The Titfield Thunderbolt

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(Whistle blows)

(Whistles blow)

(Whistles blow)

(Cock crows)

(Whistle blows)

(Train approaches)

(Whistle blows)

(Dog barks)

(Whistle blows)

Charlie! Here's your death warrant.

Stick it up when you've got the time.

- Good morning, Charlie.

- Good morning, sir.

- Morning.

- Morning, sir.

(Honks horn)

(Honks horn repeatedly)

Here you are, Charlie.

(Crash, clatter)

(Blows whistle)

Right away!

Can't go yet.

The squire's not here.

(Horn honking)

For heaven's sake, Harry!

What am I supposed to do,

hedge hop?

(Chickens squawk)

(Horse whinnies)

(Honks horn)

Dan!

Dan!

Dan! Spare a hand here.

Come on, Dan!

(Blows whistle)

Can't wait any longer.

- We're three minutes late.

- Three and a half, to be exact.

- I'm due in court at ten o'clock.

- Just going now, sir.

Can't go yet. Squire's here.

What's the idea of leaving me

behind on market day?

- Four minutes late.

- Church clock says four minutes early.

British Railways run

by Greenwich not Titfield time.

My great-grandfather built this

railway for Titfield not Greenwich.

(Whistle blows)

(Horn honks)

My, my! So they let you

have her on loan, eh?

- We've bought her!

- Railway's had it?

- Closure notice put up this morning.

- At last!

Nah, that's just the beginning.

Five years from now, they'll be

calling this place Pearcetown.

(Whistle blows)

(Doorbell rings)

(Muffled voices)

(Knock on door)

- Yes, Emily?

- The squire and Mr Blakeworth, sir.

Well, well, well! Come in!

- Emily, the ginger wine!

- We're not interrupting the sermon?

No matter. You'll find cigarettes

in the pocket of my cassock.

Sam, we've come to talk

about the railway.

- The railway!

- You haven't heard the news?

- The news?

- They're closing it down.

I cannot believe it. The oldest

surviving branch line in the world.

It's unthinkable.

They cannot possibly close it.

What about

the Canterbury-Whitstable line?

They closed that.

Perhaps there were not men

of sufficient faith in Canterbury.

Sam, we've got to fight this.

It'll be a virtual monopoly for

Pearce and Crump and their buses.

- The end of Titfield as we know it.

- It must never happen.

- Our railway must be kept running.

- But how?

There's no solution

short of buying up the line.

- My dear Mr Blakeworth!

- The railways are all nationalised.

The Transport Act of 1947

only nationalised existing railways.

A new company formed now

wouldn't come under the Act.

(Sam) Well!

There'd be hundreds

of conditions to fulfil.

Get a Light Railway Order,

most won't apply.

How do we get

a Light Railway Order?

By means of a prayer to the Minister

of Transport. It's a legal term.

You'd need an engine crew,

signalmen, platelayers.

The railways are short-handed.

They'll never let anyone go.

Good gracious, boy!

You, whose great-grandfather

built the railway?

What are you thinking of?

We'll run it ourselves!

- Good heavens!

- Yes, we will, Sam!

What a thought!

By heavens, we will!

- I'll drive the engine.

- I'll be the guard.

Oh, good heavens! Where are you

going to get the money from?

- Oh.

- We'll raise it.

We'll organise a raffle,

a jumble sale.

We'll revive the flower show,

have a flag day, a silver collection,

a line of pennies,

put on The Mikado again.

Sam, you've done all that for the

organ fund. How much have you raised?

49, three shillings.

We'll need at least 10,000.

Oh!

But if we could interest

Mr Valentine...

Mr Valentine?

He's spent 40 years

standing people drinks.

- Why can't he stand us a railway?

- Impossible!

Sam, a railway of our own?

Good heavens!

- And a large gin for me.

- In your hand, Mr Valentine.

Oh! Ladies and gentlemen,

here's to our magnificent generals,

General Gordon

and General Booth.

(Laughter)

No, leave it there, my dear.

Time we all had another little drink.

Ah, our good chaplain!

I was just about to invite

the company to take wine with me.

- No, please let me.

- I've already staked my claim, sir.

You must accept defeat

like a gentleman. Mr Weech?

Well, it's very kind of you.

Perhaps a glass of sherry.

Yes. A sherry wine. For you,

Mr Chesterford, the same again?

- I haven't had one yet!

- Oh, well!

Let us not quibble over the lapse

of a few empty hours

since we last stood here together.

Was it not a blend of mild ale

and bitter beer?

- Mild and bitter.

- There.

- Mr Weech, you're looking solemn.

- Mr Weech has had a nasty shock.

- They're closing our railway.

- Oh, my dear padre.

All this time together and not

one word of sympathy from me.

You must think me

an unfeeling old man.

- Not at all.

- But I insist.

We're planning to take it over,

work it ourselves.

Indeed! And why not?

- I've the man for you! Mr Taylor!

- If we can find the capital.

Yes. Mr Taylor!

Mr Taylor! There you are.

Stop dodging about, sir.

You're going to drive an engine

for these ladies and gentlemen.

Oh, no!

Mr Taylor's a railway servant

of long experience.

- 41 years.

- Yes, I know. A platelayer.

I can drive an engine

better than what you can.

At what percent of piston travel

does an engine cut out

- before she starts her run?

- Eh?

- He doesn't even know that.

- First blood to the cloth!

- Come on, Mr Taylor, have at him!

- What's a Samson?

One doesn't need a knowledge

of slang to operate a locomotive.

- Hit for Mr Taylor!

- Get into him, Dan!

- What's a petticoat pipe?

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