Sergeant Carrol Character Analysis

MILLY: Whose idea was it to stop the soap?

SERGEANT: The idea, as you call it, came from the Aboriginal Department in Perth.

GRAN: Mister Neville?

MILLY: I just can’t believe it: no soap!

SERGEANT: Your trouble, Milly, is you got three healthy men bludging off you, too lazy to work.

MILLY: Where they gonna get work?

SERGEANT: They’re afraid to look for it in case they find it.

MILLY: Cockies want ’em to work for nothin’.

GRAN: They not slaves, Chergeant!

SERGEANT: Well, they’ll have to work if you want luxury items like soap.

MILLY: Look, last week my Joe cut a hundred posts for old Skinny Martin and you know what he got? A pair of second-hand boots and a piece of stag ram so tough even the dawgs couldn’t eat it; skinnier than old Martin ’imself.

CONSTABLE: You’re being transferred to the Moore River Native Settlement.

GRAN: I ain’t goin’.

CONSTABLE: You’re all goin’. You’re under arrest.

GRAN: What for? We done nothin’ wrong.

SERGEANT: It’s for health reasons. Epidemic of skin disease.

JIMMY: Bullshit, I’ll tell you why we’re goin’.

CONSTABLE: You wouldn’t know.

JIMMY: You reckon blackfellas are bloody mugs. Whole town knows why we’re goin’. ‘Coz wetjalas in this town don’t want us ’ere, don’t want our kids at the school, with their kids, and old Jimmy Mitchell’s tight ’coz they reckon Bert ’Awke’s gonna give him a hidin’ in the election.

MILLY: Who’s gonna look after our dogs?

CONSTABLE: We’ll attend to them.

MILLY: Yeah, we know that.

JIMMY: With a police bullet.

GRAN: [frantically] You’re not gonna shoot Wow, you’re not gonna shoot Wow Wow. You hear me, Chergeant? I’m not goin’.

[GRAN is frantic now. She tears her hair and throws plates and mugs about.]

SERGEANT: Oh Jesus, take your bloody mangy Wow Wow, whatever you call it. Take the bloody lot, just remember to be ready to move out tomorrow morning.

[The police escort JIMMY away. The family looks on in stunned silence. CISSIE clings to her mother and cries.]

MILLY: Whose idea was it to stop the soap?

SERGEANT: The idea, as you call it, came from the Aboriginal Department in Perth.

GRAN: Mister Neville?

MILLY: I just can’t believe it: no soap!

SERGEANT: Your trouble, Milly, is you got three healthy men bludging off you, too lazy to work.

MILLY: Where they gonna get work?

SERGEANT: They’re afraid to look for it in case they find it.

MILLY: Cockies want ’em to work for nothin’.

GRAN: They not slaves, Chergeant!

SERGEANT: Well, they’ll have to work if you want luxury items like soap.

MILLY: Look, last week my Joe cut a hundred posts for old Skinny Martin and you know what he got? A pair of second-hand boots and a piece of stag ram so tough even the dawgs couldn’t eat it; skinnier than old Martin ’imself.

CONSTABLE: You’re being transferred to the Moore River Native Settlement.

GRAN: I ain’t goin’.

CONSTABLE: You’re all goin’. You’re under arrest.

GRAN: What for? We done nothin’ wrong.

SERGEANT: It’s for health reasons. Epidemic of skin disease.

JIMMY: Bullshit, I’ll tell you why we’re goin’.

CONSTABLE: You wouldn’t know.

JIMMY: You reckon blackfellas are bloody mugs. Whole town knows why we’re goin’. ‘Coz wetjalas in this town don’t want us ’ere, don’t want our kids at the school, with their kids, and old Jimmy Mitchell’s tight ’coz they reckon Bert ’Awke’s gonna give him a hidin’ in the election.

MILLY: Who’s gonna look after our dogs?

CONSTABLE: We’ll attend to them.

MILLY: Yeah, we know that.

JIMMY: With a police bullet.

GRAN: [frantically] You’re not gonna shoot Wow, you’re not gonna shoot Wow Wow. You hear me, Chergeant? I’m not goin’.

[GRAN is frantic now. She tears her hair and throws plates and mugs about.]

SERGEANT: Oh Jesus, take your bloody mangy Wow Wow, whatever you call it. Take the bloody lot, just remember to be ready to move out tomorrow morning.

[The police escort JIMMY away. The family looks on in stunned silence. CISSIE clings to her mother and cries.]