All language subtitles for The.Long.Song.S01E01.eng

This programme contains some scenes
which some viewers may find upsetting.

The life of a white missus
on a Jamaican sugar plantation

be surely full of tribulation,
from the scarcity of beef

to the want of a fashionable hat,
to the almost impossible search

on this so-small island
for a suitable man to marry.

Marguerite.

Marguerite.

Marguerite.

Marguerite!

But if that is the story
you wish to hear...

Marguerite!

Then be on your way.

Go!

Yes, go!

For the tale I have to tell
is quite a different one.

Marguerite!

Marguerite!

July, Missus calling you.

- Yeah, soon come. Me busy.
- What you have there?

- Missus' dress. She want it.
- Then go give it.

July, me can have some
of them button?

Yeah, when the Missus
give you dress for mendin',

- then you may have button.
- Molly, come.

The Missus calling you.

July, go see to her now,
she paining me head.

What are...

Yes.

She faced enough.

She two-faced.

She don't want to listen to nothing,
she don't want to hear nothing.

She feels it's too nice.

Not our manners.

Do we have any milk?

- You want have milk?
- You have any cold milk?

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Marguerite!

Marguerite!

Marguerite!

Yes, Missus, me here.

Me come quick as me could.

Me did finish the dress.

I have decided to arrange a grand
Christmas dinner here at Amity.

In England, we used to have such
parties and balls at this time

of year.

Carol singers, roaring fires,
fresh holly berries.

Breathe in, Missus.

Christmases here are so dreary.

This year, I am resolved...

Just a little more...

to give a party the likes

of which this island has never
before seen.

That hurts! That's enough.

Didn't this dress used
to have buttons on the sleeve?

No, Missus.

No, no, that be the yellow
dress you think of.

No, no, look. Look, here are the
threads where they were.

Missus.

Must be them washer
women in the river.

Them slap the dress
against the rock and bash...

No, no, no, no, no...
How many times have I told you not

to let those women anywhere
near my dresses?

I did scream and I shout, Missus.

"Mind the Missus' dress," I
did tell them.

But look, the buttons
come loose now.

No, but they were pearl buttons.
They were pearl buttons.

They was pearl buttons.

Well...

I fear them pearls be back
down at bottom of the sea once more.

I could have you whipped for this.

I could have you sent
back into the fields.

- Missus, no, please!
- Come here.

Come here!

But wait.

I cannot start my tale here.

For it not be plain how this crafty
girl come to be a lady's maid,

nor why her mistress
call her Marguerite,

when her name be July.

No, me must start at the beginning.

The successful cultivation
of the sugar cane crop requires

a tropical climate
and a fertile soil.

Plenty water, plenty
sunshine, plenty shit.

And at the time of which I am
speaking, plenty slaves.

July's mama was a field
slave named Kitty.

Kitty had not felt the lash
of the driver's whip for many

a month now.

And there was a reason for this.

Thankfully, his part was small,
and he was always done quick.

And if she kept quiet,
he seldom hit her.

Tam Dewar was his name.

From Scotch Land.

And she would never forget him.

Miss Rose!

It's so, so pretty.

You not see him in her face.

She be YOUR pickney.

What you going to call her?

July.

But it be December.

Well, she be July.

You!

Back to work.

July.

July!

Come from out there.

We must not stop here.

Here.

Now, come on, you naughty girl.

Hey!

Come on, follow me. Come.

- You, where are you going?
- Me have pass, Massa.

Me and the pickney.

We are go Unity Pen.

Look at the little one.

Isn't she pretty?

John, what's her name?

Tell your mistress
the name of your child.

July, Massa.

Come, sister, this will be
an education for you.

Look at, look at the legs, Caroline.

Like tree trunks.

Feel the muscles.

Come on, she won't bite!

Imagine putting silk
stockings over these,

Caroline?

There are some in England
that say it should be done.

Come, let's get out of the heat.

But look how adorable
the little one is.

Well...

Well, bring her, then, if you like.

What?!

Can I?

Of course, if she amuses you.
She's my property.

She'll be taken from the mother
soon enough anyway.

It will encourage
her to have another.

They're dreadful mothers,
these negroes.

Massa, me have pass.

We are go market.

Well, I suppose if I am
to stay on this island,

I could train her to be my lady's
maid.

They aren't very bright,
you realise.

Please, Massa, no.

No!

- Yes, yes, I'll take her.
- Right.

- No, Massa. She too, she too small.
- Quiet.

Have mercy, Massa. Mercy, Massa.

- Mama.
- Massa, no.

Massa, no. Please.
Please, Massa, no.

- Be off with you.
- She too small.

Piss off!

Yes, I... I think I'll call you
Marguerite...

like the flower.

Ma...!

And that was that.

Happen all the time in them days.

Your pickney not your own.

Your mother is sold away.

You are mine now.

You must do as I say,
otherwise I will send you back

into the field like any other
filthy little piccaninny!

Miss Kitty, Miss Kitty.

You cannot keep coming here.

Come, come.

Stop crying, you stupid girl.

If them catch you, it will be the
cat o' nine tails or worse.

Come.

- No.
- Marguerite!

Marguerite, come back here.

Enough.

Let us rejoin our tale.

Suffice to say that,
despite all her beatings

and whippings, July realise
that her missus never

would return her to the fields.

Marguerite, come here.

For, come, what would that fool-fool
woman do without her?

She was stuck on that godforsaken
island with no husband,

friend or companion.

All she had was that one

little slave girl that she did call
Marguerite...

but who would forever cling
to the name her mama give her...

Enough, Marguerite.

July.

We must have the best turtle soup.

We must have mutton pies and pigeon
pies and boiled ham,

two brace of quail, roasted.

And of course, a turkey.

No, let us have two turkeys.

And duck.

Three, if you can get them,
Godfrey, in aspic.

- All this for seven people, Missus?
- Yes, yes.

And Godfrey, enquire in town
about cheese, and buy

whatever you can.

I will enquire, Missus.

I want candles all over the walls -
100 of them.

Yes.

Yes, I've seen it done in London.

It looks quite magical.

All this be plenty,
plenty money, Missus.

Well, how much do you need?

Well, to start, the beeswax candles
which the Missus do prefer,

be six shillings and eight
pennies for the box.

What? No, that's too expensive.

Now, the tallow candles be one
shilling and one penny for the box.

Tallow? Do you expect this room
to smell like an abattoir?

Then it's six shillings
and eight pennies for a box.

My brother says you cheat me.

How can they be that expensive?

It is not that the candles
be expensive, Missus,

it is just that... you
cannot afford them.

How dare you talk back to me?!

Just get me a good price for them,
boy, or I will have you whipped.

Yes, Missus.

Make sure you put the Irish
linen upon the table.

That will impress Elizabeth Wyndham.

Marguerite!

Hurry up, now.
We have plenty work here, you know.

You no hear me? Hurry up!

Morning, Mr Godfrey.

I'm fed up with these people.
Making me do this, do that, like I

have nothing to do but chop!

Seven people never going to eat
all of these dead creature

in one dinner?

Not even them white greedy-guts.

Come, dinner not just be for eating
Dinner be for show.

The mango woman say,
one day soon we all be free.

Free?

What you chatting, girl?

The mango woman hear
it from the fisherman.

The King in England
say no more slaves.

Yeah, me hear that the fisherman
good friends with the King

in England. Come, we hear all this
freedom chat before.

Morning, Miss July.

My, how you all grow up!

Morning, Mr Nimrod.

The fisherman hear it from the white
preacherman at the Sunday chapel,

- and he don't, him not lie!
- What? Go get more garlic.

Girl, you have no time this day
to chat no freedom gossip.

Of course, me, I've me
freedom already.

Me bought it.

Walked right up to the massa
with £100 in me hand.

Yeah, and where you get that money?

Me free to do anything me like.

Set up shop.

Take wife, if me want.

Mr Nimrod, you want mango juice?

Me make it fresh and sweet.

Get me a house in town.

Miss July, come lay the table.

- We got work to do here, Mr Nimrod.
- Of course, Mr Godfrey.

Massa say jump and you jump.

But I is free.

Not in my kitchen!

Good day, Mr Nimrod.

Come on.

Mr Godfrey, this be a dirty
bedsheet, not linen for the table.

I beg your pardon?

It be a bedsheet.

- It be a fine linen tablecloth.
- Then lay it upon the table.

Why didn't you ask me
first, Caroline?!

This monumental expense for a dinner
when we're hanging by a thread.

And at our busiest time of the year.
To what end?

It will do you good.
It will cheer you up.

John, please.

We need to meet more people.

I need company.

There is no reason
that I should not marry again.

Nor even you. We're still young.

I'm not young by
a long chalk, sister.

And I shall never remarry.

You will not ruin this Christmas
dinner for me, John!

It's high time we had some fun!

Where is he, Marguerite?

- There, Missus.
- John! John!

John, please! Listen to me.

How's business here at Amity, Dewar?

I hear it's been a little slow.

We're shifting 140 hogshead a month,

Mr Sadler, so I think
we can still give you at Prosperity

a run for your money.

You run things here
with a firm hand, Dewar!

Come along, Evelyn.

Damn bloody racket.

Evelyn.

My, that's quite a dress, Caroline.

Look at all these candles!

I don't know how we shall
stand the heat!

Here, there.

Squash up.

- No, Caroline.
- Yes.

- Caroline, no.
- Get up.

I will not.

No, I will not, sister!

Friends, neighbours, er...

Welcome, welcome to Amity.

As you know, these are dark days.

The abolitionists in England
are gaining support.

And yet they are still happy
to eat our sugar

and drink our rum.

And thanks to them,
mutinous talk has been circulating

amongst the slaves.

Now, I have always prided myself
on being a fair master.

But now more than ever,
we must be vigilant

and stand together.

Hear, hear.

Yes, er...

- your good health.
- Yes, your good health.

Merry Christmas!

Those baptist preachers
are to blame, Howarth.

They've put it into the negroes'
heads that they're as good

- as a white man.
- That's true.

The Baptists are whipping
up discontent, and it spells nothing

but trouble for us.

We won't have problems
with our slaves.

There are good ones
and there are bad ones.

You just need to weed out the
bad ones early on.

True enough.

They won't rise against us,
for one simple reason - they lack

any ability to organise themselves.

Yes, all white folk did know
for sure that slaves had not the wit

to organise themselves.

So, of course, it be impossible
that they arrange a Christmas party

of their own, to entertain

the slaves of their masters'
visitors.

No, them slaves could no
more organise a Christmas party

than they could start a rebellion.

Is it me dress you like or me
pretty fair face that make

you both stare so?

Me just recalls there,
me missus did give me cloth to make

- a white dress like yours.
- Cast-off?

I cannot abide to be
dressed in cast-off.

No, no, no. It be new.

It be the finest white muslin
from ship just come from England.

Your missus no give
you fine muslin!

Yes, she do!

Then why she dress so bad herself?

No worthy white missus
be wearing cotton print!

Well, your missus does
have an ugly face!

How dare you impudence me, missus!

Me missus would never
have a maid as dark as you.

I is a quadroon!

Me mama was a mulatto an' me papa
was a naval man from Scotch Land.

Me papa be from Scotch Land too!

Tcha!

You lie!

I is a mulatto - me papa
be the Scotch overseer.

Mr Godfrey, Mr Godfrey!

What?

Tell Miss Clara - my papa be the
Scotch overseer of Amity!

Miss July!

Take Byron and go and get
us some more wine.

Yes, Mr Godfrey.

Just the open bottles, you know!
And no come back

with nothing. Y'hear me?

Yes, Mr Godfrey.

Byron!

You must go to Kingston!

For silks, it's where I go.

It's expensive of course, but...

It's worth it. Yes, one must
make the effort.

Yes, you're lost out here.

Lost!

You! What are you doing there?

I said, what are you doing?

Marguerite, there you are!
We've been waiting an age!

Yes, where is the dessert?

Can't you see she's
stealing from you?

Come here, girl!

How embarrassing.

Come here!

You're a thieving little
nigger, aren't you?

No, Massa. No, Massa. Me no steal,
Massa, me no steal!

- Yes.
- No, Massa.

You're stealing wine!

Sadler, let her go, so she may bring
the dessert.

Please.

Not till she admits she's
a dirty little thief

who deserves a good lashing.

No, Massa, please.

- Sorry to disturb you.
- What's going on?

- George, what's happening?
- There's trouble in the west.

The slaves are burning
down the plantations.

- What?!
- This is exactly what I feared.

We need every man to report for
militia duty at once!

John, you can't leave me here.

Marguerite, get up from there
at once and look to your mistress.

She needs you now.

You can't leave me here! You must
not leave this house at any cost,

- just stay inside.
- God.

Misery.

Marguerite?

Yes, Missus?

This isn't the Irish linen.

My God!

Evelyn Sadler will testify
to everyone

that a soiled bedsheet
was used on my table

upon this beastly dinner.

Some say that the Christmas
rebellion of 1831

was start by Sam Sharpe up in
Montego Bay.

Some say it start in Salt Springs,

when the negro driver refuse

to flog his own wife.

I cannot say.

For when all that rage and fury

was finally unleashed,

all your storyteller could hear...

was the sound of old Miss Hannah
sucking on a hambone.

What?

Can you see anyone?

Anyone?

- Nobody, Missus.
- Well, where's my brother?

Why has he...? Why has he not
sent word?

What if something has happened
to him and I'm all alone?

No be fretting, Missus.

True, you is all alone,

with no white people near.

No massa, no friend, no bakra.

My God, what am...

My God! What am I to do?

But no be feared!

Me two fists is raised.

Them no take you from me, Missus!

Was that a horse? Is that my
brother? Tell me it's him.

It be no white massa.

It be a black man, Missus.

Me go see what him want.

- No! No, no, no! No, don't go! No!
- Missus, let me go. Let me go!

Let me go so me can see what happen.

Now, me turn the key in the door,
just till the negro be gone,

then me soon come back
and set you free.

All right?

Them slaves jump on them white men.

Them seize them cutlass,
bound them hands, blindfold them

and march them to the works.

Miss July.

Greetings.

Good evening, Mr Freeman.

Continue, Mr Nimrod, continue!

And then them throw them white men
in the boiling sugar!

No! My Lord!

You say all this going on as we sit?

You hear me now, this island ablaze.

They be fighting in the streets

and white men be running
for their lives.

Marguerite!

Wait. Miss July, is that your missus?

She not safe here.

She must go to town, Miss July.

Come, there been plenty
trouble here before.

Nothing like this ever before!

I tell you now, there not be a white
person left in town.

Them all dead or gone.

Where them all go to?

Them sail away when
this trouble start.

Your missus must go
to town, Miss July.

There be a ship in the bay.

She must board that ship.

She not safe here.

This island ablaze.

I am forgot! Abandoned by my
own brother.

Do I take the blue one or do
I take the yellow one?

- Or do I take both?
- Hurry, Missus, hurry!

You must board that ship.

Byron!

Have you packed my cloak? I may be
cold upon the ship.

Where's Godrey? Where's Godfrey?
Come on, Godfrey, let us be gone.

Quickly now, quickly!

What, you want me lift
all this into the cart

and then drive you into town?

Do not play the fool with
me, Godfrey.

You know I need to go
into town for my own safety.

Then you must pay me.

Don't be ridiculous! Pick up
the trunk!

But, Missus, you see,
if them fight-for-freedom slaves

find me upon the road with you,

then my throat be cut,
sure as yours.

So, me want payment for taking you.

Marguerite. Tell him.

- Tell him.
- Let her go.

Get up and do as I bid.

No! Marguerite, he's touching me!

Now, her name not be Marguerite,

It be July.

Speak it.

Speak her name!

July. July.

Now, say it to her.

Say, "Miss July."

Miss July.

Good.

Now, you want me take you into town?

How much?

If my brother hears
about this, he'll...

He'll send you all
back into the field.

It's so dark!

Gid-up.

He'll have you whipped.

Lady, shut up!

- Hush your mouth!
- Mr Godfrey, the cover!

Leave it!

- The cover, sir.
- I said leave it.

Marguerite! Come do my hair!

Margueri-i-i-i-te!

Wooo!

Marguerite.

Marguerite?

I am waiting for my plum pudding.

Marguerite?

Quickly!

Miss July.

Greetings.

I am waiting for my plum pudding.

Well...

Here, Missus.

Be careful, nigger.

This is our finest wine.

Am I to peel it myself?

Er...

Sorry, Missus.

Not so close!

Don't beat me.

You stink.

- No beat me, Missus.
- You stink!

- No beat me!
- You stink!

You stink!

Mr Nimrod.

Yes, Miss July?

Is me pretty?

Yes, Miss July.

Prettier than Molly?

Yes.

You is definitely
prettier than Miss Molly.

Miss Hannah say you have
plenty women in town.

That be true, Mr Nimrod?

No, Miss July, no.

But me are getting a house...

in town.

You could come and live
there with me

as a free woman.

A free woman?

But this be the Massa's room.

Massa gone.

There be no white bakra here
no more.

We done chase them from this island.

All gone?

Gone.

Black man gaun rule now.

Mr Nimrod, is me free now?

And so, while the island burn
and blaze, our July was abed,

drifting upon a cloud of
foolish dreams.

Shoo!

Stop that. Get away!

How could she know that the
consequences of her actions

that night would change her
life forever?

Wake up, Nimrod. Wake
up, wake up.

How you could just abandon me
here like a stray dog?

If Tom Dewar hadn't discovered
me on the quayside,

then I don't know what
would have happened.

Leave it, will you, Caroline?
You're back now.

- What more is there to it?
- Just disappeared into the night!

I need you to find him and I want
you to punish him, John.

For heaven's sake, will you let me
alone, woman?

- Let me to bed.
- Yes, but I want your word that...

For God's sake,
will you just get out?

John...

Lord, on this night, I have taken
more lives than I can count.

But still they keep coming.

We are done for here.

Forgive me.

John?

John? John!

God, God!

- He's dead.
- No, no, no, no, no!

Aye. He shot himself.

No, no, no, it's... It's a crime.

- He put a pistol in his mouth...
- No, no.

We'll lose everything.

What the hell is...?

What in hell's name
are you doing there?

Get up, get up.

- Mercy, Massa.
- Stand still!

It was him. He shot my brother.

Not me! Not me, Massa. Not me.

I saw him with my own
eyes, from behind.

No, no, not me, Massa.
Not me. Massa, please...

- If you want to save your plantation...
- Don't shoot me.

Well, all right.

But you've got to tell
the story as I say it.

Your brother was shot
from the front.

So, you got to say you saw this
nigger here shoot him from the front.

- No, no.
- Yes, from the front.

That's what I meant, from the front.

When he tried to escape,
you shot him, like this.

Mercy! Please.

Me? No, no, no. I can't.

Mercy. I am a free man.

I'll do it.

Remember, you shot him
as he tried to escape.

Mercy. Mercy, Massa. Mercy, Massa.

- Keep still.
- Mercy, Massa.

Not me. Massa...

What?!

But where could July run?

Where could she hide?

All she could think was to go
to them field slaves

and beg for shelter.

Help!

Please help us! Help us, please!

Please help!

Help!

Massa John be dead!

He shot hisself!

Help us, please!

Massa John shot hisself! Please!

Mr Nimrod did it! Them say Mr Nimrod
did it, but him never did!

- Please!
- Wait, wait!

This be Miss Kitty's pickney.

Miss July?

Go find Miss Kitty. Bring her
here, quick.

No, no, no, no, no!
Mama... Mama sold away.

She gone! She not...

She here, child.

All these years.

She feel the lash many time
for try come find you.

What?

Come!

Where are they?!

I said where the hell are they?

It's all right. It's all right.

Shhh.

Go, go, go, go, go.

I am a free man.

Him no kill Massa.
Him no kill Massa!

Him no kill Massa...

Don't you dare look at me!

Eurgh!

Mama?

Run, July.

Run!

Mama...

Run!

Run, my girl!

Run!

After that uprising,
so many slaves hang,

that the pile did
interfere with the drop.

For how else to make plain
to them murdering negroes

that they was not yet free?

Miss July?

You have a fine son.
Strong and healthy.

- Take him.
- No.

You going to call him Nimrod after him papa?
- No.

Aww. Hush now.

Me say hush.

Yes.

Me know you grieve bad
for your mama,

but see, all this suffering,
all this death -

a new pickney is come.

A new slave.

Soon taken.

Aww. Sure, sure.

But how?

How could she set this child free?

She found no strength
to smother him,

and no will to hold him
under the river's swell.

In God she had no trust.

So she decided she must
leave this child to fate.

Shh, shh...

Time did stand still for our July.

She was not strung up like her mama.

Her missus did spare her that.

Instead, she was sent back
to toil in them fields.

Hey. Hey, hey, hey.

Look.

And yet the time came
when her missus did need her.

For she was now left all alone
at Amity.

Who else could she trust to press
her petticoats?

Who else could make her morning tea
just as sweet as she like it?

And who else could keep her idle,
disobedient house slaves

toiling at their tasks?

Move on!

In the drawing room, yes?

Yes, Miss July.

And all the while,
time was marching on.

Them troublesome Jamaican slaves
would not be quelled,

but kept on rising up
till that king in England

finally decree that all must prepare
for the coming of the end.

Missus, him come.

New overseer.

Yes.

He's quite young.

Thank you.

Mrs Mortimer?

Robert Goodwin, at your service.

Er, well...

Well, how do you do?

I give thanks, Mrs Mortimer.

I give thanks for the coming
of this historic moment

because, in just a few days,
slavery, that dreadful evil,

will be finally abolished.

Really?

How do you do, madam?

This blue-eye bakra
be come to set all free?

And how do you do?

Tcha!

If only my tale were so simple.

Me is now free.

The wellbeing of the workers

is the key to the success
of a plantation.

We'll need you all to work
seven full days a week from now on.

Why does your mistress
call you Marguerite?

Her think it pretty name
to call a slave.

I must confess,

I thought I should never again
be blessed with love.

We shall have the finest
sugar crop in all of Jamaica.

- Move it!
- Hey!

We be slaves no more!

- Where you be going in it?
- Fishing.

Me can leave, you know.
Any time me want.