No, wait, wait! Come back, Mrs Partridge!
It wasn't meant to be rude!
I was just trying to demonstrate the intensity of me feelings!
Wa-hay!
You know, if ever one of those came up in the middle of the North Sea,
there'd be an international incident to decide who was entitled to stick a flag in it.
Oh, come on, let's go call on Clegg.
Just a moment, just a moment.
I'm studying contrast and tone.
I used to exhibit myself, you know.
You mucky old devil!
In the 14th Field Signals Regimental Camera Club,
I won the Mrs Colonel Langford OBE Award for my interpretation
of a soldier's farewell at F 11 in 1/60th of a second.
Of course, the equipment has improved since those days.
Mine hasn't.
Marvellous what you can do with a close-up lens.
Well, hurry up and do it and let's go and get Clegg.
You've no cultural interest at all, have you?
I've got my ferrets.
Did you never take advantage of the Army's further-education schemes?
Well, we had this Army film show once about social diseases.
My mate fainted.
It's all a lot of rhubarb, this, isn't it? Look at this!
A tacky bit of wood. Who wants to take a photograph of a lump of wood?
That is a study in texture.
Give over.
I bet that bloke had a dolly bird sitting on there.
So what? And he clicked his shutter and she fell off!
You've no idea, no idea at all.
Eh-up.
Eh, look at this 'ere. "September Morn."
It must have some appeal for you, you're looking at it close enough.
Well, you can't believe in it, Two skinny tarts prancing about in fog.
That is not fog, you uncouth member of the proletariat!
That's mist, fingers of autumn mist.
That's fog! That is mist!
Moody, atmospheric mist.
And that's a dewy meadow they're wandering through, not a slag heap.
Their feet must be filthy. Oh, well, they are now! Eh! Hmm?
It was just a friendly gesture, Mrs Partridge.
DH Lawrence would have understood it.
I should hope so. He'd be in trouble with them Arabs if he didn't.
I wouldn't hurt you for the world, Mrs Partridge, but you must understand this urge to...
this urge to touch each other comes from the depths of evolutionary time.
It's not where it comes from, Mr Wainwright,
it's where it was going that worried me.
Eh-up! I'm glad to see she's marking your card again!
Ah, come on now, be prepared to hold out.
Oh, dear, he's off again.
Now then, nice smile...
Lovely. I'm all in favour of boyish enthusiasms, it keeps you young.
Where would you be without Mrs Batty and your ferrets?
The little devil bit me last night.
Not in front of her husband, I hope?
I'm talking about my ferrets!
I didn't think you meant Mrs Batty somehow.
You know, I must get a light meter.
I should get a heavy one. You'll pay more, but it'll last longer.
Shall us go in?
Come on in, we'll have coffee.
Ah, just what I fancy.
Two sugars for me.
You know, in the right hands,
the camera is an instrument of expression.
Eh, give us a fag and I'll pose for thee in my wellies and garters.
Ooh! Eh, dear!
It's an uphill struggle trying to educate him. It really is.
Just the same at school.
Fast asleep in every poetry lesson.
Old Fergie would hardly get through the first line..."I must down to the seas again" when he'd already gone.
I knew Eskimo Nell. Knew her?
You once took her on that coach trip from the Black Bull. Who?
Her with the big glasses and always full of beer.
Ah, that were Maureen Hargreaves. How much could she sup?
I don't know, I could never afford to find out.
Eh, he has been out with some rubbish.
Why don't you write your memoirs?
Cos I haven't finished living them yet!
You must be joking!
Who do you think's going to fancy you nowadays, apart from Hammer Films?
I do as well as thee.
And it's no use flashing your camera about, Princess Margaret's not going to come round again.
She'd never get on with his landlady.
You've got to get somebody that's compatible, shares your interests.
In my opinion, Cyril, your being married to Princess Margaret
would have severely restricted your freedom of movement in places like Francine Jessop's sandpit.
I never went near Francine Jessop's sandpit.
What's all this lot, any road?
Came across it in the shed. I never realised you'd been out camping.
We only used it once, took me months to talk her into it.
I'd just read the Last Of The Mohicans and I was desperate to practise my woodcraft.
And what did she make of it?
Ah, it was a disaster. You know how it is?
Few mature married women have the taste for playing Indians.
Oh, I don't know, I think Nora Batty
would enjoy scalping him if she could.
Ah-ha! She fancies me.
Well, she disguises it superbly.
Well, she has to, she's a married woman.
It's all right all this women's lib,
but they're never really going to be like us, are they?
Not till they've learnt how to fall in love with railway engines,
postage stamps, ferrets.
Where did you go for this return to nature?
We had one night in a field just off the East Lancs Road.
She insisted on maintaining her lifeline to all public amenities.
There was I thinking in terms of the uncharted wilderness
and this bloke comes and dumps an old mattress and the innards of a slot machine.
You do get some heathens about.
Fancy folk doing a thing like that.
You can get good money for scrap these days.
So much for your concern for the environment.
It was in prehistoric days, before insecticides.
There were still flowers about.
A bit sooty, but game.
I picked her this handful of cowslips and took them back to the tent.
She took one look at them and burst into tears. She was touched.
She was furious. She came at me wielding this camper's friend, a combination tool with 100 uses.
What happened? Can't you guess?
She found the 101st!
She were always ugly, then?
Aye. It's over-exposed and the lighting's terrible. Who took it?
I took it, for better or worse.
And it was never worse than in that field.
She just didn't look at home in a field.
She sat there in her best navy coat and her chapel hat
pining for her draining board.
I pointed out a passing curlew and a huge tear trickled down her cheek.
She wept all the way home softly,
in-between playing roasting hell with me for expecting her to eat baked beans with a spoon.
When we got home, she drank a scalding hot cup of tea and papered a ceiling.
Stealthily!
You're supposed to go like a phantom.
You two are more like a tandem.
I'm trying to capture the savage struggle for existence that goes on at this level.
I hope you know this is ruining the crease in my trousers!
You've got about a million creases in them trousers. How about greenfly? Probably got those as well.
COMPO BLOWS A RASPBERRY To you!
Do you want to photograph greenfly?
Not really, they're a bit too listless.
I'd prefer something more aggressive like a beetle.
Eh-up, he's fearless, this lad!
That's quite enough of you.
Caterpillar. Is it furry?
It's like an Old English Sheepdog.
Ah, now then, that would make an interesting study.
Don't get too close, it'll have you! They've got a wicked set of teeth.
Oh, look, do keep out of my light. Ooh, I can't bear to watch this.
If tha's ever seen anybody mauled by one of them... Agh!
QUACKING
Why are you always trying to humiliate me? Ah, it's me hobby.
I shall never forgive you for being drunk at Grandad's funeral.
Me, why pick on me? The only poor devil sober was your grandad.
Oh, you liar!
You know my mother doesn't drink. I know she never buys any.
Oh, very witty! Three pints of ale and you think you're Jack Benny.
Oh, I just like to have a bit of fun. Fun? You and your jokes.
Sometimes, I could just bury my head. Funny you should say that...
Why don't you then, if that's how you feel about that? Oh, yes...
I just said a couple of jokes... What jokes? They were filthy!
Hey! Let's have summat wet for the greater-crested tit here!
ARGUING CONTINUES
Speak up, we can't hear you in the fourpennies!
Oh, it's you. Well, come and help yourselves.
You're not paralysed, are you?
# There'll be a welcome in the hillside
# There'll be a welcome in the Dales... #
Oh, promises, promises!
Want a cup of tea, Sid? Yeah.
What was she like, Sid, before thee married her?
Well, she was a bit thinner, she was just as nasty.
I've no excuse really. Oh, it were romance, was it?
It was her mother. You never heard such a fuss, just because I got her daughter drunk.
Said I'd had my way with her because she was sick on the bus.
Two barley wines. I've been paying for them ever since.
Serves you right, Sidney, if you got her drunk for your own evil purposes.
You should rely on judo, like a gentleman.
You what? All she got from me that day was a loan of my best hankie. Get off!
I bet he's a raving monster, this one. No lass'd be safe with him.
At Mablethorpe, where could you go?
Anyway, our Ivy could flatten all four of us with one hand doing her baking.
Ah! She's a nice lass, is that.
How would you know?
Your own experience has been confined to the oddest assortment of females outside a women's lib demonstration,
only yours looked like that before women's lib was invented.
Oh! Ha-ha-ha!
And what about Molly Pepper?
You never got near Molly Pepper.
Oh, tha can think what tha likes.
She wouldn't be seen dead... She married a university lecturer.
Well, don't hold that against her, anybody can make a mistake.
Come on, tell us what there was between you and Molly Pepper.
Sid, let's have a bash at a currant-y bun!
You see, in a nutshell, she couldn't resist his silvery tongue.
I knew where she had a mole.
No scruples, you see. He'd even slander the poor girl's name.
The fact she was Secretary of the Young Conservatives goes for nothing.
Where did she have a mole?
On her front lawn. I killed it for her. How old were you then? 12.
I thought we'd make a go of it, but she were frightened of me ferret.
Oh, I don't know how you can stand the pace!
Think on, it's your darts club tonight, remember.
Don't be lifting them pages all by yourself.
Ivy, Ivy, Ivy.
I owe for a currant-y bun.
Well, bloody pay for it!
We're not on Diners Club here.
I want to speak with you. What?
What do you mean by making coarse public comments about our love life?
What do you mean, our love life?
I'll not have you broadcasting what goes on in our bed.
Broadcasting?! You could get it written on a telegram!
And whose fault is that? It's not mine, is it?
I give you a nudge regular enough.
Just think, some folk don't have a wife to care for them.
I'm convinced of one thing, Mrs Partridge.
It's the real thing this time. I should hope so, Mr Wainwright,
else we oughtn't to have been doing what we have been doing in our lunchtime.
You are happy, aren't you, Mrs Partridge? Oh, yes, Mr Wainwright.
I'd do anything for you, Mrs Partridge.
Will you make sure there are no leaves in my hair?
Oh, I do hope I'm not covered in pollen. He gets hay fever.
I shall have to mow the lawn when I get home and then, if he starts sneezing, I can blame it on that.
I think it's wonderful that you're prepared to mow the lawn because of me, Mrs Partridge.
It makes another bond between us, like modern poetry and the New Statesman.
I don't like the four-letter words.
That's only to shock the bourgeoisie, Mrs Partridge.
When the revolution comes, there'll be no-one to shock any more.
We'll all use four-letter words.
There'll be no more hypocrisy.
It's too difficult to spell.
I've just done me face, Mr Wainwright!
You do understand why me conscience won't allow me to go all the way.
Oh, yes, I understand, blast it.
And I respect you for it.
Only, there was no need to elbow me where you did, Mrs Partridge.
I can take a hint, you know.
I am sorry, Mr Wainwright.
I didn't know about that zip in your inside pocket.
I didn't realise you were just putting your glasses away.
As long as we're together, Mrs Partridge,
as long as we can go on...
going nearly all the way...
I don't know about "nearly", Mr Wainwright.
I'll try and be patient, Mrs Partridge.
I suppose it was silly of me to panic, but when I heard your zip go,
I never dreamed it was your glasses pocket!
We're going to have to pack it in, Cyril, this lurking-about lark.
We're either going to get arrested or assaulted.
Or even educated.
I didn't know they came here.
I expected a pair of nesting chaffinch, not a brace of librarians.
Once you realise they're cavorting, it's too late to move, in't it?
Oh, my foot's gone to sleep. They need putting to sleep, your feet.
If you want to photograph something, then pick something that we're not going to be accused of peeping at,
something neutral. What about the sunrise tomorrow morning?
I'm not getting up early in t'morning.
We don't have to get up for it.
We'll be out there waiting for it.
We'll sleep out there, somewhere up on the hill, eh?
We'll use the camping gear,
use the tent.
You've got a sleeping bag, Cyril, I've got two.
A drowsy summer night, smell of grass...
THUNDER CRASHES
Oh, dear. Agh! I've trod in something! I've trod in something!
Will you get that out of my face?
I can't see where I'm looking.
That's a sight I shall always remember.
The wet look comes to long johns.
Oh, I do hope there's nobody in here. Suppose it's inhabited?
I were just getting comfortable in that tent. I should think you were.
You had three quarters of it.
It's really quite unexciting, isn't it, water trickling down your neck?
No wonder rich folk don't go in for it.
What's that? What's that?
It's a pair of... Look, will you shut up? You'll get me nervous!
Put the gear down here. It's dry down here.
Not on me foot! Oh, dear, what a place to go to bed in.
We'll make it comfy in a minute. Now, what we want is a fire.
Now, get some sticks and stuff, eh?
THUNDER CRASHES
I bet there's Boris Karloff round here somewhere plugging into all this free electricity.
I'll just turn the lamp up so that we can see ourselves in our midsummer splendour.
"Balmy summer night," he says!
That tent were about as waterproof as my left sock.
It was all right in 1947.
"Smell of grass," he says. All we get is the smell of steaming long johns.
Ah, it should remind you of that September Morn.
Would you care to smoke?
Eh up, are you losing your grip?
It's my turn. It were your turn three years ago.
Do we light it or have it inscribed?
Ah, get it lit. I bet this goes bang or something halfway down.
Come on, let's get the fire lit. Well, hurry up. I'm cold.
Get some more sticks. Put them in the middle here.
Oh, look, there's water dripping right in the middle of it!
It's all right, is this.
I knew I was cut out for camping.
All them years in the lino department
when I could have been out here under the stars getting pneumonia.
'Ere, hang on.
Just before we turn in, I'd like to take a photo of this for posterity.
Stand over there.
I'll just get me camera adjusted.
I'm getting fed up with you with that camera.
It's not the same round here.
It's perishing! Have you got enough light?
I could use a flash. Right. Not that sort of flash! Put your leg down!
Well, hurry up, I'm freezing!
Cecil Beaton could have taken six by now and gone out and bought a new hat. Right, hold it!
Let's get turned in.
Well, there's nowt to stop us now.
We can go where we want.
I dare bet when we're feeling really reckless,
we'll travel anything up to five miles away.
Oh, not to Mablethorpe. What about Sid in t'caff?
Oh, there's hundreds of places you could go. I've just been.
You can have some harrowing experiences travelling.
If you go a few miles in that direction,
you're liable to finish up in Lancashire? You could come out again. I should hope so!
But if you take the wrong direction coming out, where are you next? Wales!
But there must be some kind of warning. There isn't.
You could be there in all innocence, unless you happen to hear the rustle of dry lettuce and a hymn or two.
They should rope it off, like a hole in the road.
Well, you don't have to stop there. You could go right across the seas.
Aye, and then what's the first place you bump into? Ireland!
Dodge City with Guinness.
He's got a lovely set of teeth, has Cyril.
His mam used to feed him on ginger snaps.
And don't forget, all got to get up early in the morning
in case the sun decides to penetrate that heaving monsoon cloud.
"Balmy summer night," he says!
Well, I'm not a photo fanatic, so don't start knocking me up early.
One out, all out! Crack of dawn.
You can be fairy godmother, Cyril.
Brew up in the morning.
The tea's at your elbow.
Right, good night!
Night. Good night.
QUACKING
I am not listening.
I have withdrawn into the deep recesses of Hindu meditation.
QUACK!
And you.
Nearly dinnertime. I know! Me belly's rumbling.
I do not wish to know that.
I was supposed to photograph the sunrise. Yes, er,
I meant to talk to you about that, Cyril. Eh?
Would you settle for a sunset?
We'll leave that lot, Ernie. If you send it down on Clapper's van...
Camper's breakfast, eh?
Ah, it gives you an appetite, this outdoor caper.
That's your sixth bag of crisps. There ain't much in crisps!
The way you eat 'em sounds like the Durham Light Infantry marching on thin ice.
Me man used to like 'em with cheese and pickles.
The Durham Light Infantry? I never knew that.
No, crisps, y'daft barmcake!
Fastest marching pace in the British Army, the Durham Light Infantry.
Aye, going forward, maybe.
But me and Ginger Carrington were going faster when we were deserting.
You're a disgrace to the colours.
Well, he were worrying about his wife having a baby.
And he knew if he never got home, she'd never have one.
What were you doing on this dubious expedition?
Oh, he were me mate. We did everything together.
He's a bigger liar than Godfrey's parrot.
Ah, yes, but he's had more advantages than Godfrey's parrot.
Aye, I've been lucky that way. No more than you deserve. Ta.
I think I've got just about half a roll left.
I wouldn't say that, Cyril, if the right woman comes along.
Film, I'm talking about.
That's what we should do sometime, go to t'films.
We haven't been to t'flicks for ages.
Oh, they're all bum and bosoms nowadays.
Cowboys ain't. Ah, but if they were, wouldn't the history of the West have been different?
I like a good cowboy.
He's still got this yen for the wide-open spaces.
You've only got to look in his underpants to see that.
We should go to Huddersfield.
Which is notorious for cowboys, as everybody knows.
To Huddersfield films! When there's a cowboy on.
I've heard enough rattle of gunfire listening to you eat them chips.
It's better than thee clicking the shutter. Photography is an art form!
What? 33 shots of a caterpillar's landing gear?
You must be tolerant of people's foibles.
He's no idea. No idea at all.
Oh, I don't mind people's foibles.
But 33 close-ups of a caterpillar's foibles? Ooh!
Come on, get it down, hurry up.
Ta-ra, Ernie. All the best, Ernie.
It's not a bad day now, Cyril. True. What are we going to do with it?
I want me dinner.
Well, it can't take all day, even you.
Let's build a flying model aircraft.
Oh, no, that's boring.
No, they always crash first go.
Now we've finished with aeronautics, let's do something else.
Take me hands.
One of these days, I'm going to paint Mrs Batty.
What colour? On paper, y'silly sod!
That's who he reminds me of! Toulouse-Lautrec!
Who's he when he's out?
He's a painter. And decorator?
Does he do muriels? Does he do what?
Muriels! Pictures on t'walls!
Little Dick Garriss does muriels.
There's nothing like setting yourself a target.
Eh, he did one on this chip-shop wall.
There's another novelty. In Huddersfield.
A mermaid and six haddocks.
Very moving, I'm sure.
I bet John Wayne ain't always clicking his shutter. No!
And let's hope he's quicker on t'draw than someone I could mention when losing control of his undergarments.
It's all right up here, but you do miss the refinements of life...
like Rachmaninov and plumbing.