The Corn Is Green

It won't be long now, Miss Ronberry.

For once

the train from London is on time.

You arranged for the transfer

to the station, Mr. Jones?

I did. And I notified the Squire as well.

The colonel is sure to be on time.

Military discipline.

- Well, Sarah?

- Are you finished, m'am?

Is everything spick and span?

I made the bed lovely and I dusted...

Well that will be all, dear. The Colonel

is bound to have his own manservant.

Then I had better have another

sit down in my post office.

What's the matter

with your post office?

It has not had a letter in 7 weeks.

Nobody but me can write

and no good me writing

because nobody but me can read.

You see?

Anybody in Wales will tell you that

the people in this part

of the countryside are barbarians.

I can't think why a colonel should elect

to come and live in a place like this.

I've never seen so many books.

I do hope the curtains won't seem

too feminine.

I chose them with such care.

The spinning wheel too. And the china.

His own furniture's so distinctive.

The desk. And the wastepaper basket.

So virile.

A wastepaper basket that is virile.

Are you hoping the colonel will live up

to his wastepaper basket?

That's horrid, Mr. Jones.

Even for a Welshman.

What are those words you're singing?

The wicked shall burn in hell.

Good evening.

Come in.

- The Squire.

-Oh.

- Mister Treverby.

- My delicious lady.

- Squire. - Delicious surprise

and a merry afternoon to you...

as our ancestors used to say.

- Good day to you.

- Good afternoon.

No, no, no, squat, dear fellow.

Squat.

Make no ceremony with me.

- No sign of the new inhabitant?

- Any moment now, I think.

Well, let's hope

the new fool is all right.

- Why?

- Why...

all these books,

it isn't possible that one fellow

could have read them all,

or ever will.

They're here.

At last.

They're trapped with all the luggage.

Made good time from the station too.

What does he look like, Mr. Jones?

Is he young?

- Middle aged?

- No sign of any colonel yet.

- Only two women.

- Two women?

Come on, Bessie.

Get a move on with these parcels.

What are we being brought here for?

- I hate it I do.

- Shut up.

This place is a clinker, that's what.

- And don't it save us from the law?

- I hate it anyhow.

If we had stayed in London, I could

have nabbed that red dress I admired.

Ungrateful girl, that's what you are.

Behave yourself.

You haven't had the chance

to live in luxury

and you go bleeting

about your red dress.

- Oh, it's going to be lovely here.

- It smells.

Hush! Now you go down

to the station and get the big trunks.

Oh, these bags are a mess.

- Who are you?

- I never speak until I'm spoken to.

Well, speak up now, my girl.

Bessie Watty is the name.

If anybody could say

I really got a name at all.

- Is this Pengarth House?

- It is.

- What's wrong with it?

- What's good about it?

Bit of a puzzle for you, that one,

wasn't it now?

We'll have none of your impudence.

- Do you speak English?

- I do.

Then be a dear and hold this.

Do you know that creature,

my girl? Who is she?

My mummy.

- I never had no daddy.

- I'm sorry. It seems a pity.

We all has our cross to bear.

Having no daddy is mine.

- Strike me pink that they're heavy.

- What are they?

- Books.

- More books?

Look here, my good woman.

Is your employer with ill?

No. Followed behind most of the way.

Ought to be here by now.

I'll have a see.

Oh, here they are. Tally-o!

Thought we'd lost you.

What a beautiful country.

I'd hoped to catch up with you.

But that last hill proved

to be too much.

- Good afternoon.

- How do you do?

There are few nippers at the gate

so I thought I'd better bring

Priscilla inside.

Can you take care of her?

Come on girl, give us a hand.

Don't stand there getting into mischief.

It's bigger than I expected.

- So this is my house.

- No, it isn't.

Oh?

Well, isn't this Pengarth?

- The name of the building, I mean.

- Yes, it is.

That's right. It was left to me

by my uncle, Dr. Moffat.

I'm Miss Moffat.

I take it you're the Miss Ronberry

who so kindly corresponded with me.

But surely those letters we received

were written by a man.

If they were, I've been grossly

deceiving myself for a great many years.

Now that's very interesting.

Why did it never occur to you

that I might be a woman?

Well, for one thing

the paper was not scented.

And surely you signed your name

rather oddly.

Oh, my initials L.C...

Well, you see, I never felt that

Lily Christabel really suited me.

And I thought it meant

Lieutenant Colonel.

But there was

a military title after it.

M.A. Master of Arts.

Arts? Do you mean the degree

my father bought for me

when I came down from the varsity?

The very same.

Except that I was at Aberdeen

and worked jolly hard to buy it.

A female M.A.

And how long is that going to last?

Quite a long while I hope,

considering the fact that we've been

waiting for it for two thousand years.

Are you saved?

- I beg your pardon?

- Are you Church or Chapel?

Well, I really don't know.

And now that you know all about me...

- What do you do?

- What?

I'm afraid I don't do anything.

Mr. Treverby owns the Hall.

Really? I never had much

to do with the landed gentry.

Interesting.

Au revoir, dear lady. Mr. Jones.

Interesting!

What impertinence.

Nobody could say

I made a conquest there.

This is not a bad little room.

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