In may, 1945,
while the war on the
continent staggered to a close,
England waited.
In Lancashire, a
dismal rain was falling,
streaming off the quiet hills
and wetting down the slag
heaps in the smoky valleys.
In the mill town of
Browdley, as elsewhere,
the people heard Hitler's death rattle
in the throat of the wireless,
listened to each violent convulsion.
They would have preferred
one clean, dramatic note of triumph,
but they took what they
got and made the best of it,
as they had been doing for 6 years
and for years before that.
They came out to meet the new world,
glass in hand.
It arrived in Browdley, unofficially,
at midnight, the 7th of may.
There was no single announcement,
no real confirmation.
A force that could
no longer be contained
simply broke its bonds.
Come on, hurry up!
We've got the blues on the run
roll the barrel
for the gang's all here
roll out the barrel
we'll have a barrel of fun
roll out the barrel
we've got the blues on the run
zing, boom, tararrel
ring out a song of good cheer
now's the time to roll the barrel
for the gang's all here
roll out the barrel
we'll have a barrel of fun...
in time,
all men felt a solemn and
vaguely disturbing note
creep under the first exhilaration.
So much had passed, so
much was now to come.
But to no man in Browdley
was the knowledge of peace and victory
a more complicated sensation
than it was for George
Boswell, mayor and editor.
A stranger would have thought
him insensitive to the occasion,
for the preceding hours
had held the full meaning
of a quarter-century
of George Boswell's life
into violent focus.
The present crowded around him.
He walked through it into
his past and remembered.
He remembered a day in april 1919.
These points will come up in order
during the library committee's report.
Councilor Oldstock?
Item 4, page 10.
The committee opened and
voted to carry forward
its discussion of the
applicants for the post
of assistant librarian of
Browdley public library.
In order: Elizabeth
Richardson, Eleanor Wwheatley...
and Olivia Channing.
Channing?!
We are considering the report
of the library committee.
This strong feeling
about the Channing family
is not in order,
unless it can be contained
in a suitable resolution.
Mr. Mayor-
Councilor Morris.
I move the full council
instruct the library committee
to remove from consideration
the name of Olivia Channing.
On what grounds?
May I ask if our radical
and somewhat tardy young councilor
is familiar with the
record of John Channing?
Aye, I'm familiar with that.
Then he's aware that Channing
is a distasteful name in Browdley.
And he will not deny
that in the reorganization
of the Channing mills in 1903,
John Channing's behavior
was reprehensible.
I deny that.
Mr. Mayor?
Councilor Boswell.
John Channing's behavior
was not reprehensible,
if that means what I think it does.
It was criminal.
John Channing was a crook.
There's no better word, however long,
for a man who would gamble
with the life savings of
a trusting, simple people.
Hear, hear.
But I fail to see
what that has to do with
the business at hand.
I may be young, I may even be radical.
But I fail to see what the fact
that John Channing spent nearly
20 years of his life in jail
has to do with the qualifications
of his daughter, Olivia Channing,
for giving out books at the library.
Unless, of course,
you consider it our duty here
to punish young women
for choosing to be born
into families with
more money than morals.
Mr. Mayor, I take it that
councilor Boswell has come here
prepared to urge the
appointment of miss Channing.
I've come to see justice done,
if possible.
Hear, hear.
I'm sure we respect
the councilor for that.
I'm sure we realize how
natural it is at times
for a young man to confuse justice
with a beautiful woman's smile.
Miss Channing is considered
beautiful, I've heard.
Aye, I've heard that,
but I have no firsthand knowledge.
My romantic association with her
has been confined to some 30 paces
as she crossed the marketplace.
From that distance, all I can
tell you is that she was carrying
what might have been a package of fish.
Although she has what
in my limited experience
I would call "a trim figure".
But as a member of
the library committee,
I am mostly interested in the fact
that she seems better qualified
than the other candidates.
Her schooling has included several years
in France, Switzerland, and America
following two years at Rodean, Brighton.
Rodean, Rodean needn't and how.
It's time we got up off
our knees before them
and did something
about our own schooling!
Aye, it's a trim figure, all right.
George.
Aye?
You can't say the sewage committee's
polluted with private interests.
Why not? It's true.
Aye, but it's slander.
And it'll still land us in the clink.
I'm resigned to that.
After two years mucking about,
one would think you were
ready for some honest work.
Put it right, please, spivey.
You'll end up throwing
it away, you know that.
Why don't you write things
down the way you talk?
I try to, Annie, but it's not easy.
Was it a good meeting?
Aye, lively one, anyway.
You'll need something more
substantial than paper.
Spivey, whose dog's this?
He's mine. His name's bBecky.
Oh.
I'm Olivia Channing.
Oh, I forgot.
You only know me by my trim figure.
You know, it's not kind
to hold a politician up
for the things he says in
the heat of a public debate.
You didn't mean it, then?
No, I didn't. Yes, I did mean it!
I felt I ought to come and thank you
for coming to my defense this afternoon.
In spite of what you
said about my father,
it was kind of you.
It wasn't meant as kindness entirely,
just fairness.
Oh?
I've never believed this business
about children paying for
the sins of their fathers.
What's done is done.
Anyway, it's a bit early to thank me.
The committee's got to vote yet.
I think I'll win now.
I hope you do.
Come, Becky.
Here, come on, chap.
Here. Do you have far to go?
Stoneclough.
Stoneclough?
Mm-hmm.
You still live there?
It's my home. Where else would I live?
I don't know. I just thought that...
it's a bit of a hill
for a bike, isn't it?
I haven't one. I like to walk, anyway.
Good-bye.
Oh.
Is there anything the matter?
If I can just rest a minute.
I must have taken all
this too seriously.
Yes, yes, of course.
Annie.
No-
Annie!
No, please-
would you fetch another cup please?
I'm quite all right.
Another cup of tea, Annie, please.
Miss Channing feels a bit faint.
Quickly, Annie!
Could I have some hot milk instead?
A cup of hot milk, then, Annie.
Just hot milk?
Aye.
Nobody wants just hot milk.
Apparently miss Channing does.
I shall put a little tea in it.
Now, we'll have to find
a way to take you home.
You can't walk 3 miles.
I don't want to be a bother.
It's no bother at all. Now you
just sit there and have your milk.
I'll see if I can't
borrow Dr. Whiteside's car.
I'll be right back.
Now don't you take any
nonsense from Annie.
Good-bye.
It was very kind of you.
Don't bother to get out.
Excuse me, sir.
That frequently happens
when Whiteside brings
the car up the hill.
It's something to do with
the climb, whatever it is.
Watson will have it right in a moment.
I'm John Channing, Olivia's father.
I'll make some tea while
you're waiting on watson.
Olivia should have
asked you in, of course.
She's a strange girl sometimes.
Whiteside visits me occasionally.
Not professionally, of course,
since he's been medical officer,
though he's promised to find me someone.
Whiteside's about the extent of it.
You probably know I haven't been
overwhelmed with visitors
since I came home from prison.
Aye, I know that.
I suppose he's really a good doctor.
I suppose so.
Who, Whiteside?
Yes, he's a good doctor, all right.
You have something to do
with the town yourself?
I'm on the council.
And I manage to meddle into
affairs by way of "the guardian."
Then you're Boswell,
a friend of Whiteside's.
Aye, more or less.
I've been grateful for
Whiteside's company.
After nearly 20 years of
one kind of loneliness,
it's difficult getting
used to a new kind.
Won't you sit down?
Thanks.
Not that Olivia doesn't
take good care of me.
We go for long walks together.
One day, a piece of paper
blew across the path.
I thought at first it was a white dog.
I discovered it wasn't
when it hit against my leg.
But Olivia bought me a white dog.
Quite a nice one.
She calls him Becky.
He's about somewhere.
20 years ago,
I used to enjoy the view from here,
Stoneclough towering above the town,
and the mill stacks looking
like spires in the haze.
I used to think sometimes
that they looked like the
cathedrals in amiens and cologne.
I told Olivia about that
the other day, and she said,
"perhaps they are cathedrals
if you believe in them enough."
She thinks I'm still resting,
that I'll get back to work soon
and reopen the mills.
No. The hardest thing
in the world, I suppose,
is to understand how that you
were once so vitally interested
in something that no
longer interests you at all.
Well, if the car's ready,
I'd best be on my way.
Must you?
I have some work to
do. I'm very grateful.
Good-bye, Mr. Channing.
Mr. Boswell.
The people of Browdley
hate me, I know...
for some reason.
Tell me honestly, do you hate me?
I hate the misery you caused.
I hate all the poverty and unhappiness,
the rows on rows of
filthy sordid houses.
Rows of houses.
I sometimes thought
that if I'd been sent
to prison for the houses,
it would have been a just sentence.
You'll come back again, won't you?
You'll visit us as often as you can?
Aye, if you like.
Good-bye, sir.
Good-bye.
It was Olivia's very strangeness
that fascinated George at first.
The sudden shifts of mood,
the swift darting from
girl-child to woman,
the ease with which she moved
in and out of present reality,
slipping quickly into the past,
leaving him briefly for
some world of her own.
On the clean, lovely moors,
he fell in love with her
as naturally as he had come to hate
the ugly poverty of the town below.
Twist that dragon's tail, Georgie.
Twist his tail.
Hello, Dick.
Or could I be wrong?
Is that a blistering
editorial you're composing?
Or a tender argument of love?
No, I was-
come, come, Georgie,
you can't be that blind.
You're a good reporter.
You have your ear on the town's heart.
You must know you're a local scandal.
With her dying breath,
Mrs. Phelsby asked me how
the romance was coming.
Mrs. Phelsby?
Mrs. Phelsby, god rest her soul.
One less unfortunate for you
to rescue from these slums.
Oh, well, if she hadn't
died of filthy food,
you'd have run her over on your bicycle.
How's your protege doing at the library?
Hmm?
I only ask you to consider
the people's defender
amorously linked with a
female sign of oppression.
It's a curious alliance.
Aye, I suppose it is that.
Well, i...
you didn't tell me you were
so friendly with John Channing.
I didn't think that you'd approve
of my trying to keep him alive.
I'm not sure I approve myself.
Well, run along now,
don't keep her waiting.
Bye, Dick.
This corrupt, this unscrupulous man,
this swindler,
snatched it all from me
in less than 30 seconds!
Aye, and I'm not the only one!
Mr. Horncastle, what's happened?
I voted for you the last time.
Aye, and I voted for
you the time before that,
but you'll get no more of my votes.
Mr. Teesdale, what's happened?
I'm afraid we shall have to do
something about miss Channing.
Miss Channing? What's she done?
I can't go through
another row of this sort.
My heart won't stand it.
For heaven's sake, what sort of a row?
Well? What is it?
I don't know how it started,
but she was at the
handing-out desk as usual.
By the time I got there,
old Horncastle was calling her names!
And shouting about her
father having ruined him!
She said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Horncastle,
"but perhaps you'd best
write your filthy sentiments
in the book the way the others do."
What book?
The account of the Channing trial.
I didn't know it had been marked.
That's against the rules, of course.
At any rate, what she
said set him off again.
And the first thing I knew,
she had picked up quite a large book
and squashed it squarely in his face.
She hit him?
She squashed him!
I'm afraid she'll have to go.
Where is she now?
I can't say,
and I can't say that I care.
She fled into the shelves, weeping.
Oh, Livia.
Livia.
Come along, now.
You can't let Horncastle upset you.
He's an old man and he's
always been unreasonable.
Besides, he's got very bad indigestion.
You know, I did tell you
you've got to expect things like this.
Did you really push a book in his face?
Well, it is a bit upsetting
close to, isn't it, eh?
Anyway, it's not worth crying about.
I'm not crying about that.
What?
I'm not crying about that.
Then what on earth are you crying about?
Stoneclough.
Stoneclough?
What's there about
Stoneclough to make you cry?
We're losing it.
We haven't any money
left. The bank's taking it.
I just found out this morning.
I thought I could do this
job and pay them something.
Out of 15 shillings a week?
Come along now. Come and
have a cup of Annie's tea, eh?
I'll grab Dick's car and take you home.
Come on.
He must be out on a call.
You're getting soaked.
Why don't we go back
to my place and dry off?
I want to go home.
But don't you think-
let's walk.
It's letting up a bit anyway.
Well, it's a pity there
aren't more houses up here,
I might persuade the town to run a bus.
After all, I am chairman
of the transport committee, you know.
This bridge is really mine.
My grandfather gave it to
me one day as my castle.
He said he'd give me Stoneclough, too,
but he never did.
He said it would be mine and I
could live in it with 100 servants.
Oh, George, what do people do?
What is there to do
when something they've always
wanted and loved very much
is taken away from them,
when they turn in every direction
and there's no comfort anywhere?
Olivia, would you marry me?
I'm not much good at this sort of thing.
I suppose I'm better at meetings,
but I've meant to say
it for a long time.
What I mean is, I'm not just saying it
because of what's happened
or because I'm sorry for you.
Olivia, I love you.
It's slacked off a bit. We'd best go on.
George, let me go on alone.
No-
I want to see it again.
Alone.
The decisions Olivia made that night
were based partly on turbulent instinct,
partly on private logic.
The course of action she chose
erupted both from the strange
lonely life she had led
and from her unrelenting dream
of the life she must lead.
George had no way of
understanding any of this,
for our knowledge of
people is never certain,
never wholly complete.
He could not have been expected
to recognize this instant
when his future hung
momentarily in space
and was then decided, for good or bad.
Dick! Dick! I'm going down with you!
Dick!
Dick! You all right?
Yes, I'm all right.
Channing?
Yes.
Never mind, Georgie.
You can't get him out.
He's dead anyway.
We'll call for help from the house.
Give me a hand up, will you?
Let me know when the police arrive.
There's a bottle in that cabinet.
I've got to tell Olivia.
I know, George. I know.
I begged him not to go.
Oh, George!
Livia, Livia.
I begged him not to.
I watched the road.
When the car didn't come
along the lower half, I knew.
I knew what had happened.
I can't stay here any longer!
I can't stay here alone! Take me away!
Take me away with you! Now!
Aye. Aye, of course I will.
Oh, George, I love you.
I do love you,
not just because I need you now.
I love you.
If you still want to marry me,
I would like to.
Darling, I'll look after you now.
Now, you just get a few things together
and I'll
- I'll take you home.
It's all right if I
take Becky, isn't it?
Annie won't mind?
No, it's all right. Annie won't mind.
I'll fetch Becky, then.
George was unaware of
the stubborn image
that haunted Whiteside,
the image of a road half washed away.
For in George's memory,
those swift days were all one.
The terror and emptiness
of violent death
were mixed with the frightening beauty
and the hope of love.
The same bells tolled for both,
and they were married in St. Luke's
by the same rector who
buried John Channing.
They spent their honeymoon in London.
They saw the tower, westminster
abbey, and hampstead heath.
With some difficulty, George
arranged to have tea on the terrace
of the house of commons.
The shape of the life
they were to have together
began to emerge out of
the misty, tangled pattern.
Mr. Wetherall,
I'm afraid I am not quite clear
about Mr. Mangin.
I've-I've heard of
him, of course, but-
you've been editing that paper of yours
about 3 years now, haven't you, Boswell?
Aye, almost.
Well, I've been sitting
in commons for Browdley
a bit longer than that,
so if I may patronize you...
all right.
Well, then, I'd say
you're keeping your nose
too close to your paving stones.
You'll never understand
men like Mangin that way.
How many cotton mills do
you make it in Browdley
since Channing closed?
3. that's right, isn't it?
Aye, but now you've got me
doing that "aye" business.
You should cultivate
a straightforward "yes"
now you're married into
an important family,
but look carefully and you'll see that
Mangin has a finger in
all 3 of those mills.
I've never seen his
name among the directors.
I'm sure you haven't,
but if you look at a list of
the directors of the holding company
that hold the holding
company that holds the mills,
you will find it.
I didn't much want to bring him,
but I ran into him and
there was no way out.
He seemed to want to meet your wife.
I knew your father quite well, you know.
Oh? If there's ever anything I can do.
Boswell, your wife is charming.
I congratulate you.
Nothing's more important
to a man in public affairs.
I hope Olivia hasn't
given the impression that-
Browdley's small, of course,
and it doesn't really give George
the opportunity he deserves.
But we'll soon be having
a house in London, too,
so that he'll be able to
do more important things.
I imagine parliament must
keep you frightfully busy.
I mean, all the meetings
and having to vote.
Well, it's a bit of
a nuisance sometimes.
Every session also, your
husband starts deviling me
to vote for one crackpot
housing scheme or other.
And regularly, once a year,
some fool introduces a bill
to revise the anglican prayer book.
Well, I have to put a stop to that.
It sounds very exciting.
How did you acquire
this feeling for housing?
I was born at number 24 mill street.
Mill street?
The drainage canal was
right at our doorstep
when it wasn't in the parlor.
Have you ever sailed
a toy boat in garbage?
Well, I can't say that I have.
Well, I have,
as half the boys in
Browdley are doing now.
I just want them to
have better than I had.
I see. Oh, I had a very good family.
We were just too close together.
Mr. Mangin, do you come
out to Browdley often?
I'm afraid not.
Well, will I be seeing you again?
I really hope so.
Then come up again soon, both of you.
As a matter of fact,
why not make it friday?
Oh, that's a bit
- friday, then.
Good. For dinner, if you can.
That's very kind of you.
Thanks, Mangin.
Good-bye.
Good-bye, Wetherall.
Well, I'm afraid we've taken up
a great deal of your time.
At any rate, it appears
my vote is required
to settle some momentous issue.
I'm sorry I can't see you out.
Good-bye.
Good-bye.
Good-bye, Wetherall.
Good-bye. Thanks very much.
George, I'm afraid you shocked him.
Huh?
Oh, Mangin.
Oh, I don't see why.
Where on earth did you get that idea
about a house in London?
I don't know. I just said it.
Was it wrong?
No, well, it certainly startled me.
It would be nice, though, wouldn't it?
Yes, I suppose so,
but a bit impractical for the Boswells.
George, do you know
what's the matter with you?
You're too modest.
There's no reason why you can't be
as important as Mr. Wetherall
or even Mr. Mangin.
You deserve to be. You
deserve so many things,
and I'm going to help you to get them.
I know one thing.
I've got a much more beautiful wife
than I deserve.
George, do you like children?
Aye, of course I like children. Why?
Then I'd better get that
back garden cleaned up
so Martin will have a
place to be in the sun.
Martin?
Who's Martin?
Well, if we're going to have children,
I'd like a boy first,
and if we have a boy, I'd
like to call him Martin.
That was my grandfather's name.
Come on, now. Into your mouth with it.
There's no nourishment,
messing it about like that.
Come on, then. Go on.
Don't mind about the dog.
Eat up your porridge.
Here, here, in your mouth.
Come on, this way.
Come on. Never mind about the doggie.
I'm sure she'll be all
right. That's right.
Be a good boy while we're gone, Martin.
We'll be back sunday on the 2:00, Annie.
This should do it, Spivey.
If you'll lock it up, I'll help finish
the first run when I get back.
So you're going to London again.
Aye.
Hello, Dick.
Well, Georgie,
it's been a long time, hasn't it?
Aye, it has.
I've come to renew an
old acquaintance, Georgie.
I wanted to talk to you.
Well, uh... as a matter
of fact, Dick, we're just,
uh, off to catch a train.
What is it?
I seem to have forgotten.
Drink's an evil habit, Georgie.
I'm happy to see you've
never succumbed to it.
Fogs the brain.
It's the dire bubonic
plague of the soul.
Whatever you do, treat
the soul tenderly.
George.
Aye. George-
Mrs. Boswell, I've just been
instructing your illustrious husband
in the evils of drink.
George, we'll be late.
I shall be brief, then.
Dick. I shall quickly outline
the etiology of alcoholism,
how the disease begins.
First, the weight of the world
settles on you.
A heavy depression like
- like the soft underbelly
of an elephant.
In the distance, you see a way out-
a promising little
exit, small and round,
about the right size to fit a cork.
Dick. It's cozy inside the bottle.
The light is soft and green.
What happens, gradually,
is that the alcohol
breaks down the fatty
tissue between the cells
and they run together
like raspberry jam.
Dr. Whiteside-
one cell that had character
blends into another that hasn't.
It happens so slowly, you
don't even know it's going on,
and you like it while it's happening.
That's the worst of it.
You love it,
it's the exhilarating process of decay.
Annie, I believe Dr. Whiteside
is finished his illustrated lecture.
Will you show him to the door?
No, I will not. He can find it himself.
Annie. He's taken out 6 sets
of tonsils drunker than that
without me showing him anything.
He should manage to find a door or two.
Annie, Annie.
Tread lightly on the glory and integrity
of the medical profession.
Come on, Dick.
I'm a bit swift, Georgie.
Aye, I can see that.
Oh, I remember what it was
I wanted to talk to you about, though.
I wanted to talk to you
about my report on the slums.
We're in for trouble there, Georgie.
Aren't you coming, George?
Aye. Get yourself to bed now, Dickie.
You're in no condition to
talk about anything. Come on.
The next is some chopin nonsense.
Let's put down something to
cushion the blow, shall we?
Mrs. Boswell.
Yes?
May I present Mr. Winslow.
He's been dying to meet you all evening.
How do you do, Mrs. Boswell?
How do you do?
If he bores you, try and remember
that he's very rich.
George. Aye.
These houses we own in Browdley,
these workers' places.
As a housing expert, what do
you honestly think of them?
They're not truly as bad as your medical
officer report makes out, are they?
He's a bit, uh, erratic, isn't he?
Who? Whiteside?
Well, I-I must say he's inclined
to the gloomy view sometimes,
and quite recently, he has been
going pretty hard at the, um...
hmm.
I'm interested, naturally,
in the health of the workers.
It's just good business,
but it's not good business
to condemn a whole section
of the town unnecessarily
and lose that rent...
I can't really believe there's any
serious danger of
epidemic from overcrowding.
Well, there is a very
definite problem in-
I go into these things very-
yes, I understand that,
and in normal times,
I'm quite sure I could
talk the director into
sponsoring a housing trust,
as your councilor suggests,
despite the cost to us.
Well...
but the cotton market's
very low, as you know.
Oh, and incidentally,
we had an impartial
observer look into the thing.
This is his report.
It, uh, paints a
somewhat brighter picture
than Whiteside's, by the way.
Read it over for me, will you,
and give me your reactions.
Aye, thanks, I... no hurry.
At your leisure.
I've been wondering
if you were quite happy
with the way things are going.
That sounds like a riddle.
Am I supposed to guess what you mean?
You know I'm stepping down.
Yes.
And you know what Mangin's getting at.
Yes.
Well? Well, I'm delighted, naturally.
I've felt for some time
that George should be in parliament.
If he stands and if he wins,
I shall be very proud.
Isn't that the proper
attitude for a wife?
It would be if the husband
were under the proper sponsorship.
You've done quite well
under the same sponsorship.
I sometimes wonder.
But it's a mistake. I
only want to say that.
I'm sure it's a mistake,
and it's too soon.
I like your husband, but
the lad's got a lot to learn.
George.
How do you like to stand for parliament,
for Browdley?
There's no point in
beating about the bush.
I've been watching you
for a whole year now,
and I'm prepared to back you.
I like you.
You've got a
- a feeling for people.
Well, seat's there.
Like to make a try for it?
Aye. As a matter of fact, I
- I think I would.
Agreed, then. We'll
get going right away.
George.
I say, George. Hmm?
Do you like making speeches?
Aye. As a matter of fact, I do.
Well, first of all,
I'm no politician.
A politician is a man
who asks you to vote for him
because he knows how to
introduce the member for wigan
to the member for liverpool
without spilling tea on
the minister of labor.
But, uh, I've better reasons than that.
I believe, in spite of everything,
that some sort of equality
of opportunity is possible.
I can't get along with people who say,
"the poor are always with us,"
because it's not necessarily true.
The poor certainly
aren't with my opponent.
They're against him.
And the people who say, "we
can't change human nature"
don't really mean that.
What they really mean to say is that
they think that human nature is bad.
This, of course, is a
very natural conclusion,
considering how much time they
spend in their own company.
Incidentally, I do not like to hear
my opponent attacked
just because he happened to make
a great deal of money during the war.
Let's be fair to the man.
He couldn't help it.
It wasn't his brains that did it.
He didn't even have to try to do it.
The money just came rolling in
because we hadn't got the
laws or the taxes to stop it.
Yeah.
So don't, uh, so don't blame
my unfortunate opponent.
That doesn't sound like a Mangin man.
Mangin doesn't care how a man sounds
so long as the people vote for him,
so long as he votes
Mangin's way when he gets in.
...to make a better life for all of us,
in what we can do to see to it
that our children have a
still better life than that.
Yeah.
We must work, work constantly,
and if, uh, if a canal
is polluted with sewage,
well, we've got to find out
where that sewage comes from
and we've got to put a stop to it,
no matter the cost to
any individual, and, uh...
I thought it was just an
ordinary cold he'd taken.
I
- I put his stocking 'round his neck.
Keep him warm.
Keep the other children out
of this room, if possible.
I'll be back.
All of us have a right to be protected
from such-such license,
whether-whether
in the nature of-
of bad fish, polluted
water, or-or-or leaky roofs.
And we must particularly
protect our children,
with whom we are certainly
not in competition
from such license.
Children must not continue to be
the victims of our
greed and carelessness.
Profits, we want high profits,
but not profits at the
expense of their health.
Yeah.
A few more like that
during the next fortnight,
and we have nothing to worry about.
George. George, you were marvelous.
You go on. I have
something to attend to.
But, George, Mr.
Mangin's coming to dinner.
You go on, Olivia.
All right.
Now, let's start again.
Will the honorable Mr. Wayne...
don't you think you've had enough?
...again with Mr. Wayne.
You made your promise the last time...
fumbling, glorious, dobbling,
straw-headed council of
the town of greater Browdley
is in session to contemplate its navel.
One for each of them.
Give me the mayor.
I insist we vote ourselves into a stupor
by the correct and traditional
parliamentary procedure.
Dick.
Councilor Boswell has the floor.
Listen to him.
Did you hear what he said?
Aye, that's what he said.
The poor children must not continue
to be the victims of our
greed and our carelessness.
Did you hear that, gentlemen?
Dick, is it true
- profits we want, aye,
but not profits at the
expense of their health.
Has it started? Is it diphtheria?
The councilor has a question.
He wants to know if it's diphtheria.
What would you say to this, councilman?
Diphtheria, or just a slight
case of procrastination?
Get the mayor. Tell him to
call an emergency meeting.
I'll try and sober him up.
All right, then, you fool.
Get me some coffee.
May I remind councilor Boswell
that the report he
himself read in this room
not 4 months ago,
indicated that the
possibility of an epidemic was-
that report from Mangin was wrong.
Our medical officer's
report was more correct,
as we now see.
Aren't we being quick to assume
this is an epidemic?
30 or so cases doesn't
justify getting a-
...when a lighted match is
thrown into a dry wheat field,
it's not too quick to
assume there'll be a fire.
Come, come, Georgie, let's.
If there's talk of epidemic
in town, it'll scare the-
with 6 children to a room on mill street
and no real sanitation,
we can't stop it.
But a lot of it's
we're wasting time.
I'd like to hear what the
medical officer suggests.
I suggest you stop jabbering
like a monkey house on visitor's day
and open a free clinic immediately.
Then grab every little beggar
you can lay your hands on,
with our without his parents' consent.
Take a swab of his throat.
If he's got it, pump him full of serum.
If not, start immunizing him,
as you should have been
doing all this time.
Where would you get all this serum-
I don't know where you get anything,
or whether you get it or you don't.
Gentlemen, in my opinion,
it's time we began to
take this seriously.
We can't afford any
further procrastination-
tell Mrs. Morgan, this is no time
to be having anything.
All right, all right.
Tell her to wait 10 minutes.
Do you think you're sober
enough to drive my car?
Aye. Come on, then.
She'll need some help.
Is there a resolution
to the effect that the town of Browdley
will undertake a free and public clinic
for the purpose of immunization of
the entire child population?
Mrs. Morgan will be that happy.
She wanted a girl so much.
She's going to call her Julie.
Julie it is, then,
but she'll not be called
by Mrs. Morgan, I'm afraid.
Mrs. Morgan's dead.
All right, all right. We've
got one, we've lost one.
It's a fair average. Get Mr. Morgan.
Get out of here.
You'll be having the child
infected before she's born.
Well, where's morgan? I got work to do.
Mr. Morgan died 6 months ago
of his wounds from the war.
Then get somebody else.
She was all alone.
I helped her all I could.
For goodness sake.
Dr. Whiteside, can you come at once?
I think richard's taken ill, too.
All right. Give me that shawl.
You got any stomach
left, saving the world?
Aye, a bit, anyway.
Then take Julie to my home.
Tell Sarah
- you're not going to keep her, are you?
Tell Sarah that this is a
clinical experiment of mine-
see if it's possible to get a child
past the age of 10 in this town.
Then come back and give me a hand.
George.
Aye.
Mr. Mangin went back
to London on the 10:30.
Aye.
I don't really see how
this sort of behavior's
intended to help your career.
I went to a great deal of trouble
arranging dinner
tonight, and Mr. Mangin-
diphtheria's started.
It looks like an epidemic.
I've been helping Whiteside.
We've got a clinic started up.
Mr. Froy should be down
from London in the morning.
Take Martin in for an
injection as soon as you can.
Isn't it dangerous?
It's dangerous not to.
Couldn't I take him to a private doctor?
No, Olivia. Take him to the clinic.
We've got to set an example.
George, aren't you coming to bed?
We need some new signs
and posters right away.
I may as well get on with it.
Let me get you a cup of tea.
Uh, no, thank you very much.
George.
This letter of resignation.
You're not really
serious about it, are you?
You know what it means if you
withdraw from the election now.
It means you're finished
in parliament for good.
Darling, you're just tired.
You've worked very
hard. You can't mean it.
I read your man's
report to the committee.
They were impressed by it.
They thought it was more
accurate than Whiteside's report.
So did i.
I voted against condemning your houses.
I didn't think there
could be an epidemic,
but I turned out to be wrong.
Do you have any idea
how hard I've worked
to bring things to this point?
Just so you could casually
wave aside your future
like a second cup of tea?
And do you realize that it's also
my future and Martin's?
I know, Olivia, I know.
It's-it's too bad,
but there's nothing really lost.
I've made a mistake. I know that.
A terrible mistake, but
I've learned something.
Of what's important and what isn't.
Isn't it time we decided that together?
Isn't it time we decided
what we're trying to do?
But-you know what I'm trying to do.
To rebuild mill street
and make it beautiful.
Aye, and all that means.
I'm trying to dig out
all the rottenness I hate.
That you alone hate?
George, have you any idea how I hate it?
How I've watched that
rottenness from Stoneclough.
A filthy sludge eating at the
fringes of the green hills,
and I hate it still,
because now it threatens
you and me and Martin.
I want to save him from it.
No more than I do. I want to save
all the children in Browdley from it.
And then their children's children.
Yes.
What will you do in 25 years
when these fine new houses
you're going to build for them
have turned into slums again?
Build more houses. Better houses.
George, when we have what we need
for our son and for ourselves,
there'll be time enough
for doing whatever you want.
Olivia, in the last 2 or 3 weeks,
we've helped save nearly
100 children or more,
and all we've lost is
one seat in parliament.
All? All, George?
With that we've lost a house in London,
a decent life for Martin,
decent schooling, respect.
Or don't you want that for him?
Aye, of course I want it,
but I couldn't enjoy giving it to him
if it cost the life of another child.
Could you?
Yes, and why not?
Yes, if it cost the lives
of 20 other children.
500 other children,
because they're not mine,
because I didn't carry
them under my heart.
I'm not responsible for their
stupidity or their filth.
Who is, then? Who's more
responsible than the Channings?
Who brought these people, my
people, here from the south,
and herded them into these
wretched houses? Aye, the Channings,
and with the blood and
rent they squeezed from 'em,
you've got what decent
schooling you ever had
and what little respect.
Olivia, dear, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
We're both of us very tired.
We neither of us quite meant
anything we said tonight.
We shouldn't, we-
we mustn't quarrel like this.
I've only done what I thought best.
It may not have been right, I
- I grant you that,
but it was the only thing I could do.
Whatever I've done,
whatever I'll ever do,
will be for you.
And for Martin.
Good night, George.
Olivia.
Martin's ill, George.
How ill?
I'm not sure.
Well, thank heavens
it can't by diphtheria.
You did take him to
the clinic, didn't you?
Olivia, I was here
when you left with him.
I didn't take him, George. I couldn't.
George blamed no one for Martin's death.
It was a defeat at the
hand of his old enemy.
So, quite naturally,
he misjudged the
lingering shadow of death
he saw in Olivia's eyes.
He saw anger there as well as grief.
But he related it to his own,
for he was still sure of their love
as of a river that flows
for a time underground.
He waited for its return,
for time and tenderness to do its work.
And in the meanwhile, did his own.
The slums of Browdley crowded
his days and his dreams.
They even invaded his house.
I did the slum areas in black
so we can change it as we go along.
Aye, and there's a long way to go, too.
Well, thanks very much.
It's very good. You can
find your way out, can't you?
Fine. Good night.
Good night.
I thought if you were
going to work late again,
you might like some coffee.
Aye, bless you.
I'm leaving you, George.
What?
I'm leaving you.
Olivia!
No, George, don't. Don't hammer at me.
Oh, you can if you like. I don't mind.
I just can't stay with you any longer.
I haven't been happy since Martin died.
I know that, darling.
I haven't been either.
I counted so much on
Martin to make me happy.
You mean...
you weren't happy before Martin came?
I don't think so. Not really.
I didn't expect to be at first.
I thought it would be different in time.
At any rate, I know there's no
future for either of us here.
And I know you won't leave.
I don't think you could.
But I can.
There's nothing else to do.
But Livia...
we have a whole life to live together.
Aye, I suppose I have
let you down all around.
George Boswell, the most
promising young man in Browdley.
Aye, that's what you must have thought,
even though you didn't
know you were thinking it.
George Boswell would be able
to give you so much you wanted.
As a matter of fact, I
thought he would myself.
Oh, Livia, this is ridic-
my mind's made up, George.
I'm meeting some friends
at Mr. Mangin's in London.
They're going for a
holiday in switzerland,
and they've invited me to go with them.
Switzerland?
Then... why, but...
that's another matter altogether.
You're friends and you're going
to spend a holiday with them.
Oh, but darling, what a
dramatic way of putting it.
You're leaving me.
Well, of course you are,
for as long as you like.
I'm glad you're going.
You need a holiday badly.
I'll miss you, of course, but I'll-
I'll be happy knowing
you're having a good time.
You have some work to do, haven't you?
Aye, I did have.
I won't disturb you, then.
Good night, George.
What is it, Annie?
I suppose you know it's
not been right for me
since you married, but...
I stayed on because of
you and the little lad.
But now that it's different-
and I'd rather you
didn't try to persuade me;
that'll only make it harder-
I'd like to give notice.
As you like, Annie.
I was thinking of going now,
if you'd pay my respects
to Mrs. Boswell tomorrow.
Mrs. Boswell is going
away tomorrow, Annie.
Going away?
Aye, she's going for a holiday
in switzerland with some friends.
She'll be leaving in the morning.
She'll be coming back?
No, Annie.
She won't be coming back.
Then you'll need looking after.
So maybe I'll stay on for a bit,
if you don't mind.
As you like, Annie.
Hello, George.
Hi, Dick.
Come in, come in.
Thanks.
I was just out for a stroll,
and thought I'd drop in on you.
You sure it's all right?
I mean, I didn't get you up, did i?
No, no. Sarah's out
and I'm minding Julie.
I'll get you a cup of tea if you'd like.
Thanks.
Wait, wait, wait.
How's mill street coming?
All right.
Here, do you know anything
about this sort of thing?
Hmm?
Uh, well, I've seen it done, of course.
Come on, give me a hand.
The thing keeps getting away from me.
Between the two of us,
we ought to be able to fake
some sort of arrangement.
Doesn't have to last the
rest of her life, anyway.
So, as Julie's life was beginning,
the life George had hoped for
and planned came to an end.
He met his private unhappiness head on,
overwhelming it with public work.
Browdley added his marriage
to the ugly Channing legend,
and returned him to
office again and again
to continue his endless impatient battle
against poverty and injustice.
Through it all, his mind
held tightly to Julie.
She was tangible evidence
of his belief in people,
his faith in the town and in himself.
Her birthdays were bright candles
stuck in the grey, uneventful
passage of his years.
Stoneclough rotted on
the hill as he matured,
slipping gently into the
interval of middle age.
He advanced from councilor to alderman,
and the year the war began,
from alderman to mayor.
Julie, 20 years ago today-
come, come. Anyone can see the
girl's quite a medical achievement,
and I'm sure she's very grateful to you.
I love you both.
You know, I've often wondered,
why didn't you ever get married?
Oh, I know you're disagreeable,
but there must've been someone.
After all, George managed it,
shy as he is.
George, you sure you
won't change your mind?
No thanks, Dick. No. I must be off.
I've got some work to do
before a meeting in the morning.
Good night.
Good night, Georgie.
Oh, George.
Hmm?
Oh.
Good night.
Good night, Julie.
What happened to Olivia?
He never mentions her anymore.
No.
She's married again?
She was,
but her husband died abroad.
Any children?
One.
What?
A boy, I think.
Good evening, George.
Mary!
That is the Channing blower, isn't it?
Aye.
I'd know the pitch of
Channings in me grave.
George, is it a mistake?
There's no warning.
No, no. Evidently not.
Must be a rat stuck in the
works or something of that sort.
Somebody'll catch it
- one of those R.A.F. chaps or all that.
Annie tells me that you and that
quarrelsome guardian of yours
are coming over for supper.
We'd like to.
I don't suppose you have any influence
that could get us a
bit of sugar, have you?
I'll see what I can do.
Good-bye.
Hello?
What is this medieval prejudice
you hold against the medical profession?
Oh. Oh, it was?
I think it's fine, as far as it goes.
Mm-hmm.
The only mistake I made
was giving you an education.
I see. Well, all right.
Thanks very much.
...caused by a lack of...
I can't see how you
wonderful, superior men
can take much pride in the mess
you've got us into up to now.
The blower was a mistake.
The machinery was being
tested today when it went off.
The mills are being bought back.
Who was that?
Masterson from the bank.
Bought back?
Who bought them back?
To be bought back they'd
have to be bought back
by whoever owned them before.
Olivia Channing.
Is she here in Browdley?
She won't be a Channing now, will she?
What was his name, this man she married?
Winslow, I think.
And he left her enough money
to do this sort of thing?
Buying back mills?
Apparently he did.
She probably planned it that way.
She doesn't sound very
nice from what I've heard.
Why did you marry her?
He was in love with her. Why else?
Oh, I don't mean that.
That's too general.
I mean really why.
He married her because she was the
most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
Because he felt sorry for her.
Because she promised something
twice as exciting and worldly
as anything he had ever
known here in Browdley.
And because he didn't have any choice
once she set out to get him.
Aye, I suppose that's about it.
How do you feel about seeing her again?
I don't know.
You won't go to see her?
No, I suppose not.
Well, will she come here to see you?
Mr. George,
the sector warden wants to know
if you'll take over number 10 post
on shawgate tonight.
All right, Annie.
Tell him I'll be along.
You stay here and get your tea, Dick.
I'll walk down with you.
I'm due back at the hospital anyway.
Good night, Dick.
Good night, George.
I'll come home as soon as I can get off.
Julie.
Oh, he doesn't mind.
Good night.
I'm sorry, George.
I didn't mean to be
rude or pry about Olivia.
Oh, you weren't.
I was just interested.
It doesn't matter.
In fact, I think I like
being able to talk about it.
Have you thought about her much?
Aye, dear. I suppose I have,
whether I've always realized it or not.
But, uh... less lately.
Easy, now, lad!
You've had enough drink here.
He's showing a light there.
I know you will, but we
don't want any trouble here.
Now, be a good lad,
Channing, and off you go.
The name's Winslow to you, sprog.
Half Channing, and that half better
than any man you've got.
One bomb, and-
all right, lad. All right.
Let's get you home.
That's enough. Get that light out.
Easy, Boswell.
So, here we have Boswell.
And what does milord mayor want?
I want that light out.
Pull the black out.
He wants the light off.
The great caesar with a tin hat
want the light off.
Come on-
well, I want him out of my way.
George!
You all right, George?
Aye.
This is a mess, all right.
What'll we do with him?
He's got a very nasty cut.
Help me get him into the house.
You know who he is?
Yeah, I think I do.
Come on, give me a hand.
Cheer up, hero. You'll live. Here.
Hold this.
Are you sure you're all right?
I've got a very hard head.
Why did you bring me here?
You were bleeding all
over the main street.
We didn't want it mucked up.
Your name is Winslow, isn't it?
Surname is Winslow.
Christian name, Charles.
Wouldn't be a bottle in the house?
If there were, I'd slap
you across the ears with it.
George Boswell.
My mother lived here, did she?
Aye.
That's very funny.
My mother lived here.
What's funny about it?
I don't really know.
But all right.
You've patched me up
and I feel terrible.
What do I do now?
You can do anything you like.
But you'd do better to rest here awhile.
Which way out, Mr. Mayor?
Julie, catch him up, will you,
and see he gets home all right?
What?
These streets are bad enough
knowing them all your life.
Run along.
Oh, hello. Want a job?
Uh...
I'd like to talk to you, sir.
Aye. Sit down.
I'd rather not.
I'm just awfully sorry about last night.
I wanted you to know that.
How do you feel?
Terrible.
Did Julie see you home all right?
Why, yes, she did.
I don't quite know what
I thought I was doing.
The thing had built up in me somehow,
and it had to go off.
I heard your name and
I suddenly hated you.
I don't know what I
expected you to be like.
But at any rate, something
quite different, I suppose.
I'm sorry.
Oh, that's all right.
The Winslows have never
been very good at drinking.
Or perhaps I should say too good at it.
You know my father drank
himself under the ground.
No, I didn't know that.
Well, anyway, I'm in the tradition.
My best friend- he's Julie's
guardian, by the way, a doctor-
he went after the bottle
pretty hard for a time.
It turned out he was
fighting back that way
at a situation he didn't
quite know what to do about.
Well, the situation cleared up.
And I don't have to
fetch him home drunk now
more than twice a week.
Well...
are you here for long?
I'm just starting 14 days' leave.
Oh, well, come back then.
Come for tea tomorrow.
I'll see if I can't get Julie along.
All right, sir. Tea time tomorrow.
Spivey, set this up, will you?
Aye.
Once Olivia was
reinstalled at Stoneclough,
she was apparently
content to stay there,
in the old house,
brooding above the town,
remote from its wartime problems.
Few people saw her.
She didn't come to see George,
and he made no attempt to see her.
But somehow, the town felt her presence.
And when the ancient, creaking
machinery began to turn again,
something of the old Channing
tradition returned to Browdley.
The old thing's a blinking booby trap.
We all know that.
A sausage machine, more like.
There's one reason
Channing's was opened,
and we know that, too.
To toast a couple of
buns while the fire's hot.
Money will be made here.
None will be spent if it can be helped.
It's one for the ministry, that's all.
Yes, yes, conditions are bad here.
We grant that.
But we need the cotton stuff.
It's not easy.
Have you been to the management?
Yeah, and a fat lot that got us.
What did it get you?
A cheery old chap and come
again, lad, that's all.
Well, at least we can
get everyone together
and try and find out what the answer is.
You know where our
answer is well enough.
Up at Stoneclough, high
and mighty, having tea.
There's a strike in the
wind unless I'm wrong.
Well, let's have a look around.
Then I'll go up and
see what can be done.
Mr. Boswell, madam.
Thank you, Robert.
Well, George.
Hello, Olivia.
May I give you some coffee?
Aye, thanks.
Sit down, won't you?
This was Martin's.
My grandfather's.
It went at the auction, of course,
but I traced it to a dreadful
little shop in London,
dug it out, brightened it up.
I bought it for Charles, actually.
Or did you know I have a grown son?
Aye. As a matter of fact, we've met.
Oh?
You know, he's quite
fallen in love with it here.
And I want to do all
I can to have things
the way they were for him
before the war is over.
It can't last much longer now, can it?
I hope not.
The same George, as I knew you would be.
So wonderfully, cautiously optimistic.
And you've done well, haven't you.
I understand you've made some
progress with your housing scheme.
Aye, I did.
We've been at a standstill
since the war, of course.
But this is an official visit, isn't it?
You said on the telephone you'd
like to talk about the mills.
Yes. I, um...
I agreed to discuss
these points with you.
I'm afraid I don't
really know much about it.
I never intended to do any of
the actual managing, of course.
That's for Charles when he comes back.
In the meantime, I'm trying
not to meddle in the operation,
leaving things much
as they've always been.
That seems to be the
principal complaint.
Too much as they've always been.
I should imagine they'd
think themselves lucky
considering they're not really fighting
and Browdley's missed
all the raids so far.
They do.
It was good of you
to bring this, George.
I'll try and look it over.
Although I'm not at all
sure I'll understand it.
Olivia...
conditions at the mill aren't good.
The machinery can't be
replaced now, of course,
but things can be
made cleaner and safer.
Unless they are, you'll
have a strike on your hands.
I've got the workers to
hold off until I talk to you,
but I promised them some sort
of an answer in the morning.
So you'd best read that now.
Madam.
Yes, Robert?
The telephone, madam. From Mulcaster.
Mulcaster!
Hello?
Yes.
Robert! Robert!
Yes, madam?
Is there enough petrol for mulcaster?
I'm afraid not, madam.
George.
It's Charles, George.
Can you drive me to the
hospital at mulcaster?
Aye. You better get a coat.
Thank you.
I'm sorry, Mrs. Winslow,
but the medical officer
has no further information.
He was shot up over Germany.
He got back, but it
was a sticky landing.
May I see him now?
I'm sorry, that's not possible.
May I speak to someone in charge?
I am in charge.
May I speak to your superior, please?
Please.
Olivia...
what is it you people want?
Oh, yes, a beautiful factory
with sunlight streaming
through the windows.
No, this is not the time-
oh, surely you want
to talk about it now.
You promised them my answer tomorrow.
And they're making
such a great sacrifice
consenting to work 10 hours a day.
Well, take them my answer.
Tell them I feel sorry for them
because their selfish
bodies are still whole.
Go on, tell them how sorry I am.
But tell them I've
looked at real sacrifice.
I know what a face looks like
with half the flesh torn away
and half my own heart with it.
Olivia, I...
I understand.
I'm more terribly sorry than I can say.
But this
- this is no time
to discuss anything.
You'll see it all differently.
I'll see nothing differently
until every one of your workers
can match what Charles has given
and when they face the loss I face.
Every family in Browdley has
in one way or another
faced what you face.
Most of them have faced it better.
Shall I drive you home?
I'll wait for the operation.
In the bleak, weighty
winter that followed,
George accepted the
task of finishing the war
as a personal responsibility.
He was mayor, editor, friend,
impatient of all delay,
a terrier at the heels of inefficiency.
In the early spring,
in addition to all his other work,
he became a self-appointed
lending library.
It gave him a natural opportunity
to visit Charles for one thing,
and he enjoyed the bus trip for another.
He smelled hope in the fragrance of may
and was exhilarated.
Good morning, Max.
Hi, George.
Good morning, lads.
Good morning.
How are you getting on, eh? All right?
Fine. Oh, you got some
color this morning.
Not surprising.
Now, what have we got here?
Let's see now.
You can have any of
these except that one.
That's for Winslow. Is he around?
He's probably down by the river.
Go on, take it.
Am I supposed to drink this?
Not necessarily.
It's only water.
Just a ruse.
Was your mother here this morning?
Yes.
Julie...
how would you like to be
mistress of Stoneclough?
I thought that position was filled.
You could be, you know.
Could i?
Could anyone?
Well, if I'm to be lord of the manor-
I thought we decided
against playing aristocracy.
We're not right for it.
What else am I right for now?
Oh, a lot of things.
Joining a few clubs perhaps...
ha.
You know, I could become
quite a good type clubman.
Old Winslow,
got knocked about in the war,
sits in the third chair from the bar-
that makes fewer steps
for the wine steward.
The last time he spoke to anyone else
was 10 years ago.
Oh, no, no.
He's no good for business of course.
Did have a go at it once.
Uh, posed for advertisements.
You know, the handsome young man
who wears crisp collars
and smokes expensive pipes.
Charles!
Oh, Charles.
Remember me?
I'm the girl who doesn't
really care what you do...
as long as you don't do
things like this to me.
I've only got a certain amount
of strength for fighting.
I'm no Florence Nightingale.
Sometimes I'm as frightened
of the future as you are.
I don't pretend to know
what's going to happen
or whether it's going to be good or bad.
From what I've seen,
living is a pretty messy
business at the best.
But I hang onto this.
It would be a lot more
fun with you than alone,
or with anyone else.
There's only one thing I'm
going to be stubborn about:
No clubs.
Unless they admit women.
Julie!
I'm terribly sorry.
Don't let me do that again.
Julie!
Hello, George.
I didn't know you were here.
Oh, there's been less
work to do at Browdley.
I made arrangements to try and come down
to help out a bit.
Oh. Is Charles about?
Why, yes!
As a matter of fact, I just left him.
I think he's sleeping.
Oh, well, I won't disturb him then.
You might-you might
see he gets this book.
Will you?
How is he doing, by the way?
All right.
Physically all right, I mean.
And uh... otherwise?
Oh, George!
There ought to be a law
against women like Olivia.
It takes 3 days every time
to undo one of her visits.
His face is really quite all right.
He looks different, yes,
but I don't know how she does it.
She manages to imply
somehow that it isn't-
that it's so awful,
no one else in the world could love him.
Why, you'd think she had
a private monopoly on love.
I thought at first she was just foolish,
but she isn't.
She's foolish like a snake.
She's wrapping herself round him.
She's destroying him. She's...
oh, I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to blow up.
How's the mill?
Well, it's not shut down.
That's the most you can say.
We got a stalemate, more or less.
Oh, I wish I knew what to do.
He needs help so badly.
He needs someone.
Aye.
And he's lucky it's you.
See that he gets the book, Julie.
Keep your chin up.
Open up 48.
I could use one of those things myself.
You're Julie morgan, aren't you?
Yes. I thought so.
I... I've just been trying to decide.
Dr. Whiteside's your foster father.
Yes.
You know George then.
Yes.
That's quite a coincidence, isn't it?
Isn't what?
The whole thing.
You from Browdley,
a foster daughter of my ex-husband's
closest friend here
looking after my son.
It is a coincidence, isn't it?
Is it?
Are you in love with him?
Yes.
And he's in love with you.
I think so.
And you want to be married.
We've talked about it.
Have you wondered how I'd feel?
Charles has.
I don't care.
Thank you.
I just wanted to have it straight.
Charles, darling!
Hello, mother.
How are you?
All right.
The matron tells me
you've been to the village.
Yes. Was that wise?
I had permission.
Oh, darling, you-
what's wrong?! This isn't a prison.
Wasn't it tiring?
Yes, a little.
You should have let me drive you.
It wasn't too bad, was it?
You didn't mind too much?
If people are going to stare at my face,
they're going to stare at it.
I might as well get used to it.
I know, I know.
People can be so cruel,
and you want to fight back at them.
But not yet.
You're not strong enough to fight yet.
There'll be no need to now, anyway.
I've pulled it off.
You're coming home with me.
When?
Robert's waiting to
help with your things.
You don't have to stay a minute longer.
Oh, it'll be so wonderful,
and it'll be so good for you-
just the two of us.
Oh, Charles,
we can walk together and read
and talk by the fire.
And you won't have to see anyone-
no one to stare or ask questions.
Charles, what's wrong?
We planned all this
and now it's really happened.
What's wrong? Tell me.
Nothing's wrong.
It's just that...
I
- I didn't think you'd be
able to arrange it, I suppose.
I
- I really didn't.
It's not usual.
But I managed it.
The doctors agreed that all you need
is quiet and peace in
the right surroundings
to give you confidence again.
This isn't good for you here.
Stoneclough will bring you back.
You'll be home
- home with me.
I can't go.
Charles, what's happened?
Nothing's happened. I just can't go.
No one will see you.
It's not that, it's just that...
I'm-I'm used to it here.
I'm used to it here.
I can't leave. I can't!
Charles!
Charles, darling!
It's all right, nurse.
It's all right.
Oh, darling.
Darling.
Charles, I understand.
Oh.
You're all right now.
I'll get Robert to
help with your things.
...the United States only.
The italian patriots say
they have executed Mussolini
and most of his fascist cabinet.
Here is the news.
This morning's only news
of total german surrender-
expected at any time now-
is a doenitz ceasefire
order to all u-boats,
and more swedish reports
that the germans in norway
will soon give up.
Today's weather...
of course, this can go on forever.
What do you say?
I don't know.
Sounds over with.
Shall we say it's over then?
Got a spot of very fine brandy
put away for the occasion.
Will you join me?
No, I'll wait for the news and keep dry.
George?
Aye, as a matter of fact,
I think I will.
It's pretty good cognac, Georgie.
Very expensive.
Well, I doubt it's more harmful
than a cheaper kind.
Good night, Vicar. Good night.
Ah, here we are.
Are you sure that's
the right bottle, Dick?
Oh, I don't make any mistakes
where this is concerned.
Thanks.
Where's Julie?
Oh, not back from
the R.A.F. establishment, I suppose-
whatever it is.
Well, Georgie, this is a great moment-
come, come now.
We've just been deciding the war's over.
This is no time to behave like this.
Julie, Julie, now, what is it, darling?
Tell us. Tell us what's happened.
She-she's taken him home.
She got him out of the hospital.
How in the world did she manage that?
I don't know!
He knew she wanted him to come home,
but...
he promised me he wouldn't
no matter what happened.
But when it came down to it, he did!
He's too ill to stand up against her.
He needs me.
Well, he'll have you then, Julie.
Now, don't worry.
When I found out he'd gone,
I rang up Stoneclough,
and they wouldn't even
let me speak to him.
I
- I'll never get him away from her now.
She's too strong.
Why, in another week and...
we'd have been married.
Another week and who'd
have been married?
I mean...
we'd even got a license.
I said another week and
who'd have been married?
Julie and Charles.
Who's Charles?
Winslow.
Olivia's boy.
What? That sniveling alcoholic
who bashed you that night?!
Now, look here-
all right, Dick, all right.
This is no time for
fatherly indignation.
You're not much good at it anyway.
You knew all this was going on?
Aye, and you would have, too,
if you'd kept your eyes open.
He's a good lad, Dick.
Now, stop your blustering.
Just what's Olivia up to?
She's trying to break it up, Dick.
Why?
It should be perfectly clear why
just looking at her.
She wants Charles for herself.
She doesn't want
anyone else to have him.
She wants to wear him around her neck.
He knows it's wrong, but
he can't help himself.
She'll break him.
She'll kill him!
And I suppose she could, too.
She could kill him as
she killed your son.
Yes, I say she killed him.
As a doctor, I say she killed him.
Why didn't she take him to the clinic?
'Cause the other children
were runny at the nose.
I call that murder-
whatever you call it.
She murdered him...
just as surely as she
murdered her father.
Dick, that's going too far.
Where did you leave Olivia
the night Channing was killed?
What?
Uh, on the road.
Below the landslide,
where we went over the side.
Aye.
Before she got up to the house,
I had been talking
to Channing about you.
Everybody in town knew
what was going on anyway.
When she came in, he faced her with it.
I heard the row from downstairs,
and I heard her tell him
to mind his own business.
Then he came out,
said he was going down
with me to see you.
He liked you, and he wanted to stop it.
I think he knew what she was
capable of doing to people,
and he didn't want it done to you.
She let him go.
She let us both go,
knowing that the road was washed out.
She couldn't have missed it.
I can't believe it, Dick.
I
- I can't believe it.
What did she say to you
when you got up there-
in the library?
She...
didn't say anything.
She...
she seemed to know it already.
She seemed to know it had happened.
Dick...
you've known all this.
Why didn't you-
I wanted to tell you,
but I was never really sure.
Before I knew it, you
were married to her.
And you were in love with her.
There was no point in telling you then.
There was less point after she left you.
Well, there it is.
Georgie, where are you going?
Georgie!
Didn't have his brandy.
You wouldn't like it, would you?
You sure?
Might pull you together.
Is Mrs. Winslow at home?
Mrs. Winslow is not at home, sir.
She was expected before now,
but she's been delayed.
Mr. Charles here?
Mr. Charles is not to be disturbed, sir.
He's-he's not well.
I beg your pardon, sir,
but I have the strictest orders
from Mrs. Winslow-
Robert, who's that?
Ah!
A stranger adrift on the moors.
Bid him welcome, Robert.
See to the stranger's horses
and stir up the fire.
Yes, sir.
Come in. Come in.
Come in and savor the dark.
She has a cool hand.
She'll hold you softly
in her black arms.
The dark is my mistress,
and I'll share her with you.
She doesn't care what
your face looks like.
Charles...
are you in love with Julie?
Love?
Love is a rationalization, mayor.
Love is a secretion
we wrap around the ego-
the way an oyster wraps a pearl
around a grain of sand...
to keep it from hurting.
Charles, listen to me,
are you in love with Julie?
In love with Julie
with a face like this?!
Look at my face, man!
There's nothing wrong with your face.
Uh-uh.
I think I'll stay here...
where it's warm and comfortable
and dark.
We'll see what the
London butchers can do.
She'll be back any minute now,
and we'll know what the London butchers
think they can do about the face.
Charles...
there's nothing wrong with you.
You're just using
your face as an excuse.
You're a coward!
Go away.
Let me alone.
You're in love with Julie,
but you're afraid to
do anything about it.
All right, all right!
I'm in love with her!
But I'm not afraid of anything.
I'm not doing anything about it
because I'm strong-
strong enough to know it's wrong.
You're a coward, and you know it.
I told you to get out of here!
I'm frightfully sorry,
but I'm afraid I'm going to be sick.
Come on, lad.
I know, Charles, I know.
It's-it's almost impossible to believe,
but it's true.
I've had to face it,
and you'll have to face it, too.
I'm so confused.
I don't know what to do.
There's but one thing to do.
I can't.
I can't have her married to
a patched-up job that
may not hold together.
That's ridiculous.
All right, all right.
The face is beautiful.
It's not mine, but it's beautiful.
I'm still not sure I'll get well.
How can I ever be sure?
You can be sure you'll
never get well here.
I'm very sorry, sir.
It was the gale. It blew the door open.
Did you come in a car?
Aye.
Take me down, then. Take me to her.
We'll be married today.
Good lad.
Well, come on. What are we waiting for?
We were about to drink
to victory this afternoon
when you walked out on me.
Well, I brought the
bottle of brandy along,
so if we can just locate
a couple of glasses.
Too late, Georgie. This is your show.
Where is he, George? Where's Charles?
It's all right, Annie.
I'm expecting Mrs. Winslow.
Where is he, George?!
I don't know.
It's no use lying to me.
You're no good at it.
You're lying to me.
Perhaps I am.
It doesn't matter now.
He's here.
He's here.
Oh, what a pathetic
fool you are, George.
What a pathetic, childish mind you have.
Don't you see what a
hopeless game this is?
Don't you see that no
matter where Charles is now,
my love holds him close to me?
Don't you know how
carefully I've planned?
Aye. I know how
carefully you've planned,
but part of your plan's gone wrong.
You're very confident.
You've tried to bully the world
into behaving the way you wanted it to.
Well, that won't work forever.
It's been tried.
It won't even work if
the plan's a good one,
and yours never was.
What did you want from your father?
What did he refuse to give you
that you thought you might get from me?
Power, importance? What?
How little you see.
I see you more clearly now, Olivia,
all the way back to something
you probably didn't
quite understand yourself.
And I know more about that night
I proposed to you under the bridge.
I know that when you went on up the road
that night, you must have
seen it was washed out,
and you must have let your father
start down knowing that...
because he was old and
useless to your plan.
You killed him, Olivia.
You let him go.
And you could have stopped him.
And supposing I could have,
could you send me to prison for that?
Could you convict me for
wanting you that much?
No, and I have no desire to-
though it wasn't me you wanted so much.
I'm just determined to see you
ruin no more lives.
Will you tell me where Charles is?!
He needs me! He's ill!
If he's ill, it's because you've planted
the illness there to cripple him.
Have you no thought for me?
Think of what he's been through.
The war
- all right, blame the war for it.
Then look around for
someone to blame the war on.
You may come around full circle
and find you're staring
yourself in the face.
Aye, you're as much to blame for it
in your own way as anyone else.
You're not important,
but you're part of the sickness.
You're infected with the fear and hate
and selfishness that makes war.
You want a special life
according to your own private plan!
You'll fight and you'll kill to get it!
George, where is he?! Where's Charles?!
He's married, Olivia.
Charles and Julie were
married this afternoon.
You're too late.
You've lost him.
You're lying.
You're lying.
How could they have been married today?
They had the license.
They were married at the registry.
They've gone away.
So, you think you've beaten me?
So, this is your victory?
This is your revenge, is it?
The mousy little mayor of Browdley
has played his hand.
All right. All right!
Sit back, you smug, dirty, grubby,
cheap-
have you ever considered
standing for parliament, Georgie?
Sometimes you speak with great feeling.
We'll drink to victory,
however sad it tastes.
Aye.
It does have a sad taste, Dick.
And we've not seen the last of her yet.
There's a long way to go.
To victory.
I'm putting an extra blanket
on the foot of the sofa.
You sure you'll sleep all right, dear?
Aye, Annie.
Dick, there wouldn't be anything...
habit-forming in this at my age,
would there?
I don't suppose the young folks upstairs
will be wanting the tea
too early in the morning,
will they?
No, Annie.
No, I suppose not.
The barrel
we'll have a barrel of fun
roll out the barrel
we've got the blues on the run
zing, boom, tararrel
ring out a song of good cheer
now's the time to roll the barrel
for the gang's all here
roll out the barrel
we'll have a barrel of fun
roll out the barrel
we'll have the blues on the run
zing, boom, tararrel
ring out a song of good cheer...