The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith (1978) - full transcript

Jimmie Blacksmith, the son of an Aboriginal mother and a white father, falls victim to much racist abuse after marrying a white woman, and goes on a killing spree and finds himself on the run in the aftermath.

(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?


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.


- 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)


(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] 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, 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.



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.


- [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.


(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?


- Yeah, we're a team, aren't we?

It's not much, but it's something.

Here, Jacko.


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)

(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.


(mumbles) ready.

There's a cesspit over there.

(Gilda sniffling)

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.

(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.

- 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.


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.


- 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!


(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] Mort, for Christ's sake.

- [Mort] Jimmie, Jimmie, the white woman?

- [Jimmie] Yeah, (mumbles).

- [Gilda] Jimmie.

- (mumbles), Gilda.


- What's happened, Jimmie?

- We had a battle, quick.

Get the bag and get your stuff.


- [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?

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.


(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)

(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.



(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.


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)


- 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.


(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)


- [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)



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.



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.

- 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)





(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)

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)

(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...


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)