Bank Holiday

(Rain falling)

(Strikes)

(Hooters blaring)

(Big Ben continues)

Mr Howard?

Wouldn't it be better

if you went home?

No, l'd, er...l'd rather wait.

There's no further news yet.

- How long will it be?

- Not for some time, l'm afraid.

l'd rather wait.

- Can l get you a cup of tea?

- No, thanks.

Nurse, would you...

would you give my wife a message?

Of course.

What do you want me to say?

Well, would you tell her that...

Just give her my love. That's all.

l suppose you have fellows like me often,

making exactly the same fuss.

- Must happen every day.

- Yes.

But they don't all try

and burn down the hospital.

Oh, l'm terribly sorry!

l do hope it hasn't left a mark.

You know, Mr Howard,

l've loved nursing your wife.

- And she's told me such a lot about you.

- l hope it hasn't been too bad.

- Well, not too bad.

- What did she say?

Oh, that you work too hard

and that you smoke too much.

And that you never know

which is your own toothbrush.

You must come to see us when it's all over.

You'll be able to laugh at me

for making a fool of myself.

l shan't laugh at you.

l can just imagine how you feel...

- Are you married?

- No.

- Engaged?

- Yes. At least...

- You know all about being in love, then?

- Oh, yes.

l'm old-fashioned. l still think

it's the most important thing in life.

And the only sane thing. When it's real,

not the sort of thing you read about.

Yes, l think that too. But perhaps

we're not old enough to know.

Perhaps when we're old and grey,

we'll be disillusioned.

No, l don't think so.

Besides, l feel old and grey now.

You soon will be

if you go on worrying like this.

We shall need Dr Connor.

Will you get him at once?

Nurse, bring the patient to theatre.

We have to operate.

Sorry.

He brought you some flowers.

And he asked me to give you his love.

Was he like you expected, Nurse?

l mean, you weren't disappointed?

Not a bit.

He's awfully nice, isn't he?

Perhaps l exaggerated

in telling you he was so good-looking.

But... Well, l think

he's quite good-looking.

- Don't you?

- Yes, quite good-looking.

- (Sobs)

- Now, Mrs Howard, come on.

lt's not so bad really.

(Bicycle bells ring, car horns toot)

- What chance has she got, Doctor?

- Very little, l'm afraid.

- Child will be all right though.

- l'm sorry for the husband.

Yes. Why don't you knock off?

You want to get away, don't you?

- Yes, but l must see the case through.

- Where are you going?

Oh, only to Bexborough.

- With family?

- No, just with friends.

Oh, the same friends

that wait for you every evening?

- Yes, Doctor, exactly the same.

- l don't understand you young people.

- Why don't you get married?

- lt isn't easy on my salary.

- That's a young man's worry.

- His isn't much better.

- Why, what's he do?

- He works in an office.

- And we both have to help at home.

- You know your own business best.

After all, we can't wait forever.

Besides, you never know

what's going to happen in the world.

You've got to try and be happy

while you can.

l'm afraid we were born

20 years too early, Sister.

Speak for yourself, Doctor. The conductor

still calls me ''Miss'' on the bus.

Oh?

(Woman laughs)

(Women giggling)

(Child) Please, let us past!

(Woman) Oh, my parcel!

(Woman shrieking)

- Ooh, the paper's torn.

- l'm awfully sorry.

You will be if you've spoilt

my new sunsuit!

Why don't you look

where you're going?

Don't worry, dear. l've got a needle.

l'll mend it...

Doreen, it'll be all right, don't worry.

There's that man again.

Woman's World, Peg's Paper,

Betty's Own and Woman's Weekly.

- l'll never be able to wear it.

- Doreen, don't, it's torn ever so little.

Yes, but just where it matters.

(Man) Bexborough nonstop!

Have your tickets ready, please.

Come on now. Steady there now, steady.

Which do you want, Peg's or Betty's?

Aunt Mabel does the answers

to the correspondence in that one.

Yes, l once wrote and asked how to stop

my fianc from going off with another girl.

l didn't get an answer for three weeks

and by that time, he'd gone.

Ooh. (Giggles)

(Men chattering)

Doreen, look,

there's that awful Miss Mayfair!

- Bit to the right, Miss Mayfair.

- Hold it!

That's fine. Thank you.

Can you beat that? They're

photographing her for the papers.

- Thank you, Miss Mayfair.

- A little higher, please.

Little bit to the right.

Sauce!

Anybody would think she was

Miss England already, the airs she has.

Don't upset yourself.

lf they knew who you were,

they'd be photographing you.

- Go and tell them who l am.

- Ooh, l don't like to.

l'd do anything for you,

but l should laugh.

You are a soppy thing!

Doreen, l know,

you stand here and look casual,

put one foot on the step

and show your leg...

- Oh, Milly, no.

- You'll have to show more tomorrow.

- Thank you.

- Thank you very much.

Here she is, Miss Fulham.

Look, Miss Fulham!

Wotcher, Fulham!

- lt's no good. Pull your skirt down.

- Beasts!

They'll grin the other side of their silly faces

when you're Miss England.

- Come on, we'll lose our places.

- Where's my sunsuit?

There, l put it quite safe, dear.

(Man) Nonstop Bexborough!

Nonstop Bexborough!

- Porter, put my luggage in here.

- Bexborough, nonstop! Bexborough!

- Did you see that?

- Women like that

ought to be whipped through the streets.

- (Train whistle blows)

- Nonstop Bexborough!

(Passengers cheering)

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