All language subtitles for Call.The.Midwife.S11E01-1

At Easter,
we celebrate the opening

of the year.
The stone of winter rolls away,

admitting air and light.

We have survived the dark days

and are free to be diverted.

And as we open our hearts
and eyes afresh,

our wings unfold

and carry us towards
the things in store

new choices, new chances,
new horizons,

faces waiting to be known,
hands waiting to be held,

first smiles, first words,
first glimpses of potential.

Hope emerges everywhere.

Some of us simply begin
while others begin again,

or try again,
or just try and give their best.

Once the shadows fall behind us,
everything is possible.

Take these
to your lovely foster parents,

with my compliments.

And make sure that big sister
of yours

doesn't try to eat that rabbit!

Off you go, and say goodbye
to May and Angela. Go on!

Oh, it's nice to see her smile.
Now, are you all ready

for your first day in your
red and blue tomorrow?

I've got every single item
of uniform pressed

and laid out on the bed.

I'll have to move it all
before I actually go to bed.

But it didn't seem real
until I had it all lined up.

Aw!

The majority of these are
insufficiently jaunty

and neither are they seasonal.

Oh?

Tulips from Amsterdam is jaunty
AND seasonal.

The tenor does not sound sincere.

I seek the song about
the travails of the marionette.

Do you mean Puppet On A String?

Reggie likes this one.

Ah! Reggie?

We're going to play
that Eurovision entry!

Puppet On A String
by Sandie Shaw

Is this fun?

Mr Aylward,
now the training scheme has ended,

without your ever-increasing

financial support,
we would struggle.

At least you've been able to keep
Nurse Corrigan.

We were delighted
when she qualified.

It was by no means
a foregone conclusion.

Life's full of surprises.
We either survive them,

or they change things
for the better.

I'm afraid it looks as though
you have dry rot.

The beams underneath
the attic floor have crumbled.

The remainder of the ceiling
isn't safe at all.

Where's poor Nurse Corrigan
going to sleep?

I was scared I was going
to end up being put in

with Nurse Crane.

I absolutely promise you
I don't snore.

Likewise.

Do you want piccalilli or mustard
on this ham?

Oh, I think piccalilli today.

And a piece of chocolate cake,
left over from yesterday?

I think that would be
very fine indeed.

Very well.
To quote the Speaking Clock,

the time is now 8am precisely.

The day has commenced,

whether the staff are
at their posts or not.

Ah, thank you for swelling
the throng, Nurse Anderson.

Dare I enquire
as to Nurse Corrigan's whereabouts?

I left her in the bedroom.

I think her uniform
was still a bit damp.

I had to dry it off
down the side seams

with my hairdryer.
And then it fused,

so I had to use yours.
I hope you don't mind.

Not at all.

Oh, good, because that fused too.

I have the brochures
from the Board of Health.

No fewer than 16 educational
packages of films

and slides, designed to instruct

the public on every subject from
smoking to... venereal disease.

What sort of films

and slides instruct people
about venereal disease?

Um, I will be arranging
and staging all the lectures,

being the only qualified
projectionist on the staff.

You're on the district round
this morning,

as am I.

We need a comprehensive review
of our venous ulcer cases.

And I've just been asked
to add a lady

to this morning's list
for an incontinence review.

I will go where I am summoned.
It is all God's work.

I'm afraid we do not prescribe
antibiotics over the telephone,

even if they do clear
everything up overnight.

Good morning.

It's Mr and Mrs Fleming, isn't it?

Yes. Er,
we've been away for a few months,

staying at my mum's in Streatham.

We've made a double appointment
with Dr Turner?

Indeed you have. Welcome back.

And many congratulations.

Thank you.

Morning!

Good morning.

Good morning. District nurse.
Are you Miss or Mrs Nyall?

Miss.

Thank you.

What a comfortable home you have,
Miss Nyall.

It's sufficient for our wants,

even if Poplar isn't
entirely what it was.

Marigold?

I'm just talking to the nurse,
Mother.

I'll bring her through in a minute.

I'm not decent!

You're always decent!

I keep her exactly as
she'd like to be kept.

Since incontinence is
the primary concern.

I did try sanitary towels,

but it would appear
we've gone beyond that.

Nevertheless, I'm doing my best,
and so is Mother.

Which doesn't mean
we can't do better.

Specialist disposable pads are
available and, what's more,

the council will provide them.

We've always taken pride
in being of independent means.

My grandfather was an alderman.

I think we'd be wise
to take a urine sample.

Will Mother use a bed pan?

She's inclined to take umbrage.

I generally have to walk her
to the lavatory.

Well, we'll see how we go on,
shall we?

I take it this is Mother's room?

Mrs Nyall? District nurse calling.

Absolutely perfect,

Audrey,
you've had an exemplary pregnancy.

We've been ever so lucky this time.

Ever since we lost Christopher
at birth, well...

Well, that was like
our world had ended.

You were also seriously ill
yourself.

A partial gastrectomy takes time
to recover from.

Now, are there any concerns
you want to discuss with me?

Well, we would like the baby
to be healthy

all its fingers and toes
and everything.

But we're not dwelling on anything
bad or sad.

And quite right too.

But I was thinking,
if you'd like to come

to clinic this afternoon,
we can do your other routine tests

and get back into
the swing of things,

perhaps sign you up
for relaxation classes.

Well, it's Derek that needs
the relaxation classes, not me.

He's on 30 cigarettes a day,
just trying to stay calm!

I used to be able to get through 40,
once upon a time.

Do you think I should quit?

I've not even got a cough!

Whatever happened with the radiation
poisoning at Christmas Island,

I've still got a decent pair
of lungs.

It's not your lungs
I'm worried about, Derek.

With the ulcers
and such extensive surgery,

you're already at risk
of gastric cancer.

And there's evidence that smoking
can cause stomach tumours.

Have you got any leaflets?

There's leaflets for everything
nowadays.

Morning, sir. All right, Jack?

Matthew!

Sister Hilda found it
under the parlour table.

I thought Jonathan might be
missing it.

Well, I do have him in training for

the 1986 Test Match Series,
so every day of practice counts.

Mr Aylward, sir. The men inside
they say can you come, urgently.

They think it's a baby.

Er, Shelagh?

What did you make of Derek
and Audrey Fleming this morning?

That they're too determined
to be happy.

Hm. Little Christopher was born
without legs below

the knee, and he lived
for only 30 minutes.

If that was caused
by Derek's exposure

to radiation during
his National Service,

then this new baby may well be
affected too.

Yes. There's so much courage
in their optimism.

There's also terror
and not without reason.

Mrs Audrey Fleming?

Oh, hello, Sister!

I heard you were back.
Yes. History repeating.

Oh, Lord! You'd better have a look.

I can tell just by looking
at the little skull.

It's the remains of a baby,

wrapped up in a blouse
or a nightgown.

Just its bones.

It's so tiny.
It must have been a newborn.

But somebody put it here
deliberately

a long, long time ago.

I'll send for the police.

Baby seems to be
in a very nice position, Audrey.

That's a lovely strong heartbeat.

I often wish I could let mothers
listen themselves with

the Pinard. It's such a magical,
reassuring thing to hear.

Oh, Audrey!

Don't cry.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to get all emotional.

I'm afraid Dr Turner's just been
called away from clinic.

He'll check on the results

of your blood tests
when they're in.

Oh, no, Audrey!

I'm sorry,
it's just brought it all back.

The noises in here,

the noises and the smell of the hall

and the disinfectant,

and even the colour
of them curtains.

It's just brought it all back.

I'll fetch a cup of tea.

Sister Frances was there when
Christopher was born, wasn't she?

It's just,
every time I look at her...

I just think of Christopher

and the way she looked at me

and him, when he was dying.

Is that it now? Where will it go?

The hospital mortuary.

A pathologist will examine it
and report to the coroner.

I'm simply the police surgeon
on duty.

There's nothing more
I'm allowed to do.

It just looked so small.

It wouldn't have looked much bigger
when it was alive.

And it was alive, once.

Tada! Refreshments

to celebrate Nurse Corrigan's
first day on the staff roster.

Ooh! Ice cream sodas!

I know it's not hot but,

when I was a kid,
there was a milk bar in Cork,

and all I ever wanted was to go

and have an ice cream float
up at the counter.

I'm telling you now
the nuns were having none of it.

It must have been a grim day,
so I brought you this.

There's no alcohol in it.

I know you're a bit funny
like that.

I like to think
that I'm sensible like that.

Oh, I'm sorry.

You've had a bit of a grim day.

This is most welcome.

Thank you.

I just can't blot its little face
out of my mind.

A baby's skull looks
so much more like a baby

than you might imagine.

And I just keep thinking,

who put it there and why?

Oh! Hello, Sister!

Sorry I wasn't at the clinic
yesterday.

Mrs Turner thought you might
appreciate a visit.

That's very kind of you.

Sister Hilda is presenting

a slide show on giving up smoking at

the Institute this week.
I've brought the details.

Thank you.

Shall I pop the kettle on?

I made a right show of myself
crying in that cubicle.

Ha! I thought I was doing well.

But then, suddenly,

everything was just reminding me
of Christopher

and what went wrong,

and all those things
that we can never put right.

You loved Christopher
and always will.

And I'm scared.

Will they have things like oxygen
in the maternity home?

You see, when Christopher was born,
he needed oxygen.

Everything will be at hand,
including Dr Turner.

And a transfer to hospital
can be arranged at any time,

if it's necessary.

We can arrange for different
midwives to deliver the baby.

Oh, I don't want
to hurt anyone's feelings.

Nurse Anderson and Sister Frances
are both so lovely.

It's my view that you need

a clean slate.
And we can help with that.

I can do something
to help meself as well.

This is all the stuff that Derek

and I have collected
about the men in the nuclear tests

and their children,

when they've been lucky enough
to have em.

I just don't want to have
to think about it for a while.

I understand.

You two needn't think you're putting
your feet up this dinner time!

We're having a working lunch
of cheese and crackers,

and you're going to help me
with my new display.

I take it you've settled on a theme,
then?

The Eurovision Song Contest.

That's on my birthday! I know.

All the more reason for us
to push the boat out.

We're going to have flags
of many nations, a microphone and...

a puppet on a string.

And these were all involved
in the nuclear tests?

Yes. Operation Grapple,

like Derek Fleming,
and Operation Dominic?

That was an American exercise,
using British troops.

These are all over the place!

Teddy's just brought back up
his last drink of Lucozade.

Does he have chickenpox too?

Oh, yes, all three of them now.

It's best
they get it out of the way,

but that's me on domestic duties
for a week.

I did bring an extra large bottle
of Calamine, as requested.

Thank you.

There's a list
of children's names here,

headed "Missing Fingers".

And details of three ex-servicemen

with leukemia
written on the back of an envelope.

Oh, if they ever want
to challenge the MoD,

this needs to be more systematic.

The information has been coming in

so fast, Audrey says
she's struggled to collate it.

I'll collate it.

It will give me something to do
while the children are ill.

May I be of assistance?

I'm Detective Sergeant Barrow.

Obviously, our first port of call
was the Electoral Roll.

But 32 Madeira Street was
a house of multiple occupation

for decades.

And because it was never formally
divided into flats,

it's difficult to establish who

lived in which part
of the building.

The baby's remains having been
found underneath the ground floor.

Sergeant, am I right in remembering
that there was

an overspill nurse's home
at that address during the War?

Yes. Er,

the National Registration Act census
shows 15 unmarried women living

there in 1939,
all on the staff at St Cuthbert's.

Some may be patients
at this practice now,

or registered with your predecessor.

You need access to our records,
obviously.

We have to gather
as much information about

the residents of 32 Madeira Street
as possible.

Or that baby goes

to its grave without a name,
or justice.

Huh! I shall be having firm words
with Medical Supplies.

I just found today's delivery
dumped outside

the back door without
so much as a "by your leave".

This box contains
incontinence supplies.

What use would they be
if they got wet?

I am heading out to Nimali Patel.

No, you, lass, are going nowhere.
You're not well.

I do feel a bit feverish.

I shall telephone Lucille
and she can go instead.

She can also take these pads
to Mrs Bertha Nyall

and her daughter.

Their flat's at the same address.
Now, come on!

Good evening. Are you Mrs Nyall?

I am. Though, what I am,
none cares or knows.

My friends forsake me
like a memory lost.

Mother, go back inside!

I'm afraid you must excuse her.

She used to be
an elocution teacher.

She certainly knows her poetry.
John Clare, if I'm not mistaken.

I'm afraid I can't linger
as I'm needed elsewhere.

But Nurse Crane asked me
to deliver these pads.

A little discretion would have been
appreciated, but thank you.

Midwife calling.

Oh, you poor love!

Why all these tears?

And what are you doing hanging on
to that sink? Have you been sick?

No, no, she's not been sick,
but she's in very bad pain.

There is no need to be upset,
Nimali.

This is normal labour.

Mr Patel, does your wife have
any female relatives nearby?

No, no, we came here alone
together, but alone.

Are you from Gujarat or the Punjab?

We are Gujarati.

We will manage.

And you are not alone.

Badhu barabara che.

All is well. All is well.

And what you're looking at now,
ladies and gentleman,

is a smoker's lung

in all of its
not inconsiderable glory.

Would anyone like to hazard

a guess at what
the blackened areas are?

Is that tar, Sister?

Indeed it is. Tar.

Oh! That delicious taste you get

when you drag the smoke
down the throat!

Oh! That crisp aroma
as the tobacco burns,

that tang of something

unique to a cigarette!

And I do actually know
what I'm talking about.

No, I served in the WAAFs
before I took the veil,

and a packet of Henley's
was as much a part of

a good night out as
a slick of lipstick and a Gin & It.

Sister,

is it true that smoking can cause
cancer in other parts of the body?

Unfortunately, yes.

Yeah, recent research does
rather seem to prove it.

Puppet On A String
by Sandie Shaw

If Miss Sandie Shaw performs
to the same standard at

the concert in Vienna...

she will return

to our shores
laden with Eurovision laurels.

I'd be happy if she put
a pair of shoes on.

Oh, that's just a gimmick.

I don't think
she's a patch on Nancy Sinatra.

I'm not familiar
with that theme music.

Nurse Corrigan's been introducing us
to Top Of The Pops

so Sister Monica Joan could hear
Puppet On A String.

Sister Hilda will be distressed
to have missed it.

She hopes to furnish us with

festive vol-au-vents and lemonade.

Oh, when the television concert
is transmitted.

Oh, I think not.
It seems a very frivolous event.

We did it for the World Cup.

This is popular music.
The World Cup was history.

I want them mashed to a pulp.
And you're never smoking again.

That nun didn't show any slides
of any stomachs.

I don't care you heard her.
Cancers of the esophagus,

of the tongue and of the stomach,
all caused by smoking.

Look, if I'm chock-full
of radiation anyway,

what difference does it make?

The difference it makes,
Derek Fleming,

is that it's something
you can do for yourself,

something the MoD can't
fib about and cover up.

It's something
YOU can have power over,

it's something we can do
for this baby.

I need you to be around
for a long time,

Derek. And just for now,
I don't want to think about

or worry about anything else.

Serves you right if
I made you chuck them in the gutter.

You're as addicted to
Sherbet Dip Dabs as I am to fags.

This isn't an addiction
this is a craving.

And I'm nine months pregnant,
so I'm entitled.

You should hold her hands in yours.

She is with midwife. I'm not needed.

Both hands hold them.

A big, strong push.

Jera Vadhare Jor Karo.

Well done.

Mata, Mata...

I know you want your mother.

And I know you can't understand my
words. Remember. All is well.

Badhu barabara che.

One big push now, Nimali. Big push.

The first baby of a new generation.

All is well.

Chickenpox?

Why is it always me that
catches everything?

It's like I'm a sponge,
sucking up germs and vermin.

Ah-ah-ah!

I shall have to check the
mothers-to-be that you saw in clinic

have all had it in the past.

I only saw Mrs Fleming.

And I had to go and mop up
after that vomiter.

I've been on the district
apart from that.

I shall be setting up a cordon
sanitaire across this doorway.

Good morning.

Morning, Sergeant.
Have there been any developments?

The pathologist is carrying out
the postmortem this morning.

Depending on his findings,
the coroner may open an inquest.

It transpires that
the lino laid over the boards was

a pattern discontinued
AFTER war broke out.

And underneath it, there were sheets
of newspaper dating back

to the Abdication.

That flooring hadn't been disturbed
since 1936 or 37.

So you're ruling out any connection
with the nurse's home?

Yes.

As you can see from the brochures,
the council have put an exceedingly

wide range of illustrated material
at our disposal.

We have excellent lectures
on head... Colette.

Why don't you go and get some fresh
air before the end of playtime?

One of the reasons I came in was
to warn you

that chickenpox is doing
the rounds again.

If that's what it is, I'm afraid
she must have had chickenpox

since she started here, in January.

Dr Turner let me see the
pathologist's report

on the baby's remains.

Is there much they can tell from
just the bones?

You can tell the exact age of
a baby from the length of

the clavicle, the collar bone.

This was precisely
the measurement found on

a full-term neonate. Any shorter,

it would have been premature.
Any longer,

it might have lived
for a little while.

If there's an inquest,

the coroner will open
and adjourn straight away,

to allow the body to be released
for burial.

The most likely charge
would be under

the 1861 Offences Against
the Person Act,

concealing the birth of a child.

1861? That law was passed over
100 years ago.

Well, it still carries
a two-year sentence.

The baby was wrapped up
in a ladies flowered blouse,

with pearl buttons.
It wasn't just thrown away,

or, or wrapped in paper
like something from

the butcher's.
Whoever did this and why,

they weren't criminals.
They were... They were in distress.

What did the foster mother say?

She checked Colette's notes
and says she had chickenpox

when she was five.

Oh.

I should know those things.

I shouldn't have to ask,
I'm her mother.

One day,
in the not-too-distant future,

you will able to bring her up
yourself, Nancy.

I just don't like
to think of her unhappy, subdued.

I'd rather it was chickenpox.

We've drawn nothing
but blanks so far.

There are only three left
to check into.

Two who moved out
to the New Towns in Haverhill

and Stevenage, so Suffolk and Herts
Constabularies will deal with those,

and then one in Duchess Row.

I know this household.

The younger lady has
a history of mental instability.

I don't want you going there
without a district nurse.

The plan is to visit tomorrow.

I'll take
whoever you think is best.

Oh, Fred, look at this.

Lucille put a radish in,
cut it in the shape of a rose.

You can't half tell
you're newlyweds.

I don't reckon we'll see any dahlias
this year.

You want to ask Reggie
for some tips?

Yeah, you and Lucille wouldn't like
to come round next Saturday,

would you, help make his birthday
a little bit of an occasion?

Oh, of course we would.

Nothing grandiose, we're gonna watch
the Eurovision on the television.

And some sandwiches, cake,
your nearest and, you know, dearest.

Aww!

Here, you eat this radish for me.

If I go home with it
still in my lunch box,

Lucille will put her sad face on.

Detective Sergeant Barrow?

Yes. I understand
you're familiar with this address?

Yes.

Mother is having
one of her delicate days.

She will not be joining in
this conversation in any way.

I explained to Sergeant Barrow
that your mother

is suffering from senile dementia.

We were forced
out of Madeira Street in 1939,

when the house was requisitioned
as a nurse's home.

I would have thought
the infant's remains date to then,

all those unmarried women,
bombs raining down,

morals thrown to the four winds.

Miss Nyall, the floorboards
in that room

hadn't been disturbed
since 1936 or 37.

The baby was put there
before any nurse moved in.

We had that lino laid by

Engelmann's of Stepney.

Mr Engelmann guaranteed it
for 25 years.

What you need to know...

is that there are two of them.

Two babies?

The first,

we buried
underneath the floorboards.

18 months later,
there was another one.

We hid it behind the flue,
behind the gas fire.

I don't often envy my mother.

And I didn't envy her then.

I've never seen anyone
in so much agony,

both times.

She hung onto my hands
until her knuckles went white

and my fingers had no feeling left.

But now, I envy her.

Because she can't remember.

And I can't forget.

Did no-one know she was expecting?

Was there nobody else
who could help her?

She was a respectable widow.

Miss Nyall.

The person that I need to talk to
is your mother.

Nonnatus house, midwife speaking.

It's Audrey Fleming.
I think my labour is starting.

Can I please speak
to Sister Julienne?

Do you remember when
the babies were born, Mrs Nyall?

I remember Marigold.

They said, "You can't give
a flower name to a winter baby."

Hmm, I remember that.

There was erm...

snow on the sill outside,
like soap.

Soap?

Soap flakes.

I won't have you humiliating her.

It's not my intention
to humiliate her.

I'm trying to respect her,
to let her tell me the truth,

if she wants to and if she can.

She's lived without telling anyone
the truth for more than 30 years.

She knew. I knew.

And that was enough.

There was no need
for anyone else to be involved.

It was winter.

Of all the things to stick
in her mind, the time of year.

Might I speak with you in private,
Sergeant Barrow?

When she was giving a urine sample,

Mrs Nyall required
my personal assistance.

I feel you should be advised
that she has

a significant abdominal scar,

which looks to me as though it was
caused by a Caesarean section.

And you believe that
to be relevant?

A history of Caesarean section
does not sit well

with two natural deliveries,
at the age of more than 40,

with only her daughter
in attendance.

I advise you to telephone
the surgery.

I will. But first,
I need to telephone the station.

There's something up here.

And there's something inside it.

Marigold,

we know that
your mother's only child is you.

It's a matter of medical record.

You were born by Caesarean section

and your mother had to have a
hysterectomy immediately afterwards,

to save her life.

She wasn't able
to have any more babies.

It was me.

It was me.

I gave birth to them.

Miss Nyall...
I was the one who hid them.

I was the one who was supposed
to be respectable.

And she was the one
who held my hands.

A second baby?
Are you sure, Matthew?

I pulled it from its hiding place.
It was wrapped in a pillowcase.

Oh, Matthew.

It was so small.

It was lighter than a bird.

You can oversee her medically.

And she can appoint a solicitor,
if she so desires.

But I have to interview her
under caution.

Marigold Nyall was
an in-patient at the Linchmere

for seven months
in the early 1950s.

A diagnosis of severe depression,

manifesting in catatonia
and elective mutism.

Did nobody wonder why?

A good psychiatrist will always
wonder why.

But sometimes it takes years
to find the answer.

It depends what's been buried,
and how deep.

If you will allow me to sit
with the lady,

whilst we wait for the solicitor,

it might keep her
on an even keel. Please?

I've no objection.

Oh, the pain in my back's getting
worse and worse.

Why is it all taking so long?

It seems the baby's lying
with its spine against your spine.

If we give him or her time,
he or she will turn

and the discomfort will ease
somewhat.

I wish I could do this for you.

Audrey's doing well,

but it's been a long
first stage for her.

Doctor, how high are the chances
of Baby being born

with problems like the first?

According
to the Ministry of Defence, zero.

According to what I saw last time
and the evidence I've read...

I don't know.

Which baby was born first,
Miss Nyall?

The little boy.

We weren't able to... ascertain

the sex of either set of remains.

Do you mean the one
in the chimney,

or the one under the floor?

The floor.

The other was a girl.

The boy came in

October 1936.

There were rumours
about the King and Mrs Simpson.

People spoke so harshly of her.

But women do fall.

They do find themselves
in compromising circumstances.

I had an arrangement...

with a married man.

He took advantage of me for years.

He's the one
you need to investigate.

Was he present
at either of the births?

Just my mother.

And did either of them breathe?

It's all good, Audrey.

Staying mobile gives Baby
a chance to change position.

We have gas and air ready,
for your next pain.

I think I want to push.
It feels like last time.

Is Dr Turner here?

Yes. He can come and see you,
if you'd like him to.

Yeah, yeah.

Did either of the babies
breathe or cry?

I don't want to remember.

They were your son
and your daughter.

You must.

I'm sorry,
Detective Sergeant Barrow.

But Miss Nyall must be allowed
to compose herself.

After we cut the cords,

both times, they just lay there.

They were... they were silent.

Silent.

As if they were made of stone.

I want her seen by a psychiatrist.

Sister Julienne was right.

The baby's turned into the best
possible position for delivery.

Clever baby. Clever you.

Can Derek come back now?

Come on, Derek.

You know my views about ulcers
and empty stomachs.

I really don't think that I want
a biscuit.

No. You want a cigarette.

Audrey wants YOU.

I have no idea
what's going to happen in in there.

That's what being a father is.

You never do know,
and there are never any promises.

Find the courage
and the rest will come.

Baby's head is crowned.

This will sting a little.

No gas for this.

Perfect work.
That's the worst of it over.

Oh, can you see its face?

It has a most beautiful face.

And its eyes are opening.

I love you, Audrey.

And I love you.

Now you must gather all
that strength,

all of it, yours and his,

and push, push for the shoulders.

Come on, Audrey. Come on!

You have a daughter.

Is she all right? Is she all right?

She's beautiful.

It looks to me as though she has ten
perfect fingers and ten tiny toes.

She's going to be released
without charge.

And what did the psychiatrist say?

That, in his view, she'd never be
passed fit to stand trial.

You'll get the report.

I'm hoping that when I read
between the lines,

It will say,
"She's been punished enough."

There would have been
an issue of evidence,

if we'd ever got as far as court.

All we've got is two bundles
of bones.

You look so tired.

At least they let me lie down
overnight.

I'm a nurse.

I've seen dawn
from the wrong end many a time.

I was a telephonist.

I used to be able to talk and talk,
and say nothing of any import.

And then you stopped.

The babies never made a sound.

Will the police let them go now?

I thought you might like a brew,
Mrs Turner.

You've come in very late. Thank you.
I'm quite enjoying the chance

to think and get on with this job.

Mrs Turner,

am I right in thinking you foster
your little Chinese girl, May?

Yes. We still hope to adopt her.

But her mother lives in Hong Kong
and the situation is complicated.

My daughter lives
with foster parents.

And before that,
she was in an orphanage.

How can I help her to settle?

To be like May is

to always look as though
she knows where she belongs.

Colette has had a lot of change.

Just like May,
when she first came to us.

One of the things I did for May
was make a scrap book,

telling her everything about herself
and her new life in England.

And does she like it?

She used to ask to see it
whenever she was feeling anxious.

I'd take her through the pictures
and she would relax.

Now, she hardly asks
to look at it at all.

And I think that's a good thing.

Have we a name for her yet?

We thought Elizabeth.

Elizabeth? That was my mother's
name, I've always loved it.

It's all the more reason
to choose it, then.

Elizabeth Christine.

That's just right.

I can't believe our luck, Aude.

Whatever's sloshing round
inside of me,

whatever I might have passed
onto her...

she looks perfect.

She is.

And she always will be,
cos she's ours.

And we get to take her home.

I think it's a lovely idea
of Mrs Turner's.

I just wish I had a bit more
to put in it for her.

There's one picture of me
and my mother,

who she thinks is her mother,
and who's dead.

A couple of snaps Nurse Crane took
at the harvest supper,

none of me and her,

and none of the goldfish, also dead.
Did Zebedee pass away?

He got some sort of fungus
on him.

Oh, Colette broke her heart crying.

It always seems to me that it's the
little things that children love.

How... how can I make her

a scrap book telling her who she is,
when everything in it just

underlines a great big lie?

You could try telling her
the truth.

These are for you.

Your own notes,
exactly as they were,

and a fully typed
and indexed version of the same.

You will want to look at them,
in time.

And I suspect the lists will grow.

Did you find out anything new?

I discerned patterns.

Patterns the Ministry of Defence
should see and should acknowledge.

We're not gonna let this rest.

And you shouldn't.

But let it rest today.

There's no flowers on these.

Things aren't born finished,
Colette.

Now, sometimes, it takes time
for the details to come out.

There are... all sorts of details

about you and me,

that it hasn't been right
to tell you yet.

Why?

Because if people knew the truth,
they might make unkind remarks or

might not let us join in with them,
because we aren't respectable.

Nurses are respectable.

Colette.

When I was 16,

I did something that nobody thought
was respectable at all.

I had a baby. I wasn't married.

Where's the baby now?

God love you.

Look.

How long will it be
before the gravediggers come

and fill it in, do you suppose?

By nightfall, I should think.

Do you want them to stay uncovered
for as long as possible?

Yes. Lord knows they were buried
long enough.

I like the thought of them hearing
the birds for a little while.

Me too.

You know, I couldn't look after you.

I couldn't look after myself.

So, they took control of everything.
But it's my turn now.

So, I'm going to save up
and work really hard at my job

and, in a year or two, we'll be
living in a nice home of our own.

Like a mother and daughter should.

I thought I didn't have a mother.

But you have.

You always did have.

And it was always me.

Oh, look!

Ah.

The sisters have come to wish you
Happy Birthday, Reggie.

It's an unhappy birthday.

The television's bust.

And I can't work out what's ailing
it, even with the back off.

But what about your little party?

We can have some cake, I suppose.

And maybe have a game of cards?

I'll miss Puppet On A String.

No, you won't.

You must come to Nonnatus House
and we will watch together, there.

Often, in the spring,

we cease to remember
the winter that preceded it.

The clouds and the rain are
of no consequence at all.

We look to each other
for our sunshine.

And that light is all there is.

♪ Love is just
like a merry-go-round... ♪

Where there was isolation,

there is togetherness.

Where there was silence,
there is music.

♪ Then I'm up in the air... ♪

And where there was tribulation,
there is peace of mind.

Every season passes, in the end.

Sharp shoots become soft leaves,

and the fruit we wait for
tastes the sweetest.

Endure the grief, embrace the joy.

All things come.

This is how the world turns.

This is life itself.

Just goes to show
how important these tests are.

What were you thinking?
You numbskull!

You...

Sister Frances, has Miss Higgins
called in at all? Miss Higgins?

No-one has the right to decide
who is worthy to be born.

Public health information.

Toodle-pip.