Original subtitles

Father in heaven, I kneel before you today

to

ask that you grant me

strength, the strength to power through all the tasks today, whether little

or big.

I know it is by your will that I live, O Lord.

And I know it is also by your will that I will not go weak today.

I will not go lazy.

Nor will I fail to do the things that are set before me.

Thank you for your everlasting presence, Lord.

And in Jesus' name I pray.

away for a few days longer.

How long? Your mother's here.

I just thought I'd let you know.

Thank you.

Southwesterly, clearing westerly, 7 to clear day on 9, decreasing 6 in Humber

later. Rain, then showers, moderate or cool.

10 over White, Portland, Plymouth.

Sunshine is far away, clouds linger on.

Everything happens now that you're...

inheritance.

We pray.

20 years.

Bless you, brother.

Fuck off.

Brian Love.

Where's he gone?

Dad.

Has he gone to see you?

But what the fuck has he got to do with it, Mum?

What has he got to do with it? Everything.

What?

Why'd you hurt that lad, eh? He was fucking asking for it, Mum.

Did he say something about your dad?

Jerry's my dad.

Well, he said something about Ray.

Gosh, you know so much, so why are you asking me?

Don't be so cheeky.

I'm just trying to talk to you.

You nearly murdered that lad.

Do you hear me? Well, what killer in family? Who's counting?

Ray's not a killer.

And even if it was one, does it mean you have to be?

Dear Ray, I'm not sure you'll even get this letter or read it even.

So I'm a fact of hope and I'm surprised you'll be reading this one. I want to

start by asking how you are.

The island still burns after all the years and I often wonder if you think

me, us.

Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish.

Wine unto the bitter in soul.

Amen.

The majesty of the queen.

What happened to, for what we are about to receive?

No, it's only before eating that you say grace.

You don't mind if you have a few fucking berries without a word?

You've got to wipe your arse this morning. There's all this shit in your

No, that was from yesterday.

You dirty bastard.

Is cleanliness next to godliness, would you say?

How do you know he's not filthy?

There's many evidence in Bibles that God takes a bath three times a week.

Changes his undies every day. God doesn't need undies because he's not

shit like you are. Is that so?

He's got an endless supply up there.

Bet he never has to wear the same pair twice.

Does he like a nice snug fit?

Or does he like plenty of room for his big fucking God balls to swing around

Like massive fucking church bells, then.

Bet it's like Canterbury Cathedral down below, Dex.

You're going to hell, brother.

Family reunion.

Father Ripper died last week. Saw it in the paper.

Do you ever see him again?

Did you hear he was carted off to the

nuthouse a few years ago?

Please read that letter.

And it went back on leave after a third tour of the province.

Lost two of our lads on that one.

So I had to think about him, really.

The more I thought about him, the more I wanted to pay him a visit, have a catch

-up.

A debrief about the good old days.

Anyway, when I got home, I looked him up.

Weren't easy to find.

Of course, they'd moved him around a bit, business as usual.

Tracked him down in Huddersfield.

Should have seen you all togged out in the number twos.

Someone that we're in shit order most days of the week. I smartened up well.

Cacks under the mattress the night before.

Razor sharp creases front and back.

I was pulling the boots all morning like mirrors they were.

It's from parade ground standard, Jim.

Could have done ceremonial duty and put power up that good.

Number two dress and medals.

That well turned out.

I could hear our dear mother's voice saying, come home, son.

For what is forgiven.

Number one.

The what? Number one dress at the palace.

Right, right. That's what I'm saying. Oh, that's smart. You wouldn't have

the difference.

I suppose not. I feel pretty ignorant.

So, go round his house.

Lovely little grace and favour cottage.

Paid for by Saul in a smud out.

Window boxes.

Perfect little lawn.

Edges trimmed.

Knock on the door and there he is.

All scrubbed up.

Pink and shiny.

Seemed so old.

I remember him as a big strong bugger.

And there he were.

Scrawny little old man with a pot belly. I was surprised at how small he looked.

I said, Father Ripon, it's him.

I'm collecting for the Veterans Association. Would you mind if I stepped

for a moment?

I tell him we're impressed.

Oh, do come in. Do come in, young man.

You're very welcome, son. Do come in.

It's all fluffed up, bustling about.

The kettle's on. Fine china.

Biscuits. The whole works. You'll take a couple, won't you, son?

Oh, we sit down.

We sit down in this tidy little parlor, chatting about this and that. I say,

this is your parish, is it, father?

He said, oh.

Currently between parishes, semi -retired, you know.

I said, oh, that must be difficult after all the years of service.

We talk about, talking about the state of things, the ungovernable, godless

youth. He asked me, are you of the faith, son?

Faith runs very deep in our family, Father.

He says, of course, what I miss most of all is working with young people.

And then he choked on me custard cream.

Anyway, so there's a lull in the conversation.

He said, oh, don't make a pardon call. Perhaps you'd like something stronger.

I just looked at him for a long time.

Would you like something stronger, Father?

I could see the thrill of it coursing through him. He didn't dare believe.

His face darkened, his eyes all glittery.

He said, I would if you would, he starts to get up. I say, I'm very strong,

Father Ripon.

He sits back down as if his legs went from under him, I say.

I'd like to have a look.

I started to unbutton my trousers. I thought it might have heart attacks.

I couldn't believe it. It's like Christmas come early.

So I stood myself up, teasing open the buttons like a rent boy.

Dropped the cax.

Robbed me hundies.

I say, there it is.

I lie down on the floor.

He lies down, eager to accommodate.

It's in the crucifix that I make me nice and hard.

Bottled four with a few steps, I've stood right over him. Oh, there's one

I forgot to mention, Jim.

For a few days before I went round, I was on a diet of Guinness and curry.

And then the afternoon of, I took a handful of laxatives.

We had to get the timing right. I was sat in my car outside his house for a

couple of hours and nothing was shifting.

As soon as I felt that stirring within, I knocked on his door.

As I'm sitting there, it's welling up inside me and now I swear I'm coming

at the seams.

Rivets are popping out of me.

The army teachers just grin and bear it, I'm teaching them.

We do love the exquisite agony of self -denial.

So, I stood over him.

I said, you don't recognize me, do you?

I know.

It's Little Ray.

I'm your Little Ray from the care home.

him a good few moments. His eyes flicking this way and that.

And the penny drops.

Fear runs through him like electricity.

And the stinking sweat poured out with it. Oh, please don't help me. Please

don't help me. I said, don't move.

If you move an inch, I'll cut off your meat and potatoes and shove them down

your fucking throat.

You can suck yourself off for a change.

Oh, come to think of it, Seymour didn't learn to do that a few years ago and

must have been self -sufficient.

Shuffle forwards, about turn, very awkward.

Heels on his stringy little arms, he flinched like a chubby turd, but he

move.

Now, look up the sluice pipe, father.

And I squatted down.

And I manured him.

This evacuation was in three distinct phases.

First I sprayed him. Sprayed him.

Pebble -fashed him.

Like a flock of pigeons taking over.

waves of hot lava.

Finally, one big,

one

big patty cake, like wet cement,

flops out of me.

And he's resting and spitting and he doesn't breathe, but he has to breathe.

And I'm laughing that much I've made my top all over into my own fill.

And that's it.

I stood up.

Little packet of wet wipes in my pocket.

Cleafed myself up.

And walked out of there light as a feather.

Did you believe that?

Did you do you know?

He didn't.

Even though that's it, he was scared of you.

Where were you when he was fucking me up the hole?

Didn't have much of a father's way.

What are you doing that for?

Huh?

What are you doing that for?

What?

Sucking him in your mouth.

Don't get ahead of yourself. We're only a trainee, Nessa.

It looks good on you, though.

Even the cleaners get white coats in the chemist.

Have you finished yielding?

The final's coming up this year. My workplace training.

Right. I'm glad I ran into you, Nessa. I'm not heard from Brian for an inch

Is he all right?

I don't know.

I don't actually know.

I just couldn't stop myself.

What did he say to you? I can't even remember how to.

Well, I can.

The usual stupid shit.

It's about him.

You were in East Tyrone, right?

Oh, let me just cast my mind back for a moment.

Wrong.

You know exactly where I were.

Cross McGlynn.

Found it, couldn't I?

IRA, active service unit operating in the area doing all sorts.

They were very good, very skillful, cunning, ghosting back and

forth across the border.

They were cat and mouse, sometimes we were the cat, sometimes they weren't.

It was often so you weren't even sure which.

You could have them in your sights with the safety catch off.

Meantime, they'd have a high -velocity round merrily winging its way toward the

back of your head.

Just in a week before we dug in, we found and defused three

massive IEDs of theirs.

They shot and killed one of our dog handlers and the dog.

And they shot down a fucking helicopter.

One week's work.

Provo Army Council expected results and they weren't disappointed.

Incendiaries, IEDs, grenades, mortars, sniper rifles, heavy

machine guns are better equipped than we were.

But they're the flowers I did used to grow.

Anemones.

I'll write as if you've read all my other letters.

The desire to talk to you and share everything is strong. However, this

about me.

This is about Brian.

Brian needs you.

Never before have I asked you in this way.

He's in trouble.

You leaving?

Accommodation not good enough for you?

When you liked it, every day Nessa wrote to you. How long was it?

When you went limping off into the woods, she didn't want to interfere with

decision.

For a couple of years, we thought you'd just turn up one day.

She had no idea if you got her letters, let alone if you had them.

You knew she were pregnant.

You never answered her once.

You've been going through many things.

Fuck off back to Toy Town, you fucking ape.

Got me girl, got me son, got me life.

What more do you fucking want?

It was you that left you.

Get over yourself, lad.

It's not about you.

Back.

It's about Brian.

Poor only child of a deranged fugitive.

You want to give him some brothers and sisters to play with.

You're a big lump of a lad.

Don't tell me you were firing blanks.

She prayed for you every night, Red.

She still prays for you. Tell her to save her fucking breath.

My dad prayed for you too.

Every day for the rest of his life. You've gone soft.

That miserable bastard.

Oh, he prayed. He prayed, didn't he?

Prayed every time he took his belt off. Didn't he pray again afterwards?

Wet under the arms from the efforts of his labour. Or he prayed regular.

We learnt our violence from the number one regional champion.

And he had some stiff competition.

Who knows, maybe at the British Legion Dominoes Championship.

His life and soul blaze about regimental tie, chest out frontiers, the long

range desert patrol, now that will war.

Signed for breakfast, lunch and dinner. If Rommel didn't get you the fly, soon

we wouldn't talk like that. That's right, he didn't fucking talk at all,

I've had plenty of fucking time to fill in the fucking silence for him.

What do you want from me, brother?

You know if you read the letter. I've read the fucking letter.

I've read the fucking letter. What the fuck?

What do you want?

I'm beyond your reach, Jen.

I'm well beyond her reach. There'll be no epiphany.

So fuck off back to your little family and sort it out.

You don't want me to leave, Ray? Why in God's name did you let that boy join

army in first fucking place?

It had nothing to do with me. This is on you, mate. Look, though I've raised the

boy, you think he's not a pig -headed little bastard like you are?

You were up to no with me.

I said my piece.

I didn't think you should do it, following our footsteps.

I thought you were just chasing after...

Anyway, regardless of what I think or don't think, do you honestly believe

your son wouldn't do a thing just because somebody told him not to?

He's currently absent without leave.

And as much as they like him, you know as well as I do, there's no warm, fuzzy

feeling in the M .O .D.

There's only so long it'll turn a blind eye.

Maybe a week, if we're lucky.

And then the MPs will come knocking and take him away.

But that's the least of it.

I've seen my share of lost souls, Ray.

And at this moment, your son is in the dark.

Believer or non -believer, there are forces at work.

Fact.

I don't want anything from you, Ray. I don't want anything.

Nessa.

Nessa believes it.

If you met him and talked to him...

Give him some answers.

It just might make a difference, it might.

For it's too late.

savaged this lad. He fucking savaged him.

He's convinced himself if they hadn't pulled him off, he'd have killed him.

And this has been following Brian since primary school. Your father's this, your

father's that.

Is he in the nuts house?

Is he banged up?

The invisible man, Ray Stoker.

I'm going to get out of here double time.

I'm going to see a baby.

Do not move him madam and do not remove his helmet.

You're doing so well.

I know there's a lot of blood.

well you were all over me at that stage like a bloody octopus and i was like

whipping my head back and forth just trying to catch a clean breath but you

have thought i was an exorcist because that mini wet goblin just kept reaching

for me oh it wasn't going back down but i'm not lying his breath smelled

like shit have you ever had that

Cheers, mate.

Some crisps, you know. You like them?

Cheese and onion.

This is our juice, mate. I won't be long.

I won't be long.

He's beautiful, kind, funny, loyal.

He's so like you in so many ways.

Funny that, eh?

Anyway, I implore you, for the sake of Brian, to

please, please come home and talk to him.

meet you are waste.

And maybe, just maybe, he can move forward and let go of whatever demon

holding him so tight.

I pray you are well, and he fit to answer.

Go away.

What? What?

What? What the fuck?

Spitting image.

What?

Spitting image.

Spitting image who?

Fuck off.

Fuck right off.

Our father who art in heaven, fuck off.

Forza Hammabeb.

Forza Hammabeb, a sad old bugger.

We're doing all right, weren't we?

Oh, the boy. The boy.

is doing well, very well.

I think he's a real prospect.

Can't help himself, the other lad's just falling behind him.

All right.

Yeah.

You remember what it's like when you're cold and hungry and slept in three

nights. It's every man for himself.

With Brian, he's got strength to spare.

He may be at the end of his rope, but he's still looking out for the others.

I'm going to pay attention to that.

did selection and were badged into the regiment.

I was so proud.

I was so fucking envious.

I thought, I want that.

I want some of that.

I suppose volunteering for 14 inns was a way of getting closer, you know.

A training of Bradbury lines for the old lads and all. I thought Edward would

then reach Burton.

It won't cost him anything, so I know.

put up with over the years. He had some idea he had. He had a space where he

should have been, that he was chasing after, that he was fascinated by.

And it's right into his own shadow.

He doesn't know who you are.

He knows nothing about you.

Except for the old stories, when we were youngsters, you know.

Short fuse, street fights, vandalism. You and me both were both liabilities

then.

But now he, I don't know, he loves his hands as though they

belong to somebody else.

What?

Rumours mate, rumours.

So we saw him around and so we'll go.

I realise I've never properly spoken to you about your father.

And that was a fault of me, Brian.

Me and Gem thought we could make a nice life for you, and I think in some ways

we have.

But it can't have been easier for you.

All these years.

You know, looming over everything.

Every family dinner.

Every birthday, every Christmas, every special occasion.

And I suppose by not talking to you about it.

How much do you know about the other troubles in Northern Ireland?

We'll sleep outside tonight.

I lost him in stages.

I lost him in stages.

After the first few tours in Northern Ireland, he was already quite hard to

reach.

And then when he... volunteered for some special assignment the minute he raised

his hand he seemed to disappear into another world it wasn't just that he

it he would have a lot of eager he said

goodbye well before he left and when he came back he couldn't reach him he sat

at a kitchen table with him he'd be looking at you like you were the other

of a football pitch

You're an acquaintance, you know, maybe, and you were trying to figure out who

you were.

I was pregnant with you.

I was getting bigger by the day, and you seemed to be shrinking. I felt like a

big lumbering giant living with a miniature person, afraid I was going to

him underfoot.

He must have been waiting for it.

Ray never spoke to me about what happened over there.

I tried to get in touch with a few of the lads that he served with, you know,

that were with him, but they said nothing.

They're on a warning from the MOD. They must have been on a warning.

So all I have is what I'm telling you now.

But I knew Ray.

I knew Ray better than I knew myself.

And as I said, those lads, they couldn't stay out.

I tell you this much, they loved him and they respected him. And they never gave

me, never gave me one hint of a reason that he'd done something he should be

ashamed of.

We're left.

What's that one? Something to be proud of?

It's what he called a war crime.

Fucking war crime, eh?

The war was a fucking crime.

And we were the Phantom Soldiers.

Our mission on this one was surveillance, pure and simple.

We dug in at night time.

Two OPs.

Ours were in a hedgerow at the end of an unpaved laneway, bordering the farm

buildings.

A structure of interest with a milking shed no more than 30, 40 feet from us

across the yard.

On a tip -off we'd scarred a few nights before.

They arrived shortly after sun -up.

The bomb -maker was a player, well -known to us. A young lad with him we'd

seen before.

I didn't tell them we saw it, but for two days there was no movement. I

to wonder if they somehow slipped away, if there were a tunnel or concealed

entrance movement when we wrecked the building.

I was just writing on my report when the bomb went off.

The explosion was so loud, you couldn't hear it.

The concussive force ran through every cell of your body.

Filled you up by the worst. Nothing left of you.

Chaos.

Entire roof lifted off the shed on a cloud of black smoke.

Like a cartoon.

Walls swelled outwards.

Opened up.

Debris started to rain down on us. Are we being attacked? Do they know we're

here? Are they getting rid of it? They do that sometimes. You know how it were.

If they thought you were onto them.

detonate the ordnance in Scarborough.

We were waiting for the incoming, but so far, no nothing.

Then there was just the sound of this fellow screaming.

Like I said, we were on surveillance, nothing more.

We weren't equipped for anything serious.

Sidearms only, couple of longs between us.

When that Semtex went off, we should have called it in, handed over to you

that, but I don't know why.

For some reason, we moved in, advanced to contact.

I suppose it were a right to the sound of the guns type of madness.

We started to crawl toward the milking shed. Could have been weapons trained on

us, snipers.

Could have been another bomb waiting in the building. We didn't know.

We're crawling, heads down, getting closer, getting closer, all we could.

We only saw him with a screaming.

Obviously, we wanted to get one of the light we could get to talk.

But that smokey in the building could barely see in front of you.

It turned out it were just the two of them, master and apprentice.

The player must have been stood between the bomb and the kid.

There were an out left of him.

Except his fucking teeth, buried in the side of the young fella's head.

Heard over his nephew a few days later.

That must have slipped when we went in on some piece of him that were covered

in... When I picked myself up, they were covered in his slime.

Kipper on the ground.

Bits of him were even alive, just about, but bits of him were missing.

His innards were spilled out and he was crying out for his mother.

One maker's teeth buried inside of his head.

I was stood right over him. Our three lads clearing the run left and right.

I'm stood over him.

He would die in this kitchen. He would die.

You see the fear in his eyes.

Look at hatred.

Look to me with hatred.

Could have been more than 16 or 17 years old. Younger than Brian is now.

He's screaming at me.

Begging me to shoot him.

So I shot him.

Yes, he was fucking dying.

I didn't fucking kill him. He killed himself.

Fucking killed himself.

I just nudged him across the line. Fucking bastard.

Where were they going to put that bomb? In the pub? In the shopping centre? In

the nightclub?

Guaranteed there'd be innocent people blown to bits. How fucking merciful.

out they just killed themselves.

And I'm the fucking murderer.

Wish I had left him to that.

Wish I'd left him to his full measure of suffering.

Lying there with his gut spilled out, crying for his mother. I should have

him there.

Should have called an ambulance.

Told him to take the scenic route.

Not fucking thinking how I did him a favour, but I fucking did. He was

me to do it.

17 years old, shivering on the ground. I finished him off.

Just to stop the screaming.

That's it. That's all there were.

Yeah, listen, of course, the lads knew. The lads knew why I'd done it. They

didn't question it.

They knew this fellow was gone and no one would get anything out of him. By

time we got him anywhere, he wouldn't have survived.

No one said a word. No one questioned him.

No one said a word.

I was called in to self -debt operations room. At that stage our job was done.

Handed over, went back to barracks, had the debrief.

That boy's injuries didn't occur to me. Any questions would be asked.

They were all in a twist.

The Ruperts, the higher -ups.

After the CO had me in his office,

I could tell he was under stress.

His old fat head looked like a boil that needed lancing.

By all the rules of lawful engagement, that's a war crime, Sergeant Stoke. And

thought, oh, here we go.

He's looking hard at me. We need to make this go away.

He presented a threat.

He raised his weapon.

No, he fucking didn't, sir.

This house isn't as fresh as it always fucking didn't.

His arms were shredded.

I don't know what to get out of it.

He can't just put himself together and nobody think.

Take a couple of days, see the head doctor, he'll be right as red.

will make this go away.

I stood in front of him, hot tears squirting out of me. If you'd asked me

my name were, I wouldn't have known.

I took a couple of days, but

it weren't that long for the shrink to see that when a crack in the ice, it

wouldn't seal over.

However, as he put it, an unstable element staged to

myself and others, which in our line of work meant generally bad for business,

time to go home. So he declared me unfit, returned to unit, signed me out,

me on a plane back to my regiment.

A short while later, I find myself on the streets of Sheffield staring at my

front door, a civilian.

A dirty little secret war criminal.

Yeah, well, our coming -up 15 -year service drew out anyway.

Could you save him?

I did save him, Jeff. I did save him.

Saved him from more fucking pain.

I'd have enjoyed watching him suffer a little bit longer, so I did save him.

Saved him, that.

Why did you shoot him?

We have kept him alive.

But at some time I knew we couldn't. At the time.

At the time.

to reach your fucking absolution, Jim.

Maybe I could have saved him.

Maybe I could have saved him. Maybe I enjoyed killing him. Maybe I didn't.

I pitied him. Maybe I fucking hated him. I don't know, Jim. I don't know.

But I don't reach your fucking absolution.

I did the crime.

Still serving the time.

Don't tell none to nobody.

Don't turn up to nobody.

Least of all to you.

How many fucking hail bearers do I get for that?

with us, his eyes searching for the exit.

Well, there were rumours, as you all may know too well, that he'd lost his mind

over there, that, you know, he'd gone psycho, that he'd been involved in some

bad things, even that he'd murdered an announcer, will you?

Oh, and the shame, the shame of it seemed to crush him.

I mean, regardless of what happened, the shame.

It's hard to imagine that, you know, what shame can do to a person. He was a

very proud man, your father, Brian. He was very proud.

Proud?

You don't understand.

He put his heart and soul into it, did he?

Like your dad, Jim, you know?

So to take that away from somebody, to take it away from him, it's like taking

his name away.

How can you be so fucking reasonable about it?

I wasn't reasonable about it at the time.

You know, and if it...

if it wasn't for knowing that there was a baby on the way, and if it wasn't for

you.

I don't know what to do.

So yeah, we left it.

I'm sorry.

These are what you think, or you know.

I think you're a fucking killer.

And a coward.

Because only a weak, cowardly person can walk away from the family like that.

Don't talk about him. You don't know him. No, you're right. I don't know him.

That's the problem, innit? I don't fucking know him.

I know everything I fucking need to know about him.

Bastard.

There's a big, giant fucking sinkhole in the middle of our lives.

Don't talk about him like that.

Don't talk about anybody like that in my presence.

At least of all the men who gave you life, which is a blessing. Blessed?

Blessed? Why did everything have to be so fucking blessed in this house, Mum?

You gave me life.

He gave me a fucking... fucking curse.

Always years.

Always years.

All these years fucking what?

How did you?

The winces, I mean. The isolation.

How did that work?

How did that manage without you?

It's not over, Jem.

I'm not making sound as if it... I won't

pretend I don't think about you from time to time, but this is it, Jem. This

my life.

Does it have to be?

As for man, his days are as grass,

as a flower of a field, so it flourisheth.

But the wind passeth over it, and it is gone,

and the place thereof shall know it no more.

Et cetera, et cetera.

Ah, fucking men.

Ryan?

Ryan?

Hey.

We gotta get going.

Can you do it?

Can't help it.