Original subtitles

That's all for this week here on "Glory Be."

We'll see you next Sunday live from St. Vincent's Convent

in Great Slaughter to bring you the final

of the Chorister of the Year competition.

Until then... # Glory, glory, glory be #

Glory be.

Stiffen your wimples and summon up the blood.

We have less than 48 hours before the eyes

of the entire country plus the archbishop are upon us.

If we give anything less than a heavenly performance

I shall never live it down.

You, you, you will never live it down.

- Oh, crumbs. - Deep breaths, Sister Peter.

Now raise the rafters,

or I will raise you through the roof.

# All things bright and beautiful #

# All creatures great and small #

# All things wise and wonderful #

Ugh. Stop. Stop. Stop this caterwauling.

This choir will be the death of me.

##

##

##

##

##

This is the worst possible time to have a migraine.

Last one lasted a whole week.

Who's going to take charge of the choir?

Technically speaking,

Sister Peter is second in command.

Though I'm not entirely sure you could run a bath,

let alone a rehearsal.

Television crew have arrived.

Take charge, Sister Peter.

- Right. - I'll pray for you.

I suspect you could use

all the divine intervention you could get.

Oh, my. This is most thrilling.

Sarge.

What happened to "Meet me early at the station

to go through the duty rota"?

Oh, it's that hymn-singing programme.

Didn't have you down as a fan.

Sergeant Livingstone and I watch every Sunday.

There's Barry. Barry.

Good Morning, beautiful people of Great Slaughter.

Good morning.

That's the presenter, right?

He had a number one hit single at Christmas.

You see, Donald? Barry's the star of the show.

He needs more air time, not less.

Be careful, Marion.

Mrs. Clam, that must be Marion Kane,

the show's director.

Oh.

Who's that man she's talking to?

Mrs. Clam: Oh, that's Donald Merriweather.

He's the programme's musical director.

He plays the organ, and he wrote the theme tune.

He's chief judge

of the Chorister of the Year competition.

There's Sylvia.

Wave to the fans.

Who's that?

That -- That is Oliver.

He's one of the show's finalists in the competition.

Well, he's got my vote.

Actually, Sergeant Livingstone and I

would prefer Sylvia to win.

- Is that right, Sarge? - I-I really don't mind.

She has the voice of an angel.

At least look like you're happy to be here.

Oh, the bells.

Dottie, did you remember to bring the bells?

It's the theme tune to "Glory Be."

We've been practising.

I don't think I've ever...

heard bells jingled so f-fervently.

Take charge. Take charge. Take ch--

Oh, there you are. Thank goodness.

You're the only one with any volume.

I do my best. Shall we?

Sister Peter: Oh, yes. The opening hymn.

Welcome to St. Vincent's.

When we say we'll be there with bells on,

we jolly well mean it.

Can we get the cleaning ladies out of here please?

We need to set up.

I beg your pardon!

Do excuse me, ladies.

Sorry.

# All things bright and beautiful #

# All creatures great and small #

# All things wise and wonderful #

- Sorry. Excuse me. - # The Lord God made them all #

Hello.

Tomorrow is a big day.

It's the last show in the series

and the live final of the Chorister of the Year contest.

So we really need to make this a stellar performance.

No pressures.

Can I have a word?

##

So the choir need... a lot of work.

Is there somewhere you can go and practise whilst we set up?

- Uh, I can try to find... - Wonderful.

And I would suggest more volume --

except for that particular nun.

Pardon me interrupting, Lady Director,

but shall we cut to the chase?

The running order of the show is as follows --

Barry will warble through the opening theme tune,

then the choristers will perform their solo pieces

the judges will deliberate -- that's myself

and you and Barry --

whilst the convent choir assault our ear drums.

And at the end of the live broadcast

the Chorister of the Year will be crowned.

I want to rehearse the solos first.

Get the cat's choir out of here.

Okay, can we clear the stage? Please? This way.

Just this way, let's clear the stage.

##

Oh, my goodness! I'm so sorry.

No, I-I'm sorry.

No, no, it was entirely my fault.

I wasn't at all looking where I was going.

- Ready for the live final? - I'm not sure, to be honest.

Me neither. Did you hear us?

I'm not really cut out for this.

How on earth can I teach a choir to sing in 24 hours?

Sisters? Sisters. Please will you listen?

Donald: Sylvia!

Yeah. I'm looking at the figures now.

Where's Sylvia?

I'll have to call you back.

Would you mind not referring to me as "lady director"?

I'll call you whatever I like. Who was that?

The viewing figures of the series.

Unless we can pull off some sort of miracle tomorrow,

we'll be lucky to be in a job this time next week.

"We"? Oh, the channel will look after me, sweetheart.

I'm the one pulling the strings.

And you would do well to remember that.

I know, I know, it's "Glory Be," not "Top of the Pops."

But gotta give the public what they want.

Cheer up. It's nearly over.

"Once more with feeling" and all that.

It's nearly over for you, maybe.

He doesn't own you.

He doesn't.

Just get through tomorrow, and you never have to see him again.

I wish it were that simple.

Ready for you.

First positions, then please.

Ready for rehearsal?

Imagine the cameras are rolling.

And cue the music.

Going by the distorted facial expression

and the foaming mouth,

this doesn't look like natural causes.

I must say, this is most unsettling

to be starting an investigation in our own chapel.

What is that?

Some sort of resin or oil, perhaps?

Oh, look at that.

That's St. Aquilina's college tie.

The music school that my sister Persephone attended.

Graduated top of her class, of course.

So I would say

that Donald Merriweather ingested some sort of poison.

I'll have to bag that.

Everybody else who had tea and biscuits is fine.

Donald's the only one who left his unattended.

Felix: We'll need to check Donald's hotel room.

The "Glory Be" production team,

they are staying in Great Slaughter for the weekend.

How many of the production were here when he died?

Only the presenter, the director,

and the Chorister of the Year finalists.

All right. Let's talk to them.

Poisoned?

Barry: Poor Donald.

Can you think of any reason

why somebody might have wanted to kill him?

The man was a narcissist and a bully.

He terrorised half the crew.

And the rest. He made all of our lives hell.

So you all had motives?

No, that's not what he's saying.

Well, until we identify our culprit,

you must all stay in the area.

Please. I need to speak to him.

I have to go.

There you are.

Who was that?

The producers.

Really?

This may be the end of "Glory Be."

It's not looking to good for Donald, either.

Barry, it's not funny. A man is dead.

And so are our careers.

Then get we to a nunnery.

We're going to have to cancel tomorrow's broadcast.

What? Because Donald's dead? Nonsense.

He would want the show to go on. Preferably in his honour.

True, but we don't have an organist.

It's a convent. There must be someone who plays.

Huh.

Sister Peter: That would be Sister George.

But there's no guarantee she'll hit all the right notes,

at least not in the right order.

Look who I've brought to save the day.

Why am I here?

Would you believe our very own Miss Thimble

has run her fingers over many an organ?

Why would a confirmed bachelor want the honeymoon suite?

Because it's the biggest?

Recording equipment.

He travels with a lot of luggage.

And fan mail. Good heavens.

##

Oh, my. Listen to this.

"Not everyone will dance to your tune, Merriweather."

Not much of a fan. Who sent it?

It's anonymous.

Well, let's take those with us.

Look at this.

Oh, my. A cassette tape.

Electromagnetic recording.

Oh, yes.

I shall have a jolly good go at salvaging that.

Sam: Oh.

An engagement ring?

Was Donald planning on proposing?

How romantic.

If he wasn't dead.

##

##

Very pretty.

They're Sylvia's.

She's been wearing them this year on "Glory Be."

And I have clearly been spending too many Sunday evenings in

with Mrs. Clam and Felix.

Adjoining rooms, connecting doors, an engagement ring.

Do you suppose that Sylvia and Donald

were romantically involved?

He was going to propose? I'd never have escaped.

Sister Boniface: Escaped?

Him.

Did the producers of "Glory Be" know that one of the judges

was in love with one of the contestants?

Love? I'm not sure that's what I'd call it.

How did you two meet?

Donald heard me singing in the congregation

one Sunday.

They were recording the show in my parish church.

He flattered me, offered me private lessons.

- I bet he did. - It wasn't like that.

At first.

He said I should enter the chorister competition.

I thought it would be a chance to get away.

Away from what?

Home.

But once Donald had got me away from my family,

he wanted me all to himself.

He never let me out of his sight.

He took control of everything.

Where I went, who I saw, even what I wore.

Movie-star looks and the voice of an angel.

I will make you a star.

I've been thinking...

Oh, no. We can't have that.

I'm not entirely sure I want to be a star.

All I really want to do is...

If I say you'll be a star, you'll be a star.

I might not even win the competition.

Oh, you'll win. I'll make sure of it.

You're my muse.

Sylvia: I thought he was my way out.

My father's a bully.

I dreamed my whole life of getting away.

I ended up wanting to get away from Donald, too.

Perhaps you thought there was only one way

to stop his control?

No. I could never.

Is that what you think? Am I under arrest?

No. At least not yet.

But we may want to talk to you again.

Make sure you don't go anywhere.

I don't have anywhere to go.

Now This is a swab that I took from Donald's saliva.

Now if I mash it in some water...

...and add iron sulphate.

##

Hey presto.

Prussian blue.

Cyanide.

Fast-acting and extremely effective.

- The queen of poisons. - How fast-acting?

Well, it would have had to have been administered mere moments

before he died...

- But... - There's always a but.

Well, Donald's tea and biscuits tested negative for any toxins,

which means he must have ingested the poison

some other way.

How?

Well, that I've yet to find out.

What about the cassette tape?

Well, it's going to take longer than anticipated to untangle,

let alone tape back together.

Oh, heavens. I'm meant to be rehearsing.

# Ave Maria #

# Gratia plena #

# Maria #

# Gratia plena #

Together: # Maria gratia plena #

# Ave, ave Dominus #

# Dominus tecum #

I didn't realise anyone else was here.

You have a beautiful voice.

A gift from God.

I used to have such a love of singing.

All the joy has gone out of it now.

Oh, I know how that feels.

Reverend Mother rather squishes the fun out of it.

I envy you. Really.

Life under the veil seems so peaceful.

Usually.

Perhaps this is where I belong.

I only ever really wanted to sing for God.

That's what gives me real joy.

We need to find the joy again. That might give us confidence.

Where did you find the greatest pleasure in singing?

Oh, family Christmases. Carols around the piano.

I wonder...

I thought I heard singing.

Sisters, can you think of anywhere with a piano

where we might use for our choir rehearsal?

Oh, there's the Village Hall.

I know just the place.

Come in, Sister Peter.

- How did you... - I heard your knees knocking.

What do you want?

Two things.

One, there's been a slight murder in the chapel.

There's been a what?!

Two, we're all going out for the evening.

But everything's under control.

Woman: Well done!

Nice one, Reg.

Can I have everyone's attention?

We're here to have fun, remember.

What shall it be? "Jerusalem"?

"Morning Has Broken"?

Something fun.

Really? Goodness.

##

# Knees up, Mother Brown #

# Knees up, Mother Brown #

# Under the table you must go #

# Ee-aye, ee-aye, ee-aye-oh #

# If I catch you bending #

You know, we could take a leaf out of their hymn book.

How do you mean?

Well, with Donald gone, we could shake the show up a bit.

Drag it kicking and screaming into the Swinging Sixties?

Marion: Yeah!

- Hallelujah. - Excuse me, excuse me.

Sister? We've got something.

# If I catch you bending #

# I'll saw your legs right off #

# Knees up, knees up, don't get the breeze up #

# Knees up, Mother Brown #

So, we sorted the mail according to senders.

Some fans had written in more than once.

No.

Thank you, Peggy.

Which one's are Felix's?

Okay, in -- in my defence,

I had requested an autograph for Mrs. Clam.

Three times? Putting the "fan" in "fanatic."

Oh...

Some were not so enthusiastic.

"Dear Mr. Merriweather. You have made my life a misery.

And you should know that actions have consequences.

One day -- even you will be silenced."

It's definitely threatening.

Hmm.

Here we are. Personal information forms.

Everyone has to fill one in when they join the show,

in whatever capacity.

Sister Boniface: Handwriting samples.

Barry, Sylvia, and Oliver.

And your own, if you don't mind.

Oh.

What do you need them for?

What is that?

- Sister Boniface: Aha. - You have a match?

Yes, indeed.

Thank you. That's all for now.

Oh.

Look, in both examples the graphology is identical.

The person who wrote this letter is the same person

who filled out this form.

Sister Boniface: "One day even you will be silenced."

Sam: That sounds like a threat to me.

I was being poetic.

- Poetic? - One day we'll all be silenced.

When God claims us for his own.

Somehow I don't think that's what you meant.

Why did you say Donald made your life a misery?

Because he did.

Donald, please, I need to talk to you.

What now?

It's just -- Sylvia gets so much of your attention,

I'm not sure it's entirely, well, fair.

Worried about the competition, are you?

Worried that your matinee-idol looks won't swing it for you?

Well, you should be worried.

Because there's only one contender

for Chorister of the Year as far as I'm concerned.

And it isn't you.

Sam: Is that why you killed Donald?

Because you thought it was your only way

of winning the competition?

Of course not. I'm a coward, not a killer.

And if you're not going to arrest me,

I'd quite like to see what Great Slaughter's

nightlife has to offer.

# My old man said follow the van #

# And don't dilly-dally... #

I love you, do you hear me?

My round.

Barry!

Listen, um, I know Donald was trying to sideline you.

The old vocal cords aren't what they once were.

But the audience love your cheeky charm.

So why don't we put it front and centre again.

What, "Congregation Conga"? "Twisting in the Aisles"?

Put a bit of fun back into the show?

Exactly!

# I stopped on the way to have the old half-quartern #

# And I can't find my way home #

Woman: Whoo!

# My old man said follow the van #

# And don't dilly-dally on the way #

Woman: Way-hey!

# Off went the car with me home packed in it #

Good morning.

I know how the poison was ingested.

The sheet music found at the scene.

It's laced with cyanide.

Every time Donald turned the page, he licked his fingers.

Ahhh.

Sadly, the only prints on the paper are Donald's.

But what's also interesting is this. Here, have a look.

Felix: What is this?

I took a sample.

No? Pollen.

- Bee pollen? - In the grease.

Some sort of beeswax,

though there's something different

about the structure of the pollen.

Something I can't quite put my finger on.

Excusez-moi.

Oh. Hello.

Uh, one moment.

What are you looking for?

Something is niggling.

Can I be of any help?

Thank you, but, um, why are you...

So stylish?

So styli--

The pollen structure.

It's from a lavender that's only found in France.

The bees that made this beeswax were not British bees.

They were French.

Sam: French or whatever.

Couldn't the beeswax just be furniture polish?

Well...

Oh, yes, yes, look.

The same grease as on the poisoned sheet music.

But if it was furniture polish,

shouldn't it have been rubbed in?

WPC Button told us

that you'd finished with the scene of the crime.

We very much need to rehearse!

Cyanide isn't easy to get ahold of.

Meaning that this murder must have been well planned.

It wasn't an impulsive act.

Which suggests an old grudge.

Which one of our four suspects knew Donald the longest?

Barry Gold and Donald were very old friends.

The two of them created the programme together.

Although Barry's the one with the star quality.

I will not entertain the notion that he had anything to do

with Mr. Merriweather's death!

The two were like brothers.

Like Cain and Abel.

I heard Barry say

that he wished he'd rammed that cassette down Donald's throat.

##

- Where did you get that? - The same place we found this.

Mr. Merriweather's room. It took some repairing but...

Sylvia: # Glory, glory, glory be #

That's Sylvia.

# Music that amazes #

# Ancient, modern -- #

What the hell is going on?

Barry.

I thought Sylvia might sing the show out

after she wins on Sunday.

I'm not stupid, Donald.

I know you want Sylvia to replace me

as the face and voice of "Glory Be."

- What? - Oh, let's face it, Barry.

The ratings are nosediving.

The show needs someone new, someone young.

Over my dead body.

Barry: Over my dead body.

Yours? Or Donald's?

Sam: Hardly the Barry Gold that Mrs. Clam knows and loves.

Because that's not me. I'm not a violent man.

Well, this suggests otherwise.

This show means everything to me.

And if Sylvia took over as the face and voice of "Glory Be,"

you'd be ruined, right?

It would certainly hit your record sales.

If I was that scared of losing my job,

I would kill the director, surely.

She's the one who hires and fires.

Is Marion aware of this tape?

No idea.

She and Donald weren't exactly close.

I mean, he treated her like dirt.

Between us, I think she was looking for another job.

She's been making so many furtive phone calls late--

What do you mean, "furtive"?

I checked with the exchange.

Calls were made to the same number from the pub

and Reverend Mother Adrian's office.

Chesterfield 4942.

Hello?

Can I talk to your mother, please?

But can't a mother call her own son to say good night?

Sam: A secret son.

You've gone to quite some effort to keep him hidden.

Because I'm not married.

I don't believe that God sits in judgment.

But the director of a religious programme, a single mother?

Can you imagine the scandal?

And Donald found out?

Yes.

He was blackmailing me.

We?

Oh, the channel will look after me, sweetheart.

I'm the one pulling the strings.

And you would do well to remember that.

Is that a threat?

I've got photographic evidence

Of you and your snotty-nosed little secret.

Don't you call him that.

So, unless you want me to tell the world,

you will run this show exactly as I see fit.

Which includes casting your vote for Sylvia on Sunday.

I really can't lose this job.

Fear can make people do terrible things.

But I wouldn't risk leaving my son without a mother.

Look, I have a live broadcast

to direct in just a couple of hours.

This might be the last episode of "Glory Be."

I'd really like to make it a good one.

First positions, everyone.

For the joy of it, yes? For God.

Yesterday was so much fun. Thank you.

You know, sometimes the smallest voices

have the biggest impact.

Sorry. Sorry.

Only me.

Going live in five, four...

Good evening.

After much soul-searching, we have decided to push on

with tonight's broadcast as tribute to the man

who made the music -- the show's creator

and its musical director, Donald Merriweather.

At least it's a level playing field now.

May the best singer win.

This programme is for you, Donald.

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Music that amazes #

# Ancient, modern, fast or slow #

# We bring to Him our praises #

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Music that inspires #

# Glory be #

# Ave Maria #

# Gratia plena #

# Maria gratia plena #

He's like a holy Elvis.

# Maria gratia plena #

# Ave, ave dominus #

# Dominus tecum #

# Benedicta tu in mulieribus #

# Et benedictus #

# Et benedictus fructus ventris #

##

# Ave Maria #

# Amazing grace #

# How sweet the sound #

# That saved a wretch like me #

# I once was lost #

# But now I'm found #

##

Uh...

A-And now uh, before we announce

the Chorister of the Year,

I would like to sing one of my favourite songs --

with the help of the St. Vincent's choir.

The St. Vincent's choir.

# The Son of Man said lift up your hands #

# And don't dilly-dally now to pray #

# I lift my hands to the Lord Almighty #

# Clasp them to worship my Lord God nightly #

# I won't dilly or dally #

# Dally or dilly #

# If you lose your way and don't know where to roam #

# You can trust in Jesus #

# For to come and guide you #

# And He'll show you your way home #

You don't know anything.

We know that someone switched the music on the organ

for a presoaked murderous melody.

##

##

##

##

But whilst you didn't leave any fingerprints

on the poisoned sheet music, you did leave a trail, Oliver.

Like a greasy Hansel and Gretel,

though without Gretel, obviously.

A very unusual brand of French hair pomade.

Containing beeswax made by French bees.

And I suspect -- I suspect that I know why you did it.

You have a photograph of your mother on your dressing table.

The letters that you wrote to Donald,

they were about her, weren't they?

She has a pin on her lapel. I've seen that emblem before.

On Donald's tie.

It's the emblem of St. Aquilina's Music College.

If I call them,

will they confirm that your mother was there

at the same time as Donald?

She was.

Until they threw her out.

For cheating.

But she didn't. She wouldn't.

She never told a lie in her life.

Not to me, not to anyone.

Donald framed her because she had the nerve

to break up with him.

Donald didn't like his girlfriends

to have minds of their own.

Leave Sylvia alone.

- I beg your pardon? - I see what you're doing.

- You've done it before. - What are you talking about?

My mother. Christine Carraway.

Your mother's Christine?

She told me how you tried to control her.

The same way you control Sylvia.

Except my mother tried to get away.

Well, she did get away. I haven't seen her since --

Since you ruined her life.

You convinced everyone

she'd stolen the end-of-term exam papers.

But you planted them in her room.

- You can't prove that. - She never got over it.

Her own parents disowned her. Her friends.

You stole her education from her, her whole future.

So, no, she never got away from you.

She ended her life because of you.

Christine always was weak.

What are you telling me this for?

To give you one last chance to say sorry.

Or you will do what?

Go to the newspapers?

Who'll believe you? Especially after tomorrow.

You'll just come across as a sad sore loser.

Like mother, like son.

When she saw him on television, something inside her broke.

But she couldn't stop watching.

It ate her up -- the misery, the bitterness.

But she was never bitter towards me.

Only ever sweet.

And sad.

At herself, I think, more than at Donald.

Eventually she took her own life.

But it was Donald that took it, really.

She blamed herself, but I blamed him.

She cut her life short because of Donald.

I had to cut his short, too.

By killing Donald you've let him ruin your life, too.

But at least he won't ruin anyone else's.

I'm arresting you on the suspicion of the murder

of Donald Merriweather.

You are not obliged to say anything

unless you wish to do so,

but anything you do say may be put into writing

and given in evidence.

And finally, without further to-do...

I mean ado...

I am delighted to announce

that the Chorister of the Year is Sylvia!

- A truly deserved winner. - Thank you.

Barry: I wonder if you'd do me the very great honour

of helping me to sing out the show?

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Music that amazes #

A murder arrest live on television.

That'll be the nail in the coffin.

Why are you smiling? It's not funny.

I've just been onto the producers.

They think the publicity for this show is going to be huge.

And they loved the dilly-dallying nuns.

Wait?! What? We still have our jobs?

Oh, yes, and they are very much looking forward to

discussing the next series.

I've had a fabulous idea about a regular soloist.

- Glory be? - Glory be.

Marion: Mmm!

You haven't been here all night?

I've been praying, trying to find an answer.

About a life under the veil?

I should like it.

To give my life to God.

But the "Glory Be" team have asked me

to join the show as a regular soloist.

It is possible to serve the Lord and have a career.

Oh, I should say so. Amen to that.

Never.

Never have I been so ashamed!

Nuns taking part in a Cockney knees-up,

live on television.

And in the publican house.

Oh, yes, I have eyes everywhere.

Oh, heavens.

You have all been led astray by somebody who should know better.

Stand up, Sister Peter!

Actually the pub was my idea.

We had to practice somewhere.

Sister Peter, have you anything to say?

Well, I-I mean...

They did sing in tune. Mostly.

Mostly in tune?

It was a complete disgrace to the convent

and indeed to the entire the order!

However, much as it pains me to say,

Canoness Basil insisted you did an admirable job.

And despite my protestations,

she is insistent that, henceforth,

all choir rehearsals will be conducted by Sister Peter.

God help us all!

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Music that amazes #

# Ancient, modern, fast or slow #

# We bring to Him our praises #

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Music that inspires #

# Glory be #