All language subtitles for 01 - Carry On Sergeant (Colorized)

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Wedding March

"Congratulations.
May all your troubles be little ones

and remember, the first 10 years are
the worst. With love from Granny."

"In accordance with warning notice
already sent to you,

you are required to report to
Heathercrest National Service Depot."

Charlie, it's your call-up.

What do you mean, my call-up?

But it's our wedding day!

How can it be my call-up, Dad? You sent off an
application for an extension for the wedding.

- Didn't you?
- Me? No, you did.

- I asked you to do it!
- No, you said you would.

Why doesn't somebody do something?

Argh! Please! Please! A draught!

But it's stifling in here.

Please. My eardrums are
very thin, very weak.

The least suspicion of a draught
and I'm finished!

Cor!

Thanks, mate.

- Argh! Don't!
- Now what?

Please. Do you mind not smoking?
It affects me. I've got a weak stomach.

- Now, look here...
- Catarrh pastille?

I haven't got catarrh.

You don't know you're living, mate.

Are you going to hospital?

- Into the army.
- The army?

- Yeah.
- Ha! So am I.

How did you pass the medical? Influence?

Medical. Ha! A farce.

A criminal farce!

A-1. Me! A-flaming-1!

Army doctors.

I tell you, mate, two of everything
you should have two of and you're in.

- We don't deserve your congratulations.
- It was luck. Pure luck.

What a lot of rubbish!

- Luck doesn't enter into it.
- Sure it does, Grimmy. Take you, now.

- Six years a Training Sergeant.
- And never had a Champion Platoon.

- It's bad luck.
- Oh, no, it isn't.

Listen, Paddy, every man
has the instinct of soldiering in him.

- Right?
- Right enough.

You've all done it. You've all had
a Champion Platoon at one time or another.

- So shall I. With my next platoon.
- Why? What's the hurry?

It's my last platoon.

I shall be leaving the army in ten weeks
and it's my last chance.

Don't set your heart on it.

- Now listen, when I want your advice...
- Like to bet on it?

- I don't bet as a rule.
- What, scared?

Not a bit of it.

All right. 50 quid says no Champion Platoon.

Sergeant Grimshawe, sir!
Can I give you a lift to the mess, sir?

Well, that's extremely civil of you,
Sergeant. Thank you, sir.

- Let me take the bag, sir.
- Thank you, Sergeant.

Bye, darling.

Well, a very nice place
you have here, Sergeant.

- Finest depot in the command, sir.
- That's encouraging.

Well, Sergeant, where do I report?

That's the officers' mess over there, sir.

Very nice too,
but I happen to be a National Serviceman.

Get in the back of that truck, will you?
Fast!

Thank you, Sergeant.

Charlie! Charlie!

- Did you see? Did you hear?
- What? Where?

She called to me. From a laundry van.

Look... Look, keep calm, Charlie boy.

Look... Just a little while longer, eh?
You'll see the MO.

Oh, stop pawing me.
I'm not ill. I did see her.

Go round the back, go on!

Round the side! Go on!

Yes, and about time too, I'm thinking.

- You're the new girl, aren't you?
- Are you the manageress?

No, I'm Nora.

My name's Mary.

I don't care what your name is,
as long as you can cut chips.

Your overall's in that cupboard.

Thanks.

'Ere, where's your labour exchange card?

It's coming in the post.

- Don't you know how it works, love?
- Yes.

Oh, I'm not really the new girl.

But please don't give me away.
Please help me.

Oh, there, there, love.
Come on, tell Nora all about it.

Now, look! You've got to face up to it.

You are an obsessional
with visual complications.

Look, once and for all,
I got married this morning,

there was a muddle over my deferment.

Now, Mary must have followed me to the camp.

She's a very determined girl.

Well, personally, chaps, I believe him.

Please! Do you mind belting up?

You don't know nothing about psychiatry.

Possibly not, but I do
know a bit about women.

You know, there are certain chaps
who are always being chased by women.

- I know exactly how you feel.
- Thank you!

Judging by their names,
they should be a fine lot.

There's a lot in a man's name, Corporal.
Gives him character.

Strong, Sage, Bailey, Heywood, Galloway,
Golightly.

- Golightly?
- Golightly.

What's in a name?

Corporal Copping, you know how much
depends on the success of this platoon.

- 50 quid, Sergeant.
- That's only money.

There's my reputation,

and perhaps er...your recommendation
for promotion when I leave,

and possibly a slight percentage
for you if I win.

- When you win, Sergeant.
- That's the spirit, Copping.

Now er...let's have a look
at our Champion Platoon, shall we?

All right, stand by your beds!

All right, at ease, lads.

I'm Sergeant Grimshawe.

And this is Corporal Copping.

Right?

Now, I'm a quiet, reasonable, humane man.

I know. My mother told me.

Oh, yes. I had a mother and a father,
even though I am a sergeant.

Only one thing rubs me up the wrong way,

and that's a man that doesn't
pull his weight in my platoon.

In that respect, I'm a
veritable Jekyll and Hyde.

But somehow, looking around me,

I don't think that nasty side of my
character's going to rouse itself this time.

I judge a body of men on sight.

And I don't mind telling you lads I feel
distinctly encouraged at the prospects.

Don't disappoint me.

- Right, any questions?
- Can I report sick, please?

- What's your name?
- Strong.

Horace Strong.

- Corporal Copping!
- Sergeant!

Private er...Strong...on
sick report tomorrow.

- Anyone else?
- Ooh er...please, sir.

And don't call me sir. Sergeant to you.

- Are you feeling sick too?
- Oh, no, Sergeant.

Um... I want some leave.

Leave? Why, you've only just arrived, son.

But it's vital, Sergeant. Compassionate.
What happened...

All right, all right, you don't
have to tell the world. Copping!

- This man to see the Company Commander.
- Thank you, Sergeant.

Not now! When you're sent for.
Get back in line.

- But, Sergeant...
- Quiet!

I never did!

What's that?

Haven't you ever seen a guitar, Sergeant?
Where've you been living?

Right here, you numbskull! Where you're
gonna live for the next ten weeks!

- With that banjo out of sight!
- Banjo?

Yes. Out of sight. Understand?

- I dig.
- You'll dig, all right.

I'll see to that.

- We've met.
- Yes, Sergeant.

And no more skylarking, right?
Or you're for it, got it?

Yes.

Sergeant.

Corporal! Empty bed!

- Where's that man?
- Er...I don't know, Sergeant.

- What's his name?
- His name's Golightly.

- I might have known it. Find him!
- Sergeant.

Golightly!

At the double!
- Private Golightly!

I'm so sorry.

Hello. Did someone call?

- Golightly, where have you been?
- Must I say?

Come here!

At the double!

Where have you been?

Well, I...
..got locked in somewhere.

You see, I... Oh, dear.
Have you hurt yourself?

- I've got some lotion here.
- Quiet, the lot of you!

Oh, do stop shouting, please.

- You there!
- Is that remark addressed to me?

- Stand to attention when I'm talking!
- Why?

Why?
Do as you're told, you're in the army, son!

Oh, not quite. I'm still a civilian.
With civilian rights.

Don't shout, please.

What is your name?

Please.

Bailey. James Bailey.

- How do you do?
- Fine. Absolutely bloody fine.

But I'll feel even better
once you're in uniform.

Thank you, Sergeant.

All right, carry on, Corporal.

As you were.

The Sergeant doesn't seem to like us.

I wonder why.

I dunno. Why does it happen to me?
Isn't there any justice?

You don't want to worry, Sergeant.
It'll be all right.

It'll be what? You were there. You saw them.

Out of 24 men,
I'm lumbered with one hypochondriac,

one natural-born candidate
for the glasshouse,

a rock 'n' roller, a shadow of a man
haunted by Lord knows what,

and a popsy-chasing layabout,

and some idiot who gets himself locked in...
well, you know where.

Yes, but I mean, look...

Any one of those clots
could sabotage the squad!

But I've got 'em all! About turn.

We're 24 per cent non-effective
before we start!

How in the name of
Aldershot can it work out?

Well, it's got to.
Your reputation depends on it.

My reputation, my foot!

What about my 50 quid
riding on that lot, eh?

No, that's true. Oh, well.
There's only one thing for it.

Chase the living daylights out of them.

Oh, no, no, no. That's no good.
That'd be fatal.

Half the mob in the guardroom's
no good to me.

- Yes, but Sergeant...
- Will you have hush!

No, Copping, we've got to be...subtle.

Subtle.

We must be kind. Considerate.

- Kind?
- Yes.

These are delicate blooms, Copping.

- Are they?
- Yes.

Hello. You must be the new lot.

- Greetings, cat.
- Cat?

No, my name's not Cat.

- Are you in our platoon?
- No, not Cat.

Brown. Herbert Brown.

- What did you say?
- Are you in our platoon?

No. I just live here.

Yeah, I think I can understand him.

You er...received a severe blow on the head
as a child, didn't you?

No, that was my brother.

Horace, old man,
can't you forget psychiatry for one minute?

I was only trying to help him.

Oh, I don't need any help, thanks.

Well, ta-ra, fellas.
See you at the NAAFI perhaps.

- Hello, corp.
- Don't get lost.

- 'Ere, Corporal. Who was that soldier?
- Ta.

- That was no soldier, that was Herbert.
- I give up.

Don't worry, so did the army.

- Here we are, chaps. Help yourselves.
- Thank you.

I wonder where Charlie's got to. With his
wife, of course. Love will find a way.

Look here, mate. You don't really think
that that woman's on this camp, do you?

- I tell you, it's just...
- An hallucination. We know.

All right, all right. You can laugh.

I should never have let him go.

He's probably cutting his throat now.

Bleeding to death in the ablutions.

I hope not.
I have to sluice them out every morning.

I clean up everywhere in the camp.
That's my job.

- Are you a regular?
- No. National Service.

'Ere, what about your training?

Don't do it any more.

Haven't done it for... for months.

I want to try again.

Again? How many courses
have you been through?

Three. I think.

But now I...

Look.

There's my "excused webbing" chit.

My "excused marching" chit.

"Excused handling of firearms" chit.

- Chit for...
- Blimey! You're just an heap of chits!

Well, go on, say it.

I'm crackers.

- No luck?
- Does it look as if I've had any luck?

This place is vast.

I've tramped over every inch of it
and not so much as a lock of her hair.

Well, go on, say it. I'm crackers.

It was all my imagination.

Oh, well, now,
this is a great step forward, Charlie boy.

You see, now that you realise
there's something wrong with you,

well, there's a chance of a cure.

Yes, now, you are a er...

uxoriamaniac,
obsessed with the idea of marriage.

Wouldn't you be,
if you were married this morning?

Oh, shut up, please!

Who's this?
That's Herbert.

- Hello, Herbert.
- Hi.

- Let's get drunk.
- Dangerous. Dangerous!

Cor! Drinking on top of an obsession!

Why don't you shut up?

It's her! It's Mary!

He's off again. Stop him.

- Charlie!
- Mary!

Oh, Charlie!

Don't worry, miss.
I'll take care of him. Very sad case.

- He's... very, very unbalanced.
- Don't you talk that way about my husband!

Husband?

Good night, Horace.

Anything I can do for you, soldier?

Darling, how on earth did you get here?

Never mind how I got here. I'm here.

And tonight's our wedding night.

You don't mean...

Darling, you don't think I came here
just to become a NAAFI girl.

Well, no, but... but how? Where?

I mean, there's over a
dozen blokes in my hut.

- Nora. She's arranged everything.
- Ooh!

Who's Nora?

- What's the matter?
- I'm in love.

Congratulations.
Must be the aura created by your happiness.

After three years wearing out my eyeballs
looking at each lot of new recruits that comes in,

at last I've found him.

- We're very happy for you.
- It was that chap that was with you.

Horace?

H... Oh.

Oh, time stands still when I say that name.

Not for Charlie and me it doesn't.

Eh? Oh!

Oh, yes, of course. Now listen.

It's all arranged.

There's a spare room,
but you've got to be ever so careful...

Darling.

Don't pretend you're asleep.

Darling. Oh, darling, don't tease.

Wouldn't you rather have the light on,
Charlie, darling?

Bashful.

Mary! Darling!

- Right. Now, then, what's wrong with you?
- It's my floating kneecap.

Take off your trousers.

- Efficient.
- We do our best.

- You can go in when you hear the bell.
- Righto.

What's wrong with you?
Fell on my elbow. I don't think it's broken.

Take off your tunic, roll up your sleeves.

I'll clean that up.

Oh!

What's the matter?

Why didn't you warn me?

Corporal! What's the matter with this man?

I-I'm sorry, Captain Clark.

Oh, the shock. Oh, my heart.
My heart, my heart.

Hurry up, man! Hurry up!

I want to change my doctor.

This isn't the National Health Service.

Either you see Captain Clark or you
don't report sick at all. It's up to you.

Left... Left wheel!

Squad halt!

Halt!

So sorry. I was miles away.

You know how it is sometimes.

Come back here,
you stupid, sleepwalking son of a...

Delicate blooms.

Private Golightly, now you really must try
and concentrate from now on. Right?

Oh, yes. I'll try.

Thank you.

All right, go in there and get your kit!

Dis...missed!

Uh-uh. Concentrate.

- Give this to the Corporal on your way out.
- Oh, thank you, ma'am.

You've come to the right place.
Just in time.

- For physiotherapy?
- For physical jerks.

Get on with training.
There's nothing wrong with your knee.

But, ma'am! I can feel it floating!

Let me know when you feel it sinking.

..one. Beret, one.

Towels - one.

Dressing, field - one.

Drawers, cellular. Pairs, three.

Knives, clasp, one.

Got everything? Sign there.

Drawers, cellular. Pairs, three.

- I say, really! Does one have to?
- Yes, one does.

Next!

- Knives, clasp - one.
- Ooh, thank you.

I say, look.

A knife for getting things out of a horse's
foot. I've always wanted one of these. Argh!

Field dressing, one.

Size of head? I haven't the faintest idea.
I never wear a hat.

- Big.
- Charming.

Next!

- One housewife.
- Housewife?

Oh, Mary.

That's the lot, boys. Tea break!

- What do you want?
- I want my kit, Sergeant.

- Why are you late?
- Well, I had to report sick.

- You fit now?
- The Doctor says I am.

She'd better be right.

- Why?
- Take a deep breath.

You're about to become the fastest kittedout
soldier in the British Army. Hey, boys!

One recruit coming up! Full kit,
on the double! Before you go to tea!

OK, boys?

Right, let's go!

Cor!

- Hey, mate.
- Hm?

- Do me a favour, please.
- What's that?

Point me in the direction
of my barrack room.

Ta. Right.

Left, right, left, right,
left, right, right wheel!

What's the matter with you?

Get into line up there, will you?

Platoon...

..halt!

Stand still! What's the
matter with that man?

Moving about?
What do you think it is, a dance floor?

Platoon, left...turn!

All present and correct, Sergeant.

Platoon, stand at ease!

Stand easy.

Now you're about to meet
your Company Commander, Captain Potts.

Some men live for drink,

and some for women.

Quite frankly, I don't know why
some men bother to live at all.

There's no doubt, however,
why Captain Potts lives.

It's for efficiency.

He's known throughout the command
as Potts the Perfect. The Perfect Potts.

All right, that's enough, that's enough.

Now you lads are in
uniform for the first time.

And I think you'll all agree with me
that you don't yet look like soldiers.

- It would be stupid of me to expect that.
- It would that. He's very fair.

That man there!

Private Golightly,
someone should have told you.

You're not to talk when you're on parade.
It's not the custom. So don't do it. Understand?

- Oh, yes, I understand.
- Right.

- Now, where was I? What was I saying?
- How stupid you are.

Stop talking on parade!

Or I'll carve the Queen's Regulations
all over your scalp!

Didn't you hear what I just told you,
Golightly?

Right.

Now, it would be nice
when Captain Potts arrives

if you could stand at ease
and attention properly.

Show him what you can do. Be efficient.

So we'll try it once or twice, shall we?

Corporal!

Demonstrate.

Now pay attention, all of you.

Stand at ease!

Attention!

Oh, good! Very good.

All right, Corporal.

Now, let's see what you can do.

Platoon, brace yourselves, brace yourselves.

Platoon, attention!

Private Golightly,
don't go quite so lightly next time.

Very good!

Joke's over! Joke's over!

Platoon, stand at ease!

Attention!

Get up, you clumsy, quarter-witted,
half-baked mooncalf!

One more hammer-toed move like that
and I'll...

Er...50 quid.

Delicate blooms.

All right, now. Here comes Captain Potts.
Do your best, lads.

Company, at ease.

Platoon, attention!

Well, all of you are half asleep!

Like a lot of flamingos.

Not half as clever.

Flamingos go to sleep on one leg.

You lot are all asleep on two!

- How many legs does a flamingo sleep on?
- Erm...

- Slow, slow.
- Quick, quick, slow.

Silence!

Alert mind plus responsive body
equals efficient soldier.

- Who are you?
- Galloway, sir.

Useless answer.
Two factors omitted - number and rank.

A soldier without a number and rank
is like a man without a soul.

- Who are you?
- 4277309, Private Galloway, sir.

- What, no Christian name? Are you heathen?
- Andy. A.

Slow. Watch this man, Sergeant. Slow-witted.

Stand up. 'Shun.

At ease. 'Shun. At ease.
'Shun. At ease. 'Shun.

Still in dreamland.

- Do you dream?
- Yes, sir.

- What about?
- Blood.

- Whose?
- Mine.

Timorous spirit of aggression needs rousing.

You should dream of the enemy's blood.
Close your eyes.

- What comes into your head?
- Blood.

- Whose?
- Yours. Er... M-m-mine! Mine, sir.

- The emeny's...
- Be decisive!

Try sleeping on your stomach. Proper rest
plus exercise equals integrated instincts.

- Who are you?
- 4277312, Private Sage, C, sir.

- Now say it backwards.
- Er... Er...

- Come on, come on, come on!
- 3-1-2... Er...7-3...3-7...

If you can't think backwards,
how can you think the proper way?

Watch this man.
Rigid mental processes achieve flexibility.

Flexibility plus discipline
equals initiative.

It does, sir? I mean, it does, sir.

It does, yes.

- You.
- Yes?

- What? Who are you?
- James Bailey. BSc, Economics.

- Your number!
- It was given to me. I earned my degree.

- Your rank!
- Well, that's a matter of opinion.

- Look at this, man!
- You've nothing to complain of.

Look at the suit they've given me!
Look at this.

Plumped on my head,
without even the pretence of fitting.

As a good soldier,
I accepted it without complaint.

As a good officer, what do you think?

Well, pride in appearance plus confidence
in one's superior equals good start.

- Fall out. Get yourself a new hat.
- Excuse me.

What?

- Well? Who are you?
- 4277298, Private Heywood, M, sir.

- Heywood? Ever heard of General Heywood?
- My father, sir.

- Really? Rear Admiral Heywood?
- My grandfather, sir.

- Air Commodore Heywood.
- My uncle, sir.

Quick test. What first comes into your head?
- Women, sir.

A soldier, by tradition and instinct.
Watch this man.

Right, left, right.

Atten...tion!

Platoon, right...turn!

CORPORAL COPPInG:
I want you to go in there

and stand by your beds
for a hut and a kit inspection!

Platoon, dis...missed!

Well, here we are, chaps.

Here's how we lay out our kit.

One diagram among 24 people?
Not very helpful.

'Allo, Jim! Are you joining us?

I thought you'd be in the cooler by now,
all nice and individualistic.

I changed my mind.

Sociologically, it's important
for me to find out

just how far one can retain
one's individuality in the army.

And biologically, it's
important I get my leave.

Oh, please, let's make this inspection good.

If anything goes wrong,
my leave might go up the spout as well.

Poor old Charlie.

Watch yourself, you big, clumsy ox.

Cut the bull, Charlie. Imagine you
being worried about keeping a bed tidy!

Get out of it.

Here you are, Horace, you'd
better check yours. Properly.

Let's see. Now for the hut.

Tables, deal - two.

Yeah.

- Here you are, you can have this.
- Oh, ta.

Would you like me to give you a hand?

I seem to have more kit than anyone else.

Pete, why don't you go and help Charlie?

OK, Miles. Thank you.

Extinguishers, fire - two.
Extinguishers, fire - two.

Peter...

- There's no fire extinguishers.
- Perhaps this place is fireproof.

Yeah, but it's not Potts-proof.

Extinguishers, fire - two, it says, and
extinguishers, fire - two, he'll want to see.

I'm not taking any chances.
Come on, we're gonna borrow a couple.

Oh, bear up, dear.

Perhaps he's had his interview for leave by
now and you'll be off together in no time.

Better late than never.

Oh, I shouldn't go on like this.
At least I'm married.

- While you...
- Oh, I'm suffering the pangs of first love.

Painful, but...oh, it's exquisite.

Don't worry about me, dear. Or Charlie.

Oh! There he is, look!

Oh, Mary! Oh, I'm so relieved to see you!

- Is everything all right, darling?
- No.

- No fire extinguishers.
- Fire extinguishers?

Everything depends on them.

I'm only borrowing them. I... You see...
Goodbye.

Ta-ta.

Heywood. We must concentrate on Heywood.

I wasn't wrong.
He's got officer written all over him.

Yes. If we can get him recommended
for Officer Cadet, we're home and dry.

And it'll help towards Champion
Platoon rating and maybe...

- Carry on, Sergeant.
- Very good, sir.

Stand by your beds!

- Sergeant?
- Sir.

Turn it off! Turn it off!

Turn it off! Turn it off! Turn it off!

Left, right! Left, right!

Party, halt!

Private Sage, sir.

- Ah, Sage.
- Sir.

Application for leave on
your first day, man? Why?

Compassionate reasons, sir.

- You see, my girl...
- You want leave to get married, do you?

Oh, no, sir. No, sir.
It's just that I want to...arrange things.

Oh...

You dirty rotter.

Oh, no, sir. Please, sir.
You don't understand.

I understand perfectly.

Respectable girl plus sex-mad youth

multiplied by a charabanc outing
equals three lives ruined. See the chaplain.

Oh, but I've already seen the chaplain, sir.

- Is this true, Sergeant?
- No, sir. Not to my knowledge, sir.

You'd better watch yourself, Sage.
Lying won't help.

- I'm not lying, sir.
- Then why say you'd seen the chaplain?

Well, I have seen the chaplain, sir.
N-Not this chaplain, sir.

Oh! Oh, army chaplain not good enough, eh?

Oh, no, sir. Please listen, sir.

Well, come on, then! Sharp! Sharp!

- I'm already married, sir.
- Oh, and stringing along another girl!

No. No, sir. I am married, sir, but...

I'm not married, sir,
if you know what I mean.

I don't know.
How can you be married and not married? Eh?

It's easy, sir,
when you got called up on your wedding day.

Oh, well... Yes, well,
I think I'm in the picture now, Sage.

Manoeuvres cancelled, what?

I should have applied for a deferment, sir,
but it got all mixed up and...

Oh, please, sir. If I could just have a few
hours' er...days' leave, sir. Oh, please, sir.

Well, I think in the circumstances,
Sergeant, seven days' leave.

- Any questions?
- Now, sir?

- No, no, no, no. Carry on, Sergeant.
- Very good, sir.

Party, left turn! Left, right, left,
right, left, right, left, right.

Get them up. Come on, come on!
Faster than that!

Up, up, up!

All right, stop!

All right, now listen.

When I say move, go through those beams
and round behind the inner semicircle.

Move!

COPPInG: All right now, move! Quick!

First four up the ropes. First four up
the ropes. Quick, quick, quick! Up you go.

That's it. Come on, get up there.

Corporal, have I got to
go all the way up there?

- What's the matter with you? Sick?
- What, me?

- Come on, get up.
- All right. Ooh!

- What are you doing?
- Ooh! The strain!

Get off!

Corporal. Corporal!

Corporal!

Oh, no!

- No hope.
- Not today.

You're all right.

But...Doctor! I can feel a definite thump.

- Regularly? A boom-boom-boom?
- Boom-boom-boom. That's it!

Yes.

Strong, that's your heart beating normally.

- Hello.
- Hello.

- Lovely day.
- Passable kind of day, I suppose.

If you haven't got great spots
in front of your eyes.

Oh, never mind.

I'm sure it won't interfere with your
reading your letters when the post comes.

- Letters? Post? Me?
- Why not?

Don't tell me that you haven't
got a girlfriend or um...a wife?

Me?

You haven't?

Oh, good!

Er...

From a honeymoon back to this.
Must be terrible.

We'll have a whip-round,
buy him a hot-water bottle.

I say, he does look pale.

Wouldn't you? Thinking of
nine more weeks without your little wifey?

How was it, Charlie boy?

Well, if you really want to know...

We spent a good deal of time
in labour exchanges,

fixing Mary up with a proper temporary job
in the NAAFI here for the next nine weeks.

Anyone for bayonet practice?

Right, now! Think of
all the things you love!

Freedom. The day of your release.

The Cup Final.

Me. Anything you like.

This evil monster stands between you and it.

He'll kill you rather than see you get it.

So you have to kill him. You have no choice.

Corporal.

Argh! Argh! Argh!

- Right, you're away. That's it.
- All right, now. One at a time.

Remember you're soldiers,
fighting for everything you love.

Fuelled with noble savagery.

All right, let's have ya!

En garde!

- Charge!
- Oh, dear.

On your feet!

Catch!

Right, next!

En garde! Charge!

Get back in line, will you? Not that way.
Round the back of the dummy.

All right, next!

En garde! Charge!

Argh! Argh!

Pick it up.

En garde! Charge!

Next!

En garde! Charge!

Don't you think this is a trifle out of date
in a world bristling with H-bombs, Sergeant?

Shut up!

Now, then. You beast! Pest! Commoner!

Have at you, varlet!
Hand back that Cup Final ticket!

Private Bailey, in answer to your question,
I'd back him against the H-bomb any day.

You beast! Peasant! Commoner!

Don't just stand there. Help me get him out.

Take that! And that!

- Let go, this is my turn.
- Let go! Do you want to kill someone?

Now this is nice and slow,
so even you lot can manage.

All right, Corporal. Demonstrate.

Now pay attention.

Slow...march!

All right, Corporal.

Now this is used on funerals.

Work at it. If you're very lucky,
you'll be doing it at mine!

You there!

Now let's try it, shall we?

Platoon!

Platoon, to atten...tion!

Left turn!

Slow...march!

Left...right.

Left...right.

- Left...
- Ooh!

- You kicked me!
- I didn't mean it. It was your fault!

Halt!

Blind, lame, that's what
you are! All of you!

Now stand still!

Now, as you were. Right, dress off.

At the double!

You misbegotten misfits!

What do you think this is?

What do you think I'm made of? Iron?

I ought to bung the lot
of you in the guardroom.

For persistent, unrelenting, blundering,
malicious stupidity!

I'll paralyse the lot of you!

Look at you! Standing as if you're pregnant!

It wouldn't surprise me,
the way I'm mucked about.

- Shut up!
- Sergeant.

All right. Let's try it again, shall we?

Platoon! Platoon, attention!

All right, pay attention.

This morning, we're going on with lesson one
on the light machine gun

commonly known as the Bren.

Now, during this period,
I'm gonna show you how to strip it...

..and assemble it.

Right, now for normal stripping,
we divide the gun into four major parts.

Number one...

What's the matter with you, soldier?

Smell of the oil.

I've got an allergy to it.

Well, I've heard of some dodges
in my time... Er...excuse me.

What's your trouble?

Well, just a suggestion.

Why doesn't Private Strong
change places with me?

Are you taking the mickey?

Well, let's see, shall we?

Private Strong is affected by
the odour of oil, I am not.

I make a suggestion
intended to help him and you.

Is that taking the mickey...

..Sergeant?

- Does it really turn you up, son?
- Something rotten.

Yeah.

What are you sitting down there for?
Change places with the man at the back!

Now, then. Number one.

Remove the piston group and place it
on the right-hand side of the gun.

Right. Number two.

The barrel group. Lift up the
barrel-locking nut as high as it'll go.

Take up the carrying handle, and ease
the barrel forward until it is clear.

And place it on the right-hand side
of the piston group.

Number three. The butt.

Lift up the gun gently,
and pull the butt back away from the body,

and lay it on the right-hand side
of the barrel group.

Right, number four.

To remove the last two groups,

grip the bipod in the left hand,
and turn the body of the gun towards you,

and it'll come apart.

Place the body of the gun
on the right-hand side of the butt group,

and the bipod
on the right-hand side of the body.

There you are. You now have your gun
stripped down into its four major groups.

Now are there any...

Hey, you at the back! Hey, you!

S-s-sir. Sergeant!

- What are you gawping out the window for?
- I was listening, Sergeant.

Then you'll know all about it, won't you?
Up on your feet!

Come here.

- So you know all about the Bren gun, eh?
- Yes, Sergeant.

There it is. Look at it.

- I've stripped it down for you, haven't I?
- Yes, Sergeant.

Well, put it together again!

Sergeant.

Shut up, all of you!

Well... looks as though you
was listening, after all.

- I wasn't listening.
- Eh?

I used to work in the factory
where they make these things.

- Good evening.
- Evening.

Good evening, Mrs Sage.

If you say that again,
I'll give you a thick ear!

- No-one's supposed to know.
- Oh. I'm sorry.

I'd like a bar of chocolate, please, miss.

I say! She didn't ask for the money.

Fourpence.

- Well?
- You see?

I can't keep my hand closed.

Every time I shut it, it flies open.

- Because you want it to open.
- No, I don't!

Look, this is a terrible affliction.

A hand with a will of its own!

It's... It's psychosomatic.

Or maybe it's because
tendons are like elastic.

Nonsense!

Oh! Look, this one's starting now!

Open your hands.

Listen to me, Strong!

- This is frightening!
- There's nothing wrong with your hands!

- I want an X-ray!
- Dismissed!

You've got no feeling for the sick!

I remind you I am an officer!

And I remind you that I'm a sick man!

Dismissed.

See you tomorrow.

Fire!

Number two gun! Fire!

Number three gun! Fire!

Detail, unload!

Two short of target and one outer?

That's bad. Wasteful.

This squad plus ammunition
equals increased army estimates.

- Number one gun clear, sir.
- Number two gun clear, sir.

- Number three gun clear, sir.
- Carry on, Sergeant.

Detail, change!

Number one gun, load!

I said number one gun, load! Get down.

But the ground's damp, Sergeant.
I suffer from recurrent rheumatism.

You'll suffer from life imprisonment if you don't
get down! Now get down there and load!

Number two gun, load!

Raise your back sight, man.

He said your back sight.

Number three gun, load!

Excuse me!

So sorry. I'm all thumbs today.

Champion Platoon.

Carry on, Corporal.

All right. Now just like that.
One at a time.

No delays. Let's have you.

- Thank you, Sergeant.
- Get back in line!

Right, next!

All right, next one!

Next!

Jump, man, jump!

Jump, man, jump!

Come on, jump! It's all right for you!
You haven't had a go yet!

- My bones are weak.
- Jump!

Let go! Let go!

Let go!

Nora would have loved to have been
on that rope with Horace.

Short of being trapped together,
she'll never get with him.

He even avoids going into the NAAFI now.

Oh, Charlie.
I do wish we could do something for Nora.

She's so terribly unhappy.

Darling, I'd like to help,
but if he won't even talk to her...

He could be...what did you say, trapped?

Did I say that?
What are you going to trap him with, a net?

- A rope.
- Oh, now wait a minute, darling.

- We mustn't interfere.
- Ssh, darling. I'm thinking.

- You haven't finished the bread yet.
- Oh, never mind about that.

But you've got an important
message to deliver.

From Sergeant Grimshawe.

I was told to r-report here f-for fatigues.

Oh.

Well, come on in, then.

You can help with these, if you like.

Jim, what's that word?

Obtuse.

- What's it mean?
- Unteachable.

Oh.

That's me.

I wish I was like you. You're clever.

Knowledge in a nutshell, it says.

But I can't get it into my nut.

Jim...I've been meaning
to ask you for weeks.

- What's the secret?
- What secret?

How to learn.

There's no secret, you... you just learn.

I don't.

I've been in three squads
and I don't seem to learn nothing.

Take the rifle, for instance.

Sergeant Russell says
with one of these things in my mitt,

I'm a danger to everyone except the enemy.

- Then he's an idiot.
- No, I'm the idiot.

Sergeant Russell said I was.

So did Sergeant O'Brien.

Do you mean to tell me that neither of them
could show you a simple thing

like the workings of a rifle?

Oh, they showed me.
So did Sergeant Grimshawe.

But I was always at the back,
and they don't half talk fast.

Now, look. There's nothing to it.

For a start, this is the safety catch.

Now, nothing can go
wrong once it's this way.

Oh!

That way.

- What are you on fatigues for?
- Cos I wouldn't let go of a rope.

- You don't talk much, do you?
- What's there to talk about?

- Oh...life.
- Life.

Huh! Infection.

Decay...and death, that's life.

- What's your name?
- What's it to you?

I'm just an anonymous blob of khaki,
that's all. I'm just a...

No, you're not. I know your name anyway.

- How?
- I made it my business to find out.

Why?

Can't you guess?

There. That's it.

- Looks easy enough.
- It is.

Actually, it's quite well designed.

Let me have a go.

- Like that, Jim?
- That's it.

Cor!

I've been trying to tell you
ever since I first saw you.

- You're on my toe.
- Oh, I'm sorry.

- But you're in my heart. Here.
- Don't! You'll do yourself an injury!

Oh, what does it matter? If you don't
respond to me, I might as well be dead!

Oh, Horace, I'm a woman.

Violent and passionate and I'm yours!

- Let's got on with the fatigues.
- There aren't any. It was a trick.

- A trick?
- Oh, I was desperate to be alone with you.

The message from the Sergeant -
it was from me.

What? Charlie!

Charlie, you rotten sw...

Oh, Horace! Oh, I do love you!

What? I'll murder him. I will.

I'll breathe germs on him.

Why are you so frightened of love, Horace?

Let me get out.

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...half an hour?

Wh...

- What's your name?
- Oh! Oh, at last!

It's Nora.

- Nora.
- Mm.

Good night!

Oh, Horace! Come back!

Ah, there's nothing to it.

With his background,
Heywood will be an absolute cakewalk for...

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 I.

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 I, sir?

What? Well, I...

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!
- I beg your pardon?

Take your hands out of your pockets.

Oh, I'm so sorry, Sergeant.

Get your hair cut in the morning.

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.

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.

Private Horace Strong.

He has reported sick
every day for ten weeks.

His ailments are varied and elusive,

so far as I, 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, I... I do apologise, ma'am. I...

I've misjudged you.
You've got a real feeling for the sick.

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

All right, turn around.

Now, breathe deeply.

In, out.

- Say 99.
- 99.

- 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!

Good.

How's that?

Remarkable! Stand up.

Stand still.

Cough.

- 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'll see something, ma'am.

Only your blood pressure.

- 120.
- That's high!

- 80.
- That's low!

120 over 80.
Textbook reading. It's quite normal.

But, Doctor! Please!

The blood's singing in my ears!
I'm not surprised. It should be very happy.

Stand there.

- 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.

I 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?

Ill? 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 I squeeze her.

- OK?
- I'll 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 13 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. It isn't given to every man to achieve
his life's ambition. Certainly not to me.

However, I hope when you get the other one
up, you'll have better luck than I had.

- Good night.
- Good night, sarge.

Don't be daft, Herbert.

Characters like Grimshawe don't leave
the army. They can't. They've taken root.

Listen, I heard 'em talking about it.

Tomorrow's his last day in the army.

Well, best of British luck to the old b...

Oh, all right, then.

Perhaps he isn't such a bad old buzzard.

Best sergeant I ever served under.

Let's give him a present.

I know what he'd like. Us.
The Champion Platoon tomorrow.

What a hope.

Aye, he would like that. I heard him saying
just that to Corporal Copping.

No, it's impossible.

In any case, why should we knock ourselves
out after the way he's chased us around?

- When did he ever chase you, Andy?
- Or any of us, for that matter.

He's yelled a lot,
but sergeants can't talk quietly.

If he'd wanted to, he could have had
all of us inside over and over again.

Yeah, that's right. I wonder why he didn't.

Excuse me.

Perhaps he's been trying
a sociological experiment too.

- Eh?
- As Miles said.

Grimshawe could have made life purgatory
for us. He didn't.

- Why?
- Why, Jim?

My theory is this.

With us, his last platoon,
Grimshawe tries the experiment

of deliberately putting a brake
on his disciplinary powers,

relying, instead, purely on his personality.

In my opinion,
such an experiment deserves success.

Boys...we shall be
Champion Platoon tomorrow.

You're barmy.

We can but try. If the others
will cooperate. What do you say?

- Go on, boys! Try!
- OK.

What have we got to lose?

Nothing.
Come on, let's tell the others.

Blimey. We'd forgotten Horace.
That's torn it. Wait a minute.

Horace, we've decided to knock their eyes
out tomorrow, to come right out on top.

OK.

You know, everything.

Ropes, bayonet, grenades. The lot.

Yeah.

Ropes...

..bayonet...grenades.

The lot.

OK.

Cor! Nora!

You understand what I'm saying, Corporal,
don't you? I...

- Well?
- You're a man short, Sergeant.

- That's right. One man sick. Appendicitis.
- I'm taking his place.

- Who sent you?
- No-one. I'm volunteering.

On top of everything, this!

Well, what have we got to lose?

- All right, Brown, get in there.
- Thank you, Sergeant.

Well, I shan't be needing
these chits any more, Corporal.

I hope he's got his braces on.

Platoon!

Platoon, attention!

Move to the left in threes.

Left turn!

By the right, quick march!

I don't believe it.

Come on.

Left, left, left!

Number three gun, fire!

- 15 bulls.
- 15 bulls?

- Maximum.
- Maximum.

Well, carry on, Sergeant.

Detail!

Detail, change!

- Number one gun clear, sir!
- Number two gun clear, sir!

All right, boys! Show 'em what you can do.

En garde! Charge!

Charge!

Charge!

En garde! Charge!

En garde! Charge!

En garde!

Very military.

Well done, lads. You're doing well.

And remember, it's our last chance.

So do your best.

Right? And good luck to all of you.

Right, brace up. Brace up.

Platoon!

Platoon, attention!

Platoon, slope arms!

Move to the left in threes!

Left turn!

By the right, quick march!

Parade...halt!

Doesn't Charlie look smart?

But look at my Horace.

Parade!

Parade... 'shun!

Slope arms!

Band, attention!

In threes, right...turn!

By the left, quick march!

Left turn!

Parade, left!

Number one platoon, eyes right!

Number two platoon, eyes right!

Eyes right!

Parade...halt!

Left turn!

Shoulder arms!

Stand at...ease!

Prize-giving for the 60th intake.

The Champion Platoon of the 60th intake

is Able Platoon.

Platoon Sergeant, Sergeant Grimshawe.

Here!

50 quid.

Cor blimey!

Well, this is the last
time I shall see you all.

You're as fine a body of men
as I ever have seen.

I'm proud of you. Broken all records.

Special recommendations. Outstanding. Sage.

- Sir!
- Recommended for training as armourer.

Sir!

- Bailey.
- Sir!

- Recommended for Education Corps.
- Sir!

- Strong.
- Sir!

Recommended for Physical
Training Instructor. Sir!

Brown.

We're sorry to lose you. But heartiest
congratulations. Remarkable persistence.

Succeeded in passing your preliminary
training test on the eve of your release.

Excuse me, sir. I'm not leaving altogether.

When my leave's over, I'm coming back.
As a regular.

Ah, we... What?

Oh, magnificent show!

Well, enjoy your leave, Brown.
You deserve it. Thank you, sir.

But all the lot of you,
all work and no play makes Jack...

Well, I think we all know what the army says
about Jack, what?

- Carry on, Sergeant.
- Sir!

Platoon!

Attention!

Platoon, dismissed!

Well, thank you very much.

And er...if you're ever Leighton Buzzard
way, you know, feel like looking in,

always pleased to see you.

Thank you, sir. I'll remember that.

- Goodbye, sir.
- Goodbye.

Good luck.

Where's the Sergeant?

Good old Herbert!

Excuse me, Sergeant. Er...this is for you.

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