The Wind That Shakes the Barley

You should've gotten rid of the ball.

You can't take it home with you.

You can't take it home with you.

It's a free out.

Ah, ref, that's a disgrace.

- He held it too long. Shut your mouth.

- Ah, for God's sakes.

The ball is there.

Come on, Teddy!

Come on, Teddy!

Come on, Chris. Come on!

Teddy O'Donovan.

If you don't stop, I'll put you off.

You are not playing hurling.

It's alright. Shake my hand.

We didn't come here to fight.

We came here to play hurling.

You're on your last warning.

We're going to miss you

on the fullback line.

- When are you off to London, Doc?

- At the weekend.

What in the name of Jesus

are you going there for?

- Not enough sick people in Ireland?

- To lick the King's arse.

With a tongue like yours,

you'll be able to cure his piles.

Want to sort your own out first.

I want to see Peggy and your mam.

- She's at the farm. We'll head up.

- Grand.

Welcome. Your mother and father

would have been proud of you.

They would indeed.

- They'll be watching over you.

- Hopefully they will.

- Always knew you'd make the top.

- Well, I'm only starting, really.

Don't be shy. You're going to one of

the very best hospitals in the world.

- It is, I suppose.

- It is.

- Hello, Sinead.

- Damien.

- When are you off?

- At the weekend.

- I wish you all the best.

- Thanks very much.

- Mind yourself.

- I will.

- Right.

- God will protect you, son.

- I know he will.

- Thanks, Peggy.

OK, alright.

- Get over there!

- Against the wall, now!

Don't move a muscle.

Don't look at me! Move!

Right. How many times

have you bastards,

you Mick bastards, been told, eh?

Defence of the Realm Act.

Do you understand?

All public meetings are banned,

and that includes

your poxy little games.

Do you understand?

Take their details.

I want names. I want addresses.

I want an occupation.

- Name?

- Con O'Sullivan.

- Louder!

- Con O'Sullivan.

Ballingeary. Ironmonger.

- Name?

- Chris Reilly.

- Louder!

- Chris Reilly.

- Don't look at me, boy.

- Reaves Estate.

By the crossroads. Farm labourer.

More like a prick!

Don't grin at me, you bastard.

Name?

- Look down.

- Your name?

Micheail O'Sullivan.

What's that shite?

He doesn't want riddles!

He wants your name, in English.

Tell him. Shut the f*** up!

Tell him.

Bit of a comic, are we, boy?

Do you see me laughing? Hm?

Well, laugh at this.

The lot of you, strip off. Now.

Shut up, you b*tch! Move!

Shut the f*** up! Move!

Move! Get back!

I'm telling you, his name...

His name is Micheail O'Sullivan.

He lives with me.

Strip off right now! Right now!

- Quicker!

- Do it right now!

Take your bastard trousers off,

you prick!

Your bollocks are in a bag.

They're not gonna drop out! Come on!

- We got a tough guy over here.

- Take your shirt off!

Take your clothes off, Micheail.

When I say strip,

I mean f***ing strip.

You bastard! Get up, you bastard!

There is no one involved here.

There is no one involved here.

Get up there!

- He's only 17. He's done nothing.

- There is no one involved here.

- Shut the f*** up!

- Micheail O'Sullivan is his name.

He's not involved in anything.

He's... He's 17 years of age.

Micheail O'Sullivan.

Micheail!

Get back in your trough,

you f***ing sow! Get back!

17 years of age.

Not involved in anything,

yet you come here beating women

and children! Is that your game?

Micheail!

That's him done, Sarge.

Right, lads. Start backing off.

Big brave men, aren't you?

Sweet Jesus!

Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh, Jesus Christ.

God! Take him down. Take him down.

- Micheail?

- Micheail!

Micheail? Micheail?

- Micheail?

- Micheail! Micheail!

He's... He's dead.

He's gone. He's gone.

He's gone.

D The old for her

d The new that made me think

d On Ireland dearly

d While soft the wind

blew down the glen

d And shook the golden barley

d 'Twas hard the woeful words

to frame

d To break the ties that bound us

d But harder still to bear the shame

d Of foreign chains around us

d And so I said the mountain glen

d I'll seek at morning early

d While soft the wind blew

down the glen

d And shook the golden barley

Alright, lads.

- Alright, Damien?

- Alright, lads.

Want a cigarette?

I tell you, lads,

it's the last straw.

Benny McCabe, ten days ago.

Innocent. What did he do?

- Cutting turf.

- Then there was Seamus.

Aye, and Young Ernie

across the way there.

All young fellas from the parish.

And poor Micheail inside.

- It's happening everywhere.

- You can't leave us now.

Some of us have the brawn.

Some have the brains.

Not after this. We need you now

more than we ever needed you.

So, what have you got to say

for yourself?

Think about it, Damien.

We've got to get these bastards.

Drive them out.

I agree. We have to drive them out.

How many British soldiers

in the country?

- Too many.

- How many?

- There's about ten thousand.

- Ten thousand? Tans?

Artillery units, machine gun corps,

cavalry.

And many more besides.

What's your point, Damien?

It's young men like Micheail

we're talking about, Teddy.

Micheail was a real Irishman.

- You're a coward, Damien.

- I'm a coward?

And you're a hero, is it, Ned?

You're going to take on the British

Empire with your hurley, is that it?

For Christ's sake, Damien.

What about Micheail?

Look, Micheail was killed because

he wouldn't say his name in English.

Is that what you call a martyr?

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