Widows' Peak

Morning, ma'am.

The curse of god on you!

God bless him.

Isn't he great for his age?

Miss Grubb, you bold thing, you're taking us home.

It's the third Sunday, the day for the cemetery.

I thought you'd like to pick up master Godfrey.

Godfrey is not next or near the house.

Jesus!

He's at the dentist.

You have the height of luck, Mr. Doyle-Counihan.

Sunday dinnertime, many a professional man might be intemperate.

Now, local anaesthetic.

I got it at the local.

Mr. Clancy, suddenly I feel a lot...

that's what they all say.

This is the only place where toothache is unknown.

Open up now, sir.

Think of your mammy's lovely house burning to the ground.

That's the stuff.

Now, identification parade.

You'll tell me when I get warm, won't you?

Fair dues now.

Are you sure?

We're on the pig's back.

I won't need to pull that bugger. It'll walk out.

Still, no sense in discouraging business.

Hold still now.

How's the mammy?

Fresh and well she's looking.

The woman, I always say, is born for widowhood.

It is her natural vocation.

The woman is incomplete until himself is 6 feet under.

Who are you telling?

You are a youngish man. You may have noticed,

no sooner does a widow leave off wearing her weeds,

than people are never done telling her how ravaging...

how ravishing she looks.

Would you that is why your own mammy,

having been twice bereaved,

is ahead of the field in the beauty stakes?

Nobody's going to tell me I don't disinfect.

I dote on women, so I do.

I could look at them until the cows came home.

Mr. Doyle-Counihan, I would not, at this minute,

but in your dirty agony of the damned,

except that the first that I set foot in this town,

I saw her... miss Catherine O'Hare, a Jewel,

a skylark in the hen house.

She's as poor as job's ass

in a town that's as rich as god.

She has the smallest house

and the sweetest smile on widow's peak.

There's a secret about her, would you say?

Where does she fit in?

If you know, don't tell me.

I like a woman with a bit of mystery.

Oh, the first day I capped eyes on that one,

I made up my mind.

If she ends up as anyone's widow,

it'll be as mine, or I'll swing for her.

I have good news for you.

Back that at a 100 to 8, you bollocks, you.

Ladies, that'll do.

Enough's enough. We don't want to spoil them.

Oh, Mrs. Lacey, no getting morbid.

If you please, ladies.

It's a busy day for us.

Anything stirring, miss Grubb?

It's Clancy the dentist.

He's calling on miss O'Hare.

Oh, show.

It's too late. They've gone in.

The silly woman.

You'd think she'd had enough of that sort of carry-on.

I do hear he's overly fond of his jar.

He's a man. That's enough.

What, dear?

I said he takes the snuff.

Oh.

Good morning, miss O'Hare.

I hope I didn't hunt your visitor.

Oh, Mrs. Doyle-Counihan, not at all.

Mr. Clancy was just... Admiring my roses.

Sure, why wouldn't he? Would you like a jaunt?

Excuse me?

Get in next to me.

Sure, where's the harm, says you,

in a bit of style?

How are you, ma'am?

People do pay me compliments on my roses.

I do tell them there's not a ha'p'orth of skill involved.

A weenie bit of loving care, maybe.

Mind, I'll own up to it.

I wouldn't mind to grow a Rose of my own.

And you will, please, god.

I don't know.

But if I ever do, I'll call it the widow's peak.

You'll what?

In honour of our little kingdom

and how snug we are in it.

My dear, I hope you'll do no such thing.

Widow's peak?

That's the name used by the jealous boots in town.

Miss Grubb, slow down.

It's the Lucy girl.

The poor creature.

What poor?

Now, we gave her every chance, so we did.

Get it adopted, we said to her.

But she'd sooner make a show of herself and of us.

Where will she go?

Where do you think she'll go?

Why else did god in his goodness invent England?

A new rose, now that'll be nice for you.

And, of course, it means you won't be leaving us.

Is it me?

For gracious sake, why would I want to leave?

Now, aren't people scandalous?

The way they talk about yourself and Mr. Clancy.

About... corner-boy gossip.

But don't mind it.

The word is he's popped the question.

Hello.

Hello.

The question?

One question or the other.

Excuse me?

And we all know what the other is.

Mrs. Doyle-Counihan,

Mr. Clancy is a gentleman through and through.

He would never dream... miss O'Hare,

do you see the green in my eye?

Now, listen here.

You know me of an old date,

and I don't rub vinegar into a cut,

but it doesn't do to have too short of memory.

We don't want that carry-on a second time.

Once bitten... yes!

And a woman of your years...

Has the man no decorum?

So it's true then?

Old Mrs. Melody's cottage has been sold.

Now, there's another excitement.

I'm too old a dog

to act in breach of my instructions.

Your revered mother... R.I.P...

laid down terms under which property on widow's...

on the hill may be leased...

no children under adulthood, no males of any kind,

except in the case of your son master Godfrey,

and no married or single ladies,

unless by exceptional consent of the residents.

In short, ma'am, all is well.

Oh, rather,

the new owner of melody cottage is, unhappily,

a widow.

Unhappily.

And, what is more, a war widow,

or, at least, a postwar widow.

Her husband, Major Broome, V.C.,

recently died of wounds received in 1918.

Will you go to god?

...Do you mean... he was in the English army?

No, he was with the Germans.

Wait till word gets out.

And that man's wife is coming here?

If you please, miss O'Hare, I'm talking.

Now, I can't say I'm partial to military men.

They have a coarseness I can do without,

but a medal now is different,

especially when it's, from what they call...

for valour?

Posthumous, I was going to say.

Posthumous is nice.

And his wife?

There are no children?

You're certain?

The lady is a bird alone.

She should be flying in just anytime now.

Shit!

Hey!

Damn it.

Oh, my!

Had a puncture?

No, my car threw me.

Let me give you a hand.

Ha ha.

Ha ha, yourself.

Thanks, but don't you think

you might get dirt on your fancy dress?

A few spots? Who cares?

The very thing.

Mrs. Broome, isn't that it?

10 out of 10.

I saw the removals van.

I'm Godfrey Doyle-Counihan.

The mammy and I live up the hill from you.

Up widow's peak.

Widow's... in Kilshannon, Mrs. Broome,