Original subtitles

Thank you.

A net.

You'd better be after bringing your nets in, Michael, or they'll be carried away,

surely.

There was a star up against the moon and it's rising in the night.

This day the wind is raising the sea surely.

May God and Mary be with you, Michael.

God be with you, Michael. God be with you.

The chorus will be returning now.

I'll go down and meet Michael.

You should be myself.

There was Seamus, and his father, and his own father again, were

lost in the dark night.

There was Patch after, was drowned out of a current that turned over, and not a

stick or sign was seen of him when the sun went up.

May our lady protect you this night, Michael.

Even before the wind, maybe. And is now in Donegal in the far north.

In the far north.

He's no stranger, surely, and no man of ours.

But it's a decent burial we'll give him in Donegal, by the almighty God.

They are in a plain stocking, they've got from the ground now.

Let you go to the south of them, for it's from there great winds blow in.

And if you find the poor soul's mother, or his wife maybe, you can tell them

he'll have a clean burial.

God speed you.

It's Michael's all

I must go.

This is the one boat going for two weeks or beyond this.

I'll be passing the spring well and I riding down to the sea.

Here are the white boards. They're self-sensible from Connemara.

Are there nails with them? There are not.

She didn't think of the nails.

It's a great wonder she wouldn't think of the nails.

And all the cotton she's seen made already.

Never fear.

Frankie and I will get them across with the farm.

Father. Let us stop, Bart. We go into the prayer this day, Father.

Ah, no, I'll not stop.

But let you not be afraid.

Almighty God will not leave a mother's death to choose with no son living.

We're all in the hands of God.

We're shot from the plain started.

taken off a drowned man in Donegal.

What way were they found, Father?

There were two men, and they were rowing round with pot-sheet before the breaking

of the day.

The oar of one of them cut in the body as they were passing the black chips to

the north.

If it's Michael's, they are.

Tell your mother he got a clean burial.

If they're not his, let no one say a word about them.

So she'll be getting her death with crying and lamenting.

Ignacy.

Lying down, God help her. Maybe sleeping today.

What is it, my dear?

They were both off at the round man in Donegal.

We're to find out if it's mightily far.

Oh, they be mightily far.

Only go the length of that way to the far north.

They say they've known the like of it.

The way the wind is be rising from the south and west.

The sea bad by the white rocks snore.

Midland bad, God help us.

With the great roar in the west, let's work to beget him when the tide turns

the wind.

Shall I open it now?

She's moving about in the bed. She'll be coming in a minute.

I'll put them up in the turf and off the way she will move in the hall.

Isn't it turf and off you have for this day and evening?

There's a cake baking at the fire for a short stay.

And Bassey will want it when he sails to the fair.

He won't go this day with the wind rising from the south and west.

I'm asked to hear his name and say he would go sure.

Isn't it a hard and cruel man?

Won't hear a word from his mother and she holding him from the sea.

It's the life of a young man to be going on the sea.

And who'd listen to a woman who's one thing on our mind when she's saying it

over and over.

Where's the bit of new rope, Kathleen, bought in Connemara?

Give it to him, Nora.

It's on the nail by the white wall.

You do right to leave that rope, Barclay.

It'll be wanted in this place, I'm telling you.

This Michael is washed up tomorrow morning, or the next morning, or any

morning at all.

But it's the deep grave we'll make him be the great regard.

How would it be washed up, and we have to look in each day for nine days?

It's a hard thing they'll be saying, Bartlett.

If the body is washed up, and there's no man in the house to make the cotton, and

I have to give them a big price for the finest white boards you'd find in

Connemara.

I've no hope, though, that I can ride down on the mare, and this fare will be

a good fare for Houghton.

if it was a hundred horses or a thousand horses you had to sell what's the price

of a thousand horses against a son where there is one son only

Let him go, Mother.

For isn't it a good thing to get him a grey pony? And we would know not enough

how his life eroded to be seen.

They cannot be afraid.

Didn't the young priest say the almighty God won't leave a mother destitute with

no son living?

Little the like of him knows of the feast.

Let you go down each day and see the chief armed gentleman on the rise.

And you can sell the pig with the black sheep. This was a good price going.

How would the like of Paul get a good price for a pig?

Let you and Nora get up kelp enough at the daisies.

For it's hard set you'll be from this day with no man to work while I'm at the

fair.

Hard set we'll be surely, the day you're lost and the rest.

What way will I live and the girls with me, and I with no son about the house?

You'll see me coming again in two days, or in three days if the wind is bad.

I must go now.

And the blessing of God on you.

God take you back.

Why wouldn't you give me a blessing when you look around, sis?

Isn't it so enough that I'm everyone in this place?

Without your sending them away with an unlucky world, you have human pride, my

dear.

You're taking away the truth from the case.

I should have to forget these little dead men.

let you go down now mother to the sea and give him this and he passes you'll

see him then and the dark word will be broken and you can say god speed you the

way he's easy in his mind

If Maura herself wouldn't give me her blessing.

But let you not be afraid for me, for I'll be back soon enough.

And I bring in with me a fine gift for each one of them.

For Laura, for Kathleen, and for Maura herself.

And it's a fine gift I'll be bringing for you, Bridget.

You mustn't be doing that.

But if you did it yourself, what would it be?

I'm not telling you at all. But it's grand things can be bought for a young

girl at the fair.

Michael. My son.

I've heard tell it was a long way to Donegal.

It is, surely.

There was a man in here a while ago, and he said if you set off walking further

up beyond, it would be in certain days you'd be in Donegal.

Isn't it a queer hag, him to say that's my sense they are, surely.

I'll get his old shirt off the hook, the way you may put the one flannel on the

other.

It's the same stuffed roll.

If the ticket sells fast, the great rolls are within the shops of Galway.

And if, with many, another man may have a shirt that is well as my gun, sir.

Kathleen, it's Michael.

I swear he's gone.

What will I tell Clay when she hears this story?

I'm badly on the streets.

I put

up three scars, didn't I?

Isn't it a pitiful thing?

When there's nothing left of a man that was a great ruler and a fisher.

And a bit of an old church.

And a plain stocking.

Isn't it a bitter thing to think of him floating that way to the far north?

I hear a little sound on the path.

She's coming, Lord.

Put these things away before she'll come in.

Maybe it's easier she'll be in her mind after giving her blessings to Pastor.

We won't get on behind anything. The town barque is on the field.

Would you say it's crying I was?

Keep your back to the door. The way the light will not be on you.

Only heartbroken from this day.

Did you see Barclay?

I've seen him.

The fearfullest thing.

What is his aim to atone?

Isn't it a better thing to raise your voice and tell what you've seen than to

be making lamentations for a thing that's done?

Did you see Barclay? I'm saying to you.

He must want to take you soon.

I went down to the sea.

Then Bartley came along, and he riding on the red mare.

I tried to say, don't be jealous, but something choked the words in me throat.

I looked up then, at the grey pony, and there was Michael upon it,

with fine clothes on him, and new shoes on his feet.

It wasn't Michael, you see, Mother.

For his body has after been found in the far north.

And he's got a clean burial, by the grace of God.

I'm after seeing him this day.

And he'll ride into the sea.

Michael has after been found in Donegal.

When he is found there, how could he be here in this place?

There does be a power of young men floating round in the sea.

And what way would they know if it was Michael the Had or another man like him?

For when a man is nine days in the sea and a wind blowing, it's hard to set his

own mother would be to know what man it was.

It's Michael, Mother.

They're after bringing us a bit of his clothes from the far north.

Michael has gone now, God spare us.

And we'll not see him again.

And I'll see two women and three women and four women coming in by

that door the way they did when Seamus and Patch were found.

And they cross themselves and not say a word.

Berkeley is gone now, too.

And when the black night has fallen, I'll have no song left.

in the water.

Gee, surely God rest his soul.

What a way was he drowned.

The grey poor knee knocked him over into the sea, and he was washed out where

there's a great cross on the white rock.

They're all gone now.

And there isn't anything more the sea can do to me.

I'll have no call now to be off crying and praying and the wind breaks from the

south.

And you can hear the sources in the east and the sources in the west.

And I won't care what way the sea is when the other women will be keening.

In the big world, the old people do be leaving things after them for their sons

and children.

But in this place, it's the young men do be leaving things behind for

them that do be old.

Give me the holy water, Lord.

It isn't that I haven't prayed for your bath with you, the almighty God.

It isn't that I haven't said prayers in the long night.

You wouldn't know what I'd be praying for.

But it's a great rest I'll have now, and it's time sure.

They're all together this time, and the end is come.

May the almighty God have mercy on Barclay's soul, and on

Michael's soul, and on the souls of Seamus and Patch.

And may he have mercy on my soul.

And on the soul of everyone is left living in the world.

Michael has a keen burial in the far north.

in the grace of the almighty god darkly will have a fine coffin out of the white

board and a deep grave sure what more can we want than that

no man at all can be living forever and we must be

satisfied