All language subtitles for Tommys.Honour.2016.1080p.WEBRip.x265-RARBG2_English

*

[wind gusting]

George Atwood, sir.

From the Times
of London. I--

I looked in at the shop,
and they said I'd find you here.

There was another Atwood
at your newspaper.

Yes, my father.
And to his last breath,

he told anyone who'd listen
about the grand old man of golf.

[seagulls crying]

I see you are still looking
after the course.

Do you, uh, do you
ever get out to play?

Aye, but I can barely hit
out of my own shadow.

[scoffs]
That's the modest Old Tom
my father wrote about.

You are the founder
of the Open Championship,

four-time winner
of the Challenge Belt.

Why, if not for you,

what would've become
of the game of golf?

Listen, I don't know
what kind of article
you've come here to write,

but if it's about
the grand old man of golf,

then you can think again.

I'm sorry, I--

There's only one story
you'll get from me.

A story about a boy who carried
the cut-down golf club

I made for him everywhere,

a boy who thought he could beat
every golfer in Scotland,

a boy who slept
like a paving stone.

Tommy. Tommy!

Up!

Far and sure, son.

Far and sure.

*

It is far for you.

[laughing]

Downward strike, son.
Sharp as you can.

Nice shot. Come on!

Tom Morris.
Master greenkeeper.

That young lad of yours
is growing like a weed.

He'll make
a fine caddy one day.

Thank you, sir.

I'd putt that.

Gambler's spirit.

Duly noted.

Good game, son,
well played.

Come now, Tom.

You've got work to do.

Get the scorecards.

Come on, Lang Don.

You'll be giving
the captain a lesson
after these men come in.

Give me my club,
Lang Don.

Aha! I'll top
your record score.

Eh, Tom?

Play away, sir.

Direction-wise,
perfect drive, sir.

*

Jimmy, if I can't
read your writing,

how do you expect
your schoolmaster to?

I can read it.

Tell us about the train
that goes under
the ground, Tommy.

A wonder of the world
it is, Jackie.

Ten thousand men dug
a tunnel under London.

Five hundred men
lost their lives.

And down in this tunnel,
right under everyone's feet,

a thousand lanterns
light the way

for a train that goes
as fast as a cannonball.

Come on! Choo choo!
[imitates train]

Thomas Morris junior,
put the child down
before you injure him!

You're to help your brother
with his schooling

and set
a Christian example.

You're not to be
gallivanting about.

Yes, Mum.

Back to your
lessons, now.

There shall be no fun
in this house, children.

[giggling]

[coins clinking]

[hymn playing]

Lovely to see you
this fine day, Mrs. Morris.

'Twould be no fit Sabbath
without your sermon
to guide us.

Ah, your children
are a testament

to the standards
you set, madam.

[indistinct chatter]

[woman]
That was Beethoven.

I remember
my first piano lesson
like it was yesterday.

I've also had singing lessons
since I was five years old.

Straight away, the teacher
said I had perfect pitch.

Do you know
what that is, Tommy?

Perfect pitch?

Right, just get one.

Same bit.

-[laughs]
-It was a crap shot.

-You've already had
your crap shot.
-Number one--

That was your last one
two shots ago.
What took you so long?

Oh, I was kidnapped and tortured
with Beethoven and cake.

Did you pray for us
in church today, Tommy?

Indeed I did not.
The two of you are
past salvation.

Oh, here,
speaking of sin,

Davie enjoyed
a fine romance

last night, aye,
so he claims.

Eh, there's
no claiming about it.

Her name was Prudence.
Thankfully, she had none.

A rot iron. It's a good club
for killing snakes.

I've found
a better use for it.

Pick your coins up, boys.
They'll be mine presently.

Yeah, eh.

-Right.
-One more round in.

-Not a chance, mate!
-Three coins, he cheats!

Are you daft?

It's not a rot iron shot.
You need a mashie.

Not anymore,
you don't.

Well, wait, what
did I just see?

All right,
it hit a rock.

Penny says
I can do it again.

-Yeah, all right,
I'll take that wager.
-I saw that.

Wait, what was that?

This can do more
than just pick balls
out rocks, boys.

You bring the club
down hard on the back
of the ball,

and it'll spin like a top,
front to back.

Call it backspin.

Pay up.

Come on.

Her ladyship inquires
as to the hour
of your return.

[Tom Sr.] Day's over
when the war is won.

Dad's at war
with the gorse bushes, Tommy.

Aye, and the dunes,
no doubt,

and the rain and the goats
and the rabbits.

I fear
I'm outnumbered.

Yeah, Dad,
I was thinking...

You've got a teeing-ground
at the first hole, right?

Why don't we put one
next to every green?

The way you've got it now,

we've got golfers out there
tearing our greens up every day.

Well, it's not a bad idea.

Who am I to fiddle
with a 500-year-old game?

There are 13 rules to golf.

The first one:
you must tee the ball--

Within a club-length
of the hole.
Even I know that.

The rule was written
a hundred years ago.

Aye, and you'll
not be changing them.

Leave the rules of golf
to the steering committee.

[shop door bell rings]

Men of the Morris persuasion,
good day to you.

Well, afternoon,
captain.

Niblick's
as good as new.

Ah, good. Good.

Hmm.

I trust you'll be,
uh, carrying for me
at the spring meeting, Tom?

It would be
a pleasure, sir,

but Colonel Fairlie's
already arranged
for my services.

Oh, I see.

Well, perhaps young Tommy
could do the honors.

That's a very
generous offer, sir.

[sighs]
I don't know, sir.

Well, Tom, I've been
considering betting on you
for the match next week,

but your last outing
against Willie Park,

you cost me £60.

I'm sorry, sir.

Well, it's not the money
I'm worried about.

It's, um, my reputation.

My standing in the eyes
of the town.

Understand, sir.

And your putting,
God knows...

it's worse than my own.

Perhaps you might like
to let your sons
make the gutties

and you get out
and practice.

Thank you, sir.

Practice.

That man is the captain
of the club.

How could you insult him?

Why do you let him talk
to you like that, Dad?

Because he has
every right to.

I work for him
and the other gentlemen.

Yeah, you do,
but I don't.

A caddy's son you are,
and a caddy you'll be.

Yeah, we'll see.

What else would
you be doing?

Well, I'll be a golfer.

Aye, a golf professional?

Who gives lessons?

Who makes golf balls?
Who makes golf clubs?

Who caddies for gentlemen
and treats them with respect?

That's yourself you're
talking about, Dad.

And have you thought
about how you're gonna
make a living, boy?

[grunts]

Forty-five...

Fifty...
Fifty-five...

[man] The lad's ready.
Why is he not
your playing partner?

He's just 15, sir.

We've been betting on you
for years now, Tom.

And when you've won,
we put a pretty penny
in your pocket.

And I'm grateful to you
and to the other gentlemen.

But in all fairness
to us, Tom,

your performance
has fallen off.

What you say, sir,
is a hard reckoning.

And a fair one.

Look here.

Your backers want to win.
You have debts.

Your lad's ready.

In one stroke,
you've solved the problem.

I thank you
for your good counsel,
Mr. Kinloch.

-If I may.
-Of course.
You have work to do.

Tom, a man's got to use
every club he has.

Twenty for the winner.

A sterling debut, lad.

Two Thomas Morrises
are certainly
better than one.

Thank you, sir.

Don't worry, Willie,

I'm sure the Park brothers
will live to fight another day.

Beginner's luck,
I call it.

Your pup's still got
his milk teeth.

We can always go round again
if you thought it was luck.

I'll see you
in Musselburgh, laddie,
the capital of golf.

Aye, pride in one's town,
it's a fine thing, Willie.

It's a fine thing.
Come on, son.

*

So says the man
who's won his last open!

Here.

Five pounds?
Is that all you're
giving me?

Be still.
That's your share.

Now get in there
and don't be telling
your mother your winnings.

[crowd softly muttering]

[crowd exclaiming]

Ahh!

Gah!

Did you see that?
Hole in one!

Good one!

Just try your arms
by your sides, there,
young Master Morris.

Best just
hold it, then.

And hold still.

[shutter clicks]

[crowd cheering]

[shutter clicks]

[crowd cheering]

[shutter clicks]

[crowd cheering]

*

[crowd cheering]

Congratulations.
Well done.

Come on. Come on.

There you are,
to your boy!

Congratulations
are in order!

George Atwood,
of the Times of London.

London, really?

Pleased to
meet you, George.

No one's ever won the Open
by such a margin.

David Strath finished second,
12 strokes behind.

Truth is,
I let my friend win.

I'm a nobleman at heart.

Aye, but a commoner
on the links!

And what will you play
for now, Tommy?

Money, glory, fun.

[thumping]

It's been eight years

since Colonel Fairlie
and the Earl of Eglinton

asked me to organize
the first Open Championships.

The Prestwick Club donated

a fine Moroccan
leather belt as a trophy,

and we declared
the first champion

would hold that belt
for one year,

before passing it on
to his successor.

We also declared
that should any man

win that belt
three years in a row,

that man would would keep
that belt in perpetuity.

A bit of trickery, that was.

After all, who could do
such a thing?

[man] Not you,
Tom Morris!

Two wins in a row
was your limit!

[laughter]

Aye, aye.
Aye, it was. It was.

I am very, very proud
to say

that the ultimate winner
of this prize

and that belt
is my very own son...

Thomas Morris, Jr.

[crowd exclaiming]

*

[soft conversation]

Well, the game
is catching on in England.

We have a fine course
in Liverpool now.

In Devonshire,
Westward Ho has adopted

the St. Andrews standard
of 18 holes,

and Blackheath,
my home club,

is prepared
to take the lead.

We want to be the center
of golf in England,

perhaps
in all the Empire.

Will there be
anything else, sir?

Thank you, no.

Do you know
that you're serving port

to the champion golfer
of Scotland?

Oh, just Scotland?

Aye, well,
it's the only place

where golf is of
any account, eh, Major?

I hear they play the game
in England now.

Liverpool, Devonshire.

That'll be all, miss.

I'm prepared to offer
you a position.

A position?

Tell me this, Tommy.

What's your future here?

You work
in your father's shop.

Then one day, rest his soul,
it's your shop.

My work, Major,
is emptying the pockets

of crack golfers
and their backers,
that's all.

-In Scotland.
-Yeah.

And for every pound here...

it'll be a hundred pounds
backing you in England.

As the professional golfer
at Blackheath,

you will be a wealthy man.

* Oh, the lasses of London

* Wear no knickers in summer

Whoa! Damn it, boys!

[horse hooves clopping]

[men exclaiming]

How's your father gonna
manage without you?

[scoffs] He'll have to make
more putts, that's for sure.

Who will be partnering him
in his money matches?

Don't you be angling
for an opportunity.

Not that.
I'm just saying.

I think I should make
a steady playing partner
for old Tom.

Davie, come on,
our boy's just about

to go away
and conquer England here.

Yes. He's going to England.

[laughs]

* Rule, Brittania

* Brittania rules the waves

* Oh, Britain never, ever, ever
shall be slaves *

* Rule, Brittania

* Brittania rules the waves

* Britain never, ever, ever
shall be slaves *

[door opens]

I can smell
the alcohol from here.

May have had
a pint... or two.

And where will you be
keeping your belt?

[sighs]
What do you mean?

Did you accept
Major Molesworth's offer?

Did you seriously think
there'd be golf business

in St. Andrews
that I wouldn't know about?

You had scallops and steak
for your luncheon,

and you did nae
finish your plate.

[chuckles]

They've got grand plans
at Blackheath, Dad.

My father was
a hand-loom weaver.

There was nine of us
in two rooms.

I barely had a whisker
on my face

when I was apprenticed
to a golf ball maker.

I worked 16 hours a day
and sent pennies home
every month.

-I know all this.
-My father...

he earned less money
in a year...

than you and I made
in one match last week.

I'll be sending money home,
Dad, just like you did.

-I will.
-Not for your father, Tommy.

Working for another man is
an altogether different matter.

What do you know
of Molesworth? Hmm?

What do you know
of England?

I know they'll pay me
twice your salary.

You think of nothing
but yourself.

Dad, I don't want to spend
my days on my knees,

teeing up gentlemen
who despise me,

who think they're
better than me.
Can you not see that?

What do you think you'll
be doing at Blackheath?

Making my own way!

I would've lost
more than I would've won

without you
as my playing partner
these last few years.

I could lose this house.

Your place is here.

[cheering]

-Tom!
-Tommy! The son!

Takes three putts,
and our Willie takes one!

Tom, Tom, he's the son!

Takes three putts,
and our Willie takes one!

Now, you're
in Musselburgh now,
old Tom.

No place to tarry
over a four-foot putt.

[laughter]

[crowd exclaiming]

Park brothers, one up!

I'll give yous boys a chance
to double your bets.

'Cause we are giving St. Andrews
a thrashing today.

[man] You're no champion here,
Tommy Morris.

[man] Go back to Fife!

*

[crowd exclaiming]

[taunting laugh]

[horse hooves pounding]

*

[chatter]

Hey! Hey, I saw that.

Put it back, you dog.

I'll play it
where it lays.

Why don't you hit it off
that one's forehead?

Now, now, Kirky.
We'll forgive them
their trespasses.

Stand back.
Let the man play.

Bugger off!
Champion golfer of shite.

He's trying to play
a shot, you idiot!

[brawling exclamations]

Boys!

Two whiskeys, please.

They were
laughing at us.

What did you expect,
cheers wherever you go?

Musselburgh is
Willie Park's town.
How much?

-Tuppence, please, sir.
-Thank you.

[barmaid]
Thanks.

This is unprecedented.

The St. Andrews gentlemen
will lose their wagers
if you concede.

Are you conceding
the match?

There will be no match
if we're not in in, sir.

That's not for you
to say, Tom Morris.

Oh!

[crowd exclaiming]

I told you to stay back!

This is nae golf.

James.

Time for a pint?

Aye, all right.
That's ready to go.

Is this
a Thomas Morris, Jr.,
original?

Oh, no, that's one
of Jimmy's.

These hands have
far more important
work to do.

What, like breaking noses
in Musselburgh?

Only a couple.

Dad walked away, though,
"This is no golf."

Who took home
the money?

Well, not us.

For all I know, the gentlemen
feather their beds with it.

So, what, you've just
now got the first pay?

For starters, eh?

You've got
Mr. Campbell's foursome
in half an hour.

He expects you to bring
his new putter.

I will.

Does the Englishman's offer
still stand?

That's not the point.

The point is I should've
just gone without a word.

Instead, I listened
to my dad again.

Why do I keep
doing that?

I'm bound to just stay here
doing the same work as him

on the same bloody patch
of ground.
I'm shackled, man.

[livestock noises]

[barker
speaking indistinctly]

See, when I have
a son, mate,

I'm not gonna tie him down
and tell him what to do
all the time.

No, I'll let him choose
his own path.

You see, if he wants
to be a golfer,
then he can be a golfer,

but if he wants
to sail the Orient,
then bon voyage.

[rooster crows]

Lift that pint
without me.

-Tommy?
-Hey.

What happened to you?

Golf's a lot rougher
than you think.

I don't think
about golf at all.

Do you think about me?

Listen to Mr. Champion
of Scotland!

Oh, no,
just a greenkeeper's son
stands before you.

Well, you're standing
in my way.

So, um, so what time
do you finish your work?

How old are you,
Tommy Morris?

How old do you
think I am?

I'm 28 years old.

Best find yourself
a schoolgirl.

[laughs]

Do you know what I love
most about golfing?

No.

No? There are times
when you've no hope
of a shot,

no chance,
it's impossible,
but you try it anyway.

You put everything
that you've got

into that shot,
and you just...

You just see
where it goes.

Margaret.
It's a lovely name.

Meg, they call me.

Can I walk you home,
Margaret-called-Meg?

Short walk
that would be.

I live just above
the restaurant.

[man] Ah, Tommy.

Do us proud in Perth
next week.

We're counting on
a tidy profit.

We know you can't lose
as a single player.

No disrespect
to your father.

It's good to hear how much
you do respect him. Gentlemen.

So, gentlemen pay you
to play golf.

After a fashion, yeah.

They put the stakes up
for the match.

Hundreds of pounds,
like gentlemen
in every town back a golfer.

And when I win,
my backers take the winnings

and they pay me
as they choose.

There's no say
in it, really.

Hundreds of pounds?

Oh, yeah.

What's your fancy?

These chocolates have come
all the way from Belgium.

Of course you'd be talking up
the ones with the highest price.

We'll take a dozen.

There you go, ma'am. Sir.

Well, she sounds
a fiery one.

You know...

I'm in love, boys.

You're what?

I'm telling you...

[scoffs]

I believe there's
a cure for that.

Come on.

-You have to listen to Davie.
-Listen to Davie?

It wasn't me. It wasn't me!
Stop making shit up.

-All right?
-Aye.

[rapping]

Hello, dearie.

This way, lads.
I know what you're wanting.

One of you waits.
I run a respectable house.

No. I would like to pay
my respects, please, missus.

Aye. Why not?

Won't be long now.

[scoffs] Suit yourself.

[dog barking in distance]

*

[door opens]

[rain pattering,
thunder rumbling]

Go on, girl.

You should be out there
with the rest of them.

Thank you, Mr. Riggs.

Not so fast.

[quacking]

[applause]

Can I see that club?

Aye, he's a clever one,
my player.

These scratches he made,
they pull the water away

so the ball
does nae slippy slide.

Well, you're
at one now, Mr. Kidd.

I won't catch
you unless you drown.

Ah, fortune
was on my side today.

You outplayed me, Tom.
Well played.

Ladies and gentlemen,

the winner
of the 1873 Open Championship,

Mr. Tom Kidd!

[cheer swells]

Jimmy, come on. Get up.
Get the gloves.

You stick them on,
all right?

Right, outside,
everyone.

[indistinct chatter]

Okay?

You're getting
far too heavy
to carry, Jackie.

That'll be
helping, yeah?

Children, ready?

Race you!

Go, go, go!

Fine work we did
on that chariot, Dad.

Well, I won't take credit
for that, son.
It was all your idea.

[laughter]

-Sorry I'm late.
-Sorry?

[fireworks crackling]

Happy new year.

[men singing drunkenly] * Let
auld acquaintance be forgot *

* And never brought to mind

* We'll take a cup
of kindness... *

[soft chatter]

What will I win
for sinking this?

To the winner,
a fine, plump goose.

A goose.

What's the prize
for second place?

A bottle of whiskey.

[exclaiming]

[laughs] Oh, bugger!

[cheer swells]

[toasting]

[man] Good one!

There you go, son.

That's it! Nice.

Oh, there we go.
Right. Oh, oh!

Oh...

There you go, Kirky.

The dregs of my defeat!

A toast
to the House of Morris.

[exclaiming]

It was my honor to caddy

for the finest caddy master
the old game will ever see.

No man can fashion
a better golf club.

Nor that could attend
his links.

He made our home course
the jewel of Scotland.

And none but Old Tom
can claim to be the father

of the greatest golfer
of them all, Tommy Morris!

[all] Tommy!

Tommy!

[soft chatter
and laughter]

Shh, here they come!

Lizzie, I can't believe
you brought us here.

Meg needs to know
your darkest
secrets, Tommy.

Tommy,
how lovely.

Yes, a lovely spot
for the girl to come
fetch her brother

when Father
is going to tan his hide!

Always the wicked one,
were you?

[Lizzie] He'd sit by this tree
thinking no one would find him.

Tommy was the only one of us
every tried to climb
clean to the top.

Right little monkey,
he was.

[hooting like a monkey]

[laughter]

Get off! What is it?
What is that?

What do you mean?
It's a monkey!

It's a monkey!

Such bonny stitchwork.

I'm hopeless
with a needle.
Ten thumbs.

I'll teach you
lacemaking.

You made that?

Aye. A gentleman's wife
in Edinburgh gave me work.

Has Tommy told you
about the plot he's hatched
for the money matches?

If there's plotting
afoot, I'm in.

Why are we giving all the riches
to the rich, Davie?

It makes no sense.

The rich have riches.
It's nothing to do with us.

Yeah, but it does if they're
betting on you and me.

Perhaps this
can wait.

Some matters are best
left unannounced.

I'm starving.
Is there any more food?

Here, take that.
Do you want some?

-[butler] The post is here, sir.
-[captain] Good.

And Thomas Morris
to see you, sir.

Which one?

Thomas Jr.

Did he state
his business?

All he would say is
"the rights of man."

Very well,
send him in.

[clock chiming]

Never seen a man play
chess alone before.

My partner's
a Cambridge don.

He's a brilliant
tactician.

We play by mail,
you see.

With this morning's post,
he lost a pawn,

and he's about
to lose another.

What brings you
to see me, young man?

I want to discuss the stakes
for the match tomorrow.

Ah, I might've guessed.

A young man's fancy
turns to thoughts of love.

And money.

We've always been
very generous with you, Tommy,

moreso than with your father,
as a matter of fact.

But then, you've always
been more valuable to us
in some ways.

My view of my value
differs from yours, Captain.

You see, Davie and I
are the ones
playing the match,

so we should be the ones
collecting on the stakes.

[chuckles] Well,
don't be ridiculous.

It's time
for a new arrangement, sir.

An arrangement.

You are not
my business partner.

You have your role,
and we reward you for it,

just as we do
with your father and the rest.

If you want me to play
the match tomorrow,

then the money comes to me
before we begin, all of it.

I'll take my fair share,
and I'll give the rest
back to you.

Otherwise you can find
yourself another player.

Your station in life
was set before you
were born, young Morris.

Now, you've done well
for yourself,
I grant you that,

but never think that putting
on a gentleman's suit

makes you a gentleman.

You come to my home
with these outrageous demands.

In your father's time,
that would've earned
you a lashing.

Be grateful.

You prosper thanks
to men like me.

[door slams]

The sheer nerve of the man.

Next he'll expect
to be a member of the club.

We'll not have
the greenkeeper's son acting
as our equal.

God forbid I should
live to see it.

Right, you're certain,
are you?

-Yes.
-Right.

Why don't you just
wait right here.

Yeah. Yeah, that would
make more sense.

Right.

*

Tommy!

Thomas!

Thomas Morris!

Tommy!

Tommy, you know I can't
let you in here.

Just pretend you
never saw me, Bertie.

You must leave at once!

Right you are, sir.

I'm due at the tee
any minute now.

Gentlemen, 'tis a grand day
for golf, is it not?

This is too much!

The clubhouse is for members,
Tommy, as you well know!

Well, I'll not be long, Captain.

[clears throat]

You will leave now.

Gonna be
a good show, gents.

[door closes]

*

[crowd groans]

Davie Strath plays a stymie
like an old woman.

[chuckles] Golf champion
Tommy Morris.

He'd have blocked my ball,
too, if he could.

[softly] Never.

No, you're all right, Tommy.
You can pick that up.

The gentlemen.

[clears throat]

So you want me
to take this?

Of course.

[crowd chuckles]

[host]
The hole is halved.

Davie Strath is two up.

Say your prayers,
young Tommy.

My man's lying two.
He's got you beat.

I wish that fool
would shut his yap.

Well, if fools fell
silent, this would be
a very quiet town.

[chuckles]

[crowd ahhs]

Brilliant!

That's the gentlemen's
fair share.

Fine thank you
from Davie and I, gents.

He bested me today,
but I think we gave you
a good show.

You're a hero, Tommy Morris,
to this town,

but a gentleman,
you'll never be.

Aye, well, times change,
Captain.

Times change.

What d'you want?
What d'you want?
What d'you want?

-That one, please.
-Okay.

Tommy Morris!
Congratulations.

Bloody pleased.
It was a big day out there.

Thanks very much.
Thank you. Thank you.

Did you come up
last week?

[indistinct chatter]

Anyway, I've got to be going.
I just wanted to say good luck.

Well, thank you
very much. Thanks.

*

You shouldn't be
wasting your winnings
on fancy dresses!

What should I
waste it on, then?

Cake?

Good idea.

Milady.

[whistle blowing]

Old Mrs. Fraser wouldn't
recognize me now.

Oh, the lady
you worked for.

Aye, lacemaking.

She slapped me once
for wearing
a ribbon in my hair.

If she saw you now,
she'd kill you outright.

Why are you doing
all this for me, Tommy?

What do you mean?
Because I want to.

Because we're having fun,
aren't we?

That can lead
to trouble for a woman.

You're not like
any woman I've ever met.

You're only 22.

I'm 23.

Oh, well.

What do you think
of love, Margaret?

[scoffs]

I... don't put
much store by it.

[whistle blowing]

We're here.

[crumpling]

Address the ball, Tommy.

Hold still, please.

[shutter clicks]

So, will you be talking
to Willie Park

for your article,
Mr. Atwood?

In fact, I'm not.
Not Willie, not Tom Kidd,

none of the other
leading professionals.

No one in London
cares a whit

for any golfer
not named Thomas Morris.

[Tommy] As well
they shouldn't.

And is it the old,
ancient history of golf
that they're after,

in which case,
you should probably
speak to my father.

[George] My story's
about the founding father
and son of the modern game.

That makes a grander tale
than either father
or son alone.

Let me ask you, Tom,
do you believe

your son inherited
his talents from you,

or did you teach him
all he knows of golf?

I'm taught him
everything he knows...

but not everything
that I know.

[laughs sarcastically]

Hold still.

[shutter clicks]

[chickens clucking]

It's a mother's right
to know these things.

Surely you understand.

*

[exclaiming]

Tommy!

Tommy, you can't beat him.
He shoots it a mile!

Be still, Jimmy.
I'm not beat yet.

It's not always
about length.

Sometimes
it's accuracy.

Yeah! I'll double
our side bet.

Gambling with a wild man.

Aye. Double it.

[woman] Extraordinary!

[crowd exclaiming]

[crowd] Whoa!

[shop door bell rings]

[laughing]

Mum. Dad.

Tommy gave me
his winnings.

It's no great honor
beating Robin Hood, Jimmy.

Here, Dad.

A golf quiver.

Jimmy, leave us.
Go see what
your sister's wanting.

Most of that money will go
into collections Sunday.

On your way.

Aye, Father.

Of course, we'd make ours bigger
for more clubs, like, but...

The caddies would love you
for it, Dad.

-What do you think?
-Your mother's been
to Whitburn, Tommy.

What's this about?

That woman you're squiring
for the whole town to see,

do you know the first thing
about her, Tommy?

-Besides what you're
wanting from her?
-Nancy.

A fornicatrix!
This Drinnen woman
parading around,

named and shamed
in her own church.

I don't listen
to church gossip, Mum.

'Tis not gossip.

Your Margaret Drinnen,

the scullery maid you've
pinned your heart to...

her minister showed me
the ledger.

She had a bastard child
five years ago!

All Whitburn knows
what she is!

You'll not see
that woman again.

[door slams]

*

-Meg.
-Tommy?

Tommy.

I don't care.

[chuckles]

*

Are you scared, Tommy?
I'd be scared.

Not a whit, Jackie boy.
Not a whit. Come on.

They're a family
of princes.

Without the king
and queen, I see.

"Give ear to my words, O Lord.
Consider my meditation.

Harken unto
the voice of my cry,

for unto Thee I will pray.

My voice shalt Thou hear
in the morning.

O Lord, in the morning
will I direct

my prayer unto Thee
and will look up."

For luck.

You're all
the luck I need.

[minister clears throat]

Dearly beloved, we're gathered
here in the sight of God

to join this man and woman
in holy matrimony.

Marriage is ordained
for the procreation of children,

to be brought up in the fear
and nurture of the Lord.

Wilt thou have this woman
as thy wife?

Will thy love, honor,
and keep her,

in sickness and in health,

forsaking all others
so long as you both shall live?

I will.

And, Margaret, wilt thou have
this man as thy husband?

Will thy love, honor,
and keep him,

in sickness and in health,

forsaking all others
so long as you both shall live?

I will.

I now pronounce you
husband and wife.

You may kiss the bride.

[applause and cheers]

[man] Tommy!

The last train leaves
Carnoustie at seven.

Lizzie will be here
to look in on you.

[scoffs] I'm lucky
to see her an hour a day,

now that she has
her new friend, that woman.

She's our daughter-in-law.

Tommy loves her, Nancy.
So must we.

I'll not sell my home
to a mere golf player.

I understand,
Mr. Urquhart.

But, you know,
he's not a mere golf player.

His name is known
from London to Calcutta.

Aye. 'Tis the name

of the head of the caddies
at the golf course.

'Tis the name
of a golf shop.

-You're speaking of his father.
-One and the same.

I understand.

Have you not
heard me, man?

This may be worthy
of your attention.

We'll put a putting green
on the rise over there.

It's good to keep the golfer
looking toward heaven.

A bunker here
for the over-ambitious.

Wise men like yourselves

will make a prudent shot
to here.

Then it's one, two shots
to the hole.

-You got that, son?
-Aye.

Okay.

And does young Tommy Morris
design golf courses?

Tommy's no interested
in designing courses, sir.

He's only interested
in conquering them.

[man speaking]

Reginald White will represent
Blackheath in this contest,

and representing St. Andrews,
the champion golfer of Scotland,

Tom Morris, Jr.

I never saw
so many bonny lasses.

How long can
we stay in London?

Well, not long.

I'll have this boy
beat in no time.

All the best, sir, eh?

Hi, Lady Margaret.

She knows we're to start
at half eight.

Aye, and we've got
all night, hmm?

And then we can
have our night.

Don't paw at me, Tommy.
I'll not have my appearance
ruined, as well.

[knock on door]

Oh. Here we go.

Hello! Come in,
come in, come in.

Happy Hogmanay.
Go straight through.
Go straight through.

-Happy Hogmanay!
-You too!

Likewise. Happy Hogmanay.
Go on, straight through.

Happy Hogmanay.

Happy Hogmanay.
Look at this house!

Happy Hogmanay, son.

Thank you
for coming, Dad.

Nancy sends her best.

This weather's
awful hard on her.

She'll not be dining with us
this evening, I'm afraid.

Sorry to hear that.

*

Do you know I left St. Andrews
after you spoke to my mum?

No? Well, I did.

I gave up my job.
A good job, it was.

I had no place to go.

I went back to Whitburn.

Your Tommy came
looking for me.

Young men look for things.

I'm not a thing!
I'm your son's wife.

I'm Mrs. Thomas Morris
just as you are,

and I'll thank you
to remember it.

I was his mother
before you were his wife.

Yes! You brought him
into this world.
Hallelujah. You--

You have no right
to speak to me like this.

I have the same rights
as any wife.

But none of a mother.

*

It was a girl.

Did they tell you?

My child...

had very
little life in her.

She lasted
three short weeks.

Many a day, I wished
her fate was my own.

[sniffles]

Tommy chose me.

Do you understand?

You might think
otherwise, plenty do.

I know what people
think of me.

I'll not be
run off again.

[man] ...that much gravy
and not have any.
I find that very wasteful.

[soft chatter and laughter]

[Tommy speaking
endearingly]

[table falls silent]

This is a lovely holiday
you've made.

Thank you.
We'll have many more.

Yes, we will.

[clock chiming]

Davie and I've
been thinking.

We stage our own matches.

That way we can play
any course, any time.

And if they haven't
a pair of crack golfers
to play against us,

we'd play singles,
me versus Tommy,

just like we did
for the gentlemen.

Aye, exactly.

So, let's just say
we start at Prestwick...

We take their money, aye,
obviously...[chuckles]

And then off
we go on tour.

Perth, Musselburgh,
North Berwick.

In a month we've made our way
as far down as Newcastle,

Hoylake, even Blackheath.

Then we just come back off
our tour with pockets
full of pounds.

-Buccaneers with golf sticks.
-I'll drink to that.

-Eh, to the buccaneers!
-To the buccaneers!

[all] Buccaneers!

Golfomania,
they're calling it.

At Blackheath,
they even held

a tournament
for lady golfers.

Don't their bosoms
get in the way?

Judging by their scores,
perhaps they do.

I should like to meet
the one who came in last.

Well, perhaps she might need
a new caddy, Davie.

Perhaps she does.

Have you heard
Major Molesworth's
latest claim?

He's declared that
he and his son

can beat any two men
willing to take them on.

This man's mad!

There's a method
to his madness,
or so it seems.

He's set on making
Blackheath a showplace
to rival St. Andrews.

George, did you really come
all the way from London

just to talk about
this Englishman?

Not at all.

I came to talk
with the two golfers

I hear
cannot be beat.

That's more like it.

What are you
knitting, there?

*

Secret keeper!

How far gone are you?

About three months,
I reckon.

Who else knows?

Only Tommy.

Now you.

[both chuckle]

You think your mum
will like me better now?

[laughs]

[chatter]

Make way! Come on!

[laughing, shouting]

Come on! Tommy!

A plain country minister
stands humbly before you,

a minister who knows the role
he is to play in God's world.

And I ask, Do you?

Acceptance of one's destiny.

Humility before God and man.

Did not our Lord
renounce all possessions,

seeking only
to follow the path

His Father
set before Him?

Not for Him to grasp
at worldly advancement.

Yet some among us do grasp.

Some think to rise
above their station.

Seeking glory.
Seeking status.

I'll not listen to this.
Come, Meg.

[parishioners murmuring]

Worldly desires cannot change
the plans our Lord has for us!

It's the North Berwick
Town Council that's invited us.

Put up £1,000.

The town council?

But they don't have
a player in the match.

No, but they reckon people
are gonna come from all over,

you know, the holiday makers,

just to watch
the great Tommy Morris

and capable
Davie Strath

beat the tar out
of the Park brothers.

You're joking.

Yeah, Archie Croyle threw
me out last night, he did.

And you know
I'm his best customer!

Well, the Cross Keys Pub's

no place
for a respectable man.

Look, the doctor
says it's broke.

I won't lift a club
for a month.

Oh, Davie! Davie, they're never
gonna put the match off.

Well, they'll
have to, won't they?

Sally.

Come, David.

Yeah.

He hasn't won a money match
in a dog's age.

I'll be better off
playing with Jimmy.

You think
that's right, my love?

The way he putts, though,
you'd think he had
his eyes closed.

[chuckles]

He's so proud
to be your father, Tommy.

Being there with you...

How many more chances
is he gonna have
to be your golf partner?

Don't want
to leave you, though.

Don't be daft.

Lizzie will be here,
fussing over me.

The girl
practically lives here.

Go with your dad...
and win.

If you say so.

Your mother is
a very clever woman,

so I suggest you
stay here, as well.

"Grand match
in North Berwick.

[clears throat]

All eyes turn to the links
for the upcoming match

between Willie and Mungo Park,
of Musselburgh,

and the Morrises
of St. Andrews.

Unprecedented sums
ride upon the outcome.

The Park brothers
are favored to prevail."

-What?
-Well, load of shite.

[all] Hey!

Don't worry, Dad.

Just give those putts
a good spanking,
and we'll be all right.

Our each side is
to play a single ball,
alternating shots.

Park brothers
have the honor.

Clear away,
gentlemen!

[man] Come on, Willie!

Come on, Willie!

[woman] Come on, Willie!

[man] Come on, Tommy.
Beat the two!

Come on, Tommy.

Come on, Tommy.

[applause and cheers]

*

Straight
in the hole, Mongo.

[disappointed cries]

Don't worry, brother.

You know who's holding
their putter.

[spirited cheers]

Look at that!
Come on!

Morrises are one up.

Here it is!

We can do it in two, son.
Just get it near the green.

No, I can get it
from here, Dad.

[bystanders] Aw, Tommy.

[rustles bush]

Never mind.
Never mind.

Give me the chipper.

[exclaims and applause]

Sure you got
your line right there, old Tom?

Looks a wee bit off to me.

[cheering]

Hey, stop this!
Stop this!

Stop this at once!

Play is suspended
until order can be restored!

Stop it! Hear me!
Stop this right now! Andy!

Yes, sir!

Bring a rope right away,
and we'll hold the line.

-Yes, sir.
-Now, that's enough of that.

[man] Thomas Morris?
Thomas Morris?

Aye, son.

Telegram, sir.

*

Excuse me, sir.

-I got the rope, sir.
-Oh, that's my man.

That's exactly
what I'm after.

[indistinct
conversation]

Golfers!

Follow me!

Tommy.

[indistinct conversation]

*

[cheering]

Well done, Mungo!

Park brothers, one up.

[indistinct conversation]

[crowd laughing, taunting]

Damn it!

Match is all spare,
with one hole to play.

*

[exclaims]

[cheering]

Good one!

I hereby declare
that the Morrises of St. Andrews

have beaten the Parks
of Musselburgh

by one hole at the last!

When's the next train
back to St. Andrews?
I have to get back now.

The next train's at 4:00.
You'd be better off
taking the boat.

It'll take hours
off your journey.
I'll get Lewis to take you.

-Lewis!
-Aye?

Can you take young Tommy
and Tom up to St. Andrews?

-He has to get back.
-Aye, the boat's ready to go.

Good. Thank you!

Tom Morris, you'll have
your winnings here, sir.

Thank you.

Many congratulations
on your victory today.

Cold water.

[groans]

Hold your leg up.

[panting]

-[screams]
-That's a girl.

That's it.

Why did you
no give it to me?

We only had
three holes left to play.

But it was sent
to me, no you.

You've no business
keeping it from me.

I didn't want
to burden you with it.

Dad, I'm not
a child anymore.

Can you
no see that?

I'm a married man now.

You can't just keep
making decisions for me.

I don't need you
to do that anymore.

We had to finish the match.

No, we didn't.

No, we didn't, Dad.

No, there is
no shame to a forfeit
if you can't play on.

Did you not tell me that?

Is that not one
of the many golden rules

you drummed into me
since I was a boy?

We were winning.

No. No, you were having
a good game, Dad,

and you don't have
many of them anymore.

Golf is your god,
Dad, it's not mine.

[screaming]

I shall need towels
and ice water.

You'll need to keep her
temperature down.

Shh.

[screaming]

He'll be
here soon, lass.

Lassie...

I've never known
Tom Morris to be late.

He's coming soon.
We sent him a telegram.

He'll be
on the next train.

He gets home before me...

At least he gets...

Is he here yet?

Ladies, you must
leave the room.

Now.

Lizzie, we must do
as he asks.

Tommy!

Tommy!

Tom--

[screaming]

*

[reading prayers]

[door opens]

[Tommy] Margaret!
Margaret!

It was a boy, Tommy.

Your Margaret put up
a valiant effort,
God rest her soul.

And the child's.

Margaret.

Margaret!

[stammering]

Margaret! Mar--

[sobbing]

My baby...

No, Margaret!

*

[soft weeping]

[leaves rustling]

[birds calling]

God!

Why?!

Why now?! Why now?!

[sobbing]

[seagulls crying]

Here for a walk?

You just need
to build up
your strength.

So they say.

Have you heard the noise
the Englishman's making?

Aye. Old Molesworth's
at it again.

He's putting his son up
against all the best
professionals.

He makes sure he gets
plenty of strokes going in.

Willie Park
spotted him four shots,
and then Willie lost.

Molesworth is
handicappin' that boy
like a pony in a race!

Now he's issued
an official challenge.

It's in all
the newspapers.

They've got the crackpot idea
the laddie can beat you, Tommy.

[soft conversation]

If young Arthur here was to play
the illustrious Tommy Morris,

on his home links, no less,

well, in all fairness,

four strokes would
not be sufficient.

Now, Major, as I'm sure
you can understand,

there are other elements
to consider,

circumstances that can affect
a man's abilities.

Arthur here took four strokes
off Willie Park.

[conversation continues
indistinctly]

[waitress laughs]

It will be a match
to remember for years to come.

Will you play, Tommy?

We'd all go out
to see you win.

Thank you for
your thoughts, miss.

-I'm sorry.
-That'll be all.

Women.

*

I'll play.

Oh, a toast!

[man chuckles,
glasses clink]

Tommy! Come on,
you're late, man. Come on.

Tommy!

[groans,
beats on door]

Tommy,
wake up, lad.

Can't see him.

-Yeah, Davie.
-What?

[banging]

Tom, come on.
Tom, come on, lad.

Up you get. Come on.

Help get him up.
Come on.

Up you get, Tommy,
come on.

Come on, lad.

There we go.
That's it, Tommy, come on.

Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.

Tommy! Tommy, Tommy.

There you go, Tommy.
There you are, boy.

Where's my clubs?

-[coughing]
-All right.

-No, no.
-Hey, go on.

No.

You all right,
Tommy?

Aye.

Yeah?

[Molesworth]
Good morning.

This is the last day
of our contest.

Mr. Arthur Molesworth
leads by one hole,

with these 18 left to play.

Mr. Molesworth has the honor.
Play away.

[indistinct conversation]

He swings like a lassie.

I tried talking to
that fancy British caddy
of his.

Looked at me like
I was a red Indian.

What's he carrying
ten clubs for?

No man needs more than seven.

Davy, how's our boy faring?

We're one up!

Oh, one up.

*

[crowd sighs]

Course is unplayable.

The match is suspended
until conditions improve.

You're in my way.

Tommy, maybe
your dad's right.

Let's just go inside
and sit by the fire, eh?

Wouldn't be like you
to stop a match,
now, would it?

[man clears throat]
Take heed, all.

If the player retires
from the course,
he forfeits the match.

I'm the keeper
of these links,

and I say the weather wins.
Play is suspended.

The wager stands.

Molesworth, one up.

[shop door bell dings]

Son, son...

This'll warm your hands.

[breathing shakily]

Thank you.

[applause]

[indistinct shouts]

*

No, no, no.
Not now. Not now.

[Margaret] Tommy.

Tommy.

Tommy.

It's all right, Tom.
Come on, Tom.

Not too late
for a side bet, Charles.

Well, you're
the bold man now,

are you, now
the tide has turned.

Oh, come on,
be a sport.

There's nothing better
than all square
on the last hole.

Winning is better.

I would suggest,
um, stymie him.

[crowd groans]
Oh, come on!

Coward.

[cheers erupt]

[shivering]

[knocking on door]

[suppressed coughs]

Did you see the look
on the English goose, Tommy?

You plucked him good.

That lost shot could be
your best one ever.

By the best golfer ever.

Tommy, Major Molesworth's
come to see you.

I must apologize
for the hour.

I brought a gift
for the champion. Thank you.

It was...

a match for the ages.

A brave victory.

For your
next winter battle.

I'll show you out, sir.

[coughing]

Don't touch it.
It's Tommy's.

I'm not hurting it.

It's late. You two, bed.

You surprised us
with that final shot today, son.

A rut iron
on the putting green.

You'll have every golfer
in Scotland tryin' it,

destroying my greens.

Maybe we'll make
a new iron club,

a cleek for the green...

with a flat bottom,

so you lift the ball
without tearing the turf.

Dad.

I'm here, son.

I forgive you, Dad.

*

They say he died
of a broken heart.

I leave
that kind of talk

to those with
a fanciful turn of mind.

Poets, fortune tellers,
your like.

I'm the last one,
Mr. Atwood.

You see how strong he is?

Could hit the ball
farther than anybody.

No mean feat given
the cudgels we made
back then.

It's a handsome memorial,

and an honor to you,
as well.

Hmm.

The truth is,
he was better than I.

He was better
than all of us.

*

*