Carry On Sergeant Page #6

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I'm ill. I've got to take a pill.

Oh, no, it's not a pill that you need, my darling.

It's me.

Oh, imagine the bliss of having someone

to love you, someone to take care of you.

Please! Someone might hear you.

Oh, let the whole world hear!

But we must give ourselves time

to get to know each other.

Say about um...haIf an hour?

Wh...

- What's your name?

- Oh! Oh, at last!

It's Nora.

- Nora.

- Mm.

Good night! (Whimpers)

Oh, Horace! Come back!

Ah, there's nothing to it.

With his background,

Heywood will be an absolute cakewalk for...

- (Yelps hysterically)

- Hey! That man!

Horace! Horace, come back! Horace!

Well, I'm glad he's useful at something.

Left, right! Party, halt!

- Private Heywood, sir.

- Ah, Heywood.

I've asked Sergeant Grimshawe

to keep an eye on you.

He has, and so have l.

Despite certain unfortunate incidents

in which you were involved, you're here.

Yes, sir. Why, sir?

- Can't you guess?

- I haven't the faintest idea, sir.

Modest. Honest.

I think we're right about this man, Sergeant.

Thank you, sir.

Fill this in, Heywood.

I don't have to, do l, sir?

What? Well, l...

It's not an order, Heywood, but er...surely...

Oh, well, that's all right, then, sir.

I don't want to be an officer, sir.

The principle of heredity shattered. Explain.

Well, sir, what were your father,

grandfather and uncle?

Oh.

Potts, Potts and Potts. Porcelain manufacturers.

- And you're in the army.

- Of course. The army's my whole life.

Principle of heredity shattered, sir. Just like me.

My people are senior officers, sir, but er...

general plus air commodore plus rear admiral

equals me, I'm afraid.

Just an ordinary National Serviceman.

I'm just not a leader of men. Sorry, sir.

Dismissed.

Carry on, Sergeant.

Yes, sir.

Party, left turn. Quick march!

Left, right, left, right, left, right.

- Morning.

- Morning.

- What's wrong?

- Stomach.

- Too often?

- Not enough.

- Number nines.

- Complications.

- Give them time.

- See you tomorrow.

Dismissed.

Button undone.

That man!

- Take your hands out of your pockets!

- l beg your pardon?

Take your hands out of your pockets.

Oh, I'm so sorry, Sergeant.

Get your hair cut in the morning.

(Laughs raucously)

I've seen better.

'Ere, didn't he say pierce the tin?

- I heard what he said!

- On your feet!

Well, there's one job

you couldn't make a mess of, eh?

Well, it's not too bad. Hope for you yet.

Perseverance plus common sense equals...

- Morning, Strong.

- It's my scalp.

- I've got a kind of nervous itch.

- Oh, really?

Look.

- Aren't you even gonna examine me?

- No.

I'm taking you for a ride.

Eh?

Come on, then.

SERGEANT GRlMSHAWE:

Platoon! Platoon, attention!

Stand them at ease, please, Sergeant.

Platoon, stand at ease!

Well, this is your last day of training.

Tomorrow you'll get proficiency tests

and a passing-out parade.

And you'll finish

the worst of all the platoons here.

Someone's got to be bottom.

Get that cut in the morning. You.

Someone's got to be bottom,

but this is absolute extremism.

Utter disgrace.

Platoon's a shambles.

Worst we've ever had here at Heathercrest.

Glad to see the back of you!

Clumsy fools plus innate idleness...equals you!

All of you!

Carry on, Sergeant.

Well, you heard!

Gentlemen, this is the case in question.

Gentlemen, this is the case in question.

Private Horace Strong.

He has reported sick every day for ten weeks.

His ailments are varied and elusive,

so far as l, a mere GP, can diagnose.

You gentlemen are specialists.

I thank you for agreeing to help

by means of a thorough examination.

He's all yours.

Oh, l... l do apologise, ma'am. l...

I've misjudged you.

You've got a reaI feeling for the sick.

Oh, I can't tell you how much l appreciate...

All right, turn around.

Now, breathe deeply.

In, out.

- Say 99.

- 99. (Coughs)

- Oh!

- Something's wrong, eh?

Congratulations.

You have a perfect heart and lungs.

Wh...? No, Doctor.

My heart hangs by a thread.

- By a rope, my boy.

- Rope?

What's he mean?

- He doesn't understand. My heart...

- Lie down.

Ooh!

- (Groans)

- Good.

- How's that?

- (Groans)

Remarkable! Stand up.

- Stand still.

- (Giggles)

- Cough.

- (Coughs weakly)

- Aha!

- Aha! You see?

- Fantastic.

- What is?

Your stomach's a model. You've got

a digestive system like an incinerator.

No sign of hernia, pulse normal. Next cubicle.

Pulse normal?

But, Doctor, I'm in a state of nervous tension.

All the more remarkable.

Sit down. Roll up your sleeve.

- Sphygmomanometer's ready, Dr Clark.

- Good.

- Sphymom-?

- Relax, Strong, relax.

Now we'lI see something, ma'am.

Only your blood pressure.

- 1 20.

- That's high!

- 80.

- That's low!

1 20 over 80.

Textbook reading. It's quite normal.

But, Doctor! Please!

- The blood's singing in my ears!

- I'm not surprised. lt should be very happy.

Stand there.

(Yelps)

- Ever been a blood donor?

- Who'd want that?

Everybody. Haemoglobin is a hundred per cent.

I'm getting out of here.

They're just a bunch of vets!

Ah, splendid. Open up here, please.

Come along here.

That's fine. Hands on hips.

Good Lord! Gentlemen, you must look!

Strong.

Gentlemen, look at this!

Superb!

- What a rib cage!

- Magnificent!

If only it were in colour.

Oh, Doctor, please!

No, the machine's all wrong!

Look, my ribs are all short and they're sharp.

l live in constant dread

of 'em puncturing my lungs!

Out of the question.

Your bones are in perfect proportion.

Besides,

your lungs have the texture of asbestos.

No. I'm ill.

I'm ill, I tell you!

Gentlemen,

there's only one avenue left open to us.

- Psychiatry.

- Psychiatry!

Oh, Doctor! You'll understand.

Yes, yes, of course. Lie down.

Relax.

- What's the first thing you remember?

- My mother.

- What was she doing?

- Sneezing.

I see. Now, association test.

Say whatever comes into your mind

after what I say.

- Mother.

- Cold.

- Cold.

- Sneezing.

- Sneezing.

- Me.

- You.

- Pills.

- Pills.

- Water.

- Water.

- Wet.

- Again. Water.

- Washing up.

- Washing up.

- Nappy.

- Nappy.

- Nora.

Nora.

Cor! Nora!

Hi, baby.

Come 'ere!

Whatever's the matter with you, Horace?

Are you ill or something?

lll? What, me?

Your marbles must be loose.

Ooh, whatever's happened to you, Horace?

You answer the questions, kid!

Wanna be my doll?

Doll?

Yeah. But not the sort that goes "Mama"

when l squeeze her.

- OK?

- I'lI have to have time to think about it.

OK. Think.

- Time's up. Through there. Move.

- Ooh!

Ooh, Horace!

What a right bunch they turned out to be.

Oh, just luck. Rotten bad luck.

I must have stood under a ladder

and kicked 1 3 black cats some time or other.

Well, don't worry, sarge,

it'll all be behind you this time tomorrow.

Your last day in the army.

I wish it had turned out the way you wanted it.

You know.

You at the head of a Champion Platoon.

Yes. lt isn't given to every man to achieve

his life's ambition. Certainly not to me.

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