Carry On Sergeant

---

# MENDELSSOHN:
Wedding March

"Congratulations.

May all your troubles be little ones

and remember, the first 10 years are the worst.

With love from Granny."

(Laughter)

"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?

(Snoring)

(Snores)

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?

lt 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 l.

How did you pass the medical? Influence?

Medical. Ha! A farce.

A criminal farce!

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

Army doctors. (Scoffs)

I tell you, mate, two of everything

you should have two of and you're in.

- We don't deserve your congratulations.

- lt 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 alI had

a Champion Platoon at one time or another.

- So shall l. 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 l 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.

(Engine starts)

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

- Finest depot in the command, sir.

- That's encouraging.

(Brakes squeak)

Well, Sergeant, where do l report?

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

Very nice too,

but l 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'lI see the MO.

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

Go round the back, go on!

Round the side! Go on!

(Tuts) Yes, and about time too, I'm thinking.

(Knock)

- 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,

l 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, l believe him.

Please! Do you mind belting up?

You don't know nothing about psychiatry.

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

You know, there are certain chaps

who are always being chased by women.

- l know exactly how you feel.

- Thank you!

Judging by their names,

they should be a fine lot.

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 l leave,

and possibly a slight percentage for you if l 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.

l 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 itseIf this time.

l 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 l report sick, please?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes