Picnic At Hanging Rock Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Picnic At Hanging Rock script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the movie by Peter Weir.  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Picnic At Hanging Rock. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

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Picnic At Hanging Rock Script

             What we see

            and what we seem

            are but a dream...

            a dream within a dream.

            "Meet me, love, when day is ending”.

            "I love thee for thy highborn grace,

            thy deep and lustrous eyes,

            for the sweet meaning of thy brow

            and for thy bearing so high”.


            and seven

            and eight

            and nine

            and ten

            and   .

            "I love thee not because thou art fair,

            softer than down, smoother than air,

            nor for the cupids that do lie

            in either corner of thine eye.

            Wouldst thou then know what it might be?

            'Tis I love thee 'cause thou lovest me”.

            * See the little horse *

            * My little horse *

            * Trotting down the paddock *

            * On his fine white feet *

            * Black horse, white horse *

            * Brown horse, grey *

            * Trotting down the paddock *

            * On a bright, sunny day **

            Someday, Sara, you shall have to come home with me to the station...

            to Queensland...

            and meet my sweet, funny family for yourself.

            Would you like that?

            You must learn to love someone else

            apart from me, Sara.

            I won't be here much longer.

            What do you think, Miranda?

            Somebody had the nerve to send Miss McCraw a card

            on squared paper covered with tiny sums.

            Girls! Girls!

            Unless you all deport yourselves

            with rather more grace and considerably less noise,

            Mrs. Appleyard will see to it that none of you go to Hanging Rock today.

            Bonjour, Miss Lumley.

            Good morning, Mademoiselle de Poitiers.

            I believe Mrs. Appleyard has decided you're not to go on the picnic, Sara.

            That makes two of us.

             Off you go!

              To St. Valentine!

              * Frere Jacques Frere Jacques *

              * Dormez vous... *

              Tais-toi, Irma. Miss McCraw vient d'arriver.

              She wants algebra today.


              Good morning, girls.

              Good morning, Mrs. Appleyard.

              Well, young ladies, we are indeed fortunate in the weather

              for our picnic to Hanging Rock.

              I have instructed Mademoiselle that as the day is likely to be warm,

              you may remove your gloves once the drag has passed through Woodend.

              You will partake of luncheon at the picnic grounds near the rock.

              Once again let me remind you that the rock is extremely dangerous,

              and you are therefore forbidden any tomboy foolishness

              in the matter of exploration, even on the lower slopes.

              I also wish to remind you, the vicinity is renowned for its venomous snakes

              and poisonous ants of various species.

              It is, however, a geological marvel

              on which you will be required to write a brief essay on Monday morning.

              That is all. Have a pleasant day,

              and try to behave yourselves in a manner to bring credit to the college.

              Mr. Hussey! Mr. Hussey!

              I shall expect you back, Miss McCraw and Mademoiselle,

              at about  :   for a light supper.

              Come, girls.


              This we do for pleasure

              so that we may shortly be at the mercy

              of venomous snakes and poisonous ants.

              How foolish can human creatures be?

              There she is, ladies. Hangin' Rock.

              The mountain comes to Mohammed.

              A hanging rock comes to Mr. Hussey.

              More than     feet high she is.

              Volcanic, of course. Thousands of years old.

              A million years old, Mr. Hussey, or thereabouts.

              Yes, well, that'd be right.

              Thousands, millions.

              Devil of a long time, anyway, in a manner of speakin'.

              Only a million years ago. Quite a recent eruption, really.

              The rocks all around Mount Macedon itself

              must be all of     million years old.

              Siliceous lava forced up from deep down below.

              Soda trachytes

              extruded in a highly viscous state,

              building the steep-sided mountains we see in Hanging Rock.

              And quite young, geologically speaking. Barely a million years.

              Waiting a million years just for us.

              More cake, Michael?

              No, thank you, Aunt. I'm...

              I think I'll just, um, stretch my legs a bit.

              Oh, don't go too far and be careful.

              There could be snakes.

              How's it goin'?

              All right.

              They finished eating, have they?


              The colonel and the missus... they finished eating, have they?

              Oh, yes, they have.

              Expect me up there in a minute, I suppose.

              Clear away.

              Can't be more'n midday.


              I thought it was a little early for lunch myself.



              Thank you.

              You know, they always allow an hour longer than it takes to get 'ere,

              and then they got 'ere straight away.



              Not that they got anything else to do.

              I mean, they never go for a walk or nothin'.

              Get on!

              Come on!

              Take your hats. Let's go walk about now.

              To St. Valentine!

              To St. Valentine!

              I hope you have learned your poetry, Sara.

              Sit up straight, child. Hold your shoulders back.

              You're getting a dreadful stoop.

              Well, have you got your lines by heart?

              Well, have you?

              I can't. It doesn't make sense.

              Sense! You little ignoramus!

              Evidently you don't know that Mrs. Felicia Heymans

              is considered one of the finest of our English poets.

              I know another piece of poetry by heart.

              It has ever so many verses, much more than "The Wreck of the Hesperus”.

              Would that do?

              What is the name of this poem?

              "An Ode to St. Valentine”.

              I'm not acquainted with it. Where did you find it?

              I didn't find it. I wrote it.

              You wrote it?

              "Love abounds, love surrounds..."

              Oh, no thank you, Sara.

              Strange as it may seem, I still prefer Mrs. Heymans.

              Give me your book and proceed to recite to me as far as you have gone.

              Your book, please, Sara.

              Thank you.

              Go on.

              I can't.

              Not one line?

              I shall leave you now, Sara.

              I expect you to be word perfect when I send Miss Lumley in in half an hour.

              Otherwise, I'm afraid I shall have to send you to bed

              instead of letting you stay up until the others return from the picnic.

              Bertie! Bertie!

              Jesus, where are you?

              Oh, Miranda!

              I like this one.

              "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

              Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

              Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

              And summer's lease hath all too short a date”.

              That's funny!

              Blowed if me watch hasn't stopped.

              Dead on   :  .

              Real funny.

              C'est tres jolie, n'est-ce pas?

              Uh, you wouldn't have the time, I suppose, miss?

              Ah, Miranda, your pretty little diamond watch.

              Don't wear it anymore.

              Can't stand the ticking above my heart.


              If it were mine, I'd wear it always.

              Even in the bath.

              Would you, Mr. Hussey?

              Stopped at   :  .

              Never stopped before. Must be something magnetic.

              Well after  :   I'd say.

              We'd better be careful. I promised Mrs. Appleyard

              I'd have you lot back at the college by  :  .

              Except for those people down there,

              we might be the only living creatures in the whole world.

              Excuse me, Mademoiselle.

              Yes, Marion?

              I should like to make a few measurements of the rock if we have time.

              With Miranda and Irma.

              Please, Mademoiselle. We'll be back long before tea.

              Et bien. Allez!

              May I come too, please?

              So long as you don't complain.

              I won't. I promise.

              And don't worry about us, Mademoiselle.

              We shall only be gone a little while.


              Now I know.

              What do you know?

              I know that Miranda is a Botticelli angel.


              Can you manage it, Edith?

              I don't know.

              I don't want to get my feet wet.


              Thought the little fat one was gonna take a bath.

              Some of them are real lookers.

              Have a look at the shape of the dark one with the curls.

              Built like an hourglass.

              And 'ave a go at the last one! The blonde!

              Oh, she'd have a decent pair of legs.

              All the way up to her bum.

              I'd rather you didn't say crude things like that.

              Oh, I say the crude things. You just think 'em.


              Take my word for it.

              The sheilas are all alike when it comes to fellas.

              Doesn't matter if it's a bloody college you come from

              or the Ballarat Orphanage where me and me kid sister was dragged up.

              I didn't know you were an orphan.

              Geez. I haven't thought of that bloody dump in donkeys' years.


              I think I'll just, uh, stretch my legs a bit before we go.


              Not down at the ground, Edith. Way up there in the sky.

              Why can't we just sit on this log

              and look at the ugly old rock from here?

              It's nasty here!

              I never thought it would be so nasty,

              or I wouldn't have come!

              We can't go much further.

              We promised Mademoiselle

              we wouldn't be long away.

              If only we could stay out all night

              and watch the moon rise.

              Blanche said Sara writes poetry in the dunny!

              She found one there on the floor all about Miranda.

              She's an orphan.

              Sara reminds me of a little deer Papa brought home once.

              I looked after it, but it died.

              Mama always said it was doomed.

              Doomed? What's that mean, Irma?

              Doomed to die, of course.

              "The boy stood on the burning deck,

              whence all but he had fled, tra la..."

              I forget the rest.

              I think I must be doomed. I don't feel at all well.

              I do wish you'd stop talking for once.

              Poor Edith. We'll go back soon.

              Irma! Look at them!

              Where in the world are they going?

              Without their shoes!

              Irma, wait! Wait for me!

              Please wait! Wait, Irma, wait!

              Whatever can those people be doing down there?

              Like a lot of ants.

              Surprising the number of human beings are without purpose.

              Although it is probable

              they're performing some function unknown to themselves.

              Everything begins and ends

              at exactly the right time

              and place.


              Miranda, I feel awful,

              really awful.


              Miranda, I feel perfectly awful.

              When are we going home?

              When are we going home?




              Miranda, don't go up there! Come back!

              I've gotta go. That's Mrs. Appleyard.

              Let someone else go.

              They won't. No. I'm on.

              What time is it?

              What've you got to do?

              Mrs. Appleyard'll skin me.

              We got plenty of time.

              You'd better go.

              Why are they so late?

              God be praised!

              Mademoiselle, why are you so late?

              Madame, something terrible has happened.

              What? What do you mean?

              I can't...

              And where in heaven's name is Miss McCraw?

              We left her behind at the rock.

              You left her behind?

              Has everyone taken leave of their senses?

              Miss Lumley, get these girls to bed immediately.

              And Cook, Cook! Hot soup, please, for all of them.

              Mrs. Appleyard, I-I must speak to you alone.

              Very well.

              Straight up the stairs, girls. Come along, quickly as you can.

              Cook, I asked you for hot soup!

              Well, ma'am, ma'am, the strength of it is this.

              Three of your young ladies

              and Miss McCraw

              are m-missing on the rock.

              What happened?

              Well, now, Mrs. Appleyard,

              that's just the trouble.

              Nobody knows what happened.

              How soon after the girls did Miss McCraw leave?

              Don't know. No one knows.

              No one saw her leave. We were asleep.

              And the little one?

              Edith Horton.

              Like I told you,

              she come tearin' out of the bushes,

              dress all torn,

              screamin' fit to...

              Well, after we'd shooshed her screamin', all we could get out of her

              was that she'd left the other three somewhere up on the rock.

              That's about all I can tell ya.

              Miranda! Miranda!



              Go on, get out of here.

              Ah, stop it!

              Come on.


              Try to remember, Edith,

              what it was that frightened you on the rock.

              Think carefully, darling. Carefully!

              Did you speak to anyone?

              There must have been something.

              Was there a man?

              Her legs were quite severely scratched.

              From running through the brambles, I should imagine.

              Nothing else?

              Nothing I could detect.

              She hadn't been... molested?

              No, no, nothing like that.

              I have examined her. She is quite intact.

              Since you won't tell me all the details,

              how can I give you an opinion, Lionel?

              There are no details.

              People just don't disappear, my dear.

              Not without good reason.

              There's talk, is there?

              Not just gossip. People have...theories.

              Go on.

              Well, it couldn't be local.

              Why couldn't it?

              No one around here would do a thing like that.

              I've just told you, I simply noticed three young ladies crossing the creek.

              What did they look like?


              The girls. Describe them to me.

              Hmm, um, the first one was tall and dark.

              Um, then there was the little dumpy one,

              then the girl with the glasses,

              and the last one was slim and fair.

              That's four.


              A few minutes ago you said there was only three of them.

              Oh-Oh, ye...

              That's because the dumpy one was back a little.

              And then they moved off into the trees

              and that's the last we saw of them.

              Perhaps we could go a little higher.

              I was tired.

              I sat down on a log.

              Which log, Edith? This one?

              Look around you, darling. Maybe you can see it now.

              Is that the one? You went that way?

              I don't know.

              I was tired. I'm tired now.

              There is one thing I remember.

              What do you remember, Edith? Tell us.

              It was when I was coming down,

              when I was running.

              It was a cloud.

              What sort of a cloud?

              It was red.

              I remember it clearly. It was just after I passed Miss McCraw.

              Who did you say you saw?

              Miss McCraw.

              She was going up the hill as I was going down.

              Did she stop? Did you speak?

              No. She was too far away.

              She was about as far away as those dead trees are over there.

              She was funny.



              I'd rather not say.

              You must, Edith. It could be very important.

              It's rude.

              Les pantalons.

              She had no skirt. Just les pantalons.

              Drawers? You mean she was just wearing drawers?

              One last go

              for the bloodhound.


              Why didn't you tell us you followed the four girls?


              I didn't exactly follow them.

              I just jumped across the creek

              and walked towards the rock for a little way.

              I was curious.

              In England, young ladies like that wouldn't be allowed to go walking.

              Not alone, anyway.

              But they'd gone by the time I came out of the trees, so I turned back.

              As the girls were jumping the creek,

              what were you thinking of?


              Ah, Michael.

              Oh, Michael!

              The old man hired me to look after the horses.

              I'm buggered if I'm gonna be a lackey at a bloody garden party.

              That's what I bloody well told 'im.

              More or less.

              Had the bloodhound out the other day.

              I wake up every night in a cold sweat.

              Just wondering if they're still alive.

              Yeah, well, the way I look at it is this:

              If the bloody cop and the bloody abo tracker

              and the bloody dog can't find 'em, well, no one bloody can.

              People have been bushed before today,

              and as far as I'm concerned, that's the stone end of it.

              Well, it's not the end of it as far as I'm concerned.

              They may be out there dying of thirst on...

              on that infernal rock and...

              you and I are sitting here drinking cold bloody beer.

              That's where you and me's different.

              If you want my advice, the sooner you forget the whole thing, the better.

              Well, I can't forget it, and I never will.

              I'm not great shakes on music,

              but I reckon the governor must be leavin', eh?

              Your aunt'll give you hell if you're not on show.


              I want to go back to the rock.

              To look for them.

              Will you come with me?

              Beautiful birds, them swans.

              A week in the bush,

              they'd be dead by now.

              Then I'll go alone.








              We'll have to be goin' soon.

              Dark before we get back.

              I'm staying here.

              You're what?

              I'm staying here.

              Here? On the rock?


              What the hell for? You're mad.

              Yes, perhaps I am. But I'm still staying, because somebody has to.

              Just because you lot are Australians...

              You're a funny bugger.

              Well, what the hell am I gonna tell 'em when I get back there without ya?

              You can tell 'em what you like.

              Hmm? What? Woodend?

              The Victoria, sir.

              The little pub near the corner.

              Mr. Michael's pretty knocked up, sir. He's sleepin' there.

              The pub.

              Yeah. Yeah.

              I'm dashed if I know how his aunt will take it.


              All right. Carry on, Crundall.

              Thank you, sir.

              Stopped at twelve.

              Never stopped before.

              Everything begins and ends

              at exactly the right time.

              Waiting a million years just for us.

              Look! Way up there in the sky!

              Now I know!

              What do you know?

              Surprising the number of human beings

              are without purpose.

              Although it is probable

              they are performing some function unknown to themselves.

              Everything begins and ends

              at exactly the right time and place.










              Let me have him now, son.

              I've had    years experience puttin' them in

              so they don't fall out back on the road.

              Eh, take her quietly, Sergeant.

              Oh, Jesus. Jesus.

              Help me!

              Help me!

              Mademoiselle, they found Irma.

              What did you say?

              They found Irma, and she's still alive.


              No one else?


              Now go home. There's nothing you can do.

              Go on, now. Go home! This is a police matter.

              Well, go on.

              We've got a bloody right to know.

              We'd like to know what's going on.

              He's right.

              We simply want something done about it.

              Where's Bumpher?

              What we should do is go to the bloody rock ourselves.

              We've got our own self-respect to think about.

              He's right, there. Get Bumpher out here. Come on.

              Come out, Bumpher!

              Go back.

              Go on. Go home. The bloody lot of you.

              Nothing you can do.

              We can thank the Lord

              for this merciful deliverance of our dear classmate Irma

              and pray that Marion and Miranda

              and our beloved Miss McCraw will be likewise spared.

              It has been seen fit that Irma should convalesce

              at the home of Colonel Fitzhubert in Mount Macedon.

              Although you'll be delighted at these good tidings,

              I would ask you to remember, please,

              that of the three remaining lost members of the party,

              there is, as yet, no trace.

              Would you come with me to my study, please, Miss Lumley?

              You may carry on, Mademoiselle.

              Wonderful news, Mrs. Appleyard.

              Don't be so foolish, woman!

              If all of them had been found but only one?

              This makes it worse. Far worse.

              This tragedy is little more than a week old

               and already three... three, mark you... sets of parents

                have written advising me that their daughters will not be here next term.

                Now the newspapers have something further to sensationalize about.

                Newspapers all over the world have headlined our morbid affair.

                I mean, you realize that, I suppose.

                The three who have been withdrawn,

                plus the three still missing on the rock...

                Two, Mrs. Appleyard. Only two now. I'm quite sure Irma will be coming back.

                That makes six, Miss Lumley,

                will not be with us next term.

                In addition, there are several sets of tuition fees impossibly overdue.

                Sara Waybourne, for instance.

                Most inconsiderate, if I may say so, Mrs. Appleyard.


                Well, I...

                I expect we shall see our way through somehow.

                But don't let me detain you, You have a class in a few minutes, I believe.

                Senior needlework.

                Just ask the Waybourne girl to come in to see me, please.

                After luncheon will be convenient.

                Yes, Mrs. Appleyard.

                Oh, and Miss Lumley.

                Do your best to forbid any idle gossip about this whole wretched business.

                Yes, Mrs. Appleyard. I will.



                Remarkable. Hmm.

                A week out in the bush and nothing more serious

                than shock and exposure.


                No bones broken.

                Some cuts and bruises to the face and hands.

                To the hands especially.

                Quite scratched.

                The fingernails are all torn and broken.

                There are several other unusual features.

                Her head is quite badly bruised.

                Probable concussion.

                A blow, maybe?

                Or a fall?

                But then if she fell,

                why is the rest of the body unmarked?

                It's quite unblemished.

                And the feet, too, are quite unmarked, which is very strange

                as she was not wearing shoes or stockings when she was found.

                We found no trace of 'em up on the rocks.


                She's quite intact.

                I'd give my head to know what really happened up there.

                She's quite intact.

                What is it, my girl?

                Well, ma'am, it's Miss Irma.


                Well, it's about her clothing.

                What is it, my dear?

                Well, I didn't know whether the sergeant should be told.

                There's, there's no corset.

                Miss Irma's corset. It's missing.

                You did right, my dear.

                It can't possibly be of any interest.

                * The north wind brings me no rest * *

                Any number of unsolved murders there are.

                Take, take Jack the Ripper, for instance.

                The police are up there again, naturally.

                Thick as flies.

                Someone reported seein' a light flashing around a pigsty

                on a place about a mile from the rock.

                There's some questions got answers and some haven't.

                No. There'll be a solution turn up directly, more'n likely.

                A kidnappin'.

                Or, you know, something like that.

                They might have fallen down a hole.

                No, no. There's a solution somewhere, all right.

                There's gotta be.

                Come over here. Come on.

                Over here.

                Did you know, lad, there are some plants that can move?


                Miss Lumley said you wanted to see me, Mrs. Appleyard.

                That is correct. Come in.

                Close the door, please.

                I have written several letters to your guardian, Mr. Cosgrove, Sara,

                but I have not been favored with a reply thus far.

                In fact, it is all of six months since I have received a letter

                or a check.

                I, therefore, have no alternative but to cancel all your extras.

                This means that, as of today,

                you can no longer partake in dancing or drawing lessons.

                And unless all your outstanding fees are paid by Easter,

                I'm afraid we shall have to make other arrangements.

                You know what that means, don't you, Sara?

                You will have to go away.

                There are places for girls in your predicament. Institutions.

                Now off you go.


                Sara! What's wrong with you?

                Are you feeling ill?

                People don't sit on cold steps in the dark unless they're weak in the head.

                You heard the bell. Go and wash for supper.

                Aren't you hungry?

                Well, you best go straight to bed.


                Tell Mademoiselle I don't want it. Thank you.

                But you must eat. You'll get sick if you don't.

                I'm sick already. If I eat that, I'll be even sicker.

                Nonsense. Now come on, Miss Sara.

                Do you know what, Minnie?

                No. What?

                I was in an orphanage once.

                Were you, Sara?

                I had a brother then... called Bertie.

                I told the matron I wanted to be a lady circus rider

                on a white horse with a spangled dress.

                She was afraid I'd run away, so she shaved my head.

                I bit her arm. It bled.

                So she painted my head with gentian violet.

                * The north wind brings me no rest *

                * And death is in the sky *

                * I love you, Minnie *

                I love you, darlin'.

                I feel sorry for them kids.

                The ones on the rock, you mean?

                Yeah, them too.

                I was thinkin' of them other poor little devils, here at the college.

                Them. They're all right.

                Rollin' in cash, most of them.

                Or at least their mothers and fathers are.

                Some of them are orphans

                or wards or...

                You know.

                Now I know.

                What do you know? What do you know?

                I know that Miranda is a Botticelli angel.

                Hold it right there. Thanks, gentlemen.

                That's it. Smile, please.

                Come on. Big smile.

                Thank you, thank you.

                Get those women over here, please.

                The rope. Not that stuff. The other.

                Give me that rope over here.

                What about a cup of tea up here?

                Ah, tea. Ah.


                Good, good.

                As if looking up. Right up.

                That's it. Looking for a cave or something like that.

                Little more expression in the face, sir.

                Hello, Irma.

                Madame Fitzhubert showed me in.

                How do you feel?

                Oh, Irma!

                Oh, Irma.

                We thought you had gone forever.

                Let me look at you, cherie.

                You are so pale

                but prettier than ever.

                Has the nephew paid you a visit yet,

                the one who found you?


                And the policeman.

                And you couldn't...

                I, I remember...nothing.

                Nothing! I remember nothing!


                Send that reporter packing!

                Girls. Girls, get inside at once!

                There you are, Miranda, dear.

                You liked these best.

                Mr. Whitehead gave them to me to give to you,

                my dear, my sweet Miranda.

                She likes daisies best of all.

                Oh, Sara! Oh, Sara!

                You do know that Miranda might not come back.

                Miranda knows lots of things other people don't know.


                She knew she wouldn't come back.

                Fanny, you are ridiculously out of step. Pay attention to the music, please!

                Excuse me, Miss Lumley. Voila, mes enfants!

                See who we have with us today?

                Our dear Irma is with us but for a few hours.

                She is leaving soon to join her parents in Europe.

                Alors, mes enfants.

                For ten minutes, you may talk as you choose.

                If you approve, Miss Lumley.

                Tell us, Irma! Tell us!

                Tell us, Irma! Tell us!

                What happened to Miranda, Irma?

                You know what happened. Tell us!

                Tell us, Irma!

                Why don't you tell us, Irma? You know where they are!

                Just tell us, Irma! Tell us!

                They're dead! All dead and gone, Irma!

                She's going to you know where!

                You are a liar and a fool!



                It's for her own good! To cure her terrible stooping!

                Come in.

                Well? Come in.

                My notice, ma'am.

                Have we an invalid in the house?

                Miss Sara's supper, ma'am.

                Mademoiselle asked me, seeing as the child's feeling poorly.

                Oh. Minnie!


                Tell Miss Sara not to put her light out until I've had a word with her.

                Yes, ma'am.

                this is not a charitable institution.

                You recall our recent discussion, Sara.

                Answer me when I address you, child.


                I have considered your situation most carefully,

                and I have searched my mind and my conscience for a solution.

                But this is not a charitable institution.

                And as your fees have not been forthcoming,

                I have been forced to make certain arrangements on your behalf.

                You will be returned to the orphanage.

                You still thinking about that bloody rock?

                I can't help it.

                It comes back at night in dreams.

                I had a funny dream last night.

                There was this smell. Real strong.

                It was like, like I was wide awake. Dead quiet.

                Pansies. That's what it smelt like.

                And the whole place was all lit up, bright as day.

                Pitch black outside.

                And there she is.

                Who was it?

                It was only a bloody dream!

                My kid sister. Haven't seen her since the orphanage.

                She always liked pansies.

                And she went all sort of...misty-like.

                I calls out, "Sara, don't go yet”.

                "Good-bye, Bertie," she says.

                "I've come a long way to see ya, and now I must go”.

                And she went.

                Clear through that wall over there.

                Sit down, please, Mademoiselle.


                We were speaking last night about the Waybourne girl.

                You expressed concern over the state of her health.

                Yes, madame.

                We have been relieved of any further responsibility.

                Her guardian, Mr. Cosgrove, arrived this morning and took her away with him.

                That's... But was she fit enough to travel?


                I should have been here to supervise her packing.

                I, myself, helped Sara put a few things she especially wanted

                into her little covered basket.

                Mr. Cosgrove was in a hurry to get away.

                I shall not be coming into luncheon, Mademoiselle.

                Kindly tell them not to lay a place for me.

                Nor for Sara?

                Nor for Sara.

                Is that rouge I see on your cheek, Mademoiselle?

                Powder, madame. I find it becoming.

                Oh, God.



                Thank you very much for the lovely breakfast!


                Hope you have a nice holiday!



                Au revoir!

                * Frere Jacques Frere Jacques *

                Au revoir, mes enfants.

                * Dormez vous Dormez vous *

                Au revoir!

                Arthur, my late husband, and I

                always took our annual holidays in Bournemouth.

                Mmm. It's a delightful place.

                Absolutely delightful. Nothing changed.

                Ever. For    years.

                The pier, the sands and the people.

                And that guest house.

                So dependable.

                Completely and utterly dependable.

                A little more, Mademoiselle?

                No, madame.

                As you wish.

                I came to depend so much on Greta McCraw.

                So much masculine intellect.

                I came to rely on that woman.

                Trust her.

                How could she allow herself to be spirited away?



                Murdered in cold blood like a silly schoolgirl

                on that wretched Hanging Rock.

                Will Sara Waybourne be coming back this term, madame?


                Now where was I?

                Oh, yes! Bournemouth.

                What a delightful place!

                Nothing changed. Ever.

                Dirty kids.


                Oh! Oh!

                Sara! Sara!

                The body of Mrs. Arthur Appleyard,

                principal of Appleyard College,

                was found at the base of Hanging Rock on Friday the   th of March,     .

                Although the exact circumstances of her death are not known,

                it is believed she fell while attempting to climb the rock.

                A search for the missing schoolgirls and their governess

                continued spasmodically for the next few years without success.

                To this day, their disappearance remains a mystery.

Special help by SergeiK