All language subtitles for Casualty.1900s.S00E04_English

(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)