh, sir, you devil!

Have a heart.

He's only five minutes older than we are.

What happened with Hector?

On the bike?

As per.

Except I managed to get my bag down.

I think he thought he'd got me going.

In fact it was my Tudor Economic Documents, volume 2.

THEY LAUGH

IRWIN: So, let's summarise.

The First World War - what points do we make?

Trench warfare.

Mountains of dead.

On both sides.

Generals stupid. On both sides.

Armistice. Germany humiliated. Keep it coming.

Mass unemployment. Inflation.

Collapse of the Weimar Republic,

internal disorder and the rise of Hitler.

IRWIN: So, our overall conclusion is

that the origins of the second war

lie in the unsatisfactory outcome of the first.

Yes.

Yes. First class.

Bristol welcomes you with open arms.

Manchester longs to have you!

You can walk into Leeds!

But I'm a fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford,

I've just read 70 papers,

they're all saying the same thing, and I'm asleep.

But it's all true. What's truth got to do with it?

What's truth got to do with anything?

LINTOTT: The new man seems clever.

HECTOR: He does.

Depressingly so.

Didn't you try for Oxford?

Cambridge.

HE SCOFFS

Cloisters.

Ancient libraries.

I was confusing learning with the smell of cold stone.

If I had gone,

I'd probably never have worked out the difference.

Durham was very good for history.

That's where I had

my first pizza.

Other things, too, of course,

but it's the pizza that stands out.

Uh, Dakin's a good-looking boy, though somehow sad.

You always think they're sad, Hector.

Every, every time.

Well, actually, I wouldn't have said he was sad,

I would have said he was cunt-struck.

Dorothy...

I'd have thought you'd have liked that.

It's a compound adjective.

You like compound adjectives. Yeah.

Oh, going walkabout.

Oh, yeah.

The truth was, in 1914, Germany doesn't want war.

Yeah, there's an arms race,

but it's Britain who's leading it.

So why does no-one admit this?

That's why - they're dead.

The body count.

We still don't like to admit

the war was even partly our fault,

cos so many of our people died.

And all the mournings veiled the truth.

It's not "lest we forget," it's "lest we remember".

See, that's what all this is about -

the memorials, the Cenotaph,

the two-minute silence -

because there is no better way of forgetting something

than by commemorating it.

And as for the truth, Scripps, which you're worrying about,

forget it.

In an examination, truth's not an issue.

DAKIN: Do you really believe this, sir,

or are you just trying to make us think?

You can't explain away

the poetry, sir. No, sir.

Art wins in the end. What about this one, sir?

Those long, uneven lines

standing as patiently as if they were stretched

outside The Oval or villa Park.

The crowns of hats, the sun on moustached,

archaic faces, grinning as if it were all

an August Bank Holiday lark.

Never such innocence, never before or since,

as changed itself to past without a word.

AKHTAR: The men...

leaving the gardens tidy.

The thousands of marriages lasting a little while longer.

Never such innocence again.

How come you know all this by heart?

THEY CHUCKLE

Not that it answers the question.

So much for our glorious dead.

Quite.

Actually, Fiona's my western front.

Well, last night, for instance.

I thought it might be the big push.

So, encountering

only token resistance, I reconnoitered the ground,

as far as the actual place.

Shit!

No, I mean, not onto it,

and certainly not into it.

Up to it.

Fuck.

DAKIN: And the metaphor really fits.

'I mean, moving up to the front,

'troops, presumably, had to pass the sites of previous battles.

'Well, so it is with me.

'Like particularly her tits,

'which only surrendered about three weeks ago.

'And which were indeed the start line of a determined

'thrust southwards.'

What's the matter?

No-man's-land. Oh...fuck.

So what I do with this?

Carry out a controlled explosion?

'Still, at least'

I'm doing better than Felix.

Felix?! No!

Tries to.

Chases her around the desk.

Actually, the metaphor isn't exact,

because what Fiona is presumably carrying out

is a planned withdrawal.

You're not forcing her, she's not being overwhelmed

by superior forces.

Does she like you?

Course she likes me.

Then you're not disputing the territory,

you're just negotiating over the pace of the occupation.

Yeah, just let us know when you get to Berlin.

I'm beginning to like him more.

Who, me?

Irwin.

Though he hates me.

DAKIN: Jimmy!

SCRIPPS: Cheer up. At least he speaks to you.

Most guys wouldn't even speak to you.

Love can be very irritating.

How do you know?

That's what I always think about God.

He must get so pissed off, everybody adoring him all the time.

Yes. Only you don't catch God poncing about in his underpants.

PIANO INTRO PLAYS

# I'm wild again

# Beguiled again

# A simpering Whimpering child again

# Bewitched Bothered and bewildered

# Am I

# Couldn't sleep

# And wouldn't sleep

# When love came and told me I shouldn't sleep

# Bewitched Bothered and bewildered

# Am I

# Lost my heart

# But what of it?

# He is cold

# I agree

# He can laugh, but I love it

# Although the laugh's on me

# I'll sing to him

# Each spring to him

# And worship

# The trousers

# That cling to him

# Bewitched, bothered

# And bewildered

# Am I. #

HECTOR: Well done, Posner.

And now...

for some poetry of a more traditional sort.

Oh, God!

Uh, Timms, wha-what is it?

Sir, I don't always understand poetry.

You don't always understand it?

Timms,

I never understand it.

But learn it now, know it now,

and you will understand it... whenever.

I don't see how we can understand it.

Most of the stuff poetry's about hasn't happened to us yet.

But it will, Timms, it will.

And when it does, you'll have the antidote ready.

Grief, happiness.

Even when you die.

We're making your death beds here, boys.

Hey, we've got an ending, sir.

Oh, goody!

Well, be sharp! Where's the kitty?

LOCKWOOD: We have to smoke, sir.

And I happen to have some, sir.

Very well.

PIANO PLAYS

Jerry, please help me.

Shall we just have a cigarette on it?

Yes.

PIANO PLAYS ROMANTIC MUSIC

May I sometimes come here?

Whenever you like.

It's your home, too. There are people here who love you.

And will you be happy, Charlotte?

Oh, Jerry, don't let's ask for the moon.

We have the stars.

PIANO PLAYS DRAMATICALLY

MUSIC ENDS

HECTOR: Lovely!

Hmm...

Could it be Paul Henreid and Bette Davis in Now, Voyager?

THEY LAUGH

It is famous, you ignorant little tarts.

But we never heard of it, sir! Oh, Walt Whitman,

Leaves Of Grass.

"The untold want

"by life and land ne'er granted,

"now, Voyager, sail thou forth

"to seek and find."

50p, please.

LINTOTT: Ah, Rudge.

There's nothing on the Carry On films.

Why? Should there be?

The exam.

Mr Irwin said the Carry Ons would be good films to talk about.

How peculiar.

Does he like them, do you think?

Probably not.

You never know with him. I'm now wondering

if there's something there that I've missed.

Well, Mr Irwin says that...

"Whilst they have no intrinsic artistic merit,"

BOY CLEARS THROAT

QUIETLY: "..they achieve some of the permanence of art

"simply by persisting,

"and acquire incremental significance,

"if only as social history."

Dear me.

What fun you must all have.

It's not like your stuff, Miss.

It's cutting-edge.

It really is.

Where do you live, sir? Horsforth.

Oh, that's not far from Mr Hector, sir.

He might even give you a lift, if you ask him.

It's not a loft, is it sir? Do you exist

on an unhealthy diet of take-away food, sir,

or do you whisk up gourmet meals for one?

Or is it a lonely pizza, sir?

I manage! No questions from you, Dakin?

No, what they want to know, sir, is do you have a life?

Yes. Or are we it?

Are we your life? It's pretty dismal if you are,

cos these are as dreary as ever!

You get a question, you know the answer,

but, then, so does everybody else, so...

say something different!

Say the opposite.

OK, look, er, take Stalin.

He's generally agreed to be a monster,

and rightly so.

Dissent - find something, anything,

and say it in his defence.

The question is about what you know.

It's not about what you don't know.

A question about Rembrandt, for instance,

might prompt an answer on Degas.

Is Degas an old master?

About suffering, they were never wrong, sir,

the old masters.

How it takes place while someone's eating

or opening a window.

Have you done that with Mr Hector? Done what, sir?

The poem. You're quoting somebody - Auden, isn't it?

Was I, sir? Sometimes it just flows out.

You know, brims over.

Does he have a programme, or is it just at random?

It's just knowledge, sir. The pursuit of it for its own sake, sir.

Breaking bread with the dead, sir, that's what we do.

It's higher than your stuff, sir. It's nobler.

Only not useful.

Mr Hector's not as focused.

LOCKWOOD: Not focused at all, sir - he's blurred, sir.

CROWTHER: And we know what we're doing with you, sir.

Half the time with him, we don't know what we're doing at all.

No, we're poor little sheep that've lost our way, sir.

Sit down. Where are we? Where are we, sir?

You're very young, sir.

This isn't your gap year, is it, sir?

I wish it was.

LOCKWOOD: Why, sir? Do you not like teaching us?

We're not just a hiccup between the end

of university and the beginning of life,

like Auden, are we, sir? Do you like

Auden's poetry, sir?

Some, yeah.

Mr Hector does.

We know about Auden.

He was a schoolmaster for a bit.

I believe he was, yes.

Yeah, he was.

Do you think he was more like you

or more like Mr Hector?

I have no idea. Why should he be like either of us?

Oh, I think he was more like Mr Hector.

Bit of a shambles.

He snogged his pupils.

Auden, sir, not Mr Hector.

So you could answer a question on Auden, then?

TIMMS: No, sir!

Mr Hector's stuff's not meant for the exam.

It's to make us more rounded human beings.

Listen, this examination's gonna be about everything and anything

you know and are, and if there's a question on Auden,

or whoever, and you know about it, answer it.

We couldn't do that, sir.

That would be a betrayal of trust.

Yeah, is nothing sacred, sir? We're shocked!

I would, sir,

and they would. They're taking the piss.

LOCKWOOD: England, you've been here too long,

and the songs you sing are the songs you sung

on a braver day.

Now...

they are wrong. Who's that?

DAKIN: Oh, Mr Irwin!

Don't you know, sir? No.

It's Stevie Smith of Not Waving But Drowning fame.

Well, don't tell me that's useless knowledge.

Listen, if you get an essay on post-imperial decline -

you're losing an empire, finding a role,

all that kind of stuff, a gobbet like that,

it's the perfect way to end it.

A what, sir?

A gobbet.

A quotation.

How much more stuff like this have you got up your sleeves?

We've got all sorts.

Hey, the train! The train!

THEY WHISTLE

I really meant to do it.

I stood there trembling, right on the edge.

But I couldn't.

I wasn't brave enough.

I should like to be able to say it was the thought

of you and the and the children that prevented me,

but it wasn't.

I had no thoughts at all.

Only an overwhelming desire

not to feel anything at all, ever again.

Not to be unhappy any more.

I went back into the refreshment room.

That's when I nearly fainted.

What is all this?

Shh!

Laura?

Yes, dear?

Whatever your dream was,

it wasn't a very happy one, was it?

No.

Is there anything I can do to help?

Fred, you always help.

You've been a long way away.

Thank you for coming back to me.

God knows why you've learned Brief Encounter.

CHEERING

I think you ought to know, this lesson's

been a complete waste of time.

Oh, a bit like Mr Hector's lessons then, sir.

They're a complete waste of time, too.

Yeah, you little smart arse.

But he's not trying to get you through an exam.

ALL: Oooh!

French Kiss?

I beg your pardon?

Newmarket, 3:00.

Dorothy.

Thank you, Stanley.

So, how are you finding them?

You've taught them too well.

They can't see it's a game.

History? Is it a game?

For an exam like this, yeah.

Dorothy...

Oh, fuck.

Dorothy.

Headmaster.

DOROTHY: I call him "the awful warning."

Who, Felix?

If you don't watch out,

he's what you turn into.

If this was a 1940s film,

he'd be played by Raymond Huntley.

Who?

He made a speciality of sour-faced judges

and vinegary schoolmasters.

Who would I be played by?

Dirk Bogarde?

I'm not sure I like that.

Dorothy.

Ah, Hector. The very man.

Chin up, Rudge. Hello.

Mrs Lintott.

Our lord and master, having grudgingly conceded

that art may have its uses,

I gather I'm supposed to give your Oxford and Cambridge boys

a smattering of art history.

Not my bag, Hazel. Irwin's your man.

It's really just the icing on the cake.

Is art ever anything else?

Michelangelo.

Well...

I suppose.

Who've you got?

Both nancies.

Are they?

These aren't women.

They're just men with tits.

And the tits look as if they've been

put on with an ice-cream scoop.

Do you like Turner, then?

All right.

Well, choose someone you do like.

Art's meant to be enjoyed.

In the long term, Miss, maybe, but with us,

enjoyment don't come into it.

We ain't got time to read the books.

We ain't got time to look at the pictures.

What we really need is lessons in acting,

cos that's what this whole scholarship thing is - an acting job.

So, have the boys given you a nickname?

Not that I'm aware of.

A nickname is an achievement,

both in the sense of something won

and also in its armorial sense of a badge, a blazon.

Unsurprisingly, I am Tott.

Or Totty.

Some irony there, one feels.

Hector has no nickname.

Yes, he has - Hector.

But he's called Hector.

That's his nickname, too.

He isn't called Hector, his name's Douglas.

Though the only person I've ever heard

address him as such is his somewhat unexpected wife.

Posner came to see me yesterday.

He has a problem.

No nickname, but at least you get their problems.

I seldom do.

POSNER: Sir...

I think I may be homosexual.

I love Dakin.

Does Dakin know?

Yes, and doesn't think it surprising.

Though Dakin likes girls, basically.

IRWIN: 'I sympathised,'

though not so much as to suggest I might be in the same boat.

With Dakin?

With anybody.

That's sensible.

One of the hardest things

for boys to learn is that a teacher is human.

One of the hardest things for a teacher to learn

is not to try and tell them.

POSNER: Is it a phase, sir?

Do you think it's a phase?

Some of the literature says it will pass.

I'm not sure I want it to pass.

But I want to get into Oxford.

If I do, Dakin might love me.

Or I might stop caring.

Do you look at your life, sir?

I thought everybody did.

I'm a Jew...

I'm small...

I'm homosexual...

and I live in Sheffield.

I'm fucked.

So, all this religion,

what do you do?

Go to church, pray.

Yes? So time-consuming.

You've no idea.

Yeah, what else?

Well...

It's what you don't do.

You don't not wank.

Jesus!

You're headed for the bin. It's not forever.

Well, just tell me on the big day, and I'll stand well back.

See, what bothers me is the more you read,

the more you see that literature is actually about losers.

No. Yeah.

It's consolation.

All literature is consolation.

I don't care what Hector says.

I find literature really lowering.

This is Irwin, isn't it?

A line of stuff for the exam.

No.

Well, it isn't wholly my idea.

I've been reading this book by "Knee-shaw".

Who?

Knee-shaw.

He's a philosopher.

Friedrich Knee-shaw.

I think that's pronounced Nietzsche.

Oh, shit.

Shit!

SCRIPPS: What's the matter?

DAKIN: I talked to Irwin about it,

and he didn't correct me.

He let me call him Knee-shaw.

He'll think I'm a right, fool. Shit!

What have I done?

Nothing. You've done nothing.

The world doesn't revolve around you, you know.

Ah, Irwin.

How are our young men doing?

Are they...on stream?

I think so.

You think so?

Are they or aren't they?

It still must be something of a lottery.

A lottery?

I don't like the sound of that, Irwin.

I don't want you to fuck up.

We've been down that road too many times before.

Oi!

He's coming.

BOYS CHEER

IRWIN: They took the lead off the roofs.

They used the timbers to melt it down, and time did the rest.

And all thanks to Henry VIII.

If you want to learn about Stalin, study Henry VIII.

If you want to learn about Mrs Thatcher, study Henry VIII.

While you and Dorothy are taking them through the history,

I'll pitch camp here. Though, Irwin,

I am constantly available for the provision

of useful quotations - sorry, gobbets - on request.

"Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet bird sang."

Remember, boys,

festoon your answers with gobbets,

and you won't go very far wrong.

IRWIN: Actually, singing was the least of it.

The monks were farmers, clothiers, tanners, tailors.

LOCKWOOD: This was the toilet, sir?

IRWIN: One of them.

A bit draughty on the bum.

That was the drain down there.

AKHTAR: Then they drank out of it?

Fucking Christians.

What about the Ganges? You're just as bad.

I'm Muslim, knob.

You all look alike to me, anyway.

So what was this, then - chapel?

No, it was a storeroom.

A barn.

All the produce would come in here.

You know it all, don't you?

It interests me.

Well, that's good.

It's good.

TIMMS: All-male community, was it, sir?

Of course, they were monks.

Bit of that, you think?

What?

Same-sex stuff.

You blushed, sir!

Have I fuck blushed?

Sir, this is consecrated ground.

AKHTAR: Not to me, sir.

To me, it's a pagan temple.

Only, you did blush a bit, sir.

LOCKWOOD: Is that why Henry VIII put the boot in then, sir,

cos of them bunking up?

IRWIN: That's what he said.

Not much else for them to do, though, was there?

I mean, in their time off.

POSNER: Pray?

LOCKWOOD: Hey, Posner would make a good monk.

Except he's Jewish.

CROWTHER: Do Jews have monks?

Yes, I'm one now.

TIMMS: In your own time, sir!

Pass the parcel.

That's, sometimes, all you can do.

Take it, feel it, and pass it on.

Not for me, not for you,

but for someone... somewhere...

one day.

Pass it on, boys.

That's the game I want you to learn.

Pass it on.

CLICK!

Hurry, up, please, hurry up.

Hector.

A word.

This is not the first time, apparently.

But on this occasion,

she managed to make a note of the number.

For the moment, I propose to say nothing about this.

But fortunately, it's not long before you're due to retire.

In the circumstances, I propose that we bring that forward.

I think we should be looking at the end of term.

Have you nothing to say?

"The tree of man was never quiet.

"Then 'twas the Roman,

"now 'tis I."

This is no time for poetry.

Um, I'm assuming your wife doesn't know.

I have no idea.

What women know or don't know has always been a mystery to me.

And are you going to tell her?

I don't know.

I'm not sure she'd be interested.

Well, um, there's another thing.

Strange how even the most tragic turn of events

generally resolve themselves

into questions about the timetable.

Irwin's been badgering me for more lessons.

In the circumstances,

a concession might be in order.

In future, I think you and he might share.

Share?!

Share.

In the meantime,

you must consider your position.

I do not want to sack you.

People talk,

and it's so...untidy.

It will be easier for all concerned if you retired early.

Look,

nothing happened.

HUSHED: A hand on a boy's genitals

at 50 miles an hour, and you call it nothing?!

The transmission of knowledge is in itself an erotic act.

In the Renaissance, for example...

Fuck the Renaissance!

And fuck literature and Plato

and Michelangelo and Oscar Wilde

and all the other shrunken violets

you people line up.

This is a school,

and it isn't normal.

Still here?

It is Wednesday, sir.

Yes, well, I thought with the day trip to Fountains and...

It's only 4.30pm.

Well, in that case, where's Dakin?

With Mr Irwin, sir.

Ah.

Of course.

He's showing him some old exam questions.

Yeah. With all the appropriate gobbets,

no doubt. Well, no matter.

We must keep up the fight without him.

What have we learned this week?

Drummer Hodge, sir. Hardy.

Ah, nice.

"They throw in Drummer Hodge to rest uncoffined,

"just as found.

"His landmark is a kopje-crest

"which breaks the veldt around

"and foreign constellations west each night above his mound.

"Young Hodge the drummer never knew,

"fresh from his Wessex home,

"the meaning of the broad Karoo,

"the Bush, the dusty loam,

"and why uprose to nightly views,

"strange stars amid the gloam,

"yet portion of that unknown plain will Hodge forever be.

"His homely northern breast and brain grow

"to some southern tree,

"and strange-eyed constellations

"reign his stars eternally."

Good.

Very good.

Any thoughts?

I wondered, sir,

if this "portion of that unknown plain

"will Hodge forever be" is like Rupert Brooke, sir?

"There's some corner of a foreign field

"in that dust, a richer dust concealed."

It is. It is.

It's the same thought.

Though Hardy is better, I think.

It's more...more...

well, down-to-earth.

Quite literally, down-to-earth.

Anything about his name?

Hodge?

The important thing is...he has a name.

Say Hardy's writing about the Zulu wars

or later, or...the Boer War, possibly,

and these were the first campaigns

when soldiers - common soldiers - were commemorated.

The names of the dead were recorded

and inscribed on war memorials.

Before this, soldiers - private soldiers -

were all... unknown soldiers.

And so far from being revered,

there was a firm in the 19th century

in Yorkshire, of course, which swept up their bones

from the battlefields of Europe

in order to grind them into fertiliser.

So, thrown into a common grave though he may be,

he's still Hodge the drummer.

Lost boy though he is, on the far side of the world...

..he still has a name.

How old was he?

If he was a drummer, he'd be a boy soldier,

not even as old as you, probably.

No. Hardy.

Oh, how old was Hardy?

Oh, um, when he wrote this... about 60.

My age, I suppose.

A saddish life, though not unappreciated.

"Uncoffined" is a typical Hardy usage.

It's a compound adjective formed

by putting "un" in front of the noun

or verb, of course.

Unkissed...

unrejoicing...

unconfessed...

..unembraced.

It...it's a turn of phrase

that brings with it a sense

of not sharing, being out of it.

Whether because of diffidence or shyness,

but holding back,

not being in the swim.

Can you see that?

Yes, sir.

I felt that a bit.

The best moments in reading

are when you come across something,

a thought a feeling, a way of looking at things,

that you'd thought special,

particular to you.

And here it is...

set down by someone else, a person you've never met.

Maybe even someone long dead.

And it...it's as if a hand has

come out... and taken yours.

Let's just have that last verse again, and I'll let you go.

"Yet portion of that unknown plain will Hodge forever be,

"his homely northern breast and brain grow

"to some southern tree,

"and strange-eyed constellations reign his stars eternally."

ENGINE REVS

HEADMASTER: Shall I tell you what is wrong with Hector as a teacher?

It isn't that he doesn't produce results - he does

but they're unpredictable and unquantifiable,

and in the current educational climate,

that is of no use.

I mean, there's inspiration, certainly,

but how do I quantify that?

And I happen to hear one child singing yesterday morning,

and on enquiry, I find that his pupils know all the words

of When I'm Cleaning Windows.

George Formby.

And Gracie Fields.

Dorothy, what has Gracie Fields

got to do with anything?

So, the upshot is...

I'm glad he handled his pupils' balls,

because that, at least, I can categorise.

It's the reason for his going

no-one can dispute.

You didn't know.

Not that, no.

I assumed you knew.

He handled the boy's balls?

I don't want to spell it out.

You've been married yourself.

You know the form.

And to be fair, I think it was more

appreciative than investigatory.

But it's inexcusable, nevertheless.

No, no, it's to everyone's benefit

that he should go as soon as possible.

LOCKWOOD: Sir...

Can I say something, sir?

Well, we've got the most important exam

of our lives coming up, sir,

and we just sat here reading literature.

HE CLEARS THROAT

Leaving that aside for the moment,

there's something I have to tell you.

We know all that, sir.

How do you know?

About sharing classes Mr Irwin, sir.

No, no, not that.

Why is that, sir?

It's a question of timetabling, apparently.

No, no, this is something else.

Does that mean your lessons

will be more like Mr Irwin's, sir?

More use, sir.

Less farting about?

Hush, boys, hush.

Can't you see I'm not in the mood?

DAKIN: What mood is that, sir?

The subjunctive?

The mood of possibility.

Get on with some work. Read.

That's what we're saying, sir.

There's no time for reading.

Can't you just give us the gist, sir?

Precis it, sir, like Mr Irwin does.

Just the outlines, sir, then we can pretend.

Pretend?!

No, no, no, sir.

That's what exams are for!

Will you shut up about these exams?!

Shut up, all of you!

What made me piss my life away in this godforsaken place?

There's nothing of me left.

Go away.

Go...

HE SOBS

Sir?

Sir?

Sir...

Would you like to start?

I don't mind.

How do you normally start?

It is your lesson.