Of course, these things never happened.
Not in this life.
In this life there's a new baby.
Jimmy.
His brother, Teddy, is asleep.
And so is Pamela.
Ursula is trying not to sleep.
Her dreams are...
..challenging.
What are you doing up?
Can't sleep.
More bad dreams?
Come here.
You know, only very special people have powerful imaginations.
You're extra interesting.
It's a bit of a burden, but that's the way to think about it.
I think I dream about dying...
..because I've already died.
Lots of times.
I assure you, you haven't.
I would have definitely noticed.
There's nothing to be afraid of.
How was London? How were your friends?
Boring.
I want Ursula to see a psychiatrist. Why on earth do you say that?
You talked me out of it before, when she pushed Bridget down the stairs.
You are not talking me out of it again.
There's something wrong with her.
She's a little introspective, that's all. And it's no bad thing.
She's always down in the dumps and she has these terrible dreams.
We cannot assume this will just pass. She'll grow up soon enough
and we need her mentally sound as she moves through the world.
Let us not forget that unscrupulous men lie in wait,
ready to take advantage of women
who don't have their head *ed on correctly.
How would we even locate a psychiatrist?
Major Shawcross in the village recommends a chap up in London.
Some of his men came back with very bad nerves.
He mentioned it to me in passing.
The way I heard it, it was Shawcross that came home
with a bad case of nerves.
I just want her to be happy.
The psychiatrist recommended was in London.
It was decided that Ursula could be put on the train by her mother
and met at the other end by her aunt, Izzie,
even though both Sylvie and Hugh doubted that Izzie
Don't talk to anybody, especially to any men.
If Izzie isn't waiting for you at the platform,
you come straight back home, do you understand?
Izzie had managed to get a job
writing a weekly column for a newspaper.
She wrote under the pseudonym Delphine Fox
and called the column Adventures of a Modern Spinster.
Ursula!
Isn't this exciting?
Two ladies alone in London. Whatever shall we do?
What adventures lie in wait?
You have to take me straight to the doctor.
Delighted.
So thrilling.
The talking cure is quite the thing, you know.
Perhaps don't mention to your father that I brought the motor.
He seems to have very little confidence in my abilities,
even though I managed to drive an ambulance throughout the war,
sans mishap, in another country, no less.
Of course, the real reason he doesn't like me driving
is the little green eyed monster. Am I right?
What?
He's jealous. He wants an automobile himself.
Your mother will not allow it. Am I right?
I don't know.
Very politic answer.
I'm glad I've been tasked with the grave responsibility
of shuttling you from A to B.
I know that I am considered by your mother mad, bad and dangerous
to know, but I thought we could be special chums. What do you think?
Pamela is a little dull, all that tennis and cycling.
No wonder she has such sturdy ankles...
Cut it! Cut it!
The baby nearly died.
God wanted it back.
Ursula?
I think what we're saying, Izzie... Is that we'd prefer
you don't reference our children in your column.
They are not your children. For goodness' sake.
They are imaginary children that I've invented
in my persona as Delphine Fox,
author of Adventures of a Modern Spinster.
The column's most awfully popular, by the way.
Don't even write about my imaginary children.
Pamela, what are you doing with your feet?
It's the way to shape the ankle, according to the Modern Spinster.
The Modern Spinster is not a person from whom anyone
with any sense would take advice. So glad I came.
Besides, you're too young for shapely ankles.
I'm nearly the same age as you were when you married Daddy.
Children, go inside for tea, would you?
Izzie, Sylvie and I were wondering if you might do us a small favour?
Ursula needs to take a weekly trip to London.
We thought if we put her on the train, you might take her off
and deliver her to a Dr Kellet on Harley Street.
What's wrong with the poor darling? Malade?
She's fine.
Lovely ankles.
What else do you see in her? Sylvie is worried about Ursula.
She seems to think that...
I don't know how to explain it and I can't really,
but that she has been here before.
She suffers from an extraordinary amount of deja vu.
Clairvoyant!
We should set her up in a gypsy caravan.
Crystal ball, Tarot cards.
So who's Dr Kellet? He's a psychiatrist, is he?
Apparently he helped a lot of men after the war.
How did you hear about him?
Were you a patient? No.
A friend put us in touch.
You must have seen some terrible things in France, Hugh.
I know I did.
I prefer to focus on the daffodils.
Personally...
..I've thought Ursula should see a psychiatrist
ever since she pushed the maid down the stairs.
Do you... Do you think that we should mention that occurred?
It is odd.
Thrilling, but odd.
Emancipated hem lines?
What does it mean? She's a fool.
It will be a miracle if she meets that child's train.
She'll forget about it. She'll be off gallivanting.
Do you know why they're really sending her to London?
They want a doctor to look in her head?
They've realised she's touched. What are you talking about?
I overheard a discussion.
She's not touched. She's a bit of a worrier.
And so what? Some people are born that way.
And it bespeaks great intelligence.
I have a belief about Ursula.
You remember she was born not meant for this Earth.
The cord wrapped around her neck like a serpent.
My belief is that Ursula is at least partly of the spirit world.
Ha! How do you account for her pushing me down the stairs
to save me from the influenza?
That was an inventive excuse for mischief,
and I will account for your nonsense right now.
Irish fiddle-faddle.
She has the sixth sense
and there's no doctor in the world that can magic away that.
Ursula!
He seems to have very little confidence in my abilities,
even though I managed to drive an ambulance throughout the war,
sans mishap, in a foreign country, no less.
Hang on.
Nervous? I'm fine.
So...
..I hear you tried to kill your maid.
Tea?
I'm not Russian.
Far from it. I'm from Maidstone.
I visited St Petersburg before the Revolution.
When I spoke to your mother on the telephone,
she told me that you often dream you're dying.
She told me that you once confided in her
that you had been here before.
Is that right?
Do you think you have been here before?
Sometimes I think that.
Tea?
You see, I remember you saying "Tea?" to me before.
Just like that.
Yes, I said it last week.
Of course.
Snow?
Yes.
Interesting.
Everything's familiar somehow...
..no matter where I am or what I'm doing.
Inside, I have this terrible fear...
..all the time.
A darkness within?
From a scientific point of view, perhaps the part of your brain
responsible for memory has a little flaw.
A neurological problem
that leads you to think you are repeating experiences.
So I'm not really dying and being reborn.
I have no idea.
Perhaps there is a neurological blip in your brain
that causes you to believe you have been here before.
Perhaps you have been here before and your dreams are memories
and reminiscences - premonitions.
We may never know.
Have you heard of Buddhism?
Perhaps you're remembering another life.
Of course, the disciples of the Buddha
don't believe you keep coming back as the same person
in the same circumstances, as you feel you do, but...
..most ancient religions adhered to an idea of circularity.
The snake with its tail in its mouth and so on.
Are you cured yet?
Must be by now. It's been an age.
Come on. I told your father you'd catch a later train.
Let's have some fun.
Listen, I know that I am considered by your mother
mad, bad and dangerous to know, but...
..I thought we could be special chums. What do you think?
Pamela is a little dull, all that tennis and cycling.
No wonder she has such sturdy ankles.
Tres sportif, I'm sure, but still.
And the boys are... Well, boys.
But you are interesting, Ursula.
What do you think?
Yes.
Special chums.
Nice time with Izzie?
Yes.
Ta-da.
You did it.
Your mother considers it ruinously expensive.
She's not to be trusted, you know.
Who? Izzie.
Press that.
Right.
The war has made your mother parsimonious, I'm afraid.
If she had her way, we'd live on her eggs and chickens.
Whereas I, on the other hand, have seemed to become less prudent.
Not an admirable trait for a banker, she says,
but still, carpe diem and so on.
Little bear?
Ursula saw Dr Kellet for several years.
Eventually, Sylvie and Hugh decided that paying a man
to discuss life's mysteries with their daughter
was no longer necessary.
Ursula was noticeably more cheerful
and so considered cured.
On the morning of her 16th birthday,
the world felt crisp and fresh.
She was growing up.
Ahoy!
Maurice was down for the weekend.
He was in his last year at Oxford, where he was reading law.
Good show, coming for Ursula's birthday.
Is it Ursula's birthday today?
Isn't that why you're here?
No. Coincidence.
Right.
Right, yes, do follow.
Chaps, these are my brothers, Teddy and Jimmy.
Gilbert, Howard, don't annoy them.
Call me Howie. Everyone does.
And there's my old mater.
You are far too young to be anyone's mother.
I know.
Yet we have managed five children.
Sisters?
With names.
I'm Pamela. This is Ursula.
Gilbert and Howard, you'll have to double up in Mrs Glover's old room.
Let me show you upstairs. Call me Howie.
You can go top to tail.
All right.
Why are you so gimpy?
Twisted my ankle. Hockey game.
Slow down.
I've seen a snail move quicker than that.
That's actually my ball.
Watch this!
Hey, boys, you're playing like a little girl. Come on!
I say, they're rather gorgeous, aren't they?
Can I have one?
It's the wrong kind of football! We are not in America. Here we go.
Who's that? Ursula loves this music.
Do you? I had no idea.
St Louis Blues.
Listen to that cornet.
Joie de Femme, new by Clermont. Divine!
Far too grown-up. Will Ursula be allowed to keep anything?
I really don't know.
Teddy, a dance? No.
Jimmy?
And she's definitely too young for that.
Where did you get the money for all this?
The column doesn't pay that well. Did you steal it?
Ooh, the jive is jumping.
We're hungry.
Mrs Glover, could you facilitate nourishment for these young men?
Essence of stag. Trucking mud everywhere.
Well, they didn't fight in the war. That's a good thing.
No matter how unsatisfactory they turn out.
Happy birthday, little bear.
Happy birthday!
This present is for Teddy.
Me? Yes, you, darling boy.
Go on, unwrap it. It won't explode.
"The Adventures of Augustus."
By Delphine Fox.
Mwah. Why is everything an adventure with you?
Because life is an adventure, of course.
I would say it's more of an endurance race
or an obstacle course.
All right, dear. Not that bad, surely.
That's Augustus.
I based him on you.
Me?!
I have a publisher.
I have money, Hugh.
You don't need to worry about me any more.
Do you want to go for a walk?
It's a bore with my crutches.
I'm looking for the ball. It was your kid brother's.
I think we lost it in the... Shrubbery.
How old are you?
16.
It's my birthday.
You ate cake.
You're shivering.
It's freezing out here.
But she decided it didn't matter.
Ursula thought of Howie quite often.
It was not so much the physical Howie
but the fact that he had been thoughtful enough
to try and find Teddy's ball.
Hey, kid!
What are they doing here? I don't know.
We're going to London to help with the strike.
I didn't realise your politics put you on the side of the workers.
What? No, no, no, no, no.
We're going to drive buses and trains
and whatever else it takes to keep the country running.
I didn't know you could drive a train, Maurice.
I'll be a stoker, then - put the coal in. It can't be that difficult.
and it's a very skilled job.
I hear you didn't get into Cambridge. Probably best.
We don't have enough scones. For God's sake!
We need warning, Maurice.
I'm not hungry.
Imbeciles.
What happened to the good-looking one? Gilbert.
Sent down, apparently, for an indiscretion. What indiscretion?
Well, the definition of an indiscretion
is you don't talk of it afterwards.
Feel like going for a walk?
No. Thank you.
Are you all right?
Weeks passed.
Questions would have been intolerable.
She took care to mask her misery.
I need to talk to you about something uncomfortable.
I know you've been out of sorts all summer
Things will be different.
and I expect you're probably nervous with Pamela going away.
However...
..we mustn't eat our worries.
It's just puppy fat. Even I had it.
But it won't go away by itself. It has to be addressed.
They're not called stokers, they're called firemen,
I thought this was the express.
This is the London train.
I know it's odd, but...
..she just turned up on the doorstep, the lamb.
I think she wanted to see me.
Pay a visit.
Nothing risque.
I'll take her to see some museums and so on, and the theatre.
Now, don't be such a mean old woman, Hugh.
You're such a fool.
There are ways, you know?
Things one can do.
Prevention better than cure and all that.
No-one told Ursula what would happen next.
Remove your shoes and undergarments.
Ursula supposed the baby would come out
with a certain amount of difficulty.
She presumed it would be wrapped in a shawl and placed in a cradle
I got it from a tin! Ha!
Oxtail soup.
..there we are.
God.
You're not cut out for this sort of thing. It's all right.
Ursula.
How could you?
We will tell people blood poisoning.
We'll say no more about this, little bear.
You get into bed and I'll bring them up.
Devilled kidneys for strength?
Yes, go to your room, Ursula.
What's wrong with Mummy?
And you remember the night she was born
and the cord wrapped around her neck, and what did I say then?
I said God surely wants that baby back
and now He's poisoned her blood.
He'll take her, you mark my words.
I'll be off if there's nothing more I can do for you.
That's fine, Mrs Glover.
Good that she's home safe and sound.
Now, you'd think with an illness like that and death at hand,
And why would that be...
but it's had the opposite effect.
that it would make mother and daughter closer,
..George?
A mystery.
Blood poisoning?
How did you get blood poisoning?
I don't know.
Why did you just disappear like that
and then manifest at Izzie's of all places?
I'm tired.
Can you turn off the light?
..then you won't have anyone to talk to.
I'm off to university soon...
I was going to have a baby.
Howie.
Where?
In our room?
On the stairs.
It was strange.
There's really no use in talking about this, so...
Strange how?
Izzie helped me with the baby.
An abortion? An illegal abortion?
Gosh, no wonder Mummy's angry.
Strange, how?
It was very...
..quick.
Did he force you?
You should tell.
What does it matter?
He's gone back to America.
Please.
I don't want to think or talk about it any more.
I'm not going back to school.
I just can't.
I may as well see what the chickens have left us.
I'll go with you.
I'll take a secretarial course.
Also, I think I'd like to see Dr Kellet again.
He's retired, I believe.
Did he leave a forwarding address?
I'm sorry.
Iterate.
Iterating.
Reiteration.
Reiterated.
Reiterating.
No peeking.
The only way to stop looking at the keys
and slowing down your speeds
is to type blindfolded.
Dear sir.
I brought your letter before the board of directors
at their meeting yesterday.
She got a job as a secretary in a big importing company.
She made no friends.
Her first glass of wine was an experiment.
I found one that's very reasonable.
I think that's very wise.
It was a private act.
Intimate, solitary and enormously comforting.
She was a secret drunk in a matter of weeks.
The day Ursula met Derek Oliphant, she was stone-cold sober.
She simply hadn't seen the pavement slab.
and her instinct was to save the groceries rather than herself.
acquired hastily in a lunch hour,
Her hands were full of grocery shopping,
Is that the colour?
Or is it salmon?
To love, cherish and obey.
"She's mistaken gratitude for love," Sylvie thought as she watched them.
Sylvie had married Hugh when she was 18,
not long after her family descended into poverty.
She had met him at the post office counter -
a rising star in the prosperous world of banking.
The epitome of bourgeois respectability.
She was beautiful but penniless.
Hugh had offered her a life.
You have blood all over your nice peach scarf.
- In sickness and in health. - In sickness and in health.
To love, cherish and obey.
Till death do us part.
Three months later, Ursula and Derek were married.