Privates

'This is the BBC on November 3rd, 1960.

'Today, the last intake of men from all walks of life

'and from all over the country are being taken to army camps

'to start their National Service.

'In the House of Commons, MPs expressed concern at the effects

'the ending of conscription will have on our ability to protect Britain and her colonies

'from the escalating Russian threat.'

Thanks.

No, thank you.

Come on! Come on!

Come on, come on, let's have you!

Get out of the truck. Move! Come on, let's have you.

Come on! Come on, get out of the truck. Now!

Get in line, move! Come on - out!

Get in line!

Get in line before I drive that bloody truck over the lot of you!

You, put that down.

Get your hands out of your pockets

before I tear off your arms and feed them to my dogs!

What is your name?

Davies, sir. Do not call me "sir" - I am Sergeant!

You're a stupid Welsh man, aren't you, Davies?

Aren't you, Davies?

Yes, Sergeant!

How stupid?

Very stupid!

How stupid, Davies?

Very stupid, Sergeant!

I'm Sergeant Butcher.

You sorry mob are Two Section.

For the next eight weeks

I am your god, and your tormentor.

You will live to please me...

and I am a very, very, hard man to please!

Everything you have learned,

all that you had, no longer exists.

Because I am taking it away from you!

You will start here with nothing!

That is One Section,

they are two weeks ahead of you.

But because you are my section, you will be better than them.

Will you make me the happiest man in the world, Norah? Jimmy?

Say yes.

Yes!

Only promise me something?

I don't have to be there when you tell your parents?

Well, if they don't like it, they can go to hell

cos you're my family now and I'm yours.

Private Keenan, are you one of those pinko pacifist pansies?

Yes, Sergeant.

Wouldn't lift a finger if Wratten there was trying to violate your girlfriend?

No, Sergeant.

That's because you've got no backbone, Private Keenan.

It's because I've got no girlfriend, Sergeant.

That man, get back in line!

Private Davies, take charge of this section. What?

Move!

Hobbs, come here!

Come back, Hobbs, come here!

Hobbs, stop, you git!

I'm giving 3-1 on the beatnik.

I'll have some of that... Five bob.

Oi, back in line.

Jimmy!

Private Keenan - get back here!

Oh, no!

Come back here! I'll kill you!

Guard, stop that man!

Oh!

Well done, soldier.

On your feet, Keenan.

What you saw here today from Private Keenan was hooligan behaviour

not the actions of a soldier.

It will not happen again.

It will get you or the man next to you killed.

Do not forget that.

Ah, bloody hell.

No, I don't have anyone to take me

to the assembly hall dance next week and yes, I understand you miss

your wife and/or girlfriend terribly,

and a few drinks with me would ease the pain, but I'm afraid it's not going to happen.

Any more questions? Good.

Now, shall I tell Sergeant Butcher why you kept me talking far too long or do you open up?

A few weeks ago the Russians dropped a 27 tonne nuclear bomb.

It cracked windows 900 kilometres away.

The Americans will feel they have to go one better.

Is it so funny?

Actually, you reminded me of a joke about Yuri Gagarin.

He writes a note to his wife, "Dear Natasha, I'm going to outer space

"be home next Monday," and when he comes back,

well, it was after the ticker tape parade presumably,

he finds a note from his wife,

"Dear Yuri, I'm in the bread queue -

"no idea when I'll be home."

I'm glad someone can see the funny side of the impending Armageddon.

I saw a bomb once,

when I was twelve years old.

We were stationed in Cairo. Before all the business at Suez.

The locals wanted all the Brits to get out,

someone threw it over the wall of the compound.

If the headache persists,

tell the guard. I'll bring something.

What happened?

With the bomb?

It killed my mother and father.

Gentlemen.

This is your barrack room.

You will tell those children

that your wives have convinced you are yours,

that this is where you became a man. You will respect this place.

You will shine the backside of every surface,

polish the stove until it gleams.

Do you understand?

Yes, Sergeant!

One step forward, any of you serve in the cadet corps,

girl guides, boy scouts or any other such military organisation.

Private McIllvenny.

Um, Boy's Brigade, Sergeant.

Committed to discipline, obedience

and all intents towards true Christian manliness, Sergeant.

Private White-Bowne.

Officer training corps, Sergeant. Eton.

Awarded the house medal.

Twice.

Private Wratten.

East End Firms, Sergeant. Mile End Division,

serving under Generals Ronnie and Reggie Kray.

You think you're being clever, Private Wratten?

Awarded medals at lightweight, bantamweight and featherweight, Sergeant.

You think there's some sort of honour among these

knife-carrying, gutless thugs?

They're heroes in my street, Corporal.

They're thieves, Wratten. Just like you.

Watch out for this one, lads.

It says here the judge gave him a choice.

Time on D-wing or two years

in the company of honest, decent soldiers.

Two Section. You will unpack your bags, line up outside the mess hall

with your eating irons in 15 minutes.

Oi, Wratten? What are you playing at?

You need to pack in the backchat or you'll put us all in it, my friend. I'm no friend of yours.

It's every man for himself in this place.

And in that one statement Private Wratten misses the entire point of the army.

What do we think all that business with Keenan was about?

Why does the Sergeant have to do all that shouty, shouty all the time?

What's the point of that? I'm so glad I won't be staying for long

with you sad, sorry children, stuck in this place for two years.

How's that then?

Posh boy's daddy going to get him deferred, is he?

No. I think the old man will prefer if I caught a bullet

on the front line for Queen and Country and all that colonial guff.

So what then? You gonna get yourself shunted over to officer training?

No.

I've seen quite enough of that, but I will be waving you pack of no-hopers a fond farewell,

heading out of that gate in exactly three weeks' time.

Yeah, right.

Look, Norah, all I did was put some stitches in his forehead.

Nobody's telling me what's going on.

And I've got no idea where Jimmy is now.

Private Keenan didn't tell me anything.

Well, they'd let you in to see him, wouldn't they?

And you can ask him.

What? No, I can't...

Really, there are rules.

Connie!

Ever since I can remember, I've been the one that everybody stares at.

The darkie - from the first day of school

to the cinema queue last night.

And it wears you down.

I understand that but what has this got to do with the...

Today at ten o'clock, for the first time in my life,

I got a chance to belong somewhere.

Lance Corporal Hobbs asked me to marry him.

Oh, that's lovely.

Then ten minutes later he was AWOL and facing a charge.

For all I know I'll never see him again.

Norah.

I need to know what's going on.

I'm sorry, I really can't help.

Hm. I thought you were a friend.

Up...

I could have Nurse Charles look at it for you, Captain Gulliver,

but I don't think it's serious.

No, um, I was actually on my way to you on another matter.

I found these pills. I was looking for my collar studs,

I opened one of the... for the regimental dinner last night and I tried all the drawers,

including my wife's.

That's where you found them, in your wife's drawers.

Well, I can confirm what I think you already suspect, Captain Gulliver.

This is the famous new contraceptive pill.

You didn't discuss this with her?

It's just so confusing, I made clear to her my wish, my need for a son.

I mean, how could a wife do such a thing as this without...

without at the very least consulting her husband?

How are things in the marital bed?

Well, since she came back from her sister's after that last

falling out, things are a lot calmer...

less volatile.

So, to that end, I know it sounds somewhat regimental,

but we agreed to copulate on every second Friday.