She was incredibly beautiful.
The bloom on her cheeks was so charming
that, next to her, the finest rose petal looked like a dirty stain.
Her eyes were as blue as the sky. - Stupid Whitey. Pay attention.
Her lips were as red as scarlet velvet ribbons.
Their number grew steadily.
Then Jan Breydel climbed onto a wagon which just happened to be there
and waved his axe above his head like a windmill.
Flanders the Lion. Everything Wallonian is vile. Kill it.
The Flemish crowds pressed violently forward towards the retreating enemies
and beat the fallen knights with clubs and axes.
Thousands of horses lay in the kneaded earth
and the bodies of the enemy covered the ground.
Those were bloody good battles.
Friar William of Saeftinge stood by the fallen chancellor Pierre Flotte
and the Frenchman begged for mercy.
Friar William laughed derisively and hacked him in the back of his neck.
Cor! - So that, robbed of his life,
he fell with his face in the spilt blood.
Makes you thirsty. - Have a bite of my apple.
I would've liked to have been there.
The mace.
Early tomorrow we will destroy the evil enemy from the south
with our axes.
Valiant people of Flanders, remember the glorious deeds of your forefathers.
My noble lord and master, we will fight for you and die for you.
The Frenchman is already afraid. - I'll make mincemeat out of them.
Long live Belzen, damn it.
By this dear earth, which I wish to carry in my heart
today I shall perish or be victorious.
Starvelings. - Come on, we're off.
Noble knights of Flanders and surrounding areas, to arms.
The enemy is approaching, our country is in trouble. Raise the alarm!
The Flemings are there. Raise the alarm!
The Flemings are coming.
Slaves of France. Prepare to fight.
You are going to get a beating.
Forsworn knights, you are about to feel the lion's claw, my claw.
Attack.
Flanders the Lion. Everything Wallonian is vile. Kill it.
One, two, one, two.
Attack.
Hey, Whitey. - Out of the way, haven't got time now.
Can we join in?
Are you Flemings? - Of course.
Get over here then, we are suffering heavy losses.
Flanders the Lion.
Everything Wallonian is vile.
General, your wife has been captured by the French.
That, too.
Noble Flemish fighters, gather round your lion
because we are going to free my beloved. Attack.
I'm a Fleming, Whitey.
So say Shield and Friend. - Shilt and Fend.
Bastard.
Lad. What's happened?
Father. Father.
Dirty Fleming.
Lewie Verheyden, what's all this? - The French are bastards.
What did you say?
A Fleming doesn't kneel before a Frenchman.
I'll show you how sharp my sword is.
Father!
Whitey, you are fighting the priest!
Stop it. Stop it, damn you.
The Fleming doesn't kneel before a Frenchman, only before God.
You'll be sorry.
Leave it alone. The sexton'll be out to see what's up.
Damn. Stupid cupboard.
Books in the church. You don't need to be in that cupboard.
Jan Breydel, your mother said you have to go to farmer Coene after mass.
Coene. I'd much rather work for the monks.
The Count of Flanders? Make sure you serve mass properly first.
When I do this and kneel, d'you know what you have to do?
Yes, yes, Father.
Whitey? - Yes?
The sprinkler.
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen.
Dearly beloved.
A few days ago I was sitting on the train to Hasselt.
Opposite me was a man reading his newspaper.
The man looked like a labourer,
from a farming family.
He was wearing patched but clean working clothes.
But the newspaper he was reading, dearly beloved,
I know the name of that newspaper.
You all know the name of that newspaper.
I will not say the name of that dirty rag,
that is the instrument of the godless, the heretics and the Freemasons,
here in this place.
I put out my finger to tap the man on his shoulder
when I saw that he was asleep.
Not a peaceful sleep, no.
His face was distorted into a demented grimace.
The man hadn't fallen asleep.
He'd passed away.
But he wasn't resting in Christ,
he'd died reading that terrible newspaper.
Dead.
Dearly beloved,
like many others, this man had become the prey and victim
of foolishness,
degeneration,
of those groups that call themselves socialists.
Those who claim to be the friends of the workers,
who threaten the very foundations of our values, our religion, our morals,
yes, even work itself.
Knives so sharp they hurt your eyes and good cigars.
I don't know how come, but all of it is almost for free.
All of it.
How much are your books? - You can't afford them.
When can I have a book? - Come back when you're richer.
Look at the lovely things I've got.
Pipes for the girls, marbles for the boys.
Aren't you buying anything, lad? - No, lad.
Why not? - Because not.
Why aren't you buying anything?
None of your business.
He was given a cent for show but he's got to give it back.
Stupid idiots.
Bloody hell, Whitey, come here. Come here.
Get up.
Miser. Slave-driver.
What are you doing here? - Taking off my best clothes.
In that cupboard? What are you looking for in there?
The guards should make sure they don't fight at the annual fair again.
Not that anything can be done about it.
We won't let the windows of the town hall be broken again.
A famous orchestra is coming this year. I organised it.
Are you back again? - I've got my money.
What did you say? I didn't hear what you said.
I want to buy three books. - Where'd the money come from? Stolen?
No, no. I worked hard for it. - Jan, don't tease the lad.
Give him the books, you old fool.
Lad, shouldn't you be at work?
Yes, father. In a minute.
If only Hein were here.
Teun?
Teun? Where's that little Whitey of yours now?
My name's Hein.
Little bastard. Dirty thief.
I'll knock you into the middle of next week!
No, don't. Don't. - Pray, damn you.
He's been behaving a bit strangely recently.
First he wants to be an altar boy and then he gets into terrible fights.
I think he's possessed by the devil. - D'you think so?
Stealing money. Are you possessed? - Shall we go on a pilgrimage for him?
To St. Cornelius. Everything's almost in.
St. Cornelius only helps with bed-wetting.
How about you coming, too? - Arms up.
They can leave early by train. I'll give them some sandwiches.
I don't know.
Good morning. Tickets, please.
Tickets, please.
Thank you. Ah, Whitey.
Tickets, please.
Sir, St. Cornelius' chapel, please.
Are you on a pilgrimage to cure bed-wetting?
No, no. Make sure you don't wet your bed.
Watch it, whippersnapper.
Straight ahead at the exit and turn right there. You can't miss it.
We've taken the wrong turning.
Comrades, it's now or never. This is the third day we're out on the street
and still there's no concession.
It's as if we don't exist.
We have to keep it up. We're letting the bosses know
that we aren't peasants that they can do what they want with.
NO MORE HUNGER.
And if we don't get what we want we'll strike as long as it takes.
We have to carry on striking. We've got nothing to lose.
Let the bosses try doing it.
Can't we stay and watch? They're going to start fighting in a minute.
Why didn't we stay and watch? - Be quiet, Whitey.
Why do I have to be quiet?
Are they socialists? - Shut your stupid face.
Socialists always cause trouble. Always.
Why? - They're never satisfied.
Things aren't easy for you at home, either.
That's not the same thing. They want to destroy everything.
They don't believe in anyone, not even in Our Lord.
That's who the priest was talking about.
They say they're our friends but they're devils.
They don't like it that some earn more than others.
D'you think it's right that farmer Coene earns more than Dad?
Stupid peasant, look where you're walking.
Oh, stop going on.
You should listen to what they say in church on Sunday.
How can I help you?
Well, Father, it's difficult to explain.
Wetting the bed, I suppose? - No.
No. What for then? For convulsions? Mumps?
Measles, wickedness, earwigs.
We can't control Lewie any more.
We think it's nerves. - We'll see what we can do.
You should be ashamed, coming here for a beer.
Calm down. - You're a fine one to say that.
Hitting people like they're animals. - Calm down. Not in my bar.
If you want to fight, go outside.
Calm down, they're not worth it.
Can't we have a beer in peace? We're human, too.
I wasn't sure of that just now. - That's enough.
If we'd wanted, we could've let you see something worth seeing.
That's enough. - Well, it's bloody true, isn't it?
Come on, sit down. - Sit down.
Staying sitting down. - Yes, OK.
That's enough now. Have a drink and leave each other alone.
And give us something, too. - What would you like?
Two glasses of beer. - Are you out having a good time?
No, on a pilgrimage to St. Cornelius. - My head always hurts.
So does mine, but that's because of those men.
That's enough now. Don't start again.
Where are you from? - Us? We're from Sichem.
It's the annual fair there soon.
Yes, party time. And the girls are lovely there, too.
Almost as lovely as you. What's your name?
Rosette. - That's one of my favourite names.
My name is Hein.
Give those men there a drink. - Cheers.
That's what I like to hear. Go on, have a drink.
On the gent.
To the socialists. - To the socialists, Rosette.
Hein, what are you saying? - Don't interfere.
You're girl crazy. I'll tell Liza you're seeing another girl
and father that you've become a socialist.
SICHEM FAIR.
Where's mother?
Went to the fair ages ago. - Why didn't she wake me?
I don't know.
Where's my money?
What money?
Mother promised to give me 15 cents.
Come here.
Give it back later.
Little sod.
What was all that about yesterday evening?
So you came to the fair. - No, I'm still at home.
Look, a frank. They gave it to me at home. Can you change it?
No, I haven't got any change, either. - Didn't get anything, I suppose?
I'm going to buy a knife. - Do they sell revolvers?
Stupid little boy.
Well, Liza, where's Hein?
Is it over? - He had to play in the brass band.
Are you enjoying yourself?
Yes, it's OK.
Have you been on the merry-go-round? - Yes, but it's for little kids.
I suppose you're too grown up? - I go to work already.
True. You'll be coming to work for us regularly now.
And if there's a problem, come and tell me.
I'll help you. - I'll be OK.
I'm sure you will be. - Still. You never know.
But don't tell father, eh? - No, it'll be just between ourselves.
Go and enjoy yourself. Wait a moment.
Here, a couple of cents. There's only one fair a year.
Is he touching someone for money again?
Not at all. I wanted to... - I asked her for some money.
You pay for everything for her. - You should learn to be quiet.
Come on, I'll treat you to a beer.
That boy's going to give me a nervous breakdown.
It's not always about being disappointed in love
even though women like to hear that
And about the fame brought by war
songs like that are not worth listening to
But I sing of each day and not of sadness
The sun and the rain...
Mum.
What's the matter? - You forgot my money.
Really? Poor lad. Have you been walking round here with no money?
The whole time and it's not much fun. - Here you are.
And enjoy yourself. But be home in time for tea.
We know about it all too well in Belgium
In Ghent the weaver is turned into a slave, an animal
by the scum that do nothing themselves
The Wallonians die in misery amid coal and steel,
their bosses earn the dough
And I sing a song in the language of the workers...
I think they're a lot of troublemakers. - D'you think so?
You can see they are. Look at his hair and his clothes.
I feel like punching him in the face.
I don't sing of pain
I will complain no more, it makes me feel small
There are so many days in which to be happy
Today I'm here in the country air
that's much better than within walls of stone
Did you have a good time? - Yes. Is something the matter?
Did you have enough money to stay there so long?
Just.
Give that money back. - Why d'you do it?
I've only got two. - Wheedling money out of your brother
and then saying you haven't got any. It can't go on like this.
Go to you room and stay there. - It's always the same here.
It's always my fault. I get more beatings than meals.
I'm fed up. I'm going to end it.
No. Don't do that. Don't do it.
I know another good one.
Middle of winter, snow outside and it's freezing. 15 degrees below zero.
Someone comes into a bar, all wrapped up warm.
He says: Have you got any cold coffee? The barmaid says: Cold coffee?
Yes, cold coffee. She says, yes. Heat it up then, he says.
Lads, a polka. One, two.
No.
No. No.
I've been patient for long enough.
He's going to work. - He's still a child.
He's almost 13. - Only in 3 months time.
I was sent into the field when I was only 10.
And if he can't work for farmer Coene, he'll have to find work in the town.
There are enough who go and work in the factory.
Our Lewie?
With the socialists?
Can't we wait a bit?
No, I've made up my mind.
Or to a reform school.
Awful. Terrible.
Can I buy you a drink? - No thanks, I'll buy my own.
Landlord, a beer.
Liza.
Watch out. You're hurting me.
Hein, watch out. Listen, there's something I want to tell you.
That you love me? You don't have to say it, you have to show it.
It's not that, it's about Whitey. - I'm fed up hearing about Whitey.
Come here.
Ugly egotist. You only think of yourself.
Keep your mitts off my daughter. - D'you want a punch in the face?
Home, you!
Go on, go home.
Go home!
And you. Get out of here, down-and-out.
I suppose you think you can do what you like?
Bastards.
Suicide. He's in hospital with 27 fractures to his skull.
He hung himself with elastic.
Hein, lad, you'll lose your girlfriend like that.
Don't worry. There are enough girls in the world.
He told farmer Coene exactly what he thought.
Shame you've lost that inheritance now.
Say that again. - Shame you've lost that inheritance.
Bastard.
You're doing it again, Whitey.
I couldn't help it.
It's always the same. I work here, slaving away, sweating like a pig.
Bloody hell. Bastards.
ERNEST CLAES WHITEY
What a nerve! I'll get even with them.