Waiting for God (1990–1994): Season 2, Episode 1 - Counselling for the Dying - full transcript

"..short time to live, full of misery.

"He cometh up
and is cut down like a flower.

"He fleeth, as it were, a shadow

"and never continueth in one stay.

"In the midst of life, we are in death,

"of whom may we seek for succour
but of Thee, O Lord,

"Who for our sins..."

(Bleeping)

I have to go. It's an important meeting.

What did he say?

He says if he doesn't shut up
and show respect,



we're at liberty to beat him to a pulp
and bung him in on top of old Sid.

Carly on.

We'll see you back at the ranch.

— Come on, Jane.
— Harvey...

He's not a resident any more.

Your job is with the living...and with me.

Yes, Harvey.

Have you forgotten the words?

— Certainly not.
— Well, get on with it, then.

(Mobile phone)

"Shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer
but spare us, Lord, most holy..."

Utter farce.

Poor old Sid. Where's his family?
You'd think he never existed.

— Diana.
— Mm?



— It's not Sid.
— What?

It's not Sidney. It's Harry Palmer.

— Are you sure?
— Mm.

Oh, couldn't stand Harry Palmer.

Are you staying?

Oh, yes. I didn't mind old Harry.

— Harry?
— Harry Palmer.

The name of the deceased is Esme Walters.
Harry Palmer was this morning.

Oh. Oh, dear.
I didn't know this lady.

— Are you staying, then?
— Oh, yes.

How do you do, Miss Walters.

I am sorry we didn't meet before this.

Never too late to make a new friend.
Do continue.

"Like as a father pitieth his own children,

"even so is the Lord merciful
unto them that fear Him,

"for He knoweth whereof we are made.

"He remembereth that we are but dust..."

Poor old Harry.

Another green bottle falls off the wall.

— Yes, into the hole in the bottle bank.
— Little chance of recycling.

Oh, Harry will be recycled.
He was a Buddhist.

— Since when?
— Since Wednesday.

He joined the whole lot just in case.

Buddhists, Catholics, Greek Orthodox,
even the Hare Krishnas dropped in.

Bet he hated them. All that chanting.

Right. "Push off," he said.

In fact, that was the last thing he said,

as one of the silly sods
tripped over his life—support lead.

— Is that true?
— No.

Pity. It has a certain glorious irony to it.

Oh, Harry was a good man.

He'll probably return as
a humble peasant toiling in the fields.

— Why?
— Well...

that's what they reckon is
the last step before Nirvana,

the simple, uncomplicated peasant.

Bollocks.

That idea was invented
by the rich bastards

to keep the simple peasants happy
in their rotten, soggy fields.

Believe me, I've been in a paddy.

You're always in a paddy.

A rice paddy, you ding—a—ling.

If being a simple peasant is the top notch
on the wheel of life, you can stuff it.

Diana, you have no soul.

Tom, souls don't exist.

That's only your opinion.
Keep it to yourself.

Rubbish. It's my holy mission in life
to blow raspberries at other holy missions.

Has it ever occurred to you
you might be wrong?

Why should it?
It never occurs to any of them.

Except possibly the Church of England.

Poor old souls. They don't
even know which way is up,

never mind whether God's black,
white or green with three heads.

Oh, come on, Diana, stop it.
You must not blaspheme.

You'll be struck by a lightning bolt.

In fact, I think I'll stand over here.

Never too sure about
the old divine accuracy.

Don't be so daft. Doesn't happen. Look.

Come on, God, you heard me.
I don't believe in you.

How about a quick belt of
the old megavolt frizzle—frazzle?

Diana, for God's sake...
I mean, for your sake.

Take no notice, God! She's old!
She's senile! She's quite gaga!

— Oh, no, I'm bloody not!
— Oh, yes, she is!

— Oh, no, I'm not!
— Oh, yes, she is!

— Am not!
— Is!

Come on, you big bully, blow me away!

— She's drunk!
— You don't exist!

She had a terrible childhood!
She's just kidding!

— Oh, no, I'm not!
— Yes, she is!

— Oh, no, I'm not!
— She is!

Oh, no, I'm not! And no returns.

— Who were you shouting at?
— What?

Oh, no one in particular,
just having a bit of a shout.

She was yelling at God again.

Oh, you don't have to shout
to be heard by God, Diana.

God is omnipresent.

And He's all around us.

Well, God is a nosey so—and—so.

Oh, Diana.

What do you want, Jane? Or did you
just drop in for a bit of light simpering?

Don't you be rude to Jane. She is the way she
is. There's no need to make it worse for her.

Thank you, Tom.

Will you speak your purpose, woman?

I just wanted to explain
about leaving the grave.

— Leaving the grave?
— Yes.

— Like Lazarus?
— No, me.

And when did you leave the grave, Jane?

— This afternoon.
— And when did you die?

I haven't died, Tom.

Well, that's cheating, Jane. You can't
rise from the dead if you haven't died.

I mean, Lazarus would never have
got his top billing in the Bible

if he'd come out of the tomb saying,
"Hello, I've just risen from the dead"

when everyone knew
he'd been down at the pub.

You can't cheat your way into
world history, Jane. Can she, Diana?

Oh, absolutely not.

I was referring to
my premature departure

from the graveside this afternoon.

What was Harvey's
important engagement?

— Oh, he had to see his tailor.
— Oh, good, I am glad.

We may all be dropping like flies but at least
we can be happy in the knowledge

that Harvey will see us off in
the best that polyester can offer.

Please, Diana, I came to talk
about Ham; and his death.

— Well, what about it?
— We don't want it to happen again.

I don't suppose it will happen again,
not while Harry remains dead.

No, I mean we don't want
people dying on their own.

Oh, you mean you want us
to pop off in groups?

No.

You mean into the minibus
and over the nearest cliff?

She means that a dying person
should not be alone.

Yes, and there should be more than
four people round the graveside.

And those people should be
at the right grave at the right time.

— Surrounded by friends and relatives.
— Right.

— And little children.
— Yes.

And passing revellers, jugglers, acrobats, clowns

and, er...people with webbed feet.

Oh, shut up. It's a horrible idea.

The last thing you want when you're trying to
eke out your final gasps

is a bunch of bloody sightseers
snuffling around.

Whipping things off your mantelpiece.
To hell with that.

When I go, I want to go solo,
thank you very much.

You're just very odd, Diana.

I'm sure Tom wouldn't
want to be on his own.

Absolutely not. I'm going to be attended by...
a phalanx of Viking warriors.

(Gasps) A what?

Don't ask.

I'm going to have a Viking funeral,
tied to the mast of my ship

and shoved off into the mists.

Farewell, Tom Dragon Slayer,
ye noble raper and pillager.

Well, pillager at any rate.

Don't approve of the rape bit. Never understood
why they had to go together.

And which did you do first?

You wouldn't want to be raping
while the others were pillaging.

Burning rafters crashing down
on your bouncing bum?

And the horns?!

Jane, will you please say what
you came to say or we'll all be dead.

— Well, I think...
— Yes?

I think we should
care more for each other.

That's it, is it?
That's your great message?

— Yes.
— How wet.

— Well, I think it's a very good idea.
— I want to make it official policy.

What does our favourite enema
say about that?

Well, Harvey says...

Harvey is happy to discuss any new ideas.

As long as it doesn't cost him anything.

There's far too much isolation round here.

We should all be reaching out to each other,

talking, feeling, loving one another.

So that never again does
a resident reach that final hour

without oodles of love
and companionship

to help them on their way
across the great shining plain.

Hear! Hear! I'm with you, Jane!

Oh, good, Tom. Diana?

I think I'm going to be sick.

Voila, Antonio, un autre weed.
Pullez it up.

C'est le clover.
C'est tres mal pour l'herbe.

God, dismal Lisbon riffraff.

Oh!

Bloody back.

Do something, you fool!

Faites quelque chose, crétin!

Aidez—moi!

Oh.

Bastard!

Tom!

Jane!

Anyone! Is there anyone still alive?

Hello, Diana.

— Hello, Basil.
— Talking to the grass, are you?

— Help me to that seat.
— Oh. OK, then.

Come on, then.

Oh.

Bad back, is it?

No, Basil, it's an in—growing toenail.

So...what brought this on?

Well, I have a nasty little
pseudo—arthritic complaint,

which is kept at bay with steroids

but they make my bones very brittle.

Ah.

Ah, there.

Like me to give you a massage?

No, I would not, you filthy little beast.

We all know about the Basil Makepeace
massage parlour, thank you.

I give a lot of pleasure and comfort.

Don't boast.

— It's all I was ever any good at.
— Well, don't try it with me.

Oh, I wouldn't with you, Diana. God forbid.

— You must be terrifying in bed.
— What do you mean?

Always yelling and shouting
and giving people orders.

Is there any other way?

Oh! Where's Tom?

He's going round
asking people how they feel. See?

— What's he up to?
— God knows.

I shouldn't think he's too sure either.

Ah, well, I must be off.

There's a new girl, Tess, in number five.

She keeps giving me the eye.

Big lass. Got to get in training.

You wait, Basil,
the hard—line feminists'll get you.

You'll be hacked to bits by boiler—suited
viragoes outside your shirt makers.

— I'll get Tom to give you a hand.
— Mm...

Oh, bloody things...

Oh, no.

No. No, it's not good, Jane.

No, Harvey.

What's not good?

The profit forecast for
the coming financial year.

— They don't look too bad.
— Yes, but they used to be massive.

I mean, these sorts of places used to knock the
spots off pine forests and offshore stuff,

and it was legal too.

Now... Well, frankly, Jane,
there's got to be a bit of belt tightening.

The board of directors
met in Antigua the other day

and they made some executive decisions.

Now, Jane, instead of...salary,

how do you feel about points
in the net profits?

What does that mean?

Well, you'd work harder to cut costs,
starting with your own salary.

Everything's cut to the bone as it is.

Maybe... Yes, maybe we could cut back on the
quality of the food and then they'd eat less.

— It would shorten their stay here though.
— That's another thing, Jane. Turnaround.

No, not you, Jane,
turnaround of the residents.

Every time one dies, it takes too long
to get them out, get the place released

and the cashflow rolling in again.

There must be a bit of dignity
and decorum, Harvey.

Dignity is an expensive luxury, Jane, and there's
certainly no profit in decorum.

What ho!

Oh, do come in, Tom.
Don't bother to knock.

— Why don't you sit down?
— Thank you.

— What can I do for you?
— The care for the dying program.

Sorry, we can't afford a resident counsellor.

You don't have to. I'm going to do it.

— Oh, dear.
— I can't afford to pay you either.

I don't want any money.
I just want to help my fellow prisoners.

— Residents, Tom.
— Residents.

You mean you'd do the job
with no financial benefit to yourself?

It's called voluntary service, Harvey.

Fascinating. Voluntary service...

Well, you should think about that, Jane.

Tom, this job needs somebody with training.

Nonsense. If Tom wants to do it for free,
he's trained enough for me.

I think I'll put it in the new brochure.

"The Bayview Retirement Village.
Let us help you die."

— What do you think, Jane?
— Oh, Harvey.

— So what have you got there, Tom?
— This is my survey. It's very important.

It's also very private.

Yes.

To m?

I know you mean well
but if you're untrained,

I fear you may do more harm than good

by counselling the dying
without knowing what you're doing.

Jane, I'm not daft, I'm not callous
and I'm certainly not stupid.

I'm going to get some training.

Community center, mon brave.

What's he up to?

"Coping with death,
an informal discussion."

That sounds a bundle of laughs.

"Psychotherapy is seldom
a brief process." Yes.

Excuse me. Are you the dying lot?

— No, we're Lesbian Awareness.
— Dying's first left.

Thank you.

— Dying?
— No, quite healthy, actually.

But we know what you mean.
Do come in and join us.

Thank you.

Now, as I was saying...

Oh, yes...

..in coping with the terminally ill,
there are no rules.

You let them call the shots. Whatever they want
is fine. You let them have it.

What if they want to go skiing?

Sorry?

What if they want to do something
they're absolutely incapable of?

Firstly, you let them decide
what they're capable of.

But what if it's a totally loopy idea?

Running the marathon on half a lung?

Tell them they're crazy. Nicely, of course.

Oh, of course.

Now, the other main thing is listening.

Listen, listen, listen.
For hours, days if necessary.

Let them get it off their chest, even if
it means they're repeating themselves.

— I'm a very good listener.
— Good.

— Now, there are a few...
— Listening is all I'm good at these days.

Good. Now, when it comes to...

I've been a good listener
ever since I was a lad.

My mother used to say to me,
"Tom, you're a great listener."

Yes. Fine. Now...

Now I spend hours listening to Diana.

I'm a terrific listener.

Would you mind listening to me for a minute?

Of course. Yes. Absolutely. Sony

Thank you. Now...

You'll find I'm a very good listener.

Now, let's move on to the late terminal stages,

where a patient is, to all intents,
in a non—communicating coma state.

Remember this one thing. You don't know
whether they can hear you or not,

so don't say anything
you wouldn't say to their faces.

Like how they don't like the Swedish.

— What?
— Well, that might upset them.

— Why?
— Well, they might be Swedish.

I think we'll break for a cup of tea now.

So your husband was a bank manager, eh?

Well, that's a real coincidence, Tess,
because, as it happens,

I'm very good at massage.

That's who they should put in the brochure.

Basil, the sex pistol.

Never mind your counselling for the dying.

just tell the old ducks they'll get
the best servicing this side of the grave,

they'll be climbing over the wall.

Don't be vulgar, Diana.

Mind you, if that one gets up steam,
we may never see the little beggar again.

Diana!

— You were saying.
— Well...

I wonder if we ought
to buy him some distress flares.

— Diana!
— I'm sorry. Carry on.

Do you want to know
about my survey or don't you?

Oh, just tell me about your boring survey.

Well, as a former accountant,
I've interviewed the residents,

re their personalities, medical histories
and sorted them into types,

from which I can predict
their probable lifespans.

You've worked out a timetable
of when we're going to snuff it?

— Sort of.
— How grotesque.

So, from this list, I can work out
who I ought to be counselling

for their meeting with
Mr. Grim Reaper Esquire.

Never heard anything so daft,
predicting who's going to die.

just sup your soup and shut up.

Counselling, schmounseling.

— Diana.
— What?

You've led a very full
and rewarding life, haven't you?

I'll bloody kill you!

Yes, well, I think
it's very admirable, Dad. Don't you, dear?

— What?
— Dad's counselling.

On the council? I didn't know
he was on the council.

No, dear. Counselling,
talking to people who need help.

I do not need help. I'm fine.

Really, I am. Fine.

Everything totally under control.

Is she all right? I mean all right
within the very limited terms

one would use the word in relation to Marion.

She's breaking in a new tranquilliser.

Seems to be working.

What were you saying about high—risk groups?

Yes, well, I checked with a few quacks
and my field work is pretty accurate.

Fascinating. Where would I come
on your risk ladder?

Oh, you're way down,
low on the list, Geoffrey.

Non—smoking, non—drinking,
stamp—collecting Liberal Democrat,

you'll live for years
and do absolutely nothing.

So there's something to be said for being me?

I didn't say that.

What about Marion? What's her risk factor?

Don't let her start any long shopping lists.

(Diana) Tom! Tom!

Out here!

— What is it?
— It's Basil. I think you'd better come.

Oh...

(Tom) What happened?

I don't know.

Widow Twanky there probably rolled over
and flattened the poor little chap.

Have you phoned a quack?

Harvey's a bit concerned
about the er...circumstances.

— What?
— It wouldn't look too good in the papers.

Pensioners... Well, you know...

Thingy, all over the place. Coronaries...

Get the doctor at once, you bloody fool.

All right, all right.

Jane, get Tess back to her place
and not a word to anyone.

This is a respectable retirement village,
not a geriatric knocking shop.

Has he gone?

No, he's still with us.

Bas, can you hear me?

Bas?

— He may be on the brink.
— Oh, my God.

— He's probably half in and half out.
— Of what?

Of his body.
The transition phase, it's called.

I expect he's hovering about above us,
watching all this.

Basil, stop frigging about and get the bloody
hell back down here immediately.

That's not the way to do it.

— His going must be a warm experience.
— What do you mean?

— Are you going to set fire to him?
— No.

just be quiet.

Bas, old chum,
you have every reason to be happy.

A great life.
Lived, traveled, loved...definitely loved.

Remember, we love you too.

Most profoundly. Don't we, Diana?

— Love...him?
— Yes.

He's all right, I suppose.

Kiss him, Diana.

— Me?
— Yes.

Now what are we supposed to do?

Hold hands and concentrate
our spiritual energies.

Come on. Hold hands.

His...as well.

And concentrate.

(Hums)

This is rubbish, Tom. Surely we should be
bashing him on the chest or something.

just do it, woman! The man is dying.

(Hums)

Christ.

(Hums)

Goodness, love, God and the power
of light be with you, Basil.

(Hums)

Ditto.

(Both hum)

Hey!

— Well, it wasn't my fault.
— Of course it was.

You were the one
who came running in in a panic.

— You're supposed to be the expert.
— Well, I don't think he was asleep.

I think it was our combined prayers
for him that brought him back.

He said he was asleep.

He denied all knowledge of
floating round the light fittings.

He said he woke up to find
a couple of...nutters by his bedside.

You were far too hasty.

Yes. You're probably right.

I remember when I lived
with Marion and Geoffrey,

all I had to do was nod off
in front of the telly

and she was out with the measuring tape
and the embalming fluid.

Ambulances, doctors...
The randy midget was just having a kip.

— I feel very silly.
— Would you have preferred it if he'd died?

Yes, absolutely, would have been
a lot less embarrassing.

In the future, if he wishes
to bonk himself into oblivion,

then just let him sleep it off
in his own good time.

Oh, Diana.

You're such a wonderful person.

I think when you die,
you should be stuffed and mounted.

Like an eagle, with talons on a branch
and a dead stoat in your mouth.

What ho, Jane! Has Widow Tess
got over her palpitations yet?

Jane?

I tucked her in.

She was really glad that Basil was fine.

She went to sleep
with a smile on her face.

— And?
— And then she passed away in her sleep!

Oh. Have you called her family?

No, she hasn't any. She was all alone.

Well, we'll have to put that to rights.

— "In the midst of life, we are in death..."
— (Steel band plays)

"..of whom may we seek for succour
but of Thee, O Lord,

"Who for our sins,
art justly displeased..."

(Diana) The steel band's
a bit over the top.

(Tom) Well, I couldn't find any Vikings.