All language subtitles for call.the.midwife.s09e01.720p.hdtv.hevc.x265.ENG

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 neighbours.

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.
- 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 labour.

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 unsavoury 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 onewho's been working
overtimewith 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.

♪ To everything
Turn, turn, turn

♪ There is a season
Turn, turn, turn

♪ And a time to every purpose

♪ Under heaven

♪ A time to be born, a time to die

♪ A time to plant, a time to reap

♪ A time to kill, a time to heal

♪ A time to laugh,
a time to weep... ♪

Three, two, one!

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

♪ To everything
Turn, turn, turn

♪ There is a season
Turn, turn, turn

♪ And a time to every purpose... ♪

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 deliver 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 colour 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 programme.

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
travelling 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 recognise 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 traumatised.

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 baptise 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.

Colour 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 scrutinise
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
favourite 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 favourite Beatle.

- Show yourself!
- I'll tell you what, keep your stupid magazine!

I was only looking at it anyway.