The National Health Page #4

At least you've had a foretaste

of how jealous I can be.

Do you think

I don't feel the same

when I see you with...

Johnny Monk?

Is anything wrong?

No.

No, it's nothing.

It must have been a fault.

In the glass.

Young Neil not on duty today?

Is he, Nurse?

Oh, er, no, Sister.

He picked up Nurse Norton

at the hostel this morning

and took her riding.

I am at a loss as to

what to say to you, Mary.

- Me, sir?

- Except to apologise to you on his behalf,

and hope he'll come to his senses

- before it's too late.

- But...

I have told him

that I will not speak to him again

until he breaks it off

with that girl.

Oh, no. You mustn't.

He ought to be back

in his room by now.

Will you wait here, Mary?

I'll... not be long.

- Neil?

- Mmm?

Do you have any idea why

your father victimizes Johnny?

Father's a great man, Cleo,

but he's no longer... young.

Johnny's a brilliant surgeon.

I don't know.

It's possible Father feels threatened.

You're pretty brilliant yourself.

I'm afraid I'm not in the same class.

If ever I had to be operated on,

I'd feel safer in Johnny's hands...

than anyone's.

Even your father's?

You're forgetting, Cleo, a surgeon

cannot operate on his own son.

How's your hand?

It's... it's nothing.

Cleo...

So many evenings I've longed

to bring you back here,

but my father believes

only pain can come from

trying to mix the races.

He's a product of

his environment, darling.

He holds the attitude

of his generation.

I couldn't afford to hurt him.

No...

But I can't wait any longer!

Neil... darling!

I adore you.

Neil, are you...

Neil, what is it?

It's nothing.

It's nothing, I tell you.

Now relax.

All right?

I know it's difficult.

You naturally tend to recoil from

anything that's nasty, eh?

Nice little cut-throat, this.

Not that it's going to get near many

throats today. Quite the reverse, eh?

Now the bloke who used

to do this job, Lionel.

It, well... it wasn't

so much a job to him.

More a labour of love, you know.

Used to issue tin trousers

whenever he was on duty.

Hospital barber he was, though.

Very good at shod back and sides.

But they took him off

pre-operatives.

Well, I mean, they had to,

after a patient complained

he'd had his privates shaved

when he was only going to

have his tonsils out.

Personally, I thought it was a shame.

Useful work combined

with harmless pleasure.

The secret of a happy life.

Poor old Lionel.

Now look, don't flinch, or you'll do

yourself a mischief. All right?

One slip there and Bob's your auntie.

Bob's your... auntie!

Anyway, most of the healing arts

are bent, if you want my frank opinion.

You were a teacher, weren't you?

Yeah, well, it's the

same country, isn't it?

Socially acceptable sublimation.

Take this case described in a medical

journal I bought one afternoon in Soho.

This poor berk,

he said to his psychiatrist...

He said;

"Doctor, doctor, I got a problem."

He said; "I find I only

fancy thirteen-year-old boys."

And the doctor said;

"Well, everyone to his own taste.

"It's tricky, but not insuperable."

And the bloke said: "Yeah, but

only thirteen-year-old boys...

"with a wet chest cough."

And do you know, it was enough

for him to hear 'em cough.

Now I'm going to ask you

to hold your own, if you'd be so kind.

Down out of the way.

Out of the way.

Yeah, you got the idea. Right...

Anyway, d'you know they fixed him up?

This bloke, hmm?

He's now a Voluntary Health 'visitor

to the children's ward

of a large London chest hospital.

Yeah, welfare work combined

with harmless pleasure.

The secret of a happy life.

But just because poor old Lionel

overstepped the mark...

He's probably up the West End

every night,

exposing himself to all and sundry.

And don't you agree that a useful person

should not be made a scapegoat

due to one misdemeanor?

Did I tickle? Did I?

Sometimes think I should charge.

Mr Ash, the end bed.

Now then, Mr Ash, up we go!

That all right?

- Yes, thank you, Nurse.

- You'll feel better soon, won't you?

That's right!

Good old dad!

Clever's not the word!

There. There you are.

There!

Easy. There you are!

Mr Foster, keep an eye on the colour

of the fluid. Any change, call a nurse.

Tell you what, me old mate.

I could do with a smoke.

You're on your way to theatre, mister.

And Nurse Powell is not your old mate.

All right, me old mate.

You have a laugh on me.

'Bout all I've got left to give you!

Bring out your dead!

Bring out your... dead.

Aye. Here, Mr Barnet, have you got

a drop of brandy on you, me old mate?

That's enough, mister!

He likes a laugh at

me old Kentish Town, there.

Top of the morning to you, Michael.

What about Minestrone

in the two-thirty at Chep...

Anything to do with operations,

you know what I mean, Nurse?

You'll be gelling

an injection downstairs.

- Another jab in my arm?

- Or your bum.

Didn't your injection

make you feel any better?

No, anything to do

with needles, and...

You won't feel a thing.

A drop of ether

would go down very nice!

You've got to stop that drinking.

Where's the harm?

It's my life! My liver!

One day we are going to drop somebody.

Oh, don't you say that, Nurse. He's worked

for all the big construction firms.

Haven't you, Michael?

Up the ladders, McAlpine, Wimpey.

'Ere, you know what

Wimpey stands for?

We Import Millions

of Paddies Every Year.

Better'?

Will Dr Singh please report

to Dame Myra Hess Ward. Thank you.

Go on.

Hey! Good old dad!

He's barely conscious.

He can't even hear you.

Doing well, he is.

The will to live.

My dad's the same.

72 and game for anything.

I say:
"All right, Dad, Woburn Abbey?"

Up he gets, puts his mac on.

He's always first in the minibus.

He's less trouble than one of the kiddies.

During the season,

we go most Sundays.

Perhaps as far as Beaulieu.

For the veteran cars.

Or Hampton Court.

Have a laugh at the maze.

I'm more interested in

the history side myself.

Having forty winks?

I take a special interest

in the servants' quarters.

I say to the wife:

"You'd have been here, love,

not upstairs. A skivvy for life."

And I'd have been one of

an army of gardeners

scything the lawn

from dawn to dusk.

And our children after us,

ad infinitum.

But these lords, they're only

hanging on by our permission.

This is the twentieth century.

Do you agree'?

The armies of democracy

on the move.

Pardon?

Columns of minibuses moving

up the motorways.

Hampton Court to Woburn Abbey,

Woburn Abbey to Windermere.

Well, it's better than

when my dad was a boy!

He never got his nose

outside the street!

Are you a socialist?

I'm a socialist, yes.

I'll be quite frank with you.

The early socialists thought that

when they had achieved all this,

the rest would follow.

Achieved what?

The state we're in. This ward.

Where TB and diphtheria

are more or less cured.

And a lot of useless people

are kept alive,

to be a burden to the country.

You've got to do what

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