All language subtitles for Desmonds s04e05 Calypso

From the long, long night to the ocean
breeze, to the damp and to the rain of

London City.

We come from the sun to live in the
call. I'm in the rum, I want my coconut

tree.

Don't touch my soccer.

The party's over.

Let's keep the music sweet. Wind up your
waist and feel me.

Oh, come on, pork pie. Why don't you
give it a go?

You might find a facet of your
personality you never knew existed.

I know all about my facets.

Thank you very much.

Every week is some newfangled idea.

Now you're telling us just by reading
somebody's writing you could tell

something about their personality.

Last time it was about body language.

Ah, that's true, Desmond.

Even the way someone thinks can tell you
a lot about a person's inner workings.

My inner workings are private, and
there's nothing wrong with my

Tell him, Desmond.

That's true.

Papa's always been a devotee of the
three R's. What?

Reading, writing and arithmetic?

No, no, no. Rum racing and rum.

So go on then, Matt.

What's the make of that then?

Tony, you got nothing better to do?

No.

At first glance, Tony, it seems that you
are an impulsive and highly creative

person. These large circles above your
eyes... to a very outgoing personality.

Those are these large ones below my
eyes, Matt.

Right, Matt, do your worst, mate.

Hello, Dad.

Matthew, Uncle Paul. Hi, Tony.

Hi, Sean.

All right, check this out, right?

Matthew's going to tell me all about my
personality just from looking at my

handwriting. Why don't you just look
under your bed?

Sean Ambrose is well -dread.

What, it says that in that book?

No, it's what he wrote down.

I can tell from Sean's writing that he's
a highly intelligent individual with

deep, sensual undertones which are
denoted by these big loops.

Oi, should I be a model or what, eh?

Or what?

Oi, Lee, have you got big loops?

Well, I've never had any complaints,
Gloria.

Here, this. Did you put out an APB on
Shirley? Cos I've just seen her and

Beverly dashing up the high street like
they was going for the world record.

I mean, it went past me.

And I was in the motor.

Well, you can't blame her. She's
probably trying to escape from Beverly.

I would outrun Linford Christie just to
get away from that woman.

But I hope she hasn't invited her back
here.

You know, I don't allow gossip in the
shop. Yeah, quite right too, Desmond.

I hear that Beverly was at that lounge
the other day and she spoke for half an

hour without drawing a breath. And she
came in with that young man from the

station. No, you don't mean that
youngster who went... He, he, he...

Best you come upstairs and have a cup of
tea. Come in.

What on earth is going on? I'm going to
get to the bottom of this.

It can't be. You're dead.

Good afternoon.

Won't leave much to the imagination.

Do you want a bet?

When Alex sees me in this, his
imagination's going to run riot.

It's the same way your mum and dad will
if they catch you wearing it.

Shirley! Knock off your doctor!

I think she saw the dress, Glor. Look,
Beverly just calmed down.

Gloria, put the kettle on. Beverly's had
a bit of a shock.

Yeah, she looks like she's seen a ghost.
We have a devil ghost.

It's a small rum, Shirley.

Purely for medicinal purposes, you
understand.

I haven't really seen a ghost, have you?
As large as life. No, not a ghost, just

a man.

A man we haven't seen for more than 30
years.

Joseph Toussaint. Montpellier.

Better known as... Calypso?

I wonder if I may speak with Shirley
Plachette.

Shirley Ambrose.

She's not here at the moment. I'm
Desmond Ambrose, her husband.

You used to be in that jazz band.

What were they called?

The Georgetown Steamers.

With that odd little man.

What was his name?

Top Hat.

It was the Georgetown Dreamers. And it's
Popeye, not Top Hat.

I'm sorry. It's been a long time.

Not long enough.

Tell Shirley I'll come in to see her
tomorrow at three.

There's something I'd like to speak to
her about. A private matter.

Goodbye, gentlemen.

Jules! Who's that, then? Yeah, and what
do you want with Mum?

He has the bearing of a man of great
importance.

Bit of a flashy dresser and all.

Pops, what's going on?

Calypso.

He's come to be a mother after all these
years.

Who's Calypso?

Who's that?

Every year, Calypso would come to the
masquerade in Guyana, singing his love

song. Telling his story.

Romancing everything in a skirt.

That devil could charm the birds out of
the trees.

It's a bit of a Casanova, eh? No, your
father was a bit of a Casanova. No,

Calypso was something entirely
different. He only had to sing.

And any girl he wanted was his. Oh, a
bit like Julio Iglesias.

Speak for yourself, love.

Nine months after Calypso's visit,
there'd be a population explosion.

That man was a walking baby boom.

Desmond used to call him the Pied Piper
of Passion.

Till one year, he set his sights on
Shirley.

I couldn't tell you what Desmond called
him then.

He had a voice like warm honey and
molten lava.

His guitar sounded like angels plucking
their harps.

Devils, more like.

What's all this got to do with Mum?

Look, I'd better go upstairs and check
on Shirley and Beverly.

Oh, I see.

We'll look after things down here.

Right,

Popeye. You give us the full SP on this
calypso geezer.

All right.

One year.

Calypso saw a pretty young girl that he
hadn't seen before.

A beautiful, warm, and friendly girl.

The preacher's daughter.

Ah, you mean Mum?

Yes, she had started to come to dances
to hear your father and me play.

That's surely all right. Warm,
beautiful, intelligent, and friendly.

very poor taste in music.

Then came the time for the masquerade,
the carnival.

A small boat appeared on the horizon.

Calypso had come to weave his musical
web again.

I've gone okay, simply.

Calypso had made up in his mind that
before the masquerade was over, surely

would be his prize.

So what was it to be, then, eh?

Pistols at dawn for him and dead, yeah?

Calypso's weapons were his songs.

Women were defenceless against them.

And I suppose all Desmond had was his
trumpet.

Yeah, but surely Mum wasn't having any
of this, man. Calypso's powers over

verged on the supernatural, Sean.

It was like magic.

And I expect you had a similar magical
effect.

Well... You only had to say hello to a
girl, and hey, presto, she disappears.

Your mother brushed him off, but Calypso
didn't give up that easily.

He had a reputation to live up to.

Yeah, he's difficult.

I know.

If ever a girl resisted him, Calypso
would simply write a song just for her.

He never failed, ever.

Did he ever write one for Mum?

One moonlight night, Calypso set sail to
play on one of the islands.

He asked Shirley to go with him. Shirley
refused.

She said she was going to stand by
Desmond.

Calypso was furious and swore that when
he returned, he would have written his

most passionate love song.

Just for Shirley.

Steamy or what, eh?

He sailed away on the night tide and
would never be in again.

Mills and Boone, eat your heart out.

What happened, Mrs Ambrose?

Well... His guitar was washed up on some
remote shore a month later, but there

was no sign of Calypso.

Until now.

You just gave us a visit.

If you don't mind, I'd like to have a
word with my wife.

Alone. Come on, Beverly.

I think I should stay here and give
Shirley my support.

He's come for you after all this time.

Your Caribbean Casanovas.

Pied piper of passion.

Well, if you think he's just gonna
stroll in here and strum a few chords of

dusty old love song and glide out here
with my wife, he got another thing

coming. You got me bag packed already?

How you know what he wanted?

He asked for you personally, so he
didn't want a haircut.

So he coming back tomorrow afternoon at
three o 'clock.

22 hours of our marriage.

Come on, Desmond.

Look.

You see, in the old days, people had to
make their own entertainment.

Calypsonians would come with their love
songs, telling their stories and gossip

from all over.

Oh, and I guess, like, rap music's the
music of the streets. I suppose

the music of the island, yeah?

Well, what about this Joseph Toussaint
Montpelier, then? Was he really that

Who knows?

You take a balmy night and the moonlight
shining on the bay.

Check it. The air tick with the scent of
jasmine and honeysuckle.

And a sprinkling of young couples in
love.

Well, who knows, eh? On an act like
that, even a George Pandreamer could

good, eh?

I can't believe it. Clip sounds weird
and wonderful powers are just part of

lore. No, it is all true.

I have poor sound knowledge.

Well, there was this girl, Yvette
Xavier.

Yeah, I remember her.

Boys used to flock to her like bees
wrung the honeypot.

A tall, statuesque girl from a very good
family.

She'd have nothing to do with the local
boys.

You, you mean?

What happened?

Calypso. She was a very strong girl and
she resisted his advances. Yeah, well,

good for her. But Calypso wasn't a man
to be put off that easily.

One night, He stole into her garden and
stood beneath her bedroom window and he

sang his song.

Ah, one he'd written just for her,
right?

Yeah, so what happened next?

Twins.

That was just idle gossip.

And you, Dad, I suppose you were in the
honeysuckle bush watching all this.

No, no.

Pork pie was.

Well,

I'm going over to see if Beverly's
feeling better.

Yeah, well, we're clear, right, Mum?

Well, children, I suppose this is the
last meal we'll have together as a

Oh, cheer up, Dad.

Look, Beverly said once Mum had gone,
she'd come round and cook for us.

Thanks, Gloria. That's just what I
wanted to hear.

Hey, Dad, why don't you write Mum a love
song?

Eh?

love song.

Oh, don't be silly.

Come on then, Dad. Let's hear it. Well,
it's not quite ready yet. Come on,

before Mum gets back.

Well, it's just a word. Dad!

Shirley, Shirley, you're my girlie.

guy to rest easy in his grave tonight.

If you're all so smart, why don't you do
better?

Yeah, well, as a matter of fact, we just
might. Lee, give me a box, man.

Something with laughter and something
with tears. Surely after all we've been

through, I'd just like to say that I
still love you.

Musical thing is gonna work.

Tell me, Desmond, you haven't got
anything yet here.

I'll buy you a pair of, uh, a pair of
purple gloves.

Oh, Shirley, no, that can't be right.

Okay, let's have a look.

Huh?

No wonder you wouldn't let me analyze
your writing.

I wrote it in a hurry.

It looks as though you wrote it in the
dark.

Look, Desmond, what you need... It's a
West African highlight.

You see, we Africans know how to romance
our women.

Oh,

look,

come on, Sean. Let's leave the crew cut
crew and get on with it, eh?

Deserting the sinking ship, are you?

Yeah.

Gloria, what is that you almost got

on?

No, don't you like it?

I'd like it if there was twice as much
of it.

I'll pick you now.

So why did you buy such a small dress?

Sit down, Gloria.

You know, today, they're all going on
about how much someone's handwriting can

say about a person.

Yes, but what do you think that dress is
saying to all the men you pass in the

street?

Pretty short conversation.

You know, every generation thinks that
they invented sex and all the rigmarole

that goes with it. That's just fine by
me. It's part of life.

It's part of growing up.

I know a lot has changed since I was
your age, but some things will always

remain the same.

And one day, you'll be talking to your
daughter about the same things.

She'll say you're being overprotective
and that you just don't understand.

But hopefully she'll listen.

Okay, Mum.

Anyway, truth or dare, did you leave
Clipso on?

Every woman likes to be admired, Gloria.
Young or old.

We all send out signals, you know. But
sometimes we really don't reckon with

consequences.

A smile that turns into a blush.

A glance held just too long.

An accidental touch that lingers.

And before you know it...

Can't wait to meet him.

Desmond Ambrose, if you look at your
watch one more time... Oh, what time is

It's a pipe of passion not here yet,
then. No, no, no. I'm surprised you're

selling tickets.

Oh, why did I think of that?

Go away.

Late lunch, Dad.

Look, Des, we just wanted to be in your
corner just in case there was any rough

stuff, you know? Lee, nothing is going
to happen.

Typical men always wanted to flex their
muscles. Yeah, except for the one that

matters. Shirley, what matters is that
we all support the Ambrose family and

make sure that this man does not drive a
wedge between Desmond and Shirley. I

can't believe it, Matt. You actually
make sense.

He come in. He come in.

Shirley. Les.

You haven't.

Ambrose. Shirley Ambrose.

Arose by any... other name.

Let me tell you something. This rose
comes with thorns attached.

You, you, Bluebeard. You, you. That is
no way to behave. Now, please, let's

our guest welcome.

Oh, certainly, my dear. Ah, flowers.

How delightful.

I'm handling this. Let me take your hat.

surely we must make our guests feel
welcome.

Never let it be said that the Ambrose
family don't know how to extend the hand

of friendship after all. It's not every
day that you meet a legendary

philanderer come to teeth your wife.

It's been a long time since anyone
called me that.

is the Reverend Montpellier these days.

So we see, please sit down.

So, what's this story about you
disappearing?

Well, after I sailed from Guyana that
night, I was caught

in a terrible storm.

I capsized and drifted for three days,
clinging on to my guitar.

Eventually...

I was picked up by a tramp steamer bound
for Brazil.

When I got there, I realised that God
had spared this sinner for a reason.

I decided to dedicate the rest of my
life to his good work and stayed on in

Brazil to work amongst the poor.

You'd have your work cut out for you in
Pickham, then, wouldn't you?

No, I'm here on a fundraising mission.

And who better to introduce me to the
community leaders than Shirley Ambrose,

daughter of one of the most respected
preachers in Guyana.

I'm flattered.

I'm flabbergasted.

Shirley's father ran me out of town more
than once.

A great man.

And Desmond here wasn't doing too badly
just now either.

I suppose he didn't know of your, um...
New calling.

Yes, yes, we're sorry, Reverend.

Sometimes my husband's mouth works
farther than his brain.

Tea, perhaps?

No, thank you, Shirley. Reverend
Calypso?

Yes? Do you remember that song that you
wrote for Mum?

Oh, yeah, no.

You want to finish your old father up?

I've never heard a real Calypso.

Really? How great.

Go on, show these youngsters what
they've missed. Well, I remember a verse

two. I'm not listening.

I'm not listening.

Give me a demon.

I picked up my guitar shell and wrote
you this song.

It sounds like a ballad girl, but
darling, you're wrong.

It's an opus to you, Shirley, without a
bandit's crew.

Whatever they're saying but me, Lord
knows I'm not rude.

You're the preacher's daughter, darling,
we should find the altar.

But before we do that, come we go rung
the back.

When Ghana girls go strolling by
Georgetown seawall, watch behind how

rolling, I just want to ball.

You young and innocent surely, but it's
not too soon.

Two minutes with me, my darling, and
I'll change your tune.

But before we do that, come with me.

We should find the old town And before
we do that Come we go round the back

No,

please.

Applaud Shirley, my inspiration.

Excuse me.