Jabberwocky

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

did gyre and gimble in the wabe.

All mimsy were the borogoves,

and the mome raths outgrabe.

- -

- -

It is the middle of the Dark Ages.

Ages darker than anyone had ever expected.

An horrendous monster casts a dreadful pall of fear

over a once-happy land.

As towns and villages are torn apart,

the helpless survivors seek refuge

behind the walls of the great city.

But out in the forest,

in isolated pockets still untouched

by the ravages of the monster,

life and business goes on as usual.

Twelve, 13, 14.

There's another little one. Fifteen.

What are you doing out there, Dennis?

Stock-taking, Father.

Thought you took stock this morning.

Oh, yes, I did.

But it never hurts to keep an accurate, up-to-the-moment account of your stock.

In business nowadays, Father...

Never mind that nonsense and come and help me with this cask.

All right, Father. I'll finish stock-taking later.

There.

You see, the secret of the craft is to keep the stake...

Take hold of the hoop.

- - Hello, Dennis. Ralph.

- Oh. -

- Good day, Mr. Fishfinger. - Aye.

- Can I be of some assistance to you today? - Oh, Dennis. What are you...

- -

Yes, well, uh, you see, I need some barrels, Dennis,

for shipping dried fish to the city.

Big demand there, you know, since this monster scare.

Oh, my goodness. Prices going up all the time.

That's great. That's great.

But tell me, do you believe all these stories about, uh, whole villages being destroyed?

Well, I haven't actually seen the monster myself, you know.

But when I was over in Muckley the other day...

Muckley? That's quite a ways, isn't it?

It's two mile or more, easy.

Gosh, I'd like to travel someday, Mr. Fishfinger.

- Anyway, about the monster... - Oh, yes.

Well, uh, this grain merchant, you see, over in Muckley,

he claimed that he'd actually seen it.

Turned his teeth snow-white overnight, they say.

- - Ugh.

Anyway, about the barrels.

Yes, well, must be cheap.

First class, but cheap. Must be cheap.

I think we can attend to your needs, Mr. Fishfinger.

Exactly how, uh... inexpensive?

No more than a tuppence apiece.

Tuppence? What are you talking about, Fishfinger?

I can't turn out a decent barrel for that price and you know it.

- Look, Father, don't you think... - Now, Ralph, look, be sensible.

The barrels have only got to last until they get to the city. It's easy money.

No!

I don't make barrels to last two or three days, Fishfinger.

I make barrels to last a lifetime. I'm a craftsman.

- Yes, we know. Everybody knows. - It's something you'll never understand.

- - Or you either, Dennis, I'm afraid.

- - You don't want barrels! You want bags!

- I... - Now get out!

- Look, Father... - Out!

And don't come back here with your shoddy deals.

- Yes. - Bah!

- Good-bye. Good-bye, Ralph. - Tuppence.

- I'm sorry, Mr. Fishfinger. - It's all right, Dennis. It's all right.

He's given me a very good idea.

It's all right.

Wait, Mr. Fishfinger! I think I can get it...

Bye, Dennis. Salute!

Tuppence.

Griselda.

- Griselda. - Yeah?

It is I, Dennis, come to see you.

I see.

- How are you, my love? -

- Have you missed me? - Huh?

Oh, Griselda, it's lovely to see you again.

I think about you all day long when I'm taking stock.

I dream of the day when I'll ask your father for your hand in marriage.

We'll build that little cottage near the village green.

I'll come home from the shop. We'll have supper together.

- - Hey, Roger! Roger, what are you doing?

- I just... You... - What?

Oh, Griselda.

Sorry.

Griselda.

I can't ask you to declare your love for me till I'm in a better position to marry you.

But say you'll wait for me. Say I've got a chance.

Oh, let go.

- Why, Griselda? Why? - I've gotta scratch.

Oh, Griselda. Griselda, I...

Oh! Sorry, Dennis.

- How's your father? - Oh, never better, Mrs. Fishfinger.

- That Dennis Cooper out there? - Yes.

Hello, Dennis.

You've got garbage all over your vest.

Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk.

Really ought to look after your appearance, you know. Very bad for business.

Oh, by the way, I thought you'd like to know,

I got Wat, the mercer, to run me up a few cloth bags.

Only a ha'penny each.

I wish I could have convinced Father to see it your way, Mr. Fishfinger.

Yes, well, you see, a man's got to move with the times.

Still, when you take over the shop,

no doubt we'll do a lot of business together, you and I.

That won't be for some time yet, Mr. Fishfinger.

Well, you never know. Never know.

Oh, well, it's getting late. I'd better be going.

Okay by me.

Drop in any time, Dennis.

Good-bye, Griselda.

- -

- -

Father!

- -

- Is that you, Dennis? - Yes, Father.

Come closer, Dennis.

Yes, Father.

What happened?

My heart.

I haven't long.

I'm going to... I'm going to...

Throw up?

No.

- Oh, Father. - Son.

What shall I do without your guiding hand, without your skill?

- Son. - Yes, Father?

I'll tell you.

You're going to end up just like that...

F... F... F...

Fishfinger.

- Who, me? -

Oh, Father, I know Mr. Fishfinger is a very successful businessman, but...

Because you've got no understanding

of craftsmanship,

no appreciation of the beauty of the wood.

Because you're just a shallow,

dull, pretentious...

- Father! - Little...

s-s-s-stock-taker.

Oh, Father, you're delirious.

- Yeah. - You don't know what you're saying.

Oh, yes, I do, you... you whimpering,

snotty-nosed, cretinous oaf!

I've wanted to say this for years.

Father, we're not alone.

You're everything I despise!

Dad's raving, I'm afraid.

No, he's not.

You and your kind will drive good, honest craftsmen to the wall.

Do you hear? To the wall!

Honestly, Dad, I was only trying to improve the business.

You won't have my business...

to improve anymore.

Not my cooperage.

Because I'm... I'm taking it with me.

- But, Dad, I don't understand. - Don't understand, you damn ninny?

I'm renouncing you. You're no son of mine. You're no craftsman's son.

Get out.

Out of my sight...

stock-taker!

- -

Griselda! Griselda, my angel!

Go away. We're eating.

Is Griselda there?

- Is that Dennis Cooper? - Uh, yes, sir.

- Can I speak to Griselda? - She's eating, Dennis.

What do you want?

I'm going away, Mr. Fishfinger, to the city.

I'm going to make good, come back and claim Griselda's hand.

So you will, Dennis. Good-bye.

[Fishfinger family grunting, munching, smacking]

Griselda. Griselda, I'm going away.

Say something. Say anything.

Pass the potatoes.

I heard that! You are in there, Griselda!

My darling, I'm going away. I may not even see you...

That's rotten!