Carry On... Up the Khyber

Lady Joan Ruff-Diamond:
Oh! How awful! What can have happened ?

Captain Keene:
I don't like making guesses, but I wouldn't be surprised if there hadn't been a spot of foul play here.

Missionary:
Foul play? Look at them! Lying around like a lot of unwanted cocktail snacks!

Private Jimmy Widdle:
Ginger!

Missionary:
Who is?

Private Jimmy Widdle:
He is. Ginger, my mate.

Sergeant-Major MacNutt:
Private Hale ?

Private Jimmy Widdle:
Yes, Ginger Hale. Hello, Ginge. It's me, Jimmy. Your old mate, Jimmy Widdle.

Private Ginger Hale:
Jimmy? Is it you? My old mate?

Private Jimmy Widdle:
Ginge, mate! How do you feel?

Private Ginger Hale:
Oh, not so good. I think I've been wounded.

Private Jimmy Widdle:
Only here and there.

Private Ginger Hale:
Jimmy, I can trust you. Now, give it to me straight. Am I going to be all right?

Private Jimmy Widdle:
Of course not, Ginge mate.

Private Ginger Hale:
Eh?

Private Jimmy Widdle:
I said, "Of course not, Ginge mate."

Private Ginger Hale:
I'm not going to be all right?

Private Jimmy Widdle:
Well, how could you be, with half a dozen dirty great holes in you? You've had it.

Private Ginger Hale:
You're a bleeding fine mate, I must say.

Private Jimmy Widdle:
What do you mean? You asked me to give it to you straight.

Private Ginger Hale:
Yeah, but I didn't mean you to. You horrible little runt, you!

Sergeant-Major MacNutt:
That's enough! Widdle, you're a great little comfort to a dying man, aren't you? Now listen, Hale, it's Sergeant-Major MacNutt. What happened, lad?

Private Ginger Hale:
They attacked about a half-hour ago, Sir. Hundreds of them.

Private Ginger Hale:
Burpas! They... they... oooh!

Private Jimmy Widdle:
Oh, no! Ginge! Ginge, mate! I'm sorry, I... Poor old mate!

Private Ginger Hale:
That's right! Bleeding well suffocate me!

The Khasi of Kalabar:
Get rid of this idiot! Bring on the dancing girls.

Bungdit Din:
Faqir! Off!

The Khasi of Kalabar:
May the great God Shivoo bring blessings on your house.

Sir Sidney Ruff-Diamond:
And on yours.

The Khasi of Kalabar:
And may his radiance light up your darkness.

Sir Sidney Ruff-Diamond:
And up yours.

Captain Keene:
Fire at will!

Brother Belcher:
Poor old Will, why do the always pick on him?

Captain Keene:
Sgt. Major, report to the surgeon and get that thing taken out!

The Khasi of Kalabar:
I do wish you wouldn't keep doing that. Rank stupidity!