Carry On Matron

Synopsis: A gang of thieves plan to make their fortune by stealing a shipment of contraceptive pills from Finisham maternity hospital. They assume disguises and infiltrate the hospital, but everything doesn't go according to plan. The hypochondriac consultant Sir Bernard Cutting, Matron and the doctors and nurses at Finisham have a habit of getting in the way.
Genre: Comedy, Crime
Director(s): Gerald Thomas
Production: J. Arthur Rank Productions
 
IMDB:
6.2
NOT RATED
Year:
1972
87 min
572 Views


There it is, Finisham Hospital

- our next job.

- What? A maternity hospital?

That's it. Headquarters

of the famous Pudding Club.

- What have they got to nick?

- Pills.

Pills?

Not just ordinary pills, the pill.

They've got hundreds of thousands in there.

What? In a maternity hospital?

It's closing the stable door

after the horse has gone.

No, no, no. They're just stored there

for use in the family planning clinics.

Dad, if they hand them out free,

what can you make out of them?

Nothing here, son.

But I know a couple of countries that'll take

as many as they can get and pay a fortune.

TANNOY:
Dr Cross.

Dr Cross to Casualty, please.

Well, Miss Willing, so you're leaving us.

Yeah. Not exactly empty-handed, neither.

Oh, now, now, you mustn't be bitter about it.

You have a beautiful baby there.

I wish I had one like it.

Yes, well, if you run into the same bloke as I did,

you can have one.

- Who's this, then?

- That's Sir Bernard Cutting, the head chopper.

Ah, another little angel leaving the fold.

Let me have a last look at the little chap.

You can have him for keeps

as far as I'm concerned.

Careful, my dear. I might take you up on that.

- (Baby cries)

- He's a splendid little fellow, isn't he?

Yes, he is.

Oh. I think you can have him back now.

Again? That's the fifth this morning.

- He must have a leak.

- I think he's just had one.

- Good morning, Sir Bernard.

- Morning, Arthur. Good morning, Matron.

- How are you?

- I'm all right. Why shouldn't I be all right?

- I look all right, don't I?

- Oh, you've never looked better.

Then why did you ask me how I was?

No particular reason.

Just with all this Asian flu about.

What Asian flu?

Oh, it's only what I read in the papers.

You can't believe a thing you read in the papers.

Asian flu indeed!

What a lot of rubbish.

Would you like to do the rounds now?

What?

No. I can't be bothered with all that today.

I don't feel well enough.

I think I've got Asian flu.

Poor Sir Bernard. He's only got to read of

some complaint and he's convinced he's got it.

I wonder if he's read Gone With The Wind.

H... I...

Influenza. Asian.

Asian flu. Highly infectious virus disease,

often resulting in death.

Death!

Symptoms:

fever, dizziness, rapid pulse,

yellowing of the eyeballs.

(Whistle)

- Matron, any news yet, then?

- Oh, Mr Tidey, are you still here?

Of course I'm still here.

I've been here since 10:42 last night, haven't I?

I should know.

I'd just seen the 10:17 off to Reading.

- Did you indeed?

- Stopping all stations except Eton and Twyford.

Quite. And haven't you had your baby yet?

Well, of course I haven't.

I wouldn't be still here, would I?

Here, what's gone wrong? What's happening?

Perhaps we're running a little late, Mr Tidey.

Well, I can't hang around here.

I've got work to do, you know.

Well, I'm just going round the wards.

I'll find out what the situation is.

Tell her I've been here all night,

and to get her finger out.

You wait here. I'll case the joint.

Morning.

- Visiting?

- Well, I'm not producing.

I mean, are you expecting a baby, or what?

Oh, definitely a baby. I don't like whats.

- The waiting room is over there.

- Thank you, mate.

If it's a boy, I'll name him Happy, after you.

Bye!

Blimey, she looked upset, doc.

- I'm not surprised. I told her she was pregnant.

- What?

- Is she really?

- No, but it certainly cured her hiccups.

- Excuse me.

- Yes?

Are you expectant, or have you had it?

No. But if you can spare the time...

- Wait in there, please.

- Thank you.

- Did they just send for you?

- That's right.

It don't mean anything, you know. The last

two weeks, they've sent for me nine times.

All I've had is a cup of tea and a biscuit.

It's not good enough. I'd tell them to forget it.

- How can you forget it?

- Cancel the whole thing.

But we've done it, haven't we?

How can you cancel it?

Tell 'em you've changed your mind.

Oh... wey!

Has she had it, then?

I...

Could you get me

The Guinness Book Of Records, please?

- Good morning, Nurse Ball.

- Good morning, Matron.

- Where's Sister?

- In delivery, Matron. Mrs Hodgkiss has gone in.

- Oh, good. And what about Mrs Tidey?

- Afraid not.

She's back here again.

- Another false alarm, Mrs Tidey?

- I'm afraid so. I reckon it was just wind again.

I wouldn't be at all surprised.

Well, now, you're three weeks overdue

and your husband's getting very impatient.

Him?

Well, he can talk. It took him seven years

to get me pregnant.

Now I am, I'm going to enjoy myself.

If nothing happens soon,

we must think about inducing labour.

What? Just to please him?

Oh, it's only a bit over nine months.

He should be thankful I'm not an elephant.

Well, I'm sure we're all very thankful for that,

Mrs Tidey.

(Sobbing)

NURSE BALL:
Now, stop being silly, Mrs Pullitt.

Your baby's perfectly all right.

He's not! He's not!

- What's the matter, Nurse?

- It's nothing, Matron.

What do you mean?

I tell you, there's something wrong with him.

Nonsense, Mrs Pullitt. You have a fine little boy.

Take a look at his little thing, then.

MATRON:
His what? Oh...

Well, I can't see anything wrong with it.

But it's all bent to one side.

Don't you worry, Mrs Pullitt. We'll have

everything straightened out before you leave.

How the hell can we change our minds?

You can't undo what's already been done,

can you?

What's been done, then?

- She has.

- Has she?

She's over nine months gone.

Don't worry, mate. She'll come back.

How can you come... back?

Oh...

Matron.

- Well, what's happened?

- I'm afraid it was another false alarm, Mr Tidey.

- You may as well go back to work.

- Go back to work?

It was due three weeks ago.

Well, I'm sorry, Mr Tidey,

but babies tend to arrive when they feel like it.

There's nothing we can do about it.

That's a fine state of affairs, innit, eh?

We'd soon be in a right old mess

if we ran the railways like that.

I was under the impression that you did.

Ha-ha.

- Can I help you at all?

- Er...

No, thanks. I'm just passing the time.

Are you awaiting a birth?

- Yes. That's it.

- Who are you?

- The father. I hope.

- What name is it?

- Name?

- What's your name?

Oh! My name?

I er...

That's funny.

I know I had one when I came in here.

Hang on. Let me think.

- Mr Hodgkiss?

- That's it. Hodgkiss. That's me.

Well, congratulations, Mr Hodgkiss.

Your wife's had twin boys.

Get away!

That's very nice. Thank you very much.

Thank you, too.

Yes, well, I'll be pushing off, then.

Don't you want to see them, or your wife?

No, not just now.

I've got the girlfriend waiting outside.

That'll do, Sister.

- Get moving!

- What's all the fuss, Dad?

I've just become the father of twins.

- Congratulations.

- Oh, shut up. Come on, get. Hurry up!

Did you find out where they keep the pills?

Nah, didn't have time.

But I reckon I know how to now.

Son, you're going to go to work at last.

Dad, couldn't you possibly manage without me?

You're getting on.

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Talbot Rothwell

Talbot Nelson Conn Rothwell, OBE (12 November 1916 – 28 February 1981) was an English screenwriter. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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