1
- Blasted blacks.
And most of them are likely
to disappear at any time.
If a person could be
certain that he'd imbued
one of them with decent ambition.
I thought Jimmie.
He's half white.
Why would he disappear
now when we need him?
He knows I needed him.
- He's rotten.
- He knows I needed him
for the Easter choir.
- Possummin' probably.
You shut up your mouth.
Big brother reverend don't
wanna hear your nonsense.
- Jimmie!
- Jimmie Blacksmith?
Master Blacksmith?
Where have you been Master Blacksmith?
- Catching possums, sir.
- 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.
- Thanks, thanks boss.
-, mister.
You want me, mister'?
- Hey, Jimmie Blacksmith,
you paley bastard!
Here, a mongrel man.
Here, drink it, ya paley bastard.
Here, you gotta start sometime.
Make you a man.
Make you a mongrel man.
They're gone!
Here, you drink, man.
You've been away from your tribe too long.
You've been livin' with
that reverend too long.
Comin' out, catchin' possums.
White fellow don't like Wongee Tom
hanging around a homestead.
Says that bugger all black,
black.
- He's been living with us
ever since we moved.
He's always been.
Oh, once, at the mission.
- That was six years ago.
- I take it.
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.
Hope ya know how to show
you're fuckin' grateful.
- Yes.
- Get off to the
pump and wash yourself down.
Christ, why do you have to be
the cleanest fuckin' darkie in Australia?
It's cold.
- Won't be a second boss.
- You must promise to stay away from
those drunken roustabouts.
- 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.
- Mm.
- I'll miss you, too, Mrs.
Neville and Mr. Neville.
- Well, I think I should
give the boy reference.
Think he deserves that.
- It's no good to you
around here, Jacko, now shove off.
- All right Boss.
- Look, there's a depression on.
You know what a depression means?
- Yes, boss.
- A depression means no jobs, right?
- Okay, boss.
- Still a lot of
these guys are out of work.
See,.
- 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.
- I want you finished
by the end of September.
- I'll work fast, boss.
- 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.
- Thanks, boss.
- You can 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?
- I'd say he's
a fucking foul mouth, boss.
Right, out.
That's it, Carmichael.
- Here, Jacko.
You do read don't you?
- Course I read.
- That's not too bad at all.
-, come here, come here.
- Oy!
Nigel, g'day.
- Jimmie?
Jimmie!
- Morning boss, missus.
- Good day.
- Have a nice time at mass.
Jesus.
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.
- 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?
- 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.
- We're not
going to Merriwa tomorrow.
- I was thinking you
might, it being Friday.
- I don't
need you to think for me.
I'd ask you if I wanted
you to do me thinking!
- Yeah, well.
- Yeah, well.
- Yeah, thanks a lot, boss.
No reference, that's cause
you can't bloody write!
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?
- What animal has your soul, eh?
"Jesus!
- Harry Edwards, down
the, 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.
- I asked him for a little cash
and he go bloody mad.
- Yellin' and breakin' things!
- Yeah, first he
started breakin' things
and started to smashin' Sally's things.
I gotta get my meat
knife, I gotta stop him.
- Oh yeah, you put
a big hole in him, Harry.
- They'll hang
Harry sure as all shit.
- Did he had any mates with him?
- No never saw any mates.
Oh, they'll hang Harry sure as all shit.
"Mort!
Mort, you young bastard!
- I've come to help you get rich!
- 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!
- He's a good worker, Mr. Lewis.
- All right then.
Let's get on with it.
What's wrong with him?
- Nothing, Mr. Lewis.
He's just a kid.
Cut it Out, Mort.
Give it a rest.
- I don't see what he's laughin' about.
- He's happy to be here, boss.
All the bloody time
laughin' Mort, it's no good.
Boss say you a bloody stupid boong.
- Hey, when do we bloody eat?
- It should be more!
Why are you doing this?
- I'm nay happy with the job
you done up on the top paddock.
- 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.
- How are you off, Jimmie?
- How am I off?
- You got much, Jimmie?
- Much what?
- Come on, Jimmie.
- Don't take no
notice of him, he's tired.
, fencin'.
- Tabidgi made a real nice
cross, for poor old Wilf.
The Parson says he'd pray
real good for the old bastard.
- Hey.
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.
- Why?
All right.
- What do
you want us to call ya?
- Jimmie Blacksmith.
- Roll up your sleeves.
What?
- Jimmie Blacksmith.
- Is that so?
- 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.
- The United States had
trouble enforcing federation.
What do you want, a civil war'?
Thousands of dead.
- 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.
Wouldn't be any better for you, would it?
- What's that, 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.
- 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.
- No, no, that wasn't the reason.
- Were you out there?
- No.
- Now, come on.
It's obvious.
- All right.
- Now this is serious.
You knew he'd gone fucking gins.
Ya didn't wanna tell us, did ya?
- 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.
Go on, go get some more.
- Run!
A man, he maybe got
killed by a black fellow.
- We don't kill a white fella.
- 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.
- 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 fuckin' federation.
Go on, fuck off to ya!
- Hey, Mr. Policeman, Mr. Policeman.
- What?
- What for you leaving
Harry to Mr. Farrell, eh?
- You murder white boy.
- 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.
- 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!
No, Mr. Farrell, please don't.
Don't mess around with...
Mr. Farrell!
Please!
- 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.
- Watch you don't get sheep shit
all over your new gum boots you, Jacko.
- Yeah, thought all of
you darkies went barefooted.
- Yeah, so you can bugger off
without anyone hearing yous.
- Bloody unusual blacks wearing boots.
- Why are you wearin' boots, Jacko?
- So's I don't get sheep
shit all over me feet.
Dumb bastard boss.
Anyway, they're Wellingtons,
ya dumb bastards.
All right, Mr. Cook, Jimmie
Blacksmith at your service.
- Oh, Jesus Christ,.
We need some water for the potatoes
if you want to be of service.
- All right boss.
- 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.
- It's for your queen and country.
- Think of the glory.
- It's not our bloody
country, is it Jacko?
- 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?
- Not bad for a white girl, eh?
- Yeah.
Hi, Mr Newby.
- Now Jimmie.
- Top paddock should be
finished, 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.
- Thanks, boss.
- Go ahead, quick, get it.
- Hurry up now, lad.
Come on, come on.
- Seth, you watch it.
- Come on, Peter, nice fan.
- Oh no, he's missed it.
What a.
- Go for it.
Let's have one now.
Go on, go on and for it.
Run you silly, bugger, run!
- Come on back again, Peter!
- Mr. Blacksmith?
Would you like something to eat?
- Yes, missus.
- Sandwich?
- 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.
- What was that reverend's wife
talking to you about?
- Stuff I didn't think any
person's wife would know.
- What sort of stuff'?
- How to avoid having babies.
- None of her business.
- That's what I thought,
but you can't say nothin'.
- Yeah.
You all right?
- Not the best.
I think I'll try side saddle.
- Here, let me help.
Look down there, Gilda.
Home.
Ready.
There's a cesspit over there.
It's a start.
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.
Would you like some
thick, hot soup, dearest?
- 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.
That's it, push.
Push now, push.
That's it, push.
Push now, push.
- Jesus!
- Jesus'll help ya.
- Jesus!
- Push, push.
- Easy, Jimmie.
Has it come?
- Yeah!
- What is it, Jimmie?
- Where is the poor little pal?
- Congratulations, Jimmie.
- Yeah, Jimmie.
- Good on ya, Jimmie.
- I believe you've got
a real genuine white.
- Mr. Blacksmith, I want
to show you your son.
Will you behave yourself, 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.
- 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.
This is Gilda.
- Hello.
- Hello.
- Hey.
- Hello.
- Where's the little fellow, eh?
- Up there.
- Must be plenty white fellow, eh?
- Jimmie?
I really thought it were yours, Jimmie.
Honest, I was sure.
- 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.
- 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.
- Hold on.
You look a bit done in.
Go inside to the kitchen and
get yourself a cup of tea.
- 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.
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.
- 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.
Who does she think she is?
What right has she got?
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!
- 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.
- 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.
- 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!
- Mr. Blacksmith.
Mr. Blacksmith.
Please, Jimmie!
- Jimmie!
' Ma.
- No!
- Ma!
- Enough. Leave him.
- Dad!
Dad!
- Here you are.
Here you are, girl.
- Jimmie?
Jimmie?
- Mort, for Christ's sake.
- Jimmie, Jimmie, the white woman?
- Yeah,.
- Jimmie.
-, Gilda.
Hurry!
- What's happened, Jimmie?
- We had a battle, quick.
Get the bag and get your stuff.
Hurry!
- You all right?
- Yeah, I'm all right.
Some of them Newbys are hurt real bad.
I'll tell you about it later.
- What's wrong with him?
You all right?
You all right?
- Ready, Mort?
- Yeah Jimmie!
- Come on, we
gotta go like the wind.
Gilda, you all right?
- Yeah!
- Come on, Tabidgi.
We gotta leave them bad spirits.
Come on, we gotta make distance.
Come on, keep up.
Hurry.
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?
- 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!
- Mr. Sims, Mrs. Sims.
- Peter, I'm sorry.
A brutal thing to happen.
- Peter, how is your mother'?
- I'm tellin' ya, a terrible thing.
' Hey, Jack.
- I'm terribly sorry, Jack.
- A tragedy, such a tragedy.
Isn't it a miracle about Timmy?
- Yes, it's such a shock.
- Oh, it's amazing that he's still alive.
I can't believe he's still alive.
- 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?
- Yes, Jimmie.
- Make his bloody
father give him a help in life.
- Jimmie, dearest.
Shouldn't we...
- Easy to follow, boss.
They're headed that way.
- Back towards Brentwood, isn't it?
- Yes Boss.
- That's where
he's from, let's go.
- Bet he's grateful
that he made it all that way.
- I hope
will blow his brains out.
- Come on, Mort.
They'll be all right.
Come on, they got plenty to eat!
Christ's sake Mort, come on!
We gotta leave 'em!
- After all Dad did for 'em.
- Beautiful girl, your intended.
Beautiful girl.
- And Timmy saw it all happen.
- He heard 'em calling to each other.
- Her face wasn't hurt
at all, your intended's.
- Little Jill was in a cot.
She had a piece of fruit cake.
That must have...
- 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.
- Anyhow, the Mail'll have
all the photographs.
- Surely not all, Mr. Knowler.
There are some things the
public ought to be spared.
- 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.
- 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.
- A florin, please.
- I mean.
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.
- Come on Mort, you stupid fool.
- 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.
- I am buggered.
- Good training for
you in case you join up.
- God knows where they are.
- Bastards can travel.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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...
- Aw, stick a sock in it, will ya?
- Run away, Mort, for sweet Jesus' sake.
- You only come
here to get justice.
- I don't want your help.
Bugger off, please.
There's a woman here, put
magic on your.
Now get away!
- There ain't no
cure for that sort of bitch!
- Get away Mort, damn it!
- Yeehaw!
Jesus.
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?
Father's little joy.
- Jimmie! Jesus, no!
Does Healey deserve all this?
- He starved me
and told me bloody lies.
- But it's woman blood,
and it's child blood.
- Don't worry yourself
about that blood bullshit.
- Jesus Christ.
Will you look at what you've clone?
- I know what I've clone.
Healey deserves to see his kid.
And so does Gilda!
And all the frigging others!
- Let's get away, Jimmie.
Let's get away to Queensland.
- Whoa, whoa.
What's the matter'?
- Oh, Brad.
- You see?
Just let him have a good
look at what he caused.
Mort!
Mort!
For Christ sake!
Watch out!
You stupid bastard!
I wanted him to see what he bloody caused.
- 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.
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?
- 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.
- 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!
"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.
It's all right, it's all right.
- 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!
- Come on get out of here, come on.
You, too, come on.
- 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.
- Mort!
- Fair is fair.
You can't, I'm sorry.
Oh, fuck.
Come on, Mort.
- Is that you, Don?
- Jesus!
- C'mon!
- Let's go, mate, come on!
- Jesus and Mary, don't do that.
I might live.
- Here they go!
- Six men over here!
You fellas go 'round the other side.
- Oh Jesus!
- Bloody Irish idiot.
Black bastards!
- 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.
- What is that verdict?
- We find the defendant
guilty, Your Honour.
- Has the jury reached the verdict
as to the charge of
accessory to the murders
of Miss Heather Newby and Miss Petra Graf?
- We have, Your Honour.
- What is that verdict?
- We find the defendant
guilty, Your Honour.
- Don't worry, we'll see.
- Very well.
Have you anything to say
before I pass sentence?
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- Right, say
what you bloody think.
- Right!
You bloody know you'd just
as soon to not get yoked
with that high-hat schoolie.
- Come on you two, cut that out.
Off you go.
Bye-bye.
- Bye!
- Hello, darling.
- Hello, darling.
Good day'?
- How's Baba?
- She's sleeping.
- I know who you two are!
God you travel fast!
- Oh Jesus.
It's all right, darling.
We just spotted a rabbit.
You go inside, I'll be in in a moment.
- 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!
Just show us what you're gonna show us.
- Where's that copy of the
Bulletin, dear?
There.
- 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'.
Hostage.
Hostage.
I couldn't keep up with you two.
I'd only hold you back.
I've got respiratory trouble.
- We wouldn't hurt him Misses.
- 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.
- 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?
- I'll get it.
- No fire!
They'll be looking for fires.
- Who'll be fuckin' lookin'?
The schoolie needs a cupper.
- Don't be
such a bloody old lubra.
He's here for us, we're not here for him.
- Well, I want one, too.
- 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.
- 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.
I don't like to say it,
but the newspapers do.
- 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?
- 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.
- 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!
- 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.
- 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.
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.
- All right, all right!
How far to this bloody place?
- A mile, straight up the scarp.
- All right, if
you both got that much wind.
- This is dreadful.
It's too bloody dreadful.
We must build it up again.
God will forgive us if
we build it up again.
- 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.
It's no use, it's buggered.
There's no hope for it!
- You must leave Mort, Jimmie.
Now, you can see that.
- Mort's been in all I've done.
- He wounded a woman
but she's getting better.
- He shot a man!
I need Mort and Mort needs me!
- Would you say so, Jimmie?
Would you?
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.
- I'll ask him.
- Don't ask him.
He'll only stay with you
because of loyalty.
You just got to bugger
off at night.
I'm taking it for granted
that you love Mort.
- Listen, mister, you'd
better wrap yourself
in a blanket and just shut up!
- Jimmie!
Jimmie!
Jimmie!
Jimmie!
Jimmie!
- Who's that? Jesus!
- I've got Mr. McCready here,
the schoolteacher from Tambourine.
Jesus!
There are three of us
here, we've all got rifles.
You'd better put McCready
down and bugger off!
- Watch out, you might hit McCready!
- Then clear off and leave him there!
- You give him to me.
- Nice shot.
- Beautiful, beautiful.
- What he deserves.
- Thank you, gentlemen.
Mr. Steed, Mr. Edmond, you care
to join us for the next one?
- Yes, we can.
Thanks, man.
- Constable do you mind
stepping aside, please?
- It's the other bastard I want.
- 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.
- Take your positions, please.
Thank you.
Hold it.
- Thank you for
joining me, Grand Master Hyberry.
- My pleasure, Minister.
- I know you're a busy man
but I have some rather good news for you.
Confidentially, of course.
- Oh?
- The premier has put you down
on a preparatory list of
nominations for Royal Honours.
- Royal Honours?
Which, sir?
- 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.
- 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?
- I tell you what.
I got him!
- Fire!
- Is she all white, Mr. Blacksmith?
- I'll cut your bloody black balls out.
- Blasted.
- A real genuine white.
- Paley bastard.
- Missionary black.
- Very cold.
- Yes, sister.
- Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
- 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.
- 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...
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.
- For
without, are dogs and sorcerers
and whore mongers and
murderers and idolaters,
and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.
- I can allow for that.
On the whole there should be no problems.