Good Neighbors (1975–1978): Season 1, Episode 7 - Backs to the Wall - full transcript

(Buzz of conversation)

£2.36, please, George.

Oh, no, no, George.
This one's on me. I insist.

Money, Jerry.

After all, it isn't every day
that one flies off to Kenya.

Molly and I did Tunisia last year.

Oh, yes.

Of course, I never really classed Tunisia
as the real Africa.

Mind you, she always was bottom at geography.

I think everyone else knows what I mean, Jerry,
thank you very much.

Yes, this time tomorrow
it'll be sundowners in The Stanley.



That's in Nairobi, of course.

Yes. Tunisia is the most fascinating country.
Isn't it, Molly?

It's incredible. To go bargain hunting
for Bedouin curios in the souk -

that's Arabic for "market" - is unforgettable.

Molly, don't you ever get the tiniest suspicion
that those curios are mass-produced?

- No, I don't.
- Well, you may be right.

Of course, in Kenya one can still dicker for
the real thing with any passing ebo.

Abit difficult, as they come from Nigeria.

Evening, all. Don't all get up.

- Hello, strangers.
- Hello, hello, hello.

- Long time no see.
- Where have you been hiding yourselves?

Us, George? Arh! We've been a-fronting
and athraking and awaruppin'.

You what?

My old gaffer, he said we've been a-fronting
and athraking and awaruppin'.



- Didn't 'un?
- That's right, my little old biddy.

What are you going to have?
A gallon of Scrumpy?

We'll get our own.
I don't think I can afford the fees at this school.

- Two halves of bitter, please.
- Oh, have a drink, a little pre-holiday binge.

All right, then. In that case, two pints of brandy.

Pints, please.

- Looking forward to your safari, Margo?
- Oh, very much.

I can smell Africa already.

That must be something
on the bottom of my wellies.

What was our itinerary again, Jerry?

- Well...
- Oh, yes. Nairobi,

the Lodge at Ngorongoro, naturally.

Then via Tsavo to Mombasa.

Have you cut yourself enough sandwiches?

- I do wish you were coming with us, Barbara.
- So do I.

- I was being serious, Jerry.
- Oh, so was l.

I don't know whether you've noticed it, Tom,
but Barbara is obviously in need of a holiday.

Barbara is not.

We've got something more important
than holidays and terrorising wildlife.

- Such as?
- Our harvest, missus.

The pot of gold at the end of our rainbow.
Cheers.

Are you trying to turn Surbiton
into a wheat bowl?

I would but I can't get the combine harvester
through the door.

It's just spuds, peas, beans, broccoli, you know.

But that's just gardening.

In Cinerama. We're going to have enough grub
for a whole year.

He's off. The gospel according to St Tom.

All right, bwana, snigger.

When you're paying 30 bob a pound for
potatoes, you'll wish you hadn't had a holiday.

How are you going to pay the rates?
With parsnips?

Amongst other things, yes. I vamped
this wholesaler and he'll buy our surplus.

I give you two credit.
You've got it all worked out.

But at what a price.

The only price we're paying is poverty
and that doesn't cost anything.

Cider With Rosie in Surbiton?

I must come round and see this.

- If you come round, you work.
- I'll take you up on that.

- Might be a laugh, eh?
- Yes, perhaps we will.

More the merrier.
Volunteers rewarded with homemade wine.

I'm glad I'm going to Africa.

Incidentally, the game herds start their migration
just as we arrive.

That's very sensible of them.

Zebra, gnus, wildebeest...

We're hoping to see some simba, of course.

Simba!

Honestly. Margo Leadbetter -
the untamed queen of the jungle.

Actually, Tom,
the lion is a plains-dwelling predator.

That affair she had with David Attenborough
paid off.

Jerry, don't be ridiculous.

I've always taken a very keen interest in wildlife.

I would go further. There's a definite empathy
between myself and wild animals.

Raaaocoow!

Ooh.

We never did see those saloon bar volunteers,
did we?

Pub talk. It's better doing it ourselves.
There's more... masochism in it.

Ooh, my aching back.

It must be dreadful to be 40.

Go in the house, child, and put the kettle on.

It won't suit me.

Hello, Geraldine.
Say "harvest", Geraldine.

Harvest, harvest.

You're never going to talk, are you?

Right. Barbara, we're nearly ready to start
sacking those potatoes.

You, potato, you're sacked.

Postcards from Armand and Michaela.

Oh, good. Are they having a good time?

Oh, here we are.

Good old Jerry. "Dear peasants, have decided to
trade Margo in for a Masai maiden.

Saw one yesterday that looked like
a coffee-coloured Hedy Lamarr.

Happy muck-grovelling. Jerry."

This is from Margo.

'Dear Barbara..."
You're out.

"The so-called hunting lodge
is little more than primitive shacks,

the food is rancid and the staff surly and wilful.

Wish you were here. Love, Margo."

I hope she doesn't bump into Jomo Kenyatta.
She'll never get out.

- Poor old Margo.
- Right, kettle's boiling.

That's true.

Do mean to tell me
I've got to make my own coffee?

No. Mine as well.

That's typical.
You pick a woman up out of the gutter,

teach her to dress nice and speak proper,
and she won't even make coffee.

Oh, all right, I'll make the coffee.

No, Barbara, quick, quick, quick.

Do you think you'll be strong enough to stir it?

I'm not kidding. I can't bloody move.

Oh, Tom.

Get off! Don't touch.

Sorry I couldn't come straightaway. Every child
in the neighbourhood's contracted measles.

That's the trouble with modern youth -
no discipline.

Yes. Well, now, Mr Good,
what have you been doing to yourself?

Striking myself repeatedly in the back
with a 161b sledgehammer.

Sorry. GPS' rhetoric.

He was sitting down, stood to get up
and ping.

Or as I put it: Ow.

Uh-huh.
And what had you been doing just before that?

- A bit of digging.
- Just the odd eight hours.

Uh-huh. And where precisely is the pain?

You'd better point, Barbara.

- Just under there.
- Oh!

Right. Let's have a look at you.

Hello.

Oh, what are you...? No, don't.

Ow.

Ow.

Oh.

- Uh-huh.
TOM: Uh-huh.

Mm-hm.

- Painful?
- No. Agony.

- Uh-huh.
- Uh-huh.

No, that's not an "uh-huh", that's an 'l see".

- I see.
- I see.

- Agony?
- Uh-huh.

I see.

I've got a bad back, haven't 1?

Yes, I'm afraid you have.

It's not a slipped disc or anything, but you've
pulled the muscles on either side of your spine.

Just getting up out of a chair.

Have I married a 7-stone weakling, Doctor?

No, your husband has a very fine musculature.

- See?
- For a man of his age.

Now, get him to take one tablet
three times a day. They're painkillers.

Otherwise, stay as immobile as possible
on a hard surface.

A nice soft bed will be of no use to you at all.

I'll come and see you in seven days' time.

I can't lie here for seven days!

I don't think you'll find you can do much else.

- Don't the painkillers work?
- Yes, but they won't make you mobile.

Well, give me some mobile tablets, then.

Don't tempt me. Good night.

I'll see you out.

Seven days. Ridiculous.

Oh!

Oh, dear, oh, dear.

Oh, dear, oh, dear.

Tom, what are you doing?

Just testing if that doctor knew
what she was talking about. She does.

Of course she does.
Stay where you are a minute.

- What are you doing?
- Making up your bed down here.

You'll be better off on the floor.

I can hardly give you
afireman's lift upstairs now, can 1?

This is ridiculous.
What did it have to happen now for?

Same reason the toast lands butter-side down
on the carpet, I suppose.

I'm not standing for it.

That's true.

Look, love, there's no point in getting shiny.
It's a nuisance, that's all.

Instead of the two of us taking three days
to get that stuff in, I'll do it and take a week.

And what do I do? Watch from the back door
from my baby bouncer?

No, you're supposed to do what you're told
and get better.

- Come on, get into bed.
- It's too early to go to bed.

No, it isn't. I've got a hard day's work tomorrow.

All right.

Oh!

Never even gave me a sweet.

Who didn't?

That doctor. A doctor always gives you a sweet.

You're going to be a real bundle of joy,
aren't you?

It's my harvest.

It's mine too.
Let me get some sleep sol can pick it.

- Stop being so unflappable.
- Get off my arm.

I can't.

Oh!

Oh, it really hurts, doesn't it?

Somewhat. I'll be better tomorrow morning.

Well, we'll see.

Now, then.

- Is there anything you want?
- No, thanks, love.

Oh, dear.

There we are.

- Now...
- Oh!

Careful.

Good night...

.Ironside.

(Groans)

- What?
- I just felt like it tonight as well.

Come on, then. Take me.

Very funny.
You just wait till I can move about, that's all.

(Thunderclap)

And you can shut up as well.

Morning, my little stiff.

How are you this morning?

Oh, it's much... Oh!

.The same.

- I found these. Any good?
- Yes, thanks.

Unless you've got
a vulcanized roll-on you can lend me.

There's no point in getting up.
You won't be able to do anything.

At least I can stand on the touchline
and cheer you on. Get off!

You're not going to let me help you, are you?

I must do this by myself.

Take it slowly.

There's no other way.

Oh, oh!

Slippers, please.

Lovely.

Right.

(Groans)

How long did that storm last last night?

I don't know. I only heard the overture.

Mind you, I could sleep inside a drum
with somebody banging it these days.

How do you want them?
Boiled, fried, scrambled, coddled or raw?

Better see if they've laid any first.

That's true. That storm probably made them
pop out by the dozen.

Oh, Tom!

Oh. That's it, then.

That is really it.

We've had it.

I've got Pinky and Perky locked up again.

That won't make much difference, will it?

We've really had it.

Come on, that's not my hero talking.

That's not the man who water-skied 10 yards
on Staines reservoir.

I'm not kidding, love.

If we don't get the stuff off the ground,
the crop will rot and bang goes next year's food.

- Oh, I can manage.
- You can't.

There's no way you can clear that up
by yourself, and I'm bloody useless.

The walking dead.

If only Jerry were here.

Yes, that's what we need - more manpower.

Where are you going to get it from? Nato?

No. The pub.

That's an idea.

That is an idea.
They're all our friends, aren't they?

Yes, they are, and people always help out
in a crisis. The spirit of the Blitz.

- Yeah. Dig for victory.
- The Land Army.

- Stafford Cripps.
- Winston Churchill.

- Natty Taylor.
- Who's Natty Taylor?

This bloke who used to sleep in
our air-raid shelter.

We wouldn't ask you unless it was important.

If you could just pitch in and help,
we would be ever so grateful.

What do you say?

Please.

Good lord, is that the time?

If only you'd chosen another day, Barbara.

It's a good idea. We'll talk over it later on.

Molly, are you coming, dear?

Molly? There you are.

I could use you when it comes to calling time.

Marvellous, isn't it?

The old spirit of the Blitz?
All it means to that lot is a large gin.

(Groans)

- (Door slams)
- Barbara?

- Yes.
- Oh, good.

I made four pots of tea for the workers.

I hope it'll be enough.

- More than enough.
- Oh. They're not all coming, are they?

- No.
- How many?

Less than one, actually.

- Spirit of the Blitz?
- I've done that. Here you are.

- Got your painkillers.
- Thanks.

- Cup of tea?
- No, thank you.

I used a month's ration.
We've got two pots each to get through.

We'll take it in the other room and watch
the space where our television used to be.

No, no. It's shoulders to the wheel.

- Where are you going?
- I've got a couple of tons of spuds to get in.

Not on your own.

You sit down
or I'll kick your sticks from under you.

But it's futile.
- Don't you call me futile.

You just watch my dust.

- It's started raining again.
- Well, watch my mud, then.

That's my girl.

No, no. That's enough.
You're not going out there again.

When I want to chuck the towel in,
I'll do it myself.

You couldn't lift a towel, let alone throw it.
Sit down.

Please.

All right. Just for five minutes then.

I can't watch this any more.

Well, close your eyes.

You've been on the go for 14 hours and all
I've done is make tea and cheese sandwiches.

I've never felt so guilty in my life.

It's not your fault you've done your back in,
and you hardly rang up God and asked for rain.

Look at you.

Ladies and gentlemen,
you too can do this to your wife.

All you have to do is get a bee in your bonnet
about self-sufficiency,

leave work,
and then make her work like a dray horse.

- Come on, Tom.
- It's easy, folks.

When they ask what you've done for your wife,

I've made her do without the phone, the car,
the telly, new clothes.

I've given her poverty, a kitchen full of wet
potatoes and a garden like a swamp. Brilliant.

- It's only a setback.
- It's not a setback, love. It's the finish.

We have had it.

So I go back to work.

Ah, well.

At least we can say we tried.

Hells bells. You're dirty.

(Whistles cheerfully)

Tom'?

Morning.

What are you doing?

Collecting potatoes.

Do you want to marry me?

OK.

You had me worried last night
when you talked about chucking it in.

- I didn't say any such thing.
- You did.

No, no, no.
That was this bloke impersonating me.

Oh, him.

I should have just got on with it, like you did.
Sol have.

How long did it take you to get all those in?

Only half the night.

- What about your back?
- I'm on the pill. I don't feel a thing unless I move.

Don't just sit there devouring me with your eyes.
We've got work to do.

Right. Wrong. Two things first -
bit of breakfast, stoke up the boiler...

...and one of these.

Ooh.

Tom, we are going to get it all in in time,
aren't we?

- We are going to win?
- Nope.

What?

Me collecting two potatoes an hour
isn't going to save it all.

We haven't started the front garden yet.

I reckon a third of our crop will have to rot
but at least we've stuck to our guns by trying.

But we need it all. You said so.

Tough luck.
We'll have to see what we're left with.

Either we survive
or we just go back on our resources.

- We haven't got any.
- Yes, we have.

Busking, begging, stealing.

Put you back on the streets where I found you.

We could always resurrect the old flea circus.

There you are, then.
Now... get the breakfast.

- Rotten lot.
- Who?

That gin-swilling mob at the pub.

If only one of them had turned up, just one.

Surbiton's never been very strong on miracles.

Jambo, peasants.

I take it back, I take it back.

Jerry! What are you doing here?

I thought you were on holiday.
What did they do? Deport you?

Margo couldn't stand Africa, and I couldn't stand
Margo not standing Africa so we cut it short.

Oh, what a shame. That's terrific.
Come in, Jerry.

I just looked in to say hello.

That's what you think.

I've done my back...
Barbara beat me up, actually.

Who beat up the garden?

We had this terrible storm.
We've got to get all that stuff in before it rots.

How about it, mate? Will you help us?

I'd love to but...

- But? Et tu, Jerry?
- I'll help you, of course I will.

I just don't think I can be much use.

Why?

Argument with a Land Rover in Mombasa.

Oh, no.

- Jerry?
- Yes?

Get the trolley.

Right.

- I'm stuck again.
- Barbara? Quicksand.

Right.

Come on, we're going to be here all night.

If it hadn't been for Jerry
we'd have lost a third of this by now.

- Now we've only lost a quarter.
- Thank you, fans.

Now, that is a miracle.

If one of you so much as sniggers
I'm going straight back indoors.

Margo, we couldn't be more grateful.

Even I can see that this is a genuine emergency.

After all, what are friends for?

Mind you, this will be the first and last time,
so make good use of me.

Right. Runner beans in the box, please.

Barbara, you start shifting that lot.

If that's the best you can do,
we'll be here till Christmas.

Well, thank you very much, Tom.

Goodbye.

No. Margo!

Oh, Tom, for goodness sake,
that's the most ungrateful thing I've ever heard.

Margo's doing her best. She's the odd one out.

It's not her fault if she's all weak and feeble.

Weak and feeble am I?

Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby declare
our first harvest well and truly gathered.

Bravo.

Oh, Jerry. You're a lovely fella.

- Margo?
- Yes.

I quite like you.

It's Margo and Jerry.

MOLLY: Aren't you brown?

What happened?
Get trampled by a herd of elephants?

No, runner beans.

Margo, you just made a joke.

- Didl, Jerry?
- Yes.

- Did I really?
- Yes.

- Evening, layabouts.
- Evening, rat bags.

Why use a car when you can do it yourself?
Wagons, roll.

Four pints of bitter, please, and some oil
for my wheels. Money, Jerry.

Come on, come on.