Remember Ronald Ryan Read Free

POLICEMEN , DETECTIVES , PARTY GOERS , CHRISTIAN BROTHERS , SISTERS , REPORTERS , BANK CLERKS , ROBBERS

SETTING
    An hallucinatory H Division, Pentridge Prison, Melbourne.

ACT ONE
    RYAN chomping an apple, gazing up at a tower inside Pentridge Prison. It is hot. It is 1965. WALKER is smoking next to him. OFFICERS are heard guzzling beer on a quiet Sunday. Although early in the morning, it is blazing hot.
    RYAN : See that tower? One guard.
    WALKER : Only one?
    RYAN : A hook made out of wire. Tie it to a couple of blankets; see you in Brazil.
    WALKER : Got a gun?
    RYAN : I’ll get one. Been saving up really hard, Pete. Want to be in it?
    WALKER : I need a tan… Yeah, I’ll be in it.
    WALKER does a few vigorous push-ups.
    RYAN : You make Tarzan look like a girl.
    WALKER : Listen to Mr and Mrs Decent out in Sydney Road, will you? Having a ball, aren’t they? Escaping.
    Traffic noise floats through loudly.
    RYAN : Wish I was with ’em.
    WALKER : We soon will be. Teed up the table?
    RYAN : The barbecue table to hop up the wall on? Yeah, I have. We’ve got a few assistants. You require the patience of a monk to break out of Pentridge.
    WALKER : Hop up the wall and in Brazil.
    RYAN : Exactly.
    He whips out a Herald newspaper folded up.
    I’ve been following the tides.
    They closely examine the paper.
    WALKER : The tides of the earth. You’re a scholar, Ron.
    RYAN : You’ve got to keep up appearances, dear boy. Now where am I?
    WALKER : What time’s the tide to South America? What time’s it go?
    RYAN : Half past four. Here it is. Neap.
    WALKER : Neap? What’s that? When it’s coming in?
    RYAN : That’s when we’re going out.
    WALKER : Someone’s coming.
    They laugh. Blackout. We hear voices in the blackout.
    RYAN : I had a mate was gonna go instead of you. But now he’s not. It’s you. Not him. Right?
    WALKER : Yeah, that’s right, Ron. I can’t do any more can.
    RYAN : No man can. The time is ripe. Be ready. Brazil is imminent. It calls.
    RYAN in his cell alone, musing. Staring out the tiny cell window on a hot night. Music bridge: one or two bars of ‘The Crystal Chandelier’ on acoustic guitar.
    RYAN : Eight years or eight hundred?—What’s the difference? I’m a man of action, Dorothy. I’ll fly over that tower to you, Girlie! I don’t know what divorce you’re talking about. The Governor reckons I’m a top guy. He’ll vouch for me. I’ll be a top guy again in South America. We’ll meet up in the jungle if necessary. Come back to Australia loaded. Grow a moustache and they won’t know me. A couple of coconuts for breakfast. Just like Melbourne only they laugh over there. I could do with a laugh. Not much fun here. Fancy staying here your whole life. Rotting. Why do it? Why bother? Ten years for strolling through a nice warehouse. Quiet, like a moth, with a rifle. Neap. Gee, that’s got to me. I believe in having a go. You’re not meant to fail. I’ve got go in me. When I’m old, I’ll have go in me. Shooting pigs going grey. Listen to the screws guzzling the beer. Can’t run, most of them. It’s going to work. I can feel it. I know it. I can trust him. He’s fit. Into the carpark and hot-wire anything to get out of here. The least you could’ve done is let them write to me. My three daughters. [ He stretches and relaxes for the first time .] When we met. What we said. When we wed. Where are you? Where are you?
    Cross to two pretty young women coming down the stone steps of Princes Bridge to the Yarra Bank where ferries are moored. They are DOROTHY GEORGE and BETTY BRADFORD . Both lit up and dying to dance to the music of Glenn Miller. We hear that music.
    DOROTHY : Mother said not ‘The Dancing One’. ‘The Dancing Ferry’. Where is it? It sounds like fun, doesn’t it?
    BETTY : Look, it glitters. ‘The Dancing Ferry’. There it is,