In the Name of the Father Page #6

of this case:

Inspector Dixon...

a decorated officer

of great expertise...

acting on reliable information

and good detective work...

arrested Paul Hill...

who, guilt-ridden by the shame

of his crime, confessed.

That confession led the police

to the ringleader, Conlon...

and his terrorist family...

his aunt, Annie Maguire,

the experienced bomb maker...

who wore rubber gloves

when handling explosives...

in the kitchen

of her home in Harlesden.

She even allowed her children

to handle explosives...

Vincent, aged 16,

Patrick, 14...

who did not... could not...

knowany better.

Giuseppe Conlon,

her brother-in-law...

the courier who arrived

with more explosives.

Armstrong and his dupe

Richardson, who carried the bomb.

Now, these are the people who,

in a panic...

had to dispose

of the nitroglycerine...

and that is what sealed

their fate.

How do we know this?

Because the truth was on their hands.

It is a story written

in the blood of their victims.

You have seen some of those

who survived...

their callous disregard

for human life.

It is now your duty

to protect society from them.

I am confident that

that is what you will do.

Have you reached a verdict?

Yes, we have, my lord.

- How do you find the defendants?

- Guilty as charged.

Hang the Irie bastards!

Order! Silence!

String 'em up!

Gerard Patrick Conlon.

Stand up.

I feel it is my duty

to wonder aloud...

why you were not charged

with treason to the Crown...

a charge that carries a penalty

of death by hanging...

a sentence I would have had

no difficulty in passing...

in this case.

I sentence you

to life imprisonment...

and I instruct

that you shall serve...

a minimum of 30 years.

Take him down.

Help me.

Paul Michael Hill.

In my view, your crime

is such that...

life shall mean life.

Annie Maguire,

I recommend you serve 14 years!

- What have I done, for Christ's sake?

- Take her down!

- Giuseppe Conlon, 12 years.

- No, my husband's innocent!

Lord have mercy on you!

Patrick Joseph Armstrong,

Carole Richardson,

Our case was so insane that if you

made it up, nobody would believe it.

Look, Gareth, I know people say

that I'm a compulsive storyteller...

and nobody believed

a word I said in court...

but Charlie Burke did exist... he's not

just a figment of my imagination.

Sorry.

We were shipped off

to Park Royal Prison...

an old Victorian fortress where the

most dangerous criminals were held...

in the maximum-security wing.

- Place of birth.

- Belfast.

Then you're British.

This is your home

for the rest of your life.

So accept it and get on with it.

Right, come this way.

The chief warder, Barker...

gave us blue denim uniforms

with yellow stripes.

We were Category A...

the highest-security class along

with the rapists and murderers.

My father said

we'd fight for an appeal...

but I didn't want to know

about the legal system.

- I'm going back to the cell.

- Come on. Followme.

Come on, Gerry.

Hey, Ronnie.

There's those Irish bastards, Ronnie.

Irish scum.

My name's Giuseppe Conlon.

I'm an innocent man.

So is my son.

We shouldn't even be in here.

Get that f***ing scum

off my floor.

I said, knock it off!

- They must know they've made a mistake.

- No, they don't.

The proof of our innocence

must be there in the evidence.

We have to fight 'em

to get an appeal.

- I'll speak to Father Wilson.

- Speak to everybody.

We'll write letters from in here.

Start a campaign.

Have they been

treating you all right?

Aye, fine. Fine.

Have they, son?

Aye. No problem.

Landing officers, exercise.

Forgot the dessert spoons.

There we go.

These chips are not bad.

- Now don't you despair, son.

- Never mind about "don't despair."

What?

I mean, we're innocent,

we can't even go out of the cell.

You're better offbeing guilty.

At least you get some respect.

Landing officers

on the threes for exercise.

You can have my chips.

Gerry, man.

Problem? You all right?

How you like your new home?

Bombing of pillar-box,

Kensington High Street.

Bombing of pillar-box,

Talbot Lodge.

Bombing of naval club.

Bombing of Aldershot Railway Station.

Attempted murder ofEdward Heath.

Murder ofRoss McWhirter.

Possession of firearms,

Balcombe Street, December 6, 1975.

And the Guildford pub bombings.

You have innocent people

in jail for that.

Take him out.

He did it.

Where's all the missing pieces?

We eat it up, man.

Before my woman

send it in here, right...

she have it dipped

in liquid acid...

LSD, man.

We've been dropping the British Empire

for the last six months.

You want to fly?

Pick a country.

F***'s sake, don't give me Northern

Ireland. I don't want a bad trip.

Try Nepal, man.

Take you to the Himalayas.

See the dragon.

Lights out in 15 minutes.

Are you praying

for the Seventh Cavalry?

Hail Mary, full of grace,

the Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou amongst women, and

blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, mother of God,

pray for us sinners...

now and at the moment of our death.

Amen.

That's not funny, Gerry.

Hail Mary, full of grace,

the Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women...

and blessed is the fruit

of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, mother of God...

pray for us sinners, now and

at the hour of our death. Amen.

Are you on drugs?

Look, Da, I'll be older than you are

now when I get out of this place.

If I get out.

- Are you listening to me?

- I'm not talking to you.

Now who's being childish?

I haven't had a sensible word

out of you for two weeks.

That stuff'll kill you.

Sure I'm dead anyway.

Look, I'm sorry. I'll not

take it again so long as you live.

Are you happy now?

No.

Why not?

I don't want you to take it

whether I live or die.

Jesus Christ.

All right. I'll do nothing

to annoy you in your grave.

Noware you happy?

Is that a promise?

Aye.

Maybe.

Gerry, man,

check out your friend.

He look like the real thing.

Come on.

- Excuse me.

- All right.

Let's have a talk.

We have to eat in the cells.

See ya later.

Gerry, come on.

Morning, paddy.

Yes!

Come on!

Yes, man, Gerry!

This one, this one, this one,

Lock up!

He'll be all right.

He'll be back in a couple of days.

I'm worried about Bridie.

Why?

She's dyed her hair blonde.

Well, she's only young.

She's wearing a dog collar.

There's a fella chained to it.

He's got one on too.

Well...

as long as she's happy.

Lunch break.

Yes, Gerry, man!

That's right!

Gerry's a bad boy!

Put the Englishman

under heavy, heavy manners.

Yes, sir. Go on, boy.

Kick out them clods, yes?

This is Joe McAndrew.

He has something important to tell you.

Hello, Mr Conlon.

I'm watching you.

What is it?

I'm the one who planted

the Guildford bomb, Mr Conlon.

Did you tell the police that?

Yes, I did.

- But we haven't heard a thing.

- See what he has to say, Da.

Go on.

I told them.

They know the truth.

They can't afford to face it.

It's a war.

You're one ifits innocent victims.

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