Ready, Harry?
Sir, so glad you
were able to make it.
Mr. Houdini will be delighted.
He was hoping, you'd come.
Just around here, sir.
40 seconds.
Who's that?
The redskins are defeated...
and the boys are captured
by the pirates.
I'll rescue them.
Oh, that's just my medicine.
Poisoned?
Who could've poisoned it?
Tink... dear tink.
Are you dying?
Her light is fading, and if it
goes out, it means she is dead.
She says she thinks
she could get well again...
if children believed in fairies.
Do you believe in fairies?
Yeah!
- Say, if you do believe!!
Yes! Yes!
If you believe in fairies
clap your hands!
Elsie!
Elsie!
Stand by for the curtain.
- Now... to rescue Wendy!
You're not allowed down by the beck.
How many times have I told you?
Go wait in your room
fill your father gets back.
Incredible! If I hadn't
seen it with my own eyes,
I wouldn't have believed it.
- You believe everything you see?
Boys...
darling Jean,
a penny for your thoughts.
It was up your sleeve.
- Up my sleeve?
Ladies, gentlemen, be warned.
Never try to fool children.
They expect nothing,
and Therefore see everything.
At your service, your Highness.
Cake?
And for you...
And for you.
Wait your turn, Mr. Bandylegs.
And for you, your Highness. I'm sorry.
I do apologize for his bad behavior.
I smell the blood of an Englishman.
Be he alive...
or be he dead...
I'll grind his bones...
to make my bread.
Hello.
- Hello.
That dress looks pretty.
Mum says we're not allowed
to wear colors.
Mm, this needs a little work,
don't you think?
Maybe your cousin Frances
will give you hand.
Would you come with me to Bradford
and pick her up from the station?
She must be terrified. Traveling all
the way from Africa by herself.
Aye Corp,
your girlfriend's here.
All right,
keep it down back there.
Sir...
would you like
to help me with my game?
Why not.
On your holidays, eh?
- I'm going to visit my cousin.
Put your finger in here.
Got you!
My daddy's a soldier like you.
He's in France, and his name is Sergeant
Major Griffiths. Perhaps you've met him.
Back down.
I freed you.
- Thank you.
Except you couldn't now.
He's missing, you see.
He's going to bring me back
some real French perfume from France.
Look...
butterfly.
That way?
- Yes.
Frances!
Elsie!
Come on, the pair of you.
Let's be getting out of here.
All right, you two.
Show her in, Elsie.
- Come.
Mum, we're back!
On the boat from Africa,
the captain made me watch out for pirates.
They don't have pirates anymore.
- Do so.
Everybody had to watch out for them.
- I expect she's right.
Only nowadays they live on battleships
and salute the kaiser.
You're a lucky girl, Frances Griffiths.
- That's what my daddy says.
Come on!
Let's get you dry and into bed.
There are no pirates here
to frighten yourself with.
Which room?
- Top of the stairs.
No, Frances.
Whose room is this?
- Joseph's. Come on.
I thought he died.
- He did. Come on.
What's this?
- A crown.
But it's all mode out of keys.
Joseph gave it to me.
- It's beautiful.
How did he die?
Pneumonia.
We both had it.
Then why didn't you die?
- I don't know.
I'm glad you didn't.
Why does he have a room
of his own if he's dead?
Do you think he's going to come back?
- No.
Mother didn't wont anything to be moved.
So me dad built me this room up here.
He must be very clever.
- He knows about everything.
Don't touch it!
What is it?
- A doll's house.
Did your dad make it, too?
- No. Me and Joseph.
Mostly Joseph.
- Well, who lives in it?
Nobody.
Where are we going?
- The beck.
- The what?
You'll see.
- What is it?
It's on old word for a stream.
It's so green!
- Didn't they have green in Africa?
I don't think so.
Not like this anyway.
Look! A fairy ring!
- It can't be.
They appear overnight.
It's where fairies dance.
- I know.
What happens if you step inside one?
They can catch you and take you away forever.
Everyone knows that.
- Come on then, let's find them.
Frances, stop!
What's the matter?
- There aren't any.
They've gone.
- Gone where?
They went away when Joseph died.
But that's their ring, Elsie.
They have to be here.
Frances!
Have you tried cake?
- Course I've tried cake.
Don't you think I would've thought of that?
Anyway, what do you know?
Do they have fairies
in Africa?
I don't know, but they have books
and I've read everything about them.
I know more about fairies
than anyone else alive.
Then let's call them!
Do you know the chant?
- Yes.
Come out from your fairy bower,
Come upon this golden hour,
Come to us, we beg you please,
Fairies dancing on the breeze.
Come out from your fairy bower,
Come upon this golden hour,
Come to us, we beg you please,
Fairies dancing on the breeze...
Magical, isn't it?
Quite magical.
And it's all being carefully
worked out by Mr. Wright here.
Built the model yourself, didn't you, Arthur?
- Yes, Sir.
Well, go on, explain.
- It's the plan for the
electrification of Cottingley Mill.
Gentlemen, do you know, what time
we have to stop work in the winter months?
The electrification will transform
our profitability overnight.
I don't know that it's possible
to work a longer day, sir.
- Not longer, Arthur,
more shifts.
More jobs. More work.
If you look out of the window
here, what do you see?
You see a church,
a school and a mill.
There's no one in this village
that can sit on their own doorstep
and see a whole life of prosperity in front
of them from the cradle to the grave.
But we have to plan.
We have to look ahead.
We have to modernize.
How old's your eldest, Arthur?
- Elsie, she's 12, sir.
Six months time, she'll be able to work at the
mill safely knowing she'll have a job for life.
Now there's not many'll be able
to say that, when this war's over.
Well, children, today we have
a new member of our class.
My name is Frances Griffiths,
and I come from Africa.
Miss Thornton. Miss Thornton...
Yes... Lucy?
Miss Griffiths, if you're from Africa,
why do you sound so English?
'Cause I was born in England. We moved
to Africa because my daddy's a soldier.
Miss Thornton, Miss Thornton...
Yes, Julia?
- About Africa...
Is it true all Africans
are cannibals?
I've never met any.
Any more stupid questions?
Well, they started it.
- I know they did.
But if you don't try to be nice,
you'll never make any friends.
I don't care. I have you.
You like me, don't you?
- Yes.
And the fairies,
they'll be my friends.
Do you really know everything about them?
- Yes.
What do you call fairy magic?
- Glama.
What's a fairy's favorite thing to do?
- Dance.
What's their favorite drink?
- Honeysuckle dew.
What's their clothes made out of?
- Spider silk.
Don't get your dress wet
or Mum will be furious!
Look, there are sort
of caves here.
Careful!
Your dress! Look at you!
You're soaked.
They'll be furious when we get back.
- I saw one! Did you see it?
No.
- I can't believe that I saw one!
I'm sorry, Aunt Polly,
about my dress.
I know.
You miss her, too.
Yes, I do.
I miss her very much.
Even more seeing you.
So you believe in fairies,
do you?
I wouldn't see them
if I didn't.
Like angels.
You saw angels down the beck,
as well?
No, that's not what I mean.
You don't see angels,
you just sort of...
feel them...
watching us.
Like my mother.
And your Joseph.
He believed, didn't he?
You're still young.
When you get older,
people start to take notice
and they don't like it if you
tell stories that aren't true.
But they are true.
- Frances, I've been down
the beck a hundred times.
Why haven't I ever
seen any of them?
Grownups don't know how
to believe.
Thank you.
After the intermission,
I will present for your entertainment only
"Do the Dead Return:
An Investigation into the False
Claims of Spiritualists
and Mediums that Have Attempted
to Deceive Houdini."
Thank you. Thank you.
You're expected at
the Beechams' at 10:30.
Cancel it.
I want Collins on the stage
in five minutes.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is
here to see you as well.
Arthur! - Harry.
How good to see you. Sit.
No, I shan't stay.
I came to present an invitation for you to be
my guest at Wyndlesham next weekend.
I've arranged one or two friends
who will, I think, amuse you.
It would give me great pleasure.
Excuse me, sir? Mr. Collins
is waiting for you on stage.
Frances?
Frances, what are you doing?
- Shh!
If Mum knew...
He did know the fairies,
didn't he.
Better than anyone.
They said he wasn't to talk
about them anymore.
That it was just his imagination.
- I wish she could see them.
Who?
Your Mum.
- How can she?
I don't know.
Lancelot, Gawain,
sit up, sit up. Good boys.
Come on, man, come on!
- You want everything perfect, Mr. Green.
Sit up! Sit up! Come on, man,
before they do something on the seat!
Mordred, stay!
I don't think it's sensible.
- Then let me be foolish.
Uncle Arthur?
- Not now.
Polly, be reasonable.
No, you be reasonable.
What difference does it make to you?
Please, Uncle Arthur.
- I'm trying to talk to
your aunt, Frances.
It's just I wanted to borrow the camera.
- You'll have to wait.
I'll be really careful.
- It is not a toy. Wait.
Polly, you've said it yourself, you'd be
better off spending more time with the living.
Meaning?
- You know what I mean.
Your daughter needs you.
Instead, you're sitting
round holding on to...
Can't even say his name,
can you?
Well, I'm coming with you.
- No, thank you.
You stay with the girls.
Did he say yes?
- Well... almost.
What are we doing?
- We're going to show them the fairies.
They'd never allow it.
- I have an idea.
We can't betray them. They could
put a curse on us. They trust us.
It's for Mum.
We, of course, do not use
the term "angel" itself.
We refer to the "divines",
the "shining ones",
the agents of that creative life force
which exists all around us.
All things
are possessed of a guiding spirit.
Humans have angels, but there care
other lower levels of energy:
Salamanders,
the spirits of fire;
undines or nereids,
the spirits of water;
elves and gnomes for the earth
and the forests; and finally,
fairies, the most famous of all,
the spirits of the air.
Well, it's just if you'd waited,
I could've helped you.
And you never took a tripod,
so it'll just be a blur.
You won't see your cousin at all.
- We wanted it to be a surprise.
Next time, ask.
You understand?
There was something.
And look of all this mess.
Why didn't you tidy up
before you took it?
- Frances!
They're there on the plate.
I can see them. They're really there.
Yes!
- What's the matter with you?
- Yes! Yes! Yes!
Have you gone crazy?
- Yes! Yes! Yes!
What the...?
Ask any child who it is that
tends our gardens, and they'll answer,
quite correctly, fairies.
- Excuse me, Mr. Gardner.
John Ferret. Bradford "Argus".
Have you ever seen an angel yourself?
No, and I don't see...
- Or a fairy?
Sir, I'm not claiming to.
- Apologies for the interruption but,
the paper goes to bed in half an hour.
And so do I.
Sergeant Farmer,
would you come forward, please?
Would you please tell us
what you and members of your company
witnessed on the night of August 28, 1914?
- Yes, Sir.
I was with my battalion in the retreat
from the town of Mons in Belgium.
The Germans were about to make
a charge, and our position was bad,
so we were ordered to stand as we
were and be prepared to fight,
or it seemed likely... to die.
While waiting, an officer approached us
and asked if we'd seen anything.
Then he lead me and some others a
few yards away and showed us the sky.
Five, four, three, two, one.
Well, let's see
if this one's any better.
I could see a strange sort of light
quite distinctly outlined.
As the light became brighter,
I saw three shapes.
One in the center, having
what looked like overspread wings.
The two others, not quite so large,
but plainly different from the center one.
They were above the German line facing us.
All the men with me saw them.
And other men from other groups came up
and told us they'd seen the same things.
The enemy saw them, too,
and began to retreat in disorder,
and my battalion was able
to move back safely.
I have not the slightest doubt
that we saw what I now tell you.
I have a record
of 15 years good service,
and I should be very sorry
to make a fool of myself
by telling a story
merely to please anyone.
This is Mab.
- She's the queen.
And these are her friends.
- Is this another fairy?
- No, that's Mr. Bandylegs.
The gnome.
All right, now the game's over.
How'd you do it?
- Do what?
Elsie?
We just took the photographs, Dad.
They're for Mum.
Would you take a leaflet?
Yes, of course, I shall.
Good evening. Thank you for coming.
A leaflet?
- No, thank you.
Do you really think it's possible to see them?
- Those who have passed on?
No. I mean,
angels or... fairies?
Madam, theosophy is not a religion.
It's a science.
It is possible, though not,
I'm afraid, easy.
Oh, would you excuse me?
Madam, a leaflet?
What's the matter?
What happened?
Nothing. I'm just tired.
- No. Don't go in there.
I'm tidying up.
You go up to bed. Polly?
What have you got there?
- Nothing.
Did you do these?
- No. The girls...
They were just...
Polly... it's not
what you think.
They're real... aren't they.
Come on, men! Move it!
All aboard.
Mr. Gardner!
Mr. Gardner!
Forgive me, madam. I've a train.
- I was at your lecture.
Ah, well, perhaps when
I'm in Bradford again.
- No. Please.
Have a look of these.
- All right.
- I must know what you think.
It's probably nothing. I...
I'd just like to know what...
Good heavens! Well...
What's that?
- The postman.
Afternoon, Albert
Afternoon, ladies.
Albert!
Anything for me? I'm expecting
a very important letter from France.
From my daddy.
For Frances Griffiths. That's me.
I'm afraid there's
nothing today, Miss Griffiths,
but I'll be sure to keep an eye out.
- Good-bye, Albert.
Come.
- Good-bye, ladies.
- Bye.
Well?
Mr. Snelling.
Extraordinary.
Quite extraordinary.
The most extraordinary
thing I've ever seen. Amateurs.
Whoever took those didn't know
the first thing about photography.
They are fake then?
- Photographic fakery is an art, Mr. Gardner,
not something the
amateur could attempt.
Not exactly what you might call
a household pursuit. No.
What you have here...
are untouched, open air,
single exposure shots.
And, um, the fairies?
Personally, I wouldnt know a fairy
from a firefly.
But I can tell you this.
You look here, hmm?
Look at those wings.
One thing I'm certain of, at the time
of exposure, those wings were moving.
But... the photographs...
they're genuine then?
As the king's beard.
Would... Would you excuse me?
- Yes, of course.
Do you ever think about us
not having a photograph of Joseph?
Not except one they took at school
when he was six.
I don't need a photograph.
- Don't you?
Well, I do.
I think about him sometimes.
Here in this house.
Out on the street.
And I can't... I can't see him.
I can't see his face.
It becomes anybodys face.
I can't hold it in my mind.
It...
twists... like...
it frightens me.
I think that's why
I bought this camera.
Do you think they're true?
The photographs.
No, Polly.
No, I don't.
I know they can't be.
Do you?
I don't know.
I'm not sure which
frightens me more,
that the children are lying to us,
or that they're telling the truth.
It feels cold suddenly.
- Well, a spirit is present.
May I have the note?
Please read what is written
on the paper.
"Their time will come."
Are those your words, Sir Arthur?
- Exactly as I wrote them.
Marvelous.
But let me assure you that I was not
assisted in this endeavor by any spirit.
It is a trick,
ladies and gentlemen.
But I hope a very good one.
What's that?
- Shh!
- What are we going to do?
We're going
to make a promise.
Are we? What kind?
- The kind that lasts forever.
Hold out your hand.
- This is so exciting.
- Shh!
Repeat after me: I, Elsie Wright...
- I, Elsie Wright...
Be serious.
- Sorry.
I, Frances Griffiths...
hereby, on this day...
- hereby, on this day...
swear never again to break
the code of fairy secrecy.
Say it.
Swear never again to break
the code of fairy secrecy.
Didnt hurt.
Fairies, we call to you.
What happens
if we break our promise?
We won't!
Where did you get these?
- Edward Gardner brought them to me.
Theosophists.
Will you never learn?
My friend, there's a point
where learning teaches you nothing.
Those fairies aren't real.
- These pictures were taken by two children
who'd never used a camera before.
- Anything can be faked.
By two little girls?
- By anyone.
May I show you
another photograph?
Your son?
He died in London lust year,
offer being wounded of the Somme.
I'm very sorry.
Two months ago,
with the help of Mrs. Annie Bitton,
a medium in London,
I made contact with him.
He spoke to me.
I heard his voice.
Do you have any idea
what that meant to me?
Do you think I'm such an old fool
that I can be tricked into believing
that I am speaking
to my own child?
You wouldn't be the first.
What do you make of these?
Drawings.
They mean nothing.
They could be
the work of a madman.
Hmm. Perhaps they were.
Certainly, they were produced at the
Montrose Royal Lunatic Asylum, outside Edinburgh.
By my father.
Look at them.
This is what he saw
every day of his life.
He wrote about them, talked about them.
They devoured him.
You don't have children, but talk to mine.
Ask Jean whether she believes in fairies.
She'll tell you she saw one
in this very garden
not ten yards from where
we're standing now.
Those photographs have been pronounced
genuine, not by a Theosophist,
not by a medium,
not by a believer,
but by an expert in photographic trickery,
Mr. H.R. Snelling of Harrow.
Do you have any idea of the
implications, if he is correct?
I'm not sure I do, myself.
When Columbus knelt in prayer
upon the edge of America,
what prophetic eye saw all that
a new continent might do
to affect the destiny
of the world?
Cover your ass.
- Cover my what?
You need proof, backup,
sworn statements,
more photographs, whatever.
Believe me, you're going to need it, if you
intend to tell the world you believe in fairies.
Dear Mr. Wright,
Mr. Edward Gardner was pleased to show me the
fairy photographs of your daughter and niece.
As I shall be staying
in the area with friends,
I would be very grateful to you if I were allowed
to have half can hour's chat with the girls.
Is that for me?
- It's from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
He wants to come visit...
talk to the girls about the photographs.
No sign.
- Perhaps they've forgotten.
I'll check the girls.
I'm going to be sick.
- No, you're not.
I am. I always know.
Elsie, Frances.
If there's anything
you want to say to me,
anything at all,
it's not too late.
We'll be down in a minute,
Uncle Arthur.
Elsie?
We'll be down in a minute.
What are we going to do?
Pray for rain?
My wife, Polly.
- Mrs. Wright, Arthur Conan Doyle.
How do you do, Sir Arthur?
- Good evening, Mrs. Wright. Harry Houdini.
Mr. Houdini, please, let me take your coat.
- Thank you, sir.
Why don't we go to the...
- Sir Arthur, this way, please.
Please help yourself.
Come on.
- I can't.
- Of course you can. Come on.
Ah, "les enfants."
Frances, Elsie...
This is Sir Arthur
Conan Doyle.
How do you do?
- How do you do?
What a great pleasure
to meet you both.
Mr. Gardner had
your photographs tested.
Merely as a precaution, of course.
Oh, they're quite real.
They're quite extraordinary.
And we brought something for you.
There's one for each of you.
- Thank you.
Thank you very much.
How does it work?
- It's exactly the same as your Midg camera.
I made certain of it.
- Sir Arthur would like you to
take some more photographs.
Of course.
- It will take us a moment to get ready.
Are you mad?
- What was I supposed to say?
We made a promise.
Look, the rain stopped.
- I think I'm going to be sick.
May I help you?
- Harry Houdini.
- How do.
I'm sorry, but I'm very interested in
photography myself, and I was just curious.
Is this where...
- This is where I do my exposures, yeah.
Using natural light
And this is where I developed Elsie's
pictures, if that's what you're asking.
- I see.
Mr. Houdini, I don't know
exactly what they did,
but two things I do know: There was
no trickery done in this darkroom,
and there are no fairies
of the bottom of my garden.
Nice.
Good heavens,
I had no idea.
Look our, Mr. Gardner!
- Never ever step inside a fairy ring.
I, I know! Um, quite true!
I was foo... I was, um...
I was foolish.
Not paying attention.
Thank you.
- You could have been captured.
Do you know what to do when you're captured?
- Um, well, I suppose...
Don't eat. If you eat their food,
you'll have to stay there forever.
We should leave now.
- No, please.
No, I'll be more careful.
I give you my word.
- Come with me.
You stay here and don't move.
You'd frighten off the fairies.
We're going to try to chase them
back this way, so you can see them.
But remember, don't move.
- I'm glued to the spot.
There.
Edward tells me that it was your
late son who first saw these creatures.
Yes.
- There are no words to
describe the loss of a child.
My own boy, Kingsley,
was taken last year.
I'm so sorry.
- Your daughter's achievement
must be a great comfort to you.
Oh, I'm so sorry.
I shouldn't have intruded.
Please accept my apologies.
- No. This is so stupid of me.
May I ask you something?
- Of course you may.
Do you believe them?
Do you think
the pictures are true?
Mrs. Wright, you are the girl's mother,
and as her mother, you must know a truth
the rest of us can
only fumble for.
Do you believe they are true?
Yes.
With all my heart.
Mr. Gardner.
- Shh! Mr. Wright...
I think we should keep our voices down,
so as not to disturb the children.
Where are the children?
- Shh! The girls will be herding
the fairies back this way.
I'm certain both girls are clairvoyant
and perhaps mediums, as well.
Together, they create
an etheric field
which allows the fairies to metabolize
small amounts of ectoplasm into their bodies.
That's how they're able
to capture them on film.
Do you see?
No. Well, um...
Well, I don't expect
you to understand.
Elsie, Frances, come here!
- Mr. Wright, we mustn't interfere!
Mr. Gardner, the girls took a couple
of photographs in the beck.
How they did it, I don't know, but I
guarantee you it won't happen again. Elsie!
Mr. Gardner! Mr. Gardner!
We've got one! We've got one!
We've taken
another photograph.
So you have examined all five photographs.
- We have, Sir Arthur.
The two original pictures,
and the three new ones
that were taken with the Cameo cameras
that you presented to the children.
With what result?
- Mr. Binley will inform you
of our conclusions.
Good morning.
- Good morning.
Now, gentlemen,
our preliminary findings
suggest that the negative plates
may indeed be
untouched, single exposures.
Uh, however... these findings
cannot be taken as conclusive.
How is that, sir?
- Uh, well...
the possibility still exists that
a clever operator of consummate skill
might have made them artificially.
- Clever operator?
Good God, gentlemen.
The girls are eight and 12 years old,
the children of ordinary working men.
What cleverness would you afford them?
Really, Mr. Gardner.
What you are asking of Kodak
is nothing less than to verify
the existence of fairies.
Who's next...
Father Christmas?
Gentlemen,
I accept your decision,
though not your findings.
It these photographs are true
and nothing I have seen this morning
persuades me that they are not...
then we are facing the single most
important discovery of our century,
one that must affect
every aspect of our lives...
and our beliefs.
In this regard, I accept Kodak's
unwillingness to bear the burden of proof.
Nonetheless, the photographs
speak for themselves.
And what is, gentlemen,
simply is.
Come on, Edward.
Duty demands that we act.
Yes, of course, we must act,
naturally. But how, exactly?
We publish: Next month's
issue of "The Strand."
Yes, of course, we publish.
But what about the children?
Simple: We change the names.
The innocent must be protected.
Yes, I see. But won't we be putting
their photographs in a national magazine?
We most certainly will.
Thank you, sir.
Paper?
- Pretty ain't they?
Fairies? Ha!
Really now. Whatever next?
Who do you think you are, Sherlock
Holmes? I'll take two, thank you.
"Iris claimed that she and her cousin
when they were together,
"continually saw
fairies in the wood
"and had come to be on familiar
and friendly terms with them."
I want to be Alice.
- No, I'm Alice, you're Iris.
No, I'm Iris.
- And I'm Alice.
It was my idea and it's my fairy.
Luke!
Well, what do you know?
They've discovered fairies in Yorkshire.
- Poppycock.
Not according
to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
See what you can do.
Where were they taken?
Can you tell?
- No idea.
This is terrible.
Do they get this magazine in France?
- They get the damn thing at the North Pole.
Arthur Wright, we agreed.
Besides, they've changed all our names.
No one will ever know it's us.
Mr. Gardner explained that.
It looks like the Black Hills,
up near the reservoir.
Several becks flow down from there,
but only two would have waterfalls:
Maytall and Cottingley.
- Thanks, Stan.
Frances!
Frances Griffiths!
Hope this is what you've been expecting.
- Thank you.
What is it?
- Don't know.
Perfume...
from France!
God knows how long
its been in post.
"I always keep my promises.
Love, Daddy."
It's a good thing
it didn't break.
How do I smell?
- Trs jolie.
- Jolly?
It means pretty.
Very pretty.
Do you want to try some?
- Thank you.
So you recognize this girl from your class?
- Oh, yes. That's Frances. But...
Now, Elsie...
Now, she is artistic.
I'll show you.
There.
- Uh, may I?
- Of course, yes.
And she lives here in the village?
- Yes.
Mr. Wright?
- Yes?
- Mr. Arthur Wright?
Who wants to know?
- John Ferret, Bradford "Argus".
There's no use slamming
the door, Mr. Wright.
I'm not going anywhere
till I get my story.
If you've nothing to hide,
you've nothing to fear!
People have a right
to know the truth!
I'm a patient man...
- What are we going to do?
We promised we'd never tell.
- They'll never come out now.
We'll never see them again.
- Perhaps we can give them something.
Like what?
- Something to let them
know we're sorry.
Like cake?
- That's not big enough.
The doll's house.
- We can't. It was Joseph's.
- So?
Mum would kill me.
- Who did he make it for?
For fairies.
- Well, then.
- But it's not finished.
We can fix it.
Do you think they'll like it?
- We'll soon find out. Come on.
What are we doing?
- We're going to tell them.
Queen Mab?
- Prince Malekin?
Come see what we've brought you.
It's a palace.
Shellycoat, where are you?
Tib, we have cake.
Peerifool?
- Gull, you can come out now.
It's no use.
- They're here...
but they won't come out.
- Nanny Button Cap!
Princess Florella!
Elsie?
Is that you?
Morning, little princess.
Who are you?
- Someone in search of the truth.
- Truth?
I'm not in the mood for baby games.
Now, he put you up to it, didn't he?
Who?
- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, that's who.
No, he did not.
- Don't lie to me!
Leave her alone!
If you don't go away right now,
the fairies are going
to come out and box your ears.
Sure they are.
Ah, you don't fool me!
The truth now!
Corporal!
He's my corporal.
The photographs...
I saw them in "The Strand" magazine.
I... recognized young Frances
face immediately.
I had to come.
I don't want to disturb 'em,
I... I just...
I just need to know.
Are they real?
I knew it.
I bloody knew it!
Pardon.
Morning.
Finish your drawings now,
everyone.
Excuse me, Mrs. Thornton.
I must take the girls home.
Elsie, Frances, come on.
Run along, then, girls.
I've got it.
What's this all about?
- Albert, it's nothing. Go on inside.
It's all rubbish. Go on home, all of you!
- Girls, may I ask a few questions?
You keep back.
- Did Sir Arthur put you up to it?
- Stay out of my house.
Get the girls upstairs.
I'm going to find Constable Lee.
- Quick, quick.
Where are you?
Oh, come on, fairies.
I do so wont to see you.
Oh, please, fairies.
I've got one! I've got one!
Is it a fairy?
They'll never come back now,
will they?
Did you see the way
my dad looked of me?
He's never looked of me
like that before.
Everybody here
is trespassing on my land!
Anybody still remaining
in five minutes
and I'll set my dogs
on the lot of you!
Tell Wright I want to see him of the manor.
- Excuse me. John Ferret, Bradford "Argus.
Do you believe you've got fairies
at the bottom of your garden?
Mr. Ferret, do I look like
someone who believes in fairies?
Well, if they do exist, would you be
considering charging them rent, sir?
May I?
Ah, it is beautiful,
isn't it?
I see why you children
love it so much.
Joseph?
Why'd you make him stop?
He'd be nearly 11.
He would have started half-time
working of mill when he were 12.
His childhood were nearly over.
He just... wouldn't let go of it.
It was his time to grow up.
Yours too, you know?
Elsie! Arthur!
- What is it?
London! We're going to London.
Sir Arthur's invited us.
Why?
- He's written a book about the fairies.
He wants us there
for the publication.
And are you going to visit with the
fairies at Kensington Gardens, then, girls?
Lovely.
Elsie.
- Arthur. What in heaven's name is going on?
The family's just making a brief trip to London.
- What? But...
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle insisted
they travel first class.
Sir Arthur?
- Excuse me, sir.
I'll be kind. I'll let you sit
next to the window.
- Thank you.
Are you sure you won't come?
- What use would I be?
- I could say please.
What happens if one of those
journalists asks me what I think?
What good's that going to do? I have a
match to play, and a manor to attend to
so don't worry about me.
You and the girls enjoy yourself.
Good luck with the tournament.
Can we go and wave good-bye?
- Go on then.
Tell Mr. Whitley
I want to see him in my office.
I see your girls
are to be the toast of London.
Says here the fairies
are bringing hope to the empire.
Fakes. Whole bloody lot of them.
- Aye. Nobody's proved that, have they?
This way. Come on.
Miss, I'll have a nice big smile.
Look, it's the fairy girls!
This way, everybody.
- Here we go.
Bye!
Miss, can you please ask your fairies
to make me feel better?
I'll try.
- Come on.
There, let's tuck
that sheet up a bit.
The fairies can't
make you feel better.
You'd have to ask your guardian angel for that.
- I've got an angel?
Of course.
Everyone has.
Mum.
That was nice.
I'm so proud of you.
And thank you.
- For what?
The photographs.
At present,
that is a rare privilege.
A matter of sympathetic
vibration, you see.
I'm hopeful that, soon, psychics may become
commonplace. Like seeing a cuckoo.
Hello, darling.
A beautiful dress.
Madam.
- Mr. Houdini.
Yes, but you cannot look of them directly.
Only out of the corner of your eye.
Ah! May I introduce
Mr. Houdini.
He was with us on that original trip to Yorkshire.
- Madam. Sir.
Excuse me, please.
- Yes.
- In fact, if this were a fairy party...
Sir Arthur, may I introduce myself?
Harold Briggs. Cottingley.
I must apologize for inviting myself,
but we share a few acquaintances.
I beg your pardon.
- Well, I own the manor.
The fairies in question are,
you might say, my tenants.
Hiding?
No.
Well... yes.
Me, too.
Come here.
Sit down.
Do you like fruit?
- Yes.
Apples or pears?
- Pears, please.
Can you manage, or would you like a table?
- No, thank you.
May I ask you a question?
- Go ahead.
Do you ever tell anyone?
- Tell them what?
How you do things. You know,
just to see the look on their faces.
Never. Never ever.
And I never will,
not even when I'm dead.
And shall I tell you something?
No one ever really wants to know
when you do tell them.
Can I ask you a question?
- Yes.
Will you come and see my show?
- Yes, of course.
Ladies and gentlemen,
we will match penny for penny
any purse you care to raise,
but I must warn you,
in all fairness,
Mr. Chalker here...
whom God preserve was not blessed by
the Almighty with the power of speech...
is the undisputed champion
of this county,
and is revered among the chess-playing
community in every town within 100 miles,
including Sheffield.
Well, all our money is on
Arthur Wright of Cottingley.
- Hello.
Clear!
Don't worry.
It's just a trick, like the circus.
Check.
Checkmate.
Bugger!
Are you alright?
- Yes.
Thank you.
Mr. Houdini. We were terrified.
- May I have you and the girls together?
Why, yes.
Did you like the show?
- Very much.
Are you going to ask how I did it?
- No.
- Mr. Houdini!
Have you seen these Yorkshire photographs?
- I have.
And do you believe
we're looking of real fairies?
Sir, I've spent much of my life
making the impossible true.
Why would I find it hard
to accept in others?
Well, I've interviewed you
before, Mr. Houdini,
and I know you don't stand for
any superstitious nonsense.
I fought against those who seek
to make a profit out of the grief
the pain and the loneliness
of their fellow human beings.
I stand against fraud, against the
exploitation of suffering mothers,
whose dead children are puppeteered
in front of their grieving eyes.
But I don't see any of that here.
I see only joy.
Any chance you'd tell us
how you escaped the tank?
Masters of illusion never reveal
their secrets. Thank you, gentlemen.
Are we going
to live here forever?
Of course not.
I know what "missing" means.
What?
I know what they mean
when they say my dad's missing.
It means they don't know
where he is.
What's it feel like
when you grow up?
I don't know.
I think perhaps it's different
for everyone.
Do you want to grow up?
Yes. I think I do.
Even if it means never seeing
the fairies again?
It doesn't matter
never seeing them again.
We'll never forget like
everybody else who grows up,
because we have the photographs.
That's why they're important
Whenever we start to forget,
to pretend nothing ever happened,
we can look at them,
and we'll remember.
I think I know how it is
to be grown up.
Yes?
- It's when you feel...
how someone feels...
who isn't you.
Frances.
Listen.
Daddy.
It's my daddy!
It's my daddy!
Thank you.
That perfume smells good.
- I'm not wearing any.
I know.