Made the last game the best, eh?
Last game? It's only September. What about next Saturday?
We haven't got time for football anymore.
Don't you know? England's declared war against Germany.
It's not football. We have to work. We have to look after the fields.
Mother, please, try to understand. We'll be home by Christmas.
No-one in this family has ever been a soldier.
They train you.
(Gasps, crying)
(Song) To the sweetest girl I know...
...Goodbye Piccadilly
All right, lads. Look lively. Here it comes.
Look! Cor! Here we go, boys.
I've seen pictures of these.
Gosh! It's like fireworks, Lacey. On Bonfire Night.
All right, lads. It's our turn.
I can't see anything. It's too dark.
The ground. It's moving.
Toodle-oo. Enjoy the war.
(screams)
Here you are, bruv. Happy Christmas.
Look!
What do we do?
We should shoot him.
He hasn't got a rifle.
Will!
Freddie!
Hey, I recognise that tune.
Mmm. An English tune.
I was a barber in London for twenty years.
What!
Last one back, eh?
Well done.
It's headquarters, lads.
You're to stay in the trenches unless ordered
There is to be no repeat of this un-warlike activity.
Will?
All right?
Will?
What happens now?
Now...
it's our turn.
Fix bayonets. Fix bayonets.
(Whistle)
Look! It's the boys.
It's the team! Coldfield Village!
He's Auntie Mary's only boy. Someone's got to look after him.