The Secret River (NHB Modern Plays)

Kate Grenville, Andrew Bovell

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2019
• ISBN:
  9781788502474
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

William Thornhill arrives in New South Wales a convict from the slums of London. Upon earning his pardon he discovers that this new world offers something he didn't dare dream of: a place to call his own.

But as he plants a crop and lays claim to the soil on the banks of the Hawkesbury River, he finds that this land is not his to take. Its ancient custodians are the Dharug people.

A deeply moving and unflinching journey into Australia's dark history, Andrew Bovell's adaptation of Kate Grenville's acclaimed novel The Secret River was first performed by the Sydney Theatre Company in 2013.

The play had its UK premiere in August 2019, as part of the Edinburgh International Festival, before transferring to the National Theatre, London.

'The Secret River is a sad book, beautifully written and, at times, almost unbearable with the weight of loss, competing distresses and the impossibility of making amends' Observer on the novel The Secret River

'A stunning and shattering piece of theatre' - Sunday Telegraph (Australia)

THE SECRET RIVER

Kate Grenville

adapted for the stage by

Andrew Bovell

Prologue

The River Flat.

Let us begin with the sound of water as it laps against the riverbank and of birds rising and of the wind gathering in the tops of the trees.

A family is gathered around a smouldering fire. YALAMUNDI, the old man, and BURYIA, his wife – NGALAMALUM and WANGARRA, GILYAGAN and her sons, NARRABI and GARRAWAY.

YALAMUNDI is silent as he stares over the water as the others talk about the day to come. BURYIA is telling everyone what they should do and when they should do it. Nobody is listening much.

BURYIA. Wyabuininyah minga waddiwadi yira guyun guwinga-da. Durunung biall barrawu, maana duruwan waru-ni maana. [You lot, bring all the sticks and gather all those fruits. Bring them over here ready for cooking.]

The boys are playing.

NARRABI. Ni durumin. [Look at the girl.]

GARRAWAY. Murray dyinmang. [You’re a bigger girl.]

NARRABI. Guwuwi wawa. [Come on, come at me.]

NGALAMALUM. Gugugu wangarra. [Stop it, boys.]

GILYAGAN. Gugugu garranarbillie. [Stop laughing around.]

The boys get on with their job.

NARRABI. Wugal wadi. [One stick.]

GARRAWAY. Wadi wadi. [Sticks.]

NARRABI. Gugugu murray nin. [Stop getting all the big ones.]

GARRAWAY. Ngai Biji ngyinu. [I’m better than you.]

NARRABI. Ngai bugi bugi. [I’ll hit you with my stick.]

BURYIA. Yan wungarra, yan wammalalibyila. [You two, stop mucking about. Go on, go swimming together.]

This only makes them laugh all the more. She waves them away, stern but already forgiving them.

GARRAWAY. Dienamillie? [Wanna play?]

NARRABI. Budyari / Yuin. [Yes.]

GARRAWAY (calling after him). Narrabi, Narrabi.

As they run off:

NGALAMALUM. Mudang wangarra. [They’re strong boys.]

WANGARRA. Yuin mulla ingarang guni gabaras. [Yes man, little shitheads.]

Without warning or fanfare, YALAMUNDI breaks into song – a mourning song. The others fall silent. NGALAMALUM and WANGARRA take up clapsticks and accompany him.

As a figure emerges from the river, as if called by the song – DHIRRUMBIN, our narrator.

YALAMUND (singing).

Nura-Da Nura-Da Nura-Da Nura-Da Nura-Da [Country]

Nura-Da Nura-Da Nura-Da Nura-Da Nura-Da

Guwuwi Guwuwi Nura-Da Nura-Da Nura-Da Nura-Da Nura-Da [Calling out to country]

DHIRRUMBIN (as the song ends). He saw the smoke from the nearby ridge. He knew what it meant. Someone was coming. They’d heard the stories passed down the river. Of strangers. And trouble. They’d seen the boats passing. This way and back. This way and back. And the old man, Yalamundi, felt the pain in his chest. Because he knew something was about to change. And he didn’t know how to stop it. He wanted to. He wanted time to stand still.

While away from here, some thirty miles down the coast, another man sees a chance to be something more than what he is and a woman waits as she watches over her kids and sings a song from some faraway place.

* * *

Sydney Cove, the Thornhills’ Hut.

SAL THORNHILL sits by the light of a lamp. Her sons, WILLIE and DICK, have fallen asleep at her side.

SAL (singing softly).

London Bridge is falling down,

Falling down, falling down,

London Bridge is falling down,

My fair lady.

Who has stole my watch and chain,

Watch and chain, watch and chain,

Who has stole my watch and chain,

My fair lady.

Off to prison you must go,

You must go, you must go.

Off to prison you must go,

My fair lady.

WILLIAM THORNHILL enters.

They wanted to wait up… Couldn’t keep their eyes open in the end.

THORNHILL looks upon his sons. He cares more for them than he has the words to say. He lifts DICK and lays him in the bed, and then WILLIE, as SAL covers them with a blanket.

Well?

He takes a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to her. She carefully unfolds it in the light of the lamp.

THORNHILL. What’s it say?

SAL. Give a woman a chance.

She gathers herself. The words aren’t easy.

(Reading.) ‘By virtue of such Power and Authority so vested in me, I, Major General Lachlan Macquarie, Governor in Chief of His Majesty, George the Third’s said Territory of New South Wales and its… something something… taking into consideration the good conduct of William Thornhill, who arrived on board The Alexander, in the charge of Captain James Suckling in the Year One Thousand Eight Hundred and Six under Sentence of Transportation for Life, do grant the aforesaid… Absolute Pardon.’

A moment… a tear nearly shed.

THORNHILL. Don’t.

SAL. Why not?

THORNHILL. Because you’ll start me off.

SAL. You’re free, William Thornhill… We can go home.

She folds the official paper into a piece of calico and places it into a box that contains their savings and other precious things.

What’s he like… our Governor?

THORNHILL. He’s a Scot. Could hardly make sense of a word he said. Liked the sound of my name coming out of his mouth, though. Last time a man of that station said my name it was to condemn me to hang.

SAL. That was a lifetime ago.

THORNHILL. Four years, Sal.

She takes a broken piece of tile from the box and kisses it before replacing it.

How much have we got?

SAL. Thirty-three pound. Not bad given what we came with.

THORNHILL. It’s not enough though, is it? Not to take us back.

She is silent. She knows it’s the truth.

We’ll get it.

SAL. I know.

THORNHILL. A man named Walsh in Cockle Bay makes a decent one-man skiff. New oars can wait.

SAL. It’s small though, Will. A boat like that, you can’t work much beyond Sydney Cove. It’s a slow way to get on.

THORNHILL. It’s a living. And it would be ours.

SAL. Blackwood is selling The Queen.

THORNHILL. For a hundred and sixty pounds.

SAL. He’ll take less. For you. What is she?

THORNHILL. Nineteen feet.

SAL. That’s a boat made for a father and his sons.

THORNHILL. What are you saying?

SAL. We’ll borrow the rest.

THORNHILL. Oh, yeah!

SAL. I’ve done the sums. With your reputation for work you’ll get the loan and pay it back with interest. And with Blackwood retiring, you’ll take over the Hawkesbury run. You know that’s what he wants.

THORNHILL. He hasn’t said it.

SAL. Well, he doesn’t, does he? A man like Blackwood doesn’t say much about much. But you’ve been his right-hand man. Stands to reason he’d want you to take over.

THORNHILL is silent.

If we don’t take the chance these boys will be men before they breathe English air again. Think of it, Will. Home! Imagine that! And to go back as people with something in our pockets!

Beat.

What?

THORNHILL. I didn’t say...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title page
• Contents
• Foreword by Henry Reynolds
• Introduction by Andrew Bovell
• Production Details
• Acknowledgements
• The Secret River
• Music
• About the Authors
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information