Parade's End (2012): Season 1, Episode 3 - Episode #1.3 - full transcript

I'm Sylvia...Satterthwaite.

Yes.

My name is...

My name is...

My name is...

I took the liberty of
keeping back for you some lamb cutlets.

- Supplies have been...
- You're very good to me, Mr Penny.

So far we have plovers' eggs,

orange marmalade, one game pie,
one pork pie, the strong cheddar.

And, oh, I don't know, a Dundee cake.

All to go to Gray's Inn
with your regular order, Mrs Tietjens?



No, no, to be delivered to
Captain Hans Von Grunwald-Merks,

- Alexandra Palace.
- Oh.

I know. They've turned it into
a prisoner-of-war camp for officers.

Yes, I remember the Captain.
From Munich, I believe.

Isn't it ridiculous?

And a tin of toffees.
Thank you very much.

Sardines!
The butcher is still being beastly!

I thought that
now Edward was in minesweepers

instead of Lewes Gaol...

We should move to London, anyway.

I need to be available to the critics
and the journalists for my novel

and you need a job.

I will write to Mr Tietjens
and ask him if he can do something.

How can Mr Tietjens do anything?



And why should he?
Don't you think he's got enough to do,

murdering German soldiers
for no good reason?

I meant his father, of course.
Mr Tietjens?

Does Christopher call you Miss Wannop?

What else would he call me?
It's you he's pals with.

All right. Well, don't get upset.

Why shouldn't I? The war has turned
decent people into beasts,

ordinary people like Mr Hedges,
the butcher.

You can have my sardines.

No, thank you.

Oh, Mrs Duchemin telephoned.

Apparently her husband is about to
be discharged from the asylum.

He can't be! He's dangerous.

Cured. Sane as sixpence.

Naturally, she didn't sound too pleased.

Really, the vanity of those people.
Self, self, self!

- What people?
- Why, the doctors, of course!

Duchemin was perfectly happy
in the asylum.

Beautiful gardens.
He wanted for nothing.

Now how am I going to...

- Yes, I see.
- No, you don't!

You've seen Vincent's rooms.

It costs money
to make the right impression.

How am I going to account
to my husband upstairs?

- Oh! How... How much did you...
- A lot!

Vincent has a position to keep up now,

since he has been honored
by His Majesty.

As a Companion of the Order of the Bath,
he has been raised...

- Edith, is he in the bath?

You obviously haven't understood
a thing.

Get down! Get down!

Stop him, someone!

Get him off him!

Get down!

You'll be all right, sir.
You'll be all right.

Would you mind telling me where I am?

And how long I've been here?

What... What is my name?

Good morning, Brownlie.

Did you sleep well?

- No.
- Oh, dear. Are we in a mood today?

Why did you lock your door?

Oh, was that you?

Who did you think it was,
that Irish thug?

Well, it's no good talking to you.

And what did you ask me down for?

Not to have my doorknob rattled
at two in the morning.

Sylvia, you know how I feel about you.

I asked you down
because you boodle petrol for your car.

And to make up a four after dinner and
to be pleasant company for my mother,

who, by the way,
is not running a house of assignation.

I swear, if you agreed to marry me...

And, as you've just reminded me,
I already have a husband.

I mean it, Sylvia. If you promised
to divorce and marry me,

I would wait. Gladly.
I would be patient.

It's all your fault, you know,

for being so sweet to me
when you want to be

and for giving me hope.

Can I hope?
My darling, I love you like...

Dash it, I wish I were
one of those poetical types.

Oh, do try. What do you love me like?

Like... Like anything.
I love you like anything, Sylvia!

You're irresistible.

But it's no good.
As a Catholic, I can't divorce,

and even if I could, Christopher has
never given me any ground.

- I wouldn't be too sure about that.
- But I am sure.

Christopher is the straightest man
I know.

He makes me want to scream.

Oh, would you look at herself!
Penthesilea to the life!

Wouldn't you say so, Lord Brownlie?

Good morning, Father.

I suppose you think
that because you're a priest

you can say things
I'd horsewhip any other man for.

Now, your mama tells me you might know
the whereabouts of a good map I recall,

six inch to the mile,
showing footpaths and the like.

- Where would I find such a thing?
- In the window seat.

Is it to send to Germany?

Well, there are two battalions
of the Irish Volunteers out there

fighting the Germans.

Hmm. No.

This a nice, Long, solitary walk
that's what I'm thinking of.

With a packed lunch, maybe.
That's my plan for today.

Well, that's not what they say
about your husband at the club.

Hmm. And what do they say?

Ask Paul Sandbach, for one.

But I'm asking you.

Your husband is debauched.

His pal, Macmaster, keeps a woman.

They share right under your nose,
if you want to know.

They were seen, on a train,
going at it like monkeys.

Who was?

Tietjens and that woman,
on a train coming down from Scotland.

Oh, for heaven's sake!

They were seen by a whole crowd of us
who'd been at Westershire's.

Macmaster and Mrs...
Oh, I forget her name.

...Had been caught out
in an hotel in Scotland

and Christopher was rescuing her.

He was being gallant!

So you'd better stop spreading lies
about my husband.

Then ask your husband
about the Wannop girl. I dare you!

I don't know any Wannop,

and you're only making it
worse for yourself. Let go.

Twenty-three and fresh as paint.

Everyone knows
Tietjens has been besotted with her

ever since you went off
with Potty Perowne!

It is quite wrong of Sylvia
to keep her hunter

when every decent animal in the country
has been taken by the army.

She's making me look unpatriotic.

- Is that him?
- Yes, sir.

Taking pictures of the shoreline,
bold as brass.

Do you hear from your boy much?

Which one?

No, anyway.

Christopher. A bit of a rip, is he?

Not that I know.

He's liaison officer
with the French artillery.

- No, he isn't.
- Hmm?

He went native, sent back to the lines.

Oh.

And the French wanted us
to send out more of our Territorials

but Kitchener said he needs them here
in case the Germans invade.

The Germans can't invade
if we keep them busy where they are.

That's what your boy
told Kitchener's man.

Did he? Damn fool!

- Look here.
- Hmm?

There's some talk at the club
against your boy.

His wife's pro-German, they say.

And he's overstretched himself.

A bit of a rip altogether.

Oh, young Brownlie seems to know
a lot about it, I wouldn't know how.

Does your boy bank with them?

Of course he does.
Brownlies are the family bankers.

Ah!

If I'd known
my eldest wasn't going to sire,

I'd have looked at the young'un better.

I'll let his brother ask about,
see what's what.

Good morning.

- Anything in the paper?
- No.

The interesting news
is never in the papers.

I heard last week that Algy Hyde
had sold his wife to General Cranshaw

for a commission in the Blues,

but you may look in vain
in the newspapers.

It came in my post.

We who are doing work
of national importance

have to put up
with the sex-fury of debutantes

whose desires can't be accommodated
under wartime conditions.

Ruggles,
you know my young brother Christopher?

I met him once before he went out.
He was insolent.

You might pick up what you can about him
and let me know.

Glad to.

Ah, the funeral baked meats!

Guggums! I'm in mourning!

Sorry, Guggums.

You do see, don't you,

it doesn't look well
for a single man not to be in France.

People don't understand
I'm doing vital war work.

No, yes.

- Now that I'm married, I can keep...
- Out of the trenches.

- Keep my post at the Department.
- Clever Guggums.

To my dear husband.

To my wife.

I'm going to be working in London, too.

I've got a job
as a school games mistress.

To games and mistresses.

Guggums!

Tactless!

Ignore him.

Excuse me.

First class ticket,
one-way single to Waterloo.

Hand this in to the RAMC duty officer,
he'll take over.

Sir.

Would you mind telling me
what actually happened to you?

Something burst near me in the dark.

I don't remember what I did.
I remember being

in the Casualty Clearing Station
not knowing my name.

Your friends were dropping bombs
on the hospital huts.

You might not call them my friends.

I still wear my St Anthony
to look after you.

See?

I beg your pardon.

One gets into a loose way of speaking.

And then some people
carried pieces of a nurse into the hut.

Oh. Christopher...

You can't possibly conceive
of the quantity of explosives

the armies throw at each other
for each man killed.

The shells make a continuous noise,

sometimes like an enormous machine
breaking apart.

Other times, they come whistling towards
you in a thoughtful sort of a way

and then go crump
and the screw-cap flies off,

hurtling through the air, screaming.

There's one kind of shell

which comes with a crescendo
like an express train, only faster.

Another kind which makes a noise
like tearing calico, louder and louder.

The largest kind of the ones which
burst in the sky make a double crack,

like wet canvas
being shaken out by a giant.

Such immense explosions

to kill such small, weak animals.

I have to report to a tin hut
on Ealing Common.

Oh, lie down.

No, no, no, no, it's true.

The War Office now has an outpost.

- At Ealing.
- I don't care.

But I have to go to the Camp Depot.

They want me
to give lectures to soldiers...

I'm so fond of you and Christopher,
who, thank God, I hear is safe.

He was not wounded, luckily,
only concussed.

Thank you, Lady Glorvina.

Well, a fresh start, then.

I'll give you an address where you can
buy hand-knitted socks and mittens

to present as your own work

to some charity
for distribution to our soldiers.

I'll do nothing of the sort.
What an idea!

The idea, Sylvia, is for you to engage
in an act of public patriotism,

to offset your exploits with
the Esterhazys and Grunwald-Merkses,

which have pretty well done
for Christopher!

Do you mean to say that those
unspeakable swine think I'm pro-German

- because I sent toffees to...
- It's Christopher that suffers.

He hasn't got on the way a man
of his brilliance should have got on.

A friend of his came to see me,
a Mr Ruggles,

he's something about the court.

He came to ask me whether
something might be done for Christopher.

It's almost as if Christopher has
a black mark against him.

That's how Mr Ruggles put it.

And I'm the black mark, I suppose?

Do you know Major Drake?

Gerald Drake?

I used to.

Before my marriage. Why?

He's an intelligence officer.

Major Drake told Ruggles
he's marked Christopher's file

"Not to be entrusted
with confidential work".

Christopher is the last decent man
in England.

How dare they put their knife into him?
He's mine!

There's an Irish priest
caught spying for the enemy.

His trial was kept secret.

Father Consett.
Almost part of the family.

Let's see...

...on a train coming down from Scotland.

Lady Claudine saw them,
so did General Campion.

Brownlie painted an unpretty picture.

The money his mother left him

must have gone mostly to set her up
with Macmaster.

God only knows
what arrangement they make over her.

What else?

Sylvia's son is probably the result
of an affair before her marriage,

a man who's a member here.

Good God!

I'm sorry to put all this on you.

But you want to know, I suppose?

Go on.

And then, of course, Christopher took
her back after the Perowne business.

Broke his mother's heart.

Ruggles says Christopher's willing
to sell his wife for money or favors.

I kept him short.

I let him go to the devil.

As for his career, he's written off
as more or less a French spy.

But at least they're our allies.

But the worser part is,
he got mixed up with a young woman.

Apparently a pacifist suffragette type.

Gilbert Wannop's daughter.

My God! Christopher and...

At least five people told Ruggles

that he gave the girl a bastard
before the war.

That's enough.

And Groby will go to a Papist's child
from the wrong side of the blanket.

That's bitter and I don't mind saying.

We've held Groby in the English church

through 10 reigns

and I let it slip.

Father?

I...

Do you see, Michael?

He wasn't a man to leave a wounded
rabbit on the wrong side of a hedge.

Hmm?

The Riding will turn out
for the old boy.

I'm not expecting much out of town.

When grandfather died,
half the club came up.

I'd take it kindly if you would include
Mrs Wannop in the lunch party.

Ashtray, Jenkins.

- Will the inquest be straightforward?
- Why shouldn't it be?

A dozen farmers die in the same way
every year,

dragging a gun through a hedge

with the safety off.

You'd agree?

Your new novel is in Hatchards' window.

I haven't read it yet.
Can't concentrate.

I had the stuffing knocked out of me.

My book won't rescue me from journalism.

I've got to write an article
about war babies

and the girls left holding them.

"The shame of our soldiers and sailors."

The trouble is there are no more babies
than there were before, so I'm stuck.

Well, it must be that
half the men are twice as reckless

because they may be killed

and half are twice as conscientious
for the same reason.

Oh, you darling man,
you've just saved me!

- My mind must be coming back.
- Yes.

The new book has got me an invitation
to one of Macmaster's tea parties.

- Will you come with me?
- Ah.

It is entirely possible that I may not.

Valentine, dear.

Mr Tietjens.

I knew that you were back, of course.

- Mrs Tietjens must be very...
- Yes.

I thought you were at...

Fri... Friday is my free afternoon.

I'm just home to change
to meet Mrs Duchemin off her train.

You still pour tea for Macmaster?
I thought that now that you...

- I do. Yes.
- Um...

- Well, I'm very glad you're...
- Yes. Thank you.

Well, I better be getting back to work.

Um...

Mmm.

Mrs Comfit, have you met
my little white mouse?

Oh, how lovely!

Rudy! Rudy, we are so looking forward
to your next.

- Thank you.
- A striking advance, Mrs Wannop.

Not only in your last book, but dare
I say, on Arnold Bennett's next.

Oh, do, do come and hear

Miss Delamere tell us about her triumph
as Phaedra in New York.

You too, Mr Whipple.

And they kept calling it "Fedder".
"I saw your Fedder, Miss Delamere!"

It sounded slightly improper.

- So brave of you to go.
- One must for one's art.

Sylvia.

Allow me.

Welcome, welcome.

- Mrs Duchemin, my
wife, Sylvia Tietjens.

- Oh.

A pleasure. An absolute pleasure.

And Vinnie, of course, you know.

Sylvia.

Allow me to introduce Miss Delamere.

A true artist
and I like to think a great friend.

Is that Mrs Wannop?

Yes.

Oh.

You're Mrs Wannop, the great writer.

I'm Christopher Tietjens' wife.

Well, but you're the most
beautiful creature!

Come along, sit down.
I'm longing to talk to you.

Indeed, indeed, Mrs Tietjens.

If you'd like to sit here...

No, no, no, Mrs Wannop can sit there.
Come along, there we are.

Now we can talk.

Your mother is having a regular triumph.

You're quite gay today.

You sound different.
I suppose you're better?

I still forget names.

A small part of my mathematical brain
came back to life.

I worked out a silly little equation.

What did you work out?

Oh, I looked over a problem
of Macmaster's,

really in a spirit of bravado
and the answer just came.

You...

- You really want to know?
- Of course.

The French were bleating about
the devastation

of bricks and mortar they've incurred
by enemy action.

I saw suddenly it was no more than one
year's normal peacetime dilapidation

spread over the whole country.

How wonderful!

So the argument for French command
of the Western Front

gets kicked out of court for a season.

But weren't you arguing
against your own convictions?

Yes, of course.
But Macmaster depends on me.

Oh, Christopher!

These boys have got a motor.
They're going to drive me to the Basils.

All right.

As soon as Mrs Wannop has had enough
I'll pop her in the Tube

and I'll pick you up.

Yes?

Thank you.

Evidently an oversight, my lord.

Who?

Tietjens!

To his club and the officers' mess!

Perhaps a letter to Mr Tietjens...

Yeah. No, send them back.

- Bounce them.
- My lord?

Send them back, now. Within the hour.

...Got you!

Not that we set much store
by these things,

but the King is seeing fit
to confer a knighthood on Vincent.

Oh, Edith, how lovely!
I'm sure he deserves it.

It's not for mere plodding.

But for a special piece of brilliance
that has marked him out at the office.

Oh, I know!

He worked out some calculation
to prove that French war damage

amounts to no more than
a normal year's peacetime dilapidation

How did you...
How could you possibly know that?

It's a dead secret!

Vincent must have told that fellow!
Your... Your...

No, it wouldn't have been Tietjens.
He's no patriot!

Gray's Inn, please.

Though he is in uniform, Edith.

What on Earth do you dare mean?

You may as well know there's not
a more discredited man in London.

You have personal interests at stake.

In our position now,
we cannot connive at your intrigue.

Intrigue? What can you mean?

You brazen! You've had a child
by that man, haven't you?

No! I certainly have not!

Oh, let's not, Edith!

For your own sake,
remember that you're a woman

and not forever and always a snob.

You were a good woman once

and you stuck by your mad husband
for quite a long time.

Please, stop! Stop! Stop!

Get out! Get out!

Thank you.

Oh, Val?

- Can you hang on here?
- Yeah.

Telegram for Wannop.

Thank you.

Oh, Edward's safe! He's on shore!

Thank God!

I must give that boy a sixpence.

- Hello?
- Can you ask if Christopher's there?

Is Mr Tietjens at home?

Young woman,

you'd better keep off the grass.

Mrs Duchemin is already
my husband's mistress.

50 keep off!

You have probably mistaken
the person you're speaking to.

Perhaps you wife' ask Mr Tietjens
to ring up Mrs Wannop

when he's at liberty.

My husband is going out to war tomorrow.

He will be at the War Office at 4:15.

He will speak to you there.

But I'd keep off the grass

if I were you.

Is Mrs Duchemin really your mistress?

Or only Macmaster's?

Or both?

Well, she's been Mrs Macmaster
for six months.

There's a party tonight to announce it.

And what about that girl you were
potty about at that horrible tea party?

Has she had a war baby by you?

Everyone says she's your mistress, too.

No, Miss Wannop is not my mistress.

It upset Brownlie so much he's going to
refuse your cheques just to please me.

Oh.

Do bankers do that
just to please their women friends?

I told him it wouldn't please me at all.

It's all the fault of this beastly war,
isn't it?

Turning decent people into squits.

Yes, that's what it is.

Well, I've no right to put a spoke
in that girl's wheel, or yours.

If you love each other,
I dare say she'll make you happy.

I could wangle you out of going back.

Thank you.

But I prefer to go.

- Oh, Chrissie, he didn't!
- He did.

The club and my officers' mess bill.

- But if you needed money...
- I didn't.

My account was overdrawn
for a few hours yesterday

because my payslip
from the army was late.

Well, then Brownlie will say so!
I'll make sure he does.

No, the damage is done.
Besides, I don't much care.

But...

Well, this means you're ruined!

It almost certainly means my ruin.

Oh, Christopher!

If you had once
in our lives said to me,

"You whore! You bitch!"

or about the child or Perowne,

you might have done something
to bring us together.

And I daresay if you're shot...

Christ!

...Between the saddle and the ground

you'll say that you never did
a dishonorable action.

In the name of the Almighty,
how can any woman live beside you?

But I never
disapproved of your actions.

I'm done for you.

I'm not going to listen to you.

You were let down at the beginning
by a brute,

so you have the right to let down a man.

It's woman against man,

now and ever has been.

Mark is going to walk me
to the War Office.

What have you done with the brass
your mother left you?

I settled half on Michael.
The rest I spent on the flat.

Furniture, my wife's rooms,

some notional loans to people.

Macmaster?

I suppose his wife is your mistress?

No.

I backed him just because he asked.

If a lot of fellows knew that,
you wouldn't have much brass for long.

I didn't have it for long.

Did you settle money on the girl
who had a child by you?

I haven't got any girl.
There's no child.

I live on my pay.

You had a cheque dishonored
at the club this morning.

You'd better look over my passbooks
for the last 10 years.

This is no good
if you don't believe what I say.

- Then Ruggles is a liar?
- Not really.

He picked up things said against me.
I don't know why.

Because you treat these south country
swine with the contempt they deserve.

I thought you'd been buried
in their muck so long...

Well, you'd better know
what our father wanted.

His idea was, if you were a pimp,
you were to go to hell on clean money,

whatever it took.

No good making a will,
I was to see to it.

Well, you won't be
a penny poorer for me!

I won't take his money.

You usually forgive a fellow
who shoots himself.

I don't.

I won't forgive him
for not making a will,

for calling in Ruggles,

for not talking to me at the club
the night before he died.

- That was stupidity.

- It was I who called
in Ruggles, though.

I don't forgive you, either.
The whole damn lot of you.

Well, keep your shirt on.

You must take enough to be comfortable.

Groby will come to you anyway,
if you don't get killed.

I don't want it.

And I loathe your buttered-toast,
mutton-chopped comfort

as much as I loathe
the chauffeured fornicators

in their town and country palaces.

My Marie Leonie makes better buttered
toast than you can get in the Savoy

and keeps herself neat and clean
on 500 a year.

I'd marry the doxy
if she weren't a Papist.

We've seen the last of England.

The professional army that
saw us through the last hundred years

is every man of them dead.

Civilisation has gone to war
in their place.

We're all barbarians now.

Look at this horror
and you in that uniform!

Miss Wannop!

This... This is my brother, Mark.

Oh, I didn't know
Mr Tietjens had a brother.

- How do you do?
- How do you do?

I must speak with you
and then I'm going.

Is Edith your mistress?

Certainly not!

How could you ask
such a tomfool question? You!

Don't you know me?

Your wife said, "Mrs Duchemin
is my husband's mistress,"

"so keep off the grass."

Isn't she a truthful person?

She believes what she says.

But she only believes what she wants
to believe and only for that moment.

So it isn't true?

Oh, I knew it wasn't.

Come along.
I have to get my movement order

and then I'm free.

I can't come with you crying like this.

Oh, yes, you can.
This is the place where women cry.

Besides, there's Mark,
he's a comforting ass.

- Oh, am I?
- Here, look after Miss Wannop.

Look here, my father
wanted your mother to be comfortable.

I'm here on business.

You may take it as if my father
left your mother a nice little plum,

so that she can write books.

Say, a lump sum
giving her an annuity of ?500.

Does that sound right?

There'll be a bit for you
and something for your brother.

You haven't fainted, have you?

I don't faint.

I CW...

That's all right.

I want Christopher to have

somewhere to have a mutton chop,
an armchair by the fire,

someone who's good for him.

You're good for him.

Now, I'm going in to see
about Christopher.

I think I can get him
into looking after transport.

It's a safe job. Safe-ish.

No beastly glory about it.

Do be quick, then!
Do get him into transport at once!

Let's get out of this.

I'm going in to see General Haggard.
I suppose you won't shake hands?

- No. Why should I?
- Oh, do!

You might get killed.

You might think,
while you're getting killed,

- "Oh, God, if only, I wish I'd..."
- Or I might wish that I had not.

But...

Oh, well.

Will you be my mistress tonight?

I'm going out at 8.30 tomorrow
from Waterloo.

Yes! Yes, of course I will!

Where?
I'll give Macmaster's party a miss.

No. No, you must go.
Come late. After 11 is best.

I'll be at home.
We'll have to be quiet, though.

We'll be quiet.

I tell you, from the first moment...

I know.

- When did you...
- My colours are in the mud.

It's not a good thing to find oneself
living by an outmoded code of conduct.

People take you to be a fool.
I'm coming round to their opinion.

But we were in a carpenter's vice,

it was like being pushed together.

Every minute since the first moment,
I've waited.

Oh, my dear!

- Splendid news.
- A great thing, Vinnie's knighthood.

- Dining at the club tonight?
- No. I've resigned.

The membership committee...
Well, the Duke, actually...

Well, your wife, in fact...

Anyway, your resignation
has not been accepted.

I understand I have to thank you.

Oh, Brownlie begged!

Begs to have the honor of
your continuing to draw on his bank.

Well, for that, too.

- Are you leaving?
- Yes.

I have an engagement.

Darling, could you please...

One moment, please. Please, one moment.

Ah, Macmaster, finally.

Excuse me, excuse me.
Forgive me, please.

Chrissie! Chrissie!
Excuse me. I'm sorry.

Chrissie! Wait!

You're not going?

I...

I wanted to explain.

- This... This miserable knighthood.
- That's all right, old man.

We've been pals long enough
for a little thing like that not...

I'm very glad for you. Truly.

And Valentine?

It's all right. She's at another party.

I'm going on.

Tell her!

You may be killed.

I beg you to believe.

I will never, never abandon her.

Yes.

Well...

Well...

Valentine!

Edward!

Meet my friends. Meet my friends.

- Hello.
- Hello.

The trains...

Ah.

It does make one believe in something.

I'm so sorry, Miss Wannop.

I suppose we are the sort

that do not.

But when you come back...

That night we drove
through the mist five years ago

and you said I'd never
take you to Groby.

And I never will.

I can't live at Groby with you.

A trollop from the servants' hall
to scandalize the parson,

that would be understood but not...

Not you.

I'll be ready.

I'll be ready for anything you ask.

Oh, my dear.

Come back.

Gray's Inn.

Walk on.

Oh, don't tell me you didn't.

You didn't, did you?

Let's not quarrel now.

There's something I've decided about.

Oh, don't you dare tell me
it was for my sake.

Oh, she was ready to
drop into your mouth like a grape!

How could you be such a skunk?

I have to pack my things for France.

Oh, you might as well!

Couldn't you bring yourself
to seduce that little kitchen maid?

There'd have been a chance for us.

I've decided about Michael.

For I must to the greenwood go.

Do you mean it?
I may bring up Michael as a Catholic?

A Roman Catholic. You'll teach him,
please, to use that term.

But I'm obviously not the man to have
charge of the future master of Groby.

I am not a whole man any more.

- When did you...
- When my cheques were dishonored.

- Oh, but it was only that squit.
- But I let it happen.

And my father believed the squits, too,
but I let that happen.

A man who can't do any better than that

had better let
the mother bring up the child.

I loved the little beggar
with all my soul

from the moment I saw him.

Perhaps that's the secret.

Well, thank God
he has softened your heart.

You're to have Father...

Father...

Not my heart, my brain!

- Father Consett.
- Consett!

An intelligent priest.

He'll teach as much sense as nonsense.

Father Consett was hanged.

They dared not put it in the papers
because he was a priest.

And all the witnesses were Ulstermen.

And yet I may not say

this is an accursed war.

You may for me.