Original subtitles

MADGE". No,Ngozi.

And I'm not going to tell you again.

You never let me do anything!

Just cos you want us to end up like you!

You tit-less cow.

(DOOR SLAMS)

(SOFT REFLECTIVE MUSIC)

NGOZI (VO): My mother was born in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne

on November 17th, 1929.

Her life was unremarkable and uncomplicated.

In 1957, she married my father

a young Nigerian medical student.

After he qualified, our family went to live in Africa.

Three years later, Nigeria was being ripped apart by civil war

and my mother was pregnant.

(swans suns)

So my father sent us back to England without him.

We would never live as a family again.

(GENTLE MELODY PLAYS FROM MUSIC BOX)

MALE VOICE: It's important for you to realise

that you're far from being the first woman

to face the prospect of losing a breast.

So many breasts are surgically removed each week

that one hospital nursing officer said

"These days, we do more mastectomies in this place

"than tonsillectomies."

(CHILDREN PLAY OUTSIDE)

(CHAIR CREAKS)

MADGE (VO): For five months, they grew inside of me.

The cancer and the child.

Life and death fighting for possession of my body.

Each day, as they grew stronger, I must grow weaker.

But I had felt the foetus move inside me.

It had become my child.

Nothing and no one was going to harm it.

NGOZI (VO): So my mother kept what she knew to herself.

But the pain hounded her

crucified her.

(BABY CRIES)

NGOZI: Mummy?

You're alright, Mrs Onwurah.

Can you keep still?

MEDIC: Everything's just going to be alright.

Just keep calm and try and relax.

NURSE: Lie still, dear, lie still.

Lie still now.

NGOZI: Where are they going?

Mummy?

Mummy!

Mummy!

(SHE SCREAMS)

MADGE (VO): Two days after I had given birth to my son

the doctors removed my breast.

The price they had demanded in return for my life.

Don't worry, pet.

Your mam will be OK.

MALE VOICE: When packing your hospital requirements

include a few tiny safety pins

a needle, some thread

some of your husband's large, white handkerchiefs

and a pure silk scarf, if you have one.

This kit is to help you experiment with a temporary breast form

so that you leave the hospital feeling at least partially compensated.

NGOZI (VO): I can remember visiting my mother in hospital

trying to be a big girl.

Trying not to cry.

When she pulled me towards her

I could count her eyelashes.

WOMAN: It's time to go now.

Say goodnight to your mam.

Night, night.

(DOOR SHUTS)

NGOZI (VO): Separated from her children

my mother lay on her own.

Inside the silence, a newborn baby screamed

for the milk her breasts would not provide

and inside the darkness

rheumatism crept into her body.

(CHILDREN SHOUT)

MADGE (VO): My children grew strong and healthy

and I watched them grow with pride.

It was almost possible to love my scars

for each day it had allowed me with them.

But rheumatoid arthritis was cruel, unlovable.

It seeped through my body

diminishing my strength

trapping me inside a painful enemy.

Come on then. Come on.

Come on.

MADGE (VO): Men belong to another life.

The children were my shield

protecting me from rejection and disgust

but most of all, protecting me from pity.

Come on, you two! It's time to go.

NGOZI (VO): Pain had become an everyday occurrence.

As children, we barely noticed.

She was just a bit slower than the other mothers.

There were some things she needed help with.

MADGE: Oh, no, that's me eyes!

And me mouth.

NGOZI (VO): We became totally accustomed

to the sight of my mother's naked body.

Can you rinse it off now, then?

Yeah.

Oh... It's all in my mouth now.

Serves you right for moaning.

(SHE LAUGHS)

(CAMERA CLICKS RAPIDLY)

(WOMAN SPEAKS FRENCH)

NGOZI (VO): At 16, I began modelling.

It was fun, it paid well, and I got to travel.

I donned designer silk so sheer

that they veiled nothing.

AMERICAN MAN: The '90s woman no longer has to sacrifice her femininity

in order to be taken seriously in the boardroom.

(WOMAN SPEAKS FRENCH)

WOMAN". Stretch-fitted, super sexy dresses.

Uncomplicated cruise wear with a flirtatious edge.

(WOMAN SPEAKS FRENCH)

WOMAN". Something to get really excited about this spring

curves are back.

(WOMAN SPEAKS ITALIAN)

(CAMERA CLICKS RAPIDLY)

MADGE (VO): I had given birth to the model daughter.

I watched as she joined that elite breed of women

pencilled in by men

who define a sliding scale of beauty

that stops at women like me.

(CAMERA CLICKS)

(UPBEAT PERCUSSIVE MUSIC)

Somewhere, between the mastectomy and the rheumatism

I had been neutered.

(CAMERA CLICKS)

(MUSIC STOPS)

But my life, as I had defined it, was full.

I had dignity.

I lived my life, and my children lived theirs

inviting me in for visits.

Oh, come on, Mum! Don't be so uptight.

NGOZI (VO): "Don't be so uptight," I told her.

But she didn't want to come.

I thought she was a prude.

I'd just come back from Sweden

where even 90-year-old grannies went to saunas.

They weren't embarrassed.

Naked was natural.

We were all women of the world.

Hang-ups were out.

I was 17 years old.

I didn't have a clue.

(WATER SIZZLES)

I remember that day in the sauna

as the first time my mother appeared before me as a woman.

I was forced to see her as others might.

(SUDDEN THUD)

(ARCADE MACHINES BLEEP)

Hey, Matty. Gi' us ten pence, go on.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

Fucking shot, man!

(HE EXCLAIMS)

Hey, that's a shot. Jammy.

(MEN LAUGH)

MAN: Pathetic.

Sit on this one. Turn around.

(THEY LAUGH)

Fucking hell, man. Look at the tits on this one, eh?

- Not bad. - (HE LAUGHS)

Aye. Ah, shame about the face.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

Leave it out! She looks good.

Better than the bloody pair of fried eggs I had last night.

MAN: Just get on with the game.

MAN 2: You are a puff then.

(MEN SNIGGER)

MADGE (VO): I saw the look in his eyes

and remembered it from somewhere in the past.

A youth, a mere boy.

I wanted him for his very ordinariness.

His outrageous normality.

A single caress from him

would smooth out the deformities.

Give me back the right to be desired for my body

and not in spite of it.

A forbidden fantasy, a fairy tale with no beginning.

(NGOZI LAUGHS)

MALE VOICE: It's important for you to realise

that you are far from being the first woman

to face the prospect of losing a breast.

MAN: Keep calm and try and relax.

PHOTOGRAPHER: Hey, come on.

They've gone all soft.

Let's get 'em nice and hard.

Yeah, that's nice.

NGOZI: Oh, come on, Mum.

Don't be so uptight.

Come on, get your shoulders back.

Chin up, eyes UP-

Lovely.

- Yeah, man! - (CAMERA CLICKS)

We're on the road!

(CAMERA CLICKS)

No, no, no, no. That's too wet.

Let's start again. Pump it up, people. Come on, come on.

NGOZI: Oh, come on, Mum.

Don't be so uptight.

PHOTOGRAPHER". Power up the wind machine.

(CAMERA CLICKS)

Come on, really go for it!

Now we're burning.

Jack it up a bit.

Give me sex.

Give me passion!

(CAMERA CLICKS)

Use your eyes.

Spot your prey-

NGOZI: You tit-less cow!

Mummy, Mummy, Mummy.

PHOTOGRAPHER: Use your hair.

Use those lips.

NGOZI: Touch her!

Tit-less cow.

- Touch her! - Tit-less.

Touch her!

Do it, you bastard!

- Mummy, mummy! - Touch her!

Stop it.

Both of you, stop it.

Bastard!

- Touch her! - Stop it, stop it!

NGOZI (VO): Gazing at your newly-rounded bosom

and curving hips

your mother smiles with pride.

When you bear the red fountain flowing secretly

painfully from the aroused womb

she embraces you and whispers

"This is our shared body.

"And this is our blood."

I stood there and tried to imagine

what it would be like to have no breasts.

But it was pointless.

Like closing your eyes to imagine what it was like being blind

then opening them again.

(SUDDEN SNAP)

The whole point about blindness

is knowing that you can never open your eyes again.

(DOOR CREAKS)

For 17 years, I had seen her simply as my mother.

Sexless, shapeless, safe.

Mum.

NGOZI (VO): I wanted to tell her that I loved her.

That I was sorry.

But the words wouldn't come.

For the truth was that if she hadn't been my mother

if I hadn't loved her or known her incredible strength

if I hadn't come from inside that body

that everyone wanted hidden away

then I, too, would have turned away.

I thought I knew something about being a woman

how fantasies were shaped, bodies defined.

I know now that these were only clues.

(swans suns)

A child is made in its parent's image

but to a world that sees only in black and white

I was made only in the image of my father.

Yet she has moulded me

created the curves and contours of my life

coloured the innermost details of my being.

She has fought for me, protected me

with every painful, crooked bone in her body.

She lives inside me and cannot be separated.

I may not be reflected in her image

but my mother is mirrored in my soul.

I am my mother's daughter for the rest of my life.