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!
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.