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.
Beautiful 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.
Sweet Jesus 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