Shall I freshen your tea, Mr C?
Oh, just a touch, Mrs B.
Getting a bit tricky, innit, Mr C? If you ask me...
I'm not asking you, girl. This is something only a man can understand.
Quite right, Mr C.
Huh! Forward hussy.
She'll be wearing striped socks next.
Keep quiet, girl, and get on with your work.
And let Mr C get on with his deliberations.
— Care for some more fresh? — Thank you, Mrs B.
Well, Mr C...?
I don't like it. I don't like it at all.
There are too many imponderables.
Imponderables?
Oh, you do have some lovely words, Mr C.
Oh, yeah. And we heard some last night when he tripped over the cat.
You keep quiet, madam!
Or you'll get that cucumber round your lughole.
Now, then, Mr C. Put us out of our misery. What do you think ought to be done?
Well, taking one thing with another,
considering every aspect and weighing up all the factors involved...
I think we should skip the first two races and go for Captain Dick in the third.
But what about the war?
War? What war?
You know. The Kaiser and the German army and all that.
— Everyone says there's going to be a war. — Everyone?
Albert, the butcher's boy.
Silly girl!
You want to forget about Albert and listen to your elders and betters.
Mr C has got it up here.
That ain't where Albert's got it!
— Ya—ha—ha! — Waargh!
I'm dreadfully sorry. I thought you were Lilly.
Oh, I would have had her that time too, I bet.
Wo—ho—ho!
I've been practising little short jumps all the morning.
Ah, the morning paper. Thank you, Clodson.
Ah...no doubt about it.
There's going to be a war, all right.
— I have it on the highest authority. — From the Chief of the General Staff?
No. From Albert, the butcher's boy.
The headlines, Clodson: “Kaiser Wilhelm reviews the troops.“
"German army manoeuvres on the Belgian border."
But surely they wouldn't dare, sir?
They must know what would happen once the British Lion gets his tail up.
Ah, you mark my words, Clodson.
There's nothing the Kaiser would like better than to get his hand on a bit of British tail.
But we'll be ready for them, eh?
I'll get in touch with the War Office and see what they can offer me.
Splendid idea. Why don't you call them right away on the telephonic communicator?
Ah, yes. (Clears throat) Thank you.
Hello, War Office. Sir Harry Bulge... What?
Hello there, War Office. Sir Harry Bulge...
Hello there, War Office...
Sir Harry Bulger—Plunger here...
What do you mean, "Number, please“? I haven't got a number.
I'm a major general, not a dashed convict.
War Office? Well, that hasn't got a number either, has it?
It's that big building on the right as you go down Whitehall.
Two tin soldiers outside and a pile of horse manure on the pavement.
Oh, I can't be bothered. I'll send them a postcard.
Damn stupid invention that, Clodson.
Huh, it'll never take the place of the cleft stick.
Well, I shall just go round to the War Office and offer my services.
Lay out my dress uniform, will you, Clodson?
And get the footman to sharpen my spurs.
We don't have a footman any more, sir.
They don't last very long since Miss Virginia has insisted on giving them night classes.
(Chuckles) Claims she was improving their minds!
Be that as it may, there wasn't one of them could lift a scuttle of coal the next morning.
That's a dashed nuisance, Clodson.
Well, get another footman, will you?
I can't go to war with blunt spurs.
Very good, sir.
Equal rights for women! All men are swines! Down with the trousered tyrants!
Good morning, Daddy. Good morning, Clodson.
— Good morning, Miss Virginia. — Sorry, Daddy, no time to explain.
Just popped in to tell Clodson I've borrowed Teeny for a while.
Yes, Miss Virginia.
— Now, you behave yourself, do you hear? — Yes, Mr Clodson.
— We don't want any trouble. — No, Mr Clodson.
And make sure you're back in time to scrub those floors before dinner.
Yes, Mr Clodson.
— Now, listen here... — Can't stop, Daddy. We're terribly busy.
Just popping over to Buckingham Palace, where I shall make the supreme gesture!
— You mean...? — Yes. I shall chain Teeny to the railings.
— But, Miss Virginia... — Enough! Forward, Teeny!
— We hate men! — We hate men.
We hate men.
That's not a bit like Virginia.
Aye, but maybe now we can safely advertise for another footman.
Down with trousers! Up with skins!
Ah, that's more like it! She hasn't changed a bit, you know.
Now, then...
Let's see. We'll put four bags in the pantry for the general,
and the rest can go into my private stock.
But that's hoarding, Mrs Breeches.
The paper says it wasn't patriotic to do hoarding.
Bless you, girl, that ain't hoarding.
We was merely looking after our substance. Like it says in the Good Book.
Ain't you never heard of the Wise Virgins?
Not in this house!
It was dreadful, Pater.
Waist—deep in mud. Those damn guns bang, bang, banging away.
The screams of the horses, the groans of the men.
The filth, the degradation, the suffering.
I tell you, Pater...
To my dying day, I shall never forget those three days of manoeuvres on Salisbury Plain.
I know.
I know, my boy. War is hell.
But remember, you are a Bulger—Plunger.
And now that I have this key position on the general staff...
It came through, then?
Oh, yes, yes, yes.
Yes, it came through. As from today,
I'm General Officer In Charge Of Bootlaces And Puttees.
— Is that good? — Good? It's absolutely vital, my dear boy.
As Napoleon said, "An army marches on its bootlaces.“
I wouldn't be surprised if they don't give me a knighthood.
— But you've already got a knighthood! — Have I?
Forgive the intrusion, sir. I thought you would like to interview the new footman.
Oh, good idea, Clodson, yes. Wheel him in.
(Thick German accent) Good morning, Herr General!
Footsman first—class Otto Klanger for duty reporting and at your service himself is pleasing.
Klanger?
Klanger? Otto Klanger?
You're not some kind of dashed Bosch, are you?
Ach, Gott im Himmel! Nein, Your Excellency!
I am in Switzerland geborn.
From where is coming the big cheese und the clocks cuckoo.
But I am now since long time in England living.
Indeed, I am out—taking my citizen papers und getting myself neutralised.
Oh, you poor man! Was it painful?
— I think he means naturalised, miss. — Thank heavens.
This dreadful war has deprived us of so much already.
Ja, but I am now jolly fine English working chap. Cor blimey.
Play up, Tittenham Hotspots! God strafe the King!
Oh, well, yes, good.
I thought for one moment that you were one of those damn German spies.
I couldn't have you here if you were one of those German spies.
You're not, are you?
Nicht me, Your Excellency.
You have my word as an English gentlebloke.
Hah! Good, good, good.
Because I have this very important and highly secret post in the war cabinet, you know.
I'm in charge of bootlaces and puttees.
Bootlaces...und puttees.
What are you writing it down for?
I am studying to English my improve.
Ah, excellent. I find that highly satisfactory. You're hired.
— Danke schön. (Doorbell)
— I think that's someone at the front door, sir. — If the Herr General will permit?
Good man, that, Clodson.
I say, do you think he can sharpen spurs?
— I think he'll do anything to oblige. — Anything?
Your Excellence, Madame Ia Vicomtesse de la Zizi Pompom.
Allo, Baldy!
Lottie, Lottie, little Lottie Lamour!
How you been, you randy old goat?
How about a nice cup of Rosie Lee?
He calls her Rosie Lee?
She means tea.
Yes, that's right. Hot and strong, the way I like everything.
Very well, madam.
Sit down.
Well, Lottie, what have you been up to since you ran off with my footman, starkers?
Well, now, let me see. Er...
Well, there was this Bedouin chief in Morocco.
Mind you, Bulgy, I don't recommend the Sahara life, ducks.
That sand gets everywhere.
And then, a couple of weeks ago, I thought I had it made.
I got this royal geezer lined up.
Yes. He was married, mind you, but promised me he'd get a divorce.
Swore it with his hand on his coronet, he did.
"Lottie," he said, “You and me will get hitched the minute I get back from Sarajevo.
As sure as my name is Archduke Ferdinand."
But I waited for him in Paris and he didn't turn up.
Don't you read the newspapers?
Archduke Ferdinand was shot in the Balkans.
Gawd help us. Just as well he didn't turn up.
I do like a man with all his faculties.
I see. 50 now you've come back to me.
Well, who else would I come back to in my hour of need but back to my fiance?
— Fiancé? — Fiancé?
Fiancé? You have a fiancé?
Yes! You, silly!
— Me? — Yes, don't you remember?
When I was here three years ago, you proposed to me and I accepted.
But dash it all, Lottie,
you did run off with my footman and you've married three other chaps since then.
Well, a girl's got to do something to pass the time.
But the fact still remains, we never formally broke off our engagement.
So...what do you say?
Oh, my Lottie!
Oh, my Bulgy!
Oh, my God!
Ah, Clodson. Now...
how are we off for bootlaces?
There is a spare pair in the left—hand drawer of your dressing table, sir.
That'll do for a start. But it still leaves me a bit short.
— How many pairs do you need, sir? — 50 million.
Cobblers!
Don't be impertinent, man!
No, I would have to send Lilly to all the cobblers in the neighbourhood.
Oh, no time for that, Clodson. It would take days.
The um...
The British Expeditionary Force leaves for France tomorrow.
250,000 men, Clodson.
The Old Contemptibles the Kaiser calls them.
But we'll show him, eh?
If only we can get hold of 50 million pairs of bootlaces.
50 million pairs of bootlaces for 250,000 men sounds a little excessive, sir.
Clodson, if they look sloppy, they'll fight sloppy.
No, my plan is that each man should carry 200 spare pairs of bootlaces in his knapsack.
It's details like this that could win the war for us, Clodson.
If only we can get hold of the bootlaces.
Well, I may be able to assist you, sir, if you will allow me a little time to make enquiries.
Ah, good man, Clodson.
And er...send up young Lilly with the tea, will you?
Very good, sir.
Top secret.
I'll guard you with my life.
What? Try to trip me up, would you? You Bosch swine!
Right, take that!
Ow!
I say, Pater, do be a bit more careful where you stick that.
Willie! Why aren't you off to France with the Old Contemptibles'?
Ah, yes, well, I thought I'd stay here with the Young Contemptibles.
What sort of talk is this for a serving officer?
You should have thought of this
when I bought your commission for you four years ago.
I say, would you like to buy it back? You can have it for half price.
Anyway, nobody said anything about fighting.
I didn't mind the army in peacetime. It was all balls.
Eh?
And banquets and parties, and going out with debs and all that.
Then someone goes and starts a jolly old war and spoils it all. It's not fair!
Rejoin your regiment this instant, sir!
Or I'll cut you off without a shilling.
All right, Pater, you win.
But I warn you, if I get killed in battle, I...
I shall never speak to you again!
Bootlaces und puttees.
— Hello. — Gott im Himmel!
No, it's Lilly.
Oh, look! Pigeons!
Pigeons? What pigeons?
Who has pigeons?
There, silly. In that basket.
The one that says "Made in Berlin".
Oh, those pigeons! Ah!
Ja, ist mein hobby. Ja.
Komm, Fritzi.
Time to go walkies.
What are you doing with that piece of paper?
Is very clean pigeon.
Does not want to make naughties.
Yah!
Got you!
Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought you were Lilly.
No, Herr General. It's me, the footsman Klanger.
(Chuckles) Well, I very nearly dropped a clanger then, didn't I?
Ah, the tea. Good lad. Put it down over there, would you?
Top secret.
Ah, there it is! I was wondering where I put it.
Good man, Klanger. I wouldn't want this to get into the wrong hands, you know.
— All right, run along, then. — Yes, Herr General.
I say, Pater, the most dreadful bad luck.
I'm afraid I've broken my jolly old arm so I can't go off to war tomorrow.
Oh, you poor boy. Have a cup of tea.
Oh, thank you, Pater.
You insolent young pup!
Get off to war this instant, or I'll have your pips on toast for breakfast.
Oh, bellybutton!
That lad!
When I was his age, I was much older.
Ooh, allo, Bulgy!
Ah, Lottie, come and sit on my knee and tell me what a good girl you've been.
Now, you behave yourself. I'm a respectable, engaged lady.
So when are we going to get married, eh?
No, I think we ought to wait a bit.
After all, they say these wartime marriages never last.
And besides, I'm so busy with my war work.
What war work?
Well, helping poor soldiers in trouble.
I've got one outside now.
Jock!
Poor fellow. What's wrong with him?
He's got his sporran in a twist.
I'll just take him upstairs and straighten it out for him.
— See you later, love. — Lottie.
I suppose somebody's got to do it.
Brave fellows, these Jocks.
Sporran in a twist? Must be awfully painful, that.
Still, Lottie's a good girl.
She'll handle it.
Oh, Lottie...
Top secret!
(Small bang)
Not now, Lottie.
What have you got there, Klanger?
Is a picture postcard I am sending to my mutter.
Why is it marked Top Secret?
I don't want the postman to read it.
Excuse, please.
Funny man, that.
Funny is as funny does.
What does that mean, Mrs B?
I don't know, Mr C. I wasn't listening.
Komm, Gunther.
(Sings) Gunther, geh unter den Lindenstraße.
(Glass smashes)
Dummkopf pigeon.
(Knock at door)
Come in.
Ya—ha—ha—ha!
I'm terribly sorry. I thought you were Lilly.
— But I am Lilly, sir. - Eh?
Oh, it's this dreadful war.
It's been going on for so long.
Oh, dear.
— Are you all right, sir? - Eh?
Oh!
— There's a good girl. — Thank you, sir.
Such a willing child.
She's a lovely girl.
I know!
I'll get her when she comes back for the tray.
I could have sworn I poured myself a cuppa.
There we are. Excellent.
There we are.
I'm losing my faculties. I really am.
Blast! Now I've dropped the knife!
- Willie! — Hello, Pater. Is there any jam?
You should have been off fighting months ago.
I lost my travel warrant and I thought it might be in here.
— And is it? — I don't know. I haven't looked yet.
Hello, Daddy. Hello, Willie. Any luck with your travel warrant?
Yes. I still haven't found it.
Oh, this is all too much for me.
I would have hoped that at least one of my family would have been out at the front.
Well, now you come to mention it...
Ooh, allo, Bulgy!
Ooh, Virginia. I know you're a Bulger—Plunger but that's taking the family name a bit too far.
In wartime, we must increase our productivity.
Who said that? Lloyd George?
No. Albert, the butcher's boy.
Get off to the war this instant!
Righto, Pater. Just as soon as I've finished blancoing my tennis balls.
Oh, Lottie, little Lottie.
Ohh! Come behind the settee and make an old man very happy.
Oh, now, now! You don't want to get excited.
I do! I do! I do want to get excited.
When shall we get married?
Oh, now, let me see. Um...
I can fit you in 3rd of March 1921.
— Oh, no. — I'll leave you to make the arrangements.
Please, Lottie, can't I have a bit on account?
No, you can't have a bit on account. I'm far too busy with my war work.
I've got this poor Norwegian sailor outside who hasn't had a meal for days.
I'll just take him upstairs and give him one.
Sven!
See you later.
Now, don't forget — 3rd of March 1921.
Komm, mein liebchen pigeons, komm.
(Coos)
Feathers? Where is mein pigeons?
Mein pigeons. Where is mein pigeons?
Oh, were they your pigeons, Mr Klanger?
Don't worry, I've taken good care of 'em.
Ja, but where are they?
They're all tucked up nice and warm.
Here we are, now. Look.
Lovely, broiled in bacon.
Bacon? Bacon!
Donner und Blitzen! Bacon!
Funny. Don't look Jewish.
Oh, Clodson, this poor soldier here is having terrible trouble with his er...
what—do you—ma—call—it?
So I'll take him upstairs the back way so as not to disturb the general.
— Very good, madam. — Oh, and er...
you might send up a bottle of champagne and a bowl of curry.
I'll do it right away, madam.
Well, if she's going to muck about with his what—do you—ma—call—it,
he'll need more than a bowl of curry.
Honi soit qui mal y pense.
I will not have that kind of language in my kitchen, Mr C!
(Telephone rings)
Bulger—Plunger residence.
You say your name is Kaiser?
And you're talking from a telephone box in Berlin?
And you want us to pay for the charges?
Just a moment. Klanger!
It's for you.
I've told you before about taking calls at work.
Mein pigeons are lost. Oh, the pigeons.
Hello.
Jawohl, Your Majesty!
Jawohl, Your Majesty.
Right away, Your Majesty.
Who was that?
It was my dear, sainted mutter.
Ya—ha—ha!
— I'm terribly sorry, I... — Hello, Pater.
Willie! Why aren't you fighting at the front, cowardy custard?
Quiet, quiet, Pater. I shall now reveal all.
Wh...? Oh, my God. You're one of those as well.
No, no, no. The reason that I'm not out at the front is I'm working for counterintelligence.
Gad! So my son is a man after all.
There's no time for that now, Pater. Listen.
I have reason to believe that your footman Klanger is a German spy.
Good gracious me! Have you any proof?
Nothing that would stand up in a court of law, but I just heard him talking to Kaiser Wilhelm.
What? Then down to the basement! We must apprehend him immediately.
Ha—hey!
Sorry, I thought you were Lilly, Master Willie.
Where's Klanger? He's a German spy.
— Klanger? — Never!
— I just heard him talking to the Kaiser. — I knew he was a wrong 'un.
Where is he? We must find him.
I've just sent him up to Madam's room, with champagne and curry.
Ah, well, quick. Arm yourselves, then off to Madam's room.
Come on, girl. Pick yourself up.
Up you go. Quick.
Stand by to jump him as he comes through the door.
Get your weapons ready.
We know you're in there. Come out, you foreign devil!
It's all over! It's all over! It's the Armistice!
— Armistice? — Is it official?
Yes. Straight from Albert, the butcher's boy.
Oh! Oh, what a lovely war!