do?
Tell your grandma to wash it away
with a little water.
Holy water
or ordinary water?
– He didn’t say, Grandma.
– Well, go back and ask him.
In the name of The Father
and of The Son and of The Holy Ghost.
Forgive me, Father,
for I have sinned.
It’s been a minute
since my last confession.
A minute? Are you the boy
that was just here?
– I am, Father.
– What is it now?
My grandma says holy water
or ordinary water?
He says ordinary water,
and don’t go bothering him again.
Bothering him?
Well, the ignorant
old bog trotter.
There wasn’t anytime
for the Collection. Not a penny.
So Mikey Molloy pretended
to have one of his fits...
so that I could slip in
when no one was looking.
– Missus, quick, He’s having a fit!
– Is he all right?
Mr. O’Brien, quick!
Watch he doesn’t
swallow his tongue.
Does anyone know what to do?
– No, don’t. I’ll do anything.
– Oh, no, you won’t.
You’ve had your last chance.
You can take this with you.
Shoot him!
All you
had to do was bump me off.
– Do you want a toffee?
– Thanks.
I’m glad I did the First Communion.
I’m glad I got my First Confession
over and done with.
Now I’m free to grow up.
Old enough to be ten, anyway.
Old enough to pay the ultimate penance
for growing up.
Worse than joining
the army or the police...
or going to Australia
or becoming a nun in Africa.
Worse than that,
I had to learn Irish dancing.
I don’t want to learn it.
Ow. What did you do that for?
Just don’t want to learn
how to dance.
...and back and back.
Up and back
and one, two.
Lift up your feet,
for the love of Jesus.
One, two, three. And one, two, three.
And up and back, and one, two, three.
And up and back,
and one, two, three.
If my mates saw me
making a pure eejit out of me self...
at the Irish dancing,
I’d be disgraced forever.
I want to be Fred Astaire.
Irish dancers look like they have
steel rods stuck up their arses.
Would you stop the frowning
Frankie McCourt?
You’ve a face on you
like a pound of tripe.
And up and back, and one, two, three.
And up and back, and one, two, three.
The next time I went to dancing lessons,
I bumped into Paddy Clohessy.
– Hi, Frankie.
– Hiya, Paddy. How you doing?
– Not too bad. You?
– Grand. Catch.
Frankie, I’m telling you,
that dancing stuff is for sissies.
You won’t be able
to play football next.
– I won’t?
– You’ll be running around girlie-like.
– Shut up.
– Everyone will be laughing at you.
– They will?
– Next thing, you’ll be knitting socks.
I was finished with the dancing.
Every Saturday, my mam’s sixpence
got me and Paddy into the Lyric...
with enough left to stuff our gobs
with Cleeves’ toffee.
Yay!
I was so happy, I didn’tknow whether
to shit or go blind.
Every week, I’d take the money
and skip the dancing...
and go to the pictures.
When I got home,
I’d make up the dancing...
– and pretend I had a poker up my arse.
– Well done, son.
Hitler shows himself in his true colors.
He marches his troops
into the Rhineland...
in defiance of the terms
of the Treaty of Versailles.
The swastika
spreads its evil shadow.
Sir, what use is Euclid when the Germans
are bombing everything in sight?
What use is Euclid?
Without Euclid,
the Messerschmitt could never
have taken to the sky...
and dart
from cloud to cloud...
and bomb the bejesus
out of the English,
who deserve it after what they
did to the Irish for 800 years.
Euclid is grace
and beauty...
and elegance.
– Do you understand that, boys?
– We do, sir.
– We do, sir.
– I doubt it.
To love Euclid is to be alone
in this world.
You. Clohessy.
Who stood at the foot of the cross
when our Lord was crucified?
The Twelve Apostles, sir?
Clohessy, what is
the Irish word for fool?
Omadhaun, sir.
Sir. I know who stood
at the foot of the cross, sir.
It was
the three Marys, sir.
That’s Fintan Slattery.
He’s going to be a saint
when he gets older.
Everyone know she wears
his sister’s blouse at night...