Tommy's Honour

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1

George Atwood, sir,

from "the times" of London.

I looked in at the shop.

They said I'd find you here.

There was another Atwood

at your newspaper.

Yes, my father.

And to his last breath

he told anyone who'd listen

about the "grand old man of

golf."

I see you're still

looking after the course.

Do you, uh,

do you ever get out to play?

Aye.

I can barely hit it

out my own shadow.

That's the modest old Tom

my father wrote about.

You are the founder

of the open championship.

Four-time winner

of the challenge belt.

Why, if not for you, what would

have become of the game of golf?

Listen.

I don't know what kind of article

you've come here to write...

But if it's about

the "grand old man of golf,"

- then you can think again.

- I'm sorry, I...

There's only one story

you'll get from me.

A story about a boy

who carried a cut down golf club

I made for him, everywhere.

A boy who thought he could beat

every golfer in Scotland.

A boy who slept

like a paving stone.

Tommy.

Tommy!

Up!

Far and sure, son.

Far and sure.

There's far for you.

Downward strike, son.

Sharp as you can.

Nice shot. Come on.

Tom Morris.

Master Greenkeeper.

That young lad of yours

is growing like a weed.

He'll make a fine caddy one day.

Thank you, sir.

I'd putt that.

Gambler's spirit.

Duly noted.

Good game, son.

Well played.

- Come now, Tom.

- You've got work to do.

Get the scorecards.

Come on, Lang Dan.

You'll be giving the captain a

lesson after these men come in.

Give me my club, Lang Dan.

Play away, sir.

Direction-wise...

Perfect drive, sir.

Jamie, if I can't read your writing, how

do you expect your schoolmaster to?

I can read it.

Tell us about the train that

goes under the ground, Tommy.

A wonder of the world it is,

Jackie.

10,000 men

dug a tunnel under London.

500 men lost their lives.

And down in this tunnel,

right under everyone's feet,

a thousand lanterns

light the way for a train

that goes as fast as a

cannonball!

- Come on!

- Ah!

Choo-choo!

Thomas Morris junior, put the

child down before you injure him.

You're to help your brother with his

schooling and set a Christian example.

You're not to be

gallivanting about.

Yes, mum.

Back to your lessons now.

There shall be

no fun in this house, children.

Lovely to see you

this fine day, Mrs. Morris.

It would be no fit sabbath

without your sermon to guide us.

Oh, your children are a

testament

to the standards you've set,

madam.

That was Beethoven.

I remember my first piano

lesson like it was yesterday.

I've also had singing lessons

since I was five years old.

Straight away, the teacher said

I had perfect pitch.

Do you know what that is, Tommy?

Perfect pitch?

That was a crap shot.

- You've already had your crap shot.

- Clearly you can have more...

And that was your last one

two shots ago.

- What took you so long?

- Oh, I was kidnapped.

Tortured with Beethoven and

cake.

Did you pray for us

in church today, Tommy?

Indeed I did not.

Two of you are past salvation.

Oh, here, speaking of sin.

Davie enjoyed

a fine romance last night.

- Aye, or so he claims.

- Hey, there's no claiming about it.

Her name was prudence.

Thankfully she had none.

A rut iron.

It's a good club for killing

snakes.

Found a better use for it.

Pick your coins up, boys,

they'll be mine presently.

- Yeah?

- Huh?

- Aye.

- I won that round, Jamie.

Not a chance, man.

Are you daft?

That's no rut iron shot.

You need a mashie.

Not anymore you don't.

- Whoa, wait, what did I just see?

- All right, it hit a rock.

- Penny says I can do it again.

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