HENDERSON: We are going to be rich fellows. Amazing, isn’t it? Just like that. What luck. Fuck pushing tow trucks for a living. This has fallen right out of the blue on me.
He laughs.
WALKER: No, I reckon it couldn’t possibly be him. You’re wrong. You’re quite wrong, mate. Wrong, Henderson.
HENDERSON: Who are you?
WALKER: I’m his mate. Peter Walker. How you going?
HENDERSON just about drops dead at this news.
HENDERSON: Let’s just drive around for a while and think about it. I need a bit of time to recover. I’m out of breath.
WALKER: [producing a bunch of notes] I’ll give you four hundred quid to shut up. Think about that. Forget about Ryan, okay?
HENDERSON: I need a leak. Let’s go into the dunny together. Put that wad away, will you? You’re making me toey. I’m a toey anyway.
He laughs nervously. Loud truck and car noises, seagulls. HENDERSON and WALKER unzip their pants and leak together.
I’ve had my eye on you, pal. Have you been hanging around my girl, mate? And your mate Ryan. Has he been giving it to her as well? Has he? Come on, confess, you filthy jailbird. You don’t scare me, pal. Have you touched her? Four hundred quid, my arse! Who do you reckon you are, God? I’m going to fix you up!
WALKER: Is that right? Oh, I’m shakin’, I’m fuckin’ shakin’!
They struggle and a shot takes the toilet light out. Blackout.
RYAN and WALKER sit in the car staring straight ahead. Sipping a beer can, each frightened. The illusion of success as city lights flash by, resembling the heavens.
POLICE RADIO: Walker wearing baggy trousers. Informant fawn shirt. Division van 25 have suspect car in Dandenong Road. Tower Hotel there is only one man in it. Cancel cars.
POLICE RADIO: This car is suspect vehicle but not the escapees. Different man from other man at 1 Collingwood Street Newport. No person on the premises not the suspect.
POLICE RADIO: Mr Wright of Qantas re booking of two tickets to New Zealand. Reply checked by a Ricky Barnett. No resemblance.
POLICE RADIO: Inspector Holland reply we will still check out the Essendon Aerodrome.
POLICE RADIO: From Jeff Bell Channel Seven prior to your raid last night at Charles Street St Kilda he is the boyfriend of girl occupant was at the address last night. He is a driver for Melbourne Towing Service and is twenty-eight years five feet ten inches stocky build, crew cut, hair fair no reply car 212.
POLICE RADIO: 0136 hours from Elsternwick. I have a woman in here by the name of Christine Aitken who states that the escapees shot her boyfriend on the beach and they are in her flat.
POLICE RADIO: Escapees now driving a Holden panel van grey and Walker has now dyed his hair and eyebrows.
POLICE RADIO: 2:00 a.m. on Saturday 25th December 1965 Detective Day and Rodgers of car 100 attended at Beaconsfield Parade and Mills Block.
POLICE RADIO: Ascertained that Arthur Henderson aged 24 years had been victim of shooting by escapee Walker.
POLICE RADIO: Body certified as dead taken conveyed to and viewed at the City Mortuary.
During the preceding police broadcasts, WALKER has changed into a chauffeur.
WALKER: Do you reckon I look like your chauffeur?
RYAN: Carry on, Jeeves. And don’t spare the horses. See if you can get to Albury in fifteen minutes.
WALKER: Next stop Sydney, Ronald? Women. Rosehill. New bag of fruit. Hint of immortality.
RYAN: Wave to the copper. Hey, wave to him. He might be lonely on his Pat Malone. They wouldn’t know if you were up them.
They wave to a passing highway POLICEMAN.
Hang on. He wants us to pull up.
WALKER: I better run over him, then.
RYAN: No, no, no, pull over and piss in his pocket.
Car brakes loudly. Two highway POLICEMEN interview RYAN and WALKER. The police are on motorbikes, which they wheel up to the car.
FIRST POLICEMAN: Where you off to?
RYAN: Rosehill. Who do you like in the fourth race?
FIRST POLICEMAN: All the way to Sydney for a race? You’re a toff.
SECOND POLICEMAN: We are very comfortable men. Otherwise we’d come with you. Wouldn’t we, Noel?
WALKER: Want to see my licence, officer? I’ve been his chauffeur a very long time. God, we’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we? All the campaigns we’ve been through. World War One. The Great Depression. The Credit Squeeze.
SECOND POLICEMAN: I’m jealous of you. Some people hardly work for their money. Off you go, you lucky bastard.
FIRST POLICEMAN: Not too fast, my young friend. Hey, he looks a bit like Michael Caine, doesn’t he? In Alfie.
WALKER: I’m his brother, Sugar Cane.
The POLICEMEN laugh, then stare at the outlaws.
RYAN: Boy.
WALKER: Yes, sir?
RYAN: Sydney now. Take us to the Cross. I am desirous of a schooner of Old.
WALKER: [revving the car] Do you know what, Ronnie? I love Sydney. I reckon it’s gonna be lucky for us. What do you say to that, old bean? It’s just like a sea change, new oxygen, boy! Christ! I can’t believe it. Freedom! Freedom! At last!
Rumble of car. Blackout.
Dorothy Ryan’s cottage at 15 Cotter Street, Richmond on January 5th 1966—the day of Ryan and Walker’s arrest at Concord in Sydney. Dorothy and Ryan are divorced and have been separated since 1964, when Ryan’s life of crime got too hard to handle. It is a neat but pinched and cramped home. We see DOROTHY knitting and watching a small black-and-white TV. MR and MRS GEORGE have dropped over.
MR GEORGE: He got his just desserts, darling, I told you that. He just wasn’t up to the mark, was he?
DOROTHY: What mark? What imaginary mark is there?
MRS GEORGE: You stooped too far, and this is the result. You married beneath you, you fool.
DOROTHY: I’ll always treasure our wedding day. Almond blossom in my hair. Ron’s beautiful suit. That was something to celebrate. Not this. This is awful. Just terrible. This degrades me.
MRS GEORGE: At least you married C of E.
MR GEORGE: Now, now. Always show a little charity, Mother.
DOROTHY: He was a Catholic. He didn’t mind changing. He changed willingly. He didn’t mind so long as he had me.
MR GEORGE: He didn’t mind anything. Not jail, not burglary, not heartbreak. You’ve married a mongrel.
DOROTHY: Father! Please pay my husband some respect. We’re divorced. Isn’t that enough for you? You’ve kept up the pressure! Why do you insist on hypocrisy? You pray to a God of Mercy, then persecute your own daughter.
MRS GEORGE: I bet the divorce papers shut him up. Shut him up like a rat in a trap. Scum!
DOROTHY: You’re lovely. No wonder there’s class hatred. Just leave me alone. You own the place, I know that. I’m never late with the rent. Leave me alone. Stop yapping at me. You’ve destroyed everything. Get out! Get out of your home! I’d rather live in a paddock or a burntout bomb car.
We see Ryan’s face on DOROTHY’s cheap op-shop telly.
TV ANNOUNCEMENT: The Pentridge escapees Ryan and Walker, who eluded police for over a fortnight, were apprehended today at Concord, Sydney. Senior Victorian detectives have flown to Sydney to extradite them back to Victoria to face murder and manslaughter charges.
MR GEORGE: [jubilant] You beauty!
MRS GEORGE: [excited] Justice!
DOROTHY: [outraged, screaming] Get out, both of you! It’s nothing to celebrate! What kind of people are you?
MR GEORGE: We still love you, dear.
DOROTHY: This is nothing but an absurd nightmare. Ronnie! Ronnie! Where are you?
Blackout.
END OF ACT ONE
During interval, the instrumental version of ‘Cool Water’ is played on acoustic guitar. It is mixed with screeching car noises, the clanging of steel prison bars and Ryan and Walker’s voices—their laughter.
This effect lasts for two minutes or so, then ‘Cool Water’ is heard
on its own.
ACT TWO
Governor Grindlay’s office. Return from Sydney, bare stage. RYAN is strip-searched by three Pentridge OFFICERS; so is WALKER. GOVERNOR GRINDLAY conducts the interview. RYAN and WALKER are handcuffed as they re-enter Pentridge Prison.
RYAN: Jesus, the old joint hasn’t changed a bit, has it, mate?
FIRST OFFICER: Ryan and Walker, sir. Back in Melbourne, sir. Stop speaking, Ryan. That’s a command.
GRINDLAY: Strip-search them.
SECOND OFFICER: Which one first, sir?
GRINDLAY: Ryan.
RYAN: [stepping forward] How are you, Gov? Governor Grindlay, sir!
WALKER: Not bad, how are you?
SECOND OFFICER: That’s enough, Walker.
GRINDLAY: Off with your clothes, Ryan. Don’t muck me around. Come on.
RYAN: Yes, sir. It’s just that I remember you from Bendigo, Guv. Don’t you know me? You were a real toff at Bendigo.
RYAN undoes his cufflinks, drops them on a saucer. The FIRST OFFICER examines them.
WALKER: Take your time, mate. They’re insured, so you can even eat them, if ya like! Have a feed of cufflinks. Take your time. Search us in slow motion. Let yourself go.
RYAN: That’s something we’ve got plenty of, time. Why did we take those pros into that pub? Must’ve had rocks in our heads.
RYAN folds his trousers and takes off everything, placing belt, hat, sunglasses, bank book, wallet, biros on a chair. He folds up his shoes and socks.
Feel a bit like Marcel Marceau! Where do you require these? This exquisite apparel? Our effects?
SECOND OFFICER: [knocking the shoes and socks out of RYAN’s hand] I know where I’d like to put them, sir!
GRINDLAY: Examine the anus.
SECOND OFFICER: Bend over.
FIRST OFFICER: Let me have a look.
THIRD OFFICER: I’ll pass, if you don’t mind, sir. I haven’t got my glasses on.
GRINDLAY: [quietly] Look it up. [Screaming] Look it up!
The three OFFICERS look very briefly up RYAN’s anus.
SECOND OFFICER: Nothing, sir. Can’t see nothing! Like the Jolimont Tunnel.
THIRD OFFICER: Negative.
FIRST OFFICER: Affirmative.
GRINDLAY: Stretch out your arms, Ryan, and turn around. Do your famous impression of Christ again.
RYAN does so, standing completely still. He slowly revolves, arms outstretched.
Not a mark on him, is there?
FIRST OFFICER: No, sir.
GRINDLAY: What?
SECOND OFFICER: No, sir.
GRINDLAY: Speak up.
THIRD OFFICER: Not a mark. There isn’t a mark or a bruise, sir!
GRINDLAY: And that’s the way he’s going to stay.
Enter two DETECTIVES.
FIRST DETECTIVE: What’s all this? We want to question him.
SECOND DETECTIVE: What’s going on? We’re the ones who flew him from Siddley-Diddley.
WALKER: There’s two of us, you know. He’s not on his own, you know. I’m in this too, see.
GRINDLAY: Not a mark on him, is there? We got him like this. He stays like this.
FIRST OFFICER: Feeling is running high among some of us, sir. If you don’t mind me saying, because of Officer Hodson, you know. He shot our fellow officer, sir. He’s the one who slaughtered our old mate George! He did it! What are you going to do about it?!
SECOND OFFICER: Into H with him—move—come along! Just calm yourselves down, all of you, thank you. You’re not in the gutters of Richmond now, are you?
GRINDLAY: H. Put on your clothes, prisoner, off to H.
RYAN swiftly dresses.
RYAN: Nearly got a flu out of that.
GRINDLAY: Prison issue, prisoner. Prison issue, if you don’t mind!
RYAN puts on prison shirt and pants.
RYAN: We’ll be doing Pirates of Penzance next.
FIRST OFFICER places Ryan’s street clothes in a bag.
FIRST OFFICER: His civvies are in the bag, sir.
GRINDLAY: You’re next Walker, drop ’em.
WALKER’s anus is examined as he athletically bends over.
WALKER: In good nick, I am. Just missed out on the Tokyo Olympics. Came second in the open beer bottle.
The prison OFFICERS laugh.
FIRST OFFICER: Nothing there again, sir.
WALKER: How disappointing.
WALKER dresses in prison clothes.
RYAN: Wasn’t worth getting changed.
GRINDLAY: H. Off to H with them. Do you hear me? H Division. Immediately. Do you understand me!
RYAN and WALKER are led away.
FIRST DETECTIVE: How’d Ryan get out, Mr Grindlay?
GRINDLAY: A hook, two mop handles, a few bedspreads and Irish Catholicism. A perverse adoration of failure. Nothing can stamp that out once the rot has set. He’s finished. There’s something fated about him.
GRINDLAY fills in some paperwork. Blackout.
Crossfade to RYAN and WALKER in separate H Division cells. RYAN flushes his toilet, puts his head in the bowl and speaks to WALKER who hears him through his cistern.
RYAN: This is the newest form of communication, Peter. Do you read me, mate? This is the Post Master General’s Department speaking. Are you with me, mate?
WALKER: You are coming through, loud and clear, Ronnie boy! Loud and cistern clear.
RYAN: We weren’t in Sydney long, were we, mate, you never got that tan. You’ll get a proper one next time. We should’ve went straight to Darwin. No good ever comes out of Sydney.
WALKER: Oh, well. No place like home, is there? It’s not so bad in here for toffs like us.
RYAN: Yeah, the old place hasn’t changed a bit, has it? Georgian, isn’t it: the architecture? Or Gothic? Gothic horror!
WALKER: Real homey feeling. Is there anything I can get you? Would you like a bath? A yummy meal? A last supper?
RYAN: I think we’re in the same boat, aren’t we?
WALKER: You need some new shoes, mate.
RYAN: Do I?
WALKER: I’d hate to be in yours.
RYAN: Now don’t get sentimental on me. I am sorry for the mess I got you into. If you hadn’t have been with me it wouldn’t have happened. Sorry about that, Peter. I really am. I was more desperate to get out than you.
WALKER: I didn’t have to go with you. I’m in enough trouble anyway. Why did we go to St Kilda? Why didn’t we go to Brighton? We shouldn’t have went to that party. Beer always begets senseless violence, it’s well-known, mate.
RYAN: I don’t think it would’ve mattered where we went. I feel sorry for Hodson’s family. It happened in a split second. We’ll get through it somehow. Premier Bolte is getting enough mileage out of it. Have you heard him on TV? He’s the mad dog. Not me.
WALKER: We never got to Brazil. It’s such an exotic word. I feel liberated just pronouncing it… Neap…
RYAN: Just had a taste, didn’t we, of liberty? Sydney weather was nice. Nice brief stroll through Hyde Park. What a joke. Christ, here we are back in again and we could both hang… Neap…
WALKER: Why did we trust those Sydney sheilas?
RYAN: You know what they say?
WALKER: What?
RYAN: Don’t chase dud skirt.
WALKER: Did you invent this? This two-way phone dunny communications system?
RYAN: The two-way toilet? No, it’s an old idea called Society. It’s like talking to the press. Funny how I think of journalists in here.
WALKER: I can hear you perfect… perfect. Through the filth… the filth of time.
RYAN: We’ll escape again. You in your way, me in mine. Capture is a state of mind, or didn’t you know that? Just keep your chin up. Always keep your chin up. I’ve always been interested in courage. They can’t come near you when you have that. Whatever it is.
WALKER: We couldn’t do any more can. So-called ‘decent’ people couldn’t understand that.
RYAN: Yeah, that’s right… so-called decent people—like the
ogres who taught me at the boys home.
WALKER: We are committed.
RYAN: Yes that’s right. Committed.
WALKER: What’ll you dream of tonight?
RYAN: Cool water. In the boys home at Sunbury. What a joke.
WALKER: Goodnight, mate.
RYAN: Goodnight, mate.
They close the toilet seats. RYAN and WALKER stretch out and contemplate all that has gone before.
RYAN is being interrogated by two CHRISTIAN BROTHERS. He is sitting in a chair and they have been throwing buckets of water over him. His chest is bare. He stares straight ahead, at us.
FIRST CHRISTIAN BROTHER: Who do you love?
He casts water over RYAN.
RYAN: The Lord Jesus Christ.
SECOND CHRISTIAN BROTHER: Do you love him more than your own father?
RYAN: No.
FIRST CHRISTIAN BROTHER: Yes.
He slaps RYAN on the back with a whip.
Who do you love?
RYAN: My mother and father. My sisters, I love. And then anyone else who’s around.
They whip him and dump water over him.
FIRST CHRISTIAN BROTHER: Do you know how lucky you are to be a guest at this Catholic boys home, Ronald?
RYAN: I’ve got a pretty fair idea.
SECOND CHRISTIAN BROTHER: The Lord Jesus must laugh at you, Ronald. He must really slap his thighs, and laugh at you!
RYAN: I hope so. I don’t mind if he laughs at me. I’d enjoy his laughing voice, as a matter of fact. I love the sound of His laughter. You know what? It’s not me you’re flogging. You’re flogging yourself. If my dad was alive he’d kick you to death, you peanut.
FIRST CHRISTIAN BROTHER: Ah, but poor old Dad isn’t alive, is he?
SECOND CHRISTIAN BROTHER: You’re not alive either, Ronald, are you? Are you? Are you? You’ll never come back!
Blackout. The sound of a furious flogging. No sound from RYAN.
RYAN: [waking up] Detective Ritchie once said, ‘You’re not a burglar, Ryan. You’re a bungler.’ Maybe he was right.
RYAN relaxes and dreams of an old bungled job. ‘Cool Water’ plays in the darkness as RYAN changes costume.
National Grocery Store in Acland Street St Kilda. Some amateur ROBBERS and a GIRL stand around a big safe with RYAN. It is quiet and late at night.
FIRST ROBBER: How do we blow it up, Ron, the big safe in this grocery shop here? What do you recommend? Gelignite? An A-bomb?
Remember Ronald Ryan Page 5