All language subtitles for angelas ashes

When I look back on my childhood,

I wonder how my brothers and I
managed to survive at all.

It was, of course,
a miserable childhood.

The happy childhood
is hardly worth your while.

Worse than the ordinary
miserable childhood...

is the miserable
Irish childhood.

And worse yet is the miserable
Irish Catholic childhood.

You beautiful wee thing.

You are. Look at you.

So gorgeous.

What is it?

It's a beautiful wee girl,
Mrs. Leibowitz.

After four boys. Can you believe it?
A wee girl.

What name is it, Malachy?

It's Margaret Mary.

Oh, she's so beautiful,
Minnie.

Brown hair and blue eyes.

Just like her mom.

BeautifuI wee thing.

Aren't you?

Come on, Eugene.

Oliver, come on. Splash.
Eugene, come on. Stop crying.

Good boy.

We're in the bath. Bubbles.
Don't cry, Eugene. Don't cry.

- Hey, Eugene, look at my bum. Ooh.
- Malachy, stop showing your bum.

I'm only trying
to make them laugh.

Come on, Oliver.
Come on. Stop crying.

Swee tJesus in heaven,
Malachy.

She's awful quiet, Angela.

A wee bit cold.

I'll get Mrs. Leibowitz.

Everyone loved little Margaret.

Dad said there must have been a holiday
in heaven the day this baby was made.

Dad said he would
get a job soon...

and buy her dresses of silk
and shoes with silver buckles.

Poor little Margaret.

Just a few days in this world
and she was taken back...

by the same angels
who brought her here.

- God, look at these twins.
- Stop crying, Ollie.

Eugene, please.

Frankie, I can't do this.
Where do I put the pin?

Me dad said
he was going for cigarettes,

and the twins
just screamed and screamed.

Thank God for Mrs. Leibowitz
who lived upstairs.

Boys, oh, my.
What happened to you, huh?

Where's your mother?
What do you want?

We've got no dinner.

Now eat
just a little bit more.

Come on, Angela.
You have to eat.

Good. Good. Good.
Good. Good. Good.

Come on. Come on.

Mommy.

Oh, my God.

The children
are naked, Delia.

Where did Angela get
such filthy habits?

Her mother
was always spotless.

Yech!
The stink is awful!

It's the twins.
Their arses are shitty.

It's a mouth like a sewer
you have. No wonder.

With a father
from the North of Ireland...

with his funny manner
and his Protestant ways.

You could go to hell saying a thing
like that. Where is your father?

He went for cigarettes.

- Two days ago.
- I'll break his face, I swear.

Dad will be home soon.

Come on, Oliver.
Come on, Eugene.

Get paper and a pen, Delia.
We have a letter to write.

My aunts wrote to my mam's mother...

to send money
for the tickets.

We must have been the only
Irish family in history...

to be saying good-bye to
the Statue of Liberty instead of hello.

We were going back to Ireland
where there was no work...

and people were dying
of the starvation and the damp.

It made no sense to me,
but what did I know.

I was only five
going on six.

Christ, look at that coat.

Get you buttoned up.

There we are now.

I'll take him
to the lavatories,

then I'm off to see
the I.R.A. man for me money.

Francis, you can come with me
for the company, eh?

I'll be needing him
to help me here.

Won't I be needing him
to help me carry all the money?

All right, Frankie, you can
go with your pop. Malachy!

Malachy, don't go
to the lavatory there.

- I can't stop.
- Peeing all over me.

It's coming out.

Da, Da, wait for me.
I wanna go.

No record?

But I did my bit
for Ireland.

I fought with the Flying Columns
during the Troubles.

Had a price on my head.

Had to be smuggled
to America.

There's no record
of your service here. None.

But I have a wife
and four children.

I'm raising my sons
to love Ireland.

Look. Please.

We have nothing.

I'm sorry. We can't
be handing out money...

to every man
who wanders in here...

saying he did his bit
for Ireland.

I'll look into your claim.

I'll let you know
what turns up.

Here's money for the bus
back into the city.

You couldn't add to that
to make the price of a pint, could you?

It's the drink
you're after, is it?

One pint
is hardly a drink.

You'd make that child walk back
into Dublin because you're after a pint?

Remember this, Francis,
this is the new Ireland.

Wee men in wee chairs
with wee bits of paper.

I think you should leave.
Declan, the door.

And don't bother
coming back.

This is the Ireland
men died for, is it?

Come on, Frankie.
Free, my arse.

We're not handing out money
to support the Guinness family.

He wanted to marry her off
to the King of Sicily.

But the beautiful
young Wilgefortis,

she didn't want to be marrying
no scabby old man, did she?

So, she prayed to God
for help.

And do you know
what he did, Frankie?

No, what did he do?

He grew a moustache
and a beard on her face.

- He didn't.
- He did.

Malachy,
move away from that window.

Frank, take Eugene,
and don't forget your bag.

Put your coat on.
Malachy, put your coat on now.

I'm telling you
I'll kick you so hard.

Here. There you go.

Oliver's been sick on my jumper.

Hello, Mam.

Oh, come on.

This is Malachy.

Mrs. Sheehan,
pleased to meet you.

And Aggie.

Hi, Aggie.
How are you?

And Pat.

Hi, Pat.

What are you staring at?

Nothing.

Grandma said
she had no room for us in her house,

so she gave us 10 shillings
for two weeks' rent...

in an upstairs room
in Windmill Street,

near my mam's sister Aggie.

- Mind yourself, Mrs. Sheehan.
- Look at that.

- I'll take the weight.
- Why is the heart on fire?

It's the sacred heart
of Jesus.

Don't these children
know anything about their religion?

Ah, mom, it's different
in America.

The Sacred Heart is everywhere.
Even in America.

There's no excuse
for that kind of ignorance.

Look. That's the Baby Jesus.

And if you ever need anything,
you should pray to him.

Will you tell Jesus
that we're hungry?

Shut up!

- Ma!
- Ma!

They're biting me!

- Mom, I'm bleeding!
- Hold your noise now.

Look! Look at Malachy!
His arm's all bloody!

It's the fleas, Angela.
They're everywhere.

- Malachy, out of the bed.
- Jesus, will we get no rest?

- Malachy, come on. Pull.
- Let's take the mattress downstairs.

- Pull, Malachy, pull.
- Come on. Come to me.

- Get the mattress downstairs.
- There's fleas on the floor!

- That's it, on the ground.
- Ouch!

Malachy, we're surely gonna
catch our death out here...

and you'll be getting pneumonia.

Me dad said
that if a man could jump like a flea,

one leap would take him
halfway to the moon.

Once a flea has bit a human being,
the smell of blood is too much for them.

They're ready
for the lunatic asylum.

They were brought over by the English,
to keep us up at night...

and drive us
out of our wits entirely.

Because the English knew
that the fleas,

they multiply faster
than the Hindus.

- What's the water for, Dad?
- They do. They do!

I wouldn't put it past the English.

St. Patrick drove the snakes out of
Ireland; the English brought the fleas.

And the damp.

We loved our dad's stories.

Hey, wait a minute.
I need some coal.

I've got a docket here
from St. Vincent de Paul.

Mister, please.

Francis. Fra-
put that down.

Don't pick coal
off the road.

We're not beggars.

It's terrible. Look.

No pride, Frankie.

Come on!

I can't believe you.

This baby's sick,
and he needs a hot drink.

Now, if you're too grand
to pick coal off the road, I'm not.

Frankie. Malachy!

Okay, come on. Let's go.

Oh, shit!

Malachy, come on.

Angela, come on.

It's a rabbit she is,
that Angela.

I don't see why we should
be paying for her mistakes.

Five born and one gone and so useless
she can't even scrub a floor.

Go easy with the sugar.
We're not millionaires.

She was always angry, was Aunt Aggie.

Me dad said it was a good thing she
didn't own the stable in Bethlehem...

or the Holy Family would be wandering
the world still crumbling with hunger.

I swear the skinny fella's
the image of his father.

Aye, with the odd look
and the sour puss and all.

I think this fella likes me.
'Tis Al Jolson he thinks I am.

I think we'll keep
this little fella.

- No, he's our brother!
- That's Eugene.

- You can't keep him.
- Don't bother.

I wouldn't want anything that was half
Limerick and half North of Ireland.

- You should be so lucky.
- Don't worry. I'll have me own someday.

If I have to crawI to Lourdes
on me two bended knees.

Oh, did you bang your foot?
Show me your foot.

I'll go down to Thompsons
the undertakers...

to see about the coffi n
and the carriage.

The St. Vincent de Paul Society
will surely pay for that.

God knows.

Oh, son.

Jesus, I said to meself,
I have so much gas in my system,

'tis a great pity
to waste it.

So I shove a pipe up my arse,
light a match to it...

and there I have a fine flame
ready to boiI water in any billy can.

The English come from trenches...

to pay me any amount of money
to boiI their water.

That's no story to be telling
in the presence of a dead child.

'Tis better than sitting
with a long face.

I made so much money in the trenches
that I was able to bribe the generals,

who didn't normally
give a fiddler's fart about the Irish,

to let me out of the army,
and off I went to Paris,

where I had a fine time
drinking wine...

with the models and artists
and talkin' the lingo.

You think that's funny, do you?
I had a great time over there.

Requiem aeternam dona ei,
Domine, et luxperpetua luceat ei.

Requiescat in pace.

Anima eius, et anime omnium
fidelium defunctorum,

per misericordiam Dei,
requiescant in pacem.

In nomine Patris, et Filii,
et Spiritus Sancti.

Amen.

I don't know why we can't keep Oliver.

I don't know why they sent him
away in a box like my sister.

It's not right.

I wish I could say something
to someone.

Dad said he was going
to the Labor Exchange to get the dole.

He'd be home by noon, he said,
and he'd have rashers and eggs and tea.

He wasn't home by noon...

- or 1.00...
- On your feet.

or 2.00...

or anytime before the sun
went down that day in May.

Fight! Fight!

Fight! Fight! Fight!
Fight! Fight! Fight!

Come here. Stop! Quit that now!
Quit! Stop, I said!

Quit now!

You little hooligan.

Is that the kind of behavior
you brought from America? Is it?

Well, you come on with me.

I'll put the fighting
out of you, boy.

My little
Yankee Doodle Dandy.

The masters at Leamy's
SchooI all have straps and sticks.

They hit you if you don't know
that God made the world,

or if you don't know
the patron saint of Limerick.

They hit you if you can't say
the HaiI Maryin Irish...

or if you can't ask
for the lavatory pass in Irish.

They hit you if you laugh,
if you're late, if you talk.

One master will hit you if you
don't know that Eamon De Valera...

was the greatest man
that ever lived.

Another will hit you if you don't know
that MichaeI Collins...

was the greatest man
that ever lived.

McCourt.

You're a bad Yank, McCourt.
What are you?

They said we were cowboys
and gangsters, sir.

- I was only joking, sir.
- No more jokes.

- It's not their fault they're Yanks.
- T'isn't, sir.

You should go down
on your two knees every night...

and give thanks to God
that you're not a Yank.

If you were, Al Capone himself would be
coming to you for instruction.

I know Oliver is dead.

Malachy knows
Oliver is dead,

but little Eugene is only two
and too small to know anything.

Malachy and I make him laugh,

pull faces,
put pots on our heads,

take him to the park,
show him the flowers.

Me dad says Eugene is lucky to have
such brothers like me and Malachy.

He died anyway.

Ma.

Please, God,

is this what you want, is it?

I'm not supposed
to question this, am I?

You took my son, Oliver.

You took his brother, Eugene.

You took their beautiful
wee sister, Margaret Mary.

Dear God above,

why do you want
the wee children to die?

Please, God, don't let Malachy
and me and the rest of us...

be taken off in the box
for the hole in the ground.

Or even Aunt Aggie
or Mr. Benson at Leamy's School.

In the name of the Father
and of the Son and of the Holy Toast.

Be going
in a minute, son.

No, that's Eugene's coffin.

I'll tell mam you put your pint
on Eugene's coffin.

- Have another pint, mister.
- Will you wait outside a few minutes?

- No!
- Jesus, if that was my son,

I'd kick his arse
from here to County Kerry.

I mean, if a man can't have a pint
on the day of a funeraI,

what use
is living at all?

I couldn't have spent
another minute in that room.

I saw me little twins
morning, noon and night.

If we hadn't have moved,
I'd have gone out of my mind...

and ended up
in the lunatic asylum.

I'm sorry, but it was
only five months ago.

And before that,
I lost my little girl in New York.

And I've the two boys here
and I've one on the way.

Ah, now, missus,
sit down, will you?

Thanks.

That's a nice coat
you're wearing.

It was given to me
by my cousin in Brooklyn. It's not new.

McCourt. That's not
a Limerick name.

Where'd you get
a name like that?

My husband, sir.
He's from the North.

Why don't you go to Belfast and see
what they can do for you up there?

I don't know, sir.

Of course you don't know.

There's great ignorance
in the world.

I said there's a great deal
of ignorance in the world.

And what do you want
from us?

There isn't a stick of furniture
in the new place.

- Does your husband have a job?
- No, sir, he's on the dole.

We'll give you a docket
for a table, two chairs and two beds.

You can take it to the second hand
furniture shop in Irish town.

Excuse me, sir,
but will the beds be second hand?

Of course they will.

I'm worried about sleeping
in beds people might have died in.

Especially if they died
of the consumption.

Beggars can't be choosers,
Mrs. McCourt.

Thanks.

I should say
it's a good fire.

Could it be true

Hey, hey,
that's my wife.

Someone like you

Who's he?

That, Francis,
is Pope Leo XIII,

and he was a great friend
of the working man.

You know, I found this in an alley
in Brooklyn in someone's rubbish.

No doubt thrown away by some eejit
that had no time for the working man.

Ugh, what's that stink?

Hey, what are you doing?

Why are you emptying your bucket
in our lavatory?

Your lavatory, mister? Ah, no.
I think you're mistaken there.

This here is the lavatory
for the whole lane, it is.

The buckets of 11 families
get flushed down here every day.

And it gets fairly powerful here
in the warm weather.

So powerful you'll be
calling for a gas mask.

So, good night to you.
Missus.

I hope you'll be happy
in the house.

Thanks very much.

And there was this big man,
and he came along and he met this woman,

and he grew a big huge beard
all over her face,

and then they got married.

Have we moved again,
Frankie?

No, they wouldn't go
without the Pope.

Oh,Jesus, look at the state ofyouse.
Couple of drowning rats.

Get your wet clothes off,
dry yourself by the fire,

and say hello
to your brother Michael.

He's fatter
than the Baby Jesus.

He's the spitting image of your dead
little sister...

with the lovely blue eyes
and the gorgeous eyebrows.

Why are we
all upstairs?

The downstairs is full of the damp.
It's killing us one by one.

That lavatory could kill us
with every class of disease.

It was the Limerick damp
that killed your wee brothers.

We'll be dry up here for now.
We'll go downstairs for the spring.

It's like going away on holiday
to a nice, warm, foreign place,

like- like Italy.

- Italy?
- Aye, we could be in Sorrento.

Calcutta, more like.

- What about the Pope?
- He can stay downstairs in Ireland.

Will you look at the state
of those children's shoes?

I can't go to the St. Vincent's
for boots.

I'm too weak to be standing
in the queue.

There was a woman who had triplets
waiting forever in that queue.

Have you no pride, Angela,
begging like that?

What would you do,
Mr. Grand Manner?

You'd let them go barefoot
before you got off your arse,

useless feck that you are.

Right.

Useless feck, is it?

We'll see.

It's poor I am.

It's unlucky I am.

But it's useless...

I'm not.

Look at those shoes!

- Where are your shoes?
- Don't know, sir.

Of course you know, boy.
Where are they?

Did your mommy not put
on your shoes this morning?

Did you come to schooI
without shoes, did you?

How many times have you been told about
walking the streets in your bare feet?

By God, I'll boot
the bare feet out of you, boy.

Put them on, boy.

Quiet!

Do I hear sneering
in this class?

Do I hear jeering
at another's misfortune?

Is there any boy in this class
who thinks he's perfect?

If so, raise your hands.

Is there any boy here now who has money
galore to be spending on shoes?

Raise your hands.

No.

There are boys in this class
who have no shoes at all,

and it's not
their fault.

It's not their shame.

Our Lord had no shoes.

He died shoeless.

You don't see Him
hanging on the cross sporting shoes.

- Do you, boys?
- No, sir!

What is it you don't see
Our Lord doing?

Hanging on the cross
sporting shoes.

"Hanging on the cross
sporting shoes," what?

Hanging on the cross
sporting shoes, sir.

Everyday,
me dad would look for a job,

- somehow, he never seemed to get one.
- We've enough for today.

- Mam said it was his Northern accent.
- No work here. Sorry.

Grandma said it was because
of his funny manner.

Me dad knew those
lanes like the back of his hand.

He walked them often enough
when he couldn't get work...

and was too ashamed
to come home to me mam.

That's why
we loved Easter.

Because it was at Easter
that me dad got his first job.

The dipsy doodle
is the thing to beware

The dipsy doodle
is gonna get in your hair

And if it gets to you
it couldn't be worse

The things you say
will all come out in reverse

Don't go
up the mine, Manny

That's the way
the dipsy doodle works

The dipsy doodle
is a way to do fine

It's almost always
at the back of your mind

You never know it's there
untiI it's too late

And then you get
in such a terrible state

Will you stop it?

Maybe if you weren't
strangling me, I'd be fine.

- Stop it.
- When you think you're crazy

It was only
at the Limerick Cement Factory,

but he still wore
a collar and tie.

He said a man without a tie
had no respect for himself.

Come on.

In Mount joy jaiI

One Monday morning

High upon the gallows tree

Kevin Barry
gave his young life

For the cause
of liberty

For Jesus' sake,
put a sockin it!

Some of us have to go
to feckin' work in the morning!

Yet there's
no one can deny

As he walked to death
that morning

He proudly
held his head

His head up high

Francis! Malachy!

Come down here, boys.
I have the Friday penny for you.

No. Be quiet.

Up, boys!

Those Red Branch Knights!

Those Fenian men!

The glorious I.R.A.!

Up! Up! Up!

I have the Friday penny
for you, boys.

You line up
like soldiers now,

and promise to die
for Ireland.

- I don't want it.
- I don't want it either.

Damn!

When we woke up the next morning,

he was still asleep.

He missed work
and lost his job.

And what do I have here,
Clohessy?

Strips of newspaper, sir.

And what do they
represent, Clohessy?

Pieces of
the Limerick Leader, sir.

No!

The body and blood
of Christ.

If you don't pay more attention,
it'll be the Last Rites...

you'll be getting,
not your Holy Communion.

Irish is the language
of patriots...

and English
of traitors and informers.

But Latin-
ah, boys, Latin-

that the Holy Martyrs
spoke before expiring...

in the foaming mouths
of ravenous lions.

Yes, it's Latin that gains
entrance to heaven itself.

But there are boys
in this class...

who will never know
Sanctifying Grace.

And why?
Because of greed.

Those greedy little black guards
are talking even now...

about the money they'll
get from the Collection.

They'll go from house to house
in their little suits like beggars.

And will they take
any of that money...

and send it to the poor black babies
in Africa as they should?

Oh, no.

It's off to the cinema
the First Communion boys will go...

to wallow
in the disgusting filth...

spewed across the world
by the devil's henchmen...

in Hollywood.

- Isn't that right, McCourt?
- 'Tis, sir.

Don't speak, you! Can't you see
that God is on your tongue?

Where is God, boys?

On his tongue, sir.

On his tongue.

My friend, Mikey Molloy,

tells us all about
how much money we'll make...

at the Collection
after our First Communion,

when we all knock
on the neighbors' doors...

and get as much as five shillings
for sweets and cakes...

and even go to the Lyric Cinema
to see James Cagney.

- I seen it three times.
- What happens in it?

Also, Mikey is the expert
in the lane on girls' bodies...

and dirty things
in generaI.

Now, on top, the girls
have great floppy things called titties.

And at the end of them,
great red things like dogs' noses.

And down at the bottom-
Now that's an entirely different matter.

- They don't have a mickey down there.
- What do they have?

I can tell you, but I don't think
he should hear it.

Malachy, go away.

Eww! Yuck!

Oh, look, I'll take
one of these as well.

In the name of the Father
and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.
This is my first confession.

Yes, my child.
And what sins have you committed?

I told a lie,
I hit my brother,

I stole a penny
from my mother's purse,

and I ate a sausage
on Friday.

Yes, my child,
anything else?

I listened to dirty things
about girls from the lanes...

who don't care what they do
because they-

because they've already
done it with their brothers.

And who told you these things?

- Mikey Molloy, Father.
- Hmm.

For your penance, say three HaiI Marys,
three Our Fathers,

and say a speciaI
prayer for me.

Am I one of the worst boys,
Father?

No, mychild.
You have a long way to go.

Wake up! Wake up!

His First Communion,
the happiest day of his life,

and the lot of you
still snoring in there.

Here, you two,
get up. Go on.

Look at him.
A bar of soap wouldn't be lost on him.

I'll be red raw.

I swear it's
the Northern Ireland in you.

It attracts the dirt.

You've the dirty gob
of your father.

Aah! That's cold.

Jesus, you have enough dirt
in your ears...

to grow potatoes.

Will you look at that mop?
It won't lie down.

You didn't get this hair
from our side of the family.

This is North of Ireland hair
you got from your father.

It's like- like what
you'd see on a Presbyterian.

Will you stop
spitting on me?

A little spit
won't kill you.

If your mother had married a proper,
decent Limerick man,

you wouldn't have stand-up,
North of Ireland, Protestant hair.

And we wouldn't be late.

Corpus Christi.

Corpus Christi.

Corpus Christi.

Will you stop your clucking
and get back to your seat?

Corpus Christi.

Mam, can I go now
and make the Collection?

I want to go to the Lyric
to see James Cagney.

You can't make the Collection
untiI you've had...

a proper First Communion breakfast
at my house.

Mam.

Will you look at him?
The manners of a pig.

He eats like a Presbyterian.

Is it a millionaire you think I am?
An American?

Is there any more tea
in the pot, Mam?

- Aye.
- I could do with a cup.

You allright, Frankie?

- What's the matter, Frankie?
- What's wrong with that child?

Look what he did! He's thrown up
the body and blood of Jesus.

What am I to do?
I have God in me backyard!

I'm taking you
to the priest.

That was a dreadful thing
you did in my backyard.

In the name of The Father
and of The Son and of the Holy Ghost.

Bless me, Father,
for I have sinned.

It's been a day
since my last confession.

A day?

And what sins have you committed
in a day, my son?

I overslept, and I nearly missed
my First Communion.

My hair stuck up
like a Protestant's,

and I threw up my First
Holy Communion breakfast.

Now me grandma says she has God
in her backyard and what shall she do?

Tell your grandma to wash it away
with a little water.

Holy water
or ordinary water?

- He didn't say, Grandma.
- Well, go back and ask him.

In the name of The Father
and of The Son and of The Holy Ghost.

Forgive me, Father,
for I have sinned.

It's been a minute
since my last confession.

A minute? Are you the boy
that was just here?

- I am, Father.
- What is it now?

My grandma says holy water
or ordinary water?

He says ordinary water,
and don't go bothering him again.

Bothering him?

Well, the ignorant
old bog trotter.

There wasn't anytime
for the Collection. Not a penny.

So Mikey Molloy pretended
to have one of his fits...

so that I could slip in
when no one was looking.

- Missus, quick, He's having a fit!
- Is he all right?

Mr. O'Brien, quick!

Watch he doesn't
swallow his tongue.

Does anyone know what to do?

- No, don't. I'll do anything.
- Oh, no, you won't.

You've had your last chance.
You can take this with you.

Shoot him!

All you
had to do was bump me off.

- Do you want a toffee?
- Thanks.

I'm glad I did the First Communion.

I'm glad I got my First Confession
over and done with.

Now I'm free to grow up.
Old enough to be ten, anyway.

Old enough to pay the ultimate penance
for growing up.

Worse than joining
the army or the police...

or going to Australia
or becoming a nun in Africa.

Worse than that,
I had to learn Irish dancing.

I don't want to learn it.
Ow. What did you do that for?

Just don't want to learn
how to dance.

...and back and back.

Up and back
and one, two.

Lift up your feet,
for the love of Jesus.

One, two, three. And one, two, three.
And up and back, and one, two, three.

And up and back,
andone, two, three.

If my mates saw me
making a pure eejit out of meself...

at the Irish dancing,
I'd be disgraced forever.

I want to be Fred Astaire.

Irish dancers look like they have
steeI rods stuck up their arses.

Would you stop the frowning
Frankie McCourt?

You've a face on you
like a pound of tripe.

And up and back, and one, two, three.
And up and back, and one, two, three.

The next time I went to dancing lessons,
I bumped into Paddy Clohessy.

- Hi, Frankie.
- Hiya, Paddy. How you doing?

- Not too bad. You?
- Grand. Catch.

Frankie, I'm telling you,
that dancing stuff is for sissies.

You won't be able
to play football next.

- I won't?
- You'll be running around girlie-like.

- Shut up.
- Everyone will be laughing at you.

- They will?
- Next thing, you'll be knitting socks.

I was finished with the dancing.

Every Saturday, my mam's sixpence
got me and Paddy into the Lyric...

with enough left to stuff our gobs
with Cleeves' toffee.

Yay!

I was so happy, I didn't know whether
to shit or go blind.

Every week, I'd take the money
and skip the dancing...

and go to the pictures.

When I got home,
I'd make up the dancing...

- and pretend I had a poker up my arse.
- Well done, son.

Hitler shows himself in his true colors.

He marches his troops
into the Rhineland...

in defiance of the terms
of the Treaty of Versailles.

The swastika
spreads its eviI shadow.

Sir, what use is Euclid when the Germans
are bombing everything in sight?

What use is Euclid?

Without Euclid,

the Messerschmitt could never
have taken to the sky...

and dart
from cloud to cloud...

and bomb the be jesus
out of the English,

who deserve it after what they
did to the Irish for 800 years.

Euclid is grace
and beauty...

and elegance.

- Do you understand that, boys?
- We do, sir.

- We do, sir.
- I doubt it.

To love Euclid is to be alone
in this world.

You. Clohessy.

Who stood at the foot of the cross
when our Lord was crucified?

The Twelve Apostles, sir?

Clohessy, what is
the Irish word for fool?

Omadhaun, sir.

Sir. I know who stood
at the foot of the cross, sir.

It was
the three Marys, sir.

That's Fintan Slattery.

He's going to be a saint
when he gets older.

Everyone know she wears
his sister's blouse at night...

and curls his hair
with hot iron tongs...

so that he'll look gorgeous
at Mass on Sundays.

It's no wonder
we played truant.

Chickens!

Of all the girls I've known
and I've known some

Untill first met you
I was lonesome

And when you came in sight
my heart grew light

And this old world
seemed new to me

You're really swell
I have to admit you

Deserve expressions
that really fit you

Hurry up, Frankie.
I can't hold them.

I've racked my brain hoping to explain
all the things that you do to me

Bei mir bist du schon
please let me explain

Frankie, there's
nothing in the world...

like a good feed of apples
and a drink of water...

and a good shit and plenty of grass
to wipe your arse with.

Paddy, quick, wipe your arse.
It's milking time!

Will you wait for me?
Frankie, wait.

Frankie, you're doing it wrong.
You've got to pull it down.

- You have to squeeze down.
- Shut up!

- Shut up!
- Frankie, don't!

- Hey, clear off, you little bastards!
- Run, Paddy, run!

I'll give you such a kick in the hole,
you won't know what hit you.

Here, piggy.

Mikey Molloy persuaded
us to go to Peter Dooley's house.

Peter Dooley has a hump like
the one Charles Laughton had...

in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

That's why they call him
Quasimodo.

Oh, and he has these four sisters
with the enormous breasts.

Okay, it's a shilling
for the three of you.

Climb up the spout, and each of youse
have a look, but no wankin'.

I've my own sisters. Why should I pay
to see your naked sisters?

'Cause looking at your own naked sisters
is the worst sin ofall.

Not even a bishop in the world could
forgive you for it.

What canyousee?

- Oh, it's grand.
- Can you see their tits?

I said no wankin'.
There's to be no wankin' up the spout.

- Oh, it's grand.
- I said no wankin' up the spout!

- You perverted bunch of filth!
- Let go!

My daughters can't even wash
themselves on a Friday night!

Poor Quasimodo. He was right.

Gawking at your own naked sisters
is the worst sin of all.

Except when you charge
a shilling for the pleasure.

That's worse still.

Introibo adaltare Dei.
And then you say?

Ad Deum quila etificat
juventutem meam.

Right. Introibo adaltare Dei,
and then you say?

Ad Deum quila etificat
juventutem meam.

Very good. Again.
Introibo ad-

Ad Deum quila etificat
juventutem mean.

Hello. How are you?
This is my son, Francis.

He can recite the Latin,
and he's ready to be an altarboy.

- Ad Deum-
- I'm sorry. We have no room.

Never mind, son.

Sacred Stan
said there was no room for him.

I'll tell you
what it is.

'Tis class distinction.

They don't want the boys
from the lanes at the altar.

They don't want the ones
with the scabby knees...

and their arses hanging
out of their trousers.

They want the boys with the nice shoes
and the clean hair...

and the fathers
with the steady jobs.

Not useless like you.

That's what it is.

And it's hard to hang on
to your faith.

You buy pints for people you don't know
who tell you you're a grand man,

while your children are at home with
their bellies stuck to their backbones.

Aye, you're right.

I'll get a job.
I promise.

If you get a job,
you lose it the third week...

because you drink
all the wages...

and you miss the work.

We'll get by, Angela.

I'll change.

The dole is 19 shillings
and the rent is 6.

And that leaves 13 shillings
to feed and clothe 5 people.

God is good, you know.

God might be good
for someone somewhere,

but he hasn't been seen lately
in the lanes of Limerick.

Oh, Angela.

You could go to hell
for saying that.

Aren't I there already,
Malachy?

Come here.
Come here.

And then the angels
left another baby on the stairs again.

What are you going
to call him, Angela?

I like the name
Kevin or Sean.

If you called out the door,
"Kevin, Sean, come in for your tea,"

you'd have half of Limerick
running at you.

- I like the name Alphonsus.
- Alphonsus?

That's a stupid name.

Ah, Jesus Christ!

- Don't curse!
- Will you leave the poor child alone?

I wondered how many more babies...

the angels would leave
on the stairs.

Someone else
to share my dinner with.

Ow. What did you
do that for?

Don't laugh.
Now you know what it feels like.

At least my grandpa in the North...

sent us five pounds
for the baby Alphie.

All right. You go home and tell your
mother I'll be back in a few minutes.

You're not to go
to the pub, Da.

Mom said you're
to bring home the money.

- You're not to drink the pint.
- Now listen.

- You go home to your mother now.
- Da.

Give us the money.
That money is for the new baby.

Da!

Please, Da.

Go home!

Will you come in here,
Frankie?

I want you to go down
to South's Pub,

and I want you to stand
in the middle of the pub...

and tell every man that your father
is drinking the money for the baby.

You're to tell the world there's not
a scrap of food in the house.

There's not a lump of coal
for the fire.

There's not even a drop of milk
for the baby's bottle.

Oh, come on.

And I pray that the world
would in peace let me be

And the green glens
of Antrim

Are welcoming me

And if you only knew

How the light of the moon

My heart is banging
away, and all I can think of doing...

is giving him a good kick
in the leg and running away.

- You'd imagine a picture
- But I don't.

Because I remember all the nice times
he sat me by the fire...

and told me his stories of Cuchulain,
Roosevelt and De Valera.

Later, he'll be home singing and
offering us a penny to die for Ireland.

It'll be different now.

Because it's bad enough
to drink the dole or the wages,

but a man who drinks the money for
a new baby has gone beyond the beyonds.

Mam.

I couldn't find him.

Go to bed, Frankie.

With Confirmation,

you will become
true soldiers of the Church.

That entitles you
to die a martyr...

in the event we're invaded
by Protestants...

or Mohammedans
or any other class of heathen.

You will have the gifts...

of the Holy Ghost.
wisdom...

understanding,
counseI.

What is the Third Station
of the Cross, my child?

When Jesus falls
for the first time.

What is the Fourth Commandment,
my child?

Honor thy father
and thy mother.

Are you allright, Frankie?

Father Gorey
is touching me with oiI and praying,

and that means
I'm going to die.

But I don't care.

And then Dr. Campbell
came in and held my hand.

It was then that I knew
I was going to get better.

Because a doctor
would never fart...

in the presence
of a dying boy.

They gave me a whole new body
full of blood.

Sister Rita said it came from
a soldier at Sarsfield Barracks.

Oh, son.

You're a grand old soldier.

What's wrong with me?

You've had the typhoid.

Don't go.

Hey, you're
a big boy now.

And don't forget you got
soldier's blood in you.

You're over
the worst of it.

Soon be home
to Sorrento.

That was the first
time my dad ever kissed me.

I felt so happy I could have floated
out of the bed.

Everyday, I couldn't wait
for the doctors and nurses...

to leave me alone so that
Icould read my books.

I loved having
a lavatory of my own...

where I could read
for hours and hours.

"To die, to sleep.
To sleep, perchance to dream.

Aye, there's the rub. "

Frankie, are you dead?

Isn't it grand, Seamus?
It's Shakespeare.

I loved the Shakespeare.

It was like having jewels in your mouth
when you said the words.

"I do believe, induced
by potent circumstances,

that thou art mine enemy. "

"I do believe, induced
by potent circumstances,

that thou art mine enemy. "

"I do believe, induced
by potent circumstances,

that thou art mine enemy. "

- Bye! Bye!
- There's Frankie.

But I missed me mom
and dad and Malachy...

and little MichaeI
and the baby Alphie- God knows why.

- Frankie, will you hurry up now?
- Bye.

It was a happy day
when I finally went home.

- Hello, Frankie.
- Welcome home, Frankie.

You're a grand soldier,
Frankie.

A credit to your
mother and father.

Welcome home, Frankie.

Hello, Frankie.

It's grand
to have you home, soldier.

Thank you, Mrs. Purcell.

Goodman, Frankie.

Ah, Francis, my boy.

But the moment
I saw me dad with Alphie on his lap...

was an empty feeling
in my heart,

because I know
he's out of work again.

- Welcome home, son.
- Da.

It's good to see you.

You too.

Get a wee sit, right?

St. Wilgefortis' mom
had nine children.

But still, I loved
having my dad to myself in the morning.

I loved his stories where motorcars
and planes went under water.

Submarines
flew up in the air,

and polar bears wrestled
with elephants on the moon.

He was the Holy Trinity, wasmy dad,
with three people in him.

The one in the morning with his tea
and Woodbines telling us the stories.

The one who tried so hard
to find work but never did.

And the one who came home at night
with the smell of whiskey on him.

But he was reading all the time
he was at the hospital.

I'm sorry, Mrs. McCourt.
He's missed over two months of school.

He'll have to go back to the fifth
class. I'm really very sorry.

Mom, I don't want to go back
to fifth class.

Malachy's in fifth class,
and I'm a year older than him.

Oh, come on, Frankie.

But all me friends will laugh at me
because I've been put back.

No.

What I needed was a miracle,

and it happened right there outside
the Our Lady Of Liberty Pub.

I looked up at her.
She smiled.

And when I looked down,
there was a penny.

I spent the penny
on a candle...

and prayed to St. Francis for him to
get me out of my little brother's class.

Our Father who art in heaven,
hallowed be Thy name-

Take that sour look off your puss,
Francis McCourt,

or you will feel
the end of my stick.

Francis McCourt
is going to show you...

how well he learned
to write in this class last year.

He's going to write a composition
on our Lord.

Aren't you, McCourt?

He's to tell us what it would be like
if our Lord had grown up in Limerick,

the holiest city in Ireland.

Wilgefortis' dad wanted to marry her
off to the King of Sicily,

but the beautiful,
young Wilgefortis...

was desperate not to marry
the scabby old man.

Oh.

And McCourt scores
a brilliant goal.

They said that Limerick
was the holiest city,

but everyone knewthe reason why there
were always people in the churches.

It was because
it was always raining,

and they were in there
to get out of the wet.

The name of my composition is-

Title, McCourt.
The title.

The title of my composition
is "Jesus and the Weather. "

What?

"Jesus and the Weather," sir.

All right, read it.

"I don't think Jesus,
who is our Lord,

would have liked
the weather in Limerick,

because it's always raining and
the Shannon keeps the whole city damp.

My father says the Shannon
is a killer river...

because it killed
my two brothers.

When you look at pictures
of Jesus,

He's always wandering around
ancient IsraeI in a sheet.

It never rains there, and you never hear
of anyone coughing...

or getting the consumption
or anything like that.

And no one has a job there,
because all they do is stand around,

eat manna, shake their fists,
and go to crucifixions.

Any time Jesus got hungry, all He had
to do was to walk up the road...

to a fig tree oran orange tree
and have His fill.

Or if He wanted a pint, He could
wave Hish and over a big glass...

and there was the pint.

Or He could visit Mary Magdalene
and her sister Martha,

and they'd give Him His dinner,
no questions asked.

So it's a good thing Jesus decided to
be born Jewish in that nice warm place.

Because if He was born in Limerick,
He'd catch the consumption...

and be dead in a month, and there
wouldn't be any Catholic Church,

and we wouldn't have to write
compositions about Him.

The end. "

Did you write this composition,
McCourt?

I did, sir.

The miracle worked.

I was back
in my old class.

Stock your mind.

It's your house
of treasure,

and no one in the world
can interfere with it.

Fill your mind with rubbish,
and it'll rot your head.

You might be poor,
your shoes might be broken,

but your mind-

your mind is a palace.

And McCourt gets the ball,
he goes round one man...

he goes up to the second man-

Peggy! Sean!

Kathleen,
come in for your tea.

Come in for
the lovely leg of lamb...

and the gorgeous green peas,
and the floury white potatoes.

Oh, shut up,
will you, woman?

It's a low-class mind
to torment your neighbors...

when there's nothing
but bread and tea we have.

Get off to work in England
like the rest of our husbands.

Go and help England
win a war?

I wouldn't give the English
the steam off my pish.

No, you'd rather
drink the dole...

and watch your sons
run around all skin and bone...

with their arse hanging out
of their trousers.

Kathleen,
come in for your tea.

If I could work,
I'd be in the English factories.

A factory's no place
for a woman.

Sitting on your arse
is no place for a man.

And the game restarts
in the second half.

He's got the ball.
He's going on the run.

Oh, you got
the ball off him.

Get off me, will you?

I'm worn out.

That's the end of it for me.
No more children.

A good Catholic woman should perform
her wifely duties.

Oh, feck off, will you?

You'll face
eternal damnation, Angela.

Well, as long as there
are no more children,

eternal damnation sounds just fine
to me, Malachy.

Come on, lads, come on.
You'll miss the train.

You'll miss a good job.
Come on.

We've got the Guinness, and we've
got the Jameson in England, all right?

Right. Uh-

Remember your religious duties.

And above all, you obey
your mother, right?

You're the man
of the house now, Francis.

Mind yourself.

Come on. Let's go.

Mam said all
we had to do was wait two weeks...

for the telegram
with the money order.

Soon we'd have enough money
for new boots and coats,

ham, cabbage
and potatoes for dinner,

electric light and maybe even a lavatory
like they have in America.

Now that Dad
is gone to England,

sure I your troubles
would be over.

Surely.

- Hello. Thank you very much.
- Hi.

- Thank you.
- There he is!

Hey, wait!
Has ours come?McCourt?

- No.
- Are you sure? It's our first telegram.

It should be for about three pounds
or maybe more.

- Sorry.
- Can you look in your pouch again?

I feckin' did already.
I've nothing for you.

- Who's a good boy?
- Alphie!

Begging for leftovers
is worse than the dole.

Worse than the St. Vincent
de PauI Charity. My own mother begging.

This is the worst kind
of shame-

begging for the leftovers
from the priests' dinner.

Like tinkers holding up
their scabby children on street corners.

Worse than borrowing
from the money lender, Mrs. Finucane.

There was
only one thing for it.

I had to get a job.

This is the best morning
of all, Frankie,

Saturday half day.

We start at 8:00 and finish
by the time the Angelus rings at 12:00.

The dipsy doodle
is the thing to beware

The dipsy doodle
is gonna get in your hair

And if it gets you
it couldn't be worse

The things you say will
all come out in reverse

Don't go up the mine,
Manny

That's the way
the dipsy doodle works

The dipsy doodle
isso easy to find

It's almost always
at the back of your mind

You never know it's there
untiI it's too late

And then you get
in such a terrible state

The moon jumped
over the cow, hey diddle

That's the way
the dipsy doodle works

The man who delivered 16 hundred weight
of coal deserves a pint.

And the boy who helped him
deserves a lemonade.

Your eyes look atrocious-
like two piss-holes in the snow.

- It's the coal dust, Uncle Pa.
- You're a great man, Frank.

You can help me
every Thursday after school.

There's a shilling foryou.

More power to your elbow,
Frankie.

He'll be taking yourjob yet,
you know,John.

He called me Frank, not Frankie.

For the first time,
I feeI like a man.

A man with a shilling
in his pocket.

A man who had a drink
in a pub.

Ma, I earned a shilling.

Take tuppence, Frankie,
and take Malachy to the Lyric.

You're a treasure, Frankie.
You deserve it.

God above,
look at those eyes.

Frankie!

Frankie!

A shilling from Mr. Hannon,
and four shillings in tips.

Will you go to that mirror
and look at your eyes?

Oh, jeez.

That's the end of it.
No more Mr. Hannon.

Mr. Hannon needs me.

I'm sorry
for Mr. Hannon's troubles,

but we have troubles
of our own.

And the last thing I need
is a blind son.

Now, wash your eyes,
and you can go to the Lyric.

Malachy, what's happening?

The man in the hat is sticking a gold
dagger into the nice lady's belly.

- Is there blood all over?
- No. She's showing a magic ring.

I can't see a thing.

The doctor said...

this was the worst case of
conjunctivit is he'd ever seen.

How long will he be in, Doctor?

Only God knows that,
woman.

I should have seen
this child months ago.

My working days were over.

Eyes wide open.
Wider. Wide as you can.

- Ow, Ma!
- If only dad was here.

He's not coming, Mam.

He might be asleep
in one of the carriages.

Come on, Mam. Let's go home.
He's not coming.

He definitely said in his letter
two days before Christmas.

Maybe the boat
from Holyhead was late.

That could make you
miss your train.

The Irish Sea's desperate
this time of year.

He doesn't care about us.
He's over there drunk in England.

Don't talk about
your father like that.

- Boots!
- Me! Me!

Next.

And where's the husband?

He's in England, sir.

England, is it?

And where's the weekly telegram?
The big five pounds?

He didn't send us a penny
in months, sir.

Well, we all probably
know why, don't we?

No, sir.

We all know there's more than
an occasional Limerick man...

been seen trotting around with
a Piccadilly tart, don't we?

He's not in Piccadilly, sir.
He's in Coventry.

Mam went begging
again at the St. Vincent de PauI.

She got a food voucher so that at least
we could have a Christmas dinner.

And then, on Christmas Eve,

our neighbor,
Walter the horse, died.

And our dad came home.

It's Pa!

Dad!Dad!

Hey.

- We were expecting you yesterday.
- Aye, well.

Jesus and Mary,
what have you done to yourself?

Well, that Irish Sea
was very rough, you know.

Bumped my head.
Nearly fell over the side.

Wouldn't be a fight, would it?
Wouldn't be the drink?

You said you'd
bring us something.

Well, uh,

I have.

Got a bit peckish
on the boat, did you?

We'll have them tomorrow
after our Christmas dinner.

Did you bring any money?

You drank the money,
didn't you?

Well, times are hard, Angela.
Jobs are scarce.

- You drank the money, Da?
- You drank the money.

So they have no respect
for their father now, eh?

- I have to go and see a man.
- Go and see a man,

but don't be coming home drunk,
singing your stupid songs.

Eat something.
It's Christmas.

I'm not hungry.

But if no one wants them,
I'll have one of them sheep's eyes.

- Oh, not the eyes, Dad.
- Da, don't.

- Oh, Dad, don't.
- What's the matter with you?

You're notgoing to eat that,
are you? Oh!

Dad, oh, yuck.

- You're disgusting.
- Lovely.

There's great nourishment
in the eyes.

Right.

Where are you going?

Going to London.

On Christmas Day?

It's the best day
to traveI.

People in motorcars
are always willing to give...

the working man
a lift to Dublin.

Think of all the hard times
of the Holy Family and feel guilty.

How will you get
to Holyhead?

Same way I came.

There's always a time
when no one's looking.

Right.

You be good boys, eh?
Say your prayers.

Obey your mother.

I'll write.

Here, pass them down.

Mmm. I got a nut.

I didn't get a nut.
How come Frankie always gets a nut?

Nuts are good
for sore eyes.

I've a Turkish Delight.

Will the nut make his eyes better?

'Twill.

One eye or two eyes?

Two eyes, I think.

Frankie, if I had a nut,
I'd give it to you. I would, really.

Mam, can me and Michael
have another chocolate? Just the one.

If I were in America,
I could say, "I love you, Dad, "

the way they do
in the films.

But in Limerick,
they'd laugh at you.

In Limerick, you're
only allowed to say...

you love God and babies
and horses that win.

Anything else
is softness in the head.

Go home, Frankie.

In another week,
a telegram arrived for three pounds,

and we were in heaven.

The next Saturday,
there was no telegram.

Nor the week after.

Nor any Saturday forever.

What are you doing?

Careful. We're making a fire.
It's freezing.

Come on, Frankie,
give us a hand, will you?

Oh! Yay!

Take the Pope, MichaeI.

Here, put the Pope
on the bed.

- Is that you, Frankie?
- 'Tis, Mrs. Purcell.

Come on in
out of the cold, son.

Holy blessed God,
you're freezing with the cold, boy.

Isn't it grand,
the radio, Frankie?

'Tis, Mrs. Purcell.

Do you see Bedouins
in the Sahara...

and the cowboys
on the prairie?

I do.

And people sipping wine
in cafes.

And sailors in their galleons
sipping their cocoa.

And plays about the Greeks, where they
have to pluck out their eyes...

because they married
their mothers by mistake.

And the Shakespeare.
I love the Shakespeare.

Shakespeare is like mashed potatoes,
Mrs. Purcell.

You can'tget enough
of them.

I'm sure Mr. Shakespeare
must have been an Irishman.

If you want
the things you love

You must have showers

Ah, Billie Holiday.

Oh, Billie, Billie.

I want to be with you
in America.

There'll be pennies
from heaven

For you andme

Oh, America.

Where no one has bad teeth
and everyone has a lavatory.

Great God in heaven,
where's the other room?

What room?

I rented you two rooms
up here, and one is gone.

I distinctly remember a wall
because I distinctly remember a room.

- Where's that room gone?
- I don't remember a wall.

And if I don't remember a wall,
I can't remember a room.

I want to know where that wall is
and what she did with that room!

Do any of you
remember a wall?

Is that the wall
we burned in the fire?

Dear God.
This takes the bloody biscuit.

It's four weeks behind
in the rent you are, and now this.

Out, missus.
I'm putting you out.

One week from today,
I'll knock on this door,

and I want to find
nobody home.

Everybody out.
Never to return.

'Tis a pity you weren't alive
when the English...

were evicting us
and leaving us on the road.

No lip from you, missus, or I'll send
the men to put you out tomorrow.

It's out on the pavement you'll be
with the sky peeing on your furniture.

Oh, dear God in heaven,
what am I going to do?

Your cousin, Laman Griffin,
is living on the Rosbrien Road...

in that little house
of his mother's.

He'll surely take you in
till better times come.

I'll go and see him now.

Frankie, come with me.
And put your mac on.

I haven't got a mac.

Jesus, what a family.

Grandma caught a chill that day,

and the chill
turned to pneumonia.

They shifted her
to the City Home HospitaI,

and when she died,
Mam said that herfamily...

was disappearing
before her very eyes.

- Frankie, will you shut the door?
- Let's go.

- Right. Let's go.
- Malachy, the wheel's all bockety.

- Kaiser Bill marched over the hill
- Shut up, will you?

To fight
the British Army

They're all going to know
we got the eviction. Will you be quiet?

And so Malachy, MichaeI, Mam, and me...

moved into mom's cousin's-
Laman Griffin- on the Rosbrien Road.

- Did you get the library books?
- I did.

Go in the yard and see if there's
something else to go on this fire.

- Is that for us?
- No, his lordship upstairs.

Why ask?
It was the same every week-

one steak, four potatoes, an onion,
anda bottle of stout.

Frankie, are you back?

Will you
take up the books?

Good boy, Frankie.
Put them on the bed there.

Angela, the chamber pot
is full.

Is there anything else
your lordship would like?

Woman's work, Angela.
Woman's work and free rent.

- I'll empty it.
- You will?

Okay, Frankie. Take it outside
and rinse it under the tap.

And from now on,
that will be your job.

America,
wonderfull and of the Arapaho,

Cheyenne, Chippewa,

Sioux, Apache, Iroquois.

Poetry, boys.
And the chiefs! Listen.

Kicking Bear,
Rain-in-the-Face,

Sitting Bull,
Crazy Horse,

and the man himself,

the genius Geronimo.

Stock your minds, boys,
and you can move through the world...

resplendent.

Clarke, define "resplendent. "

- I think it's shining, sir.
- Pithy but adequate.

McCourt, give us a sentence
with "pithy. "

Clarke is pithy
but adequate, sir.

Adroit, McCourt.

You have a mind for the priesthood,
my boy, or politics.

Tell you mother
to come and see me.

Hoppy O'Halloran told Mam...

to take me
to the Christian Brothers-

to say he sent me,
and I was a bright boy...

and ought to be going
to secondary schooI...

and maybe
to university even.

I wish he'd mind
his own business.

I want to quit schooI forever and get
a job with wages every Friday night...

I want to quit schooI forever and get
a job with wages every Fridaynight...

and go to the pictures
every Saturday like everybody else.

I've come to see
Brother Murray.

I don't know why we bothered.
They took one look at us...

- What do you want?
- This is my son Frank.

and said no.

Francis, will you
listen to me?

Are you listening?

I am.

You're never to let anybody slam
the door in your face again.

Do you hear me?

I do.

Impurity.
I say again, impurity.

Impurity
is so grave a sin...

the Virgin Maryturns
her face away and weeps.

She weeps when
she looks down...

that long, dreary vista
of time...

and beholds in horror
the spectacle of Limerick boys...

defiling themselves,
polluting themselves,

soiling their young bodies
which are the temple of the Holy Ghost.

Interfering with themselves.

We pray to the Virgin Mary
to say we're sorry...

because we can't stop
interfering with ourselves.

- The dong!
- The dong!

- The prick!
- The prick!

- The dick!
- The dick!

- The langer!
- The langer!

- The excitement!
- The excitement!

- The excitement?
- Yeah, the excitement.

Yeah, I heard of that.

Paddy Clohessy found
a priest to confess our hideous sins to.

He's 90 years old
and deaf as a turnip.

Bless me, Father,
for I have sinned.

It's been ages since me last confession.
I've been masturbating.

Except one day,
he died and didn't tell us.

Bless me, Father,
for I have sinned.

It's been a fort-

It's been a fortnight
since my last confession.

And what have you done
since then, my child?

I, uh, I hit my brother.

I lied to my mother.

Yes, my child.
And what else?

Uh, I did dirty things,
Father.

Ah, mychild, was that with yourself
or with another?

Or with some class
of beast?

Beast?

I never heard ofa sin
like that, Father.

This priest
must be from the country.

He's opening up
new worlds for me.

I'll just take him up
his last mug of tea.

It's a disgrace...

that boys like McCourt...

and Clarke and Kennedy...

have to hew wood
and draw water...

in this so-called free
and independent Ireland...

that keeps a class system
foisted on us by the English.

Well, it disgusts me.

We throw our talented children
onto the dung heap.

If this is the end
of schooI for you,

you must get out of this country,
boys, and go to America.

McCourt, do you hear me?

I do, sir.

Laman Griffin
was drunk every night.

Worst still was Fridays when we had
to watch him eat his fish and chips.

Woman, boiI some water
for tea.

We've no coal
or turf.

You useless
great lump,

living free under me roof
with you snotty-nosed pack of brats.

You.

Go to the shop for a few sods
and some kindling.

Come on. Or are you as useless
as your mother?

Did you empty
the chamber pot today?

Shite.
I left it on the stairs.

You stand there with your thick gob
and tell me you didn't do it?

I'm sorry. I forgot.
I'll do it now.

- He couldn't do it.
- Shut up, woman.

It was his last day at school,
and he had to go to the doctor.

I said, shut up, woman!

You can't tell us to shut up.
You're not our father!

If I have to get up from this table,
you'll be calling for your patron saint.

Shut your gob.

I'll kill you!

- You're not my father!
- Stop it!

Leave him alone, sweet Jesus.
Stop it!

He doesn't mean any harm.
He's only a child.

And he's to start work
at the post office on Monday.

Give me a fag, woman.

I'm telling you,
that boy is a little shite.

I'll talk to him tomorrow.

I'm going to bed.

I heard them talking.

I heard the sound of Laman's boots
as he scraped his way to bed.

I thought Mam would come
and kiss me goodnight,

to say thank you
for sticking up forher.

But no.
She went to him.

Where are you going, Frankie?

I'm leaving.

Why are you leaving,
Frankie?

Because if I stay,
I'll take a knife to his neck.

Will you kill him?

Go to sleep, Malachy.

You're not having my chips.

I just wanted to stay
the night, Uncle Pat.

All right.

You can stay
in me mother's bed.

- Don't expect me to feed you, though.
- I won't.

There's not a scrap offood
in the house.

What happened
to your face?

It's all swole.

Did someone punch you?

Yeah.

Who was punching you?

Joe Louis.

Joe Louis?

I thought he lived
in America.

Was he visiting
Limerick?

He was, Uncle Pat.

That's not right,
him hitting a wee boy...

and him being heavyweight champion
of America and all.

The world champion
he is, Uncle Pat.

That's worse.

And look at you,
so skinny.

Those arms wouldn't lift
two stamps.

Some things
is most peculiar, Frankie.

I'm off to bed.

I was so hungry.

I sat there and licked the front page
and all the headlines.

I licked the great attacks
of Patton and Montgomery.

I licked the sports pages.

I licked the market prices
of eggs and butter and bacon.

I sucked that paper untiI my face was
as black as Al Jolson's.

Whoa, boy. Whoa, boy.
Easy. Easy.

Let's go, Patty.

We have to get you-
Up you go.

Come on, Pat,
up the steps.

How did you let him
get this drunk?

Drink never hurt anyone,
did it?

- I want a drink.
- Tomorrow.

- Push him, Pa.
- I'm pushing. I'm pushing.

Come on, Pat.

Christ, you're taking
both sides of the room.

What are you doing
in this house, in that bed?

Get up and put the kettle
on for your poor Uncle Pat...

that fell down
the worse for drink.

Mother of God!

You're wearing
me dead mother's dress.

I washed my clothes
for the big job.

- What big job?
- Telegram boy at the post office.

If the post office
are taking on the likes of you,

- they must be in a desperatestate.
- Ah, Frankie.

you look... gorgeous.

Jesus, what did
you wash these in?

- Carbolic soap.
- They smell like dead pigeons!

You'll make
a show of us.

What time do you have to be
at that job?

9:00.

Tell them that your aunt was waiting
for you and that's why you're late.

Late?
Why do I have to be late?

Just shut up and do what
you're bloody well told.

Mmm.
That's more like it.

I often wondered
why Aunt Aggie was always so angry.

But you're going to need
a new shirt.

And shoes, not boots.
Shoes.

Compared to Mam,
she had everything,

and she didn't have any kids
to keep her poor.

And here she is buying me clothes
for my new job.

That's grand.

Here's two shillings
to get tea and a bun for your birthday.

You look so smart,
people will think you've robbed a bank.

She certainly
was a mystery, my Aunt Aggie.

A complete mystery.

We know every avenue,
road, street...

terrace, mews, place,
close and lane.

You don't have
to have a hanker

To be a broker
or banker

No, sirree,just simply be
my mother's son-in-law

Needn't even think
of tryin'

To be a mighty
sociaI lion

Sippin' tea if you will be
my mother's son-in-law

There isn't a door
in Limerick we don't know.

We knock on all kinds of doors-
iron, oak, plywood.

Twenty thousand doors. We knock,
kick, push. We ring and buzz bells.

Risking life and limb
as we fight off everydog...

who wants to turn us
into dinner.

There are telegrams
for the houses of priests.

God bless you.

But if you waited for tips
from nuns and priests,

you'd surely die
on their doorsteps.

You're lucky to get
the Carmody telegram.

I am?

They're big tippers.
You'll get a shilling.

How come
I got the telegram?

- 'Cause nobody else will go there.
- Why?

'Cause Theresa Carmody's
got the consumption.

You don't have
to speak like that so

You can tell the world
I said so

Can't you see you got to be
my mother's son-in-law

I heard
that sick people like Theresa...

know that they haven't
got long to live...

and so it makes them mad
for love and romance...

and dirty things
ingeneraI.

- Telegram.
- That's what they say, anyway.

- You're all wet and bleeding.
- I skidded on me bike.

Come in. I'll put something
on your cuts.

I wonder should I go in.

I might get the consumption.

That'll be the end of me,
and I'll never get to America.

- Come in. You'll perish standing there.
- I need the shilling tip.

Oh, you big poltroon.

Now that's better.

Why don't you take off your clothes
and dry them on the screen there?

Uh, no.

Ah, do.

I will.

Lord, you might be scrawny,

but that's a fine boyo
you have there.

My head is full
of sin and fear of consumption.

Her green eyes...

and my shilling tip.

And she's on top of me,
and I might be killing myself...

catching consumption
from her mouth.

I'm riding to heaven.
I'm falling off a cliff.

And if this is a sin,
I don't give a fiddler's fart.

Fuck off, you bollocks!

Your mouth is a lavatory, McCourt.
Did you hear me?

- I did, Miss Barry.
- You've been heard on the stairs.

- Yes, Miss Barry.
- Shut up, McCourt.

- I will, Miss Barry.
- Not another word, McCourt.

- No, Miss Barry.
- I said shut up, McCourt.

All right, Miss Barry.

That's the end of it,
McCourt. Don't try me.

I- I won't, Miss Barry.

- Mother of God, give me patience!
- Yes, Miss Barry.

Take the last word,
McCourt.

Take it. Take it. Take it!

I will, Miss Barry.

What do you want most
in the world?

To go to America.

What do you want most?

Oh, to fall in love
with some gorgeous man.

Oh, hold me, Frankie.

Uncle Pat?

Hello, Frankie.

How's the job?

Grand.

Uncle Pat
lookin' after you?

He is.

But I can
look after meself.

That's good.

- You're getting enough to eat, I see.
- lam.

Would you like a chip?

No.

Michael and little Alphie
are fine.

That's good.

We all miss Malachy.
He's, uh-

- Miss him? He-
- He's gone to join the army band!

- Playin' the bugle.
- The bugle?

Can you imagine that, playin' the bugle?
Playin' the fool, more like.

That's Malachy, all right.

Mad Malachy.

I miss him too.

- Telegram, Mrs. Carmody.
- Thank you.

I usually deliver the telegram
to your daughter.

- Theresa, isn't it?
- Theresa's in the sanatorium.

Please, God,
it wasn't Theresa's fault.

The excitement on the sofa
is what the consumption does to you.

I love her, God,

just like St. Francis loved
any bird or beast or fish.

Please, God,
take the consumption away,

and I promise I'll never
go near her again.

Anima eius, et animae
omnium fidelium defunctorum,

per misericordiam Dei,
requiescant in pacem.

Amen.

I want to tell
the priest and Theresa's mam and dad...

that it was me, Frank McCourt,
the dirty rotten thing...

that sent Theresa
straight to hell.

I think of Theresa,
cold in her coffin,

the red hair,
the green eyes.

I can't understand
what I feeI,

but I know that with all the people
who died in my family...

and all the people who died
in the lanes around me,

I never had a pain like this
in my heart,

and I hope
Inever will again.

And then, as luck would have it,
I had to deliver a telegram...

to the moneylender,
Mrs. Finucane,

and St. Francis
smiled down on me once more.

How old are you, boy?

Fifteen and some, missus.

Old enough
and ugly enough.

Yes, missus.

But are you smart, boy?
Are you in any way intelligent?

I can read and write,
Mrs. Finucane.

There are people in the lunatic asylum
can read and write.

- Can you write a letter?
- I can, Mrs. Finucane.

I'll give you three pence
for every letter you write,

and three pence if it
brings in a payment.

Come on Thursday. Bring your own paper
and envelopes with you.

"O'Brien, Donnolley,
Meagher, Hannon,

old Mrs. Keneally,
Mulcahy, Ahern. "

We'll see how you do
with that lot for a start.

Threaten them, boy.
Threaten the life out of them.

How does this sound?

"Dear Mrs. O'Brien:

In as much as you have not seen fit
to pay me what you owe me,

I may be forced
to resort to legal action.

There's your son, MichaeI, parading
around the world in his new suit,

which I paid for,

while I myself have barely a crust
to keep body and soul together. "

"I am sure you don't want to languish
in the dungeons of Limerick jail,

far from friends
and family.

I remain yours
in lit- lit-"

- What are these words, boy?
- Litigious anticipation.

That's a powerful letter.

This word, "in as much. "

That's a holy terror of a word.
What does it mean?

It means,
"this is your last chance. "

She gives me money for stamps,

but I deliver the letters myself
and keep the money.

What class of a demon would torment
her own kind with a letter like that?

It's truly awful.

What's up with Mrs. Hannon?

That old bitch Finucane sent her
a threatening letter. Look.

People who write letters
like that should be boiled in oil...

and then have their fingernails
pulled out by blind people.

That's great.
Thanks very much. Next, please.

I'm sorry for their troubles,

but there's no other way for me to save
the money for the trip to America.

If the whole of Ireland
was dying of hunger,

I wouldn't touch this money
in the post office.

Thanks, John.
Listen here to me, men.

Listen a second.

This is my nephew here, Frankie McCourt,
the son of Angela Sheehan,

the sister of my wife,
having his first pint.

Here's to your health
and long life, Frankie.

May you live to enjoy the pint,
but not too much, eh?

Slow down, slow down.

Don't drink it
all at once.

In Mountjoy jail
one Monday morning

High upon
the gallows tree

Kevin Barry
gave his young life

For the cause
of liberty

Just a lad
of 18 summers

And no-

What kind of state
is that to come home in?

Up, boys, up!

The Red Branch Knights!

The Fenian men!

The glorious I.R.A.!

I can't believe you.
It's your father you've become.

Tonight-

Tonight, I had
me first pint.

You should be
ashamed of yourself.

My first pint
with Uncle Pa.

Uncle Pa should know better.

No father around
to get me my first pint.

Your father was no good
to anyone, and neither are you.

You're just like him,
you drunken feck!

I'd rather be like my father
than like your Laman Griffin!

Mind your tongue.
You're drunk.

Mind your own tongue.

You and Laman Griffin!

You slut!

You've a mouth on you worse than
your drunken eejit father!

Better to be like
my drunken eejit father than like...

that fat, disgustin' shite
Laman Griffin,

who you crept up to every night
there back at Rosbrien!

- Shut up!
- Laman Griffin. Laman Griffin.

Up in the loft
with Laman Griffin!

Squeak, squeak, squeak,

with fat Laman Griffi n
rollin' on top of you!

- Shut up! Shut up!
- You fuckin' shut up, you slut!

My child. Tell me what troubles you.

- I'm 16 today, Father.
- Mm-hmm?

- I drank my first pint last night.
- Yeah.

I hit my mother.

God help us.

But He will forgive you.

Is there anything else?

I can't tell you, Father.

Would you like
to go to confession?

I- I can't, Father.

- I did terrible things.
- Well, you can tell St. Francis.

You can tell St. Francis.

We'll sit here, and you can tell
St. Francis...

all the things
that trouble you.

I tell St. Francis
about Margaret, Oliver, Eugene.

He treads
the upper-

My father singing "Kevin Barry"
and bringing home no money.

My father sending
no money from England.

Theresa on the sofa.

My terrible sins
of interfering with myself,

wankin' all over Limerick
and beyond.

What do you want?

The Christian Brother who
closed the door in my face.

The tears in Mam's eyes
when I slapped her.

A- A-And I give her me back
this morning, Father,

even though it's me birthday
and she offered me a cup of tea.

Ego te absolvo
apeccatis tuis.

In nomine Patris, et Filii,
et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.

Say three Our Fathers,
three Hail Marys and three Glory Bes.

But what about Theresa Carmody
in hell, Father?

No, my child,
surely she is in heaven.

You don't think the sisters in the
hospital let her die without a priest?

- Are you sure, Father?
- I am.

God forgives you,
and you must forgive yourself.

God loves you,
and you must love yourself.

For only when you love God and yourself
can you love all God's creatures.

Thank you, St. Francis.

Mrs. Finucane.

It's Frank.
I have your sherry.

All the names are here.

Me Mam.
two pounds for Christmas.

Aunt Aggie.
nine pounds.

Maybe for
my post office clothes.

Bridey Hannon forointment
for Mr. Hannon's legs.

Mrs. Purcell, Clohessy,
Quigley, Molloy.

Everyone I know and half of the poor
of Limerick are here.

They allowed
the old bitch money.

Well, not anymore.

Not to America,
not by plane.

I can put you
on a ship, though,

that leaves Cork in a couple of weeks.
the Irish Oak.

That'll cost you 55 pounds.
Do you have it?

I do.

And as he was
leaving his mother

Standing upon the quay

She threw her arms
around his waist

- And this to him didsay
- Here you are.

Everybody now.

A mother's love's
a blessing

No matter
where you roam

Keep her while she's living

You'll miss her
when she's gone

Love her
as in childhood

Though feeble, old and grey

For you'll never miss
a mother's love

Till she's buried
beneath the clay

Fair play to you, Angela.
That was mighty.

Well, Frankie, your bladder must be
very close to your eye.

This night is turning into
a proper wake altogether.

Is there any possibility...

of somebody singing something
to liven up the proceedings...

before I'm driven to drink
from sadness?

- Oh, I forgot!
- What?

The eclipse.
The moon is having an eclipse tonight.

- What's an eclipse?
- Come on, all of you.

We'd look a right shower of eejits
if we missed that.

What's gonna happen?

This is a very good sign
for you going to America, Frankie.

It's a bad sign. I read that the moon
is practicing for the end of the world.

End of the world,
my arse.

Would you look at that!

- Well, isn't that somethin'?
- Wow! Isn't that grand?

- It's beautifuI.
- We might never see that again.

Not in our life time,
anyway.

Was that it, then?

'Tis only the beginning
for Frankie McCourt.

He'll be back in a few years with a new
suit and fat on his bones like any Yank.

Anda lovely girI with pearly white
teeth, and her hangin' from his arm.

Ah, no, Pa.

Come on back inside, Angela,
and we'll have a drop of sherry.

- Good luck in America, Frankie.
- Good luck to you.

Good luck to ya, Frankie.