Philomena

Blood glucose fine. Liver function, kidney function, normal.

Platelet count's normal. Haemoglobin levels normal.

Blood pressure, 131 over 92.

Isn't this a little high?

Weight's fine. Could do with losing a centimetre or two off your waist.

- Oh. Stool sample outstanding. - Oh.

No, that means you haven't provided one yet.

Yes, of course. No, I'd remember.

You think it didn't stink or something?

There's nothing wrong with you, Martin.

Uh, your wife tells me you think you're mildly depressed?

Well, I got the sack. I'm unemployed.

- Yes. But it wasn't your fault, was it? - That's why I'm depressed.

I got sacked for saying something I didn't say.

Try running.

I said the opposite of what I was sacked for.

What are you working on at the moment?

Uh, thinking of writing a book.

Oh! Well, that's good. What's it about?

Russian history.

Try running.

The Whitehall feud between the transport secretary Stephen Byers

and his former press secretary Martin Sixsmith continues to grow.

Mr Sixsmith has been putting his side of the argument.

Downing Street described the affair as a soap opera.

There was no sign of Mr Sixsmith at his home today,

but after a week of trying to clear his name in private, he's now gone public.

He told the Sunday Times that senior figures in government had offered him support.

"They assured me they accepted there was no suspicion of misconduct against me.

I was therefore amazed they had unilaterally 'resigned' me."

I would like to make a statement regarding the circumstances

of Mr Martin Sixsmith's resignation.

The question here is, how long can Mr Blair stand by his man and not himself be damaged?

There's no doubt that there's been yet another embarrassment for the government.

They've not only had to eat fantastic quantities of humble pie,

indeed humble pie, I would say, with a side order of grovel sauce.

And so far as Mr Sixsmith is concerned...

There you are. Well, that was embarrassing.

Father Tierney just asked me where you disappeared to.

Well... I don't believe in God. And I think he can tell.

Come on.

- I'm worried about you, Martin. - I did that.

I wish you had. You need to get back to work.

What happened to that book on Russian history?

No one's interested in Russian bloody history.

I haven't seen you any place. Where are you from?

Are you from Limerick, then?

- Hello, Philomena. - Father.

How have you been? How's your new hip?

Oh, it's very good. It's titanium.

- I haven't seen you for a while. - I just came in to light a candle.

Someone special?

Yes.

I like your dress.

Did you make it yourself?

No. I bought it in a shop.

And anyways, me auntie told me I wasn't supposed to speak to strange men like you.

Did you let him put his hands on you?

Did you enjoy your sin?

Did you take your knickers down?

Answer Sister Hildegarde. Did you take them down?

Yes.

Oh, Reverend Mother,

at school, the sisters never taught us about babies.

Did your mother not tell you?

- Her mother died ten years ago. - Oh.

God rest her soul.

Don't dare blame the sisters for this.

You are the cause of this shame. You and your indecency.

- (Screams) - I don't know what to do!

We must get a doctor. The baby's the wrong way round. It's breech!

It's in God's hands now. The pain is her penance.

Hail, holy Queen, Mother of Mercy! Hail, holy Queen, Mother of Mercy!

Don't let her put my baby in the ground!

It's cold in there. It's dark in there.

Just go up and turn their lights out in half an hour. OK?

Doesn't she know you have a proper job?

She's short staffed. I'm just filling in.

I'll be home before midnight.

Mother?

What is it? Are you all right?

Who is it?

It's his birthday.

He'll be 50 today.

Breathe.

It's a boy.

Oh, Martin!

- Hello, David. - Hello.

- Keith you know. - Yes, hello again.

And Sally Mitchell, this is Martin Sixsmith, used to be the BBC's man in Moscow.

- And Washington. - Hello.

Then he became a spin doctor for the government, and it all went a bit tits-up.

Is that a fair summation, Martin?

That's fair enough. I always say, "If you shovel shit for long enough,

eventually you'll get some on your shoes."

Yes, you got it on your head. How did you manage that?

What are you up to at the moment?

I'm thinking of writing a book on Russian history.

Or something else. Maybe get back into journalism.

I remember you!

You're the one who sent that terrible e-mail

saying it was a good day to bury bad news on 9/11.

- No, that was someone else. - Well, I thought it was you.

No, it's a common mistake. On the day of Princess Margaret's funeral,

I sent an e-mail saying let's make sure the only thing we "bury",

- today, is Princess Margaret. - Which is slightly different.

It's very different, actually... But...

If you want to get back into journalism, you should talk to Sally.

I just do sob stories, human interest. It's not really your cup of tea, is it?

Well...

But I'll be happy to have a look if you want to push any ideas my way.

Yes... Please.

Excuse me. Do you have a glass of Pinot Grigio?

It's just red or white.

I'll have white, please.

I couldn't help overhearing you're a journalist.

I know this woman, she had a baby when she was a teenager

and she's kept it secret for 50 years.

I only found out today.

Sorry. The baby was taken from her by these nuns.

- They made her have him adopted. - Mm.

And she's kept it a secret all this time.

Well, the thing is, I'm working on a book at the moment about Russian history.

That's my thing.

And what you're talking about would be what they call a human interest story.

I don't do those.

Why not?

Because "human interest story" is a euphemism for stories about

weak-minded, vulnerable, ignorant people,

to put in newspapers read by vulnerable, weak-minded, ignorant people.

Not that you are. And, yeah, anyway, I hope you find him.

Do you think I should do a human interest story?

Hello, you must be Philomena. I'm Martin.

- Hello, Martin. - Hello again.

Hello.

We've got a table through here. After you.

Just to the left.

I must apologise for the other night.

Afraid I was a bit... Caught me at a bad moment.

That's all right. I'm just glad you managed to track me down.

I hope you don't mind coming here. It's Mum's favourite.

No, no, it's... it's very nice.

Um, just...

So, Philomena, how are you?

I'm all right.

I had a hip replacement last year, Martin.

Right.

It's much better than the bone one I had before.

And it's titanium, so it won't rust.

Oh. That's good, otherwise they'd have to oil you like the Tin Man.

Is that right?

No, I mean, you know, like The Wizard Of Oz.

- He's just joking, Mum. - No, no, I'm just joking. No...

My mother has advanced osteoarthritis in both her knees.

Oh. (Laughs)

- Shall we get some salad? - Salad, yes.

Yes.

Jane's the clever one in our family. She went to university as a mature student.

You know, when you're quite old.

Where did you go, Martin? Oxbridge, I bet.

You've rumbled me. Oxford, yes.

I knew you weren't a duffer.

- I don't think I've been in a Harvester before. - Do they not have them in London?

No, I tend to go to a little local place, near where I live.

- And where's that? - Knightsbridge.

Oh. Well, that must be very expensive.

I love these little bits of toast on mine...

And are you married, Martin?

- Yes, I am. To Kate. 20 years. - That's good. That's grand.

I did love him, you know.

I've kept what happened to me buried away for 50 years.

My father just left me with the nuns, he was so ashamed.

He told everyone I was dead.

My family never visited me.

After you'd had your baby, you had to stay in the abbey for four years.

In order to repay the sisters for taking you in, you had to work.

The worst jobs were in the laundry. That's where they put me.

I worked there seven days a week, the whole time I was there.

I worked there with my best friend, Kathleen.

We were allowed to see our children for an hour a day.

- Come on. - That was all.

Walk, don't run!

- Mary! - Mummy.

Anthony was best friends with Kathleen's daughter, Mary.

The two of them were inseparable.

Look at that. He won't let her out of his sight.

What's the matter?

The girls in the kitchen said that Mother Barbara had Mary up at the house.

What do you think they wanted with her?

Phil.

I'm sure it's nothing to worry about.

I won't be a minute.

- Phil, I've got something for you. - Kathleen's worried sick.

She thinks they'll take Mary from her. I told her they'd tell her first for sure.

Look.

You can't tell anyone you've got it.

- I bet the father was handsome. - He was. How did you get this?

I borrowed a Box Brownie and took it when Reverend Mother wasn't looking.

Thank you.

Whenever I look at that photo of Anthony, I say a little prayer for Anunciata,