Babies discarded with the fish bones and egg shells. Girls, 11 years old, pierced and punctured by old men for thrupence a time. Rutted upon like animals. Degradation. Fathers with their daughters, brothers and sisters sharing beds. Beggars and thieves left to run in the streets. And astride the whole stinking pile of wounds and rotting flesh... your masters! The men who you touch your cap to. The Peaky Blinders! The vicious, merciless gangs who blind those that see and cut out the tongues of those who talk. You are worse than them! Those of you who have taken their bribes these years since the war. Those of you who look the other way. You are worse than them! God damn you for soiling your uniforms!
— It's not the people around here that are disloyal to the King. It's the opposite. You see, we don't want our beloved king looking down and seeing the things that have been done to us. So we are taking down his pictures.
— But why are you burning them?
— We went through hell for our king. Walked through the flames of war. Write all this down! And now we're being attacked in our own homes. These new coppers over from Belfast, breaking into our homes and interfering with our women. We don't think our king would want to see that happening. So we are lighting fires to raise the alarm.
— May I ask you, in what capacity do you speak?
— No capacity. I'm an ordinary man. I won gallantry medals at the Somme. I want you to write in your paper what's going on here.
— Tommy... Of all of the people in the world, I want you to see it... as brave. <...>
— Brave is going where no man has gone before. And with Lizzie Stark, John, that is really not what you'll be doing.
— People look different at home.
— In what way?
— Off guard.
— You're not accustomed to not getting what you want, are you, Tommy? You wanted my pub, and you took it.
— You got a fair price.
— What I got was an ultimatum. Like you give to everybody. Do it, or else. And yet, it's funny, everybody around here, they want you to win this battle. I think what it is, you're bad men, but you're our bad men.
— She found a list of names left in the telegraph machine. And on that list was your name and my name together. What kind of a list would have the name of a communist and the name of the bookmaker side by side?
— Perhaps it's a list of men who give false hope to the poor. The only difference between you and me, Freddie, is that, sometimes... my horses stand a chance of winning.
— I wouldn't know what to do.
— You've spent two-thirds of your life in pubs. Just pour it instead of drinking it.
— But I can still drink it, right?
— Your pub — you do what you want.
Look, I know having four kids without a woman is hard, but my boot's harder.
— You loaded Ada with your bastard because she's a Shelby. You thought it'd mean you'd be somebody. I won't let you fuck up my sister's life for your cause.
— My God. You actually believe that. I love her, Tommy. I've loved her since she was nine and I was twelve. And she loves me the same. You even know the word?
— They gave us the worst job, Tommy.
— Yeah... and we're fucking volunteered. Sometimes, it lasts all night. I lie here and I listen to the shovels and the picks against that wall there. And I pray the sun will come up at the curtains before they break through. "No, I don't pray — I hope. And sometimes, it happens. The sun beats them. But mostly... the shovels beat the sun."
— Let's have a show of hands from all those who fought in France. All those who stood side by side with your comrades, and watched your comrades fall. Raise your hands. The blood shed on Flanders Fields. The sweat of your brows. Who reaps the rewards? Is it you?
— No!
— Is it your wives?
— No, no.
— Well, who then? Do they stand among us?
— No!
— Or do they sit at home, comfortable, with a full belly? While you scrape to find enough to put shoes on your children's feet! And what is the reward they offer you for your sacrifices made? A fucking cut in your wages! That is your reward!
— So am I right? Did you fall for Tommy?
— Yes, I did.
— Then I pity you.
— You think he'll try to kill me?
— That's too soft.
— Soft?
— Soft. You saved his life the night the coppers came. That's why we're drinking, not fighting. We owe you.
— What was he like? Before France?
— He laughed. A lot. He wanted to work with horses.
— He won medals?
— Threw them in the cut. Not a single man came back the same. You know, after all this is over, he might forgive you. He might take you in. Can never tell with men. They go for whoever their dicks point at and there's no changing their minds. But I should tell you something. I will never forgive you. Or accept you. Or take you in. And that's me who runs the business of the heart in this family. And as far as I'm concerned, you're a snitch from the parish.
— You know, when... when you came here from Belfast I was overjoyed. I was sick of this force, and I was sick of all the corruption. When you made that speech about cleaning this place up, I gave a little cheer inside. You said it was the devil's work to look the other way.
— I am not looking the other way, Sergeant Moss. I am looking directly at the events of the day. And I like what I see.