Derry Girls

As you all know, at the beginning of term, the Bishop graciously

bestowed a beautiful piece of religious art

onto Our Lady Immaculate College -

the enchanting Child Of Prague.

Jazzie's Groove by Soul II Soul

There we are.

Sure, isn't he a great fella altogether?

I still don't get what it's supposed to be.

It's Jesus as a wain.

Why has he got a big red hat on?

Nobody knows.

It was the Bishop's wish that

he be passed around all the schools in the Derry Diocese.

Therefore we are joined this morning

by Mr Malone, headmaster of St Benedict's,

so that the handover ceremony can take place.

You're very welcome, Mr Malone.

Though I fear you may have had a wasted journey.

I've thought about it, and I'd much rather

just hold on to him, actually.

He brightens up my office.

He doesn't answer back.

I like the fella.

And if the Bishop has a problem with that, he can take it up with me.

Now, what else was there?

Ah, yes.

Sadly, Sister Patrick has decided to leave us.

She's returning to her missionary work,

educating the heathen inhabitants of a primitive and savage place.

She's...taken a teaching post in Belfast, Sister.

Precisely.

The Board of Governors promised me

that her replacement would arrive today,

but as usual they were talking out of their...

DOOR BANGS

I Can't Be With You by The Cranberries

I believe you've been expecting me.

Here we go.

# Lying in my bed again

# And I cry cos you're not here... #

CHALK PINGS AND CLATTERS

SHE SIGHS

What is it we should be doing, Miss?

"What should you be doing?"

Now, there's the question.

But let me ask you a better one.

What is it you want to do?

Get pished. Hmm.

I'd quite like some feedback on the poetry assignment, actually.

Dickhead.

It counts towards our final grade, people!

This is 12A, right?

That is correct, Miss.

And you are? Jenny. Jenny Joyce.

Here we go.

The Flower, by Jenny Joyce.

You're not going to read it out, are you? Of course.

Poetry should always be read aloud.

"Some flowers are tall Some flowers are small

"Some flowers barely grow at all."

OK... That's not the end.

It should be.

Here's a poem about a dog.

Here's another one about a dog.

This one has no name on it.

An English Rose Among Thorns?

Yeah, I can see why you might want to remain anonymous, all right.

Dog poem.

Poem about a tree.

This one's called Boys.

"I think boys are really class

"Especially the ones who have a nice ass."

It's called a haiku.

That's not what I would call it.

Dog poem. Dog poem.

Oh, here someone's just drawn a picture of a dog.

That is not bad, actually. Thank you very much.

This person has written about how much they love their English class,

in an embarrassing attempt to suck up to the teacher.

Dog poem. Dog poem.

Cat poem.

Yes?

I think a lot of people in this class,

and I know no-one will mind me saying this,

well, they have a very basic grasp of the creative process.

Whereas I've been writing for years, so I'm really not afraid to

put myself out there,

to be bold, to take risks.

And you are?

That's my cousin. Erin Quinn.

Erin Quinn.

Here we go.

"The bullets fired on the streets as I lie in my bed

"Are nothing to the bullets being fired...

"in my head."

It's about The Troubles in a political sense,

but also about my own troubles, in a personal sense.

No, I understand the weak analogy.

This isn't bold, Erin.

It's someone failing to be bold.

Well, I'm sorry if the subtleties

of my work were lost on you, Miss de Brun.

Poetry is truth.

And great poetry is raw and real and messy and glorious and ugly.

It is dragged from the depths of the soul.

It helps us understand each other and ourselves.

Do you get what I'm saying?

Yes.

Yes, I think I do, actually.

Not a baldies.

It's not often in life you're allowed to tear up the page

and start over.

But I am gonna give you that chance.

Impress me.

Return To Innocence by Enigma

Ach, this is lovely, Gerry.

I thought it'd be nice for us to do something together,

just the two of us, you know?

Mary! Gerry!

You're not allowed to smoke in this place.

Can you believe that? It's barbaric.

Sarah, what are you doing here?

Mary said you were having a wee night to yourselves,

so I thought you might want some company.

Why? W-why would you think that?

Sarah!

Ah, himself as well, is it? Great(!)

Sweet Jesus.

Hiya, how are ye?

They don't let you smoke in here, Ciaran. Can you credit it?

This is a nice surprise.

When Sarah asked me to the cinema,

I thought, well, I thought she meant just the two of us.

No, Ciaran, because that would be... what's the word now? Normal.

Double date it is, then, so.

Wonder what's keeping Daddy.

Excuse me? I've got the tickets.

We haven't decided what we want to see yet, Da!

Well, I liked the look of that one with all the lads in the line-up.

It's got your man in it, the farmer from Glenroe.

What, Gabriel Byrne?

He's done a fair bit since Glenroe now.

Who are you? His agent?

Da, I don't understand this. You hate the cinema.

Oh, not since I discovered

it's the only way I can spend time with our Colm.

It's the one place the boring bastard doesn't talk.

But Colm's not here, is he, Da?

Da?

..and that's not to say, now, that in my younger years,

I didn't enjoy a boiled sweet.

But then I heard tell of a fella from Ballynahinch...

What was it his name was, now?

I had it there a minute ago.

Ach, it'll come to me.

Anyway, this Ballynahinch lad, and, as I say, his name escapes me,

but he was mad keen on the boiled sweets.

Sure, he couldn't get enough of them.

But in the end, well, didn't he choke to death on one?

A pear drop, I think it was.

Or a clove rock, maybe.

But either way, it's not how I'd want to go.

I know, love. I know.

TENSE STRING MUSIC

Well, isn't this romantic?

Thon fella's nothing but a fly bastard!

Don't you be trusting him!

I just want to check, does your father think that they can hear him?

Ssh.

DOORS CLATTER OPEN

Apologies, folks.

We've just had a wee security alert there.

GRUMBLING

I'm afraid we're gonna have to carry out a wee evacuation.

So, if you'll all follow me.

Lovely. Great stuff.

That's the last time I let you organise a night out.

OK, then.

What about this Keyser Soze fella?

Who's Keyser Soze?

Exactly!

Don't Give Me Your Life by Alex Party

God, this whole writing-from-the-soul carry-on is a nightmare.

I know. What rhymes with ride?

Bide.

Bide? What the fuck does bide mean? Bide. That's not a word.

It is a word, Michelle.

Bide? You've pure made that up.

Can we all be quiet? Please.

What do you think, James?

You've got red eyes cos I ran out of brown.

My eyes are green.

Now you tell me.

OK. So, I'm trying not to think too much.

Just to sort of let it flow through me.

That's minging, Erin.

Here's what I have so far.

"You know we belong together

"You and I forever and ever

"No matter where you are You're my guiding star."