Narrator: For some odd reason, lost in the mists of time, there’s an extraordinary shortage of last names in Wales. Almost everyone seems to be a Williams, a Jones, or an Evans. To avoid widespread confusion, Welsh people often add an occupation to a name. For example, there was Williams the Petroleum, and Williams the Death. There was Jones the Bottle, and Jones the Prize Cabbage… which described his hobby and his personality. Evans the Bacon, and Evans the End of the World.
Johnny Shellshocked: In France, we dug trenches ten miles long. We took earth from here and made hills there. We moved entire fields. You wouldn’t believe what we did. It’s possible. It’s just hard work.
Betty: There’s nothing very special about me. I’m the kind of girl you usually don’t notice: I scuttle in with a tray of tea, bow my head, and scuttle out.
Reginald Anson: I’d notice.
Betty: No, you wouldn’t. Not usually.
Rev. Robert Jones: Have you no shame?
Morgan the Goat: No… I can’t think where I’ve left it!
Grandfather: The truth is that, while we Welsh like to believe that it was the mountains that beat the successive invaders, it was really the weather that comes with mountains. It was the rain that defeated every invader. Yes, simple rain.