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(upbeat classical music)

(hawk squawking)

(grass rustling)

Here.

- Thanks.
- Glasses.

(groans)

- (phone ringing)
- Oh, damn.

You'd better answer that.

It's Helen.

- Helen?
- Dad?

Yeah. I'm just heading off.

I just saw a pair of Goshawks.

A pair?

Yeah.

Was it a display flight?

No, not fully.
They weren't diving.

They were sort of gliding around
each other. Beautiful.

- Oh.
- At one point they got mobbed

by some angry crows, but they
were just like, whatever.

Bet the crows didn't hang
around for long.

- They're not stupid.
- (chuckles)

They didn't want to
end up being lunch.

Well done, you.

Still got
my spotting scope then?

Er...yeah, sorry.

Bring it back next weekend
and don't forget.

- I will. Promise.
- Alright. Bye.

Alright. Bye, Dad.

(spirited music)

(bicycle bell tinkles)

Hi, everyone.

Right, grab your things,
we're going to the pub.

Yep. Come on.
It's a class outing. Let's go.

Little bit more enthusiasm.

Right, it's lunchtime
on the 28th of February, 1953.

Watson and Crick are hurrying
along this street,

on their way to the Eagle
where they're about to

burst through the doors
and shout,

"We have discovered
the secret of life."

But how did that discovery
come to be their story?

What about Rosalind Franklin?

Without her brilliant work,

their Nobel Prize-winning
eureka moment

could never have happened,
could it?

And throughout this term,
we've investigated how science

isn't as objective
as we assume it to be,

that societal factors deeply
and invisibly

inform its workings.

For example, you could argue
that the history

of scientific discovery
has been dominated

by the "Great Man" theory.

So, let's consider
Crick and Watson

as they rush towards
this famous door,

and Franklin,
working quietly in her lab,

is it true that "Whoever gets to
tell the story, wins the prize?"

Now, some people think that
Watson, you can go in,

was a bit of a wanker, but
that's not really an expression

that your examiners
would appreciate,

so I'd leave that out
of your exam paper,

if I were you.

(rustling)

Oh, sorry.

Oh, my God, it's freezing.

Sorry, I'm late. Sorry.

Ooh, a bit of light reading?

You know me,
I love a bit of Kripke.

- (Helen chuckles)
- I'm starving.

Warm yourself up for two
minutes, and then we'll go.

- I spend my life...
- Hello, you.

...sitting on doorways.

You're not a house spider.
You should be outside.

Come on.

Excuse me? You have been invited

to apply for a post-doc
at the Max Planck Institute.

You jammy devil.

Yeah, but do I really want to go
to Germany for three years?

Yes, you do.

Think of all those Nobel Prize
winners that went there.

Well, they've only asked me
to apply. I haven't got it yet.

Yeah, but you are going to
apply, aren't you?

I might do.

(window slams shut)

Excellent news.
We can celebrate.

(laughter)

(telephone ringing)

Oh.
(beep)

Hi, Mum. I'm just on my way out.

- Mum?
- I've, um...

I've had a phone call
from St Thomas' Hospital.

It's Dad.

He...he went up to
London this morning

to cover the storm
for the paper,

and, uh...

and someone found him.

(dark music)

He'd collapsed in the street.

An ambulance came and took him
to hospital...

(panicked breathing)

But when they arrived,
there was nothing...

(muffled talking)

(Helen hangs up)

Helen?

Helen, what's happened?

(exhales shakily)

Uh...

(exhales)

(leaves rustling)

What are we doing?

The table's booked,
and we're late.

Well, who gives a shit
about the table?

My mum said not to come tonight.

My brother's with her.

We may as well, we have to eat.

Oh, you, uh...
you don't like your meal?

Her father passed away.

Oh.

Wait, let me get you something.

(background music playing)

(footsteps approaching)

There we go. Okay.

And, uh...sorry for your loss.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

Thank you.

Okay.

I'll get the bill.

(sobbing)

(sniffs)

Bye, Dad.

(poignant music)

Mum: He's still working dusk
and dawn.

When I finished work,

I thought Dad would do the same.

But I'm still waiting.

Dad: I'm not in
your mother's good books.

Yeah, she said.

She wants me to stop working
for the paper.

And what do you want to do?

Dad: Carry on, of course.

You could slow down a bit.

What would be the point?

You could have fun with Mum.

You don't need me to be retired
to have fun.

(puffs) Dad, that looks nasty.
How did you do it?

Oh.

Trimming the tree.

How many times you been told
about reckless tree surgery?

(chuckles)

Time heals all wounds.

Wounds all heals.

I never forget a face,
but in your case,

I'll make an exception.

(Dad and Helen laugh)

These are Mr Macdonald's
belongings.

James: Yeah, I...
I'll take those.

(bag rustles)

Nurse: I'm sorry for your loss.

(sobbing)

Any hobbies?

Astronomy.

Yeah. Natural history.

Geology.

Etymology.

Ornithology.

He liked aeroplanes.

Might you be interested in a,
um...

in a themed coffin?

Um...

(laughs)

There is an astronomy option
on the next page.

(laughs)

- (James laughs)
- Um...

- Do you have anything plain?
- (Helen laughs)

Of course.

Sorry, Mum.

(laughs)

(whispers) Stop it.

(muffled) I don't know how
I'm going to manage the garden.

Dad did everything.

We'll work something out, Mum.

(pensive music)

(birds twittering)

(clock ticking)

("When We Were Wolves"
by My Latest Novel playing)

* ...wolves *

* When we were wolves *

(thump)
Shit.

Oh!

Shit.

Shit.

- Oh.
- Excuse me?

I think you'll find that it says
no parking.

Yeah, I can read!

There's no need to take
that tone.

Sorry. Sorry, this is just...
it's my dad's car,

and I'm not really
used to driving it.

Well, perhaps your father
needs to give you

a few lessons.

Yeah, well, he can't do that
right now, because he's dead.

Sorry.

(song continues)

* And we banged on
our pianos *

* La, la, la, la, la, la *

Helen: Thanks for the lift, Dad.

Pleasure.

Trains are a nightmare
at the moment, aren't they?

No problem.

How's it going?

I just don't really know.
I don't...really even feel like

I want to be an academic
anymore.

Okay.

- I don't know.
- Hmm?

The kids aren't as inspired
as I would like them to be.

You know, they don't really seem
to be that interested

in what I've got to say.

Maybe I'm just saying things

that aren't very interesting...

could be a possibility.

Ah, I doubt it.

I doubt it very much.

No, Dad. Please don't even
think about it.

Dad. Oh, my...

(Dad grunts)

(sighs)

God.

Hey, hey, hey, hey!
You can't take photographs.

- You can't be in here.
- Dad, come on.

(door opens)
Officer: It's a crime scene.

You're gonna have to leave, Sir.

- You're gonna have to go.
- It's a public road.

No, this is a crime scene.
No photographs, okay?

- We'll take your camera.
- That's alright, don't worry.

No you won't, I don't think so.

If you come back,
we'll take your camera.

I don't think so.

Relax.

Silly sod.

Alright, let's go.

It's alright.

(Dad and Helen chuckle)

Now, then...

What were you saying?

(laughs)

How I don't want to be
an academic anymore.

(Dad and Helen guffaw)

Oh, look at that.

Wow.

What is it?

(music fades, distorts)

Too late.

No, I missed...

(laughs)

(crow cawing)

Mum: Aunty Mo sends her love.

Helen: That's nice.

We had a glass of wine

and watched a film
on the television.

Good.

Well, I better
get to the shops.

James and the family
are coming over later.

Dad wouldn't want us
to mope, would he?

No, he'd definitely be against
any kind of moping.

You're not moping now, are you?

No.

No moping allowed.

Okay. Well...bye, then.

Bye, Mum.

(beep)

(choir singing cheerfully)

(low hum of chatter)

Isn't that your job
to buy me one

no you're not allowed to
because you don't go here

Oh, hang on.

So, you go here

and I'll come meet you
the other side.

Those guys are seriously scary.

A single pea falls on the floor

and they take you outside
and behead you.

It's in the College Statutes.

(giggling)

- Oculi omnium in te aspiciunt...
- (mouths) Sorry.

...et in te sperant, Deus.

Tu das illis escam tempore
oportuna.

Aperis tu manus, et imples omne
animal benedictione tua.

(low hum of chatter)

This is Oshan.
He's finishing his PhD.

- Hi. How are you doing?
- Amar. Nice to meet you, man.

(clears throat)

So, what do you do, Amar?

Uh, I'm an art dealer.

- Wow.
- Yeah.

We met on Twitter.

We did.

Good a place as any
to get acquainted these days.

Sure.

Was she putting on
the Australian accent

just to throw me off?
Or was that...?

- (Helen laughs)
- Was that...

Yeah, she does it
when she's out.

No, no, she is actually
Australian.

Okay, she seemed...

Is that your post? Alright.

- She liked you.
- Did she?

- Yeah.
- Okay. It's alright.

(birds twittering)

Bedtime reading?

Interesting choice.

(chuckles)

Will you come abroad with me?

You...you mean like
go travelling?

Where are you thinking?

Germany.

- Germany?
- (laughs)

- Okay.
- Well, no,

I've got the possibility
of a fellowship

at the Max Planck Institute
in Berlin.

Oh, I've never been to Berlin.

I mean, I haven't actually, um,
finished my application yet,

but I...I'm gonna do that
later today.

It's definitely
on my to-do list.

Come with me.

(chuckles)

Helen, I can't just...

you know, move to Berlin.

Oh, I know.
I don't mean forever.

(bell ringing distantly)

(brooding music)

(door closes)

(engine hums)

Friend: Is it retrievable?

I don't think so, no.

He saw all the self-help books.

Maybe you should have told him
about your dad.

Hmm.

Just forget him, Helen.

(sighs)

I told you, this is not
what you need right now.

- Okay. Okay. Okay, bye.
- Bye.

(beep)

(brooding music continues)

(up tempo music playing)

(engine and music cut)

- Helen.
- Hi, Stu. Sorry.

I know I should have called,
but I just, um...

Come here.

Coming in?

- Yeah.
- Having a weigh-in.

Are you?

- Oh, blimey.
- You've got a new Peregrine.

Yeah. This is Sweetie.

You know, softer the name,
fiercer the falcon.

Yeah, she's up half an ounce,
Mands.

I should have weighed her
before.

Oh, I told you, you gave her
too much yesterday.

Oh, shut up.

- Come here.
- Hello, Sweetie.

Come on. Come on. Come on.

(wings flapping)

Alright.

Hey, calm it.

Hello.

She's a beauty.

- Yes.
- (laughs)

Alright, shall we go down?

Yeah.

I'll get the door.
(keys jangle)

- See you in a bit.
- See you in a bit.

(door closes)

(Stu and Helen chatting outside)

Helen: I've been having
these dreams.

Bad ones?

Dreams of Goshawks, actually.

Ooh. Goshawks, the wildest
and maddest of raptors.

You always said you'd never
fly a Gos.

Yeah, I know.

But didn't you have
a Finnish Gos

when we first met
at that falconry club?

The Old Girl.

Oh, I loved that hawk.

Bloody hell,
that was over ten years ago.

That was before you and me
got together, Mand.

And Helen was hanging around
in Cambridge after uni,

on the dole.

- Oi.
- And flying falcons with me

instead of looking
for a proper job.

(Helen laughs)

And what was she like?

Oh, she was a beast.

Flying her was as stressful
as hell.

You're not thinking of getting
a Goshawk, are you, Helen?

I don't know. Maybe.

Seriously, they're a handful.

Do you really want to have to
deal with

the perfectly evolved
psychopath?

Don't even think about it,

especially not in your
current state.

What about a nice little merlin?

No. No, I don't...I don't want
a lady's bird, Mandy. I...

I want a Goshawk.

I think...

I need one.

(suspenseful music)

Mm, good.

Mum: I thought I'd make
a n attempt

to sort out Dad's study.

- Are you still there?
- Yeah.

What are you doing about
your work?

Um...

Helen?

Well, my, um...

fellowship doesn't end
until January,

and I can still teach here
until then.

But don't you lose your college
house this term?

Where will you live?

Honestly, Helen.

(music intensifies)

(seagull crying)

This feels like a drug deal.

(seagulls crying)

That's got to be him, right?

Why has he got two boxes?

- I didn't want one.
- Helen Macdonald?

- Yeah?
- Could you get your boot for me?

Oh, yeah, sorry.

(sighs)

Oop.

(grunts)

- Money?
- Yeah.

(rustling)

And your documents.

Thank you.

(bird twittering)

Oh, hang on.

I think she's slipped her hood.

(dark music)

Let's get her out.

I have to check her ring number,
anyway.

(box rattles)

(squawking, wings flapping)

Pop her hood on for me.

You don't want to get
her scared.

(cacophony of seabirds)

You told me you'd
done this before.

Yeah, I have. Just...

not for a few years.
And never with a Goshawk.

There you go. See that?

Do you know the trick
for a well-behaved Gos?

Murder.

Calms them right down.

Get her out hunting
as quickly as you can

and let her kill a lot.

Oh, no. I'm sorry,
this is the wrong bird.

What?

(cage closes)

(another cage opens)

This one's yours.

Are you sure?

It says so here.

(sighs) Sorry, this is...

really awkward, but...

do you think there's any chance

that I could have the first one?

I've sold her to somebody else.
They'll be here any minute.

I...I know this is really out
of order, but please...

please, this isn't my bird. I...
She's not.

Please, can I have
the first one? Please.

We're gonna have to change
all the paperwork.

Thank you.

Are you sure you don't want me
to come in with you?

- Sure, yeah.
- Okay.

Thank you. Thanks.

Good luck.

(whispers) There you go.

Home now.

Good night.

(soft music)

(music intensifies)

(flapping, thrashing)

(flapping, thrashing)

(whispers) Let's try
standing up.

There we go.

Let's go for a walk.

This is my kitchen.

(flapping, thrashing)

It's not that bad.

(poop splats)
Oh.

Thanks very much.

These are some of my treasures.

Sabre-toothed tiger.

Bought it with my pocket money
when I was little.

Bet you've never seen
one of them before.

You're doing very well.

(flapping, thrashing)

And that's a kettle.

And a toaster.

Let's go and look at them.

Good girl.

Good girl.

What's that you're looking at?

(chuckles)

(spirited music)

(church bell ringing)

(weight clanks)

(pencil scribbling)

You've got to eat.

You've got to eat.

(phone ringing)

(phone ringing)

(tools clink)

(phone beeps)

- Yeah?
- Stu?

I've been ringing and ringing.

What's up?

Her weight's plummeting.

I'm sure she's getting weaker.

Don't panic.

She was fat as butter
when she came out of the aviary.

A Gos like that will
take three or four days

before she's chilled enough
to eat in front of you.

No, what if she's ill?

And she's sleeping all the time.

She's just a tired baby
after a long trip.

Oh.

I think I've made
a terrible mistake

and I'm killing
this beautiful bird.

She's not gonna die, Helen.

Why didn't you stop me?

Well, I did try.

That's helpful.

I'll speak to you soon.

(beep)

(knocking on door)

(repeated knocking)

- Hi.
- What are you doing here?

Well, I came to take you out
for some fresh air.

Well, I can't leave her.

Yeah, I thought you'd say that.

Have you eaten?

Or showered, even?

(door slams)

Wow.

It's all a tad fetish dungeon.

Oh, no, the hood's a kindness
while I'm training her.

Birds of prey don't think
like we do.

If they can't see something
then,

to them it doesn't exist.

So, when she's got the hood on,
she feels calm and safe.

God, I wish I had a hood.

Exactly. It gives her peace.

And what happens...

when you take the hood off?

Well, the nerves of her eyes
and ears are connected

directly to the neurons
controlling her muscles.

So, she literally reacts
before she thinks?

Yeah. Thinking comes later.

They live at ten times
our speed.

Ooh, sounds exhausting.

(Helen chuckles)

Have you given her a name yet?

No.

Why not?

Well, I don't know her yet.
Not properly.

Okay.

No, no, no, no, you...
you can't stay.

Well...you said that the hawk
needs to get used to humans.

Well, I'm a human.

Yeah, but you...you might put
her off eating.

She still hasn't eaten,
and she needs to eat.

Well, so do I. Look, we'll...

we'll watch some great TV,

have a croissant, and then...

I can fuck off and leave you
to tame the dragon.

(television playing)
(packet rustles)

- Okay. But don't look at her.
- Okay.

Eye contact's a sign
of aggression.

- Okay, I won't.
- How very convenient.

You know, I've got a nasty
feeling he's not one of us.

(laughter)

Harbouring escaping British
prisoners, hmm?

When I tell the Gestapo
what I have found,

I will get a medal for this.

I want another picture.

I'm not sure a bunch of comedy
Nazis are gonna help.

Should we watch a wildlife
documentary or something?

No, I hate wildlife
documentaries.

(laughter)

Keep them quiet.
I will deal with the Gestapo.

(whispers) Good girl.

Have you found the treasure?

Good girl.

Not a smell of it.

Continue to look.

I shall not return to Berlin

until the picture is found.

Okay.

(comedy continues playing)

Gilles! Pierre! Jacques! Emile!
My old friends...

Right. I'm going to take
the hood off, okay?

Mm-hmm. I'm not looking.

...sit down, sit down. Wine on
the house for my old friends,

Pierre, Emile, Jacques
and Gilles.

(gasps) The little bugger
ate it.

Oh, my God.

(gentle music)

I think she likes you.

What did I tell you?

(laughing)

Good girl. She's mantling.
That's mantling.

So, she's mantling
over her prey.

What does that mean?

She's protecting it
from any other predator.

Oh. Oh, me? Yeah.

I'm gonna protect my croissant
the same way.

Okay, I get it. She's amazing.

Wow.

Well done, Helen.

Come and get it. What's that?

Come and get it. Good girl.

(weights clink)

Good girl, you're heavier today.

(laughing) Ooh,
you're already going.

You didn't give me a chance
that time.

Ooh.

That's a big bit.

- (squawks)
- Mm, what have I got?

(chuckling) Yeah, good girl.

Good girl.

You made a fuss about that.

(squawking)

(splashing continues)

(curtains swish)

I'm gonna call you Mabel.

That means lovable.

Hmm?

That should make you extra
fierce, what do you think?

What do you think, Mabel?

You're a good girl, Mabel.

Good girl.

Good girl.

(people chattering)

(whispers) Good girl, Mabel.

That's my girl.
Good girl, Mabes.

Cyclist: Sorry.

Good girl, Mabel.

(bell ringing, boy shouting)

Jesus. Alright, Mabel, alright.

(cacophony of noise)

(people shouting)
(bells ringing)

(bang)

Boy: Hey!

Good girl.
(bicycle bell rings)

Good girl.

(bicycle clacking)

Good girl, Mabes.

(choir singing distantly)
What's in there? Hmm?

What's in there?

Shall we see?

(women chattering)

Good girl, good girl.

- Good girl.
- (women laughing)

Good girl, Mabes.

- What was that about?
- Whoa-oh!

(flapping, thrashing)
Oh, Jesus! Oh, God!

- I'm so sorry.
- No, no. You just spooked her.

- That's all.
- She spooked me too.

(chuckles) She does that.

Reminds me of home.

My uncle in Almaty has an eagle.

Really? He's an eagle hunter?
A berkutchi?

- For years.
- Wow.

Where will you hunt her?

Uh, farmland, just a couple
of miles from here.

But she's not ready yet.

I miss it there.

(footsteps receding)

(flapping)

Well, I'm glad to hear you're
taking the trouble

to get out of the house at last.

Honestly, as if someone spiked
my tea with acid.

(laughs) Golly.
How did Mabel cope?

Well, very well, considering.

Better than me.

Sounds like you've cheered up.

It's nice you have this hawk
as a distraction.

Mabel isn't a distraction.

She's certainly good at taking
your mind off things.

What do you mean?

Nothing.

Just don't get lost,
that's all.

There's someone at the door,
Mum. I've got to go.

- I'll speak to you later.
- Helen?

(beep)
(phone clanks)

Dad: You just have
to be patient.

(birds calling)

When I'm on a job,

sometimes I have to wait
for hours and hours

to get the picture I want.

(rousing music)

Can't get a cup of tea,

or read the newspaper.

Can't even go to the loo.

(wings flapping)
(birds crying)

Listen.

Can't believe it's a pair.

Just look at them.

Watch carefully, so you remember
what you've seen.

(birds squawking)

Good girl, Mabel. Good girl.

(door closes)

Good girl, Mabes. Good girl.

- Good girl, Mabel.
- Miss Macdonald?

- Miss Macdonald!
- Hi, Charlie.

Er, there's a rule against
keeping pets

in college accommodation.

Oh, I know, but yeah,
Mabel's not my pet, Charlie.

She's...my hunting partner.

She has a very distinctive
aroma.

Mm, she does, doesn't she?

Like pepper and musk
and burnt stone.

(door opens)

Oh.

Well...wow.
Here's my under-falconer.

Hi. Pleased to meet you.

Nice glasses. Thanks, Charlie.

Don't forget to collect
your post.

It's causing a nuisance
to other fellows.

Will do.

(indistinct whispering)

Those sunglasses have gotta go.

Oh, I love these sunglasses.

- Well, she won't.
- Oh, okay.

Oh, and you need to put
the glove on.

Is this gonna protect me?

Let's hope so.

You know I don't know
what I'm doing, right?

I know, you're gonna be
absolutely fine.

Hold the food really tightly.

- Okay, got it.
- Yeah.

- I'm gonna put her on here.
- Got it.

And then when I call her,

- then you let her go. Okay?
- Okay.

What if I damage her?

- (laughs)
- Am I gonna damage her?

No, no, no. It's more like
the other way around.

Oh, great.
That's really good to know.

(Mabel squawks)

Mabel.

(whistles)

Mabel.

(whistles) Mabel.

Mabel.

There.

(distant clang)

Oh. Mabel, come on.
(wings thrashing)

Ooh. Shit!

Mabel!

Mabel!

Mabel, Mabel.

- Christina: Oh, my God.
- I've got it, I've got it,

I've got it.

Mabel.

- Ooh. Oh, God. What now?
- I want you to take that.

I'm going to try and get her
down with some food.

Mabel. What's this?

Come on, Mabel.

(taps glove)

(whistles) Mabel.

Helen Macdonald?

Hello. Hi. Y-you know Christina?

(bell ringing)
Hi.

I'd heard about your falcon.

- Hawk.
- What?

She's a hawk.

Noted.

Wha...what's she doing now?

Mabel's...

treeing.

- Interesting.
- Hmm.

- So, what are your plans, Helen?
- Sorry?

I understand we're losing you
in January?

Yes, I'm, uh...I'm, I'm still
firming that up.

Oh...

We're having a lunch
next Saturday.

Do bring Mabel along, won't you?
I'll...I'll send you details.

Bye.

- You'll have to go.
- No, I can't.

Just thinking about it's
giving me a migraine.

Mabel? Come on.

What are you gonna do, Helen?

January's not that far away.

Mabel. Come on. Come on, Mabel.

Come on, Mabel, please.

Please, Mabel.

Come on.

Come on, Mabel.

Come on.

(upbeat music playing)

She wouldn't come back to me,
Stuart.

It took me hours
to get her down.

Just...

I don't know,
I feel like I'm failing.

I'll never be able
to fly her free.

Shush. You're getting yourself
too worked up,

and that's not good for Mabel.

If you're calm, she's calm.

She needs to trust you,
that's all.

Bunch of starlings up there.

Alright. Take her hood off.

- Alright, Mabes. Alright.
- (squawks)

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

(squawking)

- Okay.
- Yeah.

- Go on, Mabes.
- Yeah. Okay.

Alright.

- Present the chick.
- Yeah?

Yeah, not far. That's perfect.

(taps glove)

Mabel.

Mabel.
(tapping glove)

- Come on, Mabes.
- No, she's distracted. Hang on.

- Mabel.
- Give her a moment.

Just present a little more
of the chick.

- Come on, Mabes.
- There, she sees it.

- Mabel, come on.
- There you go.

What's that there?
Give her a moment.

She's coming.

Oh, Stu. Come on, Mabel.
Come on.

There you go.
Get that chick off her.

Amazing. Well done, Mabes.
Well done.

Bring her back.
We'll go further.

Two or three yards.

Okay.

Very good.

- Good girl.
- Good girl.

I'll take
a couple of steps back.

Okay.

- Okay.
- Mabel. Mabel.

(rousing music)

Go on. Go on.

- Good girl.
- That's very good. Lovely.

Mabel.

- (squawks)
- Yeah.

Alright. Bring her back.

(crow cawing)

Good girl.

There you go.

Okay.

Okay.

Alright, no, fur...
you can go further than that.

- Just say when.
- I will.

- I reckon about there.
- Okay.

- Perfect.
- Are you sure it's not too far?

No.

Alright. Mabel.

Good girl. That's my girl.

Alright.

- Oh, my God.
- That's marvellous.

I think she's ready.

She's ready.

- What a good girl.
- Let's take her hunting.

- You sure?
- Go on. Be brave.

- Good girl.
- We'll put a transmitter on her.

Let me just test it.

(beeping)

Okay.

- There we go.
- (laughs)

(bell tinkles)

Perfect. Let me just pack up.

That's my girl.

That's my girl.

(coughs loudly)

- Got any fags?
- (laughs)

- Thought you'd given up?
- No.

(crow cawing)

You needn't worry.

Mabel was born knowing
how to hunt.

Yeah.

Take that anxious look off
your face.

(Helen chuckles)

(clears throat)

(bush rustles)
(bird squawks, wings flap)

(wings thrashing)
Ooh.

Oh, shit.

Shit.

- Oh, my God.
- Don't panic.

Mabel!

Call her down.

Mabel. I'm gonna lose her.

Helen, you're being ridiculous.
Just call her.

Oh, my God. I'm gonna lose her.

No, you're not.

Mabel.
(tapping)

Mabel.

Oh, God. Mabel!

Alright. Just let her
find her bearing.

She's getting higher
and higher, Stu.

She's fine.

No, she's not fine.

She's fu...
gonna fucking get lost.

Mabel, come down.

Why isn't she coming down?

She's surveying the land.

(whispers) Oh, come on.

Oh, Shit.

Oh, Shit.

Oh, shit.

Mabel!

(Mabel squawks)

(leaves rustling)

(Helen sighs)

Well, she came back.

That's always a good end
to the day.

Mm-hmm.

What if I'd lost her?

Well, you didn't.

I'm not dealing with things
very well at the moment.

Don't be so hard on yourself.

Mabel's just working out
her place in the world.

Get her out again soon, yeah?

Yeah.

Oh!

What now?

I'm supposed
to be teaching!

- Hmm.
- Shit.

Oh, no.

(door squeaks)

(door clangs closed)

Shit.

(knocking on door)

The students arrived
at the appointed hour,

and you were nowhere
to be found.

I'm so, so sorry.

We know how difficult things
have been for you.

How's your own research
coming along?

Well, I think.
Yeah, pretty well.

Look at this place.

(poignant music)

And...

regarding your new...

hobby...

um, look, um,
we all have our hobbies,

but...a hobby really mustn't
be allowed...

I don't have a hobby.

I have a hawk.

Right.

Who'd have thought a bloke
like me,

with one O level in woodwork,

would have a daughter
in Cambridge?

Shh.

First Macdonald
to go to university.

Hasn't he got used to
the idea yet?

No, he hasn't.

I think we should go.

People are trying to work.

(whispers) Mum wants to go.

I'll get him.

(whispers) Sorry.

Is this place still a recruiting
ground for the secret service?

No idea.

I mean, you could be a spy.

I wouldn't have a clue.

MI6 wouldn't touch me with
a barge pole, Dad.

I'm much too unreliable.

That's exactly what you would
say if, in fact, you were.

I read books,
and I do my research,

and I sometimes teach bunch
of undergrads, Dad.

I'm definitely not a spy.

But you could be.

Yes, I could be.

Thank you.

(laughs)

Ooh. Smell that.

Lignin...

occurs naturally in trees,

but when it decays,
it releases vanillin.

So that's why it smells
like vanilla.

- It's incredible, isn't it?
- Mm-hmm.

(sighs)

You could never be bored
in here.

So, you're training her to hunt?

Uh, no.
Uh, she knows how to hunt.

I'm training her to let me
be there when she does.

- Fascinating.
- It's all very Arthurian,

good old Merrie England.

Well, Mabel's a Czech-German-
Finnish immigrant, actually, so.

(chuckles) Very good.

Professor Campbell?

Let me introduce you
to Helen Macdonald,

one of our fellows
here at Jesus.

What a splendid looking falcon.

Hawk.

Yes. Um, falcons and hawks

are as different as cats
and dogs.

Falcons are aerial hunters.

They're like fighter jets.

And hawks are...

like Apache gunships.

Low level heavily armed killers.

What will bring her back to you
when you let her off her leash?

Is it...is it merely habit?

No. It starts off with food
and rewards. And then...

Might there be a...
an element of affection?

The 16th century falconers
would have called it love.

Yeah. The bonds between us
are love.

And you? What do you say?

Master's wife:
Professor Campbell?

I am so sorry.
Will you excuse me?

(quiet chatter)

(flapping, thrashing)

(birds singing)

(cacophony of birdsong)

(wings fluttering)

(chirping)

(rustling, flapping, squawks)

(crying)

(leaves rustling)

(cries)

(wings whooshing)

(Mabel cries)

(rustling, wings thrashing)

(small thud)
(leaves rustling loudly)

(suspenseful music)

(panicked breathing)

(Mabel squawks)

(suspenseful music intensifies)

Good girl.

Come on.

What have I got?
What's this, Mabes?

Good girl.

Good girl.

(triumphant music)

Well done, Mabes.

Good girl, Mabes.

Well done.

(upbeat music playing in car)

(door opens)

She did it.

She bloody did it.
She caught a rabbit.

What's this for?

It's for believing in Mabel.

I believed in you, you idiot.
You coming in?

No, no, no, no. I've got to get
back for Mabel. Hi, Mand.

- Are you alright?
- Yeah, yeah. Never better.

(engine starts)

(tyres squeal)

(gasps)

Hello.

(laughs)

Are you interested? Hello.

Hello.

(uplifting music)

Aah, Mabel.

Ooh, nice, on the shoulder.

(laughs)

(laughs)

I beg your pardon?

(gasps)

(laughs)

Mabel?

(laughs)

Come on.

That's it, go on.

That's it.

(gasps)

(gasps) Yes, Mabel.

Go on, throw it.

(gasps) Yay!

Well done, Mabel.

(knocks at the door)

Who's that?

Who's that, Mabel?
(dog barks distantly)

(squawks quietly)

(whispers) They'll go away.

They'll go away, won't they?

(knocks at the door)

(footsteps receding)

See?

They're gone.

Sorry, sorry. Sorry, I'm late.

Hi.

- Helen?
- Hmm.

This is Mike Hargreaves,

Dad's picture editor,
from the paper.

Right.

He's organising
the memorial service

for your father.

- Mm-hmm.
- And Reverend Davies.

- Hi.
- Nice to meet you.

As I was saying,

I have chosen a few hymns.

I know Dad was fond of, um,
Jesu Joy.

There's Jerusalem, of course.

Then we'll need to go through
his picture archives.

Helen: What are you doing?
Dad: Sorting out my archive.

Salisbury Cathedral.

- Is that you?
- That's me.

With your normal shoes on, Dad.

(laughter)

Ronnie Kray's burial.

I had to hang out of
a helicopter to get that shot.

You're kidding.

(chuckling) No.

It's what's known in the trade

as a white-knuckle job.

The harness had broken.

So, I had to hang on
with one hand.

I mean, it was fine...

until the helicopter banked
and I nearly fell out.

Oh, God. Well, that would have
been a way to go,

falling into Ronnie Kray's
grave.

(chuckles) Yeah.

Weren't you scared?

No.

Just look through the viewfinder

and everything else
gets shut out.

When you've got
the camera up here,

it's like...it's like
you're invincible.

That's a while ago, eh?

Yeah, I remember that one.

Is that me?

Yes.

How old am I there?

Probably two or three days.

So, Tommy wasn't here anymore?

No.

After you and he were born,

we had him for...

a few hours, that's all.

Must have slipped out, I'll...

stick it back in.

(pages rustling)

Mum: Helen?

Helen?

Sorry. Sorry.

Yeah, sorry, I was miles away.

Mike's saying he'd be delighted

if a family member
would care to give a eulogy.

Not sure I'd be up to it.

James?

Um...

Oh, yeah, so...yeah, I'll do it.
Yeah, I'll do it.

No, I'm used to lecturing to
large groups of people,

so, it shouldn't be a problem.

Mum: Well, um...

you are the speaker
of the family, I suppose.

I can put together
an order of service.

I'm happy to do that.

Mum: Thank you, James.

Great.

Great, so,
we're all sorted then?

- Yeah?
- Um...

- Great.
- James: Thank you.

Mum: Um, thank you.

Sorry.

- Coming?
- Yes, we'll just say goodbye.

Alright.

(knocks at the door)
(keys jangle)

Christine: Helen?

(knocks at the door)
Helen, it's only me. Open up.

(keys jangle quietly)

(suspenseful music)

(birds calling, singing)

(distant squawk)

(grass rustling)

(Mabel crying)

(wings thrashing)

(squawks)

(suspenseful music intensifies)

(wings fluttering)

(squawking)

(music tempo intensifies)

(wings thrashing)

(music slows)

(beeping)

(wings thrashing)

(majestic music)

(pecking, squelching)

(doorbell rings)

(light music)

(footsteps approaching)

Helen, I thought
you'd forgotten.

- No. Here you go.
- Thanks.

It's pheasant stew.
Mabel caught it.

She only ate a leg,
so, I cooked the rest.

We can just heat it through.

Oh, what a shame,
we've already eaten.

(door closes)
We?

Yeah. I told you
when I invited you.

The guys from Queens' are here.

Come on.

It's all a bit eccentric for me.

Well, speaking of eccentric...

Yes, who is that new
visiting lecturer?

Male: I just think
he's so pretentious.

I can't stand him.

Female: What was his name again?

I can't even remember his name.

Female: Did you hear his lecture
on the Long Twelfth Century?

Male: Yeah, unfortunately.

(loud chatter)

(laughter)

(discordant piano music)

(dishes clatter)

How's the packing going?

Any luck finding somewhere
to live?

No.

(glasses clink)

Are you okay?

I'm fine.

You don't seem fine.

Well, I am perfectly fine.
Thank you.

I think you might be
over-identifying with Mabel.

Yep.

I know that's what you think.

Okay.

So long as you're sure
that's not what you're doing.

You want a friendly face
for your seminar?

What seminar?

You know,

"Icons of Extinction:

The Supplantation of
Endangered Species,"

dah, dah, dah, dah.
It sounds amazing.

Shit.

No, I've forgotten.

I've forgotten. I'll, um...

I'll have to cancel it.

(soft orchestral music)

They're not gonna let you
do that.

Shit.

Shit.

I'll be there.

(orchestral music continues)

(knock at the door)

(repeated knocking)

Mum: Helen?

(door opens)

There you are.

- What are you doing here?
- Had the radio on, did you?

Hi, Aunty Helen.

Hi, Aimee.

You've got an ouchie.

Oh, yeah, it's nearly better.

Look, it's really lovely to see
you guys,

but it's not really the best...

We're gasping for a cup of tea.

- Can I see your bird?
- Yeah.

Dad's car's in a bit of a state.

I just need to wash it.

Did it die?

Oh, no. No, no.
That's not my bird.

That's just, um, one that
my bird killed.

- Is your bird sorry?
- No, no, no, it's fine.

- It's what's meant to happen.
- Can I have a biscuit?

- That's a good idea, Aimee.
- No, I'm not sure I've got any.

Um...

What, what about cups?

Uh...just wash out a mug
or something.

I'm gonna get Mabel.

(sniffs, disgusted exhale)

(James sighs)

Ooh.

Aimee, not too close
to the hawk.

Helen: Aimee, this is Mabel.

Your names both mean love.

Isn't that funny?

Is that poo?

Yeah, that's a mute.

- She's got two tummies.
- Mm.

Yeah, one's called a crop,

and that's where all
the feathers and the fur go.

And that's what makes
these come out.

Castings.

Oh, here comes one.
Here comes a casting.

Here comes a pellet. Look.

Whoa! (laughs)

You're lucky
you got to see that.

That's all the stuff
she doesn't need.

She doesn't want that.

That's all fur and things
like that.

Was that the bird
that cut your face?

Yeah, but she didn't mean to.

It was an accident.
She was just hungry, that's all.

And she thought
I was stealing her food.

Ooh, she's gonna rouse. (laughs)

That means she's happy.

It means she's really happy.
I think she likes you.

- Yeah.
- James: Aimee.

Aimee, not...not so close.

Come here, please.

Come here.

Good girl.

I'll go and get changed.

(hushed conversation)

Mum: The stench of fags

and rotting meat.

God, it's disgusting.

James: She's gone feral.

Mum: She's always been messy,
but this kitchen,

it is a health hazard.

Human beings can't live
this way.

James: I don't think she's well,
Mum.

Mum: I can see that.

Hey.

- Isn't she amazing?
- Aimee: Yeah.

- Do you need help packing?
- No, I'll be fine.

I can give you a hand to move
into the new place if you want.

Can hire a van.

I haven't got a place, so...

How's Dad's eulogy coming on?

Well, I'm in the middle of
writing a talk at the moment,

but once that's finished.

You won't leave it till the last
minute, will you?

No, I won't.

I just need to get this talk
out of the way, that's all.

(people chattering)

(flapping, thrashing)

Good afternoon.

Nature appreciation today

revolves around distanced
looking...

not interaction.

We've been encouraged to see
the natural world

as something damaged,

always threatened,

something we can look at,
but aren't allowed to touch.

Today, I want
to talk about other ways

of relating to nature
than just looking at it.

Ones that can promote radical
shifts in subjectivity,

grant us forms of imaginative
empathy with wild creatures.

In these times of catastrophic
biodiversity loss,

it's essential that we remind
ourselves

that the world does not
belong to us.

We share it with
innumerable other minds...

How can you like...
justify killing for fun?

(muted chatter)

Um...

it's not fun.

Hunting with a hawk is...

having the privilege
to be involved in...

well, to witness an entirely
natural event.

And if Mabel catches
a rabbit, we eat it.

Couldn't you feed her bird seed?

(laughter)

Uh...no.

No, she's a carnivore.

And you see her talons.

You see her hooked beak
for rending flesh.

And her crines, these, these
tiny, tiny little feathers,

they're...they're, um,
they're like whiskers.

They've evolved to hold
the blood until it dries

and flakes away. I mean,
that's what they're for...

like your legs are for walking.

No, I have a responsibility
to let her be a Goshawk.

To raise a hawk and not let
it hunt would be like...

be like not letting
a child play.

You call it play?

No, I...(sighs)

(louder chatter)

You...you claim that
you're involved in

"an entirely natural event",

but all you're really doing
is bringing death.

Well, (laughs)...
death's already there.

You know, death's everywhere.
But we're just...

we're constantly protecting
ourselves from it.

Do you know that every year
in the UK,

30 million little fluffy
cockerel chicks are killed

just because they're males
and...

they can't lay eggs
for us to eat?

I mean, we'd...we want to keep

death hidden well away, but...

hunting with Mabel,
it's, it's...

it's an honest encounter
with death.

Woman: Aren't you sorry for
the rabbit at all?

I think Helen has already
answered the question

about the rabbit.

Helen: Of course I'm sorry.

Of course, I'm sorry that the...

the rabbit's got to die.

Ma-Mabel's got to die.

I've got to die. So do you.
I mean...

we're all going to die. It's...

(shaky breathing)

I ca...

(bell tinkles)

(people chatting)

(cigarette sizzles)

(soft choral music)

(choir singing)

(door closes)

(pensive music)

(grass rustling)

(muffled) Helen?

Helen, can you open the door?

It's freezing out here.

Helen?

I went to our favourite
bookstore at the market today.

(Mabel squawking)

(sighs)

- Hi.
- Hi.

Is that the Hitchhiker's
Guide Radio Scripts?

The original.

My God, score.

You want to smell it?

Yeah.

Vanilla.

Shall I make us some coffee?

Yeah.

(water pouring)

(mugs clinking)

How's the packing going?

I haven't got time to pack.

I've got to write the eulogy for
my dad's memorial service and...

I've left it too late.

Why don't I pack, and you write?

It's okay.

It is...it's okay.

You know, when I was sad,
my mum used to comfort me

- with Julian of Norwich.
- (chuckles)

My Grandma taught it to her.

You know, Medieval
mystic abbesses

who brick themselves up
in towers

was really her thing.

Not that we know anyone else
like that.

She would say,

"All shall be well,

and all shall be well,

and all manner of things
shall be well."

(tap running)

(mouse clicking)

(scuffling)

Is that one of his?

- Mm-hmm.
- Wow.

(chuckles)

(video playing)

Are we ready?

Helen: Yep. What's in there?

Dad: Look what I found, you see.

(gasps)

- Dad: Oh.
- Helen: H ello.

James: So tiny. So sweet.
( laughter)

Where's he going?

(laughter)

(everyone chattering)

Helen: Careful, Dad.

No, no, no, no.

He's making a nest
in your hair.

(excited chatter)

Oh, no.

No no no...

Where's he going?

(laughter, chattering)

You're safe, Dad, you're safe.

- Dad: Right. It's good now.
- Helen: O kay.

- Dad: Don't touch it.
- I'm not gonna touch it.

Dad: Ready?

Hold it steady now.

Helen: Ahh...

(laughing) Dad!

How about that! Together!

- (laughing) Got it.
- (video pauses)

Helen: Ali Mac,

A.K.A. Alisdair Macdonald,

A.K.A. our dad,

quite liked bridges.

(laughter)

He tracked down and memorialised
every single way

to cross the River Thames.

He got shouted at by farmers
and attacked by cows,

but none of them could stop him
from completing his mission.

He was a quiet man
with a camera,

and every day he set out
in search of new things.

(surprised chatter)

(laughter)

He traced the courses of streets
and rivers,

careers and lives,

storms and stars.

(murmuring)

I always thought
what Dad taught me

was to be detached...

a watcher.

Using the viewfinder
to contain the world

and keep fear at bay.

But now, I see...

how passionately engaged
with life Dad was.

Look, this happened.

(laughter)

- And this.
- Aww.

- (laughter)
- And this.

Every shot a testament.

Reminding us not to miss
a moment.

Not to forget.

I've been desperately trying
not to forget.

He was a wonderful father...

with a ridiculous inability to
wear anything other than a suit.

(laughter)

Um, I went with Dad
to Cornwall once

to photograph a total eclipse.

And we were standing
on a beach,

when a man, who...

he told us he was
the reincarnation

of King Arthur,

he was wearing a silver crown

and wearing long white robes,

and he came up to Dad,

and he asked him,
absolutely bewildered,

"Why are you wearing that suit?"

And Dad replied,

"Well, you never know
who you're going to meet."

(laughter)

(sniffs)

I think he was the only person
in the world

who truly understood me.

And now he's gone.

I miss him terribly.

But seeing everyone here today
makes me realise

that he was special
not just to me...

(poignant music)

...but to all of us.

And that he's here with us now,

in our memories,
and in our hearts.

Bless you, Dad.

I always knew you were a legend,

but it turns out that you
really, really were.

(people chatting quietly)

Thank you so much.

GP: Little interest or pleasure
in doing things?

Helen: Quite often, yeah.

Some days?
More than half the days?

More than half the days, yeah.

Poor appetite?

Same.

More than half the days?

Yeah, same.

Trouble concentrating?

Yeah.

Both: More than half the days.

(slow music)

Feeling that you're a failure?

Well, that's just a matter
of fact.

So...

More than half the days, yeah.

Taking less trouble over your
appearance than formerly?

Um...

I don't know.
Uh...yeah, maybe.

It could just be that these are
rational responses

to the realities of my life,

as opposed to pathological ones.

No income, no job, no home,
no father.

Are you in a relationship?

No.

I do have Mabel.

- Mabel is your...?
- Goshawk.

But they're a non-affectionate
species, so...

(muffled chatter)

There you go.

(clears throat) Thanks, Mum.

It's time to put Mabel up
to moult.

What does that entail?

Well, she loses her feathers
one by one,

and grows news ones.

Gosh. Sounds like hard work.

Hmm.

She'll need peace and quiet,

so, a friend said that
he'd have her.

How long will she be away?

Six months.

Oh.

Well, maybe that'll be
a nice break for Mabel.

And for you.

The doctor says
I have depression.

I couldn't be sorrier, Mum...

for putting you through
so much worry.

That's you, Helen.

You...

you go too far.

But you come back.

(soft, stirring music)

(birds singing)

(crow caws)

(wind blowing)

(flapping, thrashing)

Dad: Come on, slow coach.

I haven't got all day.

I'm tired.

It's been a long week.

Dad: Tired?

You don't know
the meaning of the word.

(plane buzzing)

I think that's a little German
microlight.

Quick, my notebook.

Side pocket.

Write this down for me.

Ikarus C42.

You need a new notebook, Dad.
This one's almost full.

You can get me one
for my birthday.

I thought you wanted
a book on grasshoppers.

Already bought it.

'Nymphs of the Sahelian
Grasshoppers'.

A bit niche, isn't it?

Not if you live in Africa
and want to protect your crops,

it isn't.

But you don't live in Africa.

(insects chirping)

Voila!

The source of the River Thames.

Is this it?

Yup.

But there's nothing here.

I know.

You dragged me all this way
to look at a pile of stones?

It's underground.

It's incredible.

Thames starts as
a tiny little spring,

way down below the earth
right here.

Amazing.

I'm gonna photograph
every single bridge

between here,
all the way down to the sea.

That's gonna take a while,
isn't it?

How many bridges is that?

Over three hundred.
Can you stand over there?

The first bridge is not very far
from here, actually.

Dad.

It won't take long.

That's good.
Just over a wee bit.

Smile.

(chuckles)

(camera clicks)

(poignant music)

(chuckles)

(poignant music continues)

(dramatic orchestral music)

(sweeping pensive music)