you?
It’s the drink
you’re after, is it?
One pint
is hardly a drink.
You’d make that child walk back
into Dublin because you’re after a pint?
Remember this, Francis,
this is the new Ireland.
Wee men in wee chairs
with wee bits of paper.
I think you should leave.
Declan, the door.
And don’t bother
coming back.
This is the Ireland
men died for, is it?
Come on, Frankie.
Free, my arse.
We’re not handing out money
to support the Guinness family.
He wanted to marry her off
to the King of Sicily.
But the beautiful
young Wilgefortis,
she didn’t want to be marrying
no scabby old man, did she?
So, she prayed to God
for help.
And do you know
what he did, Frankie?
No, what did he do?
He grew a moustache
and a beard on her face.
– He didn’t.
– He did.
Malachy,
move away from that window.
Frank, take Eugene,
and don’t forget your bag.
Put your coat on.
Malachy, put your coat on now.
I’m telling you
I’ll kick you so hard.
Here. There you go.
Oliver’s been sick on my jumper.
Hello, Mam.
Oh, come on.
This is Malachy.
Mrs. Sheehan,
pleased to meet you.
And Aggie.
Hi, Aggie.
How are you?
And Pat.
Hi, Pat.
What are you staring at?
Nothing.
Grandma said
she had no room for us in her house,
so she gave us 10 shillings
for two weeks’ rent...
in an upstairs room
in Windmill Street,
near my mam’s sister Aggie.
– Mind yourself, Mrs. Sheehan.
– Look at that.
– I’ll take the weight.
– Why is the heart on fire?
It’s the sacred heart
of Jesus.
Don’t these children
know anything about their religion?
Ah, mom, it’s different
in America.
The Sacred Heart is everywhere.
Even in America.
There’s no excuse
for that kind of ignorance.
Look. That’s the Baby Jesus.
And if you ever need anything,
you should pray to him.
Will you tell Jesus
that we’re hungry?
Shut up!
– Ma!
– Ma!
They’re biting me!
– Mom, I’m bleeding!
– Hold your noise now.
Look! Look at Malachy!
His arm’s all bloody!
It’s the fleas, Angela.
They’re everywhere.
– Malachy, out of the bed.
– Jesus, will we get no rest?
– Malachy, come on. Pull.
– Let’s take the mattress downstairs.
– Pull, Malachy, pull.
– Come on. Come to me.
– Get the mattress downstairs.
– There’s fleas on the floor!
– That’s it, on the ground.
– Ouch!
Malachy, we’re surely gonna
catch our death out here...
and you’ll be getting pneumonia.
Me dad said
that if a man could jump like a flea,
one leap would take him
halfway to the moon.
Once a flea has bit a human being,
the smell of blood is too much for them.
They’re ready
for the lunatic asylum.
They were brought over by the English,
to keep us up at night...
and drive us
out of our wits entirely.
Because the English knew
that the fleas,
they multiply faster
than the Hindus.
– What’s the water for, Dad?
– They do. They do!
I wouldn’t put it past the English.
St. Patrick drove the snakes out of
Ireland; the English brought the fleas.
And the damp.
We loved our dad’s stories.
Hey, wait a minute.
I need some coal.
I’ve got a docket here
from St. Vincent de Paul.
Mister, please.
Francis. Fra--
put that down.
Don’t pick coal
off the road.
We’re not beggars.
It’s terrible. Look.
No pride, Frankie.
Come on!
I can’t believe you.
This baby’s sick,
and he needs a hot drink.
Now, if you’re too grand
to pick coal off the road, I’m not.
Frankie. Malachy!
Okay, come on. Let’s go.
Oh, shit!
Malachy, come on.
Angela, come on.
It’s a rabbit she is,
that Angela.
I don’t see why we should
be paying for her mistakes.
Five born and one gone and so useless
she can’t even scrub a floor.
Go easy with the sugar.
We’re not millionaires.
She was always angry, was Aunt Aggie.
Me dad said it was a good thing she
didn’t own the stable in Bethlehem...
or the Holy Family would be wandering
the world still crumbling with hunger.
I swear the skinny fella’s
the image of his father.
Aye, with the odd look
and the sour puss and all.
I think this fella