Chariots of Fire

Carlton Hotel, Broadstairs, Kent.
28th June, 1924.
Dear Mum. I'm most awfully sorry about
your cold and the general dreariness.

We're also having
quite bad weather here, too.

Thanks for your letters.
I'm sorry you and Pa are disappointed

I should be letting the Olympic Games
interfere with my shorthand.

But if you were my age, with a chance
to win the World Championship in Paris,

you would be just as big a fool as I am.
By the way, it's awfully kind of Pa
to fnance me here, in spite of my idiocy.

It's marvellous for esprit de corps.
Most of the chaps have managed to get down.

- Cricket, Montague, in the ballroom.
- Now!

No ball!
Come on, Aubrey, the old leg break.
- Howzat!
- Not out.

What? You could hear it
in bloody Bournemouth!

- Come on, Liddell, my innings.
- I didn't touch it.

- You heard the crack of my wrist.
- I saw the bloody thing bend! Andy!

No tickle for me.
He's out, I tell you.
You're all deaf and bloody blind.

Aubrey, I ask you, for God's sake!