All language subtitles for The Crown - S04E04 - Favourites.eng

-[engine revving]
-[announcer speaking French]

[crowd cheering]

[announcer continues in French]

And then up to…

[man counting down in French]

[tires screech]

[announcer speaking French]

Ready?

Ready.

-[engine revving]
-[counting down in French]

Thank you.

Prime Minister.

[Elizabeth] Prime Minister,
when you came to power,

you told me
you hated seeing Britain in decline

and you would get the house in order.
Now, almost three years on,

we have inflation at 12%,
unemployment of three million,

and rioting and civil unrest
in several major cities.

[Thatcher] It's true.

But there isn't a magical system

whereby you can just push a few buttons
and twiddle a few knobs

and everything will be all right.

Of course
I would like to reduce interest rates--

-Prime Minister, are you all right?
-Perfectly, thank you.

But to do that, we first need
to get the inflation rate down,

and that means to cut public spending.

I would like to be very much tougher,

but I can't go faster than Parliament
or the people will allow me.

I'm so sorry.

[Elizabeth] No.

-[Thatcher] So unprofessional.
-No, not at all.

The very idea that the first time

a prime minister should break down
in this room and it be a woman.

It is by no means the first time
a prime minister has broken down in here.

Over the years, this room has been
part-office, part-drawing room,

part-confessional,
and part-psychologist's couch.

We even have paper hankies.

Oh.

Or a brandy?

[Thatcher] Whiskey, if you have one.

[liquid pouring]

Thank you.

It's my son, Mark.

You've two children, yes?

[Thatcher] Yes, twins.

Mark and Carol.

Twenty-eight years old.

And my favorite, Mark…

a very special child,

the kind of son
any mother would dream of having…

has gone missing.

Missing?

He has been competing
in the Paris-Dakar car rally.

He and his teammates
had driven through France,

crossed into Algeria

and into the Sahara Desert.

-You don't know where we are, do you?
-Yes, I do. I know exactly.

We're, um…

23 kilometers, uh, east…

No, west of Reggarnay.

Regga-- Reggane.

-We're lost.
-We're not lost.

I know exactly what I'm doing.

[clears throat]

[Thatcher] The last sighting
was at a checkpoint

in a village in Algeria two days ago.

Since then, nothing.

[newsman] It's been five days

since Mark Thatcher was last sighted
with his teammates.

Helicopters have begun to scour
the desert terrain

in which they went missing,

but with such a large…

The prime minister said
something interesting today about her son.

-Was it about his sense of direction?
-[chuckles]

She described him as her favorite child.

Is that interesting?

The way she said it was,
without equivocation or thought.

Who would do that?

Openly admit to preferring one child
to another, especially twins.

-Any honest parent.
-What?

Any honest parent
would admit to having a favorite.

Who's our favorite?

-My favorite or your favorite?
-Is it different?

-I'd say so, yes.
-All right, you first. Who's yours?

-Anne.
-[gasps] You said that alarmingly quickly.

-Because it didn't require thought.
-Philip!

-And your favorite is--
-I don't know.

-Liar!
-It's true! I really don't know.

Your lack of self-knowledge sometimes
is breathtaking.

On balance, I'd say that was an asset.

Everyone knows who your favorite is.

-Do they?
-Yes.

Well, who?

Go on.

Philip!

Oh, you can't just leave!

-Watch me.
-Philip!

[newsman] Anxieties
over Mark's abilities aren't new.

Before the race, he was asked
if his mother worried about him.

All mothers worry about their boys.

It's hard for them to get past
that maternal instinct, isn't it?

They get emotional.

[theme music plays]

[wind whistling]

-Mark 24.
-[man] Mark 24.

Eight hundred.

[indistinct chatter]

[speaking Spanish]

Put a tarp over there.

[speaking Spanish]

[distant yelling]

What are you doing?

This is British overseas territory,

and you have landed illegally.

You and your colleagues
must leave immediately

and remove the Argentine flag.

[in Spanish] You are the ones
who are illegal!

¡Viva Argentina!

[all] ¡Viva Argentina!

[in English] Remove the flag, please,

and board your ship immediately. Go on.

[in Spanish] He wants us
to remove our flag from our own land.

[laughs]

♪ Oíd, mortales ♪

[all] ♪ El grito sagrado ♪

♪ ¡Libertad, libertad, libertad! ♪

♪ Oíd el ruido de rotas cadenas… ♪

[in English] We have to report this
to the governor of the Falkland Islands.

♪ Ya su trono dignísimo abrieron ♪

♪ Las Provincias Unidas del Sud… ♪

[distant typing]

-Your Majesty.
-[Elizabeth] Martin.

I'd like you to arrange for me
to see my four children.

-Uh, ma'am?
-In private, one at a time.

Of course. Um… any particular order?

No, I don't think so.

Important, I think, though,
that each is unaware

that the others have been summoned too.

Yes, ma'am.

[Elizabeth] Uh…

Martin,

perhaps a short briefing document
ahead of each meeting,

focusing on each child's hobbies,

interests, and so forth.

Right.

One would hate to appear uninformed.

Or cold or remotely…

remote.

Of course, ma'am.

[man] Some encouraging news

in that a Swiss driver
by the name of Michelle Bosi

apparently saw Mark
and his co-driver yesterday.

-Alive?
-[man] Yes, alive.

Lord Carrington and the Foreign Office

have made urgent requests
of the Swiss embassy

to make contact with Bosi
to get more information, but, uh…

But?

Without success.

[Denis] Brilliant.

They can't even locate
the drivers who aren't lost.

Well, I'd better get over there.

One final thing, Prime Minister.

A small situation developing
in the South Atlantic.

The governor of the Falkland Islands,
Rex Hunt,

has asked for permission
for an ice-breaking vessel, HMS Endurance,

to be sent from Port Stanley
to the island of South Georgia

to evict a group
of Argentine scrap metal workers.

HMS Endurance is currently at Port Stanley

and could therefore be manned
with a detachment of Royal Marines

who would easily outnumber
the scrap metal workers

who are trespassing.

[softly] Be gone.

I'll take it to the foreign secretary.

[Denis] I'll show you out.

You just need to give her some time.

[Edward] Yes, well,
it's not my fault there's traffic.

-I know she's busy. So am I.
-[door opens]

Go on, off you go.

Honestly!

There's a nasty, officious imperiousness
and sense of entitlement to these people.

-I can't help it if roads are closed.
-Darling, so lovely to see you.

Mummy.

Now what's all this?

I got a terrible fright
when I heard you wanted lunch à deux.

This isn't bad news, is it?

I'm still getting my civil list money?

Yes, all 20 thousand pounds of it.

Don't say it like that.

It's rather a lot of money
for someone still at school.

Most of it goes
on secretarial expenses anyway.

Eight hundred pounds goes
on secretarial expenses. I checked.

Which, by my reckoning,
still leaves a small fortune.

All safely tucked away in a trust.
Don't worry.

What's lunch?

Wait, let me guess.

Poached salmon.

-Yes.
-[laughs]

Brilliant!

I had a bet with my protection officer
on the way here

that it'd be poached salmon.
It's always poached salmon in this place.

I'm amazed
we don't all have fins and gills.

[chuckles]

[chair scraping floor]

So you're head boy now.

Guardian. I did tell you
we call it that at Gordonstoun.

Of course, sorry.

What have you learned about yourself
as a consequence?

What?

You know the aphorism,

"No man knows who he truly is

until either his life is threatened
or he's given power."

I'm afraid it's unleashed
the latent policeman in me.

-Don't say that.
-[Edward] Why?

Discipline is important,

and I have discovered
a taste for enforcing it.

I even had someone sent down last term.

-Sent down where?
-Home.

For smoking.

Weren't you almost caught for smoking?

Almost, yes, but I was clever enough
to get away with it.

Isn't that a little unfair?

It's life, Mummy.

Life has dealt you rather a good hand.

Yes.

But not without its challenges either.

I mean, I might have been bullied a bit
as normal Eddie Windsor,

but as Prince Edward,
third in line to the throne…

Who bullies you?

Pretty much everyone.

-[silverware clanks]
-How?

You don't want to know.

[Elizabeth] I do.

All right.

Uh, they call me Jaws, for my braces.

They fill plastic spoons with saliva
and flick it at the back of my head.

[chuckles] They put superglue on my chair.

Gave me a bottle of white wine as a gift,
which turned out to be--

What?

Urine.

They even went to the trouble
of chilling it.

One can't help admiring their ingenuity.

Don't look like that.

Cricket's going well.
Made the first 11 again.

How about academic work?

A-levels next term.
How's that coming along?

-I read your reports.
-Don't believe everything you read.

-If you need any extra help…
-Don't worry!

I've met the Cambridge admissions people.
They'll make it happen.

They're no fools.

It's good for them too.

A member of the royal family
at Jesus College?

Just wait and see
how the applications rocket.

That's not
a particularly attractive attitude.

It's true though, isn't it?
Same with the Marines,

same with the City,
or any area of life I might fancy.

People will always want me.

And what do you expect me
to do about that? Say no?

There has to be some upside
to being who we are.

And some return
for what we do for the country.

[newsman] There's no news tonight
of the whereabouts of Mark Thatcher,

his fellow driver, Anne-Charlotte Verney,
and their mechanic.

Reports of sightings today
are now being discounted.

This is what the area looks like
on the map.

This is what some of the area looks like
in actuality.

[man] In addition
to the French Air Force planes,

there are now two helicopters,

three desert trucks,

and a glass-bottomed aeroplane
involved in the search for Mark.

That was Daddy.
He's just arrived safely in Algiers.

Thank you.

Now the good news is that
with the help of the race organizers,

we have managed to narrow down the search

to a section of the Sahara
between Tamanrasset in Algeria

and Tessalit in northern Mali.

The bad news is, that still leaves us

with a search area
of approximately 130,000 square miles.

Will you put that into context for me?

Well, that's bigger
than the entire United Kingdom.

-[knocking at door]
-Not now.

I'm sorry. The foreign secretary insisted.

What is it, Charles?

It's the situation in the Falklands.

With HMS Endurance
now on its way to South Georgia

carrying a combat unit of Royal Marines,
if you recall…

Yes, yes,
to evict the scrap metal workers.

The Argentine junta has responded
by sending its own ice patrol ship

and two missile-carrying corvettes.

With what justification?

[Charles] To protect its citizens.

Who are breaking the law by trespassing.

The foreign secretary
has asked for your support

of his proposed solution.

[Thatcher] Which is?

To reroute HMS Endurance

to avoid what he sees
as an unnecessary conflict with Argentina

while the situation
is resolved diplomatically.

You mean to do nothing?

Yes.

And trust all will be well.

How will it be well if we do nothing?

How will it possibly end up well
if we do nothing?

Our people, far from home,

their lives are in danger, Charles.

Our own!

We must do something.

If you'll excuse me…

while I get back to my son.

Yes, Prime Minister.

[door shuts]

Thank you.

-Just this way, ma'am.
-Thank you.

Yes, fine. Very comfortable, thank you.

-Thank you so much. Hello, darling.
-[Anne] Hello.

I haven't got long, I'm afraid.

Yes, they warned me.

-So straight out?
-Yes, I just need to change quickly.

It's forecast to rain.
You sure you want to do this?

-Yes, quite sure. Good afternoon, Alan.
-[Alan] Good afternoon, ma'am.

-How are we?
-Very well, thank you.

He's looking very well, isn't he?
I'll say hello.

Good afternoon. How are you?

Are we going to go for a walk? Yes?

Is this all right? It's a bit wet.

Yes, it's fine.

Isn't this heaven?

-If you say so.
-I do.

Tucked away in the country,
rain and mud and horses and dogs,

children, privacy.

I do envy you.

Well, it's not quite the Eden you imagine.

For a start, there isn't privacy.
They are there, wherever I go.

-Who?
-Journalists.

Photographers
who've just got it in for me.

-Bastards.
-Well, if you will keep calling them that…

I told them to naff off.

Once.

And can you blame me?

They're so mean to me all the time.

I'm pretty low-key, as you know.

I don't want praise
or attention or thanks.

But I'm only human. Sometimes
even a pit pony needs a pat on the head.

I know the feeling.

It's not easy…

working in the heat and squalor
of a Third World country

doing real work for real charities.

But do I get as much as a mention
in any newspaper?

Or a thank you? Do I heck.

And yet all she has to do
is put on a frock,

and she's all over all the front pages,
and everyone's falling over in shock

at how wonderful she is.

Who?

Her.

Diana.

The only other young female
in the family, yes,

against whom I am now always compared.

Lovely her, dumpy me.

Smiling her, grumpy me.

Charming her, awful me.

And the constant questions
about my marriage all the time,

about Mark.

Yes, how is Mark?

That's it, exactly like that.
"How is Mark?" Mark's fine!

I'm fine. The children are fine.

Well, I'm happy to hear that.

Only there has been talk.

I thought you didn't listen to talk.

And a meeting recently
with Commander Trestrail.

Who?

The head of the Royal Protection Branch.

He felt compelled to mention rumors
about a Sergeant Cross,

and the two of you…

being intimate.

And in light of these rumors,
Scotland Yard has recommended his transfer

back to desk duties in Croydon.

Don't…

Don't do that to me.

You ca--

You can't.
He is the one thing that makes me happy.

-You have so much to make you happy.
-Then how come none of it does?

It will again if you're patient.

[sniffs] Is that it? Is that the advice?

"Stick it out,
grin and bear it. Persevere"?

Well, these things usually pass
if you have the patience to wait.

I used to enjoy my reputation
as the difficult one.

I used to relish scaring people a bit

because I could control it.

But recently…

I'm the one who's scared.

Because it's starting to feel
more like it controls me,

and it's changed.

It's not just feeling angry,
but a kind of…

recklessness…

where I just want to smash it all up.

[sighs]

But that will pass too.

[scoffs]

Is that it?

Is doing nothing
your solution to everything?

I must go.

Yes. Sorry, I mustn't keep you.
I know you have things to do.

-You'll find your way back?
-Yes.

[horse knickers]

[newsman] Mark Thatcher and
his French co-driver, Charlotte Verney,

were sighted this morning by
an Algerian Air Force C-130 search plane

only a few miles
from the border with Mali.

As the pilot returned
to the rescue headquarters,

he was embraced by Mr. Denis Thatcher,
Mark's father.

Mr. Thatcher telephoned the prime minister
in London to tell her the good news.

I am delighted to be able to confirm
the wonderful news

that the rescue mission
has been successful.

Now, of course,

you are all used to thinking of me
as prime minister.

But what the last few days
has shown me very clearly

is that, above all else, I am a mother.

Now, thank you, if you will excuse me…

[newsman] Quite why Mark Thatcher
chose this particular route

remains something of a mystery.

In departing drastically
from the known tracks, he may have…

[Philip] He must be feeling
rather foolish.

[Elizabeth] Tired and hungry
is what I'd imagine he's feeling.

[Philip] Still,
the prime minister will be relieved

to be reunited with her favorite child.

Have you worked out who yours is yet?

[newsman] He clearly wanted to find
a more direct route across the desert,

but this was, after all,

his first such rally,
and he lacked experience.

I was never worried for my life.
The others were getting a bit existential!

Oh, of course they were, darling.
They're French.

[laughs] Quite!
No, I remained pretty relaxed

and treated our time in the desert
as a holiday.

-Even had time to read my book.
-Oh, that's nice, darling.

-What's this?
-It's your favorite. Toad-in-the-hole.

Yes, I can see that, Mummy,
but, honestly, where's the gravy?

Oh, I am sorry.

[Mark] Anyway,
when we were eventually found,

all the hoopla came as a bit of a shock.

I had no idea we were celebrities.

-On the front cover of the world's papers!
-[Thatcher] Oh, you were celebrities.

Not sure that's the word I'd have used.

It was all nonsense, really.

"Prime Minister's Son Lost in the Desert."
'Cause we weren't lost.

I mean, I knew where we were.
It's just that no one else did.

That was the problem.
The truth is, you lot lost us.

But you were off course.
About 30 miles off course.

Carol, it's not quite that simple.
The point is you make your own route.

Driver didn't seem happy when she was
rushed to hospital with heatstroke.

Well, Carol, she was being overdramatic.

Of course she was. She's a woman.

[laughs]

-Quite.
-Pass the wine, darling.

[Mark] That's brilliant.

Anyway, no sooner are we found
than Dad tells me off!

What?

-Why did you do that?
-[sighs]

I just thought he could have shown
a bit more gratitude to the rescue team.

[Thatcher] Why?

It was their job, wasn't it?

And gratitude for what?

He had to wait a whole week.

The entire search and rescue operation
was a complete farce.

What do you expect from Bedouins?

Will you excuse me? I need a top-up.

-Would you like some salt, darling?
-No, I think it's fine.

You have to admit, it's intolerable.

It's mothers and sons. That's all it is.

Well, thank God
there are fathers and daughters, then.

-Aren't you going to go?
-Why should I go?

They haven't come for me. [laughs]

You and me, dear,
we're the support act in this show.

[Mark] Get the wine, Carol.

You wouldn't believe what it felt like
to get back to the hotel to have a drink.

[man] Sorry to interrupt, Prime Minister.

Our latest intelligence
from Buenos Aires suggests that,

faced with a desperate situation
domestically,

the fear is the military junta
might consider an attack on the Falklands

a risk worth taking,

that it will play well
with the Argentine people.

Tell the foreign secretary
to come and see me.

He's in Brussels.

-And the chief of the defence staff?
-He's in New Zealand.

Then the defence secretary.

He's in the United States.

When we are about to be attacked,

I fail to understand
the lack of urgency from everyone.

Tell the foreign secretary
and the chief of the defence staff

and the defence secretary I want them
in my office by this time tomorrow.

Prime Minister.

[helicopter blades whirring]

[man] Navy 479 confirming
low-level flypast to the east,

not above 500 ft. on the London QNH 1013.

[indistinct radio chatter]

I want to make a bit of an entrance.

You don't think arriving by helicopter
is enough of an entrance?

[chuckles]

So the idea is to meet there, is it?
For lunch?

Um, out by four-ish?

[helicopter blades whirring]

[rattling]

Oh dear.

Leave it with me.

I said leave it with me.

[door opens]

[page] Prince Andrew, Your Majesty.

Your Majesty.

[door shuts]

-Mummy.
-How did you get away with that?

What, the chopper?

I told them the truth.

That I'd been summoned
on a matter of national importance

by the commander in chief
of the Armed Forces.

It's a mother-and-son lunch.
Hardly a matter of national importance.

You're the Queen,
and I'm second in line to the throne.

We break wind,
it's a matter of national importance.

Oh, stop it!

-It's true!
-[chuckles lightly]

And as it happens,

there are one or two things
I'd like to discuss with you.

-The first is my title.
-[Elizabeth] What title?

The one you bestow upon me when I marry.

[Elizabeth] Oh.

I hadn't given it a moment's thought.

I had no idea
you were thinking of getting married.

I'm not.

Well, not seriously.

Although this latest one
is quite something.

Oh, yes, the young, racy American actress.

Yes!

[Elizabeth] Not sure which word
makes my heart sink most.

Mustn't believe what you read.

I have nothing else to go on,
since you haven't brought her to meet me,

and it's unlikely I'd know her
from her oeuvre.

Really? You're not familiar
with The Awakening of Emily?

No. Should I be?

I'm not sure it's your cup of tea.
Not because it's blue.

-Oh, Andrew!
-Though it's really not blue at all.

It's set in the 1920s,

and follows an impressionable,
nubile 17-year-old girl, Koo.

Seventeen?
I'm not sure I want to know more.

Don't be such a prude, Mummy.

The story is that she returns home
from a finishing school in Switzerland

to her mother's country house
in the English countryside.

-You know they used Wilton?
-What, the Herberts' house?

-Yes. That's where they filmed it.
-That's a lovely house.

Your grandpapa used to go shooting there.

Anyway, there she meets several
twisted and perverted older predators

who seduce the vulnerable,
helpless young Emily

as we follow her induction
into sensual pleasures.

-You're right. It doesn't sound blue.
-[snickers]

-Are you sure it was even legal?
-Who cares?

It might come as a shock to you
to know that I care.

The point is, it's art,

which means it's perfectly appropriate
for a future Duchess of…

York.

-York?
-Yes, York. The idea just came to me.

It's the dukedom that
traditionally goes to the second eldest

and has long military associations.

As in "the Grand Old Duke of…"

Exactly.

Didn't the previous two Dukes of York
also both become king?

Yes, due to the unexpected death
or abdication of their elder brothers.

In your case,
not only would Charles have to die,

you'd have to murder any sons he had.

The Duke of York has history
in that department too. Richard III.

-Oh, yes! You are clever.
-[chuckles]

[Andrew] This salmon is delicious.

Isn't it?

Speaking of military associations,

there is something else
I wanted to discuss.

When you're part of a frontline unit,
as I am,

you keep a pretty close eye
on what's going on.

And the talk is that this Falklands thing
isn't going to go away.

Now…

I'd never ask you
to divulge what goes on

in your private audiences
with your prime ministers--

And I'd never tell.

I just wanted to let you know
if the situation were to escalate,

I'd insist on going.

And I'd want your assurance

the Crown would not stand between me
and frontline service.

I wouldn't dream of it.

Good!

We never shirk action in this family.
Ever. We're no different to anyone else.

That's what I spend my life
telling everyone.

[Andrew snorts]

[helicopter blades whirring]

Ma'am, I've had a call

from the Prince of Wales's
private secretary,

who wondered if instead of seeing
His Royal Highness tomorrow in London,

you might like to visit his new house,
Highgrove, in Gloucestershire.

Would that work timewise?

Yes. At a pinch, we could still get you
back to London by evening.

-All right. Why not?
-Ma'am.

Thank you.

There has been a dramatic escalation
in naval radio traffic.

GCHQ has also detected
unusual flight activity.

It does now appear
a major Argentine deployment

is on its way to the Falkland Islands

with, one can only assume,
the intention of invading.

Then we must defend them, robustly.

I feel obliged to mention, Prime Minister,

that diplomatic channels are still open.

With respect,
the time for diplomacy passed

the moment they planted an Argentine flag
on British territory.

I quite agree.

We can get a task force together
to defend the islands within 48 hours.

Oh, that's absurd.

Why?

It's 8,000 miles away.

It would take any naval vessel
three weeks to get there.

By that time,
the Falkland Islands will be Argentine.

Then I say we retake them.

It's impossible.

Is it impossible, Admiral?

Do you think we could?

I do, Prime Minister.

Then we must.

But the cost alone…
Sending 30,000 military personnel

to the South Atlantic
on the back of a recession

where output is still low
and unemployment breathtakingly high…

We must consider public opinion.

This government…

This administration is currently…

Go on, Geoffrey.

Say it.

[Howe] Unloved. Unpopular.

We will never survive
an unnecessary and unaffordable war.

And I say we will not survive
not going to war.

Admiral, will you please join me
in the flat upstairs

to discuss this further?
Say, in half an hour.

-Ask the chiefs of staff to join us.
-Of course.

[Thatcher] Ah, good. You're here.

I need your help.

We must prepare dinner
for the chiefs of staff.

[refrigerator opens]

I want to talk to you.

[Thatcher] Darling, not now.

-Why is Mark so obviously your favorite?
-What?

You have twin children,
and you clearly prefer one over the other.

Carol, that's not true.

It is indisputably and painfully true.

[dishes clattering]

And what I want to say to you is…
just because you had

a difficult relationship
with your mother…

Darling, I don't have time for this.

…you cannot let it affect
your relationship with all women.

-Most of all, your own daughter.
-Darling, you do pick your moments.

I am busy. In a few minutes,
I have the chiefs of staff coming.

Then give me one of those minutes.

You disregard me.

You overlook me.

And you favor Mark.

Because he's stronger.

Like my father was stronger.

Yes. You are right.

I did struggle with my mother,

but it had nothing to do with her sex.

It had to do with her weakness.

I could not bear how she was prepared
to just be a housewife.

Because her husband treated her as such.

That is not true!

Your grandfather, my father,
was wonderful with women.

Wonderful.

He encouraged me. He taught me.

He made me who I am.

He was determined
my ambition be limitless.

And he tried with your grandmother.

But there is a limit to what one can do

if people are themselves limited.

[man] Our frigates are equipped
with Sea Wolf missiles,

accompanied by a full commander brigade

and amphibious crew.

[Thatcher] Thank you, dear.

May I?

Tell me when.

That's a nice piece.

Please feel free
to serve the peas and the carrots.

[Charles] Excellent.
Can we add a side salad

and a glass of squash?

-Of course, sir.
-Thank you.

I know you're not feeling well,

but I would remind you
she's not just your mother-in-law.

[louder] She's also your queen!

[yells] Diana!

Diana! [pounds on door]

[whispers] Diana!

[Bagpuss playing on TV]

[Charles] Diana.

[volume increases on TV] Yes, tell us
a princess fairy story. Yes, please.

[woman on TV] All right.

I'll tell you a story. In fact…

Honestly, it's pathetic.

…if Gabriel will please play for me,

and Bagpuss will please think for me.

[Bagpuss] Oh, all right.
What shall I think of?

[woman] Think of
a beautiful water princess

wearing a tiny silver crown.

[Bagpuss] Oh, yes.

-Thank you.
-Mummy.

Oh, this is lovely.

-So glad you could do this.
-Just you?

Yes. Diana's in bed. I'm afraid
she's not having an easy time of it.

Oh, poor thing. I was lucky.
Pregnancy didn't seem to affect me.

Yes, but you're two very different women.

-Shall we start outside?
-Yes, all right. Thank you.

How many people do you have here?

It might look like a lot,

but we're effectively
starting from scratch.

I think that was the attraction.
Tabula rasa. A clean slate.

Yes, I know what "tabula rasa" means.

Gosh, listen to that.

No insects. No birdsong.

It's terrible.

A dreadful, morbid silence.

There's nowhere for the insects to go,
so I was thinking of a wild garden there,

walled garden here…

kitchen garden there,

a sundial garden there.

It's always important
when embarking on a project like this

to have purity of purpose.

A single controlling idea
at the heart of it all.

So what's yours?

That eventually the house,
the land, and the garden

should reflect who I really am
and what I'm all about.

So the big idea is you.

So everything will be done organically.
No chemicals or pesticides.

There'll be no straight lines,

no manicuring,
nothing too neat or uniform.

A certain wild unconventionality about it.

Is that you too?

Well, it's anyone
of any interest, isn't it?

Um…

Who'd obey rules? Who'd be conventional?

Don't you hate it when gardeners
impose straight lines everywhere?

Nature abhors a straight line, after all.

That pool looks like
it's going to have straight lines.

Well, yes, but that's a pool.

Is that going to be a tennis court?
Doesn't look particularly organic either.

-Mummy.
-Sorry. No, it's lovely.

[Charles] I'm glad you like it.

I really think I could be happy here.

It's brought something out in me.

My own little Shangri-La or Xanadu.

"And there were gardens
bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed
many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests
ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery."

Oh, your wisteria's coming on.

It's flowering already.

If we're going to have lunch,
we should make a start.

-They want me back in London by six.
-Of course.

[Charles] But the truth is,
I don't know what's wrong with her.

She grew up in the country.
I thought she'd love it here.

I asked her to oversee
the interior decoration.

That seemed to distract her
for a few weeks.

Then she started withdrawing again.

Locking herself in her room,
watching endless hours of…

television.

She's so intellectually incurious.

I tried giving her tutorials
on Shakespeare and poetry,

expand her horizons.

We've had some wonderful guests.

Laurens van der Post,

Eric Anderson, the headmaster of Eton.

But she shows no interest,
just talks endlessly about missing London.

Perhaps that's what she likes.

Perhaps this part of the world
doesn't suit her.

When you chose Gloucestershire,
I did wonder why.

It was so convenient.

The RAF airfield nearby,

proximity to Cornwall,
and Anne's just a stone throw away.

[Elizabeth] Not just Anne.

Only a 15-minute drive, I heard.

Camilla and I just hunt together
these days. That's all.

And talk on the telephone.

-How often?
-As often as is necessary.

More often when I need cheering up.

When you need cheering up?

You've just bought your dream house,

your Xanadu,
that you and an army of sycophants

are turning into the living embodiment
of your soul.

And your young, beautiful wife,
struggling with pregnancy,

has locked herself in a room upstairs
and is refusing to come out.

You know how I hate interfering.

It's not for me to tell a grown man
what to do. But in your position,

I might be inclined to worry less
about my own happiness

and pay more attention to the well-being
of the mother of my future child.

-[Margaret] Oh, hello, you.
-Hello, you.

We got the message.

SOS. 999. We dropped everything.

[Queen Mother] What's the matter, darling?

Drink.

Is that a question or an order?

More of a cry for help, I think.

Coming right up.

[pill bottle closing]

[knocking on door]

[door opens]

Was the open door an invitation?

Not that sort of invitation.

I was hoping we might talk.

Our children.

Ah.

Have you reached a conclusion

after all
those little confidential lunches,

one-by-one?

-Oh, you found out?
-Mm. [chuckles]

They all rang me, utterly perplexed,

wondering what on earth
you were up to.

The conclusion I have come to is
that it's our children that are lost,

not the prime minister's.

Each in their own deserts.

Anne's not lost.

[Elizabeth] Her marriage is.

All right. Edward's not lost.

I disagree.

He seems entirely lost,
and bullied, and vengeful.

I'll concede that Charles is lost…

but he always has been.

And as for Andrew…

[Philip] Your favorite?

I was shocked.

If he doesn't change…

What does that say about us as parents?

-I spoke to Mummy about it.
-Ah.

The oracle.

What did she say?

She said that I must not blame myself.
I'm already mother to the nation.

Well, she's right.

It was me that wanted Andrew and Edward.
You didn't want any more.

I wanted two more to prove to myself
that I had it in me…

and to make up for my failings.

Especially with Charles.

You're a man. You wouldn't understand.

But I remember insisting
that I would never let the nannies do it.

[Philip] What?

Bath time.

But when it came to it…

I sat in a chair in the background.

Because I didn't know how to…

How to what?

Hold him, touch him.

Look at me.

Look at me.

You must stop this nonsense.

You are a perfectly good mother.

And the children are adults now, you know?

It's their responsibility
to sort themselves out.

-If they sort themselves out.
-Well, they will.

Eventually.

And…

[sighs] …in the meantime,
it is your job to--

Stick around, stay alive,
and keep breathing.

Precisely.

For all our sakes.

Get some rest.

[newsman] At precisely 10:15 this morning,

HMS Invincible,
flagship of this extraordinary fleet,

slipped her moorings

and eased gently into the calm waters
of Portsmouth Harbour.

The operation, and Britain's commitment
to this task force, had begun.

In the naval base,
they'd worked all night to get her ready.

Portsmouth, Pompey of tradition,

had turned out in force
the loved ones of these men.

At last, she was clear away,

into the haze of the Solent.

Half an hour later,

it was the turn of Hermes,
the older generation of carrier,

but perhaps looking more menacing,

with her hardware displayed
for all to see.

The people said goodbye.

A small boy saluted.

"Godspeed," they shouted.

And then, more softly,

"Come back safely."