A Run for Your Money (1949)
Station Announcer: [into PA] Will Mr. Thomas Jones and Mr. David Jones, J-O-N-E-S, from -
Station Announcer: Where are they from?
[takes Whimple's slip of paper with "Hafoduwchbenceubwllymarchogcoch" on it; speaks into PA]
Station Announcer: Would Mr. Thomas and Mr. David Jones, from...
[looks at paper]
Station Announcer: Love a duck!
Station Announcer: Would Mr. Thomas and Mr. David Jones, from *Wales*, please call at the stationmaster's office on Platform 1.
[about 100 Welshmen converge on the stationmaster's office]
Editor: Well, now, we must just establish your identity.
David 'Dai Number 9' Jones: Identity?
Editor: Oh, purely a formality, of course.
David 'Dai Number 9' Jones: But I've never had to do that before. They all know me back home, see?
Whimple: But you must have an identity card, don't you?
David 'Dai Number 9' Jones: Well, it's behind the teapot at home, with my union card. Best place for them - I might lose them in London.
Editor: Ah. Heh.
Whimple: May I suggest, uh...
Editor: Ah, exactly. Ring up the manager of the colliery. No doubt he can help us.
Whimple: Excuse me, sir.
[takes phone and dials 0]
Whimple: Get, get me...
[pause as he reads the place name again]
Whimple: Heh heh, ummm, uh, H for hyacinth, A for azalea, F for fuschia...
Editor: [taking the phone impatiently] Hafoduwchbenceubwllymarchogcoch 1!
David 'Dai Number 9' Jones: Congratulations, sir!
Jane: I've checked the photograph of that floozy. She's a pro all right - a con woman!
Whimple: Pro and con?
Jane: A professional confidence trickster. She specializes in provincials up for a spree.
David 'Dai Number 9' Jones: What's ten bob to a man with two hundred pounds? Chicken feed is ten bob!
Thomas 'Twm' Jones: Chicken feed is counted as well as chickens.
Jo: This your first visit to London?
David 'Dai Number 9' Jones: Our first visit to England.
Jo: But Wales is part of England!
David 'Dai Number 9' Jones: shame on you!
Thomas 'Twm' Jones: It's easy to see you've never been to Wales, Miss.
Jo: That's right. Never been further west than the West End.
Editor: Good Heavens, female miners! Whatever will the Coal Board think of next?
David 'Dai Number 9' Jones: The young lady's not a miner, sir!
Jo: No, I was 22 last birthday.
Huw: This nose can smell the primrose in the spring or mutton chops cooking or the well-brushed hair of children in the park. It is filled with the savors of innocence... and memory. The motion of the waterfall and the little girl under the haystack and cowslips in the railway cuttings. I can smell out the corruption in a den of hypocrites, scoundrels, and dead souls.
[Stroking his harp]
Huw: Anyhow, it is mostly indigestion to what you're talking about.
David 'Dai Number 9' Jones: [Regarding the hat he will wear] Never mind about the size as long as it fits, man!
Thomas 'Twm' Jones: But pawning a harp at any time - there's immorality for you.