Shop Steward: You c-c-c-clot.
Fred Kite: I see from your particulars you was at college in Oxford. I was up there meself. I was at the Balliol summer school in 1946. Very good toast and preserves they give you at tea time, as you probably know.
Fred Kite: My politics is a matter between my conscience and the ballot box.
Stanley Windrush: Your politics - to each according to his needs, from each as little as he can get away with. And no overtime except on Sundays, at double the rate. That's a damn fine way to build a new Jerusalem.
Stanley Windrush: Wherever you look, it's a case of "Blow you, Jack, I'm all right."
Fred Kite: My daughter, Cynthia. She works 'ere, spindle polishing.
Stanley Windrush: Oh, really? That room you were talking about just now. Perhaps I could pop round and have a look at it.
Shop Steward: Perhaps you can explain the presence of this new man.
Major Hitchcock: New man? But he hasn't started yet.
Shop Steward: Hasn't started yet? Then what's he doing on a f-f-f fork lift truck?
Cynthia Kite: Is them your own teeth?
Fred Kite: Me and my colleagues are the Works Committee. Would you mind producing your union card.
Stanley Windrush: I'm afraid I can't. It's not compulsory, is it?
Shop Steward: No, it's not compulsory. Only you've got to join, see?
Knowles: We haven't had a stoppage like this for ages - not since the week before last.
Stanley Windrush: I'm terribly sorry about it.
Knowles: You don't want to be sorry, Squire. Makes a nice little break, doesn't it?
Fred Kite: I've got to be off. I can't stay here arguing. I've got a lot to do. Report to the Executive, check up on the pickets.
Mrs. Kite: From what I can see, the only time you ever jolly well do any work is when you're on strike.
Major Hitchcock: We've got chaps here who could break out in a muck sweat merely by standing still.
