The chief beauty of this work lies not so much in its style,
or in the extent and usefulness of the information it conveys,
as in its simple truthfulness.
It forms a record of events that really happened.
Other works may excel this in depth of thought
and knowledge of human nature,
but for hopeless and incurable veracity, nothing yet discovered can surpass it.
There were four of us.
George and William Samuel Harris
and myself and Montmorency.
We were sitting in my room, smoking and talking about how bad we were.
Bad from a medical point of view, I mean, of course.
With me, it's giddiness.
- It's giddiness with me, too. - Hmm.
Sometimes I have such extraordinary fits of giddiness,
- I hardly know what I'm doing. - I hardly know what I'm doing, too,
I have such extraordinary fits of giddiness.
With me, it's my liver that's out of order.
Oh, how do you know?
Well, I've been reading this patent liver-pill circular which sets out
the various symptoms by which a man can tell when his liver is out of order.
I have them all,
including what it calls "a general disinclination to work of any kind".
I've got that, too.
I've been a martyr to it since earliest boyhood.
- I was born with it. - They didn't know it was my liver.
Course, medical science was in a far less advanced state than now.
They used to give me a clump on the side of the head.
- Didn't do any good. - My whole body, you know...
We sat there describing to each other our maladies.
I explained to George and Harris how I felt when I got up in the morning.
And Harris told us how he felt when he went to bed.
And George stood on the hearth rug
and gave us a clever and powerful piece of acting,
illustrative of how he felt in the night.
George fancies he is ill,
but there's never anything really the matter with him.
Mrs Poppets.
Supper? I suppose one should try.
A cousin of mine who is usually described on the charge-sheet
as a medical student once told me
that something in the stomach often keeps disease in check.
Steak and onions, and rhubarb pie.
Hmm.
What we need is a rest.
Rest and a complete change.
Leave the 19th century behind,
seek out some quaint, forgotten nook.
Far from the madding crowd, half as old as time.
- What we need is a sea trip. - No, no, no.
- I remember once... - Not now, old chap.
Why don't we go up the river?
Fresh air, the changing scene will occupy our minds,
including what there is of Harris'.
And the exercise will make us sleep well.
I agree. I think it a very sensible idea.
It just goes to show that you should never write off a man
just because he's never had a sensible idea before.
- I propose. - Second.
- Aye. - Any against?
Carried by three to one.
The Thames, couched in that green and golden valley,
winding and whispering, singing of strange old tales and secrets
as it flows under the fair canopy of England sky through England's history.
Our little boat, borne along on sun-dappled waters,
through shady woods and blazing fields...
How about when it rains?
That's Harris all over.
When George is hanged, Harris will be the least romantic man in the world.
We had arranged that George, who goes to sleep at a bank
from 10 till four every day except Saturday,
when they wake him up and put him outside at two,
would join us when we got up the river to Shepperton.
Meanwhile, Harris and I and the Gladstone
and the small handbag and the two hampers and the big roll of rugs
and some overcoats and mackintoshes
and a melon by itself in a bag and a Japanese umbrella
and a frying pan which wouldn't go in anywhere and Montmorency
arrived on our way to the Kingston train.
The 11:05 for Kingston?
11:05 for Kingston? Number 2, sir.
Number 2? That's the Windsor Loop.
You want Number 1, sir.
Number 1 is the Reigate Stopping, so I hear.
- The 11:05 for Kingston? - Oh, yes, indeed.
Well, I was just talking to a man who said he'd seen it on Number 3.
He was almost positive about that.
Otherwise, there's a body of opinion
which leans toward the eye-level platform for the Kingston train.
Though, in my opinion, sir, that is the Southampton Express.
- They don't know, sir. You follow me. - Thank you.
Monty, come along.
I'm sorry to trouble you.
But are you the 11...
...the 11:05 for Kingston?
Couldn't rightly say.
I might be and then again I might not be.
If I'm not, I'm the 9:32 for Virginia Water,
or the Guilford local.
Could you please be the 11:05 for Kingston?
Well, some train's got to go to Kingston, innit?
Thank you very kindly, sir. 11:05 to Kingston it is.
Thank you very much.
This is the Exeter mail, apparently.
Well, it might be. Then again, it might not.
And so the railway system
which has made England the envy of the world brought us to Kingston.
And at 12:00, with our luggage stowed and Montmorency unhappy
and deeply suspicious in the prow,
out we rode onto the waters which were to be our home.
We hoped up as far as Oxford,
though the possibilities for digression along the Thames are infinite.
We had barely started when Harris was minded to enquire
whether I'd ever been to Hampton Court Maze.
- Ever been to Hampton Court Maze, J? - No.
Harris said he went in once to show a country cousin the way.
He had studied it up on a map.
We'll just go in so you can say you've been, but it's very simple.
Absurd to call it a maze, really.
Uh, we'll walk around for 10 minutes and then go get some lunch, all right?
Well...
They met some people soon after they got inside
who'd been in there for three-quarters of an hour.
- Morning. - Morning.
Want to get it over with? You can follow me if you like.
- I'm going in and coming out again. - That's very kind of you, sir.
Everybody's welcome. Just keep turning to the left.
Thank God you've come, sir.
- We'd just about given up hope, sir. - This way.
And bit by bit, they picked up all the people who were in the maze,
including a woman with a baby who'd been in there all morning
and insisted on taking Harris' arm for fear of losing him.
Turn left, round here.
This way.
Harris kept turning to the left.
This way!
I suppose it's a very big maze.
Yes, yes, one of the largest in Europe.
Yes, it must be. Because we've walked a good two miles already.
Mmm.
This way!
Harris began to think it rather strange himself, but he held on until...
Here, we passed that biscuit 10 minutes ago.
Impossible.
Yes, we did. It's Albert's. I saw him drop it down.
Well, according to the map...
I wish I'd never met you.
All right!
We'll go back to the entrance and start again from there.
Keep turning... right.
Oh!
And so after turning right a good deal,
- he found himself... - And here we are...
- ...in the middle. - ...in the middle.
Oh, just as I... Just as I'd...
Harris thought at first of pretending that that was what he'd been aiming at,
but the crowd looked dangerous.
And he decided to treat it as an accident,
and set off once more towards the perimeter.
All right, keep going, keep going. Keep to the right.
Come on, there, keep to the right. Keep going right!
Finally, right again. And here we are.
Albert and I will stay here. You go on.
Madam, I advise you to follow me.
We're all right. You can pick us up on your next time through.
You silly old baggage!
Here, who do you think you're talking to?
All right. Anyone who wants to stay here for the rest of the day is welcome.
I'm going home now.
The optimists of the party kept dwindling faith with Harris.
The pessimists remained in the middle,
and were swiftly vindicated.
Harris got his map out again,
but the sight of it seemed to infuriate the mob.
They told him to...
Go and curl your hair with it!
- And to... - Go and stuff it!
...away somewhere.
Evidently, it happens all the time.
- It really is an awfully good maze. - Mmm.
We must try and get George into it on the way back.
Good idea.
- Incidentally... - Mmm?
I'm quite willing to let you scull for a bit if you want to.
Don't want to be selfish about it.
- Put in here a while, J. - Here? Why?
It's Hampton Church, I want to see Mrs Thomas' tomb.
Who's Mrs Thomas?
How should I know? She's just a lady who has a funny tomb.
I know it's supposed to be the proper thing to do
every time you see a church, to rush off and enjoy the graves.
I don't hold with it as a form of recreation.
Anyway, we haven't got time.
I have looked forward to seeing Mrs Thomas' tomb
since the moment this trip was proposed.
In fact, I wouldn't have come but for the thought of seeing Mrs Thomas' tomb.
This is just morbid extravagance. I'm sorry.
Well, what about the scold's bridle at Walton Church?
I must see the scold's bridle.
We have to get the boat up to Shepperton by teatime to meet George.
Oh, hang George! Why couldn't he get the day off?
What use is a bank anyway?
They take all your money and when you want to write a cheque
it's referred to drawer.
Damn nerve! I'm going to withdraw my account.
I'm going to get out and have a drink.
- There's some lemonade in the hamper. - I said a drink!
Not your Sunday school slops, lemonade, raspberry syrup...
- That poison! Dandelion and burdock... - Pull on your line.
...ginger beer. If you ask me, they ruin body and soul
and are responsible for half the crime in England.
- Pull on your line! - I'm pulling.
The other one.
I say, though. This is the life, isn't it?
Rather.
- Sorry if I was a bit touchy back there. - Touchy? When?
Wasn't I a bit touchy about George and Mrs Thomas?
Were you? I didn't notice.
Very kind of you to concern yourself, though.
Not at all. Good egg.
Who's this?
Do you know you gents are trespassing?
What does he say?
He wants to know if we know we're trespassing.
I'm not sure I've given the matter sufficient consideration.
We haven't given the matter sufficient consideration.
But if you give us your assurance that we are indeed trespassing,
we would without hesitation believe it.
Well, I tell you, you are trespassing.
- He says we are. - Ah.
- Thank you. - Thank you very much.
I'm supposed to throw you off!
What does he say?
He says it's his duty to throw us off.
Oh, well, if it's his duty, he ought to do it.
Does he say how he intends to go about it?
No. He's taciturn on the subject.
I shall tell the master.
Then come back and throw you both in the river!
He only wanted a shilling.
He must make quite an income blackmailing weak-minded noodles.
Walton is quite a large place for a riverside town,
but only the tiniest corner comes down to the water.
Caesar, of course had a little place at Walton.
An entrenchment or a camp or something of that sort.
He was a great upriver man, was Caesar.
And Queen Elizabeth was there, too. And Cromwell.
They made a very odd trio.
People used to comment when they went on picnics.
The first thing we saw at Shepperton was George's blazer
on one of the lock gates.
Hello, Harris!
- Hello! - Hey!
J!
And closer inspection showed that George was inside it.
- What's that? A frying pan? - No.
They're all the rage up the river this season. Everyone's got one.
It's a banjo.
I never knew you played the banjo.
Well, not exactly, no.
But it's very easy, they tell me. And I've got the instruction book.
- Good. - Banjo.
Suits you.
Goes awfully well with your outfit.
Do you like the blazer?
As an object to hang above a fruit bed to frighten away the birds,
I should respect it.
As an article of dress for any other human being
apart from a Margate Minstrel, it makes me ill.
I've always found envy distasteful.
I noticed you and J were envious the moment you saw it.
I can easily dispose of that idea.
Your blazer wouldn't suit me at all.
I always like a darker red in my things. Red and black.
You see, my hair's a sort of rather golden brown colour.
Rather pretty shade, I've been told.
And I find that dark red really picks it up beautifully.
I always stick to yellows and browns.
My eyes have an unusual kind of hazel glint.
Rather mysterious, it's been remarked.
I find yellows and browns pick it up.
Yes. You don't think your complexion too ruddy for yellow?
No. Yellow doesn't suit you at all,
there can be no doubt about that.
You really ought to take some blue and white with a little cream touched in.
You really wouldn't look half bad in blues and creams
if you kept your hat on.
Now, George, on the other hand...
Why is George looking like a martyred goose?
It must be some girl.
Everybody in the lock seemed to have been suddenly struck wooden.
All the girls were smiling sweetly.
And all the fellows were frowning and looking stern and noble.
And then at last, the truth flashed across me.
I leant with careless grace upon the hitcher,
in an attitude suggestive of agility and strength.
And threw an air of tender wistfulness into my expression
mingled with a touch of cynicism, which I'm told suits me.
Oi, look at your nose!
Look at your nose!
George, I think there's something wrong with your nose.
You three with the dog! Watch your nose!
Oh, it's our nose. It's our nose!
It was J's fault.
That's Harris all over, too. You know, it always reminds me of...
Not now, J.
There we are.
We found a very pleasant nook under a tree,
a little below Magna Carta Island.
And with hardy any difficulty, prepared the boat for the night.
Slowly the golden memory of the dead sun faded.
The birds ceased their song.
And only the plaintive cry and harsh croak of the moorhen and the corncrake
stirred the awed hush around the couch of waters
where dying day breathed out her last.
Night upon her sombre throne
folds her black wings above the darkening world,
and from her phantom palace holds sway in stillness.
♪ Two lovely black eyes
♪ Oh
♪ Oh, what a surprise
♪ Surprise
♪ Oh, what a surprise
♪ Two lovely
♪ Two lovely black eyes ♪
King John had slept at Duncroft Hall.
And all the day before,
the little town of Staines has echoed to the clang of armed men
and the clatter of horses on its rough stones.
Since dawn, in the lower of the two islands just above us,
there has been great clamour, and the sound of many workmen.
In the great pavilion brought there yester eve,
carpenters are busy nailing tiers of seats,
and up the slope of Cooper's Hill
are gathered the wondering rustics and curious townsfolk.
And some say that much good to all the people
will come from this day's work.
Then far down the road in the morning sun
a cloud of dust has arisen,
and there comes a brilliant cavalcade of gay-dressed lords and knights.
And front and rear, there ride the yeomen of the barons,
and in their midst, King John.
The barge is waiting. King John dismounts and takes his seat.
And slowly the heavy, bright-decked barge leaves the shore
and works ponderously against the current
till it grates against the bank of the little island
that from this day will bear the name Magna Carta Island.
We wait in breathless silence till a great shout cleaves the air...
...and the great cornerstone in England's temple of liberty has,
now we know, been firmly laid.
What is the matter? Where am I?
Runnymede.
I'll be down in a minute. I think I'll wear my black lace-up boots.
We had made gigantic arrangements for bathing.
I notice people always do that when they are going anywhere near water.
We had packed three bath towels, so as not to keep each other waiting.
Well, who's going in first?
I mean, I don't think I ought to go in because of my kidneys.
- And because of your liver. - Liver. Yeah, yeah.
Yes. Well, I don't think I ought to go in because of my liver, too.
Oh, I think that'll do for today.
Hello! Old J's in. He's got more pluck than I thought.
- Say, is it all right? - It's lovely. Lovely.
Wouldn't have missed it for worlds.
All it wants is a little determination.
Oh, that's better.
Oh, damn it. My shirt's gone in.
Oh, dear. Oh, dear.
Well, I don't see what's so very funny about it.
His shirt's gone in!
- Oh, dear. Oh, dear. - Oh, do shut up.
Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear.
- Aren't you going to get it out? - No.
- It's not my shirt. - It's not his shirt.
It's yours.
You silly cuckoo! Can't you be more careful?
You're not fit to be in a boat.
George is very dense at seeing a joke sometimes.
He says I did it on purpose, which of course I did not.
- Yes, you did. - No, I didn't.
We'll have a light lunch and eat properly tonight.
- There's some hard-boiled eggs. - Jolly good. And the cold beef.
We can start with the potted shrimps or the dressed crab.
- Or little of each. - Or little of each
- and bread and butter. - And some tomatoes.
- And finish off the ham. - Followed by a bit of cheese.
- Or the tinned pineapple. - Or the tinned pineapple.
Followed by a bit of cheese.
You're all at sixes and sevens.
When I say dip, dip. Dip!
- Good God! - Monty.
The thought of lunch soon set the world to rights,
but it was not to last.
There occurred a most depressing and tragic setback to our equanimity.
It was Harris who first realised the situation.
- We forgot mustard. - What?
No mustard.
Cold beef without mustard?
You hardly ever have mustard.
Well, that's why it's such a blow.
You have mustard habitually and thoughtlessly.
You hardly know you're having it at all.
But when I want mustard, I want mustard!
This is what comes of filling the boat up
with lemonade and bath towels
and all that useless clutter.
I knew it was a mistake to have come.
We didn't forget the tinned pineapple, did we?
What?
Oh, pineapple.
Pineapple, first rate. Let's have it open.
Right, that's a bit better.
Nothing quite like tinned pineapple.
Puts fresh pineapple in the shade.
It's the juice.
It's more of a syrup, really.
It's not exactly sweet, it's not exactly bitter.
It's the way it's not exactly crunchy and yet it's firm and clean-tasting.
Where's the opener?
Well, I'm... I'm almost sure we've got one.
We must have.
You were supposed to bring it.
It was supposed to be in here with all this lot.
It's not... It's not in the banjo, is it?
- Really. - It's just a question of...
Damn!
Ahhh!
Ahh!
- Just be careful. - Ah!
Let me, let me, let me!
Let me!
Ahhh!
And we got into our boat and rode away from that spot
and never paused till we reached Maidenhead.
Maidenhead is a town of showy hotels,
a snobbish place for the river swell and his overdressed female companion,
patronised chiefly by dudes and ballet girls.
The London Journal duke always has his little place at Maidenhead.
And the heroine of the three-volume novel always dines there
when she goes out on the spree with somebody else's husband.
Maidenhead, too, is the witch's kitchen
which harbours that deceptively charming demon of the river,
the steam launch.
But all that is left behind at Boulters.
Between Boulters and Cookham locks
is perhaps the sweetest stretch of all the river.
Cliveden Woods still wore their dainty dress of spring,
and rose up from the water's edge in one long harmony
of blended shades of fairy green.
It always makes me feel... I don't know...
It makes me feel...
- ...like a drink. - It makes me feel like a drink, too.
Yes.
It's the exercise, the fresh air.
- It's the rowing. Yes. - The breathing.
All that fresh air and exercise...
It makes me feel as though I've got...
Yes, it makes me feel as though I've got...
- ...a bit of wind. - That's it.
I've got it, too. I've been a martyr to it from earliest boyhood.
I was born with it.
- No, no, no, Harris. A breeze. - Hmm?
Oh, good heavens!
Shh! Don't say anything.
By Jove! I think it's in our favour.
- Quiet, man, they'll hear you. - Act casual.
But we had spoken too soon, or too loudly.
Or perhaps they had spotted George's blazer.
For they were having sport with us,
as flies to wanton boys.
- Luff, luff to leeward! - Idiot.
- Why are you taking the sail down? - Tack.
Watch that tree.
Luff, luff!
Where's the wind?
And so we went on to Marlow and put up near the church.
- Monty! - Monty!
Marlow is one of the pleasantest river centres I know of,
with many quaint nooks and corners.
William the Conqueror seized it to give to Queen Matilda,
ere it passed to the Earls of Warwick.
Percy Bysshe Shelley lived a year in Marlow in 1817,
and here wrote The Revolt of Islam,
with its touching dedication to his wife.
- Monty! - Monty!
"So my summer task is ended, Mary
"And I return to thee, my own heart's home
"The toil which stole thee so many an hour is ended"
"And the fruit is at thy feet."
Sorry.
There are lovely walks round Marlow.
Hard by is grand old Bisham Abbey.
There is a secret room high up in the thick walls.
And a ghost.
That of Lady Hoby,
who beat her little boy to death for not doing his homework properly.
And in Bisham Church, she kneels piously among her other children
who did do their homework properly.
Except for one,
who did not live to walk to school.
This is the best.
I mean, this is the finest tomb.
In many years of viewing memorials,
in my entire experience of collecting tombs...
Can we go out now?
We spent the morning revittling.
Our departure from Marlow I regard as one of our greater successes.
It was dignified and impressive
without being ostentatious.
By the time we had finished,
we had as fine a collection of boys with baskets
as the heart could desire.
And our embarkation must have been as imposing a spectacle
as Marlow had seen for many a long day.
There, there's the bread. Just put the bread just alongside the...
Harris, where do you want these?
Drinks here. Drinks up the front there.
We'll put the drinks in first,
then we can put things on top of them, I think.
Where are the pies?
Let me see, sir.
Was yours the steam launch or the houseboat?
No, it was the double sculling skiff.
Steam launch indeed!
I hate steam launches.
I suppose every rowing man does.
I never see a steam launch
but I want to lure it to some lonely part of the river
and there strangle it.
"No longer were the woods to frame a bower
"With interlaced branches mix and meet
"Or where with sound like many voices sweet
"Waterfalls leap among wild islands green
"Which framed for my lone boat a low retreat
"Of moss-grown trees and weeds, shall I be seen"
"But beside thee, where my heart has ever been."
Steam launch coming.
- Get out of the way. - Get out of the way!
Move on. Oi! Mind out, you fellows.
- Get out of the way! - Get out of the way, you chaps!
I thought we might have a drink at Hurley.
- Oh, good. I'll show you Danes' Field. - Is that a pub?
- No, it's a field. - Oh.
Invading Danes camped there. Not recently.
You know, I keep thinking I can hear voices.
Then I thought we could have a drink at Shiplake.
Lovely church at Shiplake.
You know who got married there? Guess.
- Julius Caesar? - Queen Elizabeth.
Lord Tennyson.
Bless my soul, George, if it isn't a steamboat.
- You know, I thought I heard something. - Any chance of a tow?
Medmenham Abbey once sheltered the notorious Hell-Fire Club.
It stands on the site of a Cistercian monastery of the 13th century.
The monks wore rough tunics, ate no fish, meat or eggs,
rose at midnight for mass, and passed the day in total silence.
A mode of life which might, if not overdone,
be a benefit to some of us, especially Harris,
who not only eats fish, meat and eggs at every opportunity,
but often talks at the same time.
Why isn't the kettle on, George?
- Could you spare us a little water? - Certainly.
Thank you so much.
- Where? I mean, where do you keep it? - It's always in the same place.
I... I don't see it.
Has it gone, then?
It's still there.
We can't drink the river, you know, it's dangerous.
I'm sorry to hear that.
I've been drinking it meself for the last 15 years.
It's all right if you boil the water.
- Are you sure? - Oh, yes.
The germs are killed by the boiling.
The little crawly things called bacillis.
Bacillis?
Yes. Can't stand the boiling. Drives them wild.
Man said he'd drunk it for 15 years.
- How did he look? - Not well. But he didn't boil it.
I need this.
- What's that? - What's what?
Floating in the river.
A dead sheep.
I don't want any tea.
No, nor me.
Just a habit, really.
Not really thirsty.
I've already had some.
Do you think I'll get typhoid?
Well, you'll know in a week or two.
I should look up the symptoms when you get back to London.
Oh, no, I daren't do that. That would be fatal.
I remember once looking at a medical dictionary
to read up the treatment for hay fever.
Not now, old chap.
And I began to study diseases generally.
I'd turned to some devastating scourge or other,
and before I had glanced half down the list of premonitory symptoms,
it was borne in upon me that...
I've got it.
In despair, I turned over the pages, came upon cholera, and discovered...
Cholera!
...that I'd got that, too.
I must have had it for months without knowing.
Beginning to get interested in my case,
I decided to go at it systematically.
I started at ague,
which I was relieved to find I had only in a modified form
and might live for years.
Bursitis, gout, impetigo and mumps
I had evidently had since boyhood.
And by the time I had plodded through to xymosis,
the only malady I could conclude I had not got
was housemaid's knee.
Well, old chap, what's the matter with you?
I will not take up your time by telling you what is the matter with me.
Life is brief.
So I will tell you what is not the matter with me.
I do not have housemaid's knee.
Everything else, however, I have.
And I told him how I came to discover it all.
Then he opened me and looked down me,
and hit me on the chest when I wasn't expecting it.
And butted me with the side of his head.
And then sat down and wrote out a prescription.
I took it to the chemist.
I don't keep it.
- You are a chemist? - I am a chemist.
If I were a co-operative stores and a family hotel combined,
I might be able to oblige you.
Being only a chemist puts me at a disadvantage.
Well, what... What does it say?
One pound of beefsteak with a pint of bitter every six hours,
one 10-mile walk every morning,
one bed at 11 every night,
and don't fill your head up with things you don't understand.
- I was telling George. - I always like hearing that one.
Have you ever done an Irish stew?
Well, not exactly, you know. But it's very easy.
You just put in anything you want.
It's a grand way of using up all the odds and ends.
A bit of bacon, vegetables, eggs.
Tinned salmon.
In fact, anything that comes to hand.
Something seemed to disagree with Harris that evening.
Perhaps it was being on an island
or not being used to the high living which upset him.
For myself...
Well.
I don't know when I've ever enjoyed a meal more.
Jolly good, a bit rich.
It's given me a bit of a tippy jummy.
Who's for a drink and a stroll? How about you, Harris?
Harris said he'd row us over and stay behind on the island
to settle his stomach, as he put it, with a toddy or two.
Might have a little drink to settle my stomach.
You won't fall asleep, will you?
And so, George and I went for a mooch around.
Must tell Harris we saw a church.
And a pub.
- Very nice pub. - It was the best.
The finest.
I mean, in all my years of visiting pubs...
In my entire experience of bending the elbow...
He's a card, old Harris.
Harris! Harris!
It had been arranged that we were to shout when we returned,
and Harris would come over from the island to fetch us.
Harris!
Do you remember which island it was?
They all look the same, don't they?
How many are there? I mean, do you know?
There are only about four.
We'll be all right if he's awake.
Harris!
- Harris! - Harris!
Harris!
You'd think the dog would hear.
- Harris! - Harris!
- Monty!
That's it! I'm going to stay exactly like this until the morning.
I don't know where we are, I don't know where Harris is,
I'm going to die anyway,
I'm not going to move any more.
Hang on, what was that?
- Harris? Harris? - Harris?
- Harris! - Harris!
What's the matter?
He's asleep.
What happened to you?
Swans.
Swans?
I had to fight them off.
There were eight of them all around me.
- How many? - Terrible battle,
fighting 14 swans.
- How many? - Eighteen.
Fought them for three hours with the oar. Can you imagine it?
Fighting 32 swans?
You said 18 just now.
No, I didn't. I said 12.
Think I can't count?
What shall we have for breakfast?
Something plain. Very, very, very plain.
What was all that last night about swans?
What swans?
Never mind.
It's my turn to steer. You two take the sculls,
it's about time you and J did a bit of work for a change.
Ha! Fancy George talking about work.
- Have you ever seen him work? - Certainly not on this trip.
I don't see how you'd know, you're asleep half the time.
Have you ever seen Harris fully awake except at mealtimes?
Honesty compels me to say no.
- Well, I've done more work that you. - You could hardly have done less.
Oh, J thinks he's the passenger.
So, that's your gratitude to me
for bringing you and your wretched boat all the way up from Kingston?
And supervising everything?
And slaving away over you?
Well, it's not more than I expected.
- Supervising? Oh, that's very nice. - I've done the share of the work.
Thank you, headmaster, very much, for coming on the trip.
- Get out of the way... - It's about time I...
I'm putting the banjo in its proper place.
It was finally agreed that Harris and George would scull up past Reading,
and I would take the boat from there.
We were evidently becoming old river hands.
Call this hard work?
Why, only last season Jim Biffles, Jack and myself
pulled all the way from Marlow to Goring in one afternoon.
Never stopped once. Do you remember that, Jack?
You can always tell an old river hand
by the way he likes to give others a chance.
Catch the wind, too.
One can't help but deplore the way the river's abused
by young pups and doddering old fools,
with not the faintest conception of boatmanship.
Yes. They're absolutely without sensitivity
to the moods and dignity of the river.
Not to mention spooning nincompoops
who think the place is some kind of floating tea dance.
- What are you doing? - Don't shake it!
There are grounds, in my opinion,
for banning girls from the river altogether unless properly dressed.
Boating costume is very fetching on a pretty girl, though.
Yes, well, I've got nothing against girls as such.
Like Christian martyrs every time a drop of water goes near them.
- They're awfully useful on picnics. - No, they're not.
Ask them to wash a plate, and it's as though they've been asked
to pick rags on a corporation tip.
No, you have to be firm with them. Get them to hitch up their skirts.
What do you think you're doing?
God save us from London landlubbers.
You shouldn't be allowed in the river.
Once a year, and I've never heard of such a thing.
Get out of the way.
Oh, I mean, it's really ridiculous. You don't know what you're...
- Thank you very much. - Thank you.
I was ready to take over the sculls at Reading, as we had agreed.
All right! All right!
They think they own the river with their money and their trollops.
London landlubbers!
- J! - Well, Max!
There we are.
I say, this makes a nice change.
I prefer it myself to rowing.
From Mapledurham to Streatly, the river is glorious.
You pass Hardwick House,
where Charles I used to stay and play bowls.
And when Cromwell's sails were sighted downstream, he calmly continued...
Oh, no, wait a minute, I think I've got that wrong.
Sorry. He did play bowls, though.
Now, you just put your hands... That's it. A little there...
Perfect.
Now, this is to play it...
And this one's to strum...
Do you see that church?
The mortal remains of Jethro Tull lie buried in that ground.
- Remember him? - Not altogether.
Really? I'm surprised.
Very great man in the world of agricultural mechanisation.
It's not the world with which I'm most familiar.
George, the inventor of the sea drill lies yonder.
Good heavens. That's it.
Oh, hello. This is my... banjo.
It's quite simple, really.
Now, here's a thing. Gate Hampton railway bridge.
One of Brunel's three brick bridges across the Thames.
- George? - Yes.
Brick railway bridge. J doesn't want you to miss it.
Goring Gap.
Very interesting.
Many years ago, the Chilterns
and the Berkshire Downs formed a continuous ridge across here.
- Which is the interesting part? - About Goring,
there was a huge lake with a river flowing in the opposite direction.
I suppose it was old Brunel who had it all changed for his railway, was it?
No, no, no, you fool. I mean millions of years ago.
I think I'll go and talk to George.
Steamboat's coming.
Hey, get out of the way, bloody idiots!
Get out!
It's really most annoying the way these wretched little boats
get in one's way.
Something ought to be done about it.
Get out of it! Can't you see we're trying to get past?
My friend's launch cast us off at Abingdon.
Harris claimed he wanted to stretch his legs.
Which church?
- St Helen's. - Which memorial?
Mr Lee.
Did he invent agricultural implements or did he murder his family?
He's very rare. He had 197 children.
Well, you'll find very much better at Oxford
- if you put your back into it. - What?
We are sick to death of walking around obscure tombs
- of uninteresting people. - You're sick to death? What do I...
And although it had been agreed that I would take the boat up past Reading,
and here we were at Abingdon...
...for this stop. I want to see something else.
After a short discussion with Harris and George,
I took up the sculls for a while.
And then they pulled us up the last stretch to Oxford.
Which is, on the whole, more attractive than Cambridge
to the ordinary visitor.
And the traveller is therefore recommended to visit Cambridge first
or omit it altogether if he cannot visit both.
The Baedeker guide is quite right.
I am an Oxford man, too.
I mean, in spirit.
But for circumstance, I...
Now, the architecture of Oxford...
Another thing about Oxford
is that it offers a judicious proportion of congeniality,
cultural tradition and cloistered contemplation,
which sustains many people at Oxford for as much as three years
and prepares them for the harsh realities of the outside world.
- Voltaire was quite right. - Hmm?
Voltaire. What he said about the perfect Englishman.
Aimlessly voyaging.
And of course...
"Ignotis errare locis."
No, no, Voltaire was a froggy. That's Latin.
Ovid. "The delight of wandering in unknown places."
Good day.
Tu quoque.
What did I tell you?
What did he say?
I said, "Jove cannot please everyone"
"either by making it rain or stopping it."
And Matthew Arnold's sweet city with her dreaming spires
became decidedly wet.
More like streaming spires.
Matthew Arnold is dead. It was in the paper.
I never read him.
- But we got to Oxford. - Absolutely.
- Why did we? - Can we go now?
- Downhill all the way now. - I don't mind a bit of rain.
I like to see the river under all its different aspects.
Can't expect sunshine all the time, you know.
Nature is beautiful even in her tears, eh, George?
Sandford lock is the deepest on the river.
Here's one for you, Harris. Sandford lock.
Two men drowned this year.
Without leaving their boat.
The veal pie's a bit wet.
The veal pie's a bit wet?
Here you are, Montmorency.
Oh, you see? Even a dog knows when he's had enough.
When I get back to London, I'm going to have some whitebait,
a cutlet, a piece of Stilton...
No, no, no. I'm going to have some paté.
No, no, no. No, I'll have some sole with white sauce...
I'll row!
One thing we all agreed upon from the beginning
was that we would go through with the job.
It's not a job, it's a holiday.
And we agreed that we would go through with it.
No, I'll start again.
First smoked trout.
- Followed by mutton with capers... - Shut up!
I knew a man who came upriver two years ago,
slept out in a damp boat on just such a day as this,
and it gave him rheumatic fever.
Ten days later he died in agony!
Yes. I had a friend once who'd been in the Volunteers.
He spent a wet night under canvas down at Aldershot.
When he woke up in the morning he was a cripple for life.
Pull over. There's something in the water.
It was the dead body of a woman.
It lay lightly on the water.
And the face was sweet and calm.
Of course, it was the old, old, vulgar tragedy.
She had loved and been deceived.
Or deceived herself.
She had wandered about the woods by the river's bank
and finally stretched out her arms to the silent stream
that had known her sorrow and her joy.
And the old river had taken her into its gentle arms
and had laid her weary head upon its bosom,
and had hushed away the pain.
God help her
and all other sinners,
if any more there be.
♪ Only for telling
♪ A man he was wrong
♪ Two lovely black
♪ Eyes ♪
The second day was exactly as cheerful as the first.
You know, it's almost a pity we've made up our minds
to contract our certain deaths in this floating coffin.
Well, there are only two days more, and we're young and strong.
We may get over it all right.
You know, there's a train that leaves Pangbourne Station every hour,
which would get us home comfortably in time for a chop.
And then on to the Alhambra, Leicester Square.
Well, J?
Well, that reminds me of a very funny story that happened to a friend of mine.
- Right, George. - I'll get the bag out.
Just a moment.
- Did he say the Alhambra? - We did.
Preceded by a little French dinner somewhere?
Just so.
With a, perhaps a bottle or two of Burgundy?
Undoubtedly.
Well, why didn't you say so? Now, George, I'll do the packing...
You sort out when we can leave.
And so I brought our expedition safely home.
Or near enough.
We deceived the boatman at Pangbourne.
We left the boat and what it contained in his charge
with instructions that it was to be ready for us at nine in the morning.
If, um... If anything unforeseen should happen to prevent our return,
we will write to the hotel with instructions.
Thank you very much.
Come, Monty.
Why, it's turned out nice, after all.
- I said we should stick it out. - Should we go back, then?
Keep going, George.
Goodbye, Thames.
Yes, it's not a bad old river.
Come on, Montmorency.
Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)
first appeared as a serial in the magazine Home Chimes in 1889.
I intended there to be some humorous relief,
but the book was to be the story of the Thames,
with its scenery and history.
I decided to write the humorous relief first,
but it seemed to be all humorous relief.
And most of the serious stuff which I had managed to get done
was promptly thrown out by the editor.
I did not have to imagine or invent.
Boating up and down the Thames had been my favourite sport
ever since I could afford it.
I just put down the things that happened.
Harris was Carl Hentschel.
I met him first outside a theatre, at the door to the pit.
We thought he was going to end up as Lord Mayor,
but the great war brought him low.
He was accused of being a German.
In fact, he was a Pole.
George was George Wingrave,
who subsequently became a bank manager.
I met him when lodging in Newman Street.
And afterwards we shared in Tavistock Place,
handy for the British Museum Reading Room.
I wrote the book at Chelsea Gardens.
I was just back from my honeymoon
and had the feeling that all the world's troubles were over.