Jimmy's Hall Page #3

Go on, Jimmy.

I've a chicken at home that can

do exactly the same dance.

Come on.

Stop leading, Oonagh.

Now, come on. Shim-sham time!

And shim-sham.

Right foot first.

And right again.

All right! Same again.

Left foot again. Good.

Oh, show us the beginning. Show us

the beginning. That's very hard.

Let's go back to the start.

Right foot first.

And right.

And a right again.

Left foot now. All right.

Right again.

Good work!

"I went out to the Hazel Wood,

"Because a fire was in my head.

"And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

"And hooked a berry to a thread.

"And when white moths

were on the wing,

"And moth-like stars

were flickering out,

"I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

"When I had laid it on the floor,

I went to blow the fire a-flame.

"But something rustled on the floor

And someone called me by my name.

"It had become a glimmering girl,

"With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran,

"And faded through

the brightening air.

"Though I am old with wandering,

"Through hollow lands

and hilly lands,

"I will find out where she has gone

"And kiss her lips

and take her hands,

"And walk among long dappled grass,

"And pluck till time

and times are done,

"The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun."

- Beautiful, Roisin.

- That was beautiful.

- It was beautiful, darling.

- Thank you.

You made it sound so real.

Next week, we'll talk about

what influenced Yeats.

Irish folklore, Greek myth,

and even Maud Gonne's

continuous refusal of him. Erm...

But for now, let's just talk about how

it felt as the words swept over you.

Ah, but sure, you know,

does all that longing,

does it break your heart or

does it fill you up with hope?

You know, the way she's always,

er, just out of reach,

or changing shape or

whatever, you know.

But I suppose, er,

in fairness to him,

he tried till his dying

breath to find her.

Here we are, how are you getting on?

I was just trying to get

the overall shape here...

Loosen everything up and just see

what happens, but great work.

That's lovely.

- How are you getting on, Ruari?

- Good, yeah.

Great, I'd say...

One, two. Cross. Cross, go on.

Keep that head beneath

the chin. Good man.

Keep that guard up.

Jab. Cross now, cross. And guard up.

Alright, Shane, Shane,

take a wee break there now.

- Good man.

- Go on then, tiger.

One, two. One, two.

Don't forget your guard. Good man.

- That was below the belt, was it?

- Come on, jab.

- Come on, wake up. One, two.

- Good man.

That's the one that's gonna

give him a pain in the belly.

Hold on. Hold on, hold on.

You're all over the place here now.

Come on. Straight shots, right?

Stand back a little bit. Go on, now.

- Go on, good man.

- Is that the best you got?

- Straight, straight.

- Come on! I can't feel it.

- Ow! Jesus!

- Well, that's what you get...

Feckin' gobshite!

"The Pearse-Connolly

Hall opens again."

I see they've a dance this weekend.

Maybe we should pop along, huh?

Hmm. Advertised in a communist

newspaper. Look at that.

"Classes of every sort."

Defiance, that's what that is.

Well, with respect,

it's probably best to just ignore it.

Repression breeds belligerence,

isn't that what they say?

Yeah, "From each according to his

ability, to each according to his need."

The Communist Manifesto.

Quasi religious. It's like "Love

thy neighbour as thyself."

The language of brotherhood.

It spreads like wildfire in

a world of rampant greed.

Do you realise how attractive

that is in the slums?

To the poor, to the unemployed?

The landless?

This Depression has destroyed

lives around the world.

Misery breeds desperation,

and it only takes a handful of

communists to set the fuse...

Don't get carried away now.

There can only be 150 or 200

communists in the entire country.

One man, one book,

changed the world. Karl Marx.

Jimmy Gralton isn't Karl Marx.

He's just a worker, now.

Listen, his mother ran a mobile library.

Never patronise the self-taught man,

especially someone who

worked down the mines.

He's a maverick, all right, but he's

a lightweight maverick, so...

Fire in his soul and

a plan in his head.

You can't buy him off. No.

He's not greedy, he's not selfish.

You know... They remind

me of the first martyrs.

D'you ever read about those union

organisers in the States? The Wobblies.

Entering towns and factories.

Thrown into prisons,

lynched, murdered.

If every priest had their grit...

Well, there's nothing as

dramatic as that here.

It's just a tiny little hall,

in a country bog.

- Yeah, with a gramophone.

- With a gramophone.

First it's the dancing,

then the books.

He'll start at the

bottom with their feet

and work up to their

brains, if they have any.

That bloody book. Das Kapital.

I'm going to get one, too.

Going to get the book, are you?

A feckin' gramophone,

you bloody eejit.

Is there any marmalade in this house?

There is. Especially for you.

- Thank you.

- Go easy, go easy.

See you in a little while.

Jimmy!

- Hi!

- Hello.

This is Colm and Clodagh.

Colm, young man. Lovely to meet you.

This is Jimmy who brought you

the presents from America.

Lovely to meet you.

Jimmy. Time flies.

Some things haven't changed.

- You're looking well, Fintan.

- Thanks, Jimmy.

Now, will you two, will you dance?

A little. Maybe a little.

- Just a little bit?

- And thanks for the presents.

- Oh, did you like it?

- Yep.

Lovely. And you played with them?

That's the main thing.

- We know these two men.

- Who are these two?

Yeah, that's Michael

Fitzpatrick there.

Er, Fiona Gallagher.

- There's Fiona.

- Yes, I know you.

- Amy Gilligan.

- Amy Gilligan, right. Just a moment.

- Where have you come from?

- Up the road, Father.

- Up the road where?

- Up the road and round the bend.

- What bend would that be, young man?

- It's a fierce bendy road, Father.

- What bend was it, lads?

- Up at O'Hara's white horse.

Marie O'Keefe,

what are you doing here?

I came here to dance, Father.

Is the proper parish dance not

good enough for you, huh?

Yes, Father.

Does your father know you're

in a car with outsiders? Huh?

Put her name down. Marie O'Keefe,

And what's that driver's name?

Think we're doing

more harm than good.

- Look at the wee child.

- This poor child, will you look at her?

That child should be home in bed.

You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

And who is this behind them?

- Who's that, the fella smoking?

- That's Brian McMahon.

And Tommy Doyle.

What is this craze for pleasure?

This fascination with

the materialist?

The pagan, the Anglo Saxon?

And most recently, the Los

Angelisation of our culture?

What is wrong with

being true to ourselves,

to our deepest roots,

to our own true Irish values?

Did not Cromwell himself try to

burn all the harps in the land,

murder our priests,

exile our musicians?

They tried to crush our

language, our song, our dance,

but our forefathers resisted

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