Call the Midwife

'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.