All language subtitles for Call the Midwife S09E01 Episode 9.1.DVDRip.NonHI.en.BBC

That's it.

That's it!

Flamin' wrecking ball's
been going all afternoon!

Just rest for a moment.

The family downstairs have sent
more candles, as well as hot water.

You have good neighbors.

Shame there's
hardly any of them left.

Use all of your strength
now, Nola. Use all of it.

All of it!

Where do we begin?

What marks the start
of any new adventure?

Aren't you the clever one?

You've brought a whole
new life into the world!

Is it the first step? The deep
breath? The single leap of faith?

And what do we leave behind
us when the future calls?

East Coast girls are
hip... Right, that's it!

No ifs, no buts.

I'm going to take the plunge
with my new electric lady shaver.

Are you sure you know
what you're doing, Trixie?

You could take your whole
shin off if you're not careful.

Even a modest
risk to life and limb

is better than blonde hair
poking through one's hosiery.

I sometimes wonder how
we afford hosiery at all!

Tights cost even
more than stockings,

not to mention they ladder
as soon as you look at them.

Maybe we should just wear wool,
like we did in the Outer Hebrides.

Valerie! It's not like
you to be so defeatist.

Another placenta for disposal,

neatly wrapped up
in The Racing Post!

Once, we'd simply burn
them in the bedroom fireplace.

Or sent them down to the
allotments, as tomato food.

We interrupt the
current broadcast

with an important announcement.

Sir Winston Churchill, Britain's
Prime Minister during World War II,

has died at his home in London's
Hyde Park Gate at the age of 90.

Poor old soul!

Sir Winston suffered
a stroke nine days ago.

The announcement
was made this morning

by Sir Winston's
physician, Lord Moran.

Did you hear that, Nurse Crane?

Her Majesty the Queen and the
Prime Minister have been informed.

Old Winnie! He's
finally pegged it!

Couldn't go on beating
the odds forever!

And now the shipping forecast.

It's what came after the war
that really changed society.

And the National Health Service
was nothing to do with Churchill,

or his political party.

Patrick, I think we should
leave politics out of it today.

The man has left a widow
and ten grandchildren!

- There's a carrot here for Flopsy.
- Nothing for poor old Genevieve?

We can't send Flopsy
back to the girls' classroom

looking anything other than
supremely groomed and well nourished,

or they won't be allowed
to bring her home again.

Oh!

- Hello, Tim?
- Hi, Dad.

Listen. The headmaster's cut all
our calls home down to three minutes

because we've got to have some
special assembly for Winston Churchill.

I think that's very appropriate.
Did you get the cake?

Quick, children, your
brother's on the phone!

- I sent you a Dundee so it would last.
- It lasted about five minutes.

Boys in boarding
school get very hungry.

- But I came top in that biology
test. PATRICK: Come on, May!

- Genevieve!
- Say well done to your brother, children.

Well done, Timothy.

I've no objection to the old war
horse getting a full state funeral.

But if we all go traipsing off to
watch the cortege passing by,

what's going to
happen to our patients?

That was the warden from the
homeless shelter in Rakesby Street.

There's a lady in labor.

She isn't on our books, but
things seem to be moving quickly.

We'll hop in my
car and go together.

I've heard unsavory
tales about that place.

Bed bugs. In the walls.
You can actually hear them.

I've been laying on my back
like a tipped-over tortoise.

I'm scared to move in
case it speeds things up.

Don't you worry now. We'll soon
see how fast you're getting on.

And who's this young man sitting
so politely behind the clothes horse?

It's my Terry. He don't like missing
school, but he wants to look after me.

We'll take care of
your mother now, Terry.

You get yourself
off to your lessons.

- Can I?
- You heard the nurse.

Stopping here ain't going to
get you through the 11-plus

and into grammar school, is it?

No.

Capital of Rhodesia.

Salisbury!

- Closest planet to the Earth.
- Venus!

I bought us a Pears'
Cyclopaedia down the market.

And we go through
it every night.

- Good morning.
- What year was this place built?

1860, I believe. May I
ask what you are doing?

Council survey. Slum
clearance. Are we going inside?

No need. They'll be
taking it down soon.

In you go, one by one.

Come along, Terry. You're late.

I think we can safely
say it was a false alarm,

and you've weathered it.

But you're registered
with us as of today.

Next time you sense things are on the
move, we're ready and waiting to help you.

Have you any plans
for moving on from here?

Oh, we've been on the list for
a council flat for seven months.

You see 'em being built all over
the place, but I swear to God,

I don't know how anyone
ever gets to live in 'em.

Seven months! Seven
months living in squalor like that.

Can't you book her
into the maternity home

for a square meal,
a bath and bed rest?

That was my first thought.

But she's no one to leave the little
lad with, and he'll end up in foster care.

- The Housing Officer's on the phone.
- Hm.

Yes.

The reference is Mrs. Dena
Bowland and her son Terence.

Address-Homeless Unit,
Rakesby Street, Poplar.

An appalling, insanitary
facility over which I imagine

you yourself might claim
some sort of jurisdiction?

Whatever are you doing?
Lunch hour's almost over!

My mother will be looking out for
me on the newsreels of the funeral.

I don't want her to think
I'm looking tired and puffy.

Well, while you two have
been busy preparing yourselves

for the spotlight of history,

I've found the perfect solution
to our mutual hosiery dilemma!

"How perfect are your pins?

"You can win a year's
supply of Slender Legs tights

"by sending us a snap
of your gorgeous gams.

"Individual and group
categories. Free to enter!"

Well, you're the one who's been
working overtime with the lady shave.

I would've thought you're
a shoo-in for first prize.

And I'm not sending pictures
into any magazine, so don't ask me.

Lucille, your
ankles are exquisite!

Cyril positively gazes at them!

It isn't an ankle competition.
It's a leg competition.

And legs go all the way up
to other parts of the anatomy.

We've all got biology
O-Level, Lucille. And

we would be in with
a chance of free tights.

Thank you, Valerie.

I'm glad to see somebody's
exhibiting a sense of fun.

One lady due to give birth
moved right up the waiting list

and offered the keys to a flat!

May you be
garlanded with laurels!

Oh, Fred! I thought you
were getting the tea ready!

I'll be late for the pest control
sub-committee meeting.

I'm just sorting out my medals
for the big feller's send off.

I haven't decided
what hat to wear yet.

Probably my artificial beaver,

because we shall be stood on
that street for nigh on seven hours!

It's funny what people
take with them when they go.

And what they bring back.

That's a lovely
picture of Betty.

A lovely smile.

Teeth like that were
a rarity, round here.

Bloody Blitz.

I've been thinking
about my Bert, too.

But we've got to think about
what we've got now, Fred.

Life is better than it's
ever been. For everyone.

Let me rub my steam
iron over these ribbons.

Lucille, if your
principles, which I respect,

prevent you from participating as
an individual, why don't you enter

the Wonderful Legs In The
Workplace section with Valerie and I?

What does that entail?

Just us three, posing in our
uniforms, flying the flag for smart,

professional ladies
who need free tights.

It's about esprit
de corps, Lucille.

Taking pride in who we are
and what we stand for. Like today!

I'll do it to please you.

Just don't try to persuade
me that it's patriotic.

It's time to see the
long procession.

Don't let the sun
catch you cryin'

The night's the
time for all your tears

Your heart may be broken tonight

- But tomorrow in the
morning light - Whoo!

Don't let the sun
catch you cryin'

Three, two, one!

- That's it! What's next?
- Instruments. Cheese!

The night-time shadows disappear

The power's gone off.

All right, Sister. Try
flicking the switch again.

Oh! Eh!

Goodnight.

Oh!

Oh, no!

Oh, no, no, no!

It's all right, little
one. I've gotcha.

I've gotcha!

Her temperature's improved.

And I think she has been fed not
long before she was abandoned.

She vomited quite a bit of milk.

Looking at the cord, she's
more than 24 hours old.

Although I don't know
what it was tied with.

It looks like purple
sewing thread.

Not a hospital delivery and
not done by a professional either.

I feel as sorry for the
mother as I do for the child.

Sergeant Woolf's here.

Here we go. Come on.

A little bit higher.

Every London hospital has been
asked to be on the alert for anyone

arriving in casualty with
post-birth complications

and no appropriate referral.

I don't want anything going into
the press that would make the mother

too scared to seek
help if she needs it.

Dr. Turner wants her
to go to St. Cuthbert's,

in case she picked up an
infection from lying in the bin.

Oh. Poor little scrap.

Can I hold her?

I told them I wanted to give
her a name before she goes,

Sergeant Woolf said I could.

But then I couldn't
think of anything.

How about Primrose?

They're little flowers
that turn up in the cold.

We will have to ensure a Scotch
egg is despatched to Sister Frances.

I offered to go and relieve her,
but she's adamant she's staying

with the baby until they
take her to St. Cuthbert's.

I imagine she's become
emotionally involved.

It happened all the time with people
stumbling across babies in Hong Kong.

Abandonment's
very rare in Poplar.

It's only the second
case I've ever heard of.

Once, infants such as these would
not even have been found alive.

Mudlarks would recover them, naked
and dead on the shoreline of the river.

I'll go.

Maybe times have improved.

No matter how poor people
are, they always find a way.

The relinquishment of a child
has little to do with poverty

and much to do with desperation.

Oh, sorry, Valerie. Were
you putting your feet up?

No, Maureen. I was
having my lunch.

And I'm on my way back from
my cleaning shift, at the Black Sail.

- Helping Auntie Flo out. Remember her?
- Yes. I do.

Well, that's funny, cos you seem to
have forgotten who your grandma is!

- Not to mention where she is!
- Holloway?

Why don't you
shout a bit louder,

and throw the "abortion"
word in while you're about it?

Ashamed, are you?
Because I'm not.

I went to visit her in
prison yesterday, with Flo,

which is more than you
have, according to her.

She cried like a tap all through
my visit. Because of you.

Does she blame me, Maureen?

No.

She just misses you. She kept
talking about when we were all kids,

and how she had us tucked
under that scratchy tartan blanket

down Bethnal Green
Tube in the air raids.

- Seems a long time ago now.
- Don't it just?

We have to let her go.

We've got to have
faith in her future.

How can we have
faith in her future?

All we know about her past
is that she wasn't wanted.

Will you hurry up in there?

You'll wash that face off
if you carry on scrubbing!

I was doing my teeth again!

Have I got a Colgate
ring of confidence?

Oh, not half! Oh,
you smell beautiful.

Tomorrow, I've got vouchers
to go down to the charity office

and get us the things we need
for the flat, and for the baby.

We're even in with
the chance of a pram.

Mum.

When the baby's born,
will we be a family?

We're a family now, Terry.

And will it look like me?

No, son. More like me.

Good evening! I'm afraid
the surgery's closed.

I'm sorry. I just wanted to leave
something for the abandoned baby.

The one they're calling
Primrose in the papers.

- That's ever so kind of you.
- It's only a matinee jacket.

In yellow, because of her name.

I felt proper sorry for her,
wrapped up in someone's nightie.

I'll make sure it gets sent
to her at St. Cuthbert's.

Why's she at St. Cuthbert's?
Papers said she was here.

Dr. Turner's surgery. I'm sorry.
We're not allowed to talk to journalists.

I'll take it there myself.

You're meant to
ring the police up.

I don't want to be rude, but
I'm putting the phone down.

Hello? Miss? Hello?

It's not uncommon for
cranks to come forward

in cases like this,
Sister Frances.

They can be as disturbed as the
person who abandoned the infant,

yet not have any
connection to the child at all.

This woman was lactating.

I saw the stains on her
blouse with my own eyes.

And she knew that Primrose had
been wrapped in a woman's nightdress.

That detail wasn't in
a single newspaper.

If you could spell "lactating"
for me, I'd be obliged.

I'm running a lot of
mauves at the moment

because purple's all the rage-

everything from lavender
through to amethyst.

This color is very close.

Do you think it might
have been purchased here?

Oh, no. Because it's pure
silk! Absolutely top notch.

I got something
similar in, in ivory,

when Sister Julienne was
mending the Easter altar cloth.

But that was a special order.

Thank you.

Oh! Ah!

These sums come up on
the 11-plus paper every year.

So we're going to work on
them every day this week.

Sorry to disturb.

I'm just rounding up some
stragglers for the TB testing program.

A little bird tells me Sufiyah
Ahmad's in this class?

We haven't seen her
for a fortnight, Sister.

- I think the family might've moved on.
- Oh, well.

Not for the want
of trying! Sorry.

Terry! Pay attention, please!

Ow! Ow!

Ah! Ow!

Mum.

Mum.

Ah. Do you think it's
another false alarm?

No, precious. I think
you're six fingers dilated.

But it's not convenient.
I need to get home!

You're staying right where you
are. We'll get a message to Terry.

- How?
- Miss Higgins, the secretary, will help.

Argh!

But Terry needs me to
help him with his homework.

It's time you stopped fretting
about everybody and everything.

The next few hours are
just about you and your baby.

I'll do any fretting that's
required. Do you hear me?

Let's get you back up on the bed,
so I can see how you're progressing.

I'm sorry! I'm sorry.

You don't need to be sopping
wet, you've got work to do!

And you're planning a nice
leisurely evening, are you?

Just move your legs apart
for me, heels up to your bottom.

What's the matter?

- Is there something wrong?
- Everything is going to be just perfect.

But we need a
little change of plan.

Did Miss Higgins see Terry?

- I want to push!
- Not yet, precious. Not yet.

- Just pant, Dena.
- Mrs. Bowland, what a nice surprise!

I was hoping I'd get to
see you on the big day.

- How might I be of assistance?
- We have a cord prolapse.

Mother is fully dilated and
feeling the urge to push.

What's a prolapse?

It means the cord's been
born in advance of baby.

Best thing we can
do is turn you over

and get you with your
knees up to your chest.

What? No. No. I can't.

- I can't!
- You're already doing it, Dena.

That's it lass! That's it.

- Now tuck your knees right under.
- Argh!

It might feel ungainly, but
that's exactly where we want it.

Push, Dena! The harder you
push, the quicker it will come!

And the better that's
going to be for baby!

Ow!

Mum? Argh!

We want you to keep pushing and
pushing. We need this baby to be born.

But I thought I was supposed
to push when I had a contraction.

Remember what I said
about I do all the fretting?

- I do all the giving orders, too.
- Come on.

You grab my hand
and do as she says.

No sound this
time. All that energy,

you force it right down, down through
your body while you push, and you push,

and you push that baby out.

Keep it coming, keep it
coming, keep it coming.

Raah!

Well done!

Listen to him.
Just listen to him!

He sounds just like my Terry.

Mum?

Terry!

Terry?

Terry! Open your eyes, dear.

Terry. I'm fetching help.

You certainly got your
reward, for all your hard work.

It was hard. And it was work.

But it wasn't hard work.

Now open as wide
as you can, son.

I can't quite believe
what I'm seeing here.

Or maybe I don't want to.

Can you let me
have another look?

See that?

That grey membrane
stretching across his throat?

- It's diphtheria?
- Yes.

This day and age?

I'm giving him penicillin now.

Then we need to get him to St.
Cuthbert's. And the isolation ward.

I'll inform the medical officer
first thing in the morning.

It's also imperative that everyone
who's been in contact with him is tested.

Every family member.
Every classmate.

I've already swabbed his mother.

She gave birth just hours ago.

Shouldn't Terry have
been vaccinated?

He's ten. It's possible
he was, and it's worn off.

But from his records, his
early life with his mother

was chaotic to say the least.

We're all meant to
be traveling forwards.

Everything's supposed to
be improving, all the time.

Diphtheria making a
comeback isn't progress.

It's medieval.

As nursing professionals,
you have a duty to make sure

you are up-to-date with all
vaccinations and boosters.

- Sorry, Nurse Crane.
- You need to set a good example

to all your patients,
particularly the mothers.

If you could remember what I can remember,
you wouldn't have shilly-shallied.

Sleeve up. I
haven't got all day.

Ian Halkins, Class Four?

Sweetie from the basket
and go straight home.

Teacher has a letter for
your mother about quarantine.

Nonnatus House.
Midwife speaking.

We've just been called upon
to remove a distressed lady

from St. Cuthbert's
maternity ward.

She claims to be
Baby Primrose's mother

but otherwise refuses to give her
name or identify herself in any way.

Have you taken her into custody?

I'd prefer to say
she's in our care.

Have you brought her?
Have you brought my baby?

Not this time, sweetie.

But the policeman
said you were midwives.

We are midwives.

And we're also nurses,
and we're your friends.

While we're looking after you, we'll
be whichever of those you need most.

Sh.

But I've been holding
him. I've been feeding him.

You tested positive
for diphtheria bacterium.

Until the antibiotics gets to work,
it's wise to keep him in the nursery.

If I can't go to him,
can I go to Terry?

Terry's being very well looked
after in the isolation ward.

What are you
trying to say, Terry?

Next week.

What's next week?

11-plus.

Good morning, Nurse Crane.
I'm pleased to announce

all recommended
precautions are in place.

That's scant consolation to the
mothers expecting to deliver here.

I've a list of nine whose due
dates fall within the next two weeks.

And I have a list of
alternative facilities.

Please, somebody
help me with my niece?

Miss Higgins. Will you
please fetch Doctor?

Oh, no. I recognize that smell.

There's a lot we can tell
you about your situation.

You have sustained a small
tear, which will mend on its own.

And your breasts
are leaking milk

because your body is weeping
for a reunion with your child.

If, in return, you could tell us a little
about yourself, even just your name,

it would be so much the
better for all concerned.

I can't tell... you.

And why is that?

Because I've done wrong.

And you're a
woman of the church.

I'm not. Note -
red hat, no wimple.

I've some sanitary towels
and some antiseptic in my bag.

The ladies' isn't too dreadful,

so I suggest we pop along
and you can have a tidy-up.

Diphtheria? People
die of diphtheria.

Open wide, please.

Any details you can give
us about Carole's work,

who she mixes with in her
spare time, would be so helpful.

A week or so ago, she rang
me, crying, begging for help.

She was living in a homeless
shelter in Rakesby Street.

I don't know about
you, Sister Hilda,

but I'm seeing nothing
untoward with the naked eye.

The trouble is, half the people that were
here with Terry Bowland and Carole Witley

have moved on. Any one of
them could've been the source.

Better?

There's nothing worse than feeling un-fresh
and not having the necessaries with you!

It's all right, sweetie.

Come on.

You've been so alone
in this, haven't you?

Were you alone when
the baby was born?

I didn't know how it
was going to happen.

I knew it had started.
I knew it would hurt.

I just kept wanting to crouch
down, as if I was an animal.

Did nobody hear you
at all? Did no one come?

I had my cardigan sleeve in
my mouth to stop me screaming.

- I didn't want anyone to know.
- And what do you want now?

Her.

You need to help us
to help you, sweetie.

Will you help me?

Will you help me if I tell
you my name is Brenda?

Brenda. Primrose
is waiting for you.

And the police need your
name and your address.

Brenda Donnelly.

St. Genistus'
presbytery. Sarum Street.

I'm the priest's housekeeper.

Ah, to what do I owe
the pleasure, Sister?

Mother. Mildred, of the Order
of St. Raymond Nonnatus.

Mrs. Donnelly has been
following her usual routines.

I had no knowledge of
her situation. None at all.

She lives under your roof.

Her accommodation
is behind the kitchen.

Meaning that you never go there?

Meaning strict
boundaries are observed.

Up until two months ago, she
had a bedsit in the next street.

But the building was condemned
and so we offered her a home here,

out of charity.

And expediency, no doubt.

Father Morris is elderly.
He's confined to his room,

and without going
into indelicate detail,

it does put a certain amount
of pressure on the laundry.

- Is she well?
- She is in distress.

- As you might imagine.
- And the infant?

Primrose has as yet to
be reunited with her mother.

Perhaps continued separation
would be best for all concerned

if adoption is planned.

- Is adoption planned?
- Obviously.

She cannot keep the child.

She fears she
cannot keep the child.

I suspect her desires conflict
with what she thinks is possible.

You just informed me
she placed her in a dustbin.

Brenda is a broken
woman, Father Duncombe.

She's always been
a broken woman.

She had a history of mental
illness before she came to us.

That does not mean
she is devoid of feeling.

I venture to say that
it means the reverse!

Is this Mrs. Donnelly's
sewing basket?

I believe it is. Yes.

She always had a lot
of mending on the go.

Shirts, vestments and so forth.

So, did she come to your
personal study to do that, Father?

On occasion.

Now, go and give
Genevieve her dinner.

What are you doing?

Sponging and pressing
Timothy's old blazer.

It looked unloved,
just hanging there.

And it smells of his
chemistry set and Clearasil.

I miss him, too.

- What?
- What's the matter?

- Come here.
- Which one of you's hurt?

Go on.

Go inside, children,
and wash your hands.

In a minute, you're going
to hear some lovely news.

The rabbit's had...

..more rabbits.

I thought Flopsy was female.

We all thought
Flopsy was female.

They've got no fur, and they
look like animated giblets.

No wonder the
girls are traumatized.

I think baby rabbits are
actually called kittens.

Patrick. This is going to
be educational enough.

Thank you.

Do I just, erm, pick
her up? Am I allowed?

She's your daughter, Brenda.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

For what I did.

For what I didn't do.

For what I wanted.
For what I couldn't have.

I'm sorry.

And I'm not sorry.

Not if I die and burn.

Sh...

She says she wants
to feed the baby,

but she's so engorged,
it's going to be impossible.

It might be too soon for the
breast pump, but it's worth a try.

We must take every conceivable
measure to head off mastitis at the pass.

The hospital says that
they won't release Primrose

until Social Services
are satisfied.

And then they say there's no
bed for Brenda because she isn't ill.

If the authorities agree, we'll find
a room for her at Nonnatus House.

Ah! Father Duncombe.

I telephoned the ward and
asked if I might see the child.

Mrs. Donnelly is
with her daughter.

Is she expecting you?

She is not.

The Medical Officer telephoned.

Three more cases of confirmed
diphtheria in the wider borough.

Are the swab results from
Rakesby Street back yet?

No one appears to
have active disease.

But two adults and four
children have tested positive

for diphtheria bacteria in
the upper respiratory tract.

Someone's infected them.
Recently. That much is certain.

I don't doubt that you want what's
best for your daughter, Brenda.

And that's why I came
here today, to baptize her.

- As a Catholic?
- Of course as a Catholic.

- She will not be denied the Sacrament.
- You're too late.

I christened her myself.

A nun told me anyone can do that,
when I was at the children's home.

You must have been
very afraid for Primrose.

I was afraid she'd die
if nobody found her.

Perhaps Brenda might feel
more at ease if you left us alone.

And I would feel more
at ease if I remain.

This lady requires support.

I can't disagree with that.

You need support,
don't you, Brenda?

You need to know that your
daughter is safe and well looked after.

You need to know that she's with someone
who can give her the care that she needs.

And you can't do that.

With the best will in the
world, you can't do that.

I know I can't.

I've already spoken with
two adoption societies.

Both have offered
you assistance.

I am terminating this
conversation forthwith.

The only ASSISTANCE

this baby's mother
currently requires

is of a personal nature.

And Nurse Franklin
is poised to supply it.

Brenda.

The breast pump.
If you'll be so kind.

Color film doesn't half make
Reggie's hair look red! Bless him.

Well...

I won't be putting
this on display.

In the tin, yeah, with the
things I don't want to forget.

But I will always
remember lifting that bin lid

and seeing Baby Primrose.

Picture or no picture.

These sheets are that smooth,
they're like icing on a wedding cake.

Clean every day. Shouldn't think
you'd even get that in the Ritz.

What I don't like about this
bed is the space around it.

Or the space around me.

I normally have my Terry
cuddled up across the mattress...

..and I can hear him breathing.

And it's like when I was a kid,
and I bunked in with my brothers.

And that's what family
meant. It meant no space.

No silence.

No being lonely in the dark.

I remember that.

Once we've measured you
up for a more suitable brassiere,

we're going to put these delightful
cold compresses on your bosoms.

Will that help me to feed her?

It will make you much
more comfortable.

And everything else we
can work out together.

I've got so much
to make up to her.

There's so much
I need to get right.

Brenda, you are more than capable of
being an excellent mother to Primrose.

And anyone who tells you
otherwise is simply out to bully you.

I do wrong things, Nurse.

I go in wrong directions.

I've fallen into sin, and
I can't climb out of it.

Let's work out
what size you are.

I've not told you the truth.

You're free to tell me
anything that you want to

or keep any secret
that you wish to.

I tell people I'm a widow.

I'm not. I'm divorced.

Be that as it may,
it's not a crime.

Who did this, Brenda?

My husband. With his belt.

The leather just made stripe
marks, and they faded, over the years.

The buckle cut in more.

I'm sorry.

Married straight
from the orphanage.

It seemed the best way out.

When I was eight, me
mam took me to the nuns

and asked them to have
me because she was dying.

On the way, she went into a cake
shop and bought us two eclairs.

We sat on a wall and ate them.

Pretended we were in a cafe.

There were times when I was
married, I'd look back and think,

"Sitting on that wall was
the last time I was happy."

But I can't have been, can I?

You were a child, Brenda.

And children are alert to
any joy that comes their way...

..any smile that's
tossed in their direction.

Some of us carry that
with us all our lives.

I want better for Primrose.

The people who smile at
her are going to mean it.

I came to offer help.

You came to arrange an adoption.

That's not the kind of
help Mrs. Donnelly requires.

She wants to keep the baby.
Her decision is therefore final.

Not necessarily.

Social Services will
scrutinize her mental health.

And as of this week,
she is unemployed.

Is Mrs. Donnelly
aware of that fact?

With an illegitimate
baby in tow,

she is not morally suitable for the
position of Presbytery housekeeper.

Should she choose to
return without the baby,

the situation
might be different.

She has said she will
not give up her baby.

That is her right.

The father will have rights
too, if he is legally identified.

Oops.

Apologies. I'm just popping over
to the school with my shark net.

The Class Four
teacher called and said

one of my Mantoux test
candidates has put in an appearance.

She didn't know the class
had been quarantined, poor pet.

Sorry.

Do you know who
the father is, Father?

No, Mother. I do not.

And that's that! You are a
frightfully brave young lady.

Could you have a look at Sufiyah's
other arm while you're here, Sister?

What's the matter with her arm?

- Oh, good Lord.
- She told me it doesn't hurt.

I've never seen
anything like that!

It started as an insect bite.

She says she had it
before they left Pakistan.

Let me see.

You have dark hair.

I've spoken to the
school secretary.

The address the Ahmads
gave when they enrolled

was Rakesby Street
Homeless Unit.

They've managed to move
in with relatives since then.

That filthy wound is almost
certainly cutaneous diphtheria.

The bacteria has been constantly shedding
and spreading everywhere she's been.

It can live in floor
dust for 14 weeks.

No. I'm calling the Hospital
for Tropical Diseases.

And the council. I want
Rakesby Street fumigated.

And this surgery deep cleaned. As
soon as the poor little girl has gone.

Brenda, my dear.

You must think
exceptionally carefully

about naming the father
on the birth certificate.

If I don't, I'll
look like a slut.

And if you do name him, he'll
have the right to influence her fate,

the right to fight you if
you make a different choice.

- I need to see the doctor.
- Maureen? What's wrong?

I reckon my kids
have got diphtheria.

Maxine's throat is so sore
she can hardly swallow,

and Gary's not much better.

All right.

Open wide.

German measles.

Hence the rash and
the inflamed throats.

- Do they need penicillin?
- No.

Just a couple of days in front
of the television, hot drinks

and aspirin if they run a fever.

With a lollipop to
take the taste away.

I'll go and see what we've got.

Thanks, Val.

I spoke out of turn last week...

..about you and
your gran. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. And I'm grateful.

I was, erm, running away
from something that was hard.

And it was too easy.

Till I opened my ruddy trap.

I'm grateful.

And I'm going to go
and see my grandma.

I'm getting better, Mum.
They're going to let me out soon!

Me too, sweetheart.
And your baby brother.

They're going to let me
do the 11-plus at home.

Pray be seated.

Pass the teacakes
to this end of the table.

There's a draft down
there and they'll go cold.

I will be returning to the
Mother House within the week.

You'll be greatly missed.

I shall be taking Brenda
Donnelly and her daughter with me.

To the Mother House?
Or the Orphanage?

Both, in essence.

We will be, for her,
whatever she requires.

One does not have to
be a child to be an orphan.

Carole Witley has been
discharged from the isolation ward,

but there's no need
for any district visits,

we found her a bed in the
convalescent place at Hythe.

Meanwhile, little Sufiyah
Ahmad is going home,

but she'll need daily dressing
changes on that ulcer for some weeks.

Of course, poor pet.

Nurse Franklin. Good of you to
bestow the gift of your presence upon us.

I was detained by the postman!

"I am delighted to inform
you, and your colleagues

"that you have been
declared runners-up

"in the Slender Legs
professional section!"

So we haven't won a
year's supply of tights, then?

"Please accept,
with our compliments,

"this selection of
our latest hosiery,

"featuring tutti frutti
and op-art fashions

"for the loveliest and
most lissom limbs.

"Plus one 10% discount voucher

"redeemable against
future purchases."

One 10% discount voucher?
That's not going to go very far.

Do let's take a peek!

What do they mean when
they say "tutti frutti" and "op-art?"

There's a bright fuchsia
pair here. I quite like them.

Oh. Turquoise fishnets!

If you think you're wearing
those for work, I beg to differ.

5oz in a week.

Top marks to Master Bowland.

And his mother.

We just need somebody
else to get top marks now.

Come in.

I wanted Primrose to have this.

I made it from your nightdress.
It kept her warm once.

It can keep her warm again.

If that is payment in lieu
of wages for Mrs. Donnelly,

perhaps you ought
to hand it to her.

I thought to reimburse you
for her board and lodging.

She is our guest
for the present...

..and will be making her own
financial decisions in the future.

Leave it on the desk.

I can manage this.

Will you forgive me?

Will it make you feel better?

No.

Then I'll leave
things as they are.

Please don't smile at me.

I loved you.

Don't you go filling
my sink up with soil.

Look. I don't want it dying on
the way to the Mother House.

And I want them to plant it
somewhere where Primrose can look at it

and know that she's got friends.

Here.

Oh, Vi.

You put her on display,
with everyone else.

Mother Mildred's
almost ready for the off.

I've had to supply one
bottle of lemon barley

and one of embrocation. Let's
hope she doesn't mix them up.

Don't let her back in here.

Why?

The council have notified
us that the whole of this street

is to be demolished
within the next two years.

And Nonnatus House
will be demolished with it.

Surely Mother ought to be told?

What can she do?
What can any of us do?

Well, it would be a poor show

if I didn't put a word in
for our old chum, prayer.

Tell no one.

The past is never lost to us.

We carry it with us,
everywhere we go.

It is in every cell of
our body and our soul.

It is where we have been.

It was our son's blazer. Well
done for passing your 11-plus.

- It is where we learn to love.
- Thank you.

It is where we
made our mistakes...

All right there?

..and where we can consign them.

The gift is knowing that
the present will soon pass.

And that the way we embrace it
has the power to change everything.

It was my mother's
favorite variety,

and Aubrey assures me it will
bloom by Mothering Sunday.

I think it's best we
get this door down.

Anyone ever told you you've
got eyes just like Paul McCartney?

- No.
- He's my third favorite Beatle.

Show yourself!

I'll tell you what, keep your stupid
magazine! I was only looking at it anyway.