Original subtitles

*

[wind gusting]

George Atwood, sir.

From the Times of London. I--

I looked in at the shop, and 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.

[seagulls crying]

I see you are still looking after the course.

Do you, uh, do you ever get out to play?

Aye, but I can barely hit out of my own shadow.

[scoffs] 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've 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 the 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.

*

It is far for you.

[laughing]

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 Don.

You'll be giving the captain a lesson after these men come in.

Give me my club, Lang Don.

Aha! I'll top your record score.

Eh, Tom?

Play away, sir.

Direction-wise, perfect drive, sir.

*

Jimmy, 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.

Ten thousand men dug a tunnel under London.

Five hundred 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! Choo choo! [imitates train]

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.

[giggling]

[coins clinking]

[hymn playing]

Lovely to see you this fine day, Mrs. Morris.

'Twould be no fit Sabbath without your sermon to guide us.

Ah, your children are a testament

to the standards you set, madam.

[indistinct chatter]

[woman] 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?

Right, just get one.

Same bit.

-[laughs] -It was a crap shot.

-You've already had your crap shot. -Number one--

That was your last one two shots ago. What took you so long?

Oh, I was kidnapped and tortured with Beethoven and cake.

Did you pray for us in church today, Tommy?

Indeed I did not. The two of you are past salvation.

Oh, here, speaking of sin,

Davie enjoyed a fine romance

last night, aye, so he claims.

Eh, there's no claiming about it.

Her name was Prudence. Thankfully, she had none.

A rot iron. It's a good club for killing snakes.

I've found a better use for it.

Pick your coins up, boys. They'll be mine presently.

Yeah, eh.

-Right. -One more round in.

-Not a chance, mate! -Three coins, he cheats!

Are you daft?

It's not a rot iron shot. You need a mashie.

Not anymore, you don't.

Well, wait, what did I just see?

All right, it hit a rock.

Penny says I can do it again.

-Yeah, all right, I'll take that wager. -I saw that.

Wait, what was that?

This can do more than just pick balls out rocks, boys.

You bring the club down hard on the back of the ball,

and it'll spin like a top, front to back.

Call it backspin.

Pay up.

Come on.

Her ladyship inquires as to the hour of your return.

[Tom Sr.] Day's over when the war is won.

Dad's at war with the gorse bushes, Tommy.

Aye, and the dunes, no doubt,

and the rain and the goats and the rabbits.

I fear I'm outnumbered.

Yeah, Dad, I was thinking...

You've got a teeing-ground at the first hole, right?

Why don't we put one next to every green?

The way you've got it now,

we've got golfers out there tearing our greens up every day.

Well, it's not a bad idea.

Who am I to fiddle with a 500-year-old game?

There are 13 rules to golf.

The first one: you must tee the ball--

Within a club-length of the hole. Even I know that.

The rule was written a hundred years ago.

Aye, and you'll not be changing them.

Leave the rules of golf to the steering committee.

[shop door bell rings]

Men of the Morris persuasion, good day to you.

Well, afternoon, captain.

Niblick's as good as new.

Ah, good. Good.

Hmm.

I trust you'll be, uh, carrying for me at the spring meeting, Tom?

It would be a pleasure, sir,

but Colonel Fairlie's already arranged for my services.

Oh, I see.

Well, perhaps young Tommy could do the honors.

That's a very generous offer, sir.

[sighs] I don't know, sir.

Well, Tom, I've been considering betting on you for the match next week,

but your last outing against Willie Park,

you cost me £60.

I'm sorry, sir.

Well, it's not the money I'm worried about.

It's, um, my reputation.

My standing in the eyes of the town.

Understand, sir.

And your putting, God knows...

it's worse than my own.

Perhaps you might like to let your sons make the gutties

and you get out and practice.

Thank you, sir.

Practice.

That man is the captain of the club.

How could you insult him?

Why do you let him talk to you like that, Dad?

Because he has every right to.

I work for him and the other gentlemen.

Yeah, you do, but I don't.

A caddy's son you are, and a caddy you'll be.

Yeah, we'll see.

What else would you be doing?

Well, I'll be a golfer.

Aye, a golf professional?

Who gives lessons?

Who makes golf balls? Who makes golf clubs?

Who caddies for gentlemen and treats them with respect?

That's yourself you're talking about, Dad.

And have you thought about how you're gonna make a living, boy?

[grunts]

Forty-five...

Fifty... Fifty-five...

[man] The lad's ready. Why is he not your playing partner?

He's just 15, sir.

We've been betting on you for years now, Tom.

And when you've won, we put a pretty penny in your pocket.

And I'm grateful to you and to the other gentlemen.

But in all fairness to us, Tom,

your performance has fallen off.

What you say, sir, is a hard reckoning.

And a fair one.

Look here.

Your backers want to win. You have debts.

Your lad's ready.

In one stroke, you've solved the problem.

I thank you for your good counsel, Mr. Kinloch.

-If I may. -Of course. You have work to do.

Tom, a man's got to use every club he has.

Twenty for the winner.

A sterling debut, lad.

Two Thomas Morrises are certainly better than one.

Thank you, sir.

Don't worry, Willie,

I'm sure the Park brothers will live to fight another day.

Beginner's luck, I call it.

Your pup's still got his milk teeth.

We can always go round again if you thought it was luck.

I'll see you in Musselburgh, laddie, the capital of golf.

Aye, pride in one's town, it's a fine thing, Willie.

It's a fine thing. Come on, son.

*

So says the man who's won his last open!

Here.

Five pounds? Is that all you're giving me?

Be still. That's your share.

Now get in there and don't be telling your mother your winnings.

[crowd softly muttering]

[crowd exclaiming]

Ahh!

Gah!

Did you see that? Hole in one!

Good one!

Just try your arms by your sides, there, young Master Morris.

Best just hold it, then.

And hold still.

[shutter clicks]

[crowd cheering]

[shutter clicks]

[crowd cheering]

[shutter clicks]

[crowd cheering]

*

[crowd cheering]

Congratulations. Well done.

Come on. Come on.

There you are, to your boy!

Congratulations are in order!

George Atwood, of the Times of London.

London, really?

Pleased to meet you, George.

No one's ever won the Open by such a margin.

David Strath finished second, 12 strokes behind.

Truth is, I let my friend win.

I'm a nobleman at heart.

Aye, but a commoner on the links!

And what will you play for now, Tommy?

Money, glory, fun.

[thumping]

It's been eight years

since Colonel Fairlie and the Earl of Eglinton

asked me to organize the first Open Championships.

The Prestwick Club donated

a fine Moroccan leather belt as a trophy,

and we declared the first champion

would hold that belt for one year,

before passing it on to his successor.

We also declared that should any man

win that belt three years in a row,

that man would would keep that belt in perpetuity.

A bit of trickery, that was.

After all, who could do such a thing?

[man] Not you, Tom Morris!

Two wins in a row was your limit!

[laughter]

Aye, aye. Aye, it was. It was.

I am very, very proud to say

that the ultimate winner of this prize

and that belt is my very own son...

Thomas Morris, Jr.

[crowd exclaiming]

*

[soft conversation]

Well, the game is catching on in England.

We have a fine course in Liverpool now.

In Devonshire, Westward Ho has adopted

the St. Andrews standard of 18 holes,

and Blackheath, my home club,

is prepared to take the lead.

We want to be the center of golf in England,

perhaps in all the Empire.

Will there be anything else, sir?

Thank you, no.

Do you know that you're serving port

to the champion golfer of Scotland?

Oh, just Scotland?

Aye, well, it's the only place

where golf is of any account, eh, Major?

I hear they play the game in England now.

Liverpool, Devonshire.

That'll be all, miss.

I'm prepared to offer you a position.

A position?

Tell me this, Tommy.

What's your future here?

You work in your father's shop.

Then one day, rest his soul, it's your shop.

My work, Major, is emptying the pockets

of crack golfers and their backers, that's all.

-In Scotland. -Yeah.

And for every pound here...

it'll be a hundred pounds backing you in England.

As the professional golfer at Blackheath,

you will be a wealthy man.

* Oh, the lasses of London

* Wear no knickers in summer

Whoa! Damn it, boys!

[horse hooves clopping]

[men exclaiming]

How's your father gonna manage without you?

[scoffs] He'll have to make more putts, that's for sure.

Who will be partnering him in his money matches?

Don't you be angling for an opportunity.

Not that. I'm just saying.

I think I should make a steady playing partner for old Tom.

Davie, come on, our boy's just about

to go away and conquer England here.

Yes. He's going to England.

[laughs]

* Rule, Brittania

* Brittania rules the waves

* Oh, Britain never, ever, ever shall be slaves *

* Rule, Brittania

* Brittania rules the waves

* Britain never, ever, ever shall be slaves *

[door opens]

I can smell the alcohol from here.

May have had a pint... or two.

And where will you be keeping your belt?

[sighs] What do you mean?

Did you accept Major Molesworth's offer?

Did you seriously think there'd be golf business

in St. Andrews that I wouldn't know about?

You had scallops and steak for your luncheon,

and you did nae finish your plate.

[chuckles]

They've got grand plans at Blackheath, Dad.

My father was a hand-loom weaver.

There was nine of us in two rooms.

I barely had a whisker on my face

when I was apprenticed to a golf ball maker.

I worked 16 hours a day and sent pennies home every month.

-I know all this. -My father...

he earned less money in a year...

than you and I made in one match last week.

I'll be sending money home, Dad, just like you did.

-I will. -Not for your father, Tommy.

Working for another man is an altogether different matter.

What do you know of Molesworth? Hmm?

What do you know of England?

I know they'll pay me twice your salary.

You think of nothing but yourself.

Dad, I don't want to spend my days on my knees,

teeing up gentlemen who despise me,

who think they're better than me. Can you not see that?

What do you think you'll be doing at Blackheath?

Making my own way!

I would've lost more than I would've won

without you as my playing partner these last few years.

I could lose this house.

Your place is here.

[cheering]

-Tom! -Tommy! The son!

Takes three putts, and our Willie takes one!

Tom, Tom, he's the son!

Takes three putts, and our Willie takes one!

Now, you're in Musselburgh now, old Tom.

No place to tarry over a four-foot putt.

[laughter]

[crowd exclaiming]

Park brothers, one up!

I'll give yous boys a chance to double your bets.

'Cause we are giving St. Andrews a thrashing today.

[man] You're no champion here, Tommy Morris.

[man] Go back to Fife!

*

[crowd exclaiming]

[taunting laugh]

[horse hooves pounding]

*

[chatter]

Hey! Hey, I saw that.

Put it back, you dog.

I'll play it where it lays.

Why don't you hit it off that one's forehead?

Now, now, Kirky. We'll forgive them their trespasses.

Stand back. Let the man play.

Bugger off! Champion golfer of shite.

He's trying to play a shot, you idiot!

[brawling exclamations]

Boys!

Two whiskeys, please.

They were laughing at us.

What did you expect, cheers wherever you go?

Musselburgh is Willie Park's town. How much?

-Tuppence, please, sir. -Thank you.

[barmaid] Thanks.

This is unprecedented.

The St. Andrews gentlemen will lose their wagers if you concede.

Are you conceding the match?

There will be no match if we're not in in, sir.

That's not for you to say, Tom Morris.

Oh!

[crowd exclaiming]

I told you to stay back!

This is nae golf.

James.

Time for a pint?

Aye, all right. That's ready to go.

Is this a Thomas Morris, Jr., original?

Oh, no, that's one of Jimmy's.

These hands have far more important work to do.

What, like breaking noses in Musselburgh?

Only a couple.

Dad walked away, though, "This is no golf."

Who took home the money?

Well, not us.

For all I know, the gentlemen feather their beds with it.

So, what, you've just now got the first pay?

For starters, eh?

You've got Mr. Campbell's foursome in half an hour.

He expects you to bring his new putter.

I will.

Does the Englishman's offer still stand?

That's not the point.

The point is I should've just gone without a word.

Instead, I listened to my dad again.

Why do I keep doing that?

I'm bound to just stay here doing the same work as him

on the same bloody patch of ground. I'm shackled, man.

[livestock noises]

[barker speaking indistinctly]

See, when I have a son, mate,

I'm not gonna tie him down and tell him what to do all the time.

No, I'll let him choose his own path.

You see, if he wants to be a golfer, then he can be a golfer,

but if he wants to sail the Orient, then bon voyage.

[rooster crows]

Lift that pint without me.

-Tommy? -Hey.

What happened to you?

Golf's a lot rougher than you think.

I don't think about golf at all.

Do you think about me?

Listen to Mr. Champion of Scotland!

Oh, no, just a greenkeeper's son stands before you.

Well, you're standing in my way.

So, um, so what time do you finish your work?

How old are you, Tommy Morris?

How old do you think I am?

I'm 28 years old.

Best find yourself a schoolgirl.

[laughs]

Do you know what I love most about golfing?

No.

No? There are times when you've no hope of a shot,

no chance, it's impossible, but you try it anyway.

You put everything that you've got

into that shot, and you just...

You just see where it goes.

Margaret. It's a lovely name.

Meg, they call me.

Can I walk you home, Margaret-called-Meg?

Short walk that would be.

I live just above the restaurant.

[man] Ah, Tommy.

Do us proud in Perth next week.

We're counting on a tidy profit.

We know you can't lose as a single player.

No disrespect to your father.

It's good to hear how much you do respect him. Gentlemen.

So, gentlemen pay you to play golf.

After a fashion, yeah.

They put the stakes up for the match.

Hundreds of pounds, like gentlemen in every town back a golfer.

And when I win, my backers take the winnings

and they pay me as they choose.

There's no say in it, really.

Hundreds of pounds?

Oh, yeah.

What's your fancy?

These chocolates have come all the way from Belgium.

Of course you'd be talking up the ones with the highest price.

We'll take a dozen.

There you go, ma'am. Sir.

Well, she sounds a fiery one.

You know...

I'm in love, boys.

You're what?

I'm telling you...

[scoffs]

I believe there's a cure for that.

Come on.

-You have to listen to Davie. -Listen to Davie?

It wasn't me. It wasn't me! Stop making shit up.

-All right? -Aye.

[rapping]

Hello, dearie.

This way, lads. I know what you're wanting.

One of you waits. I run a respectable house.

No. I would like to pay my respects, please, missus.

Aye. Why not?

Won't be long now.

[scoffs] Suit yourself.

[dog barking in distance]

*

[door opens]

[rain pattering, thunder rumbling]

Go on, girl.

You should be out there with the rest of them.

Thank you, Mr. Riggs.

Not so fast.

[quacking]

[applause]

Can I see that club?

Aye, he's a clever one, my player.

These scratches he made, they pull the water away

so the ball does nae slippy slide.

Well, you're at one now, Mr. Kidd.

I won't catch you unless you drown.

Ah, fortune was on my side today.

You outplayed me, Tom. Well played.

Ladies and gentlemen,

the winner of the 1873 Open Championship,

Mr. Tom Kidd!

[cheer swells]

Jimmy, come on. Get up. Get the gloves.

You stick them on, all right?

Right, outside, everyone.

[indistinct chatter]

Okay?

You're getting far too heavy to carry, Jackie.

That'll be helping, yeah?

Children, ready?

Race you!

Go, go, go!

Fine work we did on that chariot, Dad.

Well, I won't take credit for that, son. It was all your idea.

[laughter]

-Sorry I'm late. -Sorry?

[fireworks crackling]

Happy new year.

[men singing drunkenly] * Let auld acquaintance be forgot *

* And never brought to mind

* We'll take a cup of kindness... *

[soft chatter]

What will I win for sinking this?

To the winner, a fine, plump goose.

A goose.

What's the prize for second place?

A bottle of whiskey.

[exclaiming]

[laughs] Oh, bugger!

[cheer swells]

[toasting]

[man] Good one!

There you go, son.

That's it! Nice.

Oh, there we go. Right. Oh, oh!

Oh...

There you go, Kirky.

The dregs of my defeat!

A toast to the House of Morris.

[exclaiming]

It was my honor to caddy

for the finest caddy master the old game will ever see.

No man can fashion a better golf club.

Nor that could attend his links.

He made our home course the jewel of Scotland.

And none but Old Tom can claim to be the father

of the greatest golfer of them all, Tommy Morris!

[all] Tommy!

Tommy!

[soft chatter and laughter]

Shh, here they come!

Lizzie, I can't believe you brought us here.

Meg needs to know your darkest secrets, Tommy.

Tommy, how lovely.

Yes, a lovely spot for the girl to come fetch her brother

when Father is going to tan his hide!

Always the wicked one, were you?

[Lizzie] He'd sit by this tree thinking no one would find him.

Tommy was the only one of us every tried to climb clean to the top.

Right little monkey, he was.

[hooting like a monkey]

[laughter]

Get off! What is it? What is that?

What do you mean? It's a monkey!

It's a monkey!

Such bonny stitchwork.

I'm hopeless with a needle. Ten thumbs.

I'll teach you lacemaking.

You made that?

Aye. A gentleman's wife in Edinburgh gave me work.

Has Tommy told you about the plot he's hatched for the money matches?

If there's plotting afoot, I'm in.

Why are we giving all the riches to the rich, Davie?

It makes no sense.

The rich have riches. It's nothing to do with us.

Yeah, but it does if they're betting on you and me.

Perhaps this can wait.

Some matters are best left unannounced.

I'm starving. Is there any more food?

Here, take that. Do you want some?

-[butler] The post is here, sir. -[captain] Good.

And Thomas Morris to see you, sir.

Which one?

Thomas Jr.

Did he state his business?

All he would say is "the rights of man."

Very well, send him in.

[clock chiming]

Never seen a man play chess alone before.

My partner's a Cambridge don.

He's a brilliant tactician.

We play by mail, you see.

With this morning's post, he lost a pawn,

and he's about to lose another.

What brings you to see me, young man?

I want to discuss the stakes for the match tomorrow.

Ah, I might've guessed.

A young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love.

And money.

We've always been very generous with you, Tommy,

moreso than with your father, as a matter of fact.

But then, you've always been more valuable to us in some ways.

My view of my value differs from yours, Captain.

You see, Davie and I are the ones playing the match,

so we should be the ones collecting on the stakes.

[chuckles] Well, don't be ridiculous.

It's time for a new arrangement, sir.

An arrangement.

You are not my business partner.

You have your role, and we reward you for it,

just as we do with your father and the rest.

If you want me to play the match tomorrow,

then the money comes to me before we begin, all of it.

I'll take my fair share, and I'll give the rest back to you.

Otherwise you can find yourself another player.

Your station in life was set before you were born, young Morris.

Now, you've done well for yourself, I grant you that,

but never think that putting on a gentleman's suit

makes you a gentleman.

You come to my home with these outrageous demands.

In your father's time, that would've earned you a lashing.

Be grateful.

You prosper thanks to men like me.

[door slams]

The sheer nerve of the man.

Next he'll expect to be a member of the club.

We'll not have the greenkeeper's son acting as our equal.

God forbid I should live to see it.

Right, you're certain, are you?

-Yes. -Right.

Why don't you just wait right here.

Yeah. Yeah, that would make more sense.

Right.

*

Tommy!

Thomas!

Thomas Morris!

Tommy!

Tommy, you know I can't let you in here.

Just pretend you never saw me, Bertie.

You must leave at once!

Right you are, sir.

I'm due at the tee any minute now.

Gentlemen, 'tis a grand day for golf, is it not?

This is too much!

The clubhouse is for members, Tommy, as you well know!

Well, I'll not be long, Captain.

[clears throat]

You will leave now.

Gonna be a good show, gents.

[door closes]

*

[crowd groans]

Davie Strath plays a stymie like an old woman.

[chuckles] Golf champion Tommy Morris.

He'd have blocked my ball, too, if he could.

[softly] Never.

No, you're all right, Tommy. You can pick that up.

The gentlemen.

[clears throat]

So you want me to take this?

Of course.

[crowd chuckles]

[host] The hole is halved.

Davie Strath is two up.

Say your prayers, young Tommy.

My man's lying two. He's got you beat.

I wish that fool would shut his yap.

Well, if fools fell silent, this would be a very quiet town.

[chuckles]

[crowd ahhs]

Brilliant!

That's the gentlemen's fair share.

Fine thank you from Davie and I, gents.

He bested me today, but I think we gave you a good show.

You're a hero, Tommy Morris, to this town,

but a gentleman, you'll never be.

Aye, well, times change, Captain.

Times change.

What d'you want? What d'you want? What d'you want?

-That one, please. -Okay.

Tommy Morris! Congratulations.

Bloody pleased. It was a big day out there.

Thanks very much. Thank you. Thank you.

Did you come up last week?

[indistinct chatter]

Anyway, I've got to be going. I just wanted to say good luck.

Well, thank you very much. Thanks.

*

You shouldn't be wasting your winnings on fancy dresses!

What should I waste it on, then?

Cake?

Good idea.

Milady.

[whistle blowing]

Old Mrs. Fraser wouldn't recognize me now.

Oh, the lady you worked for.

Aye, lacemaking.

She slapped me once for wearing a ribbon in my hair.

If she saw you now, she'd kill you outright.

Why are you doing all this for me, Tommy?

What do you mean? Because I want to.

Because we're having fun, aren't we?

That can lead to trouble for a woman.

You're not like any woman I've ever met.

You're only 22.

I'm 23.

Oh, well.

What do you think of love, Margaret?

[scoffs]

I... don't put much store by it.

[whistle blowing]

We're here.

[crumpling]

Address the ball, Tommy.

Hold still, please.

[shutter clicks]

So, will you be talking to Willie Park

for your article, Mr. Atwood?

In fact, I'm not. Not Willie, not Tom Kidd,

none of the other leading professionals.

No one in London cares a whit

for any golfer not named Thomas Morris.

[Tommy] As well they shouldn't.

And is it the old, ancient history of golf that they're after,

in which case, you should probably speak to my father.

[George] My story's about the founding father and son of the modern game.

That makes a grander tale than either father or son alone.

Let me ask you, Tom, do you believe

your son inherited his talents from you,

or did you teach him all he knows of golf?

I'm taught him everything he knows...

but not everything that I know.

[laughs sarcastically]

Hold still.

[shutter clicks]

[chickens clucking]

It's a mother's right to know these things.

Surely you understand.

*

[exclaiming]

Tommy!

Tommy, you can't beat him. He shoots it a mile!

Be still, Jimmy. I'm not beat yet.

It's not always about length.

Sometimes it's accuracy.

Yeah! I'll double our side bet.

Gambling with a wild man.

Aye. Double it.

[woman] Extraordinary!

[crowd exclaiming]

[crowd] Whoa!

[shop door bell rings]

[laughing]

Mum. Dad.

Tommy gave me his winnings.

It's no great honor beating Robin Hood, Jimmy.

Here, Dad.

A golf quiver.

Jimmy, leave us. Go see what your sister's wanting.

Most of that money will go into collections Sunday.

On your way.

Aye, Father.

Of course, we'd make ours bigger for more clubs, like, but...

The caddies would love you for it, Dad.

-What do you think? -Your mother's been to Whitburn, Tommy.

What's this about?

That woman you're squiring for the whole town to see,

do you know the first thing about her, Tommy?

-Besides what you're wanting from her? -Nancy.

A fornicatrix! This Drinnen woman parading around,

named and shamed in her own church.

I don't listen to church gossip, Mum.

'Tis not gossip.

Your Margaret Drinnen,

the scullery maid you've pinned your heart to...

her minister showed me the ledger.

She had a bastard child five years ago!

All Whitburn knows what she is!

You'll not see that woman again.

[door slams]

*

-Meg. -Tommy?

Tommy.

I don't care.

[chuckles]

*

Are you scared, Tommy? I'd be scared.

Not a whit, Jackie boy. Not a whit. Come on.

They're a family of princes.

Without the king and queen, I see.

"Give ear to my words, O Lord. Consider my meditation.

Harken unto the voice of my cry,

for unto Thee I will pray.

My voice shalt Thou hear in the morning.

O Lord, in the morning will I direct

my prayer unto Thee and will look up."

For luck.

You're all the luck I need.

[minister clears throat]

Dearly beloved, we're gathered here in the sight of God

to join this man and woman in holy matrimony.

Marriage is ordained for the procreation of children,

to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord.

Wilt thou have this woman as thy wife?

Will thy love, honor, and keep her,

in sickness and in health,

forsaking all others so long as you both shall live?

I will.

And, Margaret, wilt thou have this man as thy husband?

Will thy love, honor, and keep him,

in sickness and in health,

forsaking all others so long as you both shall live?

I will.

I now pronounce you husband and wife.

You may kiss the bride.

[applause and cheers]

[man] Tommy!

The last train leaves Carnoustie at seven.

Lizzie will be here to look in on you.

[scoffs] I'm lucky to see her an hour a day,

now that she has her new friend, that woman.

She's our daughter-in-law.

Tommy loves her, Nancy. So must we.

I'll not sell my home to a mere golf player.

I understand, Mr. Urquhart.

But, you know, he's not a mere golf player.

His name is known from London to Calcutta.

Aye. 'Tis the name

of the head of the caddies at the golf course.

'Tis the name of a golf shop.

-You're speaking of his father. -One and the same.

I understand.

Have you not heard me, man?

This may be worthy of your attention.

We'll put a putting green on the rise over there.

It's good to keep the golfer looking toward heaven.

A bunker here for the over-ambitious.

Wise men like yourselves

will make a prudent shot to here.

Then it's one, two shots to the hole.

-You got that, son? -Aye.

Okay.

And does young Tommy Morris design golf courses?

Tommy's no interested in designing courses, sir.

He's only interested in conquering them.

[man speaking]

Reginald White will represent Blackheath in this contest,

and representing St. Andrews, the champion golfer of Scotland,

Tom Morris, Jr.

I never saw so many bonny lasses.

How long can we stay in London?

Well, not long.

I'll have this boy beat in no time.

All the best, sir, eh?

Hi, Lady Margaret.

She knows we're to start at half eight.

Aye, and we've got all night, hmm?

And then we can have our night.

Don't paw at me, Tommy. I'll not have my appearance ruined, as well.

[knock on door]

Oh. Here we go.

Hello! Come in, come in, come in.

Happy Hogmanay. Go straight through. Go straight through.

-Happy Hogmanay! -You too!

Likewise. Happy Hogmanay. Go on, straight through.

Happy Hogmanay.

Happy Hogmanay. Look at this house!

Happy Hogmanay, son.

Thank you for coming, Dad.

Nancy sends her best.

This weather's awful hard on her.

She'll not be dining with us this evening, I'm afraid.

Sorry to hear that.

*

Do you know I left St. Andrews after you spoke to my mum?

No? Well, I did.

I gave up my job. A good job, it was.

I had no place to go.

I went back to Whitburn.

Your Tommy came looking for me.

Young men look for things.

I'm not a thing! I'm your son's wife.

I'm Mrs. Thomas Morris just as you are,

and I'll thank you to remember it.

I was his mother before you were his wife.

Yes! You brought him into this world. Hallelujah. You--

You have no right to speak to me like this.

I have the same rights as any wife.

But none of a mother.

*

It was a girl.

Did they tell you?

My child...

had very little life in her.

She lasted three short weeks.

Many a day, I wished her fate was my own.

[sniffles]

Tommy chose me.

Do you understand?

You might think otherwise, plenty do.

I know what people think of me.

I'll not be run off again.

[man] ...that much gravy and not have any. I find that very wasteful.

[soft chatter and laughter]

[Tommy speaking endearingly]

[table falls silent]

This is a lovely holiday you've made.

Thank you. We'll have many more.

Yes, we will.

[clock chiming]

Davie and I've been thinking.

We stage our own matches.

That way we can play any course, any time.

And if they haven't a pair of crack golfers to play against us,

we'd play singles, me versus Tommy,

just like we did for the gentlemen.

Aye, exactly.

So, let's just say we start at Prestwick...

We take their money, aye, obviously...[chuckles]

And then off we go on tour.

Perth, Musselburgh, North Berwick.

In a month we've made our way as far down as Newcastle,

Hoylake, even Blackheath.

Then we just come back off our tour with pockets full of pounds.

-Buccaneers with golf sticks. -I'll drink to that.

-Eh, to the buccaneers! -To the buccaneers!

[all] Buccaneers!

Golfomania, they're calling it.

At Blackheath, they even held

a tournament for lady golfers.

Don't their bosoms get in the way?

Judging by their scores, perhaps they do.

I should like to meet the one who came in last.

Well, perhaps she might need a new caddy, Davie.

Perhaps she does.

Have you heard Major Molesworth's latest claim?

He's declared that he and his son

can beat any two men willing to take them on.

This man's mad!

There's a method to his madness, or so it seems.

He's set on making Blackheath a showplace to rival St. Andrews.

George, did you really come all the way from London

just to talk about this Englishman?

Not at all.

I came to talk with the two golfers

I hear cannot be beat.

That's more like it.

What are you knitting, there?

*

Secret keeper!

How far gone are you?

About three months, I reckon.

Who else knows?

Only Tommy.

Now you.

[both chuckle]

You think your mum will like me better now?

[laughs]

[chatter]

Make way! Come on!

[laughing, shouting]

Come on! Tommy!

A plain country minister stands humbly before you,

a minister who knows the role he is to play in God's world.

And I ask, Do you?

Acceptance of one's destiny.

Humility before God and man.

Did not our Lord renounce all possessions,

seeking only to follow the path

His Father set before Him?

Not for Him to grasp at worldly advancement.

Yet some among us do grasp.

Some think to rise above their station.

Seeking glory. Seeking status.

I'll not listen to this. Come, Meg.

[parishioners murmuring]

Worldly desires cannot change the plans our Lord has for us!

It's the North Berwick Town Council that's invited us.

Put up £1,000.

The town council?

But they don't have a player in the match.

No, but they reckon people are gonna come from all over,

you know, the holiday makers,

just to watch the great Tommy Morris

and capable Davie Strath

beat the tar out of the Park brothers.

You're joking.

Yeah, Archie Croyle threw me out last night, he did.

And you know I'm his best customer!

Well, the Cross Keys Pub's

no place for a respectable man.

Look, the doctor says it's broke.

I won't lift a club for a month.

Oh, Davie! Davie, they're never gonna put the match off.

Well, they'll have to, won't they?

Sally.

Come, David.

Yeah.

He hasn't won a money match in a dog's age.

I'll be better off playing with Jimmy.

You think that's right, my love?

The way he putts, though, you'd think he had his eyes closed.

[chuckles]

He's so proud to be your father, Tommy.

Being there with you...

How many more chances is he gonna have to be your golf partner?

Don't want to leave you, though.

Don't be daft.

Lizzie will be here, fussing over me.

The girl practically lives here.

Go with your dad... and win.

If you say so.

Your mother is a very clever woman,

so I suggest you stay here, as well.

"Grand match in North Berwick.

[clears throat]

All eyes turn to the links for the upcoming match

between Willie and Mungo Park, of Musselburgh,

and the Morrises of St. Andrews.

Unprecedented sums ride upon the outcome.

The Park brothers are favored to prevail."

-What? -Well, load of shite.

[all] Hey!

Don't worry, Dad.

Just give those putts a good spanking, and we'll be all right.

Our each side is to play a single ball, alternating shots.

Park brothers have the honor.

Clear away, gentlemen!

[man] Come on, Willie!

Come on, Willie!

[woman] Come on, Willie!

[man] Come on, Tommy. Beat the two!

Come on, Tommy.

Come on, Tommy.

[applause and cheers]

*

Straight in the hole, Mongo.

[disappointed cries]

Don't worry, brother.

You know who's holding their putter.

[spirited cheers]

Look at that! Come on!

Morrises are one up.

Here it is!

We can do it in two, son. Just get it near the green.

No, I can get it from here, Dad.

[bystanders] Aw, Tommy.

[rustles bush]

Never mind. Never mind.

Give me the chipper.

[exclaims and applause]

Sure you got your line right there, old Tom?

Looks a wee bit off to me.

[cheering]

Hey, stop this! Stop this!

Stop this at once!

Play is suspended until order can be restored!

Stop it! Hear me! Stop this right now! Andy!

Yes, sir!

Bring a rope right away, and we'll hold the line.

-Yes, sir. -Now, that's enough of that.

[man] Thomas Morris? Thomas Morris?

Aye, son.

Telegram, sir.

*

Excuse me, sir.

-I got the rope, sir. -Oh, that's my man.

That's exactly what I'm after.

[indistinct conversation]

Golfers!

Follow me!

Tommy.

[indistinct conversation]

*

[cheering]

Well done, Mungo!

Park brothers, one up.

[indistinct conversation]

[crowd laughing, taunting]

Damn it!

Match is all spare, with one hole to play.

*

[exclaims]

[cheering]

Good one!

I hereby declare that the Morrises of St. Andrews

have beaten the Parks of Musselburgh

by one hole at the last!

When's the next train back to St. Andrews? I have to get back now.

The next train's at 4:00. You'd be better off taking the boat.

It'll take hours off your journey. I'll get Lewis to take you.

-Lewis! -Aye?

Can you take young Tommy and Tom up to St. Andrews?

-He has to get back. -Aye, the boat's ready to go.

Good. Thank you!

Tom Morris, you'll have your winnings here, sir.

Thank you.

Many congratulations on your victory today.

Cold water.

[groans]

Hold your leg up.

[panting]

-[screams] -That's a girl.

That's it.

Why did you no give it to me?

We only had three holes left to play.

But it was sent to me, no you.

You've no business keeping it from me.

I didn't want to burden you with it.

Dad, I'm not a child anymore.

Can you no see that?

I'm a married man now.

You can't just keep making decisions for me.

I don't need you to do that anymore.

We had to finish the match.

No, we didn't.

No, we didn't, Dad.

No, there is no shame to a forfeit if you can't play on.

Did you not tell me that?

Is that not one of the many golden rules

you drummed into me since I was a boy?

We were winning.

No. No, you were having a good game, Dad,

and you don't have many of them anymore.

Golf is your god, Dad, it's not mine.

[screaming]

I shall need towels and ice water.

You'll need to keep her temperature down.

Shh.

[screaming]

He'll be here soon, lass.

Lassie...

I've never known Tom Morris to be late.

He's coming soon. We sent him a telegram.

He'll be on the next train.

He gets home before me...

At least he gets...

Is he here yet?

Ladies, you must leave the room.

Now.

Lizzie, we must do as he asks.

Tommy!

Tommy!

Tom--

[screaming]

*

[reading prayers]

[door opens]

[Tommy] Margaret! Margaret!

It was a boy, Tommy.

Your Margaret put up a valiant effort, God rest her soul.

And the child's.

Margaret.

Margaret!

[stammering]

Margaret! Mar--

[sobbing]

My baby...

No, Margaret!

*

[soft weeping]

[leaves rustling]

[birds calling]

God!

Why?!

Why now?! Why now?!

[sobbing]

[seagulls crying]

Here for a walk?

You just need to build up your strength.

So they say.

Have you heard the noise the Englishman's making?

Aye. Old Molesworth's at it again.

He's putting his son up against all the best professionals.

He makes sure he gets plenty of strokes going in.

Willie Park spotted him four shots, and then Willie lost.

Molesworth is handicappin' that boy like a pony in a race!

Now he's issued an official challenge.

It's in all the newspapers.

They've got the crackpot idea the laddie can beat you, Tommy.

[soft conversation]

If young Arthur here was to play the illustrious Tommy Morris,

on his home links, no less,

well, in all fairness,

four strokes would not be sufficient.

Now, Major, as I'm sure you can understand,

there are other elements to consider,

circumstances that can affect a man's abilities.

Arthur here took four strokes off Willie Park.

[conversation continues indistinctly]

[waitress laughs]

It will be a match to remember for years to come.

Will you play, Tommy?

We'd all go out to see you win.

Thank you for your thoughts, miss.

-I'm sorry. -That'll be all.

Women.

*

I'll play.

Oh, a toast!

[man chuckles, glasses clink]

Tommy! Come on, you're late, man. Come on.

Tommy!

[groans, beats on door]

Tommy, wake up, lad.

Can't see him.

-Yeah, Davie. -What?

[banging]

Tom, come on. Tom, come on, lad.

Up you get. Come on.

Help get him up. Come on.

Up you get, Tommy, come on.

Come on, lad.

There we go. That's it, Tommy, come on.

Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.

Tommy! Tommy, Tommy.

There you go, Tommy. There you are, boy.

Where's my clubs?

-[coughing] -All right.

-No, no. -Hey, go on.

No.

You all right, Tommy?

Aye.

Yeah?

[Molesworth] Good morning.

This is the last day of our contest.

Mr. Arthur Molesworth leads by one hole,

with these 18 left to play.

Mr. Molesworth has the honor. Play away.

[indistinct conversation]

He swings like a lassie.

I tried talking to that fancy British caddy of his.

Looked at me like I was a red Indian.

What's he carrying ten clubs for?

No man needs more than seven.

Davy, how's our boy faring?

We're one up!

Oh, one up.

*

[crowd sighs]

Course is unplayable.

The match is suspended until conditions improve.

You're in my way.

Tommy, maybe your dad's right.

Let's just go inside and sit by the fire, eh?

Wouldn't be like you to stop a match, now, would it?

[man clears throat] Take heed, all.

If the player retires from the course, he forfeits the match.

I'm the keeper of these links,

and I say the weather wins. Play is suspended.

The wager stands.

Molesworth, one up.

[shop door bell dings]

Son, son...

This'll warm your hands.

[breathing shakily]

Thank you.

[applause]

[indistinct shouts]

*

No, no, no. Not now. Not now.

[Margaret] Tommy.

Tommy.

Tommy.

It's all right, Tom. Come on, Tom.

Not too late for a side bet, Charles.

Well, you're the bold man now,

are you, now the tide has turned.

Oh, come on, be a sport.

There's nothing better than all square on the last hole.

Winning is better.

I would suggest, um, stymie him.

[crowd groans] Oh, come on!

Coward.

[cheers erupt]

[shivering]

[knocking on door]

[suppressed coughs]

Did you see the look on the English goose, Tommy?

You plucked him good.

That lost shot could be your best one ever.

By the best golfer ever.

Tommy, Major Molesworth's come to see you.

I must apologize for the hour.

I brought a gift for the champion. Thank you.

It was...

a match for the ages.

A brave victory.

For your next winter battle.

I'll show you out, sir.

[coughing]

Don't touch it. It's Tommy's.

I'm not hurting it.

It's late. You two, bed.

You surprised us with that final shot today, son.

A rut iron on the putting green.

You'll have every golfer in Scotland tryin' it,

destroying my greens.

Maybe we'll make a new iron club,

a cleek for the green...

with a flat bottom,

so you lift the ball without tearing the turf.

Dad.

I'm here, son.

I forgive you, Dad.

*

They say he died of a broken heart.

I leave that kind of talk

to those with a fanciful turn of mind.

Poets, fortune tellers, your like.

I'm the last one, Mr. Atwood.

You see how strong he is?

Could hit the ball farther than anybody.

No mean feat given the cudgels we made back then.

It's a handsome memorial,

and an honor to you, as well.

Hmm.

The truth is, he was better than I.

He was better than all of us.

*

*