All language subtitles for Call The Midwife - 06x00 - Christmas Special 2016.RiVER.English

- Synced and corrected by VitoSilans -
-- www.Addic7ed.com --

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.

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!

Absent friends.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

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.

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.

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.

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.

So this is the hospital truck.

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.

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.

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?

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!

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.

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.

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, 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!

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.

You clever, brave girl!
You have a daughter.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I suppose it is a bit like a hymn.

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.

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!

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.

Look, through there.

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
atall, 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.

Nice goat... nice goat...

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?

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.

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.

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.

And out.

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.

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.

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... ♪

♪ ...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.

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'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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

Thank you all for coming.

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

There you go, chap.

Oh, bless him.

Three, two, one...

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!

Cheese!

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