Original subtitles

A strip of compulsory development.

Think back.

Not so long ago, this was marsh.

Marsh birds and butterflies.

Apple orchards.

A field of grudging corn.

It still exists, you see, in the mind.

Outside the grip of the authorities.

The rooks blow about like scraps of burnt paper.

Yew trees.

Old pillows.

Tea on the lawn, when there were servants to bring it.

There were tennis courts in those days.

It keeps its old lady smell.

Roses, myrtles, honeysuckle.

The dusty smell of box.

A garden designed for private delight.

But Ivy and boys have long since climbed the wall.

The temple where the bowls used to be kept.

Now bees nest inside the door.

At least the bees keep the boys out.

Racers up and down this lawn.

Miss Constantine and her brothers.

Spells out.

Off you go, Reggie.

One.

Got you now.

I got you.

Oh, Reggie.

You silly boy.

Miss Constantine, you see, still plays in the potpourri scent of the old

garden.

Come along, dog.

Come along.

Come along, dogs.

Come along.

Come.

Come along, dogs.

Come along.

...living in the past and happy there.

Pilot!

Roddy! Come along.

Come along.

The house wears its creeper like fur.

It turns to fire in autumn.

The jackdaws call for Jack, Jack, all summer, round the roofs that have aged

to a tender grey.

Swallows come back every year to the servants' hall.

They dart in and out through a broken window.

Beards of grass in the gutters, and a blackbird's nest in the Tudor plumbing.

No servants now, of course.

Just Miss Constantine.

At home.

The house has the accumulated darkness of very old things.

A darkness of times and people gone forever.

But it's home to Miss Constantine.

Or it would be, if it wasn't for the young people from the authorities.

The young people from the authorities.

She can't remember when they moved in.

What are they called?

She doesn't know.

They never speak.

They are simply present.

In here, for instance.

Oh, dear.

Please go away.

Standing behind the piano with their backs to the light.

Please go. Their faces.

Please. Their faces are white, as if they'd been rubbed with ash.

Her use of the house shrinks in winter.

She crouches in the room she can heat.

whose windows aren't broken and whose ceilings don't leak.

But in summer, in summer, she travels through the house, the house

that contains her lifetime's experience.

She meanders through the light, the shadowy coolness of the different rooms.

Her fingers leave a trail up the dusty banisters.

Under the batwing cobwebs, she travels through her past.

The creeper pressing the window panes is luminous, as if it too was made out of

glass.

But now the young people from the authorities have moved in.

They turn up.

I know you're there.

I can hear you breathing.

Get out of my house.

Very well, then. I'll shut you in.

But how can you communicate when people behave as though you aren't there?

She hears them on the stairs.

She hears them shuffling.

I can hear you.

Oh, you can't deceive me.

Why don't you leave me alone?

Go away!

They even get into her bedroom.

Sometimes she wakes up in the night and they're standing in a row at the foot of

the bed.

Just looking at her.

With their faces pale as moons.

Out of my house!

She knows what they want, of course.

They want to get her out.

They want the house for themselves.

But she won't have that.

Oh, no, no.

I know what you're up to, but you won't win.

I'll see to that.

Constantines have lived and died here for hundreds of years, and she won't

give way, no matter what they do.

Not even now they've started stealing.

There.

You won't get those.

They stole her shopping list, for instance.

She found it, at last, screwed up in some rubbish.

Oh, they're devils.

If only she could tell someone about them.

But one has to be so careful.

She doesn't want people talking about her.

People can be so unkind.

But she'll have to get rid of them somehow.

They'll simply have to go before they drive her mad.

The church looms over the graves of all the local families.

including generations of Constantines.

Forget-me-nots for Reggie.

Daisies and buttercups.

He always liked butter.

Yellow under a little boy's chin.

Miss Constantine used to go to church every Sunday.

She trudged the family footpath across the fields in her hat like a bowl, her

old-fashioned prayer book clamped under one arm.

Hello, Miss Constantine.

How are you?

But recently, she's missed the Sunday service.

And this worries the vicar, though she's given him a reason.

She's explained that her reading glasses have gone.

So this morning, he offers to go home with her.

He says he'll help her to find her glasses.

Of course you are quite right, well-imagined.

Upstairs and downstairs.

But there's been no sign.

No. I can't find them. No.

Well, Miss Constantine, I've been meaning to come and see you for such a

long time.

He can't tell whether she's pleased or not.

She's obedient anyway.

She

trots

off across the fields.

He has to hurry to keep up with her.

All the birds are out today, singing.

Let me hold that. There we are. Now, careful, Miss Constantine.

He can see she's troubled.

She's even more flattery than usual.

Good. There we are.

Miss Constantine?

Miss Constantine?

You...

You do seem rather agitated this morning. I'm a little upset, you see. It

seems it isn't only her glasses.

Her pension book's gone as well.

Well,

what of it?

That's nothing to worry about.

He's absent-minded himself.

Forgets people's names.

Loses his way in the sermon.

Ah, but there's more to it than that. Not lost.

Stolen, Miss Constantine?

Stolen.

I think you must be mistaken. Now, who would steal from Miss Constantine?

The young people from the authorities?

What does she mean?

Funny old thing.

Morning, Vicar.

Miss Constantine.

Morning, Peter.

Lucky he's with her.

He'll sort it out.

They pick their way down the drive, between the puddle skies.

The house casts a long shadow, even in summer.

She won't let him in by the back.

He has to wait for an official opening of the front door.

The Starlings know which chimneys are never used.

Crumbling stone, patched like an old suit.

Tudor glass with bars at every window.

You'd think they'd keep the thieves out.

But where is she?

He's been forgotten.

Hello, Miss Constantine.

Ah, hello.

Thank you so much.

The door closes slowly.

squeezing out the sunlight.

Will you lead the way?

Now, where to look first?

Right, now then, your glasses.

Which of the rooms do you usually use?

Oh, all of them, vicar.

Could we start in here?

By all means, yes.

It will be quite all right, vicar. I'll open the shutters. Good.

It's years since anyone asked this clock the time.

And the old grandfather, shaped like a coffin, he's been dead for

years.

You really have got some very lovely things, Miss Constantine.

Yes, they are lovely.

But I don't think we're going to find anything in here, are we?

No, I don't think so, vicar.

Once upon a time, Miss Constantine galloped the pony.

He's waited ever since for the new generation, the children who were never

born.

What a charming room, Miss Constantine.

Yes, it is lovely, vicar. Truly charming. Yes. And the view as well.

Yes, yes.

Such a sunny aspect.

Yes.

Absolutely lovely.

Now, what have we here?

Oh, I don't think there's anything here.

No.

No.

Ah, here's the reading glasses at any rate.

Oh, how lovely.

Thank you, Becca.

I don't remember putting them there.

No, well, we all tend to put things down and then lose track of them, don't we?

Well, I can't see your pension book anywhere here, so I think we'd better

look elsewhere.

Well, it's rather unusual.

Oh, it's always like dancing.

Yes. Miss Constantine, have you used this?

Checks at all lately?

Oh, no, Vicar, no. Shall we just have a look and check to make sure? Shall we?

I say, these are rather magnificent, aren't they? Yes.

It's full of uniforms.

When Reggie tried on the old military uniform, Nanny heard footsteps up and

down here all night. Let's go and try somewhere else, shall we? Very well,

Vicar.

It was easier for the children when the servants left.

Not so many complaints.

What's in here, Miss Constantine?

Oh, it's the kitchen.

Right.

Cook hung on to the last.

Now, what's in here? Boiled mutton and macaroni pudding. And the food curled by

the time it reached the dining room.

where the Constantine family ate their meals under the portraits, making

conversation in a congealing silence.

Well, they're not there.

What's in there?

Oh, the drawing room.

Mother never felt comfortable in the drawing room.

She didn't care for parties.

Can you see, Vicar?

Yes, fine, thank you, Miss Constantine.

Father had his shooting.

Miss Constantine doesn't like mirrors.

You never know who you'll see looking over your shoulder.

What have we got here?

What's this?

A pension book. A pension book.

Miss Constantine, I think you'll be relieved to know that I've found what

we've been looking for.

Oh, my pension book.

Thank you, vicar, so much.

I know I've not been in here.

It must be them.

Yes, yes, of course, yes.

Now, let's have no more talk about thieves.

Exit one old lady in a muddle and a kindly vicar.

Well, there we are now, Miss Constantine. We've...

Found your glasses, haven't we? And your pension book.

Nothing else worrying you at all, I hope? No, not really, Vicar. Good. Well,

if you'll excuse me, I'd best get back to church.

Very well. Perhaps we can hope to see you on Sunday.

But as he's about to leave, she clutches at his sleeve.

She's made up her mind.

She asks him to throw out the young people sent from the authorities.

What does she mean?

What young people?

But didn't he notice them a moment ago?

They were in there, sitting on the couch.

This way, please.

Come through here.

This way. I didn't see anybody. She leads the way to the morning room.

Look.

There they are, still sitting in a row. On the sofa.

Well, he can't see anything.

But that won't help her.

So he tells her to open the doors through to the hall and to hold the

front door open herself.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid that I must now ask you to go

because you have caused Miss Constantine some considerable upset.

And so, therefore, I do feel it would be best if you were to leave straight away.

If you would please all get up and just go, would you?

Then he pretends to drive them out.

He shoos them in front of him like a flock of geese.

This way, if you would please.

Out through the hall and the front door, if you would please go. And you can go

straight across the hall.

If you would please come this way now.

Yeah, please, um, thank you very much. Thank you.

Please, come along.

Thank you.

Thank you so much. Thank you.

Goodbye. When he asks her if they've all gone, she says that there is a nun under

the piano.

Sorry? Vicar, the nun under the piano.

The nun under the piano. Yes, of course, yes.

Please, please, please.

Sister, I... So, he drives out the nun.

Sister, I'm very sorry to trouble you, but Miss Constantine is a little

concerned, and I wondered if you'd be so kind to leave.

Thank you ever so much. Thank you.

Mind your head.

Good. Thank you. If you'd just come this way. Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

Thank you. Goodbye, Sister.

And at last, the house is empty.

There. She asks him then if he noticed their faces.

No,

he says, at a loss.

They're so pale, she says. Their faces look as though they've been dipped in

flour. Miss Constantine, I think it would be perhaps best... The vicar

pauses on the threshold to warn Miss Constantine.

She shouldn't tell anybody about this.

People talk.

People might think she was imagining things.

And I'll see you soon.

Thank you so much.

God bless you. Thank you, Vicar.

Bye-bye now. Thank you. Bye-bye. Oh, Miss Constantine won't tell.

She knows what people would say.

She'll keep herself to herself.

Has done for years.

So the vicar walks home across the fields.

But he's worried about Miss Constantine.

And next morning, he cycles over to see how she spent the night.

He sees at once that all is well.

Miss Constantine slept like a child.

He has cleared the house of the young people from the authorities.

Do you want some there?

Yes, I should be... I'm reading this. Good.

Bye-bye now. Bye.

So he pedals away, congratulating himself on the success of his little

crick.

The clouds are thickening over the sun.

There's a storm coming.

He'll have to get home quickly, or he'll be soaked.

But he's caught at the drive-in.

Miss Constantine's neighbor waves and comes across.

Here, vicar,

he says.

You know those young people you threw out of Miss Constantine's yesterday?

Our vicar is taken aback.

He protests.

Now come on.

We both know Miss Constantine and her imagination.

But the man interrupts him.

He means the young people with the faces like they've been whitewashed.

He saw them.

They were trying to get in again.

All night.