Picnic at Hanging Rock

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 eye,

'For the sweet meaning of thy brow,

'and for thy bearing so high.'

Six

and seven

and eight

and nine

and ten

and eleven.

'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 lov'st me.'

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!

- (CHEERING) - Shh!

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

- (WHISPERS) She wants algebra today. - 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 itself 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!

I shall expect you back, Miss McCraw and Mademoiselle, at about eight

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 500 feet high she is. Volcanic, of course. Thousands of years old.

A million years old, Mr Hussey, or thereabouts.

Yes, well, of course 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 350 million years old.

Siliceous lava...

...forced up from deep down below.

Soda trachytes extruded in a highly viscous state,

building the steep-sided mametons 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?

Pardon?

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. - No.

I thought it was a little early for lunch myself.

Yeah.

Drink?

Thank you.

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

and then they got 'ere straight away.

Thanks.

Ta!

Not that they got anything else to do.

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

Get on! Come on!

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 12.00.

That's real funny.

C'est très jolie, n'est-ce pas?

You wouldn't have the time, I suppose, miss?

Ah, Miranda, your pretty little diamond watch.

Don't wear it any more.

Can't stand the ticking above my heart.

Ah!

If it were mine I'd wear it always, even in the bath.

Would you, Mr Hussey?

Stopped at twelve.

Never stopped before.

Must be something magnetic.

Well after two, I'd say.

We'd better be careful.

I promised Mrs Appleyard I'd have you lot back at the college by eight.

Except for those people down there,

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

- Excuse me, Mam'selle. - Yes, Marion?

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

With Miranda and Irma.

Oh, please, Mam'selle.

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, Mam'selle. We shall only be gone a little while.

Ah!

Now I know.

What do you know?

I know that Miranda is a Botticelli angel.

Wait!

Can you manage it, Edith? - I don't know.

I don't want to get my feet wet.

Oh!