The Silver Brumby (1993) - full transcript

- Mrs. Mitchell,

are you there?

- Jock?

- Yeah

- Is everything all right?

- You had a break in the

fence down the track a bit.

Me and Egan stuck some

dead branches in it.

Should hold it for a while.

We were worried you

wouldn't find the break,

what with Tom being

away and that.

You could've lost

quite a few cattle.

What we did should

home 'em I reckon,

at least 'till

they arrive anyway.

- Would you like to come in?

- No, thanks anyway.

Best be gettin'

ourselves home, I reckon.

If you need us at

all you call alright?

- Okay, Jock.

- Okay, go in, go in.

- Indi?

Indi?

Are you alright, I

heard you screaming?

Your favorite.

Dear.

- I feel so stupid.

It was just the blind.

It's a weird storm.

- Yes, yes it is.

There's definitely

something in the air.

- That lightening

nearly hit the house.

- Well thank heavens it didn't.

You know what they say about

lightening never striking.

I don't think I've

been this frightened

by a storm in a long time.

- But you know, there is something

different about this one.

I can sort of feel it too.

- I'll tell you what, why

don't you hop back into bed

and I'll read my book up here

and keep you company, okay?

- Okay.

What did the men want?

- On their way back

from the high country

they saw we had a fence down.

Some of the cattle

were getting through,

so they patched it up for us.

They were just letting me know.

I think maybe we should go

down to the bottom paddock in

the morning and see what the

storm damage has done, alright?

- The wind is so loud.

What's the matter, Mum?

- I don't know.

There's something else.

Something different.

- Like what?

- Well maybe Thowra's

out there tonight.

He'd be in his element.

- Who's Thowra?

- He's the great silver brumby.

Named for the wild wind that

blew the night that he was born.

I'm sure it's him.

- Well, I can't hear him.

- Well close your eyes.

Go on.

That's better.

Now shut out all other

sounds, and concentrate.

Concentrate on the wind.

Listen.

Not for the sound of the wind,

but for what you

hear on the wind.

Listen closely.

There's been talk about

Thowra for a long time now.

Some say he lives.

Some say he never existed.

Some say he's a ghost.

But always there are tales

of the mighty wild stallion.

The great palomino Brumby.

King of all the

Cascade brumbies.

Can you hear him?

- I'm not sure.

- Listen carefully,

you'll hear him.

It was on a night very like

this, not so very long ago.

It was one of the

wildest spring nights

that there has ever been.

No possums stirred, no

wombats left their holes.

Only a few kangaroos,

their last shelter

destroyed, were braving

the fury of the storm.

And Belbel, a wild mountain

brumby beautiful and wise,

who was preparing to

give birth to a foal.

There was something mysterious

and exciting in the wind.

Something important

was about to happen.

Thowra she named him,

for Thowra means wind.

She named him for the wild

wind in which he was born.

He was a creamy, much

lighter than his mother

and as he grew to be a

stallion his mane and tail

would glisten silver

in the moonlight.

BelBel knew he would be a prize

indeed hunted all his life.

Hunted for his

silvery mane and tail

and his striking cream coat.

By morning the storm had blown

itself out and in the calm

light of dawn, BelBel emerged

from her shelter to coax

her young creamy foal into

the vastness of his new world.

The creamy, with the

silver mane and tail.

Thowra would not be able

to hide in the gray green

of the bush like

the other brumbies.

He would have to rely

on his speed and cunning

and all the knowledge and wisdom

that BelBel his mother

could pass on to him.

- You're up early.

- I haven't been to bed.

- Mum.

- Well when else do I get a

chance to write around here?

- Another book?

- Yeah.

- About the high country?

- Well sort of.

It's about a silver brumby.

Would like to read some?

- Yeah.

- Alright.

Here, try these.

I suppose I should have a wash

and get ready for the day.

You know what I'd really like

is a cup of hot, strong coffee.

Any chance?

Indi?

- What?

I'm sorry Mum, sure.

- Thanks.

As the months quickly

passed and the last snows

had melted from

the mountain peaks,

BelBel taught Thowra the skills

he would need to survive.

She passed on all the

knowledge of the high country

that she had learnt

over many years.

Its moods, its

joys, its dangers.

It wasn't long before Thowra

encountered the biggest danger

such a beautiful

brumby would face.

Man.

What do you reckon Coolie?

How are we going to get

this bloke out mate?

Are you going to do it?

No, I'm going to do it.

Whoa, whoa, come here.

Come on mate that's

it, calm down.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, get over.

Check your legs.

Yeah you're alright.

Get up go on, go and

see your mum, stand up.

Go on see your mum.

Shh whoa there.

Whoa there mate.

Yes, easy now mate.

Easy, come on, come on.

There we are.

- Thanks to BelBel,

Thowra escaped from his

first encounter with Man.

But it certainly

wasn't to be his last.

Thowra didn't realize that

he'd become a challenge,

a prize, to be pursued

and attained at all costs.

Belbel could tell Thowra would

be a mighty stallion one day.

Proud and independent like her.

Running with the herd

only when it suited him.

But he must learn to

survive on his own.

For she could not always be

by his side when danger arose.

When they were alone, BelBel

taught him how to hide,

how to travel in

the beds of streams,

leaving no sign nor

scent of his going.

She taught him how to recognize

the scent of wombat, and the

scent of kangaroo and of all

the other bush creatures.

And eventually she taught

him to recognize the scent

of Man, of his dog and the

smell of smoke from his fire.

It wasn't long

before Thowra decided

to put his new

knowledge into practice.

He began to track

some strange horses.

He kept well hidden as he

followed the hoof marks

towards the grazing

grounds of a fierce,

gray stallion known

as The Brolga.

Because he'd always

been by her side,

BelBel had not yet

taught Thowra the danger

of trespassing onto the

territory of another herd.

Especially not

that of The Brolga.

The Brolga would never

be as fast as the wind,

nor would he be as graceful

a dancer as the bird

for whom he was named.

But he was already showing signs

of what he would be, an

ugly determined fighter,

never resting till he

got what he wanted.

BelBel led Thowra back to the

territory of their own herd

and the protection of the

mighty stallion Yarraman.

Yarraman was the finest,

strongest stallion

of all the herds of

the high country.

He was the King of the

Cascade brumbies and now,

just when he was needed,

he was here to protect his

handsome, but still foolish,

son and his favorite mare.

When you've lived around here

a long time, you get

to know the bush.

It speaks to you in the wind.

And if you listen, really

listen and look, so carefully,

don't miss a thing, the bush

will tell you its stories.

Think of how BelBel

taught Thowra.

- But they're animals,

they have different senses.

- Well maybe we have

the same senses,

we just don't use them as often.

If you use them, then you'll

understand what the wind

is saying and what the

birds are telling you.

If you want to know the

secrets of the bush,

you have to want

to feel part of it.

So use your hands,

touch the smooth bark

of a snowgum, and gradually

you'll feel the magic.

- Is it really magic?

- Well it's understanding.

That's what true magic is.

The Aborigines have known

it for thousands of years.

They believe the

earth is their mother.

It's not a bad

philosophy I think.

Stay open, and you'll

read the signs.

In the direction of the wind,

in the shape of the clouds,

the tracks of the animals.

But it's no good unless you

feel at one with the bush.

You know how you can read a

book, and yet not understand it?

It's the same with the bush.

Something's wrong.

- What is it mum?

- Dear.

You're hurt aren't you.

- How did you know?

- Your poor leg, shh.

I think maybe we

should take him home

and see what we can do for him.

Come on.

Good, good.

There, we'll look after you.

Every summer, men returned

to the High Country.

Every summer they came

with their wide horned

red and white cattle, their

dogs and their pack horses.

To man the high country was

a pasture, a summer home,

a relief from the

heat of the plains.

It was a place of beauty,

and a source of income.

To most of the bush creatures

the wallabies, wombats,

possums and kangaroos, man

was a nuisance, an intruder.

But to the wild brumbies

the arrival of Man

meant the arrival of danger.

- This is better isn't it mate?

You hear that?

You hear that, Echo?

Sounds like we've got a visitor.

Where's little creamy, Cooley?

How many did we get Murray?

- About 20.

- This should be Cody's

lot, drop the rails.

Packer, get them out of the way.

Come on, come on.

Don't lose the creamy!

Hey, open the gate,

drop the rails.

- It's a postcard

from Melbourne.

From Dad, Harry and Honor.

And a parcel and some bills.

- Good.

Sorry.

Honor says she's missing

home, and me of course.

- Reminds me of someone else

who might be missing his home.

- Aw he's not ready

yet, it's too soon.

How many other kangaroos

do you know who are

wrapped up in blankets

all day and bottle fed?

- But he needs looking after.

- You're going to

have to let go, Indi.

He's never going to survive in

the bush on his

own if you don't.

So why don't we

make a start now?

Let's stick him in

the back, alright.

- But he'll get bumped about

and hurt all over again.

- Indi, he's not

going to survive

a winter in the bush if

he's used to blankets.

- But mum.

- Just do it, Indi.

He'll be fine in the back

in his pouch, come on.

- Can I drive?

- Winter was bad that year.

Icy cold and constant snow.

Pools frozen solid and

winter pastures hidden

cruelly beneath the

ghostly white blanket.

It was cold, so very cold.

Even with the thick winter

coats the horses had all grown.

Winter was the only time the

brumbies were safe from man.

But their new enemies were

the elements and the

cruel face of nature.

Winter called on all their

knowledge of the bush

and all their

instincts for survival.

BelBel knew which

were the good shrubs

to eat and showed Thowra

where to find them.

Neither BelBel nor Thowra

suffered too badly that winter.

Others did.

The severity of the

winter troubled Yarraman.

Even his secret winter

pastures were covered with snow

which forced him to

make a difficult choice.

If he kept his herd safe

in the High Country,

they would starve.

If he led them down lower to

find feed near the snowline,

they'd be dangerously

close to Man.

And wherever they went, other

stallions, equally desperate,

would stand their ground

to protect their territory.

For the wild brumbies this was

the reality of winter survival.

I thought you were

supposed to be helping?

- I am.

- He's going to be about ready

to go back to the bush soon.

- Mum.

- We've been through this, Indi.

We've interfered

with nature enough.

Time to let him go

back where he belongs

and take his chances with

all the other animals.

- Hello, Indi.

G'day Mrs. Mitchell.

Startin' a zoo?

- Not if I can help it.

How're things, Jock?

- Not too bad.

Rounded up some good

brumbies the other day.

- Got some real beauties.

Gonna start breaking

them in tomorrow.

Is Mr. Mitchell around?

- No, Tom's still in Melbourne.

He'll be back at

the end of the week.

- Fair enough.

Just thought he might've been

interested in a couple

of the brumbies.

- I'll let him know

when he gets back.

- I'll be getting

rid of most of them

at the stock sale at

the end of next week.

But if he wants to

come over before hand

he can go through the herd

and pick out the best.

- That's very kind of you, Jock.

- No worries.

Well, I'd best be off.

You can come and watch me

breakin' 'em in if you like, Indi.

- Thanks, Jock.

- See you.

- That was very rude,

not answering Jock.

- Thought you didn't like him.

- Well not a lot.

But he's a good neighbor.

It's no skin off my

nose to be pleasant.

- Jock's got a black horse!

- Yes, I guess he has

got a black horse.

- Just like the

man in the story.

Still, no need to be rude,

a lot of people

have black horses.

- I've read all you've written.

- Have you?

- What happens next?

- I don't know.

Have to wait till

I've written it.

Let's finish the

car first, okay?

- Mum.

- Come on

- Steady.

Watch him, watch him.

Give me the rope!

- What's the matter?

- It's just so cruel.

- The horse breaking?

- Yes.

- I'm not sure if

Jock's way is the only way.

- But how can they do it, Mum?

Be so mean to such

a beautiful horse?

- Come here.

Let's go sit down, okay?

You're the one who

insisted on going remember?

But I had to see,

I had to find out.

- Yeah, now you know.

I did warn you you

mightn't like it.

- It was like he wasn't

the same horse any more.

- One of the hardest

things to learn about life

is learning not to make

too many judgments.

Jock wants to tame the

brumby and sell him.

The brumby wants to go free.

I don't like what

Jock does either.

But it's how he earns his

living, I can't deny him that.

- He could make

money some other way.

- Well some people would say

he was doing the region a favor.

The brumbies can cause

an awful lot of damage.

- But that's no

reason to be cruel.

- No, no it isn't.

With the passing of two

winters Thowra had grown

from a gangly colt to one of

the finest young stallions

ever seen in the high country.

He had learnt well

the ways of the bush

and strutted his independence

with confidence and daring.

His glistening coat

and flowing silver mane

set him apart from all

the other brumbies.

Wise BelBel's prediction

had come true,

he was a prize indeed.

And wherever Thowra went soon

after The Man would appear.

Always on his black horse.

Always his whip and dog.

Always seeking Thowra.

Determined.

Persistent.

But Thowra, reveling in

the joy and vigor of life

thought he was too smart for

The Man and loved to lead

him a merry dance

through the snowgums.

On and on half glimpsed

through the dappled light

but always a step or a jump

ahead of the black horse.

The passing of time also

heralded The Brolga's growth

to full maturity and in the

glory of a new spring he

declared his challenge to the

mighty Yarraman's supremacy.

They fought on and on and

as the darkness raced from

the shadows of the setting sun,

it took with it the strength

of the older Yarraman, lord

of the Cascade brumbies.

As Thowra looked on he knew

this would be his proud

father's final battle.

The Brolga was at his peak

and his stamina

could not be matched.

Thowra also knew that one day

the mountains would ring loud

with his cries and

the earth would carry

his blood as he fought

to win back a kingdom.

It was quite usual for one

stallion to defeat another.

Defeat yes.

But not kill.

But Yarraman was too great a

horse to simply be defeated,

so The Brolga had

left him to die.

After the death of Yarraman,

The Brolga inherited his herd,

including the wise mare BelBel.

Thowra was now truly alone.

But the spirit of the wind

and the rugged mountains

embraced him as if he were a

son of the high country itself.

Soon he had a herd of his

own to protect and defend.

A handful of fillies and

mares he had fought for

and won from other young

stallions who roamed the bush.

And soon he would

long for another,

one who would tempt him

through the cunning of man.

- Eighty one pounds,

eighty one pounds, two.

Eighty two pounds,

a worthy horse.

Eighty two pounds,

it's over there.

Eighty two pounds done.

All done at eighty two.

All done to Mr. Jeff

Phillips, eighty two pounds.

Right the pack mule

into the ring next.

Righto there, the

pack mule is worth

forty or fifty pounds.

Forty or fifty.

I'm bid ten pounds, thank

you a ten pound bid.

And a bid fifteen,

fifteen pound.

Twenty right twenty over

there twenty pound bid.

Twenty two pounds, twenty

two pound of money.

Three, twenty three pound.

Four, twenty four pounds.

Twenty four pounds, done, all

done at twenty four pounds.

Here's the bid,

twenty four pound.

Done all done.

Right the next horse in the

ring is the palomino filly.

There we are.

Fourteen hands.

A magnificent filly.

Look at the color and

fineness of breeding.

Owned and bred by Tugger

McMahon of Corryong.

Right as she moves

around the ring

is she worth one hundred pounds.

One hundred fifty, fifty pound.

Sixty, sixty pound bid

seventy, seventy pound bid,

bid seventy, eighty,

eighty pounds,

eighty, going to ninety,

ninety pounds of money.

Ninety bid, ninety

pound bidding.

Ninety pounds going

up to one hundred.

One hundred bid, one

hundred pound bid,

I'm bid one hundred

pound going once, twice,

third and last call at one

hundred pounds of money.

One hundred bidding any more

for a finely bred filly.

- Two hundred.

- Two hundred pounds?

Two hundred pound bidding.

Two hundred, two

hundred pound of money.

- Steady, steady.

Trot up girl, trot up.

Trot up, come on, trot up girl.

Steady, steady, come on, steady.

- The sight of the

golden filly haunted Thowra.

Her beauty and grace

fascinated him.

He knew he wanted her,

but he also knew she

belong to The Man.

- I'll get you now.

I swear I will.

Golden.

Golden.

Come here, come here.

He's seen you now

and he likes you.

And he'll be back.

- No.

No!

- As the cold nights

and the first frosts marked

the ending of summer the men

began to muster their cattle

and with them went

the immediate danger.

And with them went more

stories about the mystical

silver brumby and more tales

of his deeds and his daring.

The Man went too, without

his precious Golden.

But Thowra knew he'd

be back to get her.

Especially now she

was in foal to him.

Unlike the other brumbies,

Golden was not used to

the harsh conditions of

winter in the high country.

Especially for her

sake Thowra kept his

small herd moving in

search of better pastures.

Out you go, okay, out you

hop, there we go, off you go.

- He wants to go.

- Go on.

- Scat, shoo, shoo.

See what I mean?

He's too used to us and

the comforts of home,

it's all that coddling.

- Yes, mum.

- Go on.

- What'll we do?

He's still here.

- I don't know.

- Shoo.

- Go on.

- Good.

- Look.

- He'll be all right now.

Quick, come on.

When the good weather returned

no one realized that Golden,

having been with men

all her life till Thowra

captured her, was

lacking in the instinct

to take the stirrings of

her unborn foal calmly.

At the last moment Golden

left the herd to seek

the comfort and protection

of her old master.

♪ Monday is washing day

is every doggy happy ♪

- Nice and clean now.

I might even let

you back in the hut.

Golden, Golden, Golden, Golden.

Whoa girl, whoa, whoa girl.

Golden, easy, easy.

Golden.

Look at you?

She came back to

me silver horse!

Easy, easy, easy, easy.

Just relax, easy.

So you've decided

to turn up as well.

Hey, good girl, good

girl, that's it,

that's it, that's it, easy now.

Just ignore him.

I've got your daughter

now, silver devil!

Let's just go and have

a look around?

Ever get the feeling

you're being watched Echo?

Come on Echo, come on!

H'yeah, h'yeah!

- Thowra, deliberately

just keeping ahead,

led The Man a long way often

letting him almost catch up,

so that the man thought

he was gaining ground.

But Thowra knew

what he was doing

and never let The Man have a

chance of getting too close.

- I'll teach you to

play with me horse.

- As Thowra led

The Man further and further

away from the hut even

the elements combined

to thwart the Mans pursuit.

As the light began to fade

and the clouds gathered,

the wind as if summoned

to his assistance carried

across the high country the

enveloping mist and rain.

This was what Thowra wanted.

Disappearing like a ghost

into the mist and rain.

The Man did not at

first realize he had

lost Thowra and was

almost lost himself.

He also failed to understand

how the gathering storm

had been summoned by

Thowra, the wild horse,

named for the wind that

blew across the high plains.

- Golden.

Home Echo, home!

I'll get you!

I swear, I will get you.

No!

- Thowra kept a

careful watch over Golden

and the foal that summer

and as winter approached

he felt confident the

threat of Man had passed.

After searching fruitlessly

for Golden and her creamy foal,

The Man had left the mountains.

His hut stood empty and silent

in the morning sunlight,

no smoke from the chimney,

no barking of dogs.

Thowra knew he would

not return until Spring.

But Thowra and his herd were not

to be left in peace for long.

The Brolga seized the

opportunity to increase

his own herd by

stealing Thowra's mares.

But Thowra sensed the

danger and hurried back.

The Brolga was forced to return

to his own grounds empty handed.

But Thowra knew it was now

time for the son of Yarraman

to claim his rightful place as

King of the Cascade Brumbies.

It would not be a fight

to the death for both were

magnificent stallions in

the prime of their lives.

It would be a fight

for supremacy,

a fight to stay on in

the Cascades as King,

or leave as the vanquished

never to return.

And it was The Brolga who

bowed to the youth and grace

of Thowra

relinquishing his place

to the younger son

of brave Yarraman.

- I knew he could

beat The Brolga mum.

Now Thowra's the King.

King of all the

Cascade brumbies.

It's a fantastic story mum.

Can I take it to school

with me when I go back?

Sarah and Jean

will just love it.

- What makes you

think it's finished?

Do you think The Man

thinks it's finished?

- No one can beat Thowra, Mum.

- I've been waiting

for you, Darcy.

- Seen any brumbies,

Miss Mitchell?

- So it's true isn't it?

Thowra really does exist?

And now The Man has

Darcy helping him

and Dad has always said

that Darcy is the best rider

and tracker in the whole

of the high country.

They're going to catch

him, aren't they?

- We'll I don't know.

We're just going to

have to pray that

Thowra is smarter and more

cunning than even we think he is.

He will have to hide Golden

and the foal somewhere safe,

where they won't find them.

Away from the rest of the herd

who are too easy to track,

especially with Darcy.

And he'll have to

use all his cunning

to make sure the men

don't get too close.

- Come on, get him,

h'yeah, h'yeah.

- Egan!

- Darcy said he gave them a

proper run for their money.

Looked like they'd been

dragged to hell and back

when they got back to my place.

But what an ending?

Darcy said it was unbelievable.

This ghost of a horse

just heads for the cliff

and takes off into space.

Rather be dead than be captured.

- There's no way that maybe?

- No, no hope.

Nowhere to land

except for the bottom.

- I'm sorry.

For years to come

men around campfires,

women at country shows,

children in schools

will tell stories of

a great silver brumby seen

galloping on windpacked snow.

Of a ghost horse drinking

at the Crackenback River.

Of a horse that everyone

thought was dead appearing

in a blizzard at Dead Horse

Gap and vanishing again.

Of the wild stallion cry

that could only be Thowra's.

But no human really knows

where the son of BelBel roams.

Thowra, the greatest

brumby of them all.

♪ You live by the moon

♪ And the stars in the night

♪ A ghost in a storm

♪ The wind and the rain

♪ And the clouds and the trees

♪ Are singing your song

♪ You are the Son of the Wind

♪ Lover of freedom

♪ They hunt and they chase

♪ And they seek

till they're done ♪

♪ Your soul can't be won

♪ You are the Son of the Wind

♪ Lover of freedom

♪ The wind and the rain

♪ And the clouds and the trees

♪ Are singing your song

♪ The wind and the rain

♪ And the clouds and the trees

♪ Are singing your song