Original subtitles

When words are written down,

they can be the finest expression of the human soul.

But the summer when poetry fever struck Candleford,

was not quite so enriching.

Who would have imagined

that neighbour might turn so fiercely against neighbour

over rhymes and pentameters?

Once words are marked down on paper, they cannot be taken back.

They are in the world,

for good or for ill.

They wither or they endure.

Words can be dangerous things.

They might find expression when we least expect it.

Or they can desert us altogether.

And the winner will receive a prize and a trophy

and their poem will be published. Oh!

I always thought you were shy of showing anyone your writing, Laura.

But if there is to be a competition and I'm to call myself a writer,

wouldn't it be quite something if I won?

The Chronicle is read right across the county now.

That does sound fine, my dear.

You have so many poems in that journal of yours.

Oh, but I must write a new one.

For I am to be at my very best if I am to win.

Just be careful it in't too good, my girl.

How can it be too good, Ma?

That's the third time I've seen him there.

What's he up to?

You have caused quite a sensation, dear boy.

Half the county is talking about Candleford's poetry extravaganza.

The response is more than I dared hope for.

Will you be entering, Miss Pearl? Moi? Poesie?

Do you really think so?

You have such a way with words.

Oh! Daniel! Tartine?

I am here. I do exist.

I am capable of conversation.

How rude of me, Miss Ruby.

Do you like poetry?

Oh, I love verse, which is why I believe a poetry contest

to be the lowest form of vulgarity ever visited upon Candleford.

Ruby!

Let me ask you, Mr Parish.

Why are you conducting this battle of the rhymes?

Is it to advance an appreciation of verse?

Or might it be to sell a few more copies of your dreadful rag?

Ruby! What has possessed you?

There is some truth in what you say, Miss Ruby.

But now that the competition is under way, I will endeavour to use it to enrich our community.

Oh, dear Daniel.

Confiture?

Oh!

Consideration abounds, Laura.

Our neighbours east, west, north and south have given plentifully for our cause.

Poetry! Just when a writer might need inspiration.

Can I borrow these, Thomas? You may purchase them, Laura.

And in so doing, your conscience will rest appeased in the knowledge

that you have directed those far-off godless savages

on their way to civilisation.

One penny should suffice.

Thomas, did you send Minnie out with a parcel?

She was at her most restive, ma'am,

I thought the trek would tire her out.

But she is absent when I need her to bring in the washing.

Not being blessed with the gift of foresight, I was not to know that.

In future, kindly do not take it upon yourself to instruct my staff.

Yes, ma'am.

One penny. Thank you.

How was the fayre, Queenie?

Fair.

You've brought your lace back with you?

I put myself down in the wrong spot.

There weren't so many folk at Banbury Fayre this year.

You be sure and soak your hands tonight, my dear.

Queenie, I know when you are trying to turn the conversation away.

Is this the same book as ever it was?

The Bible don't change.

Then where have the words gone?

But they're there on the page, you old duffer.

I see the letters well enough.

But the Fs are tumbling over the Hs.

The Ls are in the way of the Os. Twister!

Them tricks your mind plays on you sometimes.

I taught myself to read.

With a candle and the Good Book.

Now my reading is gone.

That will be all we hear of now.

How Twister Turrell lost his reading.

I know those books. The new owners of the Fellwick Foundry

cannot be as fond of poetry as my wife was.

Oh...

Gabriel, if they are yours then you must have them back.

No. They are the past.

Their presence would only torment me.

You enjoy them, Laura.

Thank you.

Gabriel, I have your wages.

I would be grateful if you'd keep it.

I don't understand.

If I am to regain my position,

I will not do that with wages, however generous they are.

I have food and a roof over my head.

In place of wages,

what I ask is that you permit me to use the forge,

outside of my working hours, for my own purposes.

I see no harm in that.

Though it might depend upon what those purposes are?

A man can only rise above the crowd

if he puts something of value into the world.

Now you have my curiosity fizzing.

As a boy, I was fascinated with machines.

Now I intend to make one.

A machine? In my forge?

I am still more intrigued.

A patent can be the making of a man, only if it is unique and original.

I'm afraid I must work in the utmost secrecy.

Heavens!

Such intrigue.

And to think that up till now we managed on shoeing horses and fixing gates.

Forgive me, Gabriel.

A woman must be allowed a little teasing

when a man is about to conquer the world.

I am glad to see your spirits so speedily restored.

Oh, dear. Minnie is still not back yet.

I sent her on an errand with Sydney to fetch some nails. Do you mind?

No, not at all.

It will be a splendid experience for them both.

I couldn't help but notice

that the washing line remains unfortunately neglected.

How can a man's reading just vanish?

Perhaps I am being punished.

Punished? What for?

Something I've done. Or something I ain't done. One or the other.

That's a mystery if ever there was one. Alfie!

Alfie! You must write a poem

for the poetry competition at the Candleford Chronicle.

I ain't never writ a poem before. You wrote a song, didn't you?

A poem in't the same as a song. Why ain't it?

A song's sung.

A poem in't.

What if you wrote a song but didn't sing it? Would that be a poem?

It might be.

I could write a love song.

About me? I in't never had a love song writ for me before!

What rhymes with Minnie?

ALFIE MOUTHS

What rhymes with Winifred?

I have to go.

Go? You've only just got here.

I know. You came all this way just to go again?

Make your song full of kisses!

Empty head!

That rhymes with Winifred.

What a poetry competition sadly reveals to us

is that Candleford is bereft of true substance.

Intellectual substance.

Who is there who might produce a verse of genuine meaningfulness?

Laura writes such pleasing... Laura is a girl.

She lacks experience.

Great poetry aspires to so much more than trite little love ditties.

Surely the winning verse must tap

the throbbing underswell of the human condition.

It occurs to me, if I were to...

Should an apt subject come forth,

I might pick up my pen.

Ha ha!

Ladies, I venture forth once more to deliver missives to the masses.

A humble postman This land does traverse

He ventures forth Brave as Odysseus

My poor dear deluded sister

imagines she might actually win the silly competition.

Alfie's writing a song that in't a song and it'll be about me.

Everyone knows Laura Timmins will walk away with the prize.

Course she will.

Laura is a fine writer.

I in't never seen her writing but I expect she is

because she fixes her hair so marvellous.

Laura will not triumph because of her gifts with the pen, Minnie.

Why will she?

Why?

Because she's romantically intended for the judge of the contest.

Minnie...

You must tell no-one - the outcome is already decided.

It is agreed between Laura and Mr Parish.

I happened to overhear them arrange it.

You must not disclose this to a single soul.

Oh, in't that nice! If Daniel loves Laura so much he wants her to win?

No, it is cheating.

Minnie, you must not make mention

of this skulduggery of Mr Parish's to anyone.

If Laura is going to win, I expect there will be celebrations.

I might have a new ribbon! Minnie, look at me.

It is crookedness and corruption and you must tell no-one.

Is it a secret?

Oh, I in't so good with secrets.

Off you go, child. Quickly.

Miss Pratt.

I have brought the lace you ordered.

And should you need it or should you wish it, I have a little extra.

I do believe this is the most delicate point ground lace

ever to come off my bobbins.

There's times when I look at them little webs and weaves

and I don't know where it comes from.

It's like I in't made it.

There's an enchantment about it that is beyond me.

We shan't be needing your lace henceforth, Mrs Turrell.

My sister was persuaded by a commercial gentleman

that bobbin lace is antiquated.

I understand.

Let me pay you for the work you have done.

Thank you, ma'am. I'm most grateful.

TILL RINGS

Might I sit a while, sir? My legs in't what they used to be.

Thank you.

Don't sit too long

or the locals might think I'm trying to steal you away from your husband.

Are you flirting with me, Mr Cochrane?

A woman who grows more beautiful as she grows older -

that's a thing for any man to treasure.

I must come and sit by here more often.

You've cheered me up when I most need it.

What's the cause of your sorrow, Mrs Turrell?

Every year, I go to Banbury Fayre to sell my lace.

This year, there was stall after stall selling loom lace.

Now, I come by the stores and there it is.

Machines are coming.

Mm.

Soon there won't be much need for the most of us working folk.

But some machines help us, don't they?

When labour is so hard it might break a man.

Will you lose your income? How will you manage?

Food will always be found.

There's money put aside for the rent.

What has taken the wind out of me is...

There's such beauty possible by human hand,

passed down by mothers to their daughters

and now the world don't want it anymore.

Oh, sir, you're listening to an old fool...

..Who wishes to hold onto the past

when the world is intent on moving and turning.

It isn't foolish to love your own craft

or to yearn for what is lost.

Don't stop making your lace.

That would be the real loss.

Have faith.

Laura!

And how is the day with you?

It is addressed to Terence Jolliffe.

One of the Brackley Jolliffe boys?

Poor Gabriel.

How awful.

What should we do with it, ma'am?

He talks of his wife as if she were a faultless angel.

I will keep this safe.

Little bird in the tree

Cannot fly

Cannot see

Little bird in the sky

Cannot see

Cannot fly.

That is it?

My theme is new life and the infinite possibilities of the universe

and how nature so cruelly casts us against fate.

For we are all like

the little bird.

But...

Pearl...

If the little bird...

cannot see...

And cannot fly...

How is it in the sky?

A poem is not meant to be an accurate depiction of humdrum life.

It is intended to make the spirit soar.

I am in the realms of the metaphysical.

It...It...It does rhyme.

Hm.

And now like amorous birds of prey

Rather at once our time devour

Than languish in this slow-chapt power

Let us roll all our strength and all our sweetness up into one ball

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Through the iron gates of life

Thus, though we cannot make our sun stand still

Yet we will make him run.

Andrew Marvell.

One of his better known ones.

Hm!

Laura, does Alfie rhyme with Post Office?

Alfie rhymes with...

Post Office rhymes with...

Yes, Minnie, it does. You're so clever, Laura.

Miss Lane and everyone will be so joyful when you win the competition.

We can't suppose it'll be so easy.

Daniel says almost every girl in the county is writing feverishly.

But they in't romantically intended for Daniel, is they?

Minnie, what do you mean by that?

You're going to win because Daniel loves you.

What a thing to say!

Well, I in't saying it. You was heard agreeing it with Daniel.

Who would claim such a thing?

I can't tell you that for I fear Miss Ruby would be cross with me

and she said to tell no-one.

♪ There once was a girl... ♪

SCREAMING

Can I have some peace?!

♪ I once loved a girl

♪ And her name was... ♪

PLAYS FALSE NOTE

HE SIGHS

Gabriel may send Minnie on an errand without rebuke.

How many years have I served? "Know your place, Postman Brown."

My dear, isn't it time you came to bed?

How can I possibly rest my head when my muse is so insatiable?

Margaret, you know I can't sleep until we have... shared our Bible reading.

Oh, I must forego Bible reading tonight, Thomas. I have no choice but to write.

What is it?! Oh! Twister, are you ill?

I was trying to outfox my own thinking.

I thought if I peered at the page when my mind weren't looking, them words might be there.

They ain't.

My own wit is too quick for me.

HE SIGHS

Twister, what if the words are gone and ain't to be had back?

Woman, they've always been there and always will be.

God takes things away from us for his own good reasons.

Our task is to seek the purpose.

Time you spend on the holy word might be spent tending others.

There's folks have their torments, their losses.

What would be the point of that?

It might take your mind from your own woes.

It wouldn't.

SHE SIGHS

'My darling Terence.

'I don't know if I will ever find the courage to post this letter.

'I so want you to know how sorry I am.

'Sorry that I abandoned you.

'So ashamed that I married Gabriel Cochrane.

'I never loved him.

'I have always loved you alone.

'I only ever wanted the comforts that Gabriel could buy for me.

'I have been a fool and now I must live this lonely life.

'I wake every day to pretend that I care for him.'

Thank you so much.

Miss Pratt, I must ask you.

Did you say to Minnie that Daniel and I had spoken secretly

in order to arrange the outcome of the poetry competition?

Minnie is such a light-headed girl.

But one cannot help but delight in her.

Please answer my question!

Are you spreading this malicious and untrue gossip about me?

I may have said that, if you win the competition,

that some people might suppose

it was because of your relations with Mr Parish.

How can you believe that Daniel would allow his newspaper to perpetrate such a scandal?

Newspapers and scandal, Laura, they are one and the same thing.

Miss Pratt, you know me.

You cannot believe that I would...

Can you?

I believe that people

might believe Mr Parish will use his position

in his own best interests.

Gabriel, it is coming up to the time of year when I put on the annual Post Office garden party.

I don't recall us ever having an annual garden party before, Miss Lane. Yes.

Well, we used to call it Zillah's birthday party.

Anyway, I was thinking that this year we might roast a young lamb

and I might ask you to make us a spit, Gabriel.

I would be glad to, Dorcas.

We can invite our neighbours in and make an occasion of it.

I ain't never seen you wear flowers in your hair! Nonsense!

I sometimes like to...

My garden has so many lovely roses this year,

I thought I ought to make use of them.

SHE GASPS

The gardens of Albion he passed by each morn

The scent of roses on the air was borne.

It looks most attractive, Dorcas.

Well, I ain't never seen roses in your hair. Especially at breakfast.

Go and clear up the attic, Minnie.

Oh, ma'am, not the attic!

Minnie, the attic. Now.

And so, every entry must be submitted anonymously,

with a sealed envelope bearing the name of the poem on the outside and the name of the poet on the inside.

Furthermore, for fear that those of suspicious minds might claim

that certain writers have such a recognisable style that the judge might identify and favour them,

I have decided to stand down as adjudicator of this contest.

Then who will preside over the determination?

The identity of that person shall remain a secret, so that no influence might be brought to bear.

And so, the conditions of this contest could not be more visibly just and incorruptible.

Any questions? Daniel!

If the judge is not known and the writer of the poem is not known,

how will a person write a poem if they do not know they are writing it?

All will be revealed, Minnie.

Thank you.

Do you have the love song, Alfie?

The tune is ready.

Nearly. And some of the words. Is it marvellous?

I just need a verse or two more, that's all.

I have told everyone that I am to have my own song with my own name in it

and it will be the best love song ever, and it will be mine.

SHE SINGS SOFTLY

KNOCK AT DOOR

Whoever knocks at my door? Come in, for heaven sakes!

Mrs Turrell? Oh.

You left without collecting your money, so I thought... Oh...

Also...I wanted to apologise for my insensitivity.

I was rather absorbed in another matter.

Oh, it is such a long time since I actually saw bobbins in operation.

How beguiling they are.

I was brought up to the pillow,

sat here when I was no more than eight years old and...

taught to fling these here bobbins with the best of 'em.

All the women would gather in one cottage and work the day long,

gossiping and telling old tales and singing songs

till it was time to run home and put on the pots for the men's suppers.

It sounds wonderful.

And it was!

Each fine pattern would grow longer until the piece was completed

and then it would be wrapped in blue paper

and stored away to wait the great day

when the year's work was taken to Banbury Fayre and sold.

As a seamstress, I find what you are doing so fascinating.

Then you must sit down here and have a try.

Oh, I couldn't. I mean...

I don't think I'd be able to!

Come on, sit down there.

Now take that on your lap.

That's right. Now, put this on here, nice and careful.

I'll sit with you and hold your hands and guide you on.

Now...

This here is the whole stitch,

so one, and take these two over...

Two.

And one,

and that's a stitch. I see.

When I was a girl,

all I saw was the purpose of it.

Now, there ain't no purpose...

..so all I see

is the beauty of it.

I am so grateful.

Mothers would pass this on to their daughters, one to the next.

I never had any daughters.

Miss Lane. Yes?

You will notice that I address you as "Miss Lane", since you are my employer

and that is how an employee ought to correspond with his superior, is it not, ma'am?

What is your point, Thomas?

Lack of regard and respect, ma'am.

A breakdown in the proper order of things.

Certain of your staff have been noticed indulging in uncalled-for intimacies.

In all of these years have you ever heard me say "Dorcas"?

I see. Most especially, ma'am, because, Miss Lane,

there might be those of our neighbours, ma'am,

who, where your staff are concerned, might think it suggestive

if a male member were to address you thus.

I will deal with it, Thomas.

Yes...Miss Lane.

"Come little infant, love me now While thine unsuspected years

"Clear thine aged father's brow from cold jealousy and fears..."

Come little child, sit with me now

While thine unsuspected years...

While your youthful years

Clear your aged mother's brow

From cold jealousy and fears...

From hot worries and fears...

Dorcas.

I came out to ready the ground for the spit.

And now I see you are admiring my roses.

More than admiring. I am picking them.

I hope you don't mind. You said there was an over-abundance.

I thought I might take some to my wife's grave after work today.

I have seen you going off.

Do you go there every day?

Do you consider me sentimental?

Devoted.

You are a mystery to me, Dorcas.

I am?

You are angry at me.

Is it the flowers?

Did I overstep my position, taking the roses?

It has been pointed out to me that it is inappropriate

for a forge hand to address me as Dorcas.

I'm sorry.

I do not wish to cause you any discomfort. It won't happen again.

Of course no-one would ever imagine that there could be anythi...

The whole world knows how dedicated you are to your wife.

Please...enjoy the flowers.

A white rose.

There is no greater symbol of innocence.

Daniel, creme Bavaroise?

Ooh, delightful.

Now, Miss Ruby, while your sister is gone,

I wonder if I might speak with you privately?

I feel I must ask your pardon.

I have been so captivated by your sister's kindness to me

that I have been blind to my own selfishness.

Oh, I see.

I realise that you have come home after a difficult time...

..and you have every right to want your home to yourself,

and every right to have your sister to yourself.

When the competition is over,

I shall tell Pearl that I wish to take on a home of my own.

I do hope I have aerated the cream sufficiently.

♪ There once was a maid

♪ And her name was Minnie... ♪

Alfie, I have a question for you.

Who is a man who can't read?

The friend of a man who can't write.

Reading can't just vanish.

So, where is it?

Twister, can you see?

If you are sitting there, then I can. Can you hear?

If you spoke just now, I suppose that's hearing.

Can you think?

There's noises chases round between my ears which I calls thinking.

Can you sing and play the banjo?

And do them both at once?

Then you have a lot to be thankful for.

Why should reading be the greatest of losses?

Thankful?!

I come to my neighbours for help!

Some folk come out and say what their griefs are.

Others like to be asked.

And what would be the point of that?

The point, Twister Turrell, is that it seems to me, it ain't the size of the loss that matters round here,

but the size of the complaining!

There's a reason God gave man so much tolerance.

Because he is born to live with a woman.

Miss Lane, since your fondness for jam is well known,

I thought you might appreciate a little of my own recipe damson.

Posies. I happened to notice them and thought of you. Oh, ladies. Such kindness.

What can I have done to deserve your consideration? It is a mere expression of fondness, Dorcas,

and, of course, my faith in your sense of fair play.

Fair play? A mother's love is a theme that I know will be close to your own heart.

Your sensibility, Miss Lane, marks you out as a soul capable of

appreciating literary epics, such as Homer, Virgil, Alexander Pope...

Ladies, forgive me.

You do not imagine that I have been appointed to judge the poetry competition?

I can assure you, I have not.

Come, come, Miss Lane, your denial only confirms your election.

I do hope no more of my neighbours believe that I am to judge them.

If not you, Miss Lane, then who on earth is to be the adjudicator?

Please excuse me, ladies.

Thomas will be with you shortly.

Gabriel?

You look so distracted.

May I confide in you, Miss Lane?

I can promise you complete discretion.

When I visited the cemetery last night,

as I approached my wife's grave, there was a man standing over it.

When he saw me, he ran off.

I imagine it was a passer-by who...

I asked the graveyard keeper, who told me that the same man attends my wife's grave at night

two or three times every week.

Perhaps it is some relative of hers who wishes to grieve privately?

But why did he run?

I have decided I must discover who this man is.

I will conceal myself each night in the graveyard until he returns.

Gabriel, is this wise?

Skulking in the shadows at night?

I will begin tonight.

If the grave-keeper is true,

he will soon reappear.

It is called A Mother's Love.

It is best if all matters concerning the entries are kept in strictest confidence, Miss Pearl.

Oh, of course, dear boy.

But this is you and I, after all.

Who is to be the judge?

Well, that I cannot divulge.

No matter. Let me tell you, Daniel, I am infused with confidence.

I feel my work has the firm hand of professionalism about it.

I don't know how I found such qualities.

Perhaps you might persuade your sister that the competition has brought out the best in all of us.

Yes. Yes. My thoughts exactly.

It's so cruelly unfair. I have done nothing wrong.

I can't even write.

I was hoping to write such a piece.

I don't expect the world will stop turning for the want of a verse.

You used to write rhymes, Ma.

You used to read them to me when I was a girl.

No more than airy confections.

I had time for such things in the days before worldly regard took over.

I was so excited about the thought of the presentation, the award.

Because of one spiteful woman, even if I do win, it will feel tarnished and spoiled.

Have you said your piece?

I can see how you feel robbed, our Laura,

but you have a think about what it is you're being robbed of.

A moment of glory. A shining trophy.

Applause.

All I have heard you talking of this past week is winning.

Where is the innocence in that?

You seem determined to be seen to be better than your neighbours.

Where is the poetry in that?

If I seem to speak sharply,

it is so that you hear me.

Is it decorations you want, Laura,

or to be a writer?

I thought I heard voices... Oh! I am sorry to wake you, Miss Pratt.

I needed to speak with Daniel.

Sadly, Laura has decided she can't enter the competition. Oh! Oh...sad, indeed.

DOOR OPENS

Oh! Quite a convergence. Ruby, poor dear Laura has decided she is unable

to write a poem of sufficient quality to enter the fray.

I will say good night... and apologise for disturbing you.

What have you there, dear boy? A special edition.

I thought I might print a poetry-only issue of the Chronicle.

Inspiring works by great writers

that might comfort and delight and enlighten. "Young Love."

It is a little-known Andrew Marvell poem.

One of my favourites. Laura taught it to me.

Come little infant, love me now While thine unsuspected years

Clear thine aged father's brow from cold jealousy and fears.

Isn't it wondrous?

It is certainly enlightening.

Go and check again, Minnie.

All quiet on the street, ma'am.

Oh, wait, it's him!

Oh, no, it ain't. MINNIE LAUGHS

It was a dog, ma'am.

SHE GIGGLES

Ma'am, why are we waiting up for Mr Cochrane?

He has taken a late stroll and I simply want to be sure he gets home safely.

The man is a bankrupt.

He foists himself into Miss Lane's employ,

and in no time it's, "Dorcas, Dorcas, Dorcas," and now he goes off prowling into the night.

Entries close tomorrow, and I haven't even begun my historical passage yet.

There is something untoward about that man.

And I intend to unravel him.

A night prowler stalks the streets of dark

Our Odysseus keeps watch and calls out, hark!

Hark! Hark!

OWL HOOTS

DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES

Gabriel...

I woke early this morning and decided to have some tea. Would you care to have some?

I waited all night but he did not appear.

Perhaps that is to the good.

It tells you that there is nothing for you to agitate your mind about.

I think not, Miss Lane.

I appreciate your efforts to appease me, but I shall return again tonight.

You cannot forego your sleep.

As I crouched there in the dark,

my mind turned back to when I met Liza.

She came into the foundry, looking for work.

It all happened so quickly.

Like a fever. We were married within weeks.

You must have been utterly smitten to propose to her so quickly.

It was her suggestion.

We hardly had time to put up the banns.

Gabriel...

I...

DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES

You are with us very early this morning, Thomas.

I see that I am not alone in being about before the larks.

You have the look, sir, of a man who has not slept.

I appreciate your concern, Thomas.

An errand took me from town last night. Oh, Mr Cochrane! You are home!

Miss Lane was... Minnie, go and tidy the attic.

Excuse me.

I must get started.

This bunch here was given to me by my grandmother

the day my first baby was born. Ah.

Every bunch has its own story.

This black bead here, this was found, after she was dead,

in the work-box belonging to a local woman reputed to be a local witch.

Why was she thought to be a witch?

She was no more than a gossiper and trouble-maker.

Full of spite and bile, she was.

A sour way of turning one neighbour against another.

Oh? Why would she do that?

Why do any of us ever?

Her own sorry soul.

She herself suffered the worst for it.

Oh, my dear...

What have I done to upset you?

Perhaps they'll find a black bead in my work-box when I'm gone.

What can make you say such a thing?

I am full of wickedness... and unforgivable cruelty.

There ain't much in this world that is beyond forgiveness.

I have deliberately maligned the reputation of Daniel Parish.

Have you now?

And why is that?

My sister dotes upon him

and she ignores me.

I have been consumed with the idea of destroying him.

Well, I am, I'm full of spite and bile.

What wrong is done must be undone,

or it will be your own self that will suffer.

I see you're settled well enough hereabouts, sir.

I consider myself fortunate indeed, Mr Turrell.

I'm visiting Miss Lane, as she's fabled to be the fount of wisdom about these parts.

I've come to ask her to help me to get my reading back. I am sorry to hear it has gone.

It was there last Tuesday, Wednesday it was taken.

I'm to seek her advice on how I might find it.

Isn't that obvious?

You have my ears, sir.

You must start over.

Learn again what you taught yourself before.

That's too much work for a man closer to the grave than the cradle, sir.

But surely the effort itself is what is most pleasing.

Have you any notion how many hours it took me

under the candlelight trying to unravel the mystery of words?

How is your wife recovering from her own loss?

Loss?!

Her loss? What loss might that be?

The fair. The stores. She didn't tell you?

She cannot sell her own lace.

But I saw her at her bobbins this morning!

There is no market for bobbin lace any more.

She told me herself.

Can I see?

No, I can't.

Can I hear?

Not at all.

I know now why God has taken my reading away.

That I might look about me.

My own grandpa used to tell me, "Before a man can know,

"he has to be willing to know."

I have tried to dissuade him, but he is determined to return to the graveyard.

It doesn't bear imagining what might happen if he confronts this man Jolliffe.

Gabriel is such a man of passion, if he were to force Jolliffe to tell him the truth,

I fear how he might react.

I am beginning to think that the least painful course for Gabriel is to see the letter,

so we must put the letter into his possession in such a way that chance or fate placed it there.

Laura, bring back those poetry books.

Laura...

I wanted to say, it would be a great injustice

and a sorrowful loss if you were not to take part in the poetry event,

an occasion, if I may say, Mr Parish, which has brought great enrichment to our town.

I realise that I am the cause of your withdrawal, Laura.

I would like to reassure you that only someone with a truly poisoned mind

might suggest that anything but your considerable talents would lead to you winning the contest.

Thank you, Miss Ruby.

And so, I have come to plead with you to reconsider your decision.

Will you?

Perhaps them machines will bring better times.

Life will likely be easier for working folk.

I'm so glad you changed your mind, Laura.

Good luck.

Did you know, Daniel, that Homer's poetry was recited by law in Athens at the Panathenaic festival?

Perhaps a verse or two of your cycle might suffice, Mrs Brown?

I don't think we will need Constable Patterson to enforce it. Ooh!

Daniel! I must withdraw my entry from the contest. But why, Miss Pearl? You were so pleased with your effort.

I realised I have put a pyrrhic foot in the wrong place and I must remove it.

Entries close in an hour, so be sure to return your corrections without delay.

Miss Lane! Yes? The spit is completed, if you'd care to take a look.

I will be with you in just a minute. Can you wait there, please?

Ah!

Mr Cochrane, sir.

If I may take this opportunity, if I may be so bold,

if you are to settle here in Candleford, you would be best served, sir,

if I may pass on to you some insight, some knowledge of the way of things.

Conform, sir.

There is a proper order to things, and the man who resists that is the man who falls.

Knowledge, sir, will save us.

Oh, it's you.

Pearl...

Since I have returned, I have wanted to...

I have foolishly... Oh, Ruby, will you please...

..hold me?

And then, the moon wrapped in clouds

As the thunder sounds

Zeus hurls rain and hail from the heavens down

But Thomas forges forward on his postal rounds

His sallies take him from Brackley

Like a sailor under blackening skies

Never daunted, ever redoubtable

He reaches the shores of Lark Rise...

Thank you, Mrs Brown. You certainly have given us an epic.

APPLAUSE

Mr Parish...

Daniel...

Concerning our earlier conversation,

it would mean a great deal to me if you consider remaining with us.

My sister...

We both so enjoy your company.

No song? The words just weren't there to be had.

But it was going to have our love in it!

Minnie, love ain't something you can put into a competition.

So, you didn't write a love song because you love me?

My dear, your saga was enrapturing.

I wonder, would you read the rest of it to me?

Kind friends, the time has come for our judge to reveal to us the winner

of The Annual Candleford Poetry Competition.

Please welcome Gabriel Cochrane. Oh...

I am grateful for this opportunity.

I consider this your way of offering me the hand of welcome.

I hope I have served you well in my adjudication.

I am no literary expert, so I will not pretend to have measured

the host of wonderful poems submitted, by any means other than my own personal taste.

Poetry, you have taught me,

is a way into the human soul.

It is a way of connecting with the world around us.

It is a means of seeing into yourself.

The poem I have chosen does all of these things, and more.

I feel like the writer knows me better than I know myself.

It is called Gossamer Threads.

No, it can't be!

It is written by Emma Timmins.

I... But I... I didn't enter a poem.

I took the poem from your chest, Ma.

Mrs Timmins, would you be so kind as to come up here and read some of your verse to us?

Why did you do that, our Laura?

Go and read the poem, and you will know. Go on!

As I went on my way

Gossamer threads, spun from bush to bush like barricades

As I broke through one after another

I was taken by a childish fear

They are trying to bind and keep me here

But as I grew From girl to woman, I knew

The threads that bind me were more enduring than gossamer

They were spun of kinship and love

Given so freely

That it could never be taken away from me.

What is such a creature doing amongst us?

Let us not allow our imaginations

to turn a snake in the grass into a serpent from hell.

It will be apprehended by the most stout-hearted man.

It is an abomination. The man is a scandal!

One does wonder how a creature such as him could be a curate in a remote country parish.

You are forbidden from calling here. I must ask you not to return.

Why did your Robert deny him from ever coming to your cottage?

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