From the raw Australia of the 1900s...
comes a turbulent saga that spans the decades...
in Colleen McCullough's best selling novel:
The Thorn Birds.
I'll never have what I want.
The story of a priest driven by ambition.
Never be what I want!
Tormented by desire.
And I don't know how to stop...
wanting.
Hello, I'm Father de Bricassart. You'd be Mary Carson's brother?
That's right, Father.
From the moment he saw her, he knew...
- And who are you? - I'm Meggie.
... he would love her forever.
I give you Mary Carson.
The richest woman in Australia, and the loneliest.
Shoot them, Frank.
You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen, Ralph de Bricassart.
I thought it was my soul you were after, Mary.
Why do you tug so at my heart? Why do you fill that space...
God can't fill?
When you were a little girl, you were like my own child to me.
- I could have you then. - You can have me now.
You can marry me.
I have chosen to destroy you, Priest.
I'll go to hell for it, of course...
but it'll be nothing to the hell I'm planning for you.
In the years that followed, no one could stir Meggie's heart:
No one till a rover named Luke O'Neill.
God, you are beautiful.
Marry me, Meghann.
The story that travels around the world...
from the Vatican to the Australian outback.
From the islands of Greece to London.
I've tried so hard to get her out of my heart.
The saga that spans half a century...
echoing through three generations.
Starring Richard Kiley, Jean Simmons, Ken Howard, Mare Winningham...
Philip Anglim, Christopher Plummer, Bryan Brown, Barbara Stanwyck...
Rachel Ward, and Richard Chamberlain.
A love unattainable...
forbidden forever: The Thorn Birds.
Good day, Father de Bricassart.
- Happy Christmas to you. - The same to you, Mrs. Smith.
Why is it the roses here on Drogheda are always the loveliest to be found?
Aren't they heavenly?
But it's the heat that makes them bloom, so makes me wilt.
But nothing is given without a disadvantage in it.
True enough, Father, true enough. I'll lay things out for Mass.
Amen.
Happy Christmas, Mrs. Carson.
How many times do I have to tell you my name is Mary?
- And yet you never call me Ralph. - All right, Ralph. Happy Christmas.
It's very kind of you to spend it with a lonely old woman.
Hardly that. On the contrary, it is very kind of you to invite...
- a lonely priest and fellow Irishman. - That's right.
This is your first Christmas in exile, isn't it?
Exile?
- It's my first year in Australia. - That's not what I mean, and you know it.
Six months now, and I still haven't figured out...
why the Church banished you out here to the land of Never-Never.
What sin did you commit? What priestly vow did you break?
Poverty? Obedience?
Perhaps chastity?
You're quite sure I have been banished?
Of course. Look at you. You're aristocratic, witty, ambitious...
despite that facade of humility.
And God knows you have a subtle mind.
You're the stuff cardinals are made of.
And you would look magnificent in red.
So you've said before, so you say each time I visit here.
And you're going to say, "But my dear Mrs. Carson, I am a priest.
"Surely I can do God's work here...
"as well as in the seats of ecclesiastical power."
Sometimes, I think you know me better than I know myself.
I'm certain of that, too.
All right, now.
Ready.
Go!
Come on!
Come on! You can do it.
Ralph won!
- Good on you, Father Ralph. - Bravo, Father.
Well done, Father de Bricassart. How do you like him?
- He's beautiful. - Good! He's yours. Happy Christmas.
Thank you.
I'll take pleasure in riding him whenever I'm here...
but I can't accept him as a gift.
Why not? You accepted the car I gave you.
Because it allows me to get around and see my parishioners more often.
A fine distinction.
You'll accept my gifts only if some holy use can be made of them.
- It wasn't poverty. - I beg your pardon?
The vow you broke that got you banished.
It must have been chastity, yes?
All right, my Christmas gift to you:
I insulted a bishop. A matter of local church policy.
You broke your vow of obedience.
- That was ambitious of you. - There's some comfort in the fact...
that the Pope himself later came out in favor of my views in the matter.
Has he, now? And he hasn't rescued you?
My dear Mrs. Carson, priests are expendable, bishops aren't.
And it's not so terrible a banishment.
I have you to remind me of the existence of civilization...
- and I have Drogheda. - Yes.
You would like that, wouldn't you? You'd like to have my Drogheda.
- Would I? - Yes, you would.
If you could charm me into leaving Drogheda to the Church...
His Holiness would have to rescue you, reward you...
maybe even give you that beautiful red cardinal's robe some day.
A masterful plan. But my dear Mrs. Carson...
I'm a priest. Surely I can serve God as well here...
as in the seats of ecclesiastical power.
And how you'd hate it.
Still, I have to give Drogheda to someone someday, don't I?
That's worth thinking about.
Mrs. Smith, I must go.
Please give my thanks to Mrs. Carson for a delightful day.
That will be all, thank you. You're not leaving so soon.
It's late and a long way back to the parish.
I hope I didn't say anything this afternoon to upset you.
I mean, all that talk about inheriting Drogheda.
- You didn't upset me in the least. - Good.
- Have you thought about it? - About what, Mrs. Carson?
About charming me out of Drogheda...
because I didn't say I couldn't be charmed, did I?
Mrs. Carson.
What is it you want from me?
Why...
only your spiritual guidance of course, Father.
You see, I have a decision to make...
and you're the only one that can help me with it.
- I'll do what I can. - It's about my brother.
Your brother?
I thought you once said you had no family left.
I have a brother. I haven't seen him in years.
He lives in New Zealand.
We both left Ireland to make our fortunes...
but Paddy hasn't fared too well.
He's an experienced man with the land, however...
and he has a house full of sons.
I'm thinking of bringing him here and making him my...
head stockman.
I wonder you didn't think of it sooner.
I did. I've just been waiting, shall we say...
to see what might develop.
It would be a comfort to know I would be helping Paddy...
to know I'm not all alone in this world...
not quite reduced to leaving all my pretty pennies to the Church.
- It's a most generous gift, Mary. - No. Never a gift.
No, whoever inherits Drogheda...
earns it.
Thank you, Father.
Good night, Mrs. Carson.
Father, it's time you were off.
All right, Annie.
I'll be right there.
It'll be nice for Mrs. Carson, having her brother's family.
I must see you about the chalk supply.
- Chalk? - Three boxes are missing.
I'll look into it.
In Father Wattey's time, Father...
we took a much closer account of such things.
Hello, I'm Father de Bricassart. Sorry I'm late.
You'd be Mary Carson's brother?
That's right, Father. Paddy Cleary. This is my wife Fiona.
Mrs. Cleary.
I'll be taking you on to Drogheda.
I know you've had a very difficult journey.
You're very kind.
- These are my boys, Father. This is Bob. - Hello, Bob.
Jack, and Stuie here.
Take off your hat, son. And Frank.
- And who are you? - I'm Meggie.
Are we going to live here?
Not exactly. I'll show you your house later, Meggie.
Meggie?
Yes, this is Meggie.
Mary, we have no words to thank you for your kindness in bringing us here.
When you're as old as I am, and as rich...
the vultures start to circle.
You're my only flesh and blood, Paddy.
I don't have any sons, and Michael's been dead for over 30 years.
A long time to be alone.
- I wonder you've never married again. - Marry again?
And give some man control over me and all I have?
No, that's not what I call living.
No. As long as I am alive, Drogheda is mine...
and only mine.
- It's well to remember that. - Of course, Mary.
Let's have Mass right away, and then I'm sure...
we'd all enjoy a nice, hot meal at your table.
Sounds very nice indeed, Father.
125,000 sheep. 1,000 head of cattle...
and more fence than you can ride in a month.
The round of work is endless...
but Drogheda is the biggest in all of New South Wales, and the best.
I've seen to that.
All I can say is, it looks like heaven to me.
If your idea of heaven is hard work, you're right.
But we Clearys know about hard work, don't we, sister?
Not that it got us very far back in Ireland.
I don't want you just to lead the men. I want you to work with them...
and to keep on working long after they've quit.
When things go wrong, you take the blame.
When they go right, don't expect any credit.
And I'll give you a free hand with the land...
just as long as you keep Drogheda the biggest and the best.
Well, Mr. Gough...
the gold is holding well and I think the investment looks sound.
But you're my lawyer.
The steel is still down since the war...
but nothing to worry about.
As we discussed, Carson Limited is doing well with your expansion plans.
Meaning I'm still one of the richest women in Australia.
If not the richest.
- Has your brother any idea of all this? - No. No one has.
And that's the way I want it kept until the day I die. Do you understand?
Of course.
It would be amusing to know what people would say...
if they knew Drogheda was only a hobby with me.
- Hello, Father. - Fee.
You're fighting a losing battle.
There are three things you can't defeat in the outback:
The dust, the heat, and the flies.
You're certainly not like New Zealand priests.
They keep very much to themselves.
You're not a Catholic, are you?
When I lost faith in my own church...
I saw no reason to espouse a creed equally meaningless to me.
But Paddy's a Catholic...
and we are rearing the children Catholic, if it's worrying you.
It isn't. And I won't try to convert you.
- But I would like to be your friend. - You're very kind to us.
I like to know my parishioners, so I make the rounds of all stations...
but I must confess to a special weakness for Drogheda.
- Perhaps it's my Irish blood. - Irish?
I thought you were French background.
No, de Bricassart is an old Norman name, but I'm Irish all right.
And the last of the de Bricassart line. I was born in County Meath...
just a stone's throw from the town of Drogheda.
Call it fate.
- Bye, Meggie. Wish you could go. - Have fun, Stuie!
Poor little Meggie.
It must be hard being the only girl.
But I've been blessed with sons, these and two I've buried.
It's her sons a mother thinks of, isn't it?
Meggie, don't dawdle. You've got the chickens to feed.
- Father Ralph! - Excuse me.
Hello, Meghann Cleary.
Let's feed those chookies.
Yes, but there's something I must show you first.
Come on.
What is it?
Isn't it beautiful, Father?
Yes, I suppose it is.
Do you suppose that God is really all around us all the time?
What makes you ask me that, my little girl?
Because if he is, I think he must be here...
don't you?
God is in his wool room. All is right with the world.
And why not? He did choose a stable once.
Come on, Ralph. That's a bit precious.
Except why not make this the epicenter of the papal map...
and then you could be cardinal after all.
What would that make you? Surely not the Pope?
No, that's too dull. Satan, perhaps.
- That's more interesting. - And more powerful.
Every heaven needs one, just to stay in business.
You argue like a Jesuit.
Isn't it true? Without Satan, there's no struggle.
And it's the struggle that keeps us alive.
No. What keeps us alive is the point of that struggle:
The hope of attaining perfection.
If by perfection, you mean heaven...
But you have to die to get there, don't you?
Sometimes, I think you're after my soul.
I am...
unless it's already been taken.
- Meggie, fetch the milk, will you? - Yes, Mom.
Fiona, you are hopelessly old-fashioned.
If you don't raise your hemlines and stop wearing all those petticoats...
you're going to die in this heat.
Where did you get this furniture and this spinet?
The furniture was my grandmother's.
She taught me how to play.
What was your maiden name?
My father's name was Roderick Armstrong.
My dear Fiona...
the Armstrongs are practically New Zealand's first family.
You have come down in the world, haven't you?
I don't think so.
You're better born than we Clearys, if I do say so.
The only thing I had going for me when I came to Australia...
was a face, figure, more brains than any woman's supposed to have.
But it got me Michael Carson.
You've done very well, Mary.
He doted on me till the day he died.
You ought to know what it is to have the love of a good man.
Michael was rich, but he was a bit of a fool.
- Paddy's not a fool. - No, but he's penniless.
Can you really have loved him enough to give up your place in society?
My reasons for what I do are my own.
I do not discuss them.
Can I help, Frank?
Not likely. These beasts would gobble you up...
right along with this kangaroo meat.
Stop it, you bloody beasts!
Stop it!
- Shoot them, Frank! - Shoot them?
Don't worry.
What's the trouble here?
Daddy, Aunt Mary says the dogs have got to be shot.
All right, darling.
- You go on about your work. - Yes, Daddy.
Get the gun.
I am not going to shoot those dogs. They were just fighting a little.
Just fighting?
Today, those two fight. Tomorrow, they all turn wild.
We'll have a paddock full of sheep with their throats torn out.
There's no room here for anything wild, Frank.
Those dogs are here to work and to obey.
Just like me, right?
That's all I do around here, work and obey.
That's right.
And as long as I'm your father, that's what you will do.
Now get the gun.
Yes, Daddy.
Hello, Meggie.
Now don't you go telling her majesty I fired up this engine.
It's only to be used at shearing time.
Pete!
I thought you boys wanted to learn shearing.
If you're not a fine pair of jackaroos!
Never saw a machine shears...
and here you'll be cockies of the whole place one day.
That steam engine runs it?
It runs the shears, turns the grinding wheel...
works the wool dumper, and it'll boil the billy for your tea.
I bet I could even beat Daddy with these.
Nobody can beat Daddy.
He was the fastest man with the hand shears in all Wahine, New Zealand.
Aren't you to be fetching the milk?
I never was a gun shearer myself but I can teach you right enough.
I brought a few sheep in to practice on.
Get out here, you brainless dummy!
You're about to be made an example of!
Bob, get yourself a sheep.
The fastest bladesman I ever saw...
was old Hee Sing, a Chinaman.
He could ring any shed in the country, could old Hee Sing.
Get in there.
Finished.
What do you think, Pete?
Bob, I'd say you're a champion shearer...
Thanks, Pete!
...in the making.
All right, Stuie. Now just walk right straight toward him.
Slowly.
That's it. Look him right straight in the eye.
That's... No, don't look at me. Look at him.
Why do you think I sent you in there?
That's it.
Lay off, will you? The poor kid's only 11.
Go on, Stu.
- God... - You stay out of this.
No son of mine is gonna be scared of any animal in this place.
That's it, Stu. Go ahead.
- You think that's funny? - Stop it! Frank!
Get back to work, all of you.
You pull a trick like that again, and I'll take a stock whip to you.
Will you, now? Come on, then.
Come on then, now's your chance.
You've fought and scrapped and acted like a savage your whole life.
I'll not have it anymore, not here.
Now get back to work.
Hello, Meggie. I've been looking for you.
- What's wrong? - Nothing.
I never get to do anything.
The boys got to ride all the way out to the far paddock with Pete.
They won't even let me on a horse.
Maybe your mom doesn't think it's safe for you.
She doesn't even know I'm alive.
She doesn't care about anyone except Frank.
But I'll tell you one thing, Father.
When I'm grown up, I'm never gonna love one of my children more than the others.
Here, let me help you. What are you doing, anyway?
Cleaning out this drain so we can get water to the sheep.
You really ought to be in a school.
Wouldn't you like that?
Yes. But they need me to help.
Anyway, I guess I don't need school just to live here on Drogheda.
But you do.
When your family inherits Drogheda, you'll be a proper young lady.
You need to be prepared for that.
Who knows. You might not even want to spend your life here.
Because big as Drogheda is, it's only a tiny corner of the world.
There's so much else out there...
so many other lives you might choose...
so many opportunities for you.
Do you ever wish that you could go out and see the world?
I'm a priest, wee Meggie. I must go where the Church sends me.
Let's see if this works.
We did it.
Come on.
I'll take you back to the house.
There are some things I want to talk to your Aunt Mary about.
I sometimes wonder that we trouble building and mending fences.
The rabbits tunnel under them...
the kangas jump over them, the wild pigs charge right through them.
Look at this hellish wasteland. A man would wonder anything could live.
It's not like home.
Home was just as green as anything.
You'll see a bit of green when the rains come...
if they come.
No, it's sheep that have turned this land into desert...
and man.
I'd say that rabbit's as safe as houses at this rate.
- This is life. - Good God, boy!
I'll tell you what life is.
Life is what you just poured into the ground.
- Sorry, Pete. - You'll learn.
You must know, no matter how much you love the outback...
she'll find a dozen ways to kill you before sundown.
What is it, boy?
What are you smelling now?
- What is that thing? - Jack, hold that dog.
It's a wild pig, a boar.
- Let's get him. - No.
Stuart, get down from there!
- I want to shoot at him. - No.
He's too far away.
If you shoot at a wild boar, believe me, you'd better kill him...
or he'll kill you.
Damn!
- Come on, lads. - But...
Stuie, no!
Thanks, twerp.
- What's my best girl been up to today? - It was so nice, Frank.
Father Ralph came to see me.
Meggie, he came to see everyone. Set the table.
Yes, Mom.
- Here, Mom, let me. - It's all right, son.
You know how Daddy feels about you boys doing women's work.
I want you to get along with Paddy a little better.
Hello, Paddy. Boys not with you?
They're out with Pete.
Should've been in by now.
That smells good, Mother.
Frank, I'm about finished classing the ewes.
Tomorrow you're to start for the far paddocks...
and begin mustering the rams for breeding.
All right. If you think I can handle it.
I don't know if you can handle it or not.
But the man you were skincracking to fight today has quit!
So you can do his work for him.
Best put him up plenty.
Tuck her in a good bedroll, he'll be out a while.
Never mind, Mom, I'll do it. You've got enough to do already.
- What's that supposed to mean? - Look at her.
She's so tired, now she can't even see straight.
You may think you can treat us like slaves, but not her!
She's not some ignorant clodhopping yokel.
Like me? Go on, say it.
Your mother might as well see how much respect you've got for me.
I'm sorry, Daddy.
Daddy, wait till you hear...
- Stuie shot a boar! - A boar?
He was huge, the ugliest devil you ever saw. He killed the dog.
Stuie just stepped up as nice as you please and...
- Bob, let Stuie tell it. - I can't believe it.
We were farmers, you know, back in Galway.
One day, my dad told me to fetch a breeding bull from the next farm up.
We were too poor to have one of our own.
I tried, but that old bull was a killer.
I had to come back without him.
My dad called me a good-for-nothing coward.
He said he'd show me how to fetch a bull.
I felt so bad, I sat down and cried.
After a while, I looked up...
and here come my dad down the lane.
He had a rope in his hand all right, but there was no bull at the end of it.
He just walked right on by me. Never said a word at all.
But he never called me a coward again after that.
For thy bounty which we are about to receive...
for the beauty of earth and sky...
and for the blessings of the children thou hast given us, Lord...
let us be truly grateful.
Amen.
You're a beautiful woman, Fee.
Paddy, I...
Mary thought I might be more comfortable in lighter clothes.
- You told her about the baby, then? - No.
Isn't Stuie something, though?
Whatever you said to him made him so happy.
Well, that's one, anyway.
I'm sorry I lost my temper again with Frank.
No, he was very wrong.
There's just something about him I don't understand. Something...
wild.
But what he said about how hard you have to work...
it's true.
I know this is still not the life you should have, but...
- someday. - Don't talk someday, Paddy.
You've given me as much as any woman could possibly hope for.
What are we going to name this baby, anyway?
- It smells like eggs again. - It's the brimstone.
Father Ralph says hell must be like this.
Twerp.
What are you doing out of bed?
You shouldn't be. You'll be leaving early in the morning.
It's too hot to sleep.
What is it?
You've been moping around all week.
I don't want to go away to school and leave you.
Silly goose.
Gillanbone's only 40 miles away.
- Father Ralph will be there. - Yes, that's so.
I'll miss you.
And Mom really needs me here to help.
Sit up for a minute and listen to me.
They always preached to us to work together for the good of us all.
How we must never think of ourselves first.
You've got to think of yourself because they never will.
Yes, they do.
It was Daddy who said I could go to school.
Because Father Ralph insisted.
He fixed it so Aunt Mary would pay for you, the tight-fisted old witch.
I want you to go...
do you hear?
I want you to go.
Run along, boys.
Poor Meggie. Such a hard time fitting in.
- How's our little project coming? - Almost finished. Excuse me.
Hold your hands out, please.
Your hands, Meghann Cleary.
We're still biting them, are we?
Yes, Sister.
All right.
Turn them over.
That will do, Sister. Thank you.
Come along, Meggie.
I'm sorry, Father.
Are you going to send me back to Drogheda?
That's up to you.
- Do you want to go back? - No. I love school...
and being here with you.
But Sister Agatha...
I think she understands a little better now, don't you?
The convent isn't really a very homey place for you.
In fact...
Annie and I have been thinking that...
what you need is your very own, special place...
here, with us.
- Would you like that? - Could I? Honest?
Come on.
Why do you tug so at my heart?
Why do you fill that space God can't fill?
Frank.
I thought you could use some company.
Your mother says you've been alone out here for weeks.
Not long enough.
How's Meggie?
She's doing beautifully in school. She sends her love.
We've got to get this lot in.
The monsoons are coming.
Why did you become a priest?
Because I love God.
And I want to help others feel his love.
Why do you ask me?
Because you don't act much like a priest to me.
Being out here gives me...
an escape from my priestly duties at the parish.
I need that, I'm afraid.
I can understand that, right enough.
Stuck out here in this...
hellish place.
- No picnic, is it? - No, it's not.
The Church has such power, Frank.
Or rather, God has, working through the Church.
The power to shape the lives of millions of people...
to change the whole course of history.
And I want to be a part of that.
I try to hold the thought that even out here...
I do share in that power...
but sometimes I find it very difficult.
Then why don't you escape?
Why do you put up with it, a man like you?
You could be anything that you wanted to be.
Yet I'd give up every ambition...
every desire in me, to be the perfect priest.
- "The perfect priest." - How can I explain?
I'm a vessel...
and sometimes I'm filled with God.
If I were a better priest...
there would be no periods of emptiness, no need to escape.
I would always be filled with God.
That, to me, would be perfection.
Nobody can be that perfect...
- not even you. - Perhaps me least of all.
I haven't found it easy, anyway, to keep my vows...
to forgo the love of a woman or of money...
or to be obedient.
That's been the hardest for me, obedience.
But I've learned to obey.
This place has taught me that.
Maybe I should become a priest.
I'd qualify all right.
No woman, no money, and...
oh, do I obey.
"Yes, Daddy. No, Daddy. Quite all right, Daddy."
Why do you put up with it?
Because I can't get away from him.
But you're 22 now. He can't hold you anymore.
He'll hold me till I die.
No, Frank. You're a man...
and past the age when another man can hold you.
If you're held, it's by something else...
or someone else.
Mom.
It's so beautiful.
I've been so worried about you.
Out there for weeks in this storm.
God.
He's got you pregnant again.
He just can't leave you alone, can he?
This is no different from the way you came into the world.
- It deserves the same respect. - Respect?
When he paws at you like a dirty old goat that he is?
He is my husband!
When you insult him, you insult me.
I'm not the Blessed Virgin.
I'm not pure, untainted, and holy.
- I'll end up killing him. - Then you'll kill me as well.
No!
I'll free you!
I can never be free.
I don't want to be free.
God.
Mother.
Look at yourself!
Look at your life. The waste!
You don't belong with him!
Son, you're a man now.
You've got to stop thinking about me so much.
You need a wife.
It's time.
- Father, you're a sight! - I should've come around back.
It's quite all right. Leave your things here. I'll collect them later.
Thank you, Mrs. Smith.
You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen, Ralph de Bricassart.
But, of course, you already know that.
Curious how you view us mortals with contempt...
for admiring that beauty.
And yet you would use it without compunction...
to get whatever you wanted, wouldn't you?
- I thought it was my soul you were after. - It is.
Because at my age, officially...
I'm supposed to be beyond the drives of my body.
And one mustn't expect miracles...
even from you.
How many women have loved you? Besides your mother?
Did she love me?
I don't know.
She ended up hating me.
Because you didn't need her.
Because I needed God more.
Interesting.
And now...
Now you can't need any woman...
can you, Cardinal de Bricassart?
Father, I'm so glad you're back.
Father, what's wrong?
I'll never have what I want!
Never be what I want!
And I don't know how to stop...
wanting!
It's all right, Meggie.
It's all right.
It's just that sometimes, God's lessons are very hard for me.
Like Sister Ag and her ruler.
Yes.
Come on.
It's cold in here.
Good day.
You'll spoil your dinner. No, thank you. Not for me.
Let's see if we can find your family.
Come over here.
And now, ladies and gents, it's my pleasure to present...
the Queen of the 1921 Gillanbone show: Miss Judy Sutton.