(villagers chattering) (dog barking)
- Blasted blacks.
And most of them are likely to disappear at any time.
(tribe chanting) (instruments banging)
(elder exhaling)
(speaking in foreign language)
If a person could be certain that he'd imbued
one of them with decent ambition.
I thought Jimmie.
He's half white.
(clock ticking)
(dog barking) (children chattering)
Why would he disappear now when we need him?
(speaking in foreign language)
(tribesman chanting)
(tool scratching skin)
He knows I needed him.
- He's rotten.
(girls giggling)
- He knows I needed him for the Easter choir.
- Possummin' probably.
(girls giggling)
You shut up your mouth.
Big brother reverend don't wanna hear your nonsense.
(birds and insects chirping)
(speaking in foreign language)
(rope weapon whirring)
(speaking in foreign language)
(birds chirping)
(boomerangs thudding)
(clock ticking) (sewing machine rumbling)
(crowd chattering) (dog barking)
- Jimmie! - Jimmie Blacksmith?
Master Blacksmith?
Where have you been Master Blacksmith?
- Catching possums, sir.
- [Reverend Neville] I can't understand you.
- How do you mean, sir'?
- Hadn't it occurred to you
that you might be needed for higher things?
Hm?
What about the school you missed?
- Yes, sir.
- Very well, I must ask you to come to my study, please.
(crowd chattering) (dog barking)
(stick whipping flesh)
(sombre orchestral music)
(men chattering) (bottles clanking)
(dogs barking)
- Thanks, thanks boss.
(men chattering)
- [Woman] (mumbles), mister.
You want me, mister'?
- Hey, Jimmie Blacksmith, you paley bastard!
Here, (mumbles) a mongrel man.
Here, drink it, ya paley bastard. (laughs)
Here, you gotta start sometime.
Make you a man. (laughs)
Make you a mongrel man.
(horse hooves clomping)
(group chattering)
They're gone!
Here, you drink, man.
(Jimmie mumbles)
(man laughing)
You've been away from your tribe too long.
You've been livin' with that reverend too long.
Comin' out (mumbles), catchin' possums. (laughs)
White fellow don't like Wongee Tom
hanging around a homestead.
Says that bugger all black, black (mumbles). (chuckles)
- [Reverend] He's been living with us
ever since we moved (mumbles).
He's always been (dialogue drowned out by chatter).
Oh, once, at the mission.
- [Mrs. Neville] That was six years ago.
- [Prison Guard] I take it (mumbles).
(door clanks)
(footsteps tapping)
(keys jingling)
All right.
Jimmie Blacksmith?
- Me boss?
You're friggin' lucky.
The Reverend's come for ya.
Mrs. Reverend, too.
Right, out!
And don't tread on no one's balls.
Come on.
(Jimmie grunts)
Hope ya know how to show you're fuckin' grateful.
- Yes.
- [Prison Guard] Get off to the pump and wash yourself down.
(water splashing)
Christ, why do you have to be
the cleanest fuckin' darkie in Australia?
It's cold.
- [Jimmie] Won't be a second boss.
(water splashing)
- You must promise to stay away from
those drunken roustabouts.
- [Jimmie] I promise.
That crowd make me feel sick, Mr. Neville.
- If you do fall in with them,
they will certainly lead you astray.
You won't be able to get a job.
And if you do, you will not be able to keep it.
- I promise Mr. Neville.
I don't wanna know.
You and Mrs. Neville have given me good education.
Now I'm gotta start workin'
so's I can get some property, get some money.
So I can get married to a nice girl, respectable.
- A nice girl from a farm.
Of good stock, then your children
will be only quarter caste.
And your grandchildren only one-eighth caste.
- Scarcely black at all.
- I thought I could get a job at the open cut digging coal.
- Yes.
Wouldn't have to go down into the mines, ruin your lungs.
- All the work's done on the surface.
- How's your chicken, deal'?
- What?
- Chicken.
- Oh, good, very good.
Did you?
The seasoning is excellent.
- Well, I think we're going to miss you around here, Jimmie.
- [Reverend] Mm.
- I'll miss you, too, Mrs. Neville and Mr. Neville.
- Well, I think I should give the boy reference.
Think he deserves that.
- [Coal Boss] It's no good to you
around here, Jacko, now shove off.
(sombre orchestral music)
- [Jimmie] All right Boss.
- [Man] Look, there's a depression on.
You know what a depression means?
- [Jimmie] Yes, boss.
- [Man] A depression means no jobs, right?
- [Jimmie] Okay, boss.
- [Man] Still a lot of these guys are out of work.
See, (mumbles).
- Want you to fence in the east paddock, the east boundary.
How do I know you won't bugger off'?
- It's the white in me, boss.
I reckon me dad, whoever he were,
must've been a hard workin' respectable fella.
(goats bleating) (chickens clucking)
- I want you finished by the end of September.
- I'll work fast, boss.
(axe thuds)
(chickens clucking)
- Hard wood, right?
I'll give you one and six a rod.
That will make it just a little bit more than...
- Two pounds 12 shillings.
- Two pounds 12 shillings?
- Right, boss.
Start tomorrow'?
- Two metres a day.
- That's okay, boss.
- Oh, you can take a cup of tea at noon.
- [Jimmie] Thanks, boss.
- You can (mumbles) in the shed out the back.
Do you have any religion other than nigger'?
- Methodist, boss.
- And I give you me a Christian promise.
I'll cut your bloody black balls out if you mess this job.
Any post that's out by more than an inch
will cost you a shilling.
- Fair enough, boss.
- You power through that, we should get along all right.
Eh?
- We've got a Federal government, my friend.
It'll pass a law to give to every single whinging
bloody Pommie his fare home to England.
Back to the smoke, the sun shinin' 10 days a year,
and the shit in the streets.
You can have it.
- Goodness, your attitude to England is inflammatory.
What a pity you've never been there.
- What a pity you didn't fuckin' well stay there.
Hey, Jacko?
- I wanna know about fences boss.
- What do you wanna know about it?
- What sort of wood to use.
What you do to 'em before you put 'em in the ground.
- Oh yeah.
- You see, boss, I got a contract,
and I wanna do a fucking good job.
- No language in here, huh?
- Beg your pardon, boss.
- Me, that's a word the glorious English
created to describe what they mainly do to choir boys.
Anyhow, it's not to be stolen
by sepoys, gyppos or boongs, you understand, Jacko?
- I'm recording every word, Carmichael.
- I mean, Jacko, what would you say of a New Zealand Maori
or a Canadian Redskin who said he wanted
to fuckin' well know about fences?
- (chuckles) I'd say he's a fucking foul mouth, boss.
(Carmichael laughs) - Right, out.
That's it, Carmichael.
- Here, Jacko.
You do read don't you?
- Course I read. (chuckles)
(suspenseful orchestral music)
- That's not too bad at all.
(light orchestral music)
(ominous music)
(Jimmie laughs)
(group chattering) (group laughing)
- [Man] (mumbles), come here, come here.
(group chattering) (group laughing)
- Oy!
Nigel, g'day.
- (coughing) Jimmie?
(coughing) Jimmie! (coughing)
(crowd chattering)
- Morning boss, missus.
- Good day.
- Have a nice time at mass.
(rain pattering) (chisel thudding)
(thunder rumbles)
(wood thuds) (Jimmie grunts)
Jesus.
(thunder rumbles)
But it oughta be 12 shillings more, boss.
- I'm not denying it.
But two quid's all you're gettin'.
12 of them posts are three inches out.
One of them by more than four inches.
- Not by my rule, boss.
- [Mr. Healey] It's my rule that counts.
- Well, posts are solid, boss.
Rails cut good.
Can you give me a reference?
- But Jesus you're a fussy bloody black.
What you want references for'?
A job in the bank?
- [Jimmie] So I can show it to other people
who want fences done.
- I haven't got me writin' glasses.
And I want ya off the property by 10 in the mornin'.
- Can I get a ride into Merriwa with you, Mr. Healey?
I got a lot of things to carry.
- [Mr. Healey] We're not going to Merriwa tomorrow.
- I was thinking you might, it being Friday.
- [Mr. Healey] I don't need you to think for me.
I'd ask you if I wanted you to do me thinking!
- Yeah, well.
- [Mr. Healey] Yeah, well.
- Yeah, thanks a lot, boss.
No reference, that's cause you can't bloody write!
(fist thuds)
(woman groans)
What animal has your soul, eh, you black bitch?
- Don't, Jimmie, don't.
- I've been killing lots of animals lately.
- Jimmie, you stop that.
Jimmie?
- [Jimmie] What animal has your soul, eh?
(man and woman scream)
"[Man] Jesus!
(men chattering) (woman screams)
- [Man] Harry Edwards, down the (mumbles), white fella.
- He was all right, he was.
He go lie down with Sal.
- Him don't do much, him don't.
- He wake up and he don't know where he is.
Says we tricked him to sleep
with filthy gin. - Yeah, filthy gin.
- [Harry] I asked him for a little cash
and he go bloody mad.
- [Woman] Yellin' and breakin' things!
- [Harry] Yeah, first he started breakin' things
and started to smashin' Sally's things.
I gotta get my meat knife, I gotta stop him.
- [Man] Oh yeah, you put a big hole in him, Harry.
- [Harry] They'll hang Harry sure as all shit.
- [Man] Did he had any mates with him?
- [Harry] No never saw any mates.
Oh, they'll hang Harry sure as all shit.
(baby crying)
(Mort imitating bird calls)
"Mort!
Mort, you young bastard!
(men laughing)
- [Mort] I've come to help you get rich!
(men laughing)
- I trust you're eager to turn my
property into a blacks camp, then?
- No, boss.
It's me brother Mort, all the way from Brentwood.
- On Cumberland (mumbles)!
- He's a good worker, Mr. Lewis.
- All right then.
Let's get on with it.
(Mort chuckling)
What's wrong with him?
- Nothing, Mr. Lewis.
He's just a kid.
Cut it Out, Mort.
Give it a rest.
(Mort laughs)
- I don't see what he's laughin' about.
- He's happy to be here, boss.
(MOM grunts)
(Mort laughing)
All the bloody time laughin' Mort, it's no good.
Boss say you a bloody stupid boong.
(Jimmie grunting)
- [Mort] Hey, when do we bloody eat?
(axes thudding)
- [Jimmie] It should be more!
Why are you doing this?
- I'm nay happy with the job you done up on the top paddock.
- [Jimmie] You couldn't do any been better.
- Eh?
Well I think you could.
Now clear off.
- Thanks a lot boss.
Jesus.
Mort!
Come on, let's get outta here.
- Look what I got, 15 bob.
And some beef and some flour.
(crowd chattering)
- [Tabidgi] How are you off, Jimmie?
- How am I off?
- [Tabidgi] You got much, Jimmie?
- Much what?
- [Tabidgi] Come on, Jimmie.
(coins clattering)
- [Mort] Don't take no notice of him, he's tired.
(mumbles), fencin'.
(villagers chattering) (villagers laughing)
- Tabidgi made a real nice cross, for poor old Wilf.
The Parson says he'd pray real good for the old bastard.
- Hey. (chuckles)
Come for a drink Jimmie, come on!
- He was awful sick.
He used to call your name when he had his fits.
- Yeah, we'll have a gab a little later, eh, Dulcie.
- [Dulcie] Why?
(Jimmie mumbles)
All right.
(sombre orchestral music)
- [Mr. Farrell] What do you want us to call ya?
- [Jimmie] Jimmie Blacksmith.
- Roll up your sleeves.
What?
- [Jimmie] Jimmie Blacksmith.
- Is that so?
- [Jimmie] Yes.
- Missionary black.
Can always tell a missionary black.
You get seven and six a week, tucker.
Horse, sleep in the stables.
No boots.
- Fair enough, boss.
- You can get them out of the seven and six.
If you wanna pretend you're a gentleman.
(shovel scraping) (flies buzzing)
(soft orchestral music)
(axe thudding)
(Jimmie spits)
(pigs snorting)
- [Man] The United States had trouble enforcing federation.
What do you want, a civil war'?
Thousands of dead.
- [Mr. Farrell] Never happen here.
You mean an Australian shootin' at Australians?
- You have to federate.
A common purpose, common front.
We'd all would be better off.
- Except for you, Jacko. (logs thudding)
Wouldn't be any better for you, would it?
- What's that, Mr. Farrell?
- [Mr. Farrell] Federation.
- Federation, good thing, boss.
Free trade between the states, new laws,
good thing for all Australians.
- Yeah, but not for you black bastards.
Won't mean any different for you, would it?
Oh, I suppose you'd still have the same rights.
None.
(Mr. Farrell laughs)
- You reckon, Mr. Farrell?
- Well, not enough of you left
to be worth worryin' about anyway, Jacko.
Jack Fisher!
We inquired of you at the time
and you mentioned nothin' about the darkies' camp.
- Yeah, well I thought it'd be better for Jack's father.
If he thought that Jack had disappeared in that manner.
I mean they're a very respectable family.
Look, since Mr Fisher's dead now...
- But you was out there, too, wasn't you?
And didn't wanna get yourself into trouble
from your own father.
- [Boy] No, no, that wasn't the reason.
- Were you out there?
- No.
- Now, come on.
It's obvious.
- All right.
- Now this is serious.
(boy cries out)
You knew he'd gone fucking gins.
Ya didn't wanna tell us, did ya?
- [Boy] I was worried about old Fisher's health.
- But we'll find out all about it.
And when we do, you can tell Merriwa
all about courting gins.
- But I've got a fiancee.
- Well, you'd better get her in the family way, hadn't ya?
So she can't back out.
(boys chattering)
(dogs barking)
(speaking in foreign language)
(baton thuds) (man cries out)
(speaking in foreign language)
(baton thuds) (man grunts)
(chattering in foreign language)
Go on, go get some more.
(chattering in foreign language)
- [Man] Run!
(baton thuds) (man cries out)
(baton thuds) (man grunts)
(man grunting)
A man, he maybe got killed by a black fellow.
- We don't kill a white fella.
- [Mr. Farrell] I mean he maybe get killed
by some bloody Verona black.
I mean he may be buried round the place close.
Bloody darkie too lazy bury him far away.
- A white man not bury around here.
- Come on where you bury him, eh?
You tell Policeman Farrell
or Policeman Farrell'll knock him bloody black head off.
(speaking in foreign language)
- Mr. Farrell.
Mr. Farrell!
This boy here say Harry Edwards had fight
with young white fella.
Put a bloody knife in him he said.
- Where this Harry Edwards live?
We're famous, Jimmie.
Full story in the Sydney Herald.
All the details, even mentions you, ya black bastard.
Cut quite a figure at the funeral.
Oh, Mrs. Fisher give us a reward.
- A reward?
Us?
- Yeah, we're a team, aren't we?
It's not much, but it's something.
Here, Jacko.
Here.
You deserve it.
Showed a lot of talent, know your place.
Take your orders and get on with it.
Keep improving yourself.
Not like them lazy Verona bastards.
Maybe it was (mumbles) fuckin' federation (mumbles).
(Mr. Farrell mumbles drunkenly)
(bottle clattering)
Go on, fuck off to ya!
- Hey, Mr. Policeman, Mr. Policeman.
- [Jimmie] What?
- What for you leaving Harry to Mr. Farrell, eh?
- You murder white boy.
- [Harry] Hey, Mr. Farrell isn't gonna
do something bad to him, Harry?
- You ought to have something bad on to you.
- I had to knife him white boy.
White boy gone mad.
Beaten up Harry's woman, smashin' things.
- Still you got a knife that's too bloody sharp.
- [Harry] They'll hang Harry certain as all shit.
- What for you lend your wife to a white boy?
White fellow don't lend his wife to anybody.
- Christ! Don't leave!
Don't want him Farrell mucking round with me!
(singing drunkenly)
No, Mr. Farrell, please don't.
Don't mess around with...
(metal clattering) Mr. Farrell!
Please! (grunting)
(Mr. Farrell grunting)
(birds chirping)
(clock ticking)
- Harry Edwards hang himself with his belt.
While I'm away I want you to cut him down.
Take his clothes off and burn 'em.
I want you to wash him,
wrap him in a blanket, head and all.
There'll have to be an inquest.
(ominous orchestral music)
(sombre orchestral music)
(dramatic orchestral music)
(fire crackling)
(sheep bleating)
- Watch you don't get sheep shit
all over your new gum boots you, Jacko.
- [Man] Yeah, thought all of you darkies went barefooted.
- Yeah, so you can bugger off without anyone hearing yous.
- Bloody unusual blacks wearing boots.
- [Man] Why are you wearin' boots, Jacko?
- So's I don't get sheep shit all over me feet.
Dumb bastard boss.
(men laugh) (men chattering)
Anyway, they're Wellingtons, ya dumb bastards.
(woman giggling)
All right, Mr. Cook, Jimmie Blacksmith at your service.
- Oh, Jesus Christ, (mumbles).
(dishes clattering)
We need some water for the potatoes
if you want to be of service.
(woman giggles)
- [Jimmie] All right boss.
(woman giggles)
- [Man] I told you they would, those bloody Boers
will get what for now.
- Declared war'?
Your lot won't get anywhere
without the help of us Australians.
- They're callin' for all the volunteers they can get.
- Fancy goin' over there to get shot
and help of a bunch of bloody Poms.
- [Cook] It's for your queen and country.
- [Man At Table] Think of the glory.
- It's not our bloody country, is it Jacko?
- [Cook] It's your queen and still your mother country.
- Not for long.
- Declared war, what does that mean, boss?
- It means that England, having tried to persuade the Boers
to cease their acts of antagonism,
and to convince them that their treatment of the blacks...
- It means that they can officially
go in and shoot the buggers.
- It means that England has been left with no alternative
and that they hope that military might will prevail
where common sense fails.
- Kill 'em, mine 'em, or whatever.
Do I agree with you or leave you alone?
(woman giggling)
(woman panting)
(woman giggling)
(woman groaning)
- [Woman] Not bad for a white girl, eh?
- [Jimmie] Yeah.
Hi, Mr Newby.
- Now Jimmie.
- Top paddock should be finished (mumbles), Mr. Newby.
- I noticed.
- What do you think of me house?
- Lookin' good?
It's comin' along fine.
- Building a cesspit over there.
And I'm really thankful
you're letting me do this, Mr. Newby.
- How are you planning on getting that fiancee
of yours up here?
- Train to Lithgow, boss, and then train to Gilgandra.
- You're not gonna walk her all the way
from Gilgandra to here?
- I don't know what to do, Mr. Newby.
- You'd rather take my second girl's hack.
Just walk him.
Just for her mind.
You'll have to leave him into Gilgandra.
- [Jimmie] Thanks, boss.
(men chattering)
- Go ahead, quick, get it.
- Hurry up now, lad.
(men chattering)
- Come on, come on.
- [Man] Seth, you watch it.
- [Man] Come on, Peter, nice fan.
(men shout)
- Oh no, he's missed it.
What a (mumbles). (chuckles)
(men chattering)
- Go for it.
Let's have one now.
Go on, go on and for it.
(men chattering)
(ball thuds)
(men groan)
Run you silly, bugger, run!
- [Man] Come on back again, Peter!
- [Mrs. Newby] Mr. Blacksmith?
Would you like something to eat?
- Yes, missus.
- [Mrs. Newby] Sandwich?
- [Jimmie] Thanks.
- I understand you're going to marry
a white girl, Mr. Blacksmith.
- Yes, miss.
She can cook, serve a table, very nice.
She knows where a person's soup spoon ought to be.
- Oh, really?
Is she all white Mr. Blacksmith?
- Yes, miss.
- Really?
- Who giveth this woman, to be married to this man?
- I do-.
- Take her right hand in your right hand
and repeat after me.
I call upon these persons here present to witness...
- I call upon these persons here present to witness...
- That I, Jimmie Blacksmith...
- Do take thee, Gilda Marshall...
- To be my lawful wedded wife.
(pensive orchestral music)
- [Jimmie] What was that reverend's wife
talking to you about?
- Stuff I didn't think any person's wife would know.
- [Jimmie] What sort of stuff'?
- How to avoid having babies.
- [Jimmie] None of her business.
- That's what I thought,
but you can't say nothin'.
- [Jimmie] Yeah.
(Gilda grunts)
You all right?
- Not the best.
I think I'll try side saddle.
- Here, let me help.
(sombre piano music)
Look down there, Gilda.
Home.
(mumbles) ready.
There's a cesspit over there.
(Gilda sniffling)
It's a start.
- I go into town for groceries and stuff every Friday,
so if you give me a list of the things you need,
I'll purchase 'em for you.
You can pick 'em up Saturdays.
- Thanks, Mrs. Newby.
- Looking after yourself, are you?
- Yeah.
- No trouble with swollen ankles or sore veins?
- No.
- Well, you can have your little one at my place.
We got a big range and lots of linen.
- Thanks.
- You see he takes care of you.
If he beats you, or hurts you, you can come straight to me.
- He wouldn't do anything like that, Mrs. Newby.
(goat bleating) (horse whinnies)
(axe thudding)
Would you like some thick, hot soup, dearest?
- [Jimmie] Yeah, thanks!
- You've done a lot, Jimmie.
- That Newby owes us 15 pound, huh?
He don't like payin'.
Shouldn't carry things all the way up here.
- I'm all right, dearest.
(Gilda crying out) - That's it, push.
Push now, push.
(Gilda grunting) That's it, push.
Push now, push.
(Gilda panting)
- (crying out) Jesus!
(Gilda crying out)
- [Mrs. Newby] Jesus'll help ya.
- [Gilda] Jesus!
- [Mrs. Newby] Push, push.
(baby crying)
(feet stomping)
- (chuckles) Easy, Jimmie.
Has it come?
- Yeah!
(feet stomping) (baby crying)
(singing in foreign language)
- What is it, Jimmie?
(men laughing)
- [Mr. Newby] Where is the poor little pal?
- Congratulations, Jimmie.
- Yeah, Jimmie. - Good on ya, Jimmie.
- I believe you've got a real genuine white.
(men laughing)
- Mr. Blacksmith, I want to show you your son.
Will you behave yourself, Jimmie?
- [Jimmie] Christ, missus, I ain't a savage.
- All right, come on.
- Mr. Blacksmith, I would like to show you
the boy child your wife has given birth to.
- Well, what do you think of him, Mr. Blacksmith?
- All right, you can all laugh now.
I had a right to think it was my kid.
(sticks clicking rhythmically)
(Mort crowing)
- [Mort] Jimmie!
Hey, come to help...
- Come for booze?
Well, I ain't got any!
Halam marry Mankara,
Mankara marry Gary,
You, marry white girl,
Bad torum.
Take it down, keep you safe.
- It'll keep me safe, will it?
- Here it is!
I found it.
- All right.
It's good of you to go to the trouble.
It's a long walk you've come.
Gilda this is my kin.
Tabidgi, my uncle.
Mort here, brother,
and Peter me cousin. (men chattering)
This is Gilda. - Hello.
- Hey.
- Hello.
- [Mort] Where's the little fellow, eh?
- [Jimmie] Up there.
- Must be plenty white fellow, eh?
(baby cooing)
- [Gilda] Jimmie?
I really thought it were yours, Jimmie.
Honest, I was sure.
- [Jimmie] Grow up to be a fucking white know all.
Won't want to know me when he grows up.
- I was sure it were yours, Jimmie.
I wouldn't have done it to ya.
Honest.
He should be, little bugger.
- [Man] Hey look, who's coming.
- G'day Mrs Blacksmith,
Can I do something?
- I just came to give in me order.
- But I'm sorry, I spoke to your husband.
I told him I can't go on forwarding him advances
in the form of groceries.
Not since the place has turned into a blacks camp.
I'm never certain whether the work will get done or not.
I don't wanna be left with an unfinished boundary.
I made that clear to your husband, Mrs. Blacksmith.
The cure is in his hands.
- Sorry Mr. Newby. (sniffles)
- Hold on.
You look a bit done in.
Go inside to the kitchen and get yourself a cup of tea.
- [Gilda] Thanks Mr. Newby.
- Baby should wake in about an hour.
We can give her some soup here, uh?
- Oh, I can do that, Mrs. Newby.
- No dear you should be in bed.
(knocking on door frame)
Mrs. Blacksmith.
- Mr. Newby said you might have some tea on.
- Come in.
I wasn't expecting you here this week.
Mr. Newby said you wouldn't be ordering.
- Jimmie must've forgot to tell me, Mrs. Newby.
- Help yourself.
And have a scone.
- Did you know I was getting married in the new year'?
- Congratulations, Miss Graf.
Do I know him, miss?
- No, I don't think so.
Mr. Steed, Dowie Steed from Wallabadah.
That's his property near Gulaga (mumbles).
- A nice young gent.
- Will you still be teaching, miss?
- No, I'll have more than enough to do.
Which leads me to what I wanted to say.
I'm sure that we,
my future husband and I, could employ you at Wallabadah.
- It's your chance.
You'll only lose that child of yours
if you stay with the blacks.
- You would have your own room, Mrs. Blacksmith.
And be able to have the baby with you all the time.
- You're grievous, miss!
You must leave them natives.
- I beg you that you'll see the sense of my offer.
- But I'm married to Jimmie.
Christian married.
- That bloody know all white bitch.
(baby crying)
Who does she think she is?
What right has she got?
(baby crying)
Advance any groceries?
Bloody Newby owes me!
They're all the bloody same.
Buggerer!
- So smug.
She thinks she's so superior, Jimmie.
- Why do they keep doing this?
What did I ever do wrong?
Miss Graf.
Bloody bitch!
(knocking at the door)
- Possuming, Mister Blacksmith?
- Can I see Mr. Newby, missus?
I wanna talk to him about the groceries.
- Mr. Newby is at the old farmhouse.
He and the boys are bagging wheat.
They'll be at it all night.
- What about me groceries?
We need 'em.
- Look, my husband is not
a charitable institution, Mr Blacksmith.
- Charitable?
I earned it, missus.
- You know what he wants.
Get rid of those hangers on and he'll be
only too pleased to...
- He owes me, missus, for 900 yards.
- I'm sure you'll forgive me for believing me own husband.
- What are you doing here?
- You know we haven't got anything to eat, boss.
You know that.
- I can't go on forwarding you supplies-.
- Forwarding?
I earn everything you've given me and more.
- Look, you're not workin' as good
as you did before them others come.
You're givin' signs of givin' up the job.
Now I'm gonna be faced with the expense
and inconvenience of findin' someone else.
- You owe me, Mr. Newby, for 900 yards.
- Now listen, Jimmie,
don't you come the bush lawyer with me.
- I've got a hungry wife and a kid at home.
- She knows where they can come if she wants steady tucker.
Miss Graf's made a generous offer.
- It ain't up to that fucking schoolie to make any offer.
- You black bastard.
Don't you talk to me like that.
I'll soon bloody...
You sodding darkie.
Get on.
Get straight to bed.
And I'll see you tomorrow
and we'll talk about what's to be done.
- [Jimmie] Yeah, we'll talk!
- One thing, you and your tribe can pack up and get.
- Here, put this under your coat.
- Christ, why?
- Just in case.
Now listen.
We're gonna give these whites a scare.
You go and see the old missus.
(knocking at the door)
(women chattering)
- [Mrs. Newby] What is it now'?
- Good evening, missus.
We just went and see Mr. Newby,
and he said be all right for you to give us some flour now.
- Did he give you a note?
- He was too busy, missus.
- Do you expect me to go traipsing
over there just to find out whether you're lying or not?
- Tell him to go away mom.
- Get your gun.
- Tabidgi!
(axe thuds) (dramatic orchestral music)
(Miss Graf gasps)
(dishes clattering)
- Mr. Blacksmith.
Mr. Blacksmith.
Please, Jimmie!
(axe thuds) (Miss Graf cries out)
(dishes breaking)
(axe thuds) (Mrs. Newby grunts)
- Jimmie! (axe thuds)
(Miss Graf gasps)
(dishes breaking)
(axe thuds) (girl screams)
(axe thudding)
(dramatic orchestral music)
(axe thudding)
' [Boy] Ma.
- [Jimmie] No!
- [Boy] Ma!
- [Jimmie] Enough. Leave him.
(eggs cracking)
- [Boy] Dad!
Dad!
(baby crying)
- Here you are.
Here you are, girl.
(baby cries)
(axe thuds to the floor)
(suspenseful orchestral music)
(men chattering)
- Jimmie?
(Jimmie chattering)
Jimmie?
- [Jimmie] Mort, for Christ's sake.
- [Mort] Jimmie, Jimmie, the white woman?
- [Jimmie] Yeah, (mumbles).
- [Gilda] Jimmie.
- (mumbles), Gilda.
Hurry!
- What's happened, Jimmie?
- We had a battle, quick.
Get the bag and get your stuff.
Hurry!
- [Gilda] You all right?
- Yeah, I'm all right.
Some of them Newbys are hurt real bad.
I'll tell you about it later.
(singing in foreign language)
- [Mort] What's wrong with him?
You all right?
- [Jimmie] Ready, Mort?
- [Mort] Yeah Jimmie!
- [Jimmie] Come on, we gotta go like the wind.
(singing in foreign language)
Gilda, you all right?
- [Gilda] Yeah!
- [Jimmie] Come on, Tabidgi.
We gotta leave them bad spirits.
Come on, we gotta make distance.
(ominous orchestral music)
Come on, keep up.
Hurry.
(cattle hooves thudding) (Mort whistling)
They'll cover our tracks.
- Jimmie, I can't go on much longer, Jimmie.
- Christ!
You don't think I'd do him any harm?
- [Gilda] I don't know, Jimmie.
I don't know what you've done already.
- I've declared war.
That's what I've done.
Declared war!
(shout echoes)
- [Peter] Mr. Sims, Mrs. Sims.
- [Mr. Sims] Peter, I'm sorry.
A brutal thing to happen.
- [Mrs. Sims] Peter, how is your mother'?
- I'm tellin' ya, a terrible thing.
' [Man] Hey, Jack.
- [Jack's Friend] I'm terribly sorry, Jack.
- [Woman] A tragedy, such a tragedy.
- [Woman With Brown Hair] Isn't it a miracle about Timmy?
- [Blonde Woman] Yes, it's such a shock.
- Oh, it's amazing that he's still alive.
I can't believe he's still alive.
(woman mumbles)
(Mrs. Newby breathes raggedly)
- Brave woman.
- It's better this way, honest.
- Jimmie. - You'll get picked up soon
by a farmer or something.
- Jimmie!
- Tell the police I said I declared war.
Tell 'em how bloody measly Newby was.
Tell 'em all the damage done
at Newby's, I clone, not Tabidgi.
And I declared war, right?
- [Gilda] Yes, Jimmie.
- [Jimmie] Make his bloody father give him a help in life.
- Jimmie, dearest.
Shouldn't we...
(baby cooing)
(men chattering)
- [Tracker] Easy to follow, boss.
They're headed that way.
- Back towards Brentwood, isn't it?
- [Tracker] Yes Boss.
- [Officer] That's where he's from, let's go.
- [Man] Bet he's grateful that he made it all that way.
- [Officer] I hope (mumbles) will blow his brains out.
(men panting)
- Come on, Mort.
They'll be all right.
(Mort crows)
Come on, they got plenty to eat!
(Mort crows)
(men crowing)
Christ's sake Mort, come on!
We gotta leave 'em!
(men crowing)
- [Peter] After all Dad did for 'em.
- Beautiful girl, your intended.
Beautiful girl.
(clock chiming)
- And Timmy saw it all happen.
- He heard 'em calling to each other.
- Her face wasn't hurt at all, your intended's.
- [Peter] Little Jill was in a cot.
She had a piece of fruit cake.
That must have...
(door clicks open)
- Mr. Newby, Mr. Newby.
Mrs. Newby's...
- Oh, God.
Oh God.
- Bastards.
Black bastards.
- Look at this girl.
She was about to be married.
She's a fine girl, she's not course and common.
What could he see in a girl like that?
What about the baby?
How could he do these things?
Everything we did for him was just a waste of time.
- Poor Jimmie.
- What do you mean, "poor Jimmie?“
- These are violent times, Martha, the Boers and everything.
- What's that got to do with Jimmie?
We've got to face it.
He's what he was born, nothing but a black savage!
- He's half white, Martha.
- [Mr. Knowler] Anyhow, the Mail'll have
all the photographs.
- Surely not all, Mr. Knowler.
There are some things the public ought to be spared.
- [Mr. Knowler] How do you mean?
- Murder isn't just a matter of being made
to lie down on the floor.
Even virgins and wives can die in ways
that make the toughest policeman sick.
Could be photographs taken far too terrible for anyone
other than doctors and senior policeman to look at.
- I wouldn't want to see nothing like that.
What I meant was I might recognise
the farm or some of the people.
I'm a Gilgandra boy myself.
I might know these Newby people.
- [Butcher] Oh, yes.
- What strikes me is this:
The other morning, there's news of a really bad murder.
You're just in the same position I am.
You don't know the killers and you don't know
those poor women who got killed.
Jimmie Blacksmith is a name you never heard of.
But now, his name is known throughout the state.
The whole country is in arms looking for him.
And you know, you're going to meet him on the gallows.
For the final act, in a killing
that'll be remembered forever.
You got a ringside seat to history.
- [Butcher] A florin, please.
- I mean.
(cash register dings)
It must be an interesting thing to know
that all the famous murderers, when they get caught,
have to face you in the end.
- I don't face them.
I don't say a word to them.
I'm just part of the apparatus.
(window slams)
(chickens clucking)
- [Jimmie] Come on Mort, you stupid fool.
(Mort and Jimmie laughing)
(rain pattering)
(knocking at the door)
- [Mort] Mullett, you mad bastard!
It's me, Mort Blacksmith.
And me brother Jimmie.
We're in trouble with the police.
- Well, I haven't much got food in ya know.
- We brung all our food.
We only wanna sleep next to your fire.
We've been goin' all day and our bloody blankets are wet.
- Yeah?
Well, come on in out of the wet!
You, too, come on.
That's Kate.
(harmonica music)
(woman giggling)
- I am buggered.
- [Man] Good training for you in case you join up.
- God knows where they are.
- [Man] Bastards can travel.
- [Dowie's Friend] Never find them in bush like this.
- Yeah it's real black fella country.
- They've got us running round in circles.
You thinkin' of joining, Dowie?
- I might. Now.
- [Man] Britain's war, not ours.
- They're worse than this, I reckon.
3 Many years have gone by
♫ Since the Irish rebellion
- Yeah, look at all the fellows dyin' of disease.
Hardly anyone ever gets shot.
- [Man] Bloody Boers don't need guns.
- Look the death lists in the Herald.
Private Briggs, emetic fever.
Brown, enteric fever.
Enteric fever, enteric.
Hardly anyone ever dies of wounds.
- [Man] Boers are gettin' all the sympathy, too.
- And why not?
All they wanted to do is have their land
and keep the black man in his place.
J? And among them James Corbin, the Irish...
- [Man] Aw, stick a sock in it, will ya?
(Mort whooping)
(Jimmie mumbles)
- Run away, Mort, for sweet Jesus' sake.
- [Mort] You only come here to get justice.
- I don't want your help.
Bugger off, please. (Mort whooping)
There's a woman here, put magic on your (mumbles).
Now get away!
- [Mort] There ain't no cure for that sort of bitch!
(Mort whooping)
- Get away Mort, damn it!
- Yeehaw!
(gun fires)
Jesus. (gun fires)
(Mrs. Healey grunts)
Don't move. Don't move.
I'm sorry. Sorry.
It's just 22 gauge.
Want a drink of water?
- Your fucking husband wouldn't even
give me a ride into Merriwa.
And what did you care?
(baby crying)
(gun fires)
(baby crying)
Father's little joy.
- Jimmie! Jesus, no!
(gun fires)
(shell rolling on the floor)
Does Healey deserve all this?
- [Jimmie] He starved me and told me bloody lies.
- But it's woman blood, and it's child blood.
- [Jimmie] Don't worry yourself about that blood bullshit.
(flies buzzing)
- Jesus Christ.
Will you look at what you've clone?
- I know what I've clone.
(ominous orchestral music)
Healey deserves to see his kid.
And so does Gilda!
And all the frigging others!
(speaking in foreign language)
- Let's get away, Jimmie.
Let's get away to Queensland.
- Whoa, whoa. (horse whinnies)
What's the matter'? - Oh, Brad.
- You see?
Just let him have a good look at what he caused.
Mort!
(gun fires) (Mort gasps)
For Christ sake!
Watch out!
(gun fires) (Healey grunts)
You stupid bastard!
I wanted him to see what he bloody caused.
- [Mort] Why?
- It has to be clone.
Can you imagine me asking everyone who done me wrong?
Like a gentleman, for me too?
They'd bloody laugh.
But no more women.
I promise, Mort.
No more, Mort.
(Mort chanting in foreign language)
You know, I can feel the bastards waiting.
Right from the first.
They expect it of you.
They want you do wrong, to bugger up.
They're bloody disappointed if you don't.
Jesus.
What for'?
Can't hurt 'em if we're good.
But no more women, I promise.
- At least you fought the Newby boys fair.
- It weren't the Newby boys.
Weren't old Newby.
- Christ, why didn't you tell me?
- [Jimmie] What I'm sayin' is...
- What are ya sayin'?
- It was bloody old Mrs. Newby and the girls
and their fucking schoolie.
- You fucking devil man.
- I'm your brother.
I got bloody mad.
- [Mort] You're a fucking devil man!
- I'm your brother!
You shot a bloody woman yourself I
- That was accidental.
Get away from me devil man!
(sombre orchestral music)
"Mort!
- You fucking devil man!
- Mort, I'm your brother!
All right, you can go to hell!
- These two fellas, pretty bloody tough.
Cut your water off or your throat like as not.
You get off in the bush,
and catch a possum for your house, all right?
You go quiet.
If you go near Constable Harrogate,
they'll shoot the two of you, and him as well.
Now, go on.
- Who's this Harrogate?
- It's all right, it's all right.
All blacks camps got constable.
Protect me against angry white fellas.
Because there's lots of angry whites riding
up and down the countryside with rifles.
It's all right.
Come on, Mort.
(Mort sniffling)
It's all right, it's all right.
(Jimmie crying)
- [Mort] You know what we did?
- Yeah, you ripped up some people, didn't ya?
But you ain't gonna rip me up, are you Mort?
Fendy! Mary!
(men chattering)
- Come on get out of here, come on.
You, too, come on.
- [Mr. Farrell] (mumbles) in the morning.
- Don't leave your food
Don't leave your bloody blankets.
Come on, Mort, don't be a bastard.
It'll make me look silly.
- You can't bloody fly with a mountain in your beak.
- [Woman] Mort!
- Fair is fair.
You can't, I'm sorry.
Oh, fuck.
Come on, Mort.
- [Man] Is that you, Don?
(Mort gasps) (gun fires)
- [Jimmie] Jesus!
(men chattering)
(Dowie mumbles)
(men chattering)
- C'mon! - Let's go, mate, come on!
- Jesus and Mary, don't do that.
I might live.
(gun fires)
- Here they go! - Six men over here!
You fellas go 'round the other side.
(men shouting)
(gun fires)
- [Dowie] Oh Jesus!
- Bloody Irish idiot.
(men shouting) - Black bastards!
- [Judge] Has the Jury reached the verdict as to the charge
of the murders of Miss Jane Newby and Miss Vera Newby?
- We have your honour.
- [Judge] What is that verdict?
- We find the defendant guilty, Your Honour.
(crowd chattering)
- [Judge] Has the jury reached the verdict
as to the charge of accessory to the murders
of Miss Heather Newby and Miss Petra Graf?
- [Jury Foreman] We have, Your Honour.
- [Judge] What is that verdict?
- We find the defendant guilty, Your Honour.
(crowd chattering)
- Don't worry, we'll see (mumbles).
- Very well.
Have you anything to say before I pass sentence?
(baby crying)
- I only wanted to give Jimmie sacred stone.
Let him know he shouldn't have married a white girl.
I've never done nothing like this before.
You would think it would take quite a while
to make up your mind to kill someone
and then to kill him.
I'm just an ignorant black man,
but take my word for it, it only takes a second.
(crowd chattering)
- I wonder if they've gone down to the coast.
Around places like Port Macquarie, Taree.
- Taree?
I know a family in Taree.
Two nice daughters.
Well, you can't live like a monk for the rest of your life.
- Well the Blacksmiths aren't gonna live like monks.
As poor bloody Toban found out.
- Poor bloody Toban.
They're right you know, Dowie.
They're clever bastards.
Look, mate, you done enough.
No one would blame you if you stop now.
Someone will get 'em one day.
A bunch of farmers will probably
come across 'em by accident.
That's the only way, though, mate, by bloody accident.
- [Dowie] Leave it, huh?
- Come off it, Dowie.
We both know you didn't wanna marry that Graf girl.
- Shut up, Dan.
- Look, I've stuck with you the whole trip...
- Don't make a song and dance about it.
- At least I oughta be able to speak my mind.
I'm just as pissed off as you are.
- [Dowie] Right, say what you bloody think.
- Right!
You bloody know you'd just as soon to not get yoked
with that high-hat schoolie.
(birds chirping) (children chattering)
- Come on you two, cut that out.
Off you go.
Bye-bye.
(children chattering)
- [Children] Bye!
- Hello, darling. - Hello, darling.
Good day'?
- How's Baba?
- [Woman] She's sleeping.
- I know who you two are!
God you travel fast!
(gun fires)
- Oh Jesus.
(baby crying)
It's all right, darling.
We just spotted a rabbit.
You go inside, I'll be in in a moment.
(baby crying)
- No, come on, Jimmie.
Come on. - No.
- If you two gentlemen are in any doubt
as to whether to kill us, just let me tell you,
my wife's sick and I don't have much insurance.
And we're both bloody innocent!
- You got any flour? Bacon?
- Oh yes, enough of that.
You don't have to think you must kill us.
You let a couple live up in Barrington Tops.
- As soon as we turn our backs
you'd be off for the bloody police.
It was a schoolie who did for Ned Kelly.
- You're welcome to take my horse.
I'm at least 22 miles from the nearest police station.
A walk like that would take me two days.
Look, I know I can reason with you
because you aren't mad, either of you.
Let me show you something I know you'd enjoy.
It's in the Bulletin.
By the way, I know you're not gonna believe me
if I say I've got no arms in the house.
In fact, I've got a boozer Martini-Henry carbine.
There's no ammunition in it.
My father-in-law gave it to me as a wedding present.
Everyone said it was a funny sort of wedding present.
Someone said it was to keep the...
- Shut up! (hand smacks)
(wife screams)
Just show us what you're gonna show us.
- Where's that copy of the Bulletin, dear? (crying)
There.
- [Mort] What's it say?
- At the bottom it says:
Blacksmith brothers still at large after two months.
And we're saying to the police dogs
Go back to your boss and tell him you ain't see nothin'.
(Mort laughs)
(everyone laughs)
Hostage.
I couldn't keep up with you two.
I'd only hold you back.
I've got respiratory trouble.
- [Mort] We wouldn't hurt him Misses.
- [Jimmie] Get yourself some blankets and a ground sheet.
- I'm short of breath.
- It's a dangerous time of the year for him.
- If I sweat I catch cold!
- He's got chest inflammation.
- [Jimmie] Just go get the things!
- Double blankets.
You'll have to keep warm.
Not too warm.
What about your Wellingtons?
- It's too hard trekking in Wellingtons.
- Socks.
- Have you seen my Palgrave?
- No.
Boots.
Vest.
If you'll be able to carry it all.
- Where the hell is it?
- [Wife] I'll get it.
(Mr. McCready wheezing)
- No fire!
They'll be looking for fires.
- Who'll be fuckin' lookin'?
The schoolie needs a cupper.
- [Jimmie] Don't be such a bloody old lubra.
He's here for us, we're not here for him.
- [Mort] Well, I want one, too.
- [Jimmie] Fucking old women's church turn out.
- I can understand you being angry.
I can imagine it, Jimmie.
I mean, settlers still spoke about marauding blacks
only 10 years ago.
- Marauding blacks.
- Bullshit.
- How many whites ever got killed by Aborigines?
No one knows.
But it wasn't more than four or five thousand, if that.
- Not enough.
- Well, you might ask how many Aborigines
did the whites kill?
The answer is a quarter of a million.
- More than that.
- Lot more.
- 270,000.
And I understand you being angry.
- And a whole country that they took away, a way of life.
What for'?
What harm have we done?
- You can't say we haven't given you anything.
We've introduced you to alcohol, religion.
- [Jimmie] Religion.
- Influenza, measles, syphilis.
School. - School.
- A whole host of improvements.
No school tomorrow.
- It strikes me, they must have killed the teacher.
Otherwise he would have slowed them down.
I mean, it's odd that there are 20,000 people
searching for them and they haven't seen
hide nor hair of them for three weeks.
- I'm sure they'll soon be brought to justice, Mr. Knowler,
now that the army's involved.
- After everything they've done,
I expect these are hangings you're looking forward to.
- I just do what is expected of me, Mr. Knowler.
No more, no less.
- Of course I can understand you being a trifle concerned.
- I don't follow you, Mr. Knowler.
- Well, I'm told the blacks present problems.
- How do you mean?
- Scientific problems you might say.
Problems with hanging, you know.
- I didn't know.
I'd better leave such questions to you, Mr. Knowler
since you're the expert.
- Well, that last black they hanged, in (mumbles).
I don't like to say it, but the newspapers do.
- [Butcher] They said what?
- That he never got his head pulled off.
- What newspaper said that?
- Truth, in The Sporting Chronicle.
- What's a sporting paper doing printing stuff like that?
(birds and insects chirping)
- [Jimmie] When I went to work for farmers,
for farmers like Newby,
they were always afraid I'd turn their property
into a blacks camp.
They always said "a filthy blacks camp."
It looks as if you aren't keeping yourself
very clean, Mr. School Teacher.
And I don't want my place turned into a filthy whites camp.
(water splashing)
- You stupid bastard, Jimmie!
- I tell you, if I get one of my chest inflammations...
- Go on, fill up the can.
That'll help you keep warm.
- Why don't you go and fill it?
You're the stupid bastard spilled it.
- What do you think I am, the bloody schoolie servant?
Yeah, you'd like me to go so you can tell
how you never cut up any women
and you're a nice abo off on mission.
- Well, I never cut up any women!
- But you shot one in the chest,
but I suppose that don't count.
Christ, they'll have ya fightin' the bloody Boers!
- [Mr. McCready] Be quiet!
If you stand there comparing evils,
you won't end until you've put a bullet
through each other's heart.
You ought to know that no one does a murder
unless he wants to.
- [Mort] You can hurt people by accident.
- Oh yes.
But you harmed the people you harmed
because you chose to go to them,
ready to harm them, and with the arms to do it.
I'll get the water.
- We must test ourselves against strange spirits.
- Fuckin' stupid boongs.
- Initiation ground. (Mort humming)
The whole of the Manning River tribe used to use it.
- We must know if we're cursed.
- There's a shape like a womb with small stones inside it.
Holy stones, sacred stones.
- Why would we want to go buggering around
a place like that?
- It's a sacred ground.
- And there's no one to use it now.
They've got all the poor blacks herded together
down at (mumbles).
(speaking in foreign language)
- All right, all right!
How far to this bloody place?
- A mile, straight up the scarp.
- [Jimmie] All right, if you both got that much wind.
(Mort exhaling)
(ominous music orchestral music)
- This is dreadful.
It's too bloody dreadful.
(Mr. McCready wheezing)
We must build it up again.
God will forgive us if we build it up again.
(suspenseful orchestral music)
- You're bloody mad, both of you.
You'll never fix it.
It'll take bloody days and you still wouldn't fix it.
It's no use, it's buggered.
(ominous orchestral music)
(sombre orchestral music)
(ominous orchestral music)
It's no use, it's buggered.
There's no hope for it!
- You must leave Mort, Jimmie.
Now, you can see that. (wheezing)
- Mort's been in all I've done.
- He wounded a woman (wheezing) but she's getting better.
- He shot a man!
I need Mort and Mort needs me!
- Would you say so, Jimmie?
Would you? (wheezing)
You ought to bugger off, give him a chance.
You ought to leave us.
- Why in hell?
- The boy isn't really your brother.
He's an Aborigine, not like you.
There's too much Christian in you.
It'll only bugger him up like it's buggered you. (wheezing)
- I'll ask him.
- Don't ask him.
He'll only stay with you because of loyalty. (wheezing)
You just got to bugger off at night. (wheezing)
I'm taking it for granted that you love Mort.
- Listen, mister, you'd better wrap yourself
in a blanket and just shut up!
(flies buzzing)
- Jimmie!
(Mr. McCready wheezing)
Jimmie!
(Mort crowing)
(sombre orchestral music)
(Mr. McCready mumbles)
(Mr. McCready wheezing)
(dogs barking)
- Who's that? Jesus!
- I've got Mr. McCready here,
the schoolteacher from Tambourine.
(gun fires) Jesus!
There are three of us here, we've all got rifles.
You'd better put McCready down and bugger off!
(gun fires)
- Watch out, you might hit McCready!
- Then clear off and leave him there!
(McCready wheezing)
(Mort chanting in foreign language)
(horses huffing)
(guns cocking)
(guns firing)
- You give him to me.
- Nice shot. - Beautiful, beautiful.
- [Man] What he deserves.
(Camera poofs)
- [Photographer] Thank you, gentlemen.
Mr. Steed, Mr. Edmond, you care to join us for the next one?
- Yes, we can.
Thanks, man.
- [Photographer] Constable do you mind
stepping aside, please?
(men chattering)
- It's the other bastard I want.
- [Man] Oh, we'll get him next time.
- Reckon this is as close as we're gonna get.
- Oh, don't bloody start that again, for Christ sake.
- [Photographer] Take your positions, please.
Thank you.
Hold it.
- [Minister] Thank you for joining me, Grand Master Hyberry.
- My pleasure, Minister.
- [Minister] I know you're a busy man
but I have some rather good news for you.
Confidentially, of course.
- Oh?
- [Minister] The premier has put you down
on a preparatory list of nominations for Royal Honours.
- Royal Honours?
Which, sir?
- [Minister] An MBE.
- An MBE. - Mm.
It's good that they shot that darkie they caught, eh?
That all goes well for you.
But we haven't yet killed that other sod (mumbles).
- I don't understand sir.
- Well, otherwise you'll have to wait.
They got shot?
Good-0, everything's above board.
But if you have to hang him over the public
interest in the case, it'll look like
you're being rewarded for stringing him up.
And in some quarters they're even thought of as heroes.
Media say it's gonna be bad enough
choosing a time to hang Mr. Blacksmith and his uncle.
Everyone will be in such a high state of mind
with all this, federation nonsense.
Hanging, and all the things that go with it,
is a bit out of place.
- Everything in good time.
Even Justice.
- Never mind in a year or so.
Tell me, what would you have done
if the Blacksmith woman had been sentenced?
- Is that him? - Where?
- You're right! - Yeah?
(men chattering)
(Jimmie breathing heavily)
(men chattering)
- [Man] I tell you what.
(guns firing)
(gun fires) (Jimmie grunts)
I got him!
(men chattering)
- Fire! (guns firing)
(Jimmie grunting)
(suspenseful orchestral music)
(Jimmie grunts)
(water pattering)
(birds chirping)
(pulsating music)
- Is she all white, Mr. Blacksmith?
- I'll cut your bloody black balls out.
- Blasted.
- A real genuine white.
(baby crying)
- Paley bastard.
- Missionary black.
(bees buzzing)
(stick thudding) (Jimmie grunting)
(cicadas buzzing)
(frogs croaking)
(nuns singing)
(Jimmie grunting)
(nuns singing)
- Very cold.
- Yes, sister.
(bell ringing)
- Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
(men chattering)
(gun butts thudding) (men chattering)
(keys jingling)
- He's a lot better than when they brung him in.
Didn't think he'd live.
Suppose I'll ship him to Sydney
as soon as he's well enough to travel.
Don't know why.
Seems a bloody waste of time to me.
(door slams)
- Mrs. Neville and I...
That is...
I feel very responsible.
We both feel extremely sorry for you, Jimmie.
We don't feel it's entirely your...
(mumbles)
I am offering the meak beginning and the end,
the first and last.
Blessed are they that do His commandments.
- I don't foresee any difficulty.
Everything appears to be normal.
Although his neck muscle's simply more developed
than the average black.
- [Reverend Neville] For without, are dogs and sorcerers
and whore mongers and murderers and idolaters,
and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.
- [Executioner] I can allow for that.
On the whole there should be no problems.
(peephole cover squeaks)
(sombre orchestral music)