The Holly and the Ivy (1952) - full transcript

[theme music]

Oh, Mrs. Moncrieff.

Yes?

Just one moment.

Oh it was freezing
in the park.

I'm longing for my tea.

Uh, could you tell
me yet whether you

will be here for Christmas?

Oh, dear, I hope not.

I do hope not.

Are there any letters for me?



Well, the afternoon
post has come in,

but I haven't had a
moment to sort it yet.

I wonder if you'd
mind just looking?

Certainly.

For 30 years, ever
since my husband died,

I've been living in hotels.

But I've never yet
spent a hotel Christmas.

Uh, the management
prides itself on creating

a family atmosphere here.

Oh, yes, but the--

it's never quite
the same, is it?

You see, I always go to
Norfolk, to my sister's.

But she died, poor
darling, in the spring.

So this year, I'm not quite
sure what will happen.



Your post, Mrs. Moncrieff.

Oh, thank you.

Oh.

[envelope tearing]

Arlington, eh?

I shall not be
here for Christmas.

What a lucky
old thing, Buggie.

You know, I'd give a lot to
live in the west of Ireland.

Why don't you come
over for Christmas, Dick?

We'd love to have you.

Oh, I'm sorry,
I'm afraid I can't.

Oh, what are you up to?

I always do the same
thing at Christmas.

I go and stay with
some cousins of mine

called Gregory in Norfolk.

Gregory?

That's an Irish name.

Yes, but you
wouldn't know him.

He's a parson.

They've got a little
place called Wyndenham.

[chuckles]

What you laughing at?

I was laughing at the
idea of you spending

Christmas at a vicarage.

[chuckles]

A bit incongruous, isn't it?

Well, I might have to spend
all my life at a vicarage.

I nearly went into the church.

What?

MAN: What?

When I was leaving school, my
father came to me and he said,

Dick, my boy, it's
time you made your mind

up what you're going to do.

Your mother and I have
been talking it over,

and we've come to
the conclusion you've

got a choice of two things--

soldier or clergyman.

Well, I thought it over,
and I said clergyman.

My father burst out laughing.

And then six months later,
I went to Sandhurst.

I met a girl called
Gregory the other night

at the Orchid Room, a
streamlined bit of work,

session expert or something.

Mm, that's it.

Now she's the daughter.

Matter of fact, I'm
driving her down.

Yes, this is the
Associated Fashion News.

Miss Gregory?

Who wants Miss Gregory?

Colonel Wyndham, I'm afraid
she's out at the moment.

Can I take a message.

I'm driving her down
to the country tomorrow.

I wanted to know
where to pick her up.

You don't know where I
could find here, do you?

Just a moment.
I'll look in her book.

I think she's at a dress show.

Yes, she is.

You can ring her
at Mayfair 8272.

Now this is definitely
a very dramatic dress

for a very special occasion.

Excuse me, is
Miss Gregory here?

She's wanted on the phone.

Oh, I'm sorry.

She isn't here.

Try her home.

As I was saying, the hoop
is attached to this dress.

It's very lovely.

[phone ringing]

Not going away for Christmas?

Oh, dear, why ever not?

I can't leave Blossom.

NEIGHBOR: Does
seem a shame you're

losing your Christmas holidays
just for the sake of a cat.

I suppose you wouldn't trust
him with me, would you?

With you?

You know, I believe I would.

Well, I'm only next door.

And you do so enjoy going to
your brother's for Christmas,

don't you?

I do, indeed.

They have a beautiful
house up there in Norfolk,

at that place called Wyndenham.

I'm very fond of it.

Oh, is he a
clergyman, you said?

Yes, he is.

This is my nephew.

He looks like a
clergyman's son, don't he?

I mean, he's nice-looking.

I better just stay
and see you over.

Yeah.

[clattering]

Hey!

You there.

Who's that?

Oh, hell.

Answer when you're spoken to!

Sir.

What's your name?

Gregory, sir.

Haven't you just put in
for the 48 for Christmas?

Yes, sir.

Well you've had it.

You'll be eating cold
meat here instead.

Now get down off that wall!

Well--

SERGEANT MAJOR:
Come on, jump to it!

Yes, sir.

[clattering]

[thud]

Come here.

You cut along home, ducks.

It's past your bedtime.
Go on, hop it.

You see you're going the
proper way this time.

And don't try those games again.

Yes, sir.

Please, sir?

Well, what is it?

About that pass, sir,
it's rather important I

should get home for Christmas.
- Oh, no it isn't.

You're in the Army now.

There's nothing
important about you.

Right, sir.
I want to see the major, please.

Well, you can't.

I thought there was an
ACI that said the man had

a right see the OC at any time.

Oh, I see, one of those
budding barrack room lawyers,

eh?

No wonder you're no good, son.

May I see the
major, please, sir?

Yes, you can see the major
all right-- tomorrow morning,

0900 hours, Battery Office.

You're not in charge!

Get.

Yes, sir.

Get moving.

[marching commands]

Gunner Gregory, sir.

10359 Gunner Gregory, M.

Sir.

You are charged under
Section 40 of the Army Act

in that after lights out,
you returned to the barracks

by climbing the barrack wall.

Well, Sergeant Major?

At 00 hours and 2
minutes this morning--

Let's have it in
English, Sergeant Major.

Yes, sir.

It was just after
midnight last night.

That's better.

Go on.

I found this man on top of
the wall, behind the cookhouse.

He had no late pass and admitted
he was climbing into barracks.

He was being assisted
by a young person, sir.

A young person?

A girl, sir.

Oh.

Is this true, Gregory?

Yes, sir.

- Is that all, Sergeant Major?
- No, sir.

Well, go on.

Well, I happen to remember
accused asked for the 48

for Christmas.

I told him he'd get it.

I beg your pardon, sir,
I mean, to forget it.

I thought that was sufficient.

Very lenient, Sergeant Major.

Yes, sir.

Well, why is he here?

He refused to
take my word, sir.

Asked to see the OC, behaved
in a very insubordinate manner,

and quoted AC Highs at me, sir.

That was very unwise
of you, Gregory.

Well, sir, I, um,
want to apply for leave

on compassionate grounds.

Reason?

MICHAEL GREGORY: Well,
sir, my mother's just died.

Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

When?

It was the last, um, May, sir.

But the point is--

Last May, 8 months ago?

You seem to think the Army's got
a very tender heart, Gregory.

Well, sir, the point is that,
you see, my father is a parson.

And you know--

Stay [inaudible]!

And so we've
always rather made

rather a thing about Christmas.

And this year, my sister's
got to cope on her own.

I said I'd tried to get back
and help her if I could.

Of course, it doesn't
really matter, sir.

No, it certainly
doesn't matter.

I have never had a less adequate
reason for compassionate leave.

I never heard such nonsense.

7-day CB.

[inaudible] short
and accused, left hand,

left rear, [inaudible].

[marching commands]

Mr. Young, sir, just a moment.

Any reason why I
shouldn't have it?

[paper tearing]

[whistle]

Oh, this will do.

This is the ride for Wyndenham?

Yes, ma'am.

Change at Norrie.

Thank you so much.

You have been kind.

Thank you.

Bridget.

Good gracious, how are you?

Oh, this is nice.

We can travel together.

Now come in here.

There's plenty of room.

Is it a corner seat?

Yes, look, you can sit there.

Oh, I'm third class.

Oh, it doesn't matter.

We can pay the guard.

Ah, no.

Oh, no, Bridget,
we must be together.

I'll pay.

No, thanks.

Oh, no, but Bridget, you
know, really, there's no need.

I prefer it here.

Oh, very well, then, I'll
have to come in with you.

Uh, porter-- porter, just bring
my things in here, please,

will you?

Oh, do you mind just
moving up just a little bit

so that I can sit down?

No, madam, not at all.

Looking very well in Seattle.

Oh, the castles
are [inaudible]..

[engine roars]

[MUSIC - "THE HOLLY AND THE
IVY"]

(SINGING) The holly bears a
bark as bitter as any gall.

And Mary bore sweet Jesus
Christ for to redeem us all.

And the rising of the sun
and the running of the deer.

The playing of the merry organ,
sweet singing in the choir.

The holly bears a berry
as red as any blood.

And Mary bore sweet Jesus
Christ for to redeem--

Jenny.

Hey, Jenny.

David.

You going to be long?

Nowhere near finished.

What time is it?

It's time you got home.

Aren't you expecting
swarms of relations?

Shh, listen.

[all singing]

(SINGING) The
holly and the ivy,

when they are both
full grown, of all

the trees that are in the wood,
the holly bears the crown.

Come on.

Don't you like carols?

They're all right.

[inaudible] talk with
you before the old canon.

Oh, there's no
more to be said.

Do you think I'm
putting too much frost?

A lot more to be
said, if you ask me.

Wait a minute.

It's so lovely.

[singing continues]

Strange how sound can
be so beautifully still.

Yeah, that's beautiful.

Come on, let's go [inaudible].

[chuckles] Give me a moment.

(SINGING) Sweet
singing in the choir.

The holly bears a berry
as red as any blood.

And Mary bore sweet Jesus
Christ, for to redeem us all.

Ooh!

[laughing]

[door closes]

Come here.

Darling.

My darling.

I suppose people who fall asleep
in the snow feel like this.

They know they've
got to keep awake.

But just for a
moment, they give up

the struggle because the
snow's so warm and cozy.

Never heard yet of anyone
freezing to death from a kiss.

No, but it's also
pointless, isn't it?

It gets us nowhere.

I know about that.

It's got a lot of people an
awful long way before now.

No, no, no, David, please.

[door opens]

[inaudible] that chain's broken.

Who are you
doing all this for?

You've got children
coming or what?

No, no children,
none of the people

we always have for Christmas.

Would you give it to me, please?

It's only what we always do.

Oh, and the bell.

Well, don't you like it?

Yes, it's pretty.

[chuckles] It's an
awful waste of time.

[laughs] I think you're mad--
stark, staring, raving mad.

Hey, come on down.

I want to talk to you.

David, I must
finish over here soon.

Jenny, I've heard.

It's all fixed.

David.

That's what I
came to tell you.

They want me to sail
at the end of January.

I've written to know will I'll
be taking my wife with me.

I told them yes.

David, you know
it's impossible.

You know I can't leave Father.

That's absurd.

Of course, you can.

Darling, it's not absurd.

There's no one else.

I must look after him.

Can't you understand that?

I must.

It's all nonsense.

Look, when it
comes to a conflict

between the children
and the parents,

it's the parents that
have to give way.

Otherwise, human
life couldn't go on.

You're talking like
a textbook, David.

Maybe I am, but you know me.

Not having the words alone
for saying these things,

but you know what I mean.

Look, what there is
between you and me is--

well, it's what the
whole of life depends on.

It's much too important
to be sacrificed

to the interests of the old.

That's why there's
always a conflict.

But this isn't a conflict.

This is what I feel
for someone I love.

Do you not love me too?

Well, then it's suicidal.

Look, you're 31 now.

It'll be another
five years before I

come back from South America.

You'll be 36 then.

That's middle-aged.

I know.

Look, Jenny--

I shouldn't have said that.

It's not true, anyway.

36 is nothing.

I'm 34 myself.

[chuckles]

Look, there's
nothing to worry about.

I'll have a word
with your father.

No, David, you mustn't.

Well, why not?

He's a reasonable man.

He wouldn't expect--

Well, of course he wouldn't.

But you don't understand.

That's the whole point.

If Daddy knew about you and
me, he wouldn't ask me to stay.

However much he wanted me
to, he wouldn't let me stay.

That's why he mustn't
know about us at all.

You won't tell him,
will you promise?

[door closes]

Oh, oh, good gracious.

Daddy.

I've been asleep.

What time is it?

It's nearly 6:00.

Oh, good gracious,
are you sure?

Oh, hello, David.

What is it, Daddy?

Are you all right?

Yes, I'm all right, just
a bit giddy for a moment.

I woke with a start, you
see, thinking I'd forgotten

all about the children.

What children?

The infants that are
having their Christmas treat.

Well, you needn't go, surely.

You're not well enough.

If I'm not well enough to do
my work, I'd better give up.

That's all.

I'll get your coat.

Well, how about you, David?

Have you heard anything yet?

Aye, it's all fixed.

I'm to sail at the
end of January.

Oh, you're a lucky fellow.

You know, I always wanted
to go to South America,

ever since I was a boy.

When I was first ordained, I
made up my mind to go there,

as a missionary, you know.

But it never came off.

No, I-- I never meant
to stay puttering

about in England all my life.

Ah, well, there you are.

But South America has
always had a fascination

for me, ever since I
first read Prescott,

"The Conquest of Peru."

Aw, that's a wonderful book now.

Have you read it?

No, I can't say that I have.

Well, it's about the
place here, somewhere.

You know where it is, Jenny,
the big, fat red book?

I won it as a prize
for Latin verses

when I was at school at Dublin.

You know, that was the
first time I realized

the size of human history.

It's all about the
Incas, you know,

remarkable people, the
Incas, great mathematicians,

sun worshippers, and--

and the first to discover the
value of guano as a manure.

Is that so?

Yes, you should tell
your father about that.

He'd be interested,
being a farmer.

Glasses, darling.

Hm.

Guano is a deposit of seabirds.

It's found all
down those coasts.

The Incas were the
first to discover

its value, a great,
civilized people, the Incas.

Now there's scarcely
a trace of them left.

All vanished, all
except the guano trade.

That's a big, modern industry.

Well, I'm going out
there to build aerodromes.

Aerodromes, now
people want aerodromes.

You know, I often think it
must very pleasant to be

doing something people want.

That's the worst
of being a parson.

Nobody wants you.

Well, at least they
do and they don't.

If you don't go
near them, they say,

here am I. I'd been in
the place six months,

and the parson
never comes near me.

And if you do go, they
say, what's he want to come

poking his nose in here for?

And you'd better go,
darling, if you're going.

Oh, yes.

Here, here, you want a
torch for coming back.

Hm.

Her mother was just the
same, you know, David.

I don't know what
I'd do without her.

Have we whiskey in
the house for Richard?

Yes.

Leave it out on the side
where he can help himself.

Darling, it's so
frightfully expensive.

We can't have Richard
helping himself

whenever he feels like it.

We can't have people here
then if we can't afford

to entertain them properly.

Have you got your galoshes on?

Yes, yes, yes,
I've got them on.

Would you-- would you
care for a glass, David?

DAVID: No, thank you, sir.
- Darling, you must go.

You don't want to be
out when they all come.

No, that's true.

When's Margaret coming?

Uncle Richard's
driving her down.

You-- you haven't met
my younger daughter,

have you, David?

She-- we don't see her
very often now, of course.

She's a journalist you know,
writes articles on fashions

for the ladies' magazines.

Like, you wouldn't
think that would

be an interesting
subject, would you now?

But it's an extraordinary thing.

I find myself enthralled reading
about the autumn collections.

The trouble they take
now with the silhouette,

I had no idea of it,
hip lines, waistlines.

It's almost a
branch of engineering.

Ah, it is, and
Margaret's an expert.

Darling, you must go.

Going, I've gone.

[door closes]

You see?

Aye.

[door slams]

Look, what about
this sister of yours?

Why can't she come home?

She won't.

Why not?

She just won't.

She's got her job and
her friends in London.

What about your aunt?

You haven't met
Aunt Lydia, have you?

Is that the old
Irish [inaudible]??

No, that's Aunt Bridget.

She's Daddy's sister.

Aunt Lydia is Mommy's sister.

She's rather grand and strange.

She's the widow of
a king's messenger.

He died when they'd only
been married a few years.

And ever since, she's
gone about feeling she has

a special understanding of men.

It's no use.

I'm the only one.

I've got to stay.

You could find him a
housekeeper, couldn't you?

I mean, it's not such a terrible
thing for a man to live alone,

is it?

Well, it's always
worse for a parson.

He can't do the
most ordinary things

simply because he is a parson.

For instance, he can't just drop
into the pub in the evenings

when he's bored for company.

People don't want him.

Of course not.

A pub's no place for a parson.

No, but it's the same wherever
he goes, whatever he does.

People just don't
feel free to behave

naturally when he's there.

Yeah, I know what you mean.

There's an awkwardness.

I noticed it myself in
the railway carriages.

Everyone stops talking for a
moment when a parson gets in.

Aw, that's just it.

A parson's sort of
set apart, isolated.

It's a difficult situation.

I see that.

But I don't see why it
should all fall on you.

Look, that sister of
yours must take her turn.

I told you, she won't.

I suppose being older, I've
always felt more responsible.

And you'd feel that more
being the homemaking type.

You don't really
know me, do you?

When we were small,
I was always the one

that wanted to get away.

Margaret was a stay-at-home.

Somehow, it hasn't
worked out like that.

I'm sure if you'd
told her about you

and me, she'd help
you out a bit.

I mean, she's been knocking
around London all these years.

She's had plenty of
opportunity to pick up a man.

You've managed
that for yourself,

even though you are stuck
away in the country.

Why, that gives you a sort
of biological priority.

I'm sure if we asked her,
she'd give you a break.

I'll ask her.

But I don't think
it'll be any use.

Well, you're not going to
let everything depend on her,

surely?

It does, I'm afraid.

It just does.

Now this is the sort
of job I've had in mind

ever since I started to qualify.

Nearly 20 years,
ever since I was 14,

I've been working
towards a job like this.

But if I have to choose between
it and you, it's no use to me.

Jenny, [sighs] look, I
don't mean to upset you.

[whistling]

[door closes]

[gong sounds]

Hello, hello, hello.

Anybody there?

Well, hello, chums.

Mick, I thought you
couldn't get leave.

Oh, I wrangled it, 48
hours, compassionate.

What do you mean,
"compassionate"?

Well, the Army is very
sentimental at Christmas.

Hello, David.
- Hello, Mick.

How did you fix it?

Well, I went to see the
major and pitched a tale.

That's one small
advantage of being Irish.

I told him me mother had died.

Me father's getting old.

And me little sister--

oh, you want to see
me little sister.

She's wonderful.

She's, um-- she's
bravely struggling

to keep things going.

And she-- she wants
us all home this year,

because maybe it's
the last Christmas

we'd all spent together
in the old home.

It worked like magic.

Almost swear when
I finished, there

were tears in the major's eyes.

England won't go far wrong,
Gregory, as long as men see

like you do about the whole.

Oh, Mick, you're
oh, how could you?

Why, what's wrong?

It's all true, isn't it?

Not a word of it's true. i
don't feel like that a bit.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I supposed I'm being silly.

I expect it's all right, really.

Look, will you and
David finish putting

up the holly and [inaudible].
I finished it over here, see?

Well, what's the
matter with her?

She's worried about
your father, I think.

He wasn't very well just now.

No, and he never seems
to be well these days.

And what about this
darn holly, eh?

I don't know.

We should get that
up here on the chair.

Right.

[holly rustling]

You go to that
side of the room.

I'll do this.

Well, let's stick it
behind the pictures,

any way we can get it to stay.

It's a strange
thing, but I find

all these Christmas decorations
peculiarly depressing.

Yes, it is depressing.

I can't bear Christmas.

I used to like it as a
child, but now it's--

well, as you say,
it's depressing.

What's the matter with
my father, do you know?

He's been giddy for
a moment, that's all.

MICK: He ought to
retire, you know.

I gather he can't afford to.

Oh, it's not that.

He could, but he won't.

I'm the trouble, really.

Are you?

Oh, he wants me
to go to Cambridge,

and that costs money.

I'm not the type to
get scholarships.

Anyway, I've got a year
to do in the Army first.

That means at least four more
years for him in this place.

I don't want to kill him.

So for me it's not worth it.

Anyway, I'm not sure if I
want to go to Cambridge.

Oh, there's a
lot of advantages

to be had from a university
education, you know?

By me?

No, no, I'm not the type.

No use telling him that, though.

You probably can't realize
what it's like to have

a parson as a father.

If you're not careful,
you get involved in a kind

of perpetual pretense.

Jenny seems to do all right.

Jenny, oh, yeah.

Margaret doesn't, though.

Is that why she doesn't
come home much these days?

That's my guess.

I can't think of
any other reason.

Come to think of
it, Jenny's always

just a special sort of person.

If course, Margaret's
remarkable, but Jenny's--

I know what you mean.

Jenny's got a sort
of natural magic.

MICK: Hm.
[doorbell ringing]

That'll be the aunts.

MICK: Oh.

Will you let them in, Mick?
MICK: Yes, of course.

Oh, wait a second.
Get rid of this holly.

Put it in the hall.

What about the ladder?

Yes, put it away.

You know where it goes.

Sorry.

[thump]

[door opens]

Siberia, it's like Siberia.

Did you forget we
were coming or what?

Mick, dear, how
nice to see you.

I didn't think you'd be here.

Let me take that.

What do you hang
around here for?

I thought you'd be
overseas be now?

How nice you look
in your uniform, Mick.

Don't you think it
suits him, Bridget?

Jenny, darling!

I prefer the Naval
uniform, meself.

Be careful with that one.

There's breakables in it.

It'll be $7.06, sir.

Right.

Oh, what a journey.

We are frozen.

We've been traveling
across Russia,

all those miles and
miles of frozen land

and government pine forests.

And the heating in the
carriage seemed to have jammed.

Do you know it's exactly
like I imagined Russia to be.

No, wait, I want to look at you.

You're tired, darling.

You've been doing too much

Hello, Aunt Bridget.

How are you?

Oh, I'm all right, thanks.

Who's this?

Oh, - I'm sorry, this is a
friend of ours, David Paterson.

How do you do?

Oh, how do you do?

That's a terrible habit
not introducing people.

Are you staying in
the house or what?

No, I just took a
walk over, that's all.

My people have a
farm down the road.

Come see your rooms.

I expect you're tired.

Oh, I'll just stay and
thaw for a moment, darling.

I'm frozen to the bone.

Jenny, what are
all those ducks doing

walking about in the garden?

Are they meant to be there?

Oh, yes, they're all right.

You don't eat
ducks' eggs do you?

Don't you know they're poison?

A whole lot of people died
in Lincolnshire the other day

from eating ducks' eggs.

It was all in the papers.

Could you put them
in the [inaudible]??

Oh, they're all right.

We've used them for years.

What am I going to do?

I won't be [inaudible] thing.

Isn't Jenny a darling?

I'm so fond of her.

She was so splendid all
through my sister's illness.

And now I think she's
quite wonderful, the way

she looks after her father.

Don't you?

Aye, she's wonderful
all right, a bit

too wonderful, if you ask me.

Too wonderful?

What do you mean?

Well, in my opinion, carries
self-sacrifice a bit too far.

Oh, I see.

Oh, I'm so glad, so very glad.

You're in love with
her, aren't you?

No, no, no, no, don't tell me.

There's no need.

I can see it in your face.

It's written all over you.

Oh, I'm so glad, darling Jenny.

You know, I was so afraid her
being at home might mean--

Are you not rather
jumping to conclusions?

Well, I'm not wrong, am I?

Don't tell me that I'm wrong.

[chuckles] No,
no, of course not.

I'm never wrong
about these things.

I always know.

Well, that must be a wee bit
disconcerting for your friends.

You're not offended, are you?

No, but we haven't
announced anything yet.

The engagement's not
been made public.

Yes, but I'm not the public.

Secrets of that sort are
perfectly safe with me.

Oh, I do congratulate you.

Jenny is such a darling.

This is right, absolutely right.

You're cut out for each other.

I can always tell.

Oh, you're psychic or what?

Oh, what a delicious
Scottish voice.

My husband was Scottish,
you know, from Argyllshire.

And ever since my
marriage, I've always felt

myself to be Scottish in a way.

What part of Scotland
do you come from?

Not far from Aberdeen.

And what do you do?

I'm an engineer.

Oh, I'm afraid that
means nothing to me.

I always said that engineering
is a little inhuman, somehow.

It's people that count.

After all, it isn't
petrol and oil that

make the world go round, is it?

[door closes]

What am I going to do?

Is there a train back to London?

But Aunt Bridget,
really, we've all

eaten ducks' eggs for 20 years.

That makes no difference.

I don't see why I
should be made to eat

ducks' eggs if I don't want to.

[horn honking]

Hello, Richard.

- Hello, Mick, how are you?
- Let me take that.

Thank you.

Tell me, do you
know [inaudible]??

Oh, wait up.

Terrible, the
way it does that.

Brrr.

Come in now.

Brrr, it's cold.

Jenny, my dear, how are you?

Oh, this is Colonel
Wyndham, David Paterson.

How do you do, sir?

How do you do?

Where's Margaret?

Oh, she's not coming.

Not coming?

Why not?

Well, she's not feeling very
well, a touch of flu, I think.

So she thought she
ought to stay put.

Oh, dear.

Daddy will be so disappointed.

He's been so much looking
forward to seeing her.

Well, she sent you
her love and wished

you all a happy Christmas.

Bridget.

Well, I think I'll
be getting along.

All right, David.

I'll take a walk
over tomorrow sometime.

Goodbye, David.

[kiss]

Good night, Jenny.

[door opens, closes]

Well, Bridget's still
flying off the handle.

I must be always [inaudible]
at people like that.

[laughs] Lydia,
how's the headache?

Headache?

I haven't got a headache.

Nonsense, you've
always got a headache.

Jenny, darling, he's
charming, absolutely charming.

Oh, I'm so glad.

RICHARD WYNDHAM: Jenny,
is that your boyfriend?

Why didn't you tell me?

I had no idea of that.

Congratulations.

What on earth do you mean.
Aunt Lydia?

What's David been telling you?

He had no right to say anything.

He didn't.

I guessed.

Somehow I always
know these things.

Darling, he's right for
you, absolutely right.

You know, Jenny, I
always thought you'd

never get married like meself.

No, now listen,
please, all of you.

You're not to say a word
about this to anyone.

You understand?
Not to anyone.

Is he married already or what?

In a month's time,
David has to go abroad.

He'll be away five years.

Naturally, I want
to go with him.

But we can't be married
until I can find someone who

can come and look after Father.

That's the way it was with me.

There was I stuck
looking after me mother

till I was 45 and [inaudible].

In my opinion, parents
have no right to batten

on their children like that.

[door closes]

Well, now, I--

[chuckles] I'm sorry to
be out when you came.

How are you, Lydia?

Martin, dear, how are you?

Bridget, I'm sorry to be out.

Well, Richard.

Hello, Martin.

Plus Mick!

Hi, Dad.

I thought you
couldn't get leave.

He went--

RICHARD WYNDHAM: Just him.

Well, now that's
splendid, splendid.

Where's Margaret?

She's not coming, Daddy.

Not coming?

But I thought you were
driving her down, Richard.

She's got flu.

Oh, that'll be
awkward for her.

Did you see her this morning?

Yes.

MARTIN GREGORY: Was she in bed?

No, no, when I saw her, she
was already dressed to come.

But she wasn't feeling very
well and thought perhaps

she better not.

Oh.

Well, now, I think I'll
just give her the ring

and see how she is.

No, I wouldn't do
that if I were you.

You wouldn't?
Why not?

Well, she's all
by herself there.

She might be asleep.

[click]

Well now, Richard, will you--

would you try one of these?

Thank you, I will.

What are they?

There, now let's see
what they call them.

Romeo y Julietta,
Tobacos sabinos superbos.

Well, that should
be all right, eh?

[laughs]

The only trouble is
they may be a wee bit dry.

One of my church wardens gave
them to me two years ago.

They got mislaid in my desk.

Hm, that desk, we were
excavating it the other day.

You know we found over
1,000 old sermons in it?

RICHARD WYNDHAM: Great Scot.

Oh, it's not
such a great number

when you come to think of it.

Morning and evening,
every Sunday,

that's 52 Sundays in the year.

You get through over
1,000 in 10 years.

You know, since
I was ordained, I

must have written enough
sermons to fill 150 books.

And I doubt if anyone's
paid the slightest

attention to one of them.

Martin, dear,
I'm sure they have.

I shall always remember
one you preached

soon after my Philip died.

"And the man that stood
among the myrtle trees

answered and said,
these are they

whom the Lord have sent to walk
to and fro through the earth."

[sighs] I shall
always remember that

because of the myrtle trees.

I was desperately unhappy.

It was such a help to me.

Well, I'm glad, my dear.

I'm glad.

Now Richard, how's it going?

[door opens]

MARTIN GREGORY: [inaudible]

RICHARD WYNDHAM: Oh, yes, he
must've looked [inaudible]..

You know, he's in Dublin.

He came over at about
the same time that I did.

[indistinct chatter]

He had an idea to do well
and bring over extra horses

and hire them to [inaudible]

MARTIN GREGORY: [chuckles]

[drink pouring]

RICHARD WYNDHAM:
Cease the opportunity.

You had always had a flare,
Martin, for business.

[indistinct chatter]

[door opens]

Margaret, what on
earth are you doing here?

I've just been telling
him some darn story

about your having flu.

And then as soon
as you were gone,

I couldn't stand it
alone in the flat.

Oh, dear [inaudible].

When I came in here just
now and saw this room again,

I heard them all
talking in there.

Suddenly, I felt I
couldn't stand this either.

Well, what on
earth do you want?

I don't know.

That's the trouble.

Come on, pull
yourself together.

All right, I'll go
up to my room first.

[door opens]

Margaret.

Yes, it's me.

Look who's here.

Who?

BRIDGET: My child, I'm
delighted to see you.

Oh, Margaret, what
a pleasant surprise.

Come and sit down.
- Let me take your coat.

JENNY: Have you had
anything to eat?

Yes.

How-- how you
feeling now Margaret?

Wouldn't you-- wouldn't
you be better in bed?

I don't think so.

Well, I guess it
wasn't flu after all.

Oh, but you're looking
a bit pale, you know.

You-- you've been overworking,
that's what it is.

Are you cold?

A little.

It's a cold night.

You better take
a glass of whiskey.

Ah, now Jenny, we
forgot all about it.

Richard never had any
whisky with his dinner.

We-- we got this out
especially for you.

RICHARD WYNDHAM: That's
all right, Martin.

Here you are now, my dear.

No, thank you, Father.

Oh, come now, Margaret,
it won't do any harm.

Drink it up.

It'll do you good.

Didn't you hear me
say, no, thank you?

And she's refusing whiskey.

Here, let me have it.

I'll drink it.

Thank you.

How bitter the holly smells.

Holly?

I didn't know it had a smell.

Yes, In the stalks
when you break it.

You know, it's in the
cattle, bitter as any gall.

"And Mary bore sweet Jesus
Christ for to redeem us all."

I always think Christmas is
the loveliest of the festivals.

You know I hate it?

LYDIA: Martin, why?

Ah, the brewers and the retail
traders have got hold of it.

It's all eating and drinking and
giving each other knickknacks.

Nobody remembers
the birth of Christ.

But Christmas morning--

there's something about
Christmas morning.

In a vicarage, with
services at 6 o'clock onwards.

There's not morning at all.

No, but the first
moment when you wake up .

Somehow, I don't
know why I always

know it's Christmas morning.

It's as if during the
night while you were asleep

something had happened.

You even expect the world to
look as different as it feels.

And you lie there, taking
it in and realizing.

And it seems strangest of all
that it's Christmas everywhere.

Of all the sermons
in the year, the one

on Christmas morning I dislike.

Nobody wants to hear you.

They're all fidgeting
in their pews, longing

to be back home basting
the Christmas goose.

There's no time
to be telling them

anything, anything important.

Ah, for all that, I must
write mine for the morning.

Your coffee, darling.

Hm?

There'll be all
evening, [inaudible]??

No.

Ah.

Well, I'm just going to
get on with the washing up.

No, not tonight,
darling, you're tired.

Stay here in the warmth.

Can I be of any help

JENNY: No, thank you,
Auntie dear, you stay here.

You can't go on
leaving everything

like this to your sister.

Look at all she does, running
this great house without any

help and cooking all the meals.

Generous, mind that.

She's the domestic type.

What type do you
consider yourself?

One regards oneself as an
individual, Aunt Bridget.

Types are the people.

[door opens]

The aunts say you're
fed up with being at home.

[plates clatter]

That's not true, is it?

Why shouldn't it be true?

Then it is.

You are fed up.

Well, no, not exactly.

Of course, it's a
preposterously inconvenient

house.

But I always thought
you liked being here.

So I do very much in
a way, but it's a bit

limiting, particularly when--

oh, we can't talk about it.

I'll tell you later.

What is all this?

It's perfectly simple.

I-- I want to get
married, that's all.

Oh, darling, who?

Anyone I know?

He's called David Paterson.

He's an engineer.

I expect you'd
think him very dowd.

Why should I?

Oh, I don't know.

What's it matter anyway?

Point is, he's got a
job in South America.

He sails in a month's
time, and naturally, I

want to go with him.
- And what's to prevent you?

And who's to look after Daddy?

How can I leave him
with just anyone?

Because I know the
ideal solution for him.

What?

With you.

Margaret, couldn't you come
home for a little while?

You're such a special
person to him.

It would make all
the difference.

I'm sorry.

That's out of the question.

[plates clatter]

You say it so immediately.

Pick, like that.

It's done with.

Life has to be very easy
for people like you.

It's always easier than
people like you make it.

You have grown
hard, haven't you?

How'd this happen to you?

You've changed.

You never used to be like this.

You must know you've changed.

Of course, what do you expect?

Life does change people.

Why do you never come home?

Now after Mother died,
I made sure you'd try.

Because I don't belong
here anymore, as you say.

I've changed.

Maggie, you're
not happy, are you?

Who is?

JENNY: Oh, plenty of people.

Perhaps if they're
stupid enough.

Why must you always
crackle like ice?

What's happened to make you
seem all frozen over inside?

You're like someone out
of a Hans Anderson story,

the frozen queen who went down
to the gardens of the dead.

What has happened?

Oh, do tell me.

All right, I'll tell you.

You remember Bob?

Your American?

My American, yes.

But I thought he
was killed right

back in the middle of the war.

Yes, he was
killed, quite killed.

I loved him very much.

They-- they found his
body, what was left of it.

Oh, darling, you should
have come home for a bit.

You needn't have even have
told us anything about it.

But you should've come.

I was pregnant.

It was all rather difficult. I
didn't quite know what to do.

It was just about
then that Mother

was ill for the first time.

You remember?

I couldn't very
well tell anyone.

You could have told me.

Yes, I suppose I could.

I didn't see too
much point in that.

Luckily, I was away
in London at the time.

So I thought I'd better
get on with it by myself.

How awful for you.

Oh, no it wasn't too bad
once I'd made up my mind.

But darling, what happened?

Were you all right?

Yes, quite all right.

It was a boy.

I called him Simon.

I don't know why.

If only I'd known.

Of course, I see it all now.

But it was a-- it was a
bit of a problem at first.

That's why I went to live
with Sally and Christopher

in Highgate.

They had a nanny for the twins.

She looked after Simon as well.

It left me free to get
a job in the daytime.

Well, now you see why
I never wanted to stay

very long when I did come home.

I was always wanting
to get back to Simon.

Yes, of course.

Oh, Mag, darling,
it's wonderful.

I'm dying to see him.

How old is he now?

He would've been
five last September.

Would have been?

He died last
year of meningitis.

Oh.

(CRYING) Well, there it is.

Now you know.

Meningitis?

And he was under four?

When I was in hospital,
I heard a child once.

Well, how unpleasant for you.

But Margaret, darling,
I don't quite understand.

Simon was the reason for
your not coming home,

but now there's no
reason left you.

Of course, there is.

I couldn't stand the pretense.

Why [inaudible]?

Oh, because Father thinks
that I'm someone I no longer am.

Does it make so
much difference?

Well-- well,
nothing's left the same.

It's-- well, it's--
it's not numbness.

It's not despair.

It's a-- it's a sort of clarity.

[chuckles] Not
like yours, though.

Of course, a bit, I
don't feel or think

as I used to about anything,
even little ordinary things,

like Christmas
decorations and holly.

Oh, don't you see, if I came
back and lived with Father,

I should [inaudible]
all the time,

pretending to be
like I used to be.

No, it would be an impossible,
unbearable situation.

The only solution
would be to tell him.

I couldn't do that, could I?

Couldn't you?

No.

No, I suppose you couldn't.

At least-- no, I don't
really see how you could

without upsetting him.

Exactly.

That's the trouble.

He'd see it as a moral
issue, but I don't.

Yeah.

Besides, the whole thing's
over and done with now.

Over and done with?

What nonsense that is.

Yes.

You think so?

Just at the moment, Yes.

[inaudible]

[music - "good king wenceslas]

(SINGING) Hither
page and stand by me,

if thou knowest in telling.

Yonder peasant, who is he?

Where and what his dwelling?

Sire, he lives a
good league hence

underneath the mountain, right
against the forest fence,

by St. Agnes' fountain.

Bring me flesh and bring
me wine, bring me pine

logs hither.

Thou and I will see him dine
when we bear them thither.

Page and monarch
forth they went, forth

they went together, through
the rude wind's wild lament

and the bitter weather.

Sire, the night is darker now,
and the wind blows stronger.

Fails my heart--

I've just been telling Jenny.

About Simon?

How did she take it?

Very well.

There's a lot to
be said for Jenny.

Margaret, you must
leave that alone.

We have to get through
the evening somehow.

Yes, but not that way.

How else?

Well, if you're going
to start drinking,

you much better have
stayed in London.

I'm sorry.

I suppose I'm being
rather a bore.

[chuckles] Well,
you are, rather.

And that's the
trouble with drunks.

They are bores.

I'm not a drunk.

Well, you're well on
the way to becoming one.

Oh, nonsense, Richard.
Don't be silly.

All right, perhaps
not just yet.

But how many times
in the last two years

have you gone home
really sober, having

spent the evening drinking with
people who bore you to tears?

Why?

You know perfectly well why.

Why do you bother about me?

[sighs] I have to.

I'm your godfather.

[chuckles] How
strange you are.

I believe you take
this godfather

business quite seriously.

Well, why not?

I wonder why my parents ever
chose you to be a godfather.

You don't even believe
in God, or do you?

What's it matter to
you what I believe in?

It does matter.

Why?

Because I think perhaps
what you can believe in,

I could believe in too.

Tell me, seriously,
do you believe in God?

No.

I thought not, uh-huh.

There it is.

[door swings open]

I'd say we're in
for a jolly evening,

two hours of cozy yuletide.

Can't you feel it
closing in on us?

Mick, let's get out of here.

Let's go to the pictures.

OK, suits me.

Come on, then, quick.

If you miss the beginning,
I don't suppose the film

will be any good anyway.

Never mind, escape,
the foundation

of all entertainment.

[chuckles] [inaudible]
it's a flea bit.

MARGARET: [chuckles]

[door closes]

I'm frozen to the
bone in this house.

We've been talking about
you and your dear David.

Come by the fire, Aunt
Bridget and keep warm.

No, thank you.

I'll sit away from the fire.

I don't want to suffer meself.

Listen, darling, we've been
over it all most carefully.

And we've come to the conclusion
that there's only one solution.

What's that Aunt Bridget?

Your father ought to retire.

Well, I don't know what
they'll make of it all,

I'm sure.

But I'm going to
tell them something

about the ancient origins
of their Christian customs.

Ah, very interesting.

You know why you put holly
on the walls of Christmas?

Something to do with
the Druids, isn't it?

No, that's the mistletoe.

It goes right back to the old
nature worship, the struggle

between the holly and the ivy.

There's a lot about
it here in this book.

The holly was the young man,
and the ivy was the girls.

It was the struggle
between them as

to who should rule the house.

I know who rules
in this house.

Come and sit down,
darling, her in the warm.

Where are the other two?

They've gone out.

On Christmas Eve?

Gone out?

They've gone for pictures.

To the pictures?

I didn't know there was
anything interesting on.

[pages turning]

How quiet it is.

It's the snow, Aunt Lydia.

It muffles everything.

[laughing]

What's the joke, Martin?

Oh, it was just something that
tickled me here, that's all.

In the Middle Ages, they had
a Feast of Fools at Christmas.

It seems they got a
bit rowdy at times.

And in 1444, the
cathedral chapter of sins

laid down a regulation
that "not more

than three buckets of
water could be thrown

over a curate at vespers."

[laughing]

But Martin, why do they do
all these extraordinary things

at Christmas?

Well, nobody knows why.

One theory is it goes
back to the days when

they were making the calendar.

They put even the extra
days between the lunar

and the solar year.

And when they put
them in, they felt

they were queer sort of days
that didn't really exist,

days on which
anything might happen.

How strange.

I used to feel rather
like that about Christmas

when I was a child.

I remember how wonderful it
was seeing the snow outside,

finding our Christmas
stockings, and all day long,

a strange sort of excitement.

And then in the
evening, downstairs

in the drawing room, dark
green and glittering,

the Christmas tree.

Somehow Christmas never
seems quite the same now.

Ad one gets older, the magic
seems to go out of things.

[clock chimes]

10 o'clock.

I'll put the kettle on.

I expect the others
will be back soon.

I'll come and help you.

Martin.

Yes, Lydia, dear.

Martin, dear, Bridget
and I have been talking.

And we can't help
feeling that perhaps

the time has really
come when you ought

to begin to think of retiring.

Nonsense.

I have several years
ahead of me yet.

Of course, you have, Martin,
dear, that's just the point.

Why not have them to yourself?

What about my work?

Or perhaps you don't think
that's very important.

I do.

Of course, I do.

And I know how splendid you are.

You've given yourself completely
to the people of this place.

Don't you know, I
doubt if half of them

have the faintest conception
of what I'm here for.

They think I'm paid
to marry them and bury

them and sign their pension
papers for them, just

like a civil servant.

I should have thought a little
country town like this was just

the sort of place where
the parson still does

have a great deal of influence.

Well, you'd think
so, wouldn't you?

And that's what I
thought when I came.

There's the church,
a great 14th century

church standing up there
in the middle of the town.

It's the center of the
place, architecturally.

It should be the center of
the place spiritually too.

But it's not, no.

A little tin pot shack of a
cinema they've gone to tonight

has more influence on the lives
of people here than the church.

I think the clergy have no
one but themselves to blame.

They're a lazy lot.

Oh, but you can't
say that about Martin.

No one could have worked harder.

Martin, dear, you
deserve a rest.

You can't go on forever.

Oh, nonsense, I'd be
nothing without me work.

But you have so
many interests.

Look how you enjoy
poking in your old books.

[scoffs]

Poking in old books wouldn't
be enough to make sense of me

life.

It's kind of you to
bother about me, but I--

I'd rather carry on while I can.

That's all very
fine and large.

You've not only
yourself to think about.

There's Jenny too.

Jenny?

What's Jenny to do with it?

It's no life for a
girl to be stuck away

here looking after an old man.

It's time she got away
and led a life of her own.

She's perfectly free
to go if she wants to.

Yes, but Martin, is she?

Jenny.

Jenny, what's this your
Aunt Bridget's been saying?

You're feeling that you
want to get away from here?

Oh, Aunt Bridget, really?

We've only been
trying to persuade

your father he ought to retire.

Oh, it's no use
talking about that.

But tell me, Jenny--

[door closes]

You're just in time for tea.

MARTIN GREGORY: Ah, come
and sit down, Margaret.

LYDIA: Come and get
warm, you look frozen.

BRIDGET: Some people put
films before family, I see.

Come here in the
warm now, no nonsense.

Well, Richard,
had a cozy evening?

Your gardens of the
dead are here tonight

with a vengeance, Jenny.

It's like walking over
the surface of the moon.

The snow is too pale.

[thud]

Jenny, lend me a hand.

RICHARD WYNDHAM: Oh.

Oh, she should never have
gone out in the cold like that.

Before where we know where
we are, that flu of hers

will be turning to pleurisy.

She's drunk, Martin.

That's what it is.

She's drunk.

MICK: (SINGING DRUNKENLY) The
holly and the ivy, when they

are both full grown, of
all the [inaudible] that

are in the wood, the
holly bears a crown.

We just passed the carol
singers over at David, uh--

what's his name, David?

You know, Jenny's boyfriend?

And go on, Bridget.

Had a nice evening.

Disgusting.

Ugh.

Good night, Martin, dear.

Oh, good night.

Good night.

A rather good bit of luck.

I saw rather a good film.

"Nanook of the North,"
all about Eskimos.

Of course, it's old,
but it was really very--

You've not been
near the cinema.

Why don't you tell the truth?

The truth?

You can't be told the truth.

That's the trouble.

That's the whole trouble.

You can't be told the truth!

You'll better go
to bed, Michael.

[children singing carols]

[knock at door]

Hey, better give them something.

It's all right, Father,
I've got a shilling here.

Oh, Jenny, Jenny.

What would I do without you?

[singing continues]

You'll never have to, Father.

[bells jingling]

[singing continues]

JENNY: Happy Christmas, Richard.

Happy Christmas, Jenny.

Would you like some coffee?

I'm just going to make some.

No, I don't think I've
got time before the train.

What train?

You don't say Aunt
Bridget's going?

Bridget?

No, no, Margaret.

Oh, she mustn't.

Or perhaps it's best.

Richard, what about
this drinking of hers?

It was frightening last night.

Oh, I wouldn't worry
too much about last night,

if I were you, Jenny.

It was exceptional.

There were special
circumstances.

Coming home at all was a
bit of a strain for her.

She only drinks
because she's unhappy.

And it's not only her grief.

It's-- it's because she's
askew with the world.

Maybe, but her--

her askewness, as you call it,
well, that's considerably worse

than her drinking.

If she got that straight,
she'd be perfectly all right.

Of course, London's the
worst place for her.

Mm.

I wish she wasn't going home
to that [inaudible] by herself.

[sobbing]

[spoon clanging]

Seen my father this morning?

No, not yet.

[sighs] Probably
because the old makes such

a darn fuss about everything.

Who do?

People like my parents,
religious people.

Mother was just the same.

Any conversation goes
right back to the creation

of the world and beyond.

Well, take a thing
like last night.

All right,
I was tied.

I admit it.

I was darn silly in front
of the aunts and all.

Anybody'd have the right to
be a bit annoyed about it.

But it was only a [inaudible].

I mean, a stockbroker
or someone would just--

just take you off and
that'd be an end to it.

For the parson, the whole
thing is quite different.

He may not be angry.

He may not even say
anything, to be what Jenny

calls upset, which is worse.

Well, I'm just going
to try and start the car.

Margaret's going.

I said I'd take
her to the station.

I don't blame her.

If I had two pence,
I'd go myself.

It's going to be
awful here today.

[chuckles] Cheer up, Mick,
ol' boy, in a 100 years,

we'll all be dead.

Just look at the
sun on the snow.

It's heavenly.

We might always be in
luck land or somewhere.

I'm not going to stay here
after what happened last night.

Bridget, you're not going.

I am.

Oh, but it's so wrong
to take out this attitude.

I do feel it's so wrong.

We ought to try to
be more tolerant.

I don't see the point
of tolerating low habits.

Anyway, you ought to stay
if only for Jenny's sake.

She's taken so much
trouble with all

these wonderful preparations.

No really, I think
it most unkind of you

to go off like this.

Oh, well, I--

I didn't mean it
that way at all.

I know you didn't,
Aunt Bridget.

You'll miss the
goose if you go now.

Goose is it you're
having, not turkey?

Oh, dear, don't
you like goose?

I do.

I prefer it.

Now I don't want it.

JENNY: Then stay on, Bridget.

Please do stay.

Very well, then, I will.

I'm going now to get
ready for church.

Aunt Bridget, Happy Christmas.

Happy Christmas.

[door opens]

Jenny.

[door closes]

Jenny.

Oh, hello, Mick.

Do you know where Jenny is?

Oh, she's in the kitchen.

I think I'll-- I'll fetch her.

No, no, just--

just tell her I--

I'm ready for my
coffee, would you?

She's-- she's making
it now, I think.

Oh, good.

Hm.

[inaudible]

Father?

Yes.

I'm, uh--

I'm sorry about last night.

Oh, well, can't be held now.

There it is.

Tell me, do you-- do you
often take too much to drink?

Not often, no, of course not.

It has happened
before, though, has it?

Well, yes, I, um, have
been tied once or twice.

MARTIN GREGORY: I suppose
you think nothing of it.

I suppose it is a bit silly.

It all depends how
tied you get, really.

MARTIN GREGORY: Does it?

It does not.

That's a superficial way
of looking at things,

the rightness or
wrongness of anything

you do depends on what
you think life is for.

Have you ever thought
of it that way?

Oh.

I'm sorry.

Here's your coffee, darling.

Drink it while it's hot.

Oh, thank you, Jenny.

Mick's having some too.

I'll come and help you
with all the washing up.

No, no, finish
your coffee first.

Well, someone just spoiled
your Christmas for you.

Says it was only an
accident about last night.

Truly, you might
have seen to it you

didn't make your sister drunk.

I made her drunk?

Was it my fault?

You're not suggesting
it was hers, are you?

And it wasn't mine.

I didn't even know she
meant to go to the pub.

Oh, don't start
making excuses.

What's the matter who
thought of it first?

That's a contemptible
thing to say.

Well, it's true.

I suppose you're of
age to be responsible

for your own actions.

Aren't you ashamed to stand
there and tell me it was

your sister who made you drunk?

Well, the truth is--

oh, all right, have
it your own way.

Now look here, Michael, I
hadn't meant to say anything

about this, but
there's something

else that's been bothering me.

I don't suppose you were
too drunk to know what

you were saying last night?

No, I wasn't.

I asked you why you
didn't tell the truth.

Do you remember
what you said then?

Yes, I remember.

You said that I couldn't be
told the truth, didn't you?

- Yes.
- What did you mean by that?

Oh, I don't know--

No, Michael, I want to know.

What did you mean when you said
I couldn't be told the truth?

Well, I meant
exactly what I said.

You can't be told the
truth, at least not by us,

not by Jenny and
Margaret and me.

The real facts about us
would hurt you too much,

so we lie to you.

At least if we don't lie, we
conceal the truth from you.

The whole situation
in this house

is built on lies
and concealment.

Situation in this house?

Well, look what
happened just now.

I was trying to tell you about
last night, what happened

to Margaret, but
you wouldn't listen,

because I understand very
well, of course, what

you mean about responsibility.

The plain fact is she drinks!

[church bells ringing]

There, you see,
it does upset you.

Can you blame us for trying
to conceal that sort of thing?

How long have you known this?

Since last night, it's
just one of the few things

I did find out last night.

Of course, there
have always been

things you couldn't be told.

I didn't realize
how far it had gone,

when it's a question of Jenny's
[inaudible] her whole life.

Jenny?
Jenny?

What's Jenny to do with it?

I heard that Jenny wants to
get married to David Paterson.

Well, does she now?

Well, I'm glad it
was my own idea.

I thought nothing
was coming of it.

But the way she
felt, she ought

not to unless Margaret could
come here and be with you.

There's no need
for her to feel that.

I don't want anyone to feel
obliged to be here with me.

But why did she refuse?

Why?

Not because she didn't
want to, but because she

couldn't face settling down here
to a life of false pretenses.

And then she felt she
couldn't tell you the truth.

The truth?
The truth?

What truth?

The truth about herself.

I didn't know till last
night, and neither did Jenny.

That's all part
of the same thing.

She could have told us both
quite easily years ago.

But she didn't want to
put us in the position

of deceiving you all the times.

So she had to go through
the whole thing alone.

That's how she gotten
to this terrible state.

Will you stop ranting and
tell me what all this is about?

Well, during the
war, she had an affair

with an American airman.

It was serious.

I mean, she was
in love with him.

He was killed.

And after he was
killed, she found

she was going to have a child.

I see.

Well, don't you see how
impossible it would be

to tell you a thing like that?

Impossible?

Why impossible?
- Why?

Isn't it obvious?
You're a parson.

You'd be shocked.

You're bountily shocked.

What, you think
because I'm a parson,

I know nothing about life?

Why do you think I was
ordained in the first place?

You think it was because
I was so easily shocked

that I couldn't face realities?

No, of course not.

As a parson, you have a
different attitude to life.

You think a thing like this
that's happened to Margaret

is wrong.

And what's more, you
would expect everybody

else to feel the same way.

Well, don't you see?

How can parsons expect
to be told the truth?

A man can't even talk to them
like ordinary human beings.

Well, if that's the way I've
made you all feel, I've failed.

I've failed completely.

Oh, heck.

[church bells ringing]

Poor Jenny, I'm afraid you're
going to have a trying day.

But I'm glad you
persuaded Richard to stay.

It was not easy.

Oh, well, that comes
with living alone.

Hasn't made you
difficult, Aunt Lydia.

Oh, well it's
different for me.

There's been someone in my life.

I haven't always been alone.

It's strange how our life
only seems to have meaning

because of someone else.

You understand that, Jenny.

You're in love.

Yeah, and Aunt
Lydia, that's all over.

We can't get married.

I realized it quite
clearly last night.

Oh, darling, no,
that's such a mistake.

When you're in love, you mustn't
let anything stand in the way.

Isn't that
sentimental, Aunt Lydia?

Marriage isn't the only
thing in the world.

LYDIA: It's a very
important one.

Don't you think people
exaggerate its importance?

No.

I'm 70, Jenny.

I've seen quite a
lot of the world.

I know what I'm talking about.

Everyone needs someone else.

Loneliness is a terrible thing.

It can do appalling
things to one.

That's why I'm always so
sorry for people like Bridget.

She did what you're
thinking of doing.

She stayed at home to look
after your grandmother.

I think she was
quite right to do that.

Perhaps.

But think what it has meant.

Ever since your
grandmother died,

Bridget has been quite alone.

If she died tomorrow,
it wouldn't really

make the slightest
difference to anyone.

That's why it means
so much to her

to be here with you
all for Christmas.

[church bells ringing]

Oh, Margaret, oh, you're--

you're going, are you?

Oh, well, perhaps
it's better so.

Uh, one-- one minute,
though, before you go.

I-- I want you to know
that-- that I know.

Michael's just told me.

I can see that you would feel
the way that you do about it,

but I--

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, Margaret.

I-- I've been no use
to you, no use at all.

Well, never mind.

I managed all right.

Yes, but that's
just what hurts me,

that you felt that you
had to manage alone,

and that you've gone on
feeling it all these years.

Oh, it's a terrible thing.

Tell me, has it
always been the same?

When you were children, did
you feel the same way then?

Michael tells me that you--

all of you have always
been afraid to speak

freely before me.

Well, not for any
personal reason,

only because of religion.

Because of religion.

A fine caricature I've made
of religion if that's how

it seems to me own children.

It should be because
of my religion

I have more sympathy and
understanding for people.

But I have, Margaret, I have.

I've seen the kind of men that
turn away from the sorrows

of his own children.

And if I do, it's no wonder
me works had so little effect

all these years.

I-- I've been distorting
and misrepresenting religion

all my life without knowing it.

I can't believe it.

Oh, well, it's too late now.

If that's how you
feel, you'd better go.

You'll be happier in London.

Happy?

Well, at least
you'll have your child.

Didn't they tell you?

He's dead.

Oh, Margaret.

No, no, please.

It's all over and done with now.

But at least your--

your friends and your work
will be of some comfort to you.

Friends?

My friends are anyone
who wants another drink.

Oh, I've often thought how
much I'd rather be here.

But, of course,
it wouldn't work.

I can see that.

I'm out all day scribbling
smart, highly paid nonsense.

It earns the rent
of a wonderful flat

that I can't bear to stay
in alone for five minutes

when I get back in the evening.

What makes no sense.

[sighs] But why
should it after all?

Well, because it
all makes no sense.

You mean it makes
no sense to you.

No, not only to
me, to everyone.

Only most people
don't notice it.

I've been made more
aware of it, that's all,

because of what happened.

You mustn't let
it make you bitter.

I'm not bitter.

This has nothing to do with
my personal feelings at all.

It's something
I've seen, why just

as you suddenly see the solution
of a mathematical problem.

And this isn't the solution.

Aren't you deceiving
yourself when you say that it's

nothing to do with feeling?

I don't think so.

Well, it began with
feeling, of course.

But feeling soon
exhausts itself.

You can't feel
even grief forever.

But grief leaves an emptiness.

There's always a blankness.

Yes, I know.

But it's not that.

It's something far
bigger than that.

It's as though in
that blankness,

I've suddenly
stumbled on something

that affects everyone,
everyone in the world.

Well, listen, when Robert was
killed, I really did love him,

you know.

And after that, I found out
I was going to have Simon.

Well now, that seemed
important, because--

not only because of Robert.

But another life in
the world is important.

So for the next four
years, I did everything

I possibly could for Simon.

Well, then he died.

And I just felt, well--

well, what was the
point of it all?

What was the value
of all that effort?

Don't you see?

It was then that I first began
to realize that in the end.

It's the same for everyone.

Practically all the efforts
that people make are

simply to keep
life going, whether

their own or somebody else's.

And the whole thing's
doomed to failure.

We know that.

Life can't be kept
going indefinitely.

With the sun's growing
cold, in the end,

the human race will be
frozen off the Earth.

What sense does that make?

Oh, I know.

I know what you'll say about
God and immortality and so on.

But I just can't
believe in that.

No, how can you understand?

You're a parson.

Yes, I am.

It was thoughts
like yours that I

had when I was a young
man that first made

me think of being ordained.

I never could be certain
from one moment to the other

what I believed about anything.

I'm not interested in faith.

I don't want to comfort
myself with fairy stories.

Fairy stories?

Oh, I'll not have you say that.

You know, that's the trouble
with your generation.

You must see and touch
before you can believe.

Well, can you touch the wind?

St. Augustine said that.

Oh, you're clever.

You're intelligent.

But you frighten
yourself with words.

Ah, people don't know what they
want half the time, more money,

they think, or
more power or just

another drink, perhaps, or
another wife or another lover.

Ah, but it's none
of these things,

because even when they have
them, there's still something

they want.

And they don't know what it is.

And they go on wanting something
and not knowing what it is.

And that is the root of all
the religions in the world.

But you must face life,
you know, Margaret.

Grapple with it, not turn
your back on it before you

can make sense of it all.

Why do you think I became a
parson in the first place?

Because I saw what life was
like, not because I didn't.

And yet, Mick comes in
here and has the impudence

to tell me that I can't be told
about you because I'm a parson.

And you tell me that I
can't understand your need,

because I'm a parson,
too, I suppose.

It's insufferable nonsense.

Oh, bother, I hadn't
meant to say a word.

But why didn't Jenny tell me
that she wanted to get married?

Ah, so you've woken
up to the truth at last.

What, did you know about this?

Did you know Jenny
wanted to get married?

I did.

And I hope you've been telling
Margaret where her duty lies.

You leave Margaret
out of this.

You're a foolish
old woman, Bridget,

always with a chip
on your shoulder,

always up against somebody.

If you hadn't been so
cantankerous all your life,

Jenny could have asked you to
come her and keep house for me,

instead of spending
all your life pampering

that fat cat of yours.

You'll be cruel
to a cat, I suppose.

I believe cats have souls.

[church bells ringing]

Ah, listen, the
full [inaudible]..

Ah, what an absurd world it is.

The Christmas bells, peace on
Earth, goodwill towards men.

And here I've been losing my
temper and shouting at you.

I beg your pardon, Bridget.

[kiss]

I must be off at once.

Where-- where's me coat?

It's here.

I'll get it.

Ah, and me beastly galoshes.

Here it is.

Is there anything else you want?

No, no, yes, yes,
it's, um, over there.

Jenny makes me wear
these for the snow.

But I can't be seen
in church in them.

Here, put one in each pocket.

What a wonderful idea.

Are you sure you've
got everything you want?

Yes, yes, thanks.

You know, I'm sorry to
be rushing off like this.

That's all right.

She sent me.

Ah, thank you, Margaret.

[kiss]

You know, this-- this talk we've
had, there's been truth in it.

If not in the words,
then between the words

or between us.

And that's why I'm
grateful to you,

because it's not often I
have a real talk with anyone.

[kiss]

[door opens]

Uh, no.

[door closes]

[gate closes]

[church bells ringing]

Happy Christmas.

If you're half
a man, you'll take

Jenny out of this double-quick.

Out of what?

Disgusting.

I don't care to talk about it.

Happy Christmas.

Oh, my poor David,
I am so sorry for you.

What is all this gloom about?

Well, but hasn't
Jenny told you?

It's been dreadful,
quite dreadful.

The most appalling
things have happened

since you were here yesterday.

Yes, but what?
That's what I want to know.

What has happened?

I haven't time.

I'm going to church, but
it's disastrous, absolutely

disastrous.

Mick, can you tell me
what's been happening?

Yeah, there's just
been an atomic explosion.

Since last night, the
whole of our lives

have been split open, exposed.

This morning,
everybody's stumbling

about among the debris.

Oh, the place is radioactive.

I must go.

Wait, have you got a sixpence?

- What for?
- The collection.

Jenny will pay you back
out of the housekeeping.

All right.

Goodbye.

Good morning.

Good morning.

You'll be Margaret, I suppose.

Look here, I have a
bone to pick with you.

What's all this about you
refusing to come home?

But I am coming home.

You are?

There now, I said you would.

Did you?

I told Jenny yesterday.

I couldn't believe it when
she said you wouldn't.

I wonder why she
thought I wouldn't.

I don't know, she said you
just wouldn't, that's all.

She said you weren't
that sort of a person.

I thought it was monstrous.

You remind me
of my own Bridget.

You seem to have very
explosive views about people.

Oh, I just see things clearly.
That's all.

Well, be careful you
don't see them too clearly.

Hey, what are you getting at?

I can't make head or tail
of anyone in this house

this morning.
What's the matter with you all?

It's Christmas,
the family festival.

We've all learned a thing or two
about each other, that's all.

Oh, I haven't the
time to see Jenny.

You must tell her.

Perhaps it would be better
for you to tell her anyway.

Say that I've had some
talk with my father,

and everything's
quite all right.

That last bit's
the most important.

She'll know what it means.

DAVID PATERSON: Don't worry,
she'll know what it means,

all right.
- Pack up, Margaret.

- I'm not going to London.
- You're not going?

I'm going to church.

But I've just started--

It's Christmas.

Come on, you old heathen.

Oh, happy Christmas.

Happy Christmas.

Happy Christmas.

Jenny.

[clatter]

Jenny.

Coming.

[church bells ringing]

Oh.

[door swings open]

Oh, David!

David, I'm so late.

Jenny, Margaret's coming home.

Oh, she mustn't.

Mustn't?

You mean you've
changed your mind?

No, but--

What does this mean then?

She just this moment
told me to tell you

she's had some talk
with your father,

and it's quite all right.

Well?

Oh, that's wonderful.

(CRYING) It won't be easy, of
course, but it's everything.

Jenny, what's the matter?

What are you crying for?

[sobbing]

(CHUCKLING) I think you're
mad, stark, staring, raving

mad.
- (SOBBING) Yes.

[chuckles]

[MUSIC - "O COME ALL YE
FAITHFUL"]

CONGREGATION: (SINGING)
O, come all ye faithful,

joyful and triumphant--

[theme music]