SUPER :  English Channel – November 24th 1703

EXT. ENGLISH CHANNEL – NIGHT – CONTINUOUS

A violent storm RAGES, hurricane force winds BLAST dozens of ships anchored off shore. Ships lurch, roll, heave up then crash down. Rusty anchor chains SNAP like twigs as bows pitch vertically. CREWS and everything on the decks are washed overboard. Ships break apart. Mountainous waves snap tree-trunk masts. Tangled rigging and shredded sails sink dragging men under with them. The screech of wind and crashing waves are deafening.

The storm continues into daylight. The tide is out so far the sea cannot be seen. The storm still rages.

HENRY THOMPSON, an elderly man, and LIL HENRY THOMPSON, a young boy, along with several MEN stare out to sea sheltered behind the corner of a damaged cottage. The vast curved bay is littered with bodies and wreckage. All around them cottages are either wrecked or badly damaged.

HENRY THOMPSON Never in all me years have I seen such a storm. Or one lasting eight days.

‘LIL’ HENRY No-one can have lived through this lot can they gran’dad?

HENRY THOMPSON Aye, and no ship’ll be seen if the Ship Swallower lives up to its name.

Everyone looks out over the The Goodwin Sands.

As the wind eases pieces of wreckage large and small are seen stuck on the sand. A chunk of mast juts vertically 20 feet. Suddenly it moves, and is sucked down into the quagmire-like sand. Other wreckage is likewise sucked down. They vanish as the wet-sand flops over where they had been.

EXT. STREETS OF TOWN – DAY BREAK

NEWS BOYS hawk bulletins.

NEWS BOY #1 Read all about it, greatest storm of the century!

NEWS BOY #2 See the list of ships lost.

A PEDESTRIAN drops a coin into News Boy #1’s hand and scans the bulletin, reading out loud.

PASSER-BY #1 H.M.S. Restauration, all 387 lives lost.  H.M.S. Northumberland, 220 lives lost.  H.M.S. Stirling 70 souls saved.  H.M.S. Mary 269 lives lost 2 souls saved.

Another PEDESTRIAN does likewise.

PASSER-BY #2 Good news at last.  (he reads)     H.M.S. Resolution all 221 souls saved. H.M.S. Litchfield Prize 108 souls saved.

PASSER-BY #1 H.M.S. Mortar Bomb 65 lives lost.    H.M.S. Newcastle all 193 drowned.

PASSER-BY #2 H.M.S. Vesuvius all 48 lives saved.

PASSER-BY #1 H.M.S. Reserve 175 souls lost.

PASSER-BY #2 But 47 men were saved!  And so was the crew of H.M.S. York.

PASSER-BY #1 You mis-read four perished!

PASSER-BY #2 Well at least the Vanguard though it sank neither men nor guns went down with her!

EXT. ON-SHORE – COAST – SAME TIME.

Old Henry, Lil Henry and the Men emerge from behind the wall, and scan the huge bay.

HENRY THOMPSON Well me hearties, the storm’s ruined our cottages. But, out there, is enough timber to re-build ‘em ‘gain. I warns all of ya.

He stares at every man, waving his hand.

HENRY THOMPSON You all know there’s places that’s like quicksand at low tide. Step in one and you’s on your own for none can save you once you’re in the loving arms of the Ship Swallower. So let’s get to it. They’ll be folks from every village down here taking stuff soon enough, so best be sharp.  But mind you watch the incoming tide, it’ll cut you off in no time flat. Alright then, let’s be to it. Everyman for himself.

MAN #1 Every man for ‘imself then!

Laughing they split up and begin to salvage.

RUN TITLE – A SMUGGLING WE SHALL GO

VOICE OVER If you wake at midnight and hear a horse’s feet, don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street, them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie.                          Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!

Five and twenty ponies, trotting through the dark – Brandy for the Parson, Baccy for the Clerk;                    Laces for a lady, letters for a spy.And watch the wall my darling, while the gentlemen go by!

ON SCREEN : Romney Marsh, England. 1755

EXT. MUD-FLATS AND RIVER ESTUARIES – NIGHT

A strong wind howls across a flat, treeless, desolate region. The in-coming tide races up along a mud creek, small waves flop over the creek’s banks, quickly merging with others. Soon the vast area is under dirty-grey water.

On the shore the sounds of horses’ snorts and hooves mingle with the wind.

TEN rugged RIDERS slouch astride their mounts.

Nearby a SCARECROW is propped against a leaning post surrounded by a flock of woolly sheep.

The Riders pass in silence as the horses’ warm breaths scatter in the wind.

Suddenly a small figure rises from behind one of the larger ewes – JIMMY THOMPSON, a nine-year old boy. His eyes blink, he bends down, shielding a candle-lamp from the wind, strikes a flint and lights the remains of a candle, then waves the lamp left and right shoulder high many times.

EXT. RED LION INN – SAME TIME

FREDERICK JOHNSON shields his eyes and squints, sees the light, nods his head

JOHNSON Good lad Jimmy.

Johnson shoulders the Inn door open.

INT. THE INN – SAME TIME.

A hive of activity. Johnson struggles across the full bar room. A noisy bunch of rough looking MEN, most seemingly drunk are swilling back ale.  On one of the table are 12 pistols.

Johnson looks at ARTHUR GRAY the Hawkhurst gang leader.

JOHNSON It’s time for the Hawkhurst gang to get going and do what we do best!

The men stand, nonchalantly, grab their pistols, and walk toward the bar.

Other drinkers quickly take their seats and grab their glasses.

Behind the bar SAM SPITTLES bends down and lifts a trap door.

The gang goes down the wood steps.

Last is Gray, he hands Spittles some money, smirks, drops through the hole.

Spittles pockets the cash then heaves some waist-high full beer barrels over the hole.

EXT. MUD-FLATS AND RIVER ESTUARIES – NIGHT

The leaning post now has small waves lapping its base and the sheep have moved to higher drier ground.

INT. A MAZE OF TUNNELS SAME TIME.

Knowles and his gang crouch as they dash through the shoulder high tunnel. Where it splits into two, six men dive down one side, six down the other.

INT. RED LION INN – SAME TIME.

The door barges opens. TEN men brandishing assorted firearms charge in.

The head man is CEPHUS McINTOSH.

MCINTOSH Right you riotous, unlawful, felonious bunch.

Few men take any notice, McIntosh nods his head at his men. Several gunshots echo around the room.

MCINTOSH Assembled yourselves together, in order to be aiding and assisting in the running, landing, and carrying away uncustomed goods. Goods liable to pay duties, which have not been paid, or secured. And you’re all about to tell me, none of you have seen a dicky-bird. Or heard any Owls a-screeching. None of ya have done any hard work….

McIntosh grabs the hand of HENRY THOMPSON (Lil Henry of opening scene) sitting nearby, staring at his calloused dirty hands and broken finger nails.

MCINTOSH They stink of Sherry and Baccy. Where did you get the money to buy? Stand up when you talk to me, or I’ll have you whipped till yer bones show.

Henry Thompson stands towering over McIntosh.

Apart from other drinkers knocking over seat benches and standing in support of Henry Thompson, the room is quiet.

Henry Thompson grips McIntosh’s hand and stares into it as he tightens his grip.

The two men stare at each other.

Henry Thompson squeezes harder.

McIntosh doesn’t flinch.

HENRY THOMPSON Comes from ploughing the sod and the money’s from selling the wool of me sheep. And next time you ask me to stand…  say please.

Henry Thompson squeezes harder, McIntosh tries pulling his hand away, but can’t.

HENRY THOMPSON There we are, don’t want to  break any bones do I. You’ll have me up before the Magistrate for assault and battery.

The crowd moves as one toward McIntosh’s group, who slink away and leave.

The room erupts into laughter.

Sam Spittles calls to Henry Thompson.

SPITTLES Watch him Henry, he’s a nasty bit of work.

EXT. CHURCH GRAVEYARD – NIGHT

A grave-size piece of thick flat dark slate slides sideways across the grass.

SIX MEN came up from a tunnel through the hole onto the ground. Two men slide the slate back in place.

CLOSE the slate is supposedly a grave marker and bears the inscription :

HERE LIES HENRY THOMPSON WHO LEFT THIS EARTH ON THE

12TH OF DECEMBER 1975

INT. CHURCH – SAME TIME.

A smiling REVEREND CORNELIUS BOURNE is watching through a window.

Silently the men run off in different directions.

Reverend Cornelius Bourne turns away from the window and picks up a couple of blankets and a basket containing a small loaf, a piece of crumbly cheese, two apples and a flagon of ale.  He drapes the blankets over the arm carrying the basket then leaves the room and exits into the churchyard.

EXT. GRAVEYARD – NIGHT – SAME TIME

Bourne is walking past the slab of slate when he stops and listens, hearing a sound.

He peers around in the dark and thanks to the moon is able to pick out the small figure of a boy bent over a freshly dug grave.

As the moon creeps out from behind a cloud illuminating the gravestones, the wind blows through the branches of trees and bushes delineating the burial area.

Jimmy’s small figure clasping a headstone is seen.  His frail body shakes with silent sobs as the moon picks out the lettering on the headstone.

“LET IT BE KNOWN THAT I AM CLAY  A BASE MAN TOOK MY LIFE AWAY  YET FREELY DO I HIM FORGIVE   AND HOPE IN HEAVEN WE BOTH SHALL LIVE   HENRY THOMPSON – FATHER, GRANDFATHER, FRIEND

FLASHBACK:

TYBURN – EARLY MORNING

A large crowd is gathered around the triple ‘tree’ each of which is set up to hang eight miscreants.

Jimmy pushes his way through the boisterous ill clad, for the most part, though some gentry are seen, crowd.

He finally makes it to the foot of the triple tree and looks up in awe, his pinched face and teary eyes catching the eye of a towering man, BIG BILL BLACK.

BIG BILL BLACK Come to see the one way destination, have ye?

Jimmy turns his eyes from the gallows to the huge man and shakes his head sadly.

JIMMY No sir, I’ve come to see my dad.

BIG BILL BLACK Aah, he’s the hangman then is he?

Both turn their gaze on the gallows where the HANGMAN is sat, smoking a pipe nonchalantly and grinning down at the crowd.

JIMMY No sir, my Dad is to be hung today.

Big Bill Black looks down on Jimmy with compassion.

BIG BILL BLACK You shouldn’t have to watch that son, come on let me take you away from this.

Jimmy shakes his head as the sound of several carts rumbling their way towards the gallows is heard.

JIMMY No, he needs to see me.  Don’t want his last sight to be that of the hangman.

Big Bill puts a comforting hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.

BIG BILL BLACK I’ll stand with you boy, that way he’ll know you’ll be safe.

The boisterous crowd becomes even more so as the carts are seen fighting their way through the jostling crowd, many in the crowd hurl rotten fruit, stones, and disgusted shouts at the men and three women standing in the five carts, along with their ultimate resting places, their coffins.

Big Bill Black gently picks up Jimmy and places him on his shoulders.

BIG BILL BLACK Which one’s your dad, son?

With trembling hand Jimmy points out a pinched faced, slim tall man, Henry Thompson, his scrawny figure making his clothes seem to be cast offs from a larger person.

BIG BILL BLACK Doesn’t look like he’s had a decent meal in years… what’s his crime?

JIMMY (Sobbing) Smuggling.

Big Bill looks astounded.

BIG BILL BLACK Smuggling?  But that’s not a hanging offense!

JIMMY (Wailing) They say he killed a revenuer, but he never did!  And it was all my fault anyway.

BIG BILL BLACK Why don’t you tell me all about it then?

JIMMY Well me sister Meg, she looks after me Dad and me, see?  And well… the ….

FLASH BACK

INT. THE COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE – DAY

McIntosh stands facing a disgruntled SIMON AGNEW signing a sheet of paper. He looks up at McIntosh.

AGNEW So I have to tell the Sheriff the Hawkhurst gang escaped yet again. Is that it? And how about the Adlington gang and the Mayfield thugs?

McIntosh remains silent as Agnew gets up then ambles to the office window.

AGNEW So what is it going to take pray tell me, to throw all this riff-raff in jail?

MCINTOSH They are all farmers and when they came back from fighting the French their farms had been taken by the crown.  Their families turned out.

Agnew chuckling turns and stares at McIntosh.

AGNEW Taken? We assumed they were all killed by the French.

MCINTOSH You’re forgetting these men are some of the best soldiers in the world. You assumed co’s they were outnumbered ten-to-one they’d died. All they want is their farms back.

AGNEW Sounds like you’re on their side. Remember this, the moment they took off their uniforms they became the scum they were afore.  Now get out before I take your house. Out, out out. McIntosh turns and exits.

Outside he slowly mounts his horse and takes off accompanied by ROBERT SIMPSON.

MCINTOSH We have to find some smugglers to bring in, or our lives won’t be worth a brass farthing.  Agnew is mad as Hell!

ROBERT SIMPSON I know just where to find some. But first a pint.

They gallop off.

Not in sequence:

EXT. CAMBER – PRE-DAWN

An owl hoots as a large, scarce discerned, group of MEN lie on the marshland grass looking out to sea.

Nearby a pack of ponies and pack horse are being looked after by a group of young BOYS among whom is Jimmy.

Suddenly a cutter is seen fast approaching land.

MAN #1 ‘Ere she comes, look sharp lads!

The men jump up and begin running down towards where the water is lapping the edge of the marshland.

The cutter weighs anchor some twenty yards out from the shore and the Men splash their way over to the ship’s side.

Soon a relay of men is formed and large boxes and packages are thrown down from the cutter to the men standing waist deep in the water below.  They in turn pass their loads to the line of men snaking towards the pack horses where yet more men are attaching the goods to the horses backs.

The same is done in reverse with the men on land sending packages to the cutter which are immediately taken on board via a net and put down in the hold.

As dawn tinges the sky with grey and rosy fingers the cutter pulls up anchor and pulls out to sea while the men all assemble on the dry land.

MAN #1 Well that’s that then, best step on it and get this stuff stored away before the revenue men see hide nor hair of us!

Laughing the men, some on horseback, and others urging the pack horses along, leave the beach-front and, along with the young boys, make their way along a path.

Suddenly the screech of an owl is heard and the men all look around fear and apprehension on their faces.

BOY #1 Revenuers!

As the boys scatter on foot the men on ponies circle those leading the pack horses as they wait to confront the mounted group of Customs OFFICERS fast approaching across the Walland Marsh.

CEPHAS QUESTED Stand your ground men, shoot to kill.

The smugglers look at their leader as the sound of flint locks clicking is heard.

CEPHAS QUESTED We engage them after they fire first.  During the confusion, you men with the pack horses make for the town.  You, George, lead them.

GEORGE RANSLEY nods and looks over to the fast approaching group of Customs Men.

The Customs Men are now upon the gang of smugglers and with sabers and pistols waving in the air their commander shouts out.

CHARLES JAMES FRANKLING NEWTON Cease and desist!  We are here under the aegis of his Majesty’s Customs and are officers in his Majesty’s Navy.

CEPHAS QUESTED Well, come along then, we’ll see what we can make of you!

A fierce gun and hand to hand fight ensues all over the Marsh during which time George Ransley manages to lead the pack horses away from the confrontation and make for the village of Addlington.

EXT. VILLAGE OF ADDLINGTON – DAWN

As the pack horses and men on foot clatter into the village, doors open and helping hands have soon unloaded the pack horses and take the horses to various stables and fields scattered throughout the village.

EXT. WALLAND MARSH – DAWN – SAME TIME.

The fight is fierce and long as the Customs Men pursue the smugglers all over the Marsh.

Many of the combatants are unseated and the fight continues on foot on the marshy slippery ground.

Cephas Quested is seen exhorting his men to not give any ground while the Customs Men fight on equally determined.

The melee continues on to Brookland where five men are seen lying dead and another 20 collapse from their injuries.

Cephas Quested seeing a man without a pistol running towards him hands him his musket and yells.

CEPHAS QUESTED Take this and blow some officer’s brains out.

EDWARD DIGBY Not wiling to do that, but I am willing to arrest you in the name of his Majesty and the Customs!

Cephas looks at the customs officer in dismay.

CEPHAS QUESTED You are out of uniform!  You conniving bastard!

EDWARD DIGBY Don’t impugn my dear mother sir, for you are now under arrest!

As Cephas Quested is forced off his horse his men look on defeated and drop their arms surrendering to the Customs Men.

While the smugglers are being rounded up Edward Digby goes over to the dead men.

He kicks, none too gently, the four dead smugglers and then gently closes the eyes of a dead seaman.

INT. COTTAGE – ALDINGTON – DAY

The door bangs open and a small out of breath boy enters as the occupants, farmer RANSLEY and his WIFE and George Ransley, stand up.

GEORGE RANSLEY What is it boy?

BOY #1 They got Cephas and four of his men are dead.  He’s to be tried at the Old Bailey.  The Customs Man said hanging was too good for him!

GEORGE RANSLEY What of the others?

BOY #1 Some ran off on foot or horseback, but most were tied up and marched off by the Customs Men.

George sits down, his head in his hands.

GEORGE RANSLEY This isn’t good.  We are leaderless without Cephas.

FARMER RANSLEY You have the goods…

GEORGE RANSLEY

Aye we do father.  Well I’d better call a meeting.  Set it for tonight in the churchyard.  Now that we are leaderless we don’t want any of the other gangs encroaching on our territory.  We’ve work to do, before word spreads.

He leaves as his parents and the boy huddle together for comfort.

INT. GEORGE PUB – ALDINGTON – NIGHT

George Ransley enters and looks around.

Scruffy men sit at the tables; the bar TENDER nods his head.

George visibly relaxes and the seated men pull out pistols, flint locks hidden on their persons as George sits down at an empty seat and puts a four-barrelled flint-lock pistol on the table.

All eyes are on George and his pistol.  George smiles.

GEORGE RANSLEY Took it off a Customs man!

The room erupts in laughter and several toasts are made, mostly to Cephas and their dead companions.

George raises his hand for silence.

GEORGE RANSLEY As you know our leader is now rotting in some fetid cell in Newgate Prison and will be tried on April 27th.  I don’t see him coming home…

Comments from the crowd range from ‘dastardly Customs men’ to ‘aye’ and ‘what will we do now?’

GEORGE RANSLEYWe haven’t just lost our leader but, as I see it, we are open to attack from other local gangs too.

MAN #1 Whatcha going to do then, Georgie boy?

Laughter erupts and ale is sloshed on table tops as the men slam down their tankards.

GEORGE RANSLEY I only see one avenue open to us.  We have to remain strong, recruit more locals and, if need be, take on the Groombridge and Mayfield gangs.

MAN #2 They bein’t the problem, what about the Hawkhurst Gang?

Murmurs of agreement run around the room.

George looks solemn.

GEORGE RANSLEY You’re right, they aren’t just trying to make a living for their families and kin but revel in terrorizing anyone and everyone.

MAN #1 T’aint right.

A chorus of likewise comments greets his statement.

GEORGE RANSLEY So we have to be strong and stay united, do what it takes to take care of our own.  I have two men waiting outside who will tell you what they can do for us and our families.

Everyone looks at George suspiciously and several take their weapons in hand as he rises and goes over to the door.

Everyone mumbles and grumbles while he is gone and then silence descends until everyone erupts into raucous laughter when they see the two men accompanying George back into the George Pub.

Ruddy faced Doctor BROWN and portly Reverend Cornelius Bourne look around the tap room as the men slowly calm down and shake their heads in bewilderment.

MAN #1 A vicar and a doctor, they bein’t fighting men!  Whatcha brought them two ‘ere for?

GEORGE RANSLEY Doctor Brown has agreed to treat you if you get injured during a melee with other gangs or the

Last Scene:

EXT. MAIDSTONE HARBOR – DAY BREAK

A large frigate is moored taking on goods and PASSENGERS as a group of soldiers stand guard over a group of PRISONERS.

Suddenly there is a commotion on the pier as Big Bill, Meg, Jimmy and Mrs. Ransley, her oldest son George, and her brood of nine others, arrive running and shouting.

MRS. RANSLEY George!  George!  Where are you?

She looks up at the large frigate fearfully and then her eyes catch sight of the soldiers and prisoners.

Her eyes scan the prisoners searching for her husband.

She finally realizes that one of the scrawny men with a bearded face is her husband.

She runs over and pushes the soldiers who would stop her, aside.

MRS. RANSLEY  Let me see my husband, for I may never see him again!

The soldiers stand back as she throws herself at George and holds him to her sobbing uncontrollably.

Meg meanwhile is holding their youngest child as others cling to her skirts and yet others look at their mother clasping a ‘stranger’ to her.

Young George finally realizes the man is indeed his father and walks over.

YOUNG BOY Father, do not worry, I will look after mother and the others.

George Ransley looks at his oldest son with tears in his eyes.

GEORGE RANSLEY I know you will son, I know.  And God willing you will join me soon in exile.

Big Bill walks over.

BIG BILL BLACK I’ve spoken with the magistrates, and if and when they have news of you, and how you are faring, they will consider letting your family join you.

GEORGE RANSLEY Thank you my friend, you were a Godsend to us all.

The soldiers are given their orders to march the prisoners on board and, watched by the crowd and the Ransley family, Meg, Jimmy and Big Bill, they walk up the gangplank and onto the ship.

Big Bill detaches himself from the group of onlookers and goes over to talk to a seaman as Meg looks worried.

He turns and comes over to her.

He looks down at her and smiles.

BIG BILL BLACK I’m going to go with George.  I can work my way over.  I’m done with England I want to make a new life for myself in a new country and… if you’ll have me, I’ll send for you and Jimmy.  Maybe you can come over with the rest of George’s family?

Meg looks at him sadly.

MEG If I’ll have you? !  Will you have me, after what that vile man did to me?

BIG BILL BLACK I’d have you no matter what, you must know that Meg, I loved you the first time I set eyes on you!

Meg breaks down sobbing.

MEG I will wait to hear from you.  God speed my darling.

Big Bill crushes her to him and then pulls away giving Jimmy a pat on the head.

BIG BILL BLACK Look after your sister Jimmy, until I can send for you both and look after the two of you!

Jimmy grins.

JIMMY Will do Bill!  Will do.

With a last look back Big Bill runs up the gangplank and helps the sailors pull it on board.

As the ship unfurls its sails and sails out to sea Meg is seen whispering to herself.

MEG The sea gives and the sea takes away.  Please don’t take him, give him back to me, please!

As she and the Ransley family members, among others, wave the ship slowly begins to leave the dock and make for the open sea.

Big Bill, discerned by his height is seen waving.

Jimmy looks up at Meg who is crying quietly, squeezes her hand and then gently leads her from the port.

THE END

AS CREDITS ROLL:

George Ransley thrived in Tasmania using his farming skills to build up a substantial farm of 500 acres and was eventually granted a parton.

Mrs. Ransley along with her ten children was allowed to join her husband and live with him at River Plenty, Hobart.

Big Bill Black became a respectable member of society in the Hobart area and was able to send money for Meg and Jimmy to join him.

Smuggling depended on the goodwill of the locals and when the gangs became increasingly violent in their actions this was no longer tolerated and smuggling as a way of life for communities gradually disappeared.

Here are most of Graham’s Animation characters,

larger versions follow with a brief description.

Starting from top left: Walt Bill and Booma.

Prince Kwon. Unicorn Island. A Surfie. A Mushy.

Beezwaks. A Wizard. Spud Le Page. T’other Surfie.

Saddle. Princess Tae. Khan and Prince. Three Garbos.

Tanglefluke. Nero. Maurice Bonce.

Just one of Graham’s great charater drawings.  The striking fellow is one of our Wizards, The others are unrelated to The Pentad, I’ve left them as they are such super characters I had to leave them. I’m sure you will agree, however I haven’t a clue what Graham had in mind and unfortunately he didn’t tell me. So I expected to get a drawing sometime, asking ‘if I could do anything with it? Most times he gave me an idea of what he had in mind, and this is how we developed our ideas. I sent him some text/synopsis of my ideas and he drew the characters, they are/will be included in this category shortly.

Sadly Graham died in Novemeber 2009. A sad loss to everyone who knew and admired his vast range of styles: Cartoons, Oils and just about every medium known. The Perth patents office kept him very busy drawing the technical drawings for patents applicantions. An active member of the West Australian Black and White Club – Perth’s cartoon fraternity. His sense of humour highlighted at his funeral, in his white coffin he wanted the cartoonists to draw and write funny things on it, which they did.  Then we heard his choice of songs, and it bought the laughter he wanted. The Goons singing their 50′s hit; Ying Tong Yiddle I Poe, and this sums up this man’s wonderful sense of fun and humour. I miss him, and thank you pal.

I asked his wife Sue for his drawing of his Pentad book cover? She had never seen it, and was lost what it was. After turing his studio over and over, standing against the wall was this large cardboard tube, and there it was 40 inches x 20 wide. The detail is as usual quite incredible, with his new calligraphy alphabet. Sue was astounded at the work, and pleased I persisted asking for it. It would have turned up eventually. Then I found some character drawings un-named, these are The Kite people I said, and Sue named this file. Plus another set of drawings for another of his ideas. So I’ll get some development writing on this.

It seems Graham had these brillant inspirations drew and drew, then had another and another, meaning to complete the first one and so on, and never did in most cases from commissions.  But he has left such a variety of  characters, in some cases a page or two of notes, one is compelled to develope them further.

Logline:

FADE IN :

ON SCREEN: Schematics of early gliders and flying machines intersperse with names and faces of famous aviation pioneers – Lindberg, Markham, Earhart, Hinkler, Mollison, Raymonde de Laroche, etc.

OVERVIEW of Hull, Yorkshire, England, then Kitty Hawk, North Carolina as NARRATOR speaks.

NARRATOR (V.O.) On July 1, 1903, in the seaside Yorkshire town of Hull, Amy Johnson was born. On December 17, 1903, at Kitty Hawk in North Carolina, the state of the art 4-cylinder flying machine, perfected by Orville and Wilbur Wright, with help from their friend Charles Taylor, was lifted into the dense December ocean air. Though these events happened on two different continents and had no apparent connection, the latter was to affect the life, and death, of the former.

ON SCREEN:

DARWIN AERODROME – AUSTRALIA – MAY 24TH, 1930

EXT. DIRT AIRSTRIP – DAY

What’s left of the tatty air sock is stretched horizontal in a strong wind.  Dust and sand SWIRL everywhere.  The sky is black.  Cyclone clouds gather in the distance.

On the rough dirt outback airstrip, three elder men, Sam DICKSON, Frank DONALDSON with Dick CORBIN lean into the wind each holding a pair of binoculars scanning the sky to the east.

Another man, Don SKINNER, walks from the flapping door of asbestos hut that serves as the airport H.Q.  He’s spilling tea from four chipped, stained mugs.

Above the door of the hut a sign reads: INTELLIGENCE CENTRE, DARWIN, AUSTRALIA

Don Skinner walks over to the other three, his face grim.

SAN DICKSON What?  For Christ’s sake?

Frank Donaldson forlornly raises glasses.

FRANK DONALDSON Tain’t good.  It’s a bad ‘un and just crossed the coast.  Winds gusting over one-fifty.

DON SKINNER No sightings? Frank lowers glasses, clears dust from eyes.

DON SKINNER Nu’in’, the blokes in town are battening down.  Didn’t the bloody Poms tell her it’s the cyclone season?  Thank God it’s late, otherwise she’d never make it.

DICK CORBIN Strewth, this is a man’s game, I don’t reckon she’ll make it anyhow.  Twenty-seven’s too bloody young.

SAN DICKSON Cobblers!  I know the lass, best navigator I flew with.  If she’s in front of it, with enough fuel and a stroke of luck, she’ll make it.

FRANK DONALDSON  (Looks at watch Three o’clock, cutting it bloody close.  It’ll be pissing down before seven mate.

DON SKINNER (Walks towards hut) I’ll put the kettle on.  She’s got less than ten minutes flying time left.  Then it’s down to Yorkshire grit and luck.

EXT. IN THE AIR OVER SHARK INFESTED WATERS – DAY

Amy looks down somewhat fearfully as the shapes of the sharks glide by, seemingly dangerously close.

AMY Hope they can’t jump!  Or fly!  There’s always a first for everything.  Come on horizon, show me something.  Steady on old gal, steady and level.

The plane flies on with Amy peering ahead.

ON SCREEN : FUEL GAUGE E

Needle flickers on E.  Amy looks at it in disbelief, scans left, right, banks plane, looks down at endless CHOPPY ocean.

CUT BACK

EXT. DARWIN AERODROME – AUSTRALIA – AFTERNOON

All four men as scanning the sky from every angle.

SAM DICKSON Let’s hope she makes it to the coast.  S’tuff ditching in the mangroves, we’ll never find her there.

DICK CORBIN Crocs’ll get her first.

FRANK DONALDSON Always the cheerful bastard.  I told you she’d make it.  Look!

In the distant eerie silence a SPECK in the BLACKENING sky.  All four focus on it.

DON SKINNER  Well I’ll be buggered.

FRANK DONALDSON Told ya so, that’s what a Yorkshire lass’s made of.  Put that in ya pipe and smoke it.

DON SKINNER She’ll be needing a cuppa for sure.

Don ducks off to the hut.

The other three men embrace each other, shouting gleefully.  Frank tries to stay focussed on the plane.

Battered Gipsy Moth bi-plane swerves, dips in strengthening wind, Engine SPLUTTERS, fades then dies.

FRANK DONALDSON She’s in trouble, engine’s conked, out of juice.  Let’s get moving, she won’t make the runway.

INT. COCKPIT – DAY

Any scans the ground for any sign of land.

Finally, beneath an almost jet black sky land appears. Darwin a town on the northern tip of Australia is seen.

AMY I do believe I’ve done it!  My God it IS Australia, the land down under, literally!  (Laughs hysterically)  And that, if I’m not mistaken, is Darwin.

Amy lifts goggles, the only white skin on head, the rest of her face is black with grease and grime.  Leaning out of the cockpit, she’s barely able to keep her eyes open, aiming for dirt runway.

AMY Don’t let me down now Jason.  Landings are not my best with fuel, never mind none!  Coasting without fuel is definitely suspect.

EXT. AIRFIELD

Sam cranks over engine, as other three pile into an old Ford pickup, as the engine catches.  Sam just makes it as it chugs away and Don tries valiantly to keep tea in a chipped mug from slopping all over the place.

DON SKINNER That don’t look good, she’s all over the place.

FRANK DONALDSON After this solo flight, who wouldn’t be!  In case you’ve forgotten, no woman’s flown from England before, and this is a woman for God’s sake.  Straighten her up Amy!  That’s the stuff.  Swing more into the wind and she’ll be fine.  Steady, steady.  That’s the stuff to give ‘em.  Ease her down.

Plane thumps dirt runway hard, bounces up, crabs sideways, thumps again, swerving left and right.

INT. COCKPIT

Amy is tossed around inside the cramped cockpit.  She struggles to steady the plane, it’s out of her hands, down to luck.

A tire blows spinning the plane around.  It tips forward, thuds dirt again, stops.

The pick up skids to a stop alongside the plane.  A following dense cloud of dust and sand blows over the truck.

The four men pile out.  Frank is the first to climb up on the wing.

INT. COCKPIT

Frank lifts Amy’s sun-blistered, grease spattered face from dusty control pane.  Amy strains and opens her eyes.

AMY Did I make it?

FRANK DONALDSON Good on ya Amy.  Welcome to Australia.

MONTAGE OF SHOTS:

-                Amy being greeted by crowds at a small airstrip out in the back of beyond

-                Amy being greeted by crowds at the airport of a large city

-                Amy being welcomed by the Mayor and City Council of a small town

-                Amy being welcomed by the Mayor and City Council of a large city

-                Amy lying down on a bed, obviously exhausted and being examined by a doctor

-                Amy sailing for Britain

END MONTAGE OF SHOTS

CUT TO:

EXT. CROYDON AIRFIELD – DAY

Over four thousand cars line Sandy Lane and Forester’s Row as throngs of people make for the air strip.

A reporter speaks into a microphone.

REPORTER Visitors to London have made a special journey to Croydon.  Northern dialects mingle with the Cockney accent.  And, of course, Croydonians are assembling in their hundreds accompanied by large contingents from Purley, Wallington and Carshalton, for whom this reporter writes in the local newspaper, as well as people from Sutton and Cheam.  The public enclosure at Plough Lane is filled with thousands of people, all struggling for a good view point as all wait to welcome back our local hero and legend Amy Johnson.  This welcome home for Amy is in stark contrast to her departure from our shores when only family, a few close friends and employees of the airport were present. …

He pauses, over the noise of the jubilant crowd the drone of an airplane is heard.

REPORTER Ladies and gentlemen There’s a speck in the sky.  Yes, I do believe it is Amy’s plane.  She is now circling above us in preparation to making her landing.  Everyone is very cheerful, even though her much anticipated landing is three hours behind schedule…

His voice is smothered by the cheers from the large crowd as Amy’s plane lands and taxies up the runway.

Policemen have a hard time containing the crowd as Amy is escorted over to a dais where a bank of microphones and photographers await her.

Some people trying to get close stumble in the rush of the crowd.

Policeman surge forward, arms linked, leaning back against the struggling crowd.

POLICEMAN Biggest crowd I’ve ever seen.  The Royal Family don’t get this attention.  Here, hold on a minute mate.  Wait your turn.

WOMAN IN CROWD Ooh, ain’t she lovely.  Looks just like a film star!

ANOTHER WOMAN Better than a film star, she’s a real live hero is what she is!

MAN IN CROWD Shsh she’s about to speak.

AMY Hello Everyone!

The crowd goes wild.

REPORTER How was the trip?

The crowd laughs.

AMY As you can imagine it was harrowing at times and exhilarating at other times.  And I am very grateful to the Daily Mail for offering me such a fine reward even though I did not beat Bert Hinkler’s record setting time.  That will rankle for a long time, I can assure you.

Background info:  Thereafter, wherever this heroine went thousands turned out to see her. She was now more popular than any Hollywood movie star, and many honours were bestowed on Amy acknowledging her remarkable career.

Scot aviator Jim Mollison swept Amy off her feet and together they created even more records. But the ex-secretary’s life had changed forever and keeping her feet on the ground became almost impossible. The shaky, volatile marriage was destined to fall-apart. So Amy sought what made her tick: flying and speed.

The disappearance of Amelia Earhart in 1937 during an attempted round-the-world flight, discouraged Amy from further record-breaking attempts, which were, in any case, losing their popular appeal as flying became more routine. Her marriage was also in trouble, thanks largely to Mollison’s infidelities. The couple divorced, painfully, in 1939. By now Amy’s career was in difficulties, too. Prospective employers either dismissed her as a publicity-seeker or sought to capitalise on her fame. The ‘proper flying job’ she had dreamed of in 1930 seemed as far off as ever.

On January 5 1941 her plane and Amy vanished without trace in the River Thames. She was miles off-course, rumours speculated she had landed un-officially somewhere in Eastern England and picked up an unknown person. Then the cover-up began. Her family hired a QC King’s Council to defend Amy’s reputation. Her plane was in only 9 feet of water, it was decades before it was recovered.

Logline: A legend, a magic saddle, and a wrong to be righted.

EXT. DARTMOOR OVERVIEW – LATE AFTERNOON – OVERCAST SKY

Narrow roads, twisting and turning, snake their way through deep wooded valleys, around and part way up, steep granite rocky slopes.  Trees, shrubs and hedgerows bend under the lashing of strong winds over the rolling heaths.

Rivers rush through deep valleys where small farmhouses, and derelict crumbling ivy blanketed castles, nestle in hollows and flat arable areas.

Isolated villages, pub signs swinging in the wind, the houses’ roofs thatched, are surrounded by fields where cattle graze and mingle with wild Dartmoor ponies that gallop off at the first smell or sight of a human.

NARRATOR V.O. As you can imagine this bleak landscape has spawned many a legend and is reputed to be the haunt of pixies, a headless horseman and a large howling dog.  Adding credence to these legends is the area has many bogs over the 368 square mile landscape and many people, who had ventured out to find a strayed cattle or pony, or simply to take a pleasant hike, were never seen again. … Our story really begins in the year 1639, when a sudden great thunderstorm burst out of the sky without warning.  The date, October 21st… the place Widecombe-in-the-Moor, Dartmoor, Devonshire, England.

EXT. CHURCH OF ST. PANCRAS – SUNDAY SERVICE – MORNING

SUNDAY OCTOBER 21. 1638

The church is packed with WORSHIPPERS as the middle-aged Vicar, GEORGE LYDE, climbs the steps to read his sermon from the lectern.

He pauses looking down at dozing JAN REYNOLDS, somewhat inebriated from too much cider, a pack of linen-backed playing cards in his hands.

Shaking his head the Vicar reaches the top step and opens the large bible, chained to the lectern, as darkness suddenly blankets the church, followed by a powerful thunder CLAP, that shakes the church.

As the congregation sits petrified, their faces are illuminated by a great ball of blazing lightning ripping through one of the windows, and tearing off part of the slate roof in the process.

The worshippers scream as the blazing mass rebounds through the church causing not only terror but complete mayhem as everyone scrambles to get out of its way and exit the church.

The episode lasts only a few seconds but leaves many dead and several burned, screaming in agony.

While the Vicar gives solace to the wounded, the dead are laid outside on the grass as the living and uninjured take care of the sixty injured people.

PEOPLE form a line from the well to where the victims are laid out and being doused by soothing water.

As the Vicar tends to one VICTIM, whose eyes are bulging out of his head in sheer terror the Vicar follows his gaze.  The head of the local warden, ROBERT MEAD, had struck a pillar so hard it had left an indentation and his shattered skull and body lie at the foot of it.

The Vicar stands up and goes back into the church where several people are still sitting in total shock.

He looks over to where little ROBBIE HILL is sat crying next to the body of his father, ROGER HILL, who lies, a crumpled heap at the foot of a wall, where he had been flung.

GEORGE LYDE Are ye alright Robbie?

Robbie nods his head and raises his tear stained face.

ROBBIE HILL My dad ain’t is he?

The Vicar sadly nods his head.

GEORGE LYDE He’s with God now, Robbie, he’ll be fine.  But how about you?

ROBBIE HILL (Sobbing uncontrollably) My dog ran out the door and when I looked, he was being twirled about, above the ground!  And he never came back down!

GEORGE LYDE  There, there, he’ll find his way back home, don’t you worry.

As the Vicar pats Robbie on the shoulder he looks over to where Jan Reynolds had been sitting.  He is gone.

The Vicar walks outside where he sees MRS. BEASLEY standing, as though rooted to the spot.  He walks over to her.

GEORGE LYDE Mrs. Beasley, are you alright?  Are you hurt?

She turns her grey eyes towards him, her lined face and clasped work worn hands held as though in prayer…

MRS. BEASLEY Oh Vicar, I saw such a sight, I can’t believe me own eyes!

GEORGE LYDE What did you see?

MRS. BEASLEY It’s the Gods honest truth I be telling you, honest!

GEORGE LYDE   (Calming voice) Tell me, you have nothing to fear my good woman.

MRS. BEASLEY I was late for church, one of our cows was sick, so I was coming up the path when I looked up and saw a black stallion tethered to one of the church’s four pinnacles, way up there!

She turns pointing and looking frightened.

GEORGE LYDE Up there?  But that’s one hundred and twenty feet high.

MRS. BEASLEY I know Vicar, and what’s more as I stood, unable to take another step, two men mounted the horse, which pranced off with a dreadful whinny.  And… oh no, it can’t be true…

GEORGE LYDE What, what?

MRS. BEASLEY If I didn’t know better I would have sworn it was Jan Reynolds himself that was one of the horsemen!  But I won’t swear to it!

The Vicar looks from Mrs. Beasley up to the top of the church, scratching his head as the landlord of the Tavistock Inn, GEORGE BROWN, runs up shouting.

GEORGE BROWN Vicar, Vicar!  I must speak with thee.

GEORGE LYDE What?  What is it my good man?

He turns his gaze on George Brown who is looking around him in disbelief at the dead and wounded and then the damaged church.

GEORGE BROWN What the?

GEORGE LYDE We had a fireball go through the church…

MRS. BEASLEY And that’s not all… I saw…

GEORGE LYDE (Admonishingly) Please Mrs. Beasley, let’s hear what Mr. Brown has to say.

They both turn and look at George Brown who stands holding out a handful of dead leaves in one palm.

GEORGE BROWN As ye know I run the Tavistock Inn and I was woken up, it had been a long night so I was still abed, by someone pounding on the bar downstairs.  Mind you, I lock up every night without fail, so how he got in, I do not know.  So I goes downstairs and there’s this stranger, dressed all in black.

Mrs. Beasley squeals, George Brown continues.

GEORGE BROWN ‘Your best ale landlord and be quick about it’ he says.  As he gulped down the ale I heard a hiss! Well after he finished it he put the tankard down on the bar and pulls out a leather pouch from his cape and placed some coins in my outstretched hand.  I watched him leave, over the moor, on a black stallion he was and when I looked down at my hand this is all there was!

The Vicar and Mrs. Beasley look at the crumpled dry leaves in amazement.

GEORGE BROWN And then I goes over to the bar and goes to rinse out the tankard… well, when I picked it up, would you believe it, there was a scorch mark on the bar top!  Now what do you think of that!

As he looks at the Vicar and Mrs. Beasley a MONK runs up.

MONK Vicar, you must come to the Abbey at once!

GEORGE LYDE Were you hit by a thunder bolt too?!

MONK No, but strange happenings have occurred and your horse is one of them!

GEORGE LYDE (Dazed) My horse?!

MONK A saddle, badly scorched, flew through the air into the loft at Buckfast Abbey, after crashing through the roof, and your untethered horse, minus its saddle, was seen grazing outside the church.  At the same time a black stallion was seen flying, several brothers will swear to it, over Birch Tor and four cards, aces all, fell to the ground.  Now the fields where they fell are each shaped like the symbols from a pack of cards!  The Bishop and several monks were taken ill and are now … the apothecary …  You need to come.

Mrs. Beasley squeals again, while George Brown scratches his head in disbelief.

GEORGE LYDE What of my horse?

MONK I’m afraid she bolted and there is no sign of her!

GEORGE LYDE That was a good mare and a mighty fine saddle, they will both be hard to replace.  But the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away… and now my first concern is for my flock, as you can see they are more in need of help than the monks at the Abbey.

The monk, looking crestfallen, runs off back in the direction of the Abbey followed by a curious Mrs. Beasley and the innkeeper, through the crowd of worshippers…

SEGUE TO:

PRESENT DAY – GROUNDS OF BUCKFAST ABBEY – DAY

The grounds are packed with PEOPLE milling around, and vendors selling all sorts of stuff from stalls – antiques, junk, food, the noise and din are deafening.

Some vendors have dispensed with tables or stalls and sell their wares on the grass.

Two garbage COLLECTORS are attempting to get to bulging cans, but someone has parked his four wheel drive in front of them, so one of the collectors takes off the vehicle’s valve tops and looks on happily as the hissing of escaping air from the wheels, and the vehicle’s slow descent, makes his companion smile and slap him on the back.

COLLECTOR #1 Come on mate, let’s go get a drink!

They walk through the cemetery, on their way to the refreshment tent, passing many headstones, one of which has two ravens sat on top of it and chiselled into it – CLOSE UP – Highwayman BUERY ELLIOTT 1600-1670.

Middle aged BILL ELLIOTT, walking through the area on his way to where pennants can be seen waving in the wind and a loudspeaker announces a tots’ gymkhana, stops before a pile of assorted stuff lying on a grassy verge.  A very old looking saddle catches his eye as does the attractive lady vendor.

BILL How much are you asking?

A kindly looking lady ELIZABETH LYDE answers with a faint American accent.

ELIZABETH Fifty pounds.

BILL You’re not from around these parts?

ELIZABETH The States, moved into the Lydes’ old place a few months ago.

Bill looks at her not realizing he’s staring.

ELIZABETH Are all Devonians this rude to strangers without introducing themselves?

Bill snaps to attention, tugs off his hat and clasps it against his chest as he bows his head.

BILL No my dear, please forgive me.  I … Your beauty and accent took me by surprise.  Please accept my sincere apologies. Christened William Elliott, Bill to everyone.

ELIZABETH Despite your flattery I’m not dropping my price.

BILL (Smiling) Do you mind if I check it out. Give a couple of coats of looking at?

ELIZABETH As many coats as you want. Take your time.

Bill lifts the saddle which is in dire need of TLC.  He turns it over checking it out, almost caressing it with his strong tanned, hard-skinned hands.

As he lifts one of the flaps supporting the stirrups he stares at a brown scorch streak, about a foot long by three inches wide.

BILL Not perfect.  Will you take twenty-five?  It’s for my granddaughter.

ELIZABETH My dear man, that saddle is something special.  You look like a man who recognizes good workmanship when he sees it.  It’s worth more than twenty five…

BILL (Nods his head negatively) It’s very old.

ELIZABETH Unless my eyes are deceiving me, so are you!

BILL  (Laughing) You’ve got spirit!

ELIZABETH You look like a man of substance and means.  Fifty quid it is then.  Shall I wrap it?

BILL And what, might I ask, is your name?

ELIZABETH Elizabeth Lyde, that’s with a zed.

BILL (Confidently) We agreed twenty five pounds?

ELIZABETH (Smiling) Correction William, you offered twenty five, I did not accept.  Fifty and it’s yours.

BILL O.K.  O.K. Liz, fifty pounds is a mighty high price for this piece of junk.  Hasn’t been polished in decades. Look at the state of the once beautiful leather.

ELIZABETH It will give you something to do.  And it’s Elizabeth, not Liz, William.

BILL So you know about the storm then?

ELIZABETH Only what my grand parents used to tell me when I visited from Boston.

BILL And what’s that?

ELIZABETH Widecombe’s St. Pancras church was struck by a ball of lightning during the most severe thunderstorm ever seen on the moors.  The priest was my ancestor George Lyde who was unhurt, fortunately.  George always left his mare Jess untethered on the grass verge alongside the church.  Jess had vanished when he went to get her.  The grass all around was badly scorched as if by fire.

BILL Did he ever find her?

ELIZABETH No.

Bill stares at the saddle and then looks quizzically at Elizabeth.

BILL You’re saying this is the saddle?

ELIZABETH Well, let’s put it this way William.  How did that saddle end up in the loft at the Abbey?  It went straight through that roof.

They both turn and look at the medieval impressive stone edifice, then out over the moors.

ELIZABETH Some say the two horses became immortal and roam the moors desolate regions.

Not in sequence:

INT. STABLES – LATE AFTERNOON

Amanda has just finished rubbing down Ebony-Jess and put some feed in her trough when a shaft of sunlight lands on the old saddle, Bill bought her, perched on the bench.

The small brass fittings glisten like gold.

Amanda goes over to the saddle and looks at its workmanship.  And, from a dusty shelf above it, grabs a tin of leather polish and begins to restore the luster to it with an old rag.

She stands back, breathing hard after her exertion, admiring her handiwork and the saddle.  The saddle looks so inviting that she puts down the tin and rag and climbs onto the saddle.

The saddle seems to be made for her.

AMANDA (Whispering to herself) It feels so comfortable, I wonder what it would be like to ride with this under me.

She closes her eyes and smiles.

All of a sudden the saddle rises several inches above the bench causing Amanda to gasp, her eyes to open wide, and then a smile creases her face.

The saddle begins to move.

Gripping the saddle instinctively with her legs Amanda and the saddle move through the empty stalls flying just above them; ducking and weaving Amanda avoids cobwebs as a barn owl opens one baleful eye and nesting robins and house martins eye her suspiciously.

Amanda smiles gleefully and then, so suddenly she almost falls off, the saddle swerves and goes outside causing Amanda to feel dizzy and reach for the non existent reins.  As she does the saddle stops.  Amanda’s face shows her incredulous reaction and a knowing look comes over it.

AMANDA Oh my gosh!  The saddle is reading my mind!  Go, go, go!

Holding onto the saddle’s pommel she begins moving it across the stable yard, and making sure no-one is about,takes off, across the green valley, following the winding river.

Silently, she flies it, ten feet above the ground, at a galloping speed.

AMANDA Higher, higher!

Suddenly she finds herself up high soaring across the valleys, the fields, the farm houses the wind streaming her long hair out behind her.  In the distance the town of Widecombe.

AMANDA Back home before mum sees me as she’s probably shopping down there.

As she says down and approaches the farm house she flies right over Ebony-Jess and Jazz who continue grazing and pay no attention to her.

AMANDA Maybe they can’t see me!

She looks to where, in the distance, the coastline can be seen.

Then begins her descent and navigates her way around a copse of trees and reaches Turnaround Tree.  From there she flies up and over the woodlands and towards the sparkling river.

The saddle pauses in mid air as Amanda watches and listens to the cold water dash over the smooth granite rocks and then she is gliding to the centre of the river and looking down can see large salmon and trout swimming near the riverbed.  A splash causes her to turn and look startled as she sees otters playing and fishing in the shallows… as she nears, the largest stands on its hind legs and looks up at her.

With one last look around Amanda turns for home and rapidly follows the fence around the field and turns into the stables’ yard and making sure no-one was in sight, floats gently down and dismounts inside and replaces the saddle on the bench.

Amanda slowly holds her hands to her cheeks in disbelief as she looks at the saddle.

AMANDA Was I dreaming?  Did I fall asleep?

Skipped chink here we’re at the Tavistock Inn where Amanda’s uncle runs the pub. Holly is Amanda’s best pal

Frank screws up his face, squints one eye and begins to speak like an old pirate.

FRANK Right me mateys…

HOLLY Be serious, please, we’re not kids anymore, or some dumb tourist.

FRANK Right.  Well, I believe that the Devil got lost in the storm, and stopped here because he lost his way. An ancestor of mine reported a visit by a man dressed in black, riding a jet-black horse.  The stranger ordered a mug of ale, it ‘hissed’ as it went down his throat.  When he’d finished his drink, he plonked the mug down on the bar where it left a definite scorch mark.  Then he opened a leather pouch and left some money.  As he rode away into the storm, the landlord found the coins had turned to dried leaves in his hand.

The girls look at him, hanging on to his every word.

FRANK As he flew over Birch Tor, four aces  fell to the ground.  If you don’t believe me, go outside, walk across the road and look south.  You can still see the four old field enclosures.  Each shaped like ace symbols from a pack of cards.  There, that’s it.

HOLLY That’s the tourist yarn, surely?

FRANK Go across the road and see for yourself then.  That’s where the original inn was, over there.  Got burned down.  Embers from that fire are the ones used to light this one.  As you know, it’s never allowed to go out.

HOLLY Why on earth not?

FRANK Can’t go out in case that rider comes back.  No one knows why it burnt down the first time.

AMANDA Come off it uncle Frank.  You don’t believe that surely?

Both girls look at Frank, plonk their empty lemonade bottles on the counter and dash outside and across the road.

They climb onto the chest high stonewall and, shielding their eyes from the sun, scan the fields from left to right.  Holly is the first to see them.

HOLLY Look!  There!  Over there!

AMANDA (Yelling excitedly) Got it.  Look at that!

As Amanda laughs and jabs HOLLY in the ribs Frank creeps up behind them.

FRANK (Pirate’s raspy tone) Aaargh!  Me beauties!

HOLLY  (Screaming) Crumbs Frank, you scared the wits out of us.

AMANDA  (Angrily) That’s not funny uncle Frank, especially considering that ghost story you’ve just told us.  Not funny at all.

FRANK  Well.. Of course there is also the story of Buery and Majesty!

HOLLY Well what was he on about, Buery and Majesty.  Who are they?

AMANDA Some kind of family secret I gather.  No-one wants to tell me… except Buery himself.

HOLLY What do you mean?

AMANDA I saw him.

HOLLY You what?

AMANDA I saw him the day Ebony-Jess and I crossed into the Rogers’ land and went down to the old castle ruins.

HOLLY Come off it.  You’re telling me you saw a ghost?

Skipped to this scene:

AMANDA It was a man on horseback.  He just faded into the mist right in front of me.

HOLLY Crumbs, Amanda!  What are you getting into?  First it’s a flying saddle and now a ghost rider.  Maybe you should go see a gypsy woman at the marketplace in Totnes!

As they stand a figure rises from the river wearing old fashioned clothes and a tricorn hat, leading a ghostly horse.  He stops as he sees Amanda, whose face has gone pale, while Ebony-Jess just tosses her head.

The ghostly apparition removes his hat and doffs it in Amanda’s direction then mounts his horse and disappears.

Amanda sits on Ebony-Jess looked dazed.

AMANDA Wow!  I wonder… well… to Hell with it, now we’re here let’s have a look at our old Castle ruins.  It’s down this overgrown track.  And we’ll walk, no more shenanigans, you hear me?  We’re on the Rogers’ turf!

Ebony-Jess neighs but pays no heed and instantly starts swerving, twisting and turning at a fast trot along the track.

Amanda just hangs on until Ebony-Jess slows down as the crumbling derelict Castle ruins come into view through the trees.

Suddenly Amanda shivers and Ebony-Jess, as though sensing her unease turns and faces back the way they came.

Amanda swivels in the saddle and looks back to where old lichen covered trees have toppled over, leaning together in a tangled mess.

Suddenly two ravens swoop out from the growth, begin to buzz her and Ebony-Jess, shrieking ‘PRUK-PRUK-PRUK’ as they swoosh by her head scaring Amanda.

AMANDA They don’t look too friendly do they Jess?  Their chicks must have flown by now, so what’s their problem?  Let’s get out of here.

As they are ‘dive-bombed’ again by the two ravens, Amanda notices one of the birds has only one eye, as that Raven in Buckfast Abbey graveyard.

Ebony-Jess and Amanda gallop to the river and Amanda, after making sure no-one is about, leads Ebony-Jess across and they ride swiftly back home.

She releases Ebony-Jess in the pasture, taking off the saddle and begins to walk towards the stables.

AMANDA Now that was scary!

Remeber; I’ll be publishing my 35,000 illustrated word manuscript in late 2010. Details on request.

Comments from various companies I submitted synopses to for some 40 stories/ideas I’d developed. It totalled 27,500 words a daunting task you’ll agree. I did not progress, as we moved to Australia, and I either lost contact or the companies had moved. A sad mistake on my part. One, producer Pearl Catlin asked if I’d write a screenplay on ‘spec’ as she thought my style suited this. I did and became hooked, then began adapting umpteen of my tales.That story is about the late Brig. James Michael Calvert DSO 2 bars. Mad. Mike a Chindit

Enigma Productions London (David Putnam – Lord)

Ref: Cast of Eagles. There are a couple of projects I would dearly love to produce, and sadly I’m unable to help you develop this further. I now need to concentrate all my energies and efforts on working for the two Government Tasks Forces to which I recently been appointed.. I do hope you understand and appreciate my decision, and I wish all the luck in the world with this project.

Launching Pad Productions Perth, W. Australia

I thought your work was very well written, but most of it lends itself to the more traditional style of animation. Tae and Kwon could look brilliant if well animated, but perhaps you need to do this as a co-production with an Asia partner. Saddle the Wind has distinct possibilities, it is the one that could best suit our age group at a letter stage, and I like the idea of Garbage bins coming to life. (This company moved I lost contact)

Maverick Television UK

Thank you for your various proposals – it was a pleasure to receive so many stimulating ideas, I will be discussing proposals with the BBC shortly and will see what they are looking for.

Blue Heaven Productions London UK

I want you to know I have read all this material. Clearly, buried in here are some very good stories, but there is so much it is difficult to know where to begin.. Why don’t you send The Ghost and the Harley or Saddle the Wind. Choose the best.

Barron Entertainment Perth, W. Australia

Unfortunately the epic scale of may of your submitted projects prohibits our company supporting further development IN fact almost all the historical stories (particularly those set in WW II ) could not proceed without the backing of a major Hollywood studio. That said let me say how much I enjoyed reading such a diverse range of story ideas.

Penguin, Australia.

Ref; Saddle the Wind… However, the editors who have seen your work, feel it is shows real promise and we trust the fact we are unable to publish will not discourage you from continuing to write. (my m/s is 35,000 words they want 60,000 min) So I’ll publish in 2010.

Hammerwood Producers, UK

May I say the diversity of some of your story lines provoked me into a rare occurrence – I read them all avidly and am impressed top keep them all on file for future reference.

BBC Saltash, Cornwall.

I’ve lost the commissioners letter, the jist after I sent; The Ghost and the Harley and Saddle the Wind. The lady said they were both better than a Hollywood feature script she and her locations manager had just read. Please send the completed scripts. I didn’t as I’d never written one before in Final Draft.

Logline: She was born into great wealth, but nothing prepared her for life in Camp Yaya, a Siberian Gulag in World War II. Yaya housed 5000 women, 452 freezing miles south of the Arctic Circle.

ON A SEPIA SCREEN: CONDADO DE SALDANA – SPAIN – 768

INT. A SMALL CHAPEL – DAY

COUNT SANCHO DIAZ looks lovingly at his bride PRINCESS XIMENA. The PRIEST makes the sign of the cross over them as they kneel before him.

PRIEST Go in peace and love one another…

The blessing is interrupted by the abrupt SLAMMING open of the chapel’s wooden door as armed SOLDIERS enter, swords drawn.

The CAPTAIN runs towards the horrified defenceless couple. The priest and pulls a parchment from his cuirass as the armed soldiers surround them menacingly.

CAPTAIN Count Sancho Diaz, you are under arrest by order of his most gracious majesty King Alfonso…

PRINCESS XIMENA By orders… of my brother?  On what count?

CAPTAIN That you did both conspire to marry against the express wishes of his majesty.

PRINCESS XIMENA But…

CAPTAIN Take her away, lock her up in the Saint John Bautista convent.

PRINCESS XIMENA (Struggling But, what of my husband?

CAPTAIN (Sneering) I’ll take him in chains to the Castile de Luna in the mountains of Leon where his eyes will be gauged out so that he may never again aspire to something his eyes have no right to look upon.  Take him away.

Ximena breaks free and hugs her husband.  He whispers in her ear.

COUNT SANCHO DIAZ Don’t let them know you are with child!

As Ximena cries hysterically her husband is dragged away from her, she is man-handled outside to a waiting wagon.

FADE IN

EXT. A PRISON YARD – NIGHT

OCCUPIED POLAND – OCTOBER 1938

The last stragglers of drab-green battered army trucks stop alongside twenty others outside a dilapidated large building.  Each truck is crammed with a hundred saturated, tired, ill-clothed freezing, MEN, and WOMEN of all ages.

VLADIMIR a Russian soldier slams his rifle butt at a piece of wood jammed in the tailgate.  The heavy tailgate drops with a dull thud.

ON SCREEN: BARANOVICHI PRISON

A crumbling, derelict prison slum.  Chilling rain adds to the depressing scene.

An Army sergeant, KOSKOF, advances, shouting.

KOSKOF Out you bastard scum.  Out, or I’ll set the dogs on you.

Standing at the truck rear, a scruffy, strong 25 year-old bearded man stares down at the soldiers. He murmurs in Polish.

He is KAZIMIERZ OSZURKO.

KAZIMIERZ OSZURKO They’re not the only ones.

Kazimierz slides down, and starts helping the others out.

The women’s heads are draped in dripping, hand-made shawls, which sag around their heads and shoulders.  A cloud of exhaled breath hangs above them.

The din, as two battered massive steel gates slam shut, ricochets off the crumbling 20-feet high granite walls.

Fat rain drops bounce off the uneven pot-holed, cobbled yard, puddling in depressions.  Roaring thunder claps drown Russian soldiers orders.

Shoving, rifle butting, the soldiers brutally separate the men from the women. More soldiers are whipping growling, snarling German Shepherd dogs into a frenzy.

A long snaking column of men three abreast, curls around the yard.  An old terrified MAN stumbles, falls heavily, bangs his bare head on the cobbles.  Blood spurts from a head gash.

A SOLDIER lets his DOG tear a chunk of cold flesh from the fallen man’s leg.  He screams in agony.  Kazimierz tries kicking the leashed dog off, then lifts the man up in his arms.  Blood runs off their long hair and beards, mingling with the puddles.

A naive soldier tries frightening Kazimierz, who stares straight back.  Kazimierz collects a mouthful of phlegm and spits down at the soldier’s feet.  The soldier slinks away.

The prisoners stare, hatred on their faces.

In the dimly lit yard, a skinny 20-year old woman BEATA KARP frantically searches the group of men for her husband, Kazimierz.

Beata brushes aside her thick, wavy black hair as her drenched face lights up, seeing him briefly she waves.  As Kazimierz carries the wounded man he tries to look for Beata.  He is jostled and shoved forward by other prisoners.

A rifle butt slams between Kazimierz’s shoulder blades, he grimaces.

KOSKOF You’ll be on your knees begging for mercy before long, Polish pig.

Kazimierz stumbles, another MAN supports him. Kazimierz manages to lower the man to his feet, as a German Shepherd snaps at Kazimierz thighs.  Kazimierz grits his teeth.

The band of men shuffle toward a stark prison building.  Above the open door, a bare-light bulb steams in the rain, hisses then blows.

12 year-old URSULA, a pretty peasant girl clings frantically to Beata’s waist.  Beata wipes the rain from her innocent face.

The last man disappears, the freezing shivering women follow.  Many sob uncontrollably.

INT.  ZLOTS’ OFFICE – NIGHT

Watching the courtyard activity, puffing on a cigarette is 54 year-old Colonel VLADIMIR ZLOT.  With him his dog’s body Captain ULRI BOGDANOV.

ZLOT Pigs and bastards.

INT. PRISON CORRIDOR – NIGHT

It’s narrow, long and dark.  Mid-way, separating men and women, a tatty sheet hangs from the dripping, cracked ceiling.  Everyone’s sloshing through two inches of stagnant, cold.

A prisoner stares at RATS swimming, stopping to gnaw at something floating.  It’s human excrement.

INT. SMALL PRISON ROOM – NIGHT

Formalities, photographs, finger prints, name, status, family details are laboriously taken.

Captain Bogdanov shouts in Russian. The women shrug their shoulders.  Beata translates in Russian.

BEATA. Everyone undress.  We’ve clean dry clothes for all of you.  So hurry.

Bogdanov stops in his tracks.  Stares hard at Beata.  Yells out in Russian.

BOGDANOV So we have a pig who speaks Russian.

Beata reacts quickly.

BEATA I know little Russian.

Bogdanov barks another order

BOGDANOV Speak… you will be shot.

Naked and shivering the women cover their breasts as Bogdanov ambles between them.  Snatching watches, jewelry, belts from discarded clothing.

Bogdanov stands staring in front of Beata.  She avoids eye contact.  He puts his cold hands around her neck.  Beata grits her teeth, smothering a scream.  The soldier un-clips her necklace.

BOGDANOV You won’t need this Christ anymore.  The Parasha’s your God.

He pockets the solid gold Crucifix.

BOGDANOV Dress in those.  From her heart, Russia has loaned them to you.

He points to a pile of dirty clothing.

BEATA (Translating) That’s our clothing? It’s still wet.

The women sniff the rags, pass them around, until something fits, laughing and joking.

The soldier shouts at Beata.

BEATA Pick everything up, out to the corridor.

INT. THE CORRIDOR – NIGHT

Lining both corridor sides are cell doors, above each a number.  At each one the soldiers open the door, order some women in.  At number 27 Beata stops.  As the rusty door squeaks open, she and Ursula are shoved inside.

INT. WOMEN’S PRISON CELL – NIGHT

Beata squints in the dim light, she’s horrified.  She covers her nostrils, and coughs.  The small cell is packed with older women.

Two racks of three-tier bunks line each side.  A cold draught whistles through the small partially closed, rusty, barred window.

Beata starts counting.  She counts at least thirty standing women.  Unable to determine how many women lay on the six bunks. Beata hugs Ursula, they stand huddled together.The stench is overpowering Beata heaves. Women cough their lungs rumble with phlegm.

Ursula’s falling asleep leaning on Beata. Throughout the night, shifting position regularly, leaning on the cold, dripping, fretting walls, alternating their positions from their shoulders to their backs.

Moments of light sleep are interrupted by rumbling bronchial tubes.  From somewhere a soft voice calls. Beata  jumps as a hand touches her shoulder. She looks up into the kindly eyes of YAGA, a tall handsome woman.

YAGA Here my child. A place near me.

Beata cannot see a face.  She shuffles with Ursula toward the friendly woman.  33 year-old YAGA DOMANSKA.  Yaga moves Beata to her right.  Ursula snuggles at her right thigh and starts sobbing.  Women continue coughing.

YAGA There my child, try as best you can to get some sleep.

INT. MEN’S CELL – NIGHT

Kazimierz nudges the bearded older man next to him in the cramped cell.

KAZIMIERZ  Now long have you been here friend?

The man, ZIBBY can barely open his eyes.  He snorts snot from his congested nostrils and spits at the wall above the three-tiered bunks on each side.  He smiles.

ZIBBY See that?  All the time I can hit that height, I’m Okay.  When I can only reach that sleeping man’s head, I’m in trouble.  So’s he!  It’s my lung test.  Without them I’m dead.  You understand?

Kazimierz stares at the thick green phlegm a foot above the sleeping man’s head.

KAZIMIERZ  So how long, my friend?

ZIBBY I’m not your friend.  No-one in this hell hole’s got friends.  Where the wall meets the ceiling.  I could hit that spot day after day.  That was four months ago… Eat the crap they call food, and shit once a day, in the rust buckets if you can.  If not, it’s down your legs.  What you need to survive is a sense of humor.  Without it you’ll die for sure.  Unless a guard fancies you and you decline.  Then you’re dead.  So keep your mouth shut and pray.

Kazimierz looks around the cell.

KAZIMIERZ  I’ll keep that in mind friend.

ZIBBY I’m not, remember you’ve got none, you hear?  None!

The cell door burst open and sergeant Koskof ambles in, smirks and points at Kazimierz.

KOSKOF You!  Let’s see what you’re made of.

INT. CORRIDOR – DAWN.

Slowly the women stumble into the dark corridor.

URSULA Do we get a bath and some food?

SOLDIER Shut up or be shot.

Everyone tumbles out dragging themselves along the corridor to the ‘Parasha’ – six open cubicles each with a metal bucket.

As young Soldiers look on the women relieve themselves.

YAGA Dirty old men!  But they’ve probably never seen such fashions, the latest from Paris, you know!

PROSTITUTE BELLA  If you want some, come and see me later, it’ll cost you a packet of fags, but you might catch more than you bargained for.

The young Soldiers slink away, the Women laugh, make the ‘thumbs up’ sign to one another.

Then ushered back into the cell.

INT. CELL – ONE HOUR LATER.

Floating on top of a steaming metal bucket of water are rotten cabbage. Plus ‘Payka’ a 4x2x2 inch heavy, chunk of dough, crambed with rotten black potatoes and chaff.

YAGA Eat, it’s all you get until this time tomorrow.  It isn’t so bad!

Using a stone; Daily Beata taps out morse-code on the wet cell walls she learns Kazmierz was beaten under interrogations and died.

Interrogated each night, her Russian better than the interrogator., and fluent in five languages, she’s obviously spy, 10 years in Gulag. But the Russians throw away the calendars.

The prostitute swaps sex for cigarettes and one match imagine trying to light that match!! How about this.

Suz starts rolling a single cigarette in old ragged brown newspaper.

SUZ And this is the last match.

Displaying it like a gold medal, indicating no one breath. Suz rubs the door hinge edge to dry it…. Satisfied she places the match on the cold metal and pulls down.

The match buzzes, flickers …. then dies. No one volunteers to try. She stares at the reduced head. Failure’s surely the only result. Forty-one women pray as never before.

Suz places the head remnants against the metal. Slightly cupping her right hand she pulls again-but not as strong or quick.

The match head smokes, her nostrils twitch, she sniffs the fumes. Her timing is not precise. She lifts the match too soon not wanting to snap it. It dims, she quickly cups the other hand around the glow. Gently blows the tiny flame up along the match.

Quickly puts her crude Sobranie to the sparks. Draws long and hard on the stiff lumpy brown newsprint. Then with two following quick puffs it takes as the match expires.

Forty-one women pull on their first puffs in three cold days. Each careful not to pull more than their routine share before becoming a soggy stump.

After, Suz carefully un-rolls it. She places the damp tobacco placed on the high window sill.

INT. CATTLE WAGON – LATER.

One hundred freezing, jittering Women are handed a mug and fork.

CLOSE: crude hacked out hole in middle of wagon.

The wagons creak as a whistle sounds, everyone is jolted as chains between the wagons take up slack.  Wheels skid, sparks fly, the engine pulls forward,

Standing room only helps keep some Women warm as they huddle together. Gradually fall sleep induced by the rhythm and wagon sway together with the monotonous regularity of the track joints’ clicks.

BUFFETED by howling wind, the massive long train with three engine huge engines continue through snow-laden fields, through dark snow covered forests.

WOMAN #1 Anyone know where we are going?

WOMAN #2 To the Gates of Hell, Siberia. Where the Devil says goodnight.

Everyone stares at one another fatalistically. A pack of wolves run alongside the wagons, howling.

WOMAN #2 Siberian wolves know no boundaries.

WOMAN #1 At this rate there will soon be plenty of food for them.

By now their bodies were covered in scurvy, except the soles of their feet.

Four weeks later:.

The train TRUNDLES on until it stops with a jarring JOLT at a scarce discerned STATION. Dangling from a pole is a hand painted sign. YAYA.

WOMAN #1 (Fatalistically The Gates of Hell, lovingly known as ‘Where the Devil says Goodnight’!  It’s even too cold for him!

YAGA We’ll soon find out.

BEATA Inside, in the warmth.  Maybe we can have a bath, a cup of tea…

Everyone TUMBLES down into the deep snow and scoops up handfuls. Women scream as the snow causes pain.

BEATA Best drink I’ve had in four months!

YAGA Don’t overdue it.

Women stand up wearily, Soldiers, with well fed SNARLING German shepherds, usher the Women past the steaming train, under the overcast skies. The Aurora Borealis is faint.

Yaga supports Beata who is weak from her kidney disease.

They trudge through waist deep snow.

Beata coughs, a tooth is dislodged she spits.  Her spittle solidifies around the tooth before her eyes and before it hits the snow.

She laughs hysterically.

Briefly: All Polish citizens were released taken to Urzbekistan to from an army to fight the Germans, Beata was Polish by marriage to Kaz. Beata knew General Anders, she trekked 1,000 miles back to a Siberia commune, found her mother, step-sister and her son. She returned to the army camp, persuaded Anders to get forged passports stating they were Polish- not Lithuanian. She returned to the commune and literally smuggled them to Urzbekistan.

Finally: Only Marek Karp rteturned after WWII lived on the estate determined to restore the mansion to its former glory. He died there when a mysterious truck slammed into his car, crushing the car and him. He was to give evidence of the court the3 next day about corruption and theft of his estates by the Russians.

In the Spanish October Revolution a bomb exploded at Oviedo Cathedral.  Among the ruins, parts of the old Monastery were discovered and an inscription found.  It referred to a Benedictine Nun named Ximena, put there on orders from her brother King Alfonso.  Of Ximena’s husband, Count Sancho Diaz, there is no mention. Beata died before I discovered this.

Beata died in Perth in 82 from a stroke. I am honoured that she trusted me with her story, she told no-one else,  it took a very long time. The screenplay came 5^th in an international comp-2100 entries., with loads of praise and suggestions to improve. Apparently nothing like this has ever been made.

I found her friend Yaga in Canada, Yaga phoned her. I kept in touch with them both Eventually my letters to Yaga  remained unanswered.

ENGLAND, SATURDAY, AUGUST 21, 1944

EXT. RIVER ESTUARY – NIGHT

United States liberty ship, USS Richard Montgomery, at full bore exits the English Channel into a wide river estuary.  A torpedo whines too close for comfort vanishing up the estuary.

In the distance a surfaced German submarine dives.

Minutes later the USS Richard Montgomery hits a sand bank.  The engines stop.

NEWSPAPER HEADLINE: 4,000 TONS OF BOMBS DESTINED FOR THE US AIR FORCE STUCK ON A KENT RIVER SANDBANK.

PRESENT TIME

INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT

A middle-aged man, FRED sleeps under a single sheet, wife alongside.  Phone on bedside table rings… and rings…

The man stirs, curses, squints at clock, lifts receiver, remains silent.

JOHN V.O. (FILTERED) Fred, Fred.

FRED Shut up John it’s three-thirty in the morning in case you’ve not noticed.  Go play with yourself then go back to sleep.

John forcefully. JOHN (FILTERED) Listen carefully… I’ve found it.

FRED Most boys do at a young age.  You want me to explain what you do next?

JOHN (FILTERED) I think I know where that Russian Sub is.

INT. FRED’S COMPUTER DEN – NIGHT

The walls feature pictures or whales and maps plotting their migratory routes.

There’s silence, Fred waits, looking at a mass of date on monitor.

FRED  Are the US Government paying you for this?

JOHN (FILTERED) No God damn it.  They gave up.

FRED  Here’s what you do.  Tell them you know where they should look.  If it’s there they pay a mill.  And you pay me a hundred grand, simple.

JOHN (FILTERED) I can’t do that.

FRED Sure you can.  They spent ten times that and still don’t know where to look.  I bet the Russians lied and they haven’t really lost it. It’s probably just another Kursk-like incident and they want to put the blame on anyone else but their shoddy technology and cost cutting corners. That’s it, this talks over.

Fred hears phone go dead, goes back to keyboard, hits print key, PRINTER starts clicking away.

INT. GOVERNMENT COMPUTER ROOM – DAY

Place is full of MEN and WOMEN huddled over computers.

John sits down at Fred’s station.

JOHN You found it then.  Enjoy it?

FRED Be serious man.

Fred hands John the printout, John looks at it, shakes head, leans toward Fred, so no-one hears, whispers.

JOHN You shouldn’t be meddling into this stuff.  You’re brother Phil downloaded more secret files.  One night your front door’ll cave in.  You’ll be hauled away and your mother will never know what happened to you or Phil.  Don’t mess with this stuff.

Fred tears up the few pages.

FRED I’m married with responsibilities.

JOHN You’re an authority on Whales for God’s sake.

Fred looks at him askance.

FRED They need all the help they can get.  I have to get this stat report on the Blue finished by Thursday.  Leave it till then.  Now beat it.  You’ll go far.  The farther the better.

As John departs Fred shakes his head again in bewilderment.

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Logline: Air combats not exactly chivalrous. Victory’s about sneaking up behind the enemy and shooting him in the back.

FADE IN:

ON SCREEN :  AUGUST 13, 1940 – AIR WAR DAY 35 – GERMAN CODE NAME ADLERTAG – EAGLE DAY.

EXT. SUMMER SKY – OVER KENT – ENGLAND – DAY

Nightmarish dying remnants of an Air Battle.  Twelve dented, ragged-holed, battle-scared LUFFTWAFFE Messerschmitt 109’s versus ten dirty, battered, oil-splattered R.A.F. Spitfires.

Fighters, engines SCREAMING, some smoking. Guns, Canons BLASTING. Sky is streaked with black smoke trails.

In the distance the glimmer of the English Channel.

EXT. ON THE GROUND – DAY

Smashed, burning aircraft of both sides litter farmland.

A damaged Messerschmitt, clips copse of trees dips violently, thuds the dirt, blades snap off, nose pitches into earth.

Dazed Pilot BERND MEYER scrambles onto wing, tumbles down to the ground. He’s lies still, blood oozing through his flying tunic.

Painted on aircraft’s nose-cone – Twenty R.A.F. Insignias.

Suddenly his Aircraft BURSTS into flames.

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Logline: $2.5 billion vanishes without trace in the aftermath of WW2. No one was bought to justice. Bungled investigations at the highest level were obstructed?

ON SCREEN:

GOLD COINS, INGOTS, FAMOUS ART WORKS, FOREIGN CURRENCY NOTES, JEWELS, SILVER, ETC. FLOAT AND DISSOLVE AS REINHARDT SPEAKS….

GUENTHER REINHARDT V.O. My name is Guenther Reinhardt and everything I am laying before you is the God’s honest truth.  I know, because it cost me my health and my job… but I lived to tell the tale… unlike some others, both as high ranking as you can get and as lowly as you can fall, who were killed off…. In 1945 $2.5 billion vanished without a trace. Little was ever recovered. No-one was charged.

The full scale of the robbery came to light in 1984 in the book ‘Nazi Gold’ by English authors Ian Sayer and Douglas Botting. Their book inspired this film.

In 2010 the $2.5 billion was worth between 40 and 100 billion.

DESK CALENDAR – JULY 3, 1948

INT. A NEW YORK RESTAURANT. DAY.

TWO MEN, American GUENTHER REINHARDT sinewy 35 year-old Jewish agent and 40 year-old reporter and English friend TOM GRIEVES are lunching.

REINHARDT How come?

GRIEVES My paper wanted a New York correspondent. I landed last week.

REINHARDT So you don’t know about Walter Snyder?

Grieves looks bewildered, shakes his head.

REINHARDT (cont’d) Murdered in May.

GRIEVES My God, one of the best CID agents. You have to be careful Guenther.

Grieves looks seriously at Reinhardt.

GRIEVES (cont’d) You’re on the wrong side of powerful people. If there’s one guy the army wanted…It’s you.

ON SCREEN: CALENDAR PAGES BACKTRACK TO DECEMBER 21, 1947

Door nameplate reads:

Counter-Intelligence Corps. Guenther Reinhardt

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