Original subtitles

(NURSES TALKING)

NURSE VEVEERS: Oh, nurse!

Don't think, just pedal. That's the trick of it.

Don't think!

Think and you'll fall!

(NURSES LAUGHING)

Laura, you can do it!

-That's it. -I just can't turn!

That's good. Keep on going, pedal, pedal, pedal, gently.

Good morning, gentlemen.

Let's get to work, shall we? The 13th Labour of Hercules.

Follow me.

How often should a mattress be turned?

-Every two days? -That's wrong!

The exam's in a week, Laura, have you done ANY revision?

-Every 24 hours. -Correct.

To which side of a lint dressing do you apply the ointment?

Wretched exam. Ethel?

Some of you may have heard that I'm known as the prince of beggars.

Well...

This is a begging letter.

And on the response to your copies of this letter,

all 20,000 of them, hangs the future of The London.

It really is deplorable that England's largest hospital is cramped in every direction

for want of funds. Our senior doctors are not paid

and all our junior staff are underpaid.

So a-begging we must go.

I'm reminded of the story of the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dyke.

By his brave act he saved his family's village

and quite a few windmills to boot, no doubt.

Now, your letters are little fingers in the dyke.

Stemming the tide of debt

with 20,000 little fingers.

SEQUEIRA: There's Mr McKay's rodent ulcer,

Mrs Williamson's carbuncle,

and there's Frank Gorman's lupus,

why don't you see to him first?

Yes, Dr Sequeira.

Jump up, Frank. Make yourself comfortable.

You know the routine by now.

It's looking much better.

You're handsome, aren't you?

-Break a few hearts? -A few mirrors, more like.

Don't say that!

Lie still, now.

Here it comes.

(MACHINE HUMS)

I hope you don't mind, Miss, but I've brought you something.

-What's that, then? -Just a little gift.

I made it myself. Well, my brothers helped me.

It's wrapped up- over there on the chair.

It's a kaleidoscope.

-Oh, I've heard about these! -You hold it up to the light.

(BELL TOLLS) MAN: Stand aside, please! Stand aside.

-What's happened? -I can't move.

It's my joints. It's everywhere.

Go on, I need to know what's happened.

-We should have been in for half an hour. -In where?

-The airlock. -I'm sorry, I don't understand.

-Morphia? -And the junkers.

-Go on. -Little bog-trotter,

he just wanted to get the next shift down!

-You said something about an airlock? -40 feet down.

-Down where? -The Thames. We're building the Rotherhithe Tunnel.

-Underwater? -Yeah. We're in a box at the bottom of the river.

-Right, but it's pressurised? -We're 40 feet down!

Course it's bloody pressurised! Ah!

This is decompression sickness.

Fetch Dr Hill. No, on second thoughts, we'll take them to him.

These two, move.

(ECHOES) That's my lot, Mr Greenwood.

15 lbs per square inch.

Sample collected.

Normal atmosphere, Mr Greenwood?

(HISSING)

-Normal atmosphere, Dr Hill. -Then open up.

Bit of a whiff, I'm afraid. Had asparagus last night.

(MEN SHOUT AND GROAN)

-Dr Hill? -Culpin, old chap!

To what do I owe the pleasure?

-Decompression sickness. -How deep were they?

-Bottom of the Thames, 40 feet. -They came up straight away?

Near enough. They were in a caisson, whatever that is.

-How long were you down for? -Eight-hour shift.

Get them in, now!

(GROANING)

HILL: 40 feet for eight hours...

Three and a half atmospheres, Mr Greenwood!

Oh! I before E except after C.

Honestly, where DO they go to school?

Good shot, Morris.

Could you do that again?

People used to think it was oxygen poisoning,

but it's got nothing to do with oxygen.

The culprit, you see, is nitrogen.

At high pressure, nitrogen saturates body tissue.

Come up too fast, it...

bubbles in the blood like champagne. Pop!

Lower the pressure by 15 lbs per square inch every half-hour?

Will they live?

If it's in their joints and muscles, they'll recover.

If it gets into their hearts...

That's your lot, Frank. Well, don't touch it.

I'll just fetch your dressings.

It's my last time tomorrow, my last treatment, I mean.

Oh, that's wonderful.

-Is it? -Of course!

You know what? I almost wish it was back. The...

Because then I could carry on seeing YOU.

I'll just fetch your dressing.

-What is it, Frank? -I love you, Miss.

Look, I'm...

I'm really touched, Frank.

And you're very, very sweet.

But I'm far too old for you.

So we were in Hamburg, fund-raising,

and of course none of the waiters spoke any English.

Would you fetch the waste paper basket for me, Morris? Thanks.

When I asked what was for supper, they couldn't tell me.

So I started to flap my arms about like this, you see,

and cried "cock-a-doodle-do", and they all said, "Ja, ja, ja!"

and they rushed off to the kitchen.

Came back with veal!

Anyway. If you'd pick it up again for me, please Morris?

That's it. Good, good. Now kneel down.

Come on chop, chop.

That's it. Good. Now back a little.

That's good. Perfect.

Really, Mr Holland, is this entirely necessary?

If I can traipse round Europe making tedious speeches to tedious royalty,

the very least you can do is be a funnel.

A funnel?

Yes. Now put it on your head. Hold it like a cariatid. Go on!

Very good. Now, Morris,

I'm on the omnibus going down the Whitechapel Road.

Vroom, vroom.

Every passing lamppost is being fitted with a funnel.

A funnel!

Precisely, and I would read the sign,

"Lob a coin from the top of the omnibus

"and save a life at The London."

Here goes.

(COIN CLINKS) Howzat?

(HE LAUGHS) Very good!

Two atmospheres, Mr Greenwood.

(MACHINE HISSING)

All well in there?

(HE LAUGHS)

What's so bleeding funny, then?

Stuck in a box at the bottom of the Thames.

Stuck in a box at home.

Stuck in a box in hospital. Jack-in-the-box, that's me.

(BOTH LAUGH)

(HE COUGHS) It's hot as hell in here!

Not for me, it ain't.

-Not where I am. -Sat next to me in a tin can?

-Close your eyes, Stan. -Uh?

I'm standing on the corner of the Old Kent Road

and Page's Walk.

I can feel the sun on my face.

Nice cool breeze, though.

-You with me? -Yeah. I'm right here.

Now then. Let's go for a little stroll down Bermondsey.

Work up a bit of a thirst.

The Old Green Man, eh, what do you say?

-Yeah! Don't mind if I do. -In through the parlour bar.

"Evening, squire".

-What's yours, Stan? -Pint of Bass, please, Bri.

"Mine's a light and bitter, please, Bogie."

Now. Look at the head on that, Stan.

-Cheers, mate. -Cheers, Brian.

Ahh, lovely!

(HE LAUGHS)

Here.

Just a sip, Mr Hooley. It's stout, your favourite.

You haven't touched your dinner.

Do you want me to cut it up for you?

You must eat something.

I'm not going to leave until you've eaten something.

Are you going to talk to me, Mr Hooley?

Now, come on. Try.

(THEY GASP FOR BREATH)

(COUGHING AND SHIVERING)

-You all right, Stan? -No, I'm not! Sorry, I'm not!

-What is it? -I've had enough, just had enough.

-Come on. -No! Cooped up in here like the Black Hole of Calcutta!

-Got to get out! -Keep away from the door, Stan!

Who's going to stop me?

Touch it and I'll lamp you! Leave it!

ECHOING CRASH

Everything all right in there? What's going on?

He's bleeding. Stan's bleeding, there's been an accident.

Let me out!

I'm sorry, I can't let you out. Not yet.

Fetch a house surgeon, right away.

Stan. Stan! Stan!

(SHE MUTTERS)

Hello, there.

Pulse is racing, 120.

Goodness, that's a high fever.

-Thank you. -May I see?

Sh, sh, sh, sh.

Dr Culpin. I'm so sorry, I know I'm speaking out of turn.

But there's a patient I think you need to see.

Tom?

Tom?

Come away now, Mrs Hooley. Come away.

I've spoken to the almoner.

There's bread, groceries and six and ninepence for you.

Morning. I'm the new house surgeon.

What have you got for me?

Wait, wait, wait. Normal atmosphere...

I said I'm the house surgeon. You sent for me.

Oh, yes, yes. Chap in there seems to have injured himself, I think.

Stand aside.

It was an accident. He was trying to open the door.

In case you can hear me, sir. Sit.

Greenwood, a drop of brandy, please.

-Is he dead? -Stethoscope.

-Any pain there? -Ah! What do YOU think?

Yeah, these joints will need a massage and a galvanic bath.

What about Stan?

Just finish your brandy. We'll need to get him out.

Dr Culpin, I've tried to keep her comfortable but I think...

Lucy Strong, 15 or thereabouts. Her pulse is fluctuating.

Her temperature's over 104 and there's this...

Open your mouth, please.

Lucy?

And stick your tongue out for me?

Good girl.

Where did she come from?

-I don't know. -How much contact have you had?

I've been with her half an hour or so.

This is late stage malignant scarlet fever.

We need to get her up onto isolation right away.

-Yes, Doctor. -Not you.

You need to go now. Remove your clothes, all of them.

You'll need to take an antiseptic bath.

-But I don't... -Now!

(COUGHING)

Mr Farley? Can you hear me, Mr Farley?

Let's get him into that light.

Junctival reflex is present.

Pulse is fluttery and the temperature's down.

Contusion to the skull.

Straightforward cerebral concussion.

Tell Sister to keep him warm and under close observation.

I will consult with Mr Fenwick

but if he doesn't improve we'll operate in the morning.

Yes, Mr Lawes. This way.

Very well, but it's most inconvenient.

And you can tell that to your Dr Hill. Take him in.

I'm sorry, Mrs Turner, but you'll have to wait. This is an emergency.

Come in. Come in.

DOCTOR: Just relax.

Now you may feel a slight tingling in your hands and feet.

I'm going to pass an electric current through the water.

It will ease the pain in your joints.

-(HE CATCHES HIS BREATH) -Just relax. A little more...

Ah! Like needles and pins, no?

I'm firming up down below, Doctor.

And release. And again...

(HE CATCHES HIS BREATH)

Manna from heaven, chaps. Well, beer and biscuits, anyway.

Dundee, it was. The one before was lemon sponge.

She sends one a week.

Costs thrupence ha'penny from Hastings.

She won't be told. But I love it, really.

Am I hurting you?

Can you guess what it's like to be me?

No.

No, I suppose I can't imagine.

It's like being on fire ALL the time and you can't put it out.

I know what it's like to be you.

How do you know that?

I touch it sometimes.

I think about being like everyone else.

I want to die.

I'm just taking these to be sterilised.

I've sent my other uniform to be burnt.

I'll see to that. You've done enough today.

This shift doesn't end till six.

I don't care for shifts, timetables and all that pother.

I'm using one in 20 carbolic. Do you think...

Didn't your mother tell you it's rude to stare?

I was just wondering, why do you want to be a nurse?

-Am I that bad? -On the contrary.

You're teasing me.

I'm not, honestly.

You're doing God's work, putting the world to rights.

Why are you so interested anyway?

I just want to know what's at the end of your rainbow.

You promise not to laugh?

-Promise. -I want to be a doctor.

You promised!

I promised not to laugh AT you and I'm not.

So why are you laughing?

Because you could, you bloody well could.

Dr Sequeira?

I was wondering if I might have a word about Oliver Blaine?

What about him?

It's just that he told me he wants to die.

Well, he says that from time to time.

Was there anything else?

No, Dr Sequeira.

-Probationer Goodley? -Yes, Doctor?

You must understand he may never recover.

-You mean you can't cure him? -I'm not God.

-There must be something... -Sometimes there's nothing.

All our machines, the Finsen lamps, quartz lamps,

galvanic baths, actinic rays,

and still we come up short.

Does he know?

Well, shouldn't we tell him?

You're going to tell a ten year old boy that he may never get better?

-But if it's the truth? -The truth's no good to HIM.

The truth is OUR burden.

What he needs is hope.

Yes, but if it's a lie...

Do you know the story of Pandora's box?

When Pandora opened the box which her husband had forbidden her to look into,

all the misery and suffering and pain escaped into the world,

but at the bottom of the box there was hope.

Medicine is built on hope.

If you want to help Blaine, then give him hope.

We've had all the doctors up to see him

and they say there's nothing wrong,

that he's just bed-pressing. He's a malingerer.

For heaven's sake, the man's lost his legs.

SISTER RUSSELL: I'm worried about him.

He hasn't touched his food. He hasn't spoken in weeks.

-You were with him at the accident, weren't you? -Mm.

I thought perhaps he might listen to you.

Sister tells me you're out of sorts, Mr Hooley. Is that right?

Come on, Tom. We're old friends.

You can talk to me.

Tom, what's wrong?

YOU should know this.

What length of sheet should be folded under the top and bottom of the bedstead?

-18 inches? -That's right.

Ah, yes!

How do you pick up a soiled dressing?

Carefully.

With forceps.

Your turn. Test me.

Gentlemen. Our patient this morning, a Mr Stan Farley,

is suffering from a middle meningeal haemorrhage

sustained as a result of a cranial trauma.

In common parlance, a bang on the bonce.

(RIPPLE OF LAUGHTER)

Assisting me today for the first time is

my esteemed colleague Mr Lawes.

Are we ready, Mr Lawes?

-Yes, Mr Fenwick. -Mr Somerfield.

Open him up, Mr Lawes.

I'm making an incision

over the left temporal muscle,

so that I can separate the skin and subcutaneous tissue

on the temporal fascia.

Good.

Now, divide the pericranium and peel it away from the bone.

Forceps.

I will now trephine a plug of bone

to reveal the dura mater.

And with a bit of luck,

Stanley's troublesome haematoma.

Nearly through.

Hm-hm.

I'm now

opening the dura mater

by dividing it crucially with probe-pointed scissors...

-Oh. -Mr Lawes?

It's, um...

-I don't know. -Don't bumswiggle me, Lawes!

Let's have a gander.

You've nicked the parietal branch of the superficial temporal artery.

We'll have to get it clamped off. Quickly now!

Thank you. No, I'll do this!

Headaches.

Hives on the arms and black moods.

I can't seem to lift them.

Humbug? You don't mind if I...

No. No, of course.

So, how long have you been married, Mrs Turner?

Ten years.

My husband is the manager of a draper's business on Chancery Lane.

Is he? Children?

A little girl. Rose.

-She's seven. -Ah.

And tell me, how are relations between you and Mr Turner?

We're very happy.

-He doesn't know I'm here. -I see.

He would think I was being...disloyal.

May I ask, when did you last have

a strong encounter with your husband?

Last week, I think, I...

I can't remember.

I ask, Mrs Turner, not to pry but to understand.

Now, I need to know.

Do you derive any pleasure from these encounters?

Should I?

I told my brothers about you.

I told them I was in love with you, and all.

Oh, Frank.

I know that was a bit forward... but...

And my brothers said to me that I should tell you that...

Yes, Frank?

That...

men can give ladies a great deal of pleasure...at night.

And I'd like to do that for you. As a sort of thank-you.

That, Frank, is disgusting.

Is it? Why?

Ah, this second opening

I have made over the posterior branch of the middle meningeal

between the external angular process

and the mastoid process.

Ah-ha-ha! A clot. A palpable clot!

Well, turned out all right in the end, eh, Lawes?

And now, gentlemen, I shall deploy the most sophisticated instrument

in the surgeon's armoury.

A spoon! (LAUGHTER)

And...go!

Oi! Mind me catheter!

Mackintosh...

Draw sheet.

Come on.

Hurry.

Stop!

-Too slow. -Oi, Nurse!

I think I'm dead! (LAUGHTER)

What is it you're hiding in there, Thomas?

What is it you can't let out?

What is it you can't tell ME?

Hm?

(SHE GROANS)

What's wrong?

This is Probationer Bennett from the receiving room.

-She nursed... -Lucy Strong.

...Lucy Strong, and she's presenting scarletina symptoms.

Come inside.

Lucy Strong. Time of death, 10:21.

Wash the body in carbolic.

Where have you been, Probationer Veveers?

Under no circumstances are you to leave the ward without permission.

I...

What is it?

Sister, it's Ethel. I mean, Probationer Bennett.

Yes?

She's been taken ill. She's on isolation.

They think...

I think she's going to die.

OLIVER: Why don't they want me to stay here?

It's not that they don't want you to stay here, Oliver.

It's that...

I can't cure you.

I'm sorry,

but we'll have to send you home.

I understand.

-Can I ask you something? -Of course.

Why did it choose me?

I don't know, Oliver.

I don't know the answer to that.

-Goodbye then, Dr James. -Not...not yet, Oliver.

You can stay with us another few days.

I sympathise with the boy's plight, of course I do.

But...I can't sanction this.

You admit you can't cure him.

I can still care for him.

He has a family to care for him.

The boy requires constant attention.

He can't dress himself, he can't wash.

He bends his elbow like this,

and he opens all the skin on the backs of his arms. He can't feed himself.

And to what kind of life are we returning him?

Sneers, and laughter, and bullying.

They throw stones at him, Mr Holland.

I have treated the cuts and bruises myself.

With all due respect, Dr Sequeira,

if I grant Blaine permission to stay indefinitely,

what happens next week when another Blaine comes through the door?

And another, and another? You can't care for all of them.

And you can't cure any of them, by your own admission.

-You see my point? -No! No, no.

The boy is incurable.

Tomorrow, who knows?

But today? Today he suffers.

That's not your failure. It's science's failure.

And we can't wait for science.

I'm sorry, James, that's my final word.

(KNOCK AT THE DOOR) Come in.

Ah, Sister Russell.

-Miss Luckes, I have a request. -Yes?

I was wondering if it would be possible for me to work on the isolation block.

You didn't nurse Probationer Eastwood before she died, did you?

No. I didn't.

And Probationer Bennett has just been admitted to isolation, has she not?

I believe she has.

Very well.

I'll make arrangements with Wellington,

and I'll tell Sister Granger to expect you on isolation.

Thank you, Miss Luckes.

Swab the back of the throat with undiluted Izal.

Champagne orally, if she can take it.

Every four hours, subcutaneous injections of saline.

Every two hours, hypodermic injections of strychnine. Clear?

Yes, Doctor.

Fine.

(SHE MUTTERS)

You are going to have to sweat it out.

The scars on your legs have healed, Thomas.

It's the scars on your mind that dally.

You see, the other doctors here, they don't believe you're ill.

But I do. I believe you are very ill, Thomas.

You know that?

Who are you talking to?

I'm talking to you. Thomas Hooley.

I'm not here.

There's no-one in this bed.

(BELL RINGS)

Dr Culpin.

Have you come about Ethel Bennett?

Yes, I brought her over here. How is she?

I'm sorry. It's getting the better of her.

-You must excuse me. -Sister Russell.

Have you tried antistreptococci serum?

The last resort?

I'm sorry, you really must excuse me.

-There you go, mate. -Cheers, mate.

(DOOR BANGS)

What's going on?

-Come on. -What are you doing?

-Look, where are you taking me? -Taking who?

There isn't anyone here, is there?

I'm not taking anyone anywhere.

Well, come on!

I know what you want me to do.

No!

You want me to move myself, don't you?

You want me to move myself like this.

Well, why would I do that?

You tell me, you tell me why!

When there's nowhere to go.

Let nature take its course. I am sorry.

We could add antistreptococci serum to the saline injections.

What if she reacts adversely?

She's too weak to cope with the serum. It's too dangerous.

She's dying, Doctor.

There's nothing physically wrong with him, Mr Holland. It's his mind.

-Are you saying he's mad? -He's frightened.

We can't cure a man of fear, Dr Culpin. Would that we could.

It's not just fear.

Even if it is, it's of a different order.

It's more a psychological trauma, a neurosis.

And I believe I can cure that.

We treat bodies here, not minds.

I don't believe there's a difference.

So? What do you want me to do?

This is Thomas Hooley, Ma'am. I want you to put him to work.

Yes, Mr Holland.

It was when Lawes made house surgeon I realised

I don't fit in here at The London.

Toeing the line, stuffed shirts, and all that.

Can't do it.

Anyhow, I've...

I've been offered a job, overseas.

China, for heaven's sake. Shanghai. Imagine that.

I don't know what to do.

What do you think?

Yes.

Yes, I thought you'd say that.

SHE MOUTHS

You are all right,

aren't you?

Really?

(HE MOANS)

The bowel membrane is perforated.

-There's no point in operating. -Could I have a word?

Poultices, spread with Vaseline. A little opium... What is it?

You're wanted in isolation.

I'll take over here.

-This is typhoid. -Cut along, old man.

I told my husband everything you said.

And?

He said he's half a mind to come along and take a horsewhip to you.

He says there's something wrong with me.

Is there...

something wrong with me?

Mrs Turner, you are suffering from a common female complaint.

More common than you might think.

I treat women with your condition all the time.

My...condition?

Sometimes it is called hysteria, from the Greek for womb.

Yes, it is a medical condition

and can be treated with no more than a gentle massage.

(RATCHETING)

Now, if you could move over here?

And please, try to relax, Mrs Turner.

-(DELIRIOUS SHOUTING) -Hold him still.

My eye! Per-bloody-chloride, quickly!

Oh!

Mother's waiting for you downstairs, Oliver.

I couldn't touch you for a few bob, could I, Doctor?

I wouldn't ask, but it's for a cab.

I can't walk the streets. It's the dogs, you see.

I'm sorry?

That goose grease she puts on me, they like the smell of it.

The dogs, I mean.

They don't want to bite, they just want to lick me.

God help me.

"List for me four types of wound."

Incised, lacerated,

contused and...punctured?

And what is your first concern in the treatment of a wound?

To render it as aseptic as possible.

Using?

Carbolic one in 20, or perchloride of mercury, one in 1,000.

MATRON: Tell me the method for making arrowroot pudding.

The typhoid bacillus has invaded the corneal endothelium

and attacked the retina.

We can halt its progress, but the damage...

Yes. Yes, I know.

Two pretty girls undressing me.

I never thought I'd see the day.

Thank you.

Ah, Culpin!

Sorry to call you out so late.

-Mr Fenwick. -Would you like a drink?

Another brandy, thank you, Briggs.

About Mr Lawes, I...

I feel party responsible for what happened.

It was one of my patients, you see.

Nonsense, nonsense. Wrong place, wrong time.

It could have happened to anybody.

It's terribly sad.

But the thing is,

it leaves me in the old mulligatawny.

Need a house surgeon and PDQ, excuse the French.

You're the obvious choice.

I'll pay you very well and you'll have students. What do you say?

May I have time to think about it?

What's to think about, man?

I was taught never to benefit from another man's misfortune.

Scruples, eh?

Let me have an answer by morning.

Mr Fenwick.

That won't be necessary, thank you, Briggs.

They're for you, Miss.

That's very kind of you, Nobby. Really, you needn't.

And they look just like the flowers outside matron's office.

They do, don't they?

And I...

have something for you.

Why don't you hold on to it, Miss? A keepsake, like.

I won't be needing it, you see. Not now I've given up the booze.

Thank you.

I'll treasure it.

Can I drop by and see you now and then?

Of course.

I'll be seeing you, then.

I'll be seeing you.

Here. I want you to have this.

-What is it? -You hold it up to the light.

Gentlemen, I wonder if you could gather round?

I simply wanted to say thank you to you all

for all your hard work over this last week.

I can tell you now that your efforts are already bearing fruit.

-ALL: Oh, sir! Marvellous! -The London will prevail.

I want to share something with you.

It's my solemn and earnest prayer

that every poor soul pleading for help shall find that our gates are open to him.

That every footstep he hears in this hospital will not pass him by.

For they're the footsteps of those who will sacrifice themselves to help him.

God bless you all. Thank you.

-Hear, hear! -ALL: Hear, hear!

(EVERYONE CLAPS)

No closer, I'm contagious.

MATRON: Over the coming weeks, some of you may fall by the wayside.

Those of you who succeed, however, will prove worthy of the trust that

the hospital and the patients have placed in you.

Just remember, ladies.

The London expects the impossible

and gets it. ALL: Yes, Miss Luckes.

Good morning, Wellington.

ALL: Good morning, Sister.

(HE GROANS)