All language subtitles for Call the Midwife Christmas Special 2016

JENNIFER: 'Why do we give presents
at Christmas?

'Because once upon a time

'a child lay in a manger,

'asking for nothing yet needing
so much?

'And because three kings

'paid tribute in the only
way they could?

'Perhaps the reason does not matter.

'The smiles of those we love mean
more than any ribboned box,

'whether it is offered or received.

'And the most precious gifts cost
nothing whatsoever.'

Merry Christmas, Fred.

Shh! Less of the "Fred".
I'm Father Christmas's helper.

You can come in as long as you don't
ring that wretched bell.

We've half a dozen newborns trying
to get their beauty sleep,

including Master Rutherford, who's
just arrived by Caesarean section,

and I assisted in his delivery.

Oh-hoo, look at you,
you little bruiser!

Now, you been naughty or nice?
Nice, I reckon.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas.

HUM OF LAUGHTER AND CONVERSATION

Two fully assembled Christmas
dinners plated up,

in the oven and put on a low light -

one for Nurse Franklin and one
for Nurse Mount.

To absent friends!

ALL: Absent friends.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

PHONE RINGS

That may be the Mother House
calling early.

Come with me,
we'll take the call together.

Here's Sister Monica Joan.

Happy Christmas,
Mother Jesu Emmanuel.

I hope you've had the most blessed
and peaceful day.

Oh. I see.

As you all doubtless know,
our Order supports Hope Clinic,

a tiny mission hospital in
South Africa.

For some years,
there has been one doctor there

and a handful of nuns under
Mother Felicity.

Mother Felicity has just died.

May she rest in peace
and rise in glory.

The clinic is now so understaffed it
may have to close altogether.

That would be disastrous.

Hope Clinic is the only medical
facility for 100 miles.

And that is why we have
been asked to send

a small working party out
there...for four weeks.

Four weeks in South Africa?

We would be nursing and running an
urgent polio vaccination programme.

Meanwhile, a cleric of our choice
would disburse a small

but very welcome grant from
a mission society,

and assess the future
viability of the clinic.

I would like Mr Hereward to
take on this role.

If you would consider it?

Of course.

You would have to be
scrupulously honest

and yet the survival of Hope Clinic
will depend on your findings.

When were you planning on
setting sail?

In a fortnight.

Nurse Mount is doing sterling work.
Forceps won't be needed after all.

Now, I've been researching
some logistics.

Most people spend their
Christmas Day afternoon watching

Billy Smart's Circus and eating
Quality Street!

How have we ended up discussing
a mission to South Africa?

Because God moves in
a mysterious manner,

even on major public holidays.

I have work to do here, Shelagh,
in Poplar.

Patrick, London is full of locums

and that vaccination programme
needs a doctor.

Our own son had polio once.

Also, if we cut down our time away
by flying instead of sailing...

By flying?

..then Granny Parker can mind
the children.

Well, she's been begging to have
them and they adore her.

You really want to go, don't you?

I want us both to go, Patrick,

because we need to be somewhere
where we know the medicine

we're giving out is doing good,
not harm.

Shelagh, you didn't prescribe
thalidomide to anyone.

What you did, I did.
Where you go, I go.

And I think we should go to
South Africa.

Don't you want me to stay here,
keep an eye on things?

What about Sister Monica Joan?

Sister Mary Cynthia will take
exemplary care of her

and Nurse Mount will run Nonnatus
very efficiently in my absence.

But I haven't done sanitary
engineering since

El Alamein, Sister.

Wouldn't you rather take
an actual missionary?

Fred, the Army Pioneer Corps
has given you skills that

no missionary could match -

logistics, plumbing, mechanics...

and drains.

I'd hazard a guess there's not much
in the way

of drains where we're going.

Quite.

# Everybody's doing a brand-new
dance now

# Come on, baby, do the loco-motion

# I know you'll get to like it if
you give it a chance now

# Come on, baby, do the loco-motion

# My little baby sister can do it
with me

# It's easy as a line in your ABC

# So come on, come on... #

You next.

Mr Hereward's waiting outside.

I shall see to him.

Oh, I can do his, too.

You must observe boundaries
whilst we're away -

I think it's best you put
them in place now.

The parcel from my sister came.

Oh, I'm so glad I didn't splash out
on a new swimming costume!

Hers will do me just fine.

No-one's wearing ruched one-pieces

with modesty panels anymore,
Barbara.

It's a good job I packed you
an extra boned playsuit.

And, last but not least,
medical supplies box number seven.

Containing 20 gross of sugar
lumps for the administration

of the oral vaccine.

This contains more fruit than any
commercial confectioner's item

and furthermore it is steeped in
such a richness of alcohol

that it will not fester should you
transfer it through the hemisphere.

They can't give out Christmas cake
in an African vaccination queue.

The marzipan would take
a tremendous amount of explaining.

Travel safe. Bye.

Bye. Bye.

Let us know when you get there
safely. Bye. Bye.

Safe trip. Have a safe journey. Bye.

Hey, look at that!
Goats in the road!

You wouldn't see that down
Chrisp Street.

Oh, look at you, Barbara.
Brussel-sprout green all over again.

I thought looking at my Xhosa
phrase book might help

me take my mind off it.

You just have to suck on a barley
sugar, like you did onboard ship.

Are there any left?

I've all manner of aids to wellbeing
in my bag of tricks.

I daren't ask if you've got anything
to stop my mascara from running.

I've some petroleum jelly you can
take it off with.

Why are we stopping?

I'll deal with this.

Passport and visa.

How many are on the bus?

Six more passengers and the driver.

I'm not interested in the driver.

Why've we stopped?

Passports and visas, please.

Sunglasses off, please.

Don't smile. Oh.

Thank you very much.
Welcome to South Africa.

You are so very welcome, Sisters.

I'm so sorry to have missed
Mother Felicity.

I do hope her passing was
a peaceful one.

Amoebic dysentery. Better ways to
go, even in this country.

But she died in harness, which I
suspect would please her mightily.

Dr Fitzsimmonds?

It's a long time since
anyone called me that.

The locals can't seem to get
their tongues round it.

You can do as they do,
call me Dr Myra.

Did you bring the things
we asked for?

Everything from penicillin
to rubber gloves.

It shouldn't be easier to ship
things from London than it is

to get them out of one's
Administrative Health Board,

but that's another story, and we're
grateful for what we can get.

I can see the caption now...

"English roses - African Skies,
exclamation mark."

My jaw's starting to ache, Phyllis.

Well, this is a new camera.

Well, all I can say is
thank goodness the Dansette runs on

batteries because I don't know
what's worse - this or

the fact that our complexions are

going to turn to pudding in
this climate.

We're going to have to find
a shop that sells cucumbers,

so we can make ourselves
a cooling masque.

Food? As a beauty aid?

It might be a bit tactless, Trixie.
People here are really poor.

Can anyone smell anything
slightly musky?

It isn't me, is it?

You're not usually challenged in
the personal daintiness department,
Barbara.

Well, circumstances are
rather exceptional.

You shall have to set to with
the Lifebouy.

But I was three feet away from
Tom on the bus.

Bad enough I got that bit of sick on
his trousers in the Bay of Biscay.

There are some memories even
Lifebouy can't erase.

Whichever soap you choose, I suggest
you apply it with a bit of backbone.

I'm sorry, lass, but you've had
enough barley sugar and sympathy.

It's time to pull yourself together.

Meanwhile, I shall have to sneak
some surgical spirit from supplies,

or else blisters will beckon.

Argh! What?

Spider.

Argh!

As big as a wireless knob

and it looks to be heading this way
at speed!

Dead.

Was it poisonous?

I can't tell.
But it's crushed to a pulp -

I can tell that.

I'd give your shoe a rinse.

It may have some venom on it...

or some backbone.

FLIES BUZZ

Let's rest it here.

Yes.

Instruments being sterilised
by boiling.

A perfectly efficient method. We all
knew the facilities would be humble.

I didn't expect an autoclave,
but this is an oil stove.

I don't actually think they've
got any electricity.

Is there no refrigerator?

It's over there.

It smells as though it's
powered by paraffin.

It's at times like this that
I say to myself,

"What would Sister Evangelina do?"

Well, first of all,
she'd mention the war

and then she'd remind us we're here
for our patients.

Yes.

Sinayo ibhedi kunye namayeza akho.

Zizophela intlungu, kungekudala.

Soon you will have no more pain.

SHE GROANS

Put her in the general ward,

the end bed, so she can feel the sun
coming in through the window.

I suspect she has leukaemia.

She presented four months ago
with joint pain and exhaustion.

Did you consider sending her
somewhere larger,

perhaps for radium treatment?

No, I did not.

She hasn't the money to pay for it
and, if she had,

she'd run the risk of
dying far from home.

And who would take that final
comfort from her, hmm?

I see someone's made
himself at home.

You speak in jest, kind Reverend,

but by performing my
ablutions in our new abode,

I'm in fact marking my territory.
I see.

You see,
wild animals, like wolves

and those little spotty humpy
black dog things, er...

Hyenas? That's the fellas.

Wolves and hyenas mark their
territory by leaving their scent.

Soldiers and Englishmen have
a shave and visit the khazi.

I've just had a visit to the khazi.

I thought you was looking
a bit pale.

I thought national service had
prepared me for most things,

but not long-drop loos over
an open trench.

I also thought that conducting
worship

would be my biggest contribution...

..but these people have nothing.

Tomorrow morning, say your prayers
and write your report,

and I will wage war on
the long drops.

In the meantime, have a shave.

We'll have to arrange

for deliveries of extra vaccine
from Cape Town,

with the only phone a mile away
in the village Post Office.

I actually shuddered when
she said that.

How does anyone run a hospital
without access to telephone?

What's all this?

It's made of a new material
called Bri-Nylon.

You can rinse it through and just
leave it to drip dry.

Perfect for a colonial climate.

Absolutely.

Honestly, Trixie, I promise you,

nobody will know you haven't been
able to set your hair.

That hat covers a multitude of sins.

It's the first time I've ever
wished I had a wimple.

No-one who comes to Hope Clinic is
ever refused our help

and, if they can't get here,
we will fetch them.

And if they arrive at night,
we rise and light the lamps.

And if their only ailment is
starvation,

we'll ensure that they're fed.

But the bedrock of it all
is our open clinic,

which we hold every morning
of the week.

And how do you organise your
appointments systems, Doctor?

I don't have one.

I'd be delighted to introduce you to
my Rolodexing systems.

The people I take care of know
when they're ill

and I know that disease
cannot be diarised.

What about the maternity patients?

Are they given regular checks?

If they want them,
they can have them, and many do.

Other women choose to give birth
at home, in their rondavels,

with only their families around
them...

and the village witch doctor
chanting just outside.

Really?

I've no objection on
religious grounds.

But too many of our mothers were
malnourished as children,

so we see a lot of
very narrow pelvises

and, in that case,
the witch doctor can't save them...

But we can.

With forceps?

Yeah, with forceps or a Caesarean.

It's why I asked you to bring
the lignocaine.

But lignocaine is
a local anaesthetic...

Yes, we can't and don't do any
operations that require a general.

We have our own methods and we get
good results

for both mother and child.

Babies are precious here.

Well, babies are precious
everywhere.

Nevertheless, I expect half
your patients come to you asking

you to prevent conception.

Since they licensed the pill,
yes, although...

Well, these women are poor
and they are black,

and they live in a society that is
gradually stripping them of

any dignities or freedoms
that they ever had,

so motherhood is everything.
It's status, purpose, life itself

and we have to help it to happen.

It isn't always easy.

No.

But medicine's never about
doing what's easy -

it's about doing what's essential.

That's why we came - to help.

I'm grateful for your help with
the vaccination programme.

Everything else,
you can leave to me.

These people and I
understand each other.

GRINDING

So this is the hospital truck.

GRINDING CONTINUES

Well, that doesn't sound
too healthy, Fred.

Well, it's working.
I just don't know how it's working.

I can see at least three component
parts that come from other vehicles.

How far are you planning to travel
in this tomorrow?

Well, the first village on
tomorrow's list is called Elbaai -

it's about 30 miles away.

Right.

I was working in the kitchen at
home.

It was just a cut, but now it hurts
all the way up as far as my elbow.

That is a nasty infection,
but there's plenty we can do.

A healthy mother makes for
a healthy baby. Yes.

Nurse Franklin,
could you spare a moment?

I'll need to lance this hand,
then you can dress it.

Of course, Doctor.

WOMAN CALLS OUT

Please help.

Ezikalini. Scales.

Uyagula lomntana.

Sick. Is sick.

Oh.

If Baby is sick,
we will ask Doctor to look.

Oh, molo!

Is everything all right,
Nurse Gilbert?

I don't know.

There we go. Sh, sh.

Baby has a very high fever.

102.

ENGINE RASPS

Doctor!

Dr Myra! Dr Myra!

What is it, Innocent?

Running a marathon's never
a good idea when you've got TB.

Is it your wife?

Undon. The baby's coming!
And she has failed to walk.

Where is she?

Two to three miles away.
She couldn't walk, so I ran.

Did you leave her by
the side of the road?

He's fitting!

Febrile convulsions!

Baby aged five months, dehydrated,
temperature of 102.

You, come with
me to the children's ward.

And, you, get the truck,
see to this man's wife.

Come.

Hiya pha. You can't drive this,
look, it's misfiring and it's got

a really nasty hissing sound
coming from the manifold.

May I remind you

that I am a member of the
Institute of Advanced Motorists

and a young first-time mother
has been left labouring in a ditch?

Her fear is greater than mine.
Give me the keys.

No.

If the swelling's gone down
tomorrow morning,

doctor will let you go home.

But this will need regular
dressing changes.

Is there someone who can do that?

Oh, yes.

There's my mother, and my
mother-in-law and my mother's mother

and my two younger sisters and
all the aunties.

They'll take good care of me because
we've waited many years

for this baby.

All of us.

But you most of all?

Ten years of marriage and
ten years of prayer.

Well, I'm all for persistence in
the face of adversity.

You look like a modern young woman.

You know,
I used to work in Cape Town -

not as a servant but as a secretary.

I had a good education here at
the Missionary School

and I got to work for
a coloured lawyer.

Oh! It was the happiest
two years of my life.

I always think it's terribly unfair
when women have to give up

their jobs just because
they're expecting.

I gave up work years ago.

They changed the law
so that you had to carry

a pass to go to the city and to
stay there and to work,

but I never got one.

Why not?

It's just the way things are.

But my mother always says we have to
bloom where we are planted...

..and I'm blooming now.

Any landmarks spring to mind?

I left her under the shade
of a tree.

Mm, that was thoughtful of you.

I recommend that you take deep
breaths, Mr Muzungulu.

Ooh!

Shame you haven't got
your new camera.

Let's keep our minds on our patient,
shall we?

I take it any jokes about "zebra
crossings" would fall on deaf ears?

GEARS GRIND

Your grandson has a gut infection
and he's starving!

Ulambile! Umtyisa ntoni?

What have you been feeding him on?

Isidudu sikamili mili.

Oh, he's too young for mielie pop!

Andinayo eye into endinomnika yona.

If you have nothing else to give
him, you can bring him here.

Doctor, she DID bring him here.

Ungabinaxhala.
I'll take care of him.

This is the second time she's
come here with

a desperately sick grandchild.

Her daughters are both in
domestic service, miles away.

It's not just feeding them meal
and water that does this -

it's the utter lack of hygiene.

Let ME take the baby.

He needs glucose and water.

Ndiyambona!
I see her, I see her!

I see her over there!

SHE BREATHES HEAVILY

SHE MOANS

Good morning, Mrs Muzungulu!

Or perhaps I should say Molo!

I'm Nurse Crane.

Baby... Baby coming...

Un-ga-bin-axhala. All is well.

We'll have some privacy for Mother,
please, gentlemen.

Keep your distance until
instructed to do otherwise.

You poor lass. You must be
petrified, out here all alone.

You're not alone now.

Nurse Crane, I can see something
moving in those bushes over there!

I don't know what it is,
but it looks like it might charge...

..or pounce.

And do you have the means with
which to defend

this labouring mother and myself?

What? What do you mean? A rifle?
Yes.

No.

Then I don't wish to hear
any more about it.

That's it. Legs nice and wide apart.

Just bend your knees a little,
if you can manage it.

There we go...there...

Hello.

Hello.

I'm just checking on the water
situation in here.

There's a bucket in the corner.

It has a lid, which does seem to
keep the flies out.

This the little chap that
had the fit?

Yes. He's already picking up,
thanks to the glucose solution.

Dr Myra thinks we should be able to
avoid putting him on a drip.

Well, that's good, isn't it?

His grandmother went home in tears,
Tom.

I didn't come here to make
people feel ashamed.

I came here to make people
feel better!

I thought it would be easy.

So did I.

In my mind,
I'm kissing you very gently.

And I'm kissing you back.

FEZEKA CRIES OUT

Well done, lass. Well done... Fred?

Put the stretcher down and escort
Mr Muzungulu back to the truck,

where he can wait till we're done.

Then come back here. I shall be
requiring some assistance.

When my two were born,
I went down the Hand And Shears.

And if there was a bar in sight,
I'd recommend you do the same.

And I'll come with ya!

Fred!

You may not win many medals
for sprinting, Fred,

but you've got two hands at
the ends of your arms.

Get my bag, get the Dettol,
and give them a good sluicing.

Then empty my instruments into
the smaller of the two kidney

dishes and put them there,
where I can reach them.

FEZEKA MOANS

It's all right, lass.
It's all right.

Baby's well on the way...

..and the head is born.

You clever girl.

Not yet.

Now, Fezeka, can you give
me a really big, strong push?

FEZEKA GROANS

Fezeka, baby needs
a bit more room to get out.

We're going to have to get you
kneeling down.

Kneel down?

And, Fred, I need your shirt.

It's all right.

That's the way.
Now kneel down for me.

You grab hold of me, girl,
that's it.

You see?
Men can come in handy on occasion.

All right, Fezeka, push now! Push!

FEZEKA GROANS

I can't...

You CAN, Fezeka, you can!

Now, you listen to Nurse Crane
and do what she says.

Take some of our strength.

That's it, girl, you use us.
We've got plenty.

We're in this together.

Come on! That's it!

It's all right.

BABY CRIES

You clever, brave girl!
You have a daughter.

FRED CHUCKLES

See?

I see her! I see her!

You can have your cuddle in
a minute, Nurse Buckle.

What do you reckon they're
going to do with this?

What, the afterbirth?
Fezeka said her family wants it.

They carry out rituals, apparently.

What sort of rituals?

I didn't enquire.

They send them off
to the allotments in Poplar -

I don't enquire about that either...

being vegetarian
and fond of a tomato.

ENGINE GRINDS AND STALLS

Oh!

Come on!

Oh, hell's teeth.

Could it not have hung on for
another quarter of a mile?

No, looks like we're walking.

MUSIC PLAYING

I have to say,
basic facilities or not,

the way Dr Myra does
a Caesarean is quite an education.

A much smaller incision and very
little blood loss. I was amazed.

I've been bitten by an insect again.

Cigarette smoke's supposed to repel
them. Do you want one?

I've never smoked, Trixie,
you know that.

Well, I'm perfectly willing
to teach you.

Phyllis, too, if you're in the mood.

No, thank you, Trixie.

They aren't good for you and
the pair of you should know that.

Besides,
even when I was young and ignorant,

I had a distaste for silky paper.

Hold it out, like this, taking care
to extend the arm to create

a graceful line from the wrist
to the shoulder.

You sound like you're teaching
a keep fit class!

It's not a dissimilar approach.

Keep fit and smoking both require
discipline and poise.

I'm awfully sorry. But has anybody
got anything for sunburn?

I think my forehead's
starting to blister.

Oh, surely it wasn't that hot?

No. But...underneath all
of this, I'm...a redhead.

Your eyebrows had given rise to
speculation.

I've got some Pond's Cold Cream.

In a minute, Barbara! Concentrate
on your smoking for a moment.

I think you need to exhale through
your nose before you open
your mouth again.

Can't I just wave it around and
frighten off

the mosquitoes that way? Oh.

It seems we have company.

Hello, Rosa, come and join us.

The most pressing problem is
the need to repair that truck.

Without it, we can't get out to the
villages to start the vaccinations.

I'm worried about the sheer
lack of records

and our inability to predict how
many people will actually

turn up to be vaccinated.

I don't know how things here
function as efficiently as they do.

I'm not sure they function
efficiently at all.

The sisters do their best
but, without electricity,

they're struggling to
sterilise equipment

and keep their premature
new-borns warm.

And the lamps aren't bright enough
to work by after dark.

Would it help if they had
a generator?

We made our decision about
that long ago.

It was a choice between
a generator and the truck.

We had other means of making
heat and light,

but no other way of travelling.

I'm sorry, Doctor. We shouldn't have
started without you.

I was with my leukaemia patient.

Is that tea?

Yes, Ty-phoo. We brought it with us.

I thought so.

I caught a faint scent of
my mother's parlour from it.

Circa 1919.

What else have you put in
your report?

I'm planning to mention that
the water in your tank is at

a very low level and...

Yes, it's unfortunate,
but we make the best of it.

There's a better source
not far away,

but we would have had to lay
pipes across somebody else's land

and "somebody else"
wouldn't give us their permission.

I smoked when I worked in
an office in Cape Town -

it's what you did.

It was like learning to type
or use carbon paper -

it was part of being smart.

I worked in a bakery.
It wasn't thought smart there.

Nobody wants to get ash on
their bread or in it.

Where does your husband work?

In a coal mine in Witbank.

Mine also.

They all come home for
two months every year,

to help with the ploughing
and the sowing.

Three times now,

mine has ploughed and sowed a little
bit more than maize and peppers.

But my first child and
my second child both died.

One in my belly and one in my arms.

I'm sorry.

Why are you sorry?

Oh, i..it's something we say
in England,

when someone says something bad
has happened.

It is in the past now.
This baby's in the future,

which is why you should never be
sorry, just be glad.

MUSIC STARTS

# While I'm far away from you,
my baby

# I know it's hard for you, my baby

# Because it's hard for me, my baby

# And the darkest hour... #

I ought to go and put my veil on -
ready for compline.

Oh, don't dash off.

If you listen to the lyrics,

they mention the word "prayer" quite
a few times.

# A little prayer for me,
my baby... #

I suppose it is a bit like a hymn.

# And tell all the stars above

# This is dedicated to the one
I love

# Life can never be

# Exactly like we want it to be

# I could be satisfied

# Knowing you love... #

Enough!

This is a prohibited gathering.
We request that you disperse.

What do you mean, disperse? We're
nurses and these are our patients.

You know the law, and you,
even if they don't. You're Bantu.

They're white. You don't mix.

Get back to your beds, or your
sleeping mats, wherever you belong.

We'll escort these ladies to
their wards, thank you, Sergeant,

and leave you to get on with
your business.

Your truck is abandoned in the lane.

It's obstructing traffic.

Really, Sergeant.
It's half past ten at night -

there is no traffic.

There will be traffic after
daybreak - it will obstruct it then.

Makes me just want to get it started
so I can run him over.

I'm here on a missionary basis and
therefore trying not to think

uncharitable thoughts.

I'm perfectly happy to think
them for you.

That's my girl.

Ow!

Can I bring anything over to
your quarters, Doctor?

No, thank you.

Tempting though your Ty-phoo is,
I fear any more may keep me awake.

I was thinking perhaps
some pain relief?

Sorry, I...didn't mean to pry.

I was in fine fettle until
Sister Felicity shuffled off

this mortal coil.

But every institution
has its crumbling old dear

and it would seem that, now she's
gone, falls to me to fill the void.

I will keep you in my prayers.

Oh, I don't believe in any of that.

Not quite what you expect to hear
in a mission hospital, is it?

I've been here so long I can hardly
recall

my state of faith when I arrived.

I'm driven by people's need, now,
not by my own beliefs.

Don't tell anyone.

THEY SING

SINGING CONTINUES

Good morning!

Good morning, Constance!

Good morning, Sister.

I'm just popping in to look you over
before we set out for the day.

Oh! Where's Roza?

She has gone home. The man doctor
said her hand was better.

Yes, but he asked me to see to her
maternity checks before she left.

Her mother came for her,
so she went.

Oh. Still,
she seemed fit and well.

Mm.

Sister, you are an excellent dancer.

Shh!

RATTLING

ENGINE STARTS

ALL CHEER

MUSIC: Pata Pata
by Miriam Makeba

MUSIC DROWNS SPEECH

MUSIC FADES

KNOCKING ECHOES

Fred, come and look at this.

I'd better stand upwind of you.

I've been digging trenches for
them long drops.

Inch of maggots in the old ones.

The water's even lower than
it was before.

Did that come out of the tank?

Looks like it's full of clay.

We need to put it right...

..but first we have to find
the source.

Yeah.

These old pipes ain't too bad.

Here's the source.

I told ya! Clay. You can make dinner
plates with that lot.

What you want is a new source,
full stop.

Well, there's a potential one here

but it's not going to be
straightforward.

If we can clean and re-lay
these pipes,

then the SPG grant might just
stretch to cover the labour.

But we'd be disconnecting what
little supply there is.

Well, that's going to run out in
days anyway without rain.

So, tomorrow,
I'll go and get permission.

MUSIC: Pata Pata
by Miriam Makeba

MUSIC DROWNS SPEECH

Look, through there.

# Hoo, every Friday and Saturday
night

# It's Pata Pata time

# The dance keeps going
all night long

# Till the morning sun begins to
shine... #

Thank you, Mrs Nonesi. Next, please.

Good afternoon, boys!

My name is Abel. We've come for
the polio vaccination.

I have money.

If I don't have enough for both,

I want my brother to have
the injection.

There's no injection, Abel,

it's medicine you swallow
on a sugar lump.

And there's no charge.

Although we do have to add you
to our records,

if you aren't already on our list.

We are not from this place.
I walk eight miles.

No wonder your brother's
legs got tired.

Matthias cannot walk -
he has had polio -

that's why I want HIM to have
the vaccination.

How long ago did Matthias have
polio, Abel?

Two years ago.

Did you learn to speak
English at school?

We learn only handicrafts at school.

Our mother taught
me before she died.

Can you feel that?

He feels but he can't move.

That is why we want him to have
the vaccination,

to cure the polio,
like it says on the posters.

You can have the vaccination, Abel,

and there's no harm
in giving Matthias one, too.

But there is something that you
need to understand.

I'm going to tell it to you,
man to man.

And neither I, nor anyone else, is
going to take a penny of your money.

Thank you, Doctor, sir.

Abel, vaccination is to prevent
polio, to stop it from happening.

It is good medicine.

All medicine is good...

..usually.

But vaccination can't make you
better when you've already

had the disease.

Can't it help him to walk?

He was a good walker
before he had polio.

No.

They were kids, the pair of them,

and I had to take away
the only thing they had -

the belief that
somehow things might get better.

At least Abel's been vaccinated.

Well, that's no comfort to either of
us, Shelagh, and you know it...

and even less comfort to them.

Look! Oh, wait.
Please, Sister Gertrude!

Please! Please come!
Doctor Myra's very, very sick.

I don't need you to examine me.

I'm not playing that game.

When you've been the only doctor
within a 30-mile radius

for 27 years, you develop
an impressive diagnostic prowess.

I don't doubt that
and I don't doubt you.

Oh, yes, you do.

Won't you even let me look at you,
just to be sure?

I have jaundice, nausea,
weight loss.

Upper right quadrant pain referring
through to the upper back.

Liver cancer's a sordid business,
I know what I'm in for.

Do you think it's primary or
metastatic?

The former. End of story.

I don't know what's worse,
hope, like those little boys had,

or no hope at all.

There's never no hope at all,
Patrick. It's 1962!

Oh, disgusting!

I've just changed Doctor Myra's
sheets.

Apart from being helped to drink
a little fluid,

it's the only attention
she'll accept.

Put them in the basket over there.

The lady from the village who helps
with the washing went home

sick yesterday
and hasn't been seen since.

Sister Edith says two of
the patients in general ward have

developed vomiting and diarrhoea.

Well, I wish I was surprised.

Excuse me.
Is this the Starke farmhouse?

Yes, sir.

Every five years, I have to mount
these all over again.

The glue disintegrates
and, when I open the album,

all the photographs fall out
like a deck of cards.

I'm afraid I've called at
an inconvenient time, Mr Starke.

If you're thinking about running a
water pipeline across my land, from

the spring to that hospital, there
will never be a convenient time.

The new stream isn't on your land
and there is just

no other route to the hospital.

Then work it out.

Find another spring
or find another way.

Mr Starke, our tank is almost empty.
There is no other way.

Our water's running out.

GOATS BLEAT

Nice goat....nice goat...

GOAT BLEAT

You're connected.

Hello?

This is Nonnatus House.

'Sister Monica Joan?'

It's Shelagh.
I'm calling from South Africa.

'I left a key at Nonnatus House
before we came away,

'so someone could go to our flat
and water the plants.'

The parlour palm thrives.

Honesty dictates a poor report on
the begonias.

'I'm not worried about
the begonias.'

I need your help.

'Could someone go to the flat
and look in one of the cupboards
for me?'

MUSIC: Rubber Ball
by Bobby Vee

# Bouncy bouncy

# Bouncy bouncy

# Bouncy bouncy

# Ee-ee-ee... #

Yonke into ihamba kakuhle.
Perfect.

With your increasing command of
Xhosa and my unerring ability

to draw a crowd through
the deployment of popular music,

we're becoming
an indispensable double act.

Please! Please come very fast.
Is somebody ill?

Yes, my daughter's baby's coming.

It's been three days since she had
pains.

Three days?
Yes, please come, please.

Sibiza izinyanya zakwa uMthimkulu,
uMthimkulu kwakona, umPafane,

uGabatha, nezinyanya zakwa Gadebe...

Has your daughter seen the doctor?

No, not for the labour, only for
the bad cut in her head.

Midwives calling.

Hello, Roza. Remember me?

I want to do this the old way,

in my home.

There's no reason
to suppose you can't.

Let's see if we can get you
onto the bed, sweetie.

I'm tired of waiting
and sick with bearing down.

First, we'll take a look at you

and then we'll get you
a cup of sweet tea.

And how often are the pains?

Yesterday,
four or five times an hour.

And now, just two or three.

You'll be able to have that cup
of tea in a minute.

I just want to give you
an internal examination, Roza.

I know you won't have had
one before,

but it shouldn't be too un-comfy.

Heels up to your bottom and knees
nice and wide apart.

That's it.

SHE GROANS

Is that a pain?

It's all right, sweetie.

I'm just popping outside for
a moment.

Here.

There's no heartbeat, is there?

It's worse than that, Barbara.

There's no baby.

What?

The cervix is hard,
the uterus isn't palpable

and, despite her waves of pain,
she isn't even contracting.

Do you think it's
a phantom pregnancy?

I know it is.

I've only seen one once before,
years ago, but you don't forget it.

Trixie.

Don't you see why this has happened?

It's because she's been forced into
a wretched, filthy, narrow life,

where her only worth comes from what
she can grow in her womb.

She wanted that baby so badly that
her body started lying to her

and she believed it.

The baby may be imaginary
but her pains are real.

And now she has to be told
the truth.

I know.

I'll do it.

ROZA SOBS

I'm sorry, Roza. I'm so sorry.

Words aren't enough,

I know they aren't enough,

but they're all I have, and I can't
just sit here and offer you nothing.

You speak of "nothing".

I am nothing.

I am hollow because I am empty!

You are not empty, Roza.
You are full of love,

for the man you never see,
for the mother you try to please,

for the child some idiot law of
biology won't allow you to

conceive, that your soul spilled
over and your body told you lies.

Biology might be the idiot,
but I, I am the fool.

No. No, Roza.

It takes a lot of wisdom to love
as much as you do...

..and that's why I know you'll find
a reason to go on.

It just won't be today.

Would anyone like to try some of
this local sausage?

It smells quite spicy,
but the kitchen ladies were so kind

and I don't want to hurt
their feelings.

Hand it over. It'll fill a hole.

I might walk back up that lane,
to that little shop we saw,

see if I can buy us all
an ice cream.

Whoo!

We are on holiday, after all.

Well,
we're on holiday for an hour or two.

We're here to do mission work, Tom,

and I'm not sure it's possible, or
right, to take a holiday from that.

Barbara, the work here is hard
cos our patients' lives are hard.

We'll all do it better
if we can just put it out of
our minds for a little while!

We can put it out of our minds
for good when we go home

and we may well want to,

because I'm not sure we'll leave
anything worth remembering behind

or take anything away beyond
insect bites and a few photos.

Listen, lass.

If that clinic closes,

it won't be for the want of us
putting the effort in -

it'll because there's
no running water

and no doctor left at the helm.

I'm working on that,
but it isn't looking hopeful.

I want to believe that Doctor Myra's
diagnosis is wrong.

I've learned a great deal over
the past couple of years, Tom,

mostly by going to my AA meetings.

One was never to judge
a book by its cover.

Barbara seemed so squeaky clean
when she first arrived.

She still does, if you just look
at her on the surface.

I don't just look at her
on the surface.

I know.

Perhaps we should all be as wise
as you or Barbara.

She is wise, isn't she?

She's angry
and she's not afraid to say so.

In fact, Barbara's afraid of
much less than you'd think.

But you don't expect it from her,
so you just don't see it.

I see it.

And that's why Barbara's the person
you should spend

your whole life with.

She's funny,
she's strong and she's clever.

We simply have to overlook her
incompetence at racquet sports.

"Whole life", Trixie?

I've known it for a long time,
possibly longer than you.

But promise me one thing.

If you propose to her, or even when,

don't give her that ring that
you once gave me.

That ring was your granny's
before it was mine

and Barbara's had so many
second-hand things over the years...

..that atrocious swimsuit being
merely the tip of a very dismal
iceberg.

I think she looks lovely in it.

Be that as it may,
no hand-me-down rings, Tom.

Get her something brand-new -
she deserves it.

Hello, you.

Hello, you.
I'm sorry I lost my temper.

I'm sorry you felt the only way to
make your voice heard was to shout.

Did I shout?

Not really. Oh.

I was too easily defeated by
the landowner,

too dependent on him giving
his permission.

I'm going to strip out, repair,
and move the whole pipeline,

round Starke's land if I have to.

In the meantime, we can fetch water
from the new spring in barrels.

If the old spring's drying up, we're
going to have to do that anyway.

We're going to have to see
what faith can do.

Sister Edith has gone down with
vomiting and diarrhoea.

Her, too?

And I've quarantined
Sister Gertrude,

so that she's only working on
the affected ward.

I'd say it's going to be
all hands to the pump,

but under the circumstances that's
just a really tactless pun.

We'll have to ration the amount of
water that's used on laundry

and, with enteric fever going round,
that's going to be difficult.

The best thing we could leave behind
is something that goes on

working after we're gone

and that means Hope Clinic,
which means Doctor Myra.

I might have found
a different diagnosis.

If I'm right,
she's in with a chance.

A good chance?

A slim one.

But if she won't let me near her,
it means no chance at all.

Oh, I've witnessed
several phantom pregnancies.

The women become deranged by
the simple yearning to conceive

and bear a child.

I knew that yearning once.

I was lucky because it left me
when we adopted our daughter.

But more than once, I clung to
the slightest signs and convinced

myself I was carrying a child.

Our bodies aren't very
reliable witnesses,

even when we're in
the medical profession.

I'm not imagining I have
liver cancer.

You're not imagining you have
liver disease - that's different.

Why?

Because some liver diseases
are curable -

if you would just let Dr Turner
examine you.

You think I'm arrogant, don't you?

No. But I think you're scared.

And you've been so brave for
so long, and so alone for so long,

that it's going to take
a lot of courage to admit that.

Right, we'll be starting by
dismantling the current water pipe

and clearing the tubes of
any clay residue,

then we'll relay the pipes
all the way from the new,

clean spring to the Hope Clinic.

Everyone working will be paid
a daily wage.

If you have any difficulties,
you're to come to me, Mr Buckle,

or Mr Muzungulu,
who's been appointed foreman.

Right!

If you're feeling unwell, or if your
cough plays up, you let me know.

MUSIC: Pata Pata
by Miriam Makeba

And out.

SHE GASPS

I don't think it's a tumour.

I think it's a hepatic abscess,

but it's sizeable.

We need to get you to the
general hospital in Port Elizabeth.

No. Not three hours in
an un-sprung truck.

If it bursts,
I won't survive the journey.

I may be stubborn,
but I'm not a fool.

And you're a doctor,

which means I'm listening to what
you have to say.

Likewise.

Medicine is never about
doing what's easy -

it's about doing what's essential.

So what do we do next?

With your permission, I'll drain
the abscess and give you emetine

to tackle the infection.

Very well.

A bit of local anaesthetic,
it'll be drained before you know it.

No. No anaesthetic.

We've only got what you brought

and I'm saving that for
my Caesarean ladies.

Those are my terms, Doctor.

Patients first

and, in this case,
I mean mine, not yours.

May the Lord bless you and keep you.

I appreciate the sentiment.

Now, back to bed, all of you.

Can't keep my doctor waiting.

Aspirating.

Dish.

How much water do we have left?

If you really want to be
a good patient,

you'll leave all of that to us.

Do you know why Mr Starke won't let
the pipe pass over his land?

I assumed it was...because...

Because he hates blacks?

Yes.
No. It's because he loved his wife.

She was younger than him

and you never saw a girl look
so pretty on her pedestal.

And when their first-born came
along, she went into labour early

and they had no time for a transfer
to a private nursing home,

so they sent for me.

I delivered her of a four-pound boy
that lived for six days.

She was too ill to realise what
she'd lost, but Mr Starke wasn't.

And she survived only 24 hours
more - puerperal fever.

Has Mr Starke held a grudge against
Hope Clinic all this time?

In his eyes, I...

I transmitted the disease from my
patients to his wife.

When people have
no love to live for,

it's so very easy to fill
that void with hate.

Yes.

Water is now officially on
the ration.

No more washing, it's for
consumption and sterilisation only.

All right.

HE SIGHS

Is that the aspirate from
Doctor Myra's abscess?

It's definitely amoebic

and that means the drugs we're
using should be working,

but she's getting worse.

Could you be bold
and try a different treatment?

I'm not sure there is one
and I've been bold already.

I stuck my neck out draining the
abscess and look where we ended up.

We haven't ended up anywhere yet,
Patrick.

There's a time and a place
for caution,

but not here and not now.

And I'm not going to say
anything else,

because I'm afraid I might
speak sharply

and, no matter how high the stakes,
you don't deserve that.

Good morning, ladies.

Good morning!

And the Hotel Hope Clinic is once
again open for business.

All right, Constance?

I think maybe yes...maybe no?

Today
I think something might happen.

Well, if it does,
you're in the right place.

Sustenance for the workers,

after which we're collecting water
from the stream to take back

to the hospital.

Why didn't you bring the truck?

Nurse Crane said we
shouldn't waste fuel.

We won't have to do it for long,

just until the new pipeline's
connected.

That's it, Constance, that's it.

How much longer? One hour?

Or two?

A few.

Come on. Think how long you've
waited for this baby.

Oh, no.

Excuse me!

You were right, Shelagh.

If we act now, there's one last
thing that we can try.

Oh, Patrick, I hope so.

She's coming round.

It's all right, Myra.
We're going to help you.

I promise.

I came as quickly as I could.

We need to get her to a hospital,
preferably in Port Elizabeth,

and persuade them to give her
a drug called metronidazole.

It's new. It's still experimental,

but I've read reports on it
and I'm prepared to beg.

She deserves better than this.

Don't worry. She'll get the very
best that we can give her.

Not long now, Constance.

Mr Hereward?

The situation at the clinic is
becoming desperate.

We're working as fast as we can,
Sister.

When will the pipeline be
connected to the tank?

It could take as long as two months.

Two months? We've barely enough
water for two days.

Without Mr Starke's permission to
put the pipe across his land,

we have to lay it around his
boundary - which runs for miles.

And he won't give you that
permission?

No. He just refuses.

Well done, Constance.

Now let's see if we can get you
a bit more comfortable.

How are we getting on?

She's still not fully dilated.

The cervix is oedematous
and the head's very high.

Narrow pelvis?

Very.
And she's lost two babies before.

SHE MOANS

It's all right, sweetie.
It's all right.

I will fetch Mr Starke.

Oh...

Thought you were Mother Felicity.

If you had been,
would've thrown you straight out.

Mother Felicity has died, Mr Starke,
of dysentery.

She lived to a considerable age,
but... Lucky her.

I have spoken with Dr Myra and I do
understand why your feelings

towards Hope Clinic
are...less than warm.

Good. Then leave my house
and leave me alone.

I have generally been quite
a fortunate woman, Mr Starke.

I've experienced little in
the way of loss,

but I know what it is to have
nothing but

a photograph or two to look at
and to love.

They fade...

..people don't tell you that.

The photographs fade
and the glue disintegrates.

Now, I never took any photographs
of Celeste in her last days...

..because her face was
so swollen and discoloured.

I can imagine.

And I never took any photographs
of the child at all.

I can't answer for what
happened then.

But will you let me say I am sorry?

Why? Why should you feel guilt? Hmm?

I don't, but I feel so much sorrow.

I feel it every time a child is
lost, every time a mother is lost.

I feel it every time I see
somebody weeping,

even if they don't allow
the tears to fall.

# Each night before you go to bed,
my baby

# Spare a little...

ROZA JOINS IN: # ..prayer for me,
my baby...

# And tell all the stars above

# This is dedicated to the one
I love... #

I think now we should send for
a doctor.

She doesn't need a doctor,
does she, Nurse Franklin?

Of course not. She's got us.

ROZA GROANS

That's it.

Mr Starke,

if your wife did die because of
bacterial infection,

you could help prevent that
happening to any other mother.

All you have to do is to stop
blaming Doctor Myra

and her black patients for
the death of your wife and baby.

You ask a great deal of
a man who has nothing.

You have land, Mr Starke, land that
could be traversed with

a water pipeline in
a matter of just a few days.

Believe me, a clean water supply to
the hospital would be

a better memorial to your wife
than any photograph,

even if the smiling faces are
not her face

and the children saved are
not your child.

I have asked a great deal,
Mr Starke, I know.

But I will not ask your permission
to pray for you,

I will do that anyway,

because I cannot bear the thought of
leaving you alone in such pain.

SHE GROANS

GROANS CONTINUE

She's making no progress.

She can't pass urine

and there's a ridge in the muscle
in the lower part of the uterus.

Would you examine her, Sister?

This?

You're right, Nurse Franklin.

If we don't intervene,
the uterus will rupture.

The heartbeat's still slow.

Sister?

Constance needs a Caesarean section
-

without one, neither she nor
the child can survive -

and there's no-one here that
can do that for her.

Then we have no choice -
we have to operate ourselves.

We're midwives, Nurse Franklin.

I don't normally wish we were
doctors, too, but I do today.

Sister, I've seen so many Caesareans
at close quarters,

I've even assisted in stitching.

We have the instruments we need,

we're skilled enough
and desperate enough.

Please don't plead with me.

I'm not pleading. I'm saying again
that we have no choice

and I want that to be
a powerful thing,

a thing that makes survival
possible.

Not a miserable,
grinding version of "no choice",

which means we'll have two bodies to
bury in one coffin in the morning!

That may be the situation anyway,
Nurse Franklin,

even if we do as you suggest.

But at least we will have tried.

Trixie's already scrubbing up.

Nurse Crane sent me to collect
the instruments and the drugs.

It's all in hand, including a strong
sedative and plenty of lignocaine.

Sister Gertrude says Nurse Franklin
will need to inject it into

each layer of muscle as she
proceeds.

Are the instruments ready?

Erm, they need
another 50 seconds.

ROZA'S GROANS CONTINUE

Extra Tilley lamp.

Thank you, Fred.

Can I do anything else?

Not this time.

Has the anaesthesia taken?

Scalpel.

That's it, Constance, that's it.

She needs more gas.

Uterus exposed.

I'm going to pull the baby out now.

Ready to receive.

It's stuck, I can't move it.

I need...I need someone to put
their hand into the birth canal

and push the baby back upwards.

Barbara, will you do it?

Yes.

Applying pressure.

Barbara!

Again, Barbara!

BABY CRIES

Come on, come on,
open your eyes, Mummy!

Well done, Trixie.
I couldn't be more proud of you.

Well done.

Well done.

I can't really think of
anything else to say,

except I'm so glad you taught
me to smoke

because right now there's nothing
I want more than a cigarette.

THEY BOTH CHUCKLE

I've come to speak to you, Sister.

I'm afraid I can't oblige
you now, Mr Starke.

This baby's mother required surgery
and I need to get back to her.

Don't you bath a baby
when it's just been born?

Mother Felicity bathed
my little girl when she was born,

I remember it clearly.

We don't have sufficient water,
Mr Starke

and, as I said,
I can't oblige you now.

I'm sorry.

Truly sorry.

And I want to make amends.

CHATTER AND LAUGHTER

They're back.

What news of Dr Myra?

She's been admitted to hospital
in Port Elizabeth.

Dr Turner persuaded them to try
metronidazole.

It remains to be seen if
it will work.

Meanwhile, we stopped off at
the airport and collected this,

fresh from Nonnatus House.

Oh!

Then...we stopped off in a certain
village and picked up these.

Molo.

Come on, lads. We've got work to do.

What is this cake?

It's Christmas cake.

It's a bit late.

No. It's a bit early.

Ah. Ooh.

Phyllis seems to have got
her camera working.

I thought that, when the water comes
through, we could get a picture.

That way we'll have proof we left
something behind.

We don't need proof.
We'll always know it's here.

In the meantime, tuck into this.

I don't fancy looking at it
in the Bay of Biscay.

Barbara.

I want you to have this.

No-one's hand ever touched
it but mine

and it's as though it was just
growing here,

waiting for this moment.

Oh, Tom.

There'll be a gold ring, there'll be
a diamond if you want one,

but...for now - you beautiful
girl -

will you just let me love you

and accept this blade of grass?

Yes, I will.

Barbara Gilbert, will you marry me?

Doesn't your boy need these anymore?

No.

Our boy - Timothy - got stronger.

These are yours now.

Yeah.

HUM OF CHATTER

Thank you all for coming.

CHATTER SUBSIDES

Now it's time to see if
the new spring works.

There you go, chap.

Oh, bless him.

Three, two, one...

JENNIFER: 'Not all gifts come tied
in ribbons

'or at a special time of year.

'Some blessings surprise us,
arriving unlabelled,

'and we embrace them in
a blaze of joy.'

Good afternoon, Nurse Gilbert.
Mrs Turner.

Roza. You look so smart.

Once a secretary,
always a secretary.

'Roza Mphaphane was appointed clinic
administrator, which gave her

'dignity and purpose, and the
hospital the chance to thrive.

'Clean water and renewed and
increased funding from

'the mission made Hope Clinic
viable again.

'It could at last look to the future
with the woman who served it

'for so many years restored to
her place as its beating heart.'

I hope you're going to behave
yourself

because, until you're fully
recovered, Dr Myra, I'm in charge.

Ooh.

Go on, off you go, go on...

Right.

Oh, that's nice.
Now just get a bit closer.

Smile!

'The once frail hospital flourished
long after the visitors from

'Nonnatus said goodbye.

'But though they had given
their labour and their love,

'they also took and they learned...

'and they went home wiser,
enriched,

'in ways that they could not count.'

Ready!

CAMERA WHIRS

Cheese!