Original subtitles

[indistinct voices]

[metallic clank]

[clanking continues]

[keys jangle]

[indistinct voices]

Follow.

To the right. Stop there.

[buzzer sounds]

To the right.

And right.

Stop there.

[keys jangle, door opens]

In.

It stinks in here...

[lock clanking]

[man] Come in, my youth. Come here, man.

Cha. Me name's Simeon.

It was Alex, don't it?

You want a tea, or something fe drink?

The bottom bunk is mine, yeah?

For the proximity to the shitter.

Boy, me 'dep on hunger strike, and my belly bad.

Me sorry about the smell still, but them things soon pass, man.

Me give you a little space, yeah.

Anything you want just... just help yourself.

[Alex gasps, cries out]

Do you want to end up in hell? Is that what you want?

'Cause that's precisely what's going to happen if you carry on playing up.

Now, I know you've been fighting.

You get up them stairs and wash them dirty little hands before dinner.

And you go straight to bed.

I don't want to hear a word from you tonight, you understand?

Yes, Aunty.

[man] Alec Alphonso Wheatle,

born on the 3rd of January, 1963.

Alphonso, an illegitimate child,

was received into care under section one of the Children's Act 1948

on the 17th of April, 1964,

as the private foster mother with whom he was placed by his putative father

was unable to continue caring for him.

His mother, Mrs. G, a married woman,

deserted him at birth.

He was placed in a council nursery initially

and transferred in February 1966

to the children's home where he is now living.

On admission he was suffering from severe eczema,

but this has improved, and he is making good progress.

Alphonso's mother has had no contact with him since birth.

[snoring softly]

[Simeon strains audibly]

[Simeon exhales deeply]

[Simeon strains audibly]

[Simeon] Oh, Jah!

[Simeon] Cha.

[boy] Wheatle's wet his bed again.

- Aunty! - [Alex] Shut up!

You dirty little bastard.

Ow!

As if I don't do enough for you.

I'm sick to death of your disgusting behavior.

What have I done to deserve you?

You are a horrible, nasty little boy!

[Alex coughing]

[door clanking]

[indistinct chatter]

[feces splash in toilet]

[Simeon sighs and groans]

[Simeon] Jah!

How many fucking times, dread?

You can't use the shitter in the yard instead of stinking out this place?

Me not proud, you know, youth.

Me say sorry once, me say it again.

Dirty fucking rasta.

You're lucky I don't fuck you up.

Fuck me up? [chuckles]

You'd better fuck me up good, you know.

Anyhow you left me standing, I finish your life.

Joker dread.

As if you could do me.

Listen.

[Alex groans]

Calm yourself, youth.

Calm yourself.

[Alex roars]

What me say? Huh?

Listen, listen. Calm yourself.

All right, all right, all right.

All right, my youth. All right, man. All right, all right.

Listen, man. I want to hear. What is your story?

- My story? - What?

I ain't got no fricking story!

All right. All right. All right.

All right, man. All right. All right.

Listen.

[Alex screaming]

Have all night, you know.

All night, me have.

And my ears is fully open.

Huh? So just start at the beginning.

[♪ reggae music playing]

- What do you call it? - Reggae music.

What, the song?

Nah, not the song. Why, you like it?

I love it.

Turn that coon, wog crap off.

We ain't in Africa now.

What you gonna do, fool?

Don't worry about him.

Listen to the lyrics, man. Cool down your temper.

I'm not scared of that dickface.

Shut your mouth, before I fill it for you.

- [boy] Wheats, back down. - [boys] Fight! Fight! Fight!

- Wheats! - Have him! Fucking have him!

Go on. He's stuck, man.

- Oi! - Teachers, teachers, teachers!

Get off me. Get the fuck off me.

Get off me!

Oi. Oi!

Fuck's sake.

Fucking kill you!

Fuck off and take that shit music with you.

- Get him out of here. - [Alex shouting]

Don't make it worse for yourself.

Shut up!

Come here. Come here, come on.

[sharp groan]

Stay there, monkey!

[ragged sigh]

[♪ Eric Coates: "By the Sleepy Lagoon"]

[Roy Plomley] Our castaway this week is a writer

of short stories, of children's books and of screenplays: Roald Dahl.

Could you adjust yourself to isolation, on an island?

[Roald Dahl] Very easily, yes.

I look for it more and more in my life today.

I hate to say it, but I would love it.

How much does music mean to you?

It means a great deal, but not in a, not in a professional way.

In the old days, before I was married,

I never used to start writing in the morning

before putting on some very great music,

like a Beethoven quartet, uh, and sit and listen to it in,

in the hopes that some of this greatness would rub off on me

and that I would, uh, write...

as a matter of fact it helps quite a lot because it is impossible...

[♪ reggae music playing]

[♪ music continues]

[man shouting]

[gate opens]

Shut the gate.

[♪ music continues]

These are your keys. Don't lose them.

These are the rules. Learn them.

Any questions? Good.

[♪ music continues]

[♪ music ends]

Fuck my frigging days.

Man seen bwai fall from outer space

looking less like him claffy. To rarted.

Wha? What?

A blowoh. No tomfoolery.

Are you cuckoo or are you the beast?

Dennis, behave yourself.

[Dennis sucks his teeth]

The man is only ramping with you.

Don't listen to his chats.

I'm Dawn.

My room's just over there.

It's Alex, innit?

You seriously busting P.V.C.?

Frig my days. He is.

He's wearing P.V.C.

From where on this earth did you land?

Shirley Oaks. In Surrey.

Surrey? And they dress you there with garms made by the farm animals?

[laughs]

You got any corn?

[emphatically] You got any corn?

I've got some Pot Noodle they sent me off with.

- Oh, God. Oh, Lord. - [both laugh]

Who the, who the fuck is this boy. Eh?

Money, man. Money.

"Corn" is money. You got money?

Why?

Leave him money alone.

I just want to take the poor sap shopping, innit.

Otherwise next man will jump on him and mash up his claat.

Don't worry about the corn, Mr. P.V.C.

And just meet me outside in two.

And just lose the jacket.

You understand?

You see that?

- He's hearing, but he's not listening. - Just get out.

[Dennis] Now, crook ya ear, Mr. P.V.C.

Whatever man say,

never trod into Dunn & Co.

That's where them dirty graybacks shop.

I ain't ramping, you understand? This is serious.

You see that? That's Farah.

Like what I is modelling.

Anything Farah is on target.

Cha! You're not ready yet.

And we have a priority more pressing than slacks.

Come, come. Let's trod.

[indistinct chatter]

Soon come, brethren. Soon come. Hm?

[laughs]

A blowout Afro, him want. A blowout.

Him speak?

Of course him speak. Just give him a blowout now.

Man have to ask if he want a blowout.

All right. Alex, tell him you want a blowout.

I want one. A blowout, yes. Absolutely. I want one.

[laughs] So wha' you say?

Don't start 'pon me, dread.

So many youth get bust up in a cell.

Something gonna snap, man. Y' hear what happened to Coffin Head?

Mm-hmm.

Beastman arrest him outside the Kentucky,

throw him in a cell, broke up him nose and boot up him ribcage.

For what?

Man and man want life for life.

That's what them Brixton Panther man say, innit.

Things are gonna blow up.

You hear what blow up?

Filthy Rocker's valve amplifier in the dance!

People was vexed!

Girl on the street cussing up the boxboys,

but they can't get no cab to take them to the next dance.

You follow any of the sound system?

But I do love reggae music.

Whaa! See, all the African man love reggae.

Wha' is in our blood.

- I'm not African. - Come again?

- I'm not African, I'm... - Ah dread, you is African.

I'm not. I might be Black, but I'm from Surrey.

- [Dawn] Oh, God. - [Floyd] Bwai!

Him cuss cuss in here.

Babylon have you washed.

Babylon have your brain in the Fairy Liquid.

- [Floyd sucks his teeth] - Who's Babylon?

Where'd you get this youth from? And what this youth chatting about?

Who's Babylon? Babylon not a person.

It's de politrickster and the system that oppresses all Black people.

So where is it on the map?

[laughs]

Man just arrive in Brixton today. Or just planet Earth, I dunno.

Bwai, you have to find your roots.

Alexander the Great Jokerman.

Boy, you have to find out who the fuck you is.

[Floyd sucks his teeth]

[knock on glass]

Yes, I. You all right?

[man] Hail Selassie.

[Floyd] Selassie-I. All right.

[chuckles]

[Floyd sucks his teeth]

What's wrong?

Beast. Get ready to bolt.

What, why?

What you doing, man?

You seriously are frigging cuckoo. You can't do that?

Do what?

Fuck with the beast round here.

They'll mash you up worser than any badman.

- No, they won't! - What?

They're here to help you.

What? Yes, they will.

They will too, Wheats.

Them truncheon butt de sufferer.

On this I really ain't ramping, man.

About to chip for me life.

About to run, man.

Oh. I can't run in these shoes. I've got really bad blisters.

Aah.

Floyd call it correct. You is a jokerman.

Come, come, let's trod.

[♪ indistinct radio music]

You like them shoes there?

- Yeah. - Try it on, man.

- [man] You'll look cool in those, mate. - All right, bruv, try those.

[Dennis speaks indistinctly]

Mmm. That's it.

How they feel?

Yeah. Good but...

- Comfortable? - Yeah, but...

Yeah, all right, all right.

All right, blow man.

- What? What did you say? - Fucking leg it, Wheatle!

But I haven't tied my laces yet.

Oi! Where you going? Oi! Come here!

[♪ reggae music playing]

Cup your hand.

It make your mouth dry, but give you a nice, slow buzz.

I have smoked before, you know.

So give me three quid and the rest of the collie's yours.

[♪ music continues]

[coins clatter]

Yeah, man.

Come, come. let's trod.

[♪ music continues]

[man] Wa-gwan?

[indistinct chatter]

[♪ music continues]

Can I give you 70p tomorrow when I get my giro?

Nah, youth. How many time me have to tell you?

- Return tomorrow. - It will be gone by then.

Come on, Lincoln. I spend all my money in here every week. Please.

[indistinct chatter]

Dennis!

Hey, Dennis. Hi, man.

What happen to you, man? Don't use me name, dread.

Who's selling the weed, then?

Why have you made the frigging announcement, man?

What's wrong with you, eh?

[Dennis sucks his teeth]

Come. Come, let's trod, man.

Careful of the car, Dennis.

Shut up, man. Come.

[Dennis laughs]

- All right me-dog. - You good?

- Me cool. - Yeah, man, yeah, man, yeah, man.

Can I have a draw, please?

Now, where the fuck this youth come from?

Him cool, man. Him safe.

I have some corn.

Yo, yo, yo, listen.

You know how many man get jook up on this road for little more than nothing?

Eh? [sucks his teeth]

Yo, remove you.

Me said remove you.

Badger.

You known me from time, man.

Give my spar a £2 draw, and be happy for the business.

Hmm?

Him safe, man.

[Badger sucks his teeth]

Only 'cause true you is my brethren.

Respect.

Come.

[whispers] Here's the money.

Respect.

All right, now the two of you, now... Fuck off.

[Dennis sucks his teeth]

You got to be more Brixton, Wheats.

You been here six month, and you not learn nothing.

Like blurting out me name for every undercover beast to take note.

[Dennis sucks his teeth]

What am I supposed to call you, then?

Maybe dread, or brethren, or spa.

Or I don't fucking know.

And you want to let go of that frigging bumpkin walk too.

You walk like that scarecrow on the TV.

Shut up.

Nah, you have to strut as a Black man strut.

Any dread can spot you from a mile.

Now we have to chat about the money side,

but I can learn you a few things.

I just spent all my corn.

If me a teach you, me have to have compensation for me time.

You understand.

I've got 30 pence.

Thirty pence?

That is satisfactory for a few pointers.

Now walk.

Lift up your head, man, and slow it down, Wheats.

You is marching like you the Stormtrooper hunting the Jedi.

You got to be the Jedi doing the hunting of the Stormtrooper.

What are you blinking talking about?

You sound like the rarse baldhead, man.

[imitating Alex] "What are you blinking talking about?"

Well, fuck you, Dennis.

I ain't had no one teach me jack shit in my life.

A mum or dad, brother or sister, no one my whole life.

I ain't had nobody.

I is only ramping with you, brethren.

The truth?

I can't know how deep your pain.

You're the real thing, man. No hyping.

But I always kept eyes out for you, innit, Wheats?

Listen to me. Christmas soon 'pon us,

and my mother puts on a serious spread.

You want to come sample the Jamaican jam on the day?

I don't like Christmas.

What? 'Nuff boiled chicken, rice and peas,

roast potatoes, stuffing, hot corn...

All right, all right. As long as you quiet your beak about it.

You'll come? Yeah?

[quietly] Yeah.

[Dennis laughs]

I'm warning you: all my family are a bit... mad up.

It'll be good for you.

Now me reckon me owe you 10p off this lesson.

You was proving be faster learner too, Wheats.

But, I... I'll hold onto that

because that's gonna be 20p for your next lesson, innit?

It's like a little deposit, yeah?

Head high. Chest out.

♪ Jah would never give power ♪

♪ To a bald head ♪

♪ Run come crucify the dread ♪

Hey.

Hurry up, man.

Come.

Happy Christmas, Mummy.

You just come. Where you been?

Food cook long time.

Hi, Sylvia. This is my spar, Alex.

Fix him up a drink first, eh.

[mother] Is me for fix it?

[indistinct complaint]

Come, sit down. Everybody, this is Alex.

Can you hold the baby?

So, your parents Jamaican?

I don't think so, no.

What do you mean, you don't think so?

Where they from, then?

[sucks her teeth] Anyway...

give me the baby.

[indistinct conversation]

[man] Very cold start.

Look, tell me how the garage is going.

The garage is going good family.

I got a Cortina I just picked up last week.

All right. That's good.

I need you to come round, help me do some work on it.

Yes... how's your football going?

[child screams nearby]

[man] I heard about it. Four-nil, you lot lose.

[indistinct conversation continues]

[Dennis] Hold that. Secret family recipe, you know.

Hi, Uncles. What's going on, Uncle? You good?

Yeah, man. Can't wait to have some yam.

Who want food, come now.

[Dennis cheers]

[indistinct chatter]

Guys, come get your food.

- Coming, Aunty. - Coming, Mum.

My mother give me one piece of chicken, man.

[Dennis sucks his teeth]

How much piece of chicken you get?

You got one. You got two piece? What!

There you go, that's yours.

Come out of my seat, man. Come out of seat, boy. Move.

You want more gravy?

Is it spicy?

You nuh like spice? It's all right.

Me can get you some drink from the tray.

No. No, thank you. It looks delicious.

What happen to you? Take your time.

The food no have no legs.

Your mother not cook for you?

Sometimes.

Sometime?

Sometime me no know why me bother.

[nearby laughter]

[♪ distant choral music playing]

[liquid flowing]

[Simeon] Me 'dep on hunger strike.

Ten days now, you know. Hm.

If them can serve halal and kosher, they must can serve ital.

- Huh? - [Alex sighs]

Me believe fighting for that is worth all sufferation.

But, bwai, it wreak havoc with my belly, you know.

And for that, me sorry till me can't sorry no more, my youth.

Why are you even here, dread?

I was arrested at the gates of Westminster Abbey,

with a pickaxe, big so.

Me tell the judge me intent 'pon destroying

the tomb of Edward the Confessor.

In retaliation for the desecration

of all of the Egyptian king by the European man.

Me done gon' broke it up!

[chuckles]

He give me six months.

[chuckles]

So, you're serious about your stuff, then, innit?

Rasta is not, is not a religion. Is my life.

What are you writing?

Why you ask me that?

No reason.

Me write some.

Just notes, man. I don't really have the talent.

What me blessed with is for the love of reading.

Reading's what shaped my life.

Is that your family?

Yeah. The woman in the white dress are me mother.

The minister's sister.

Keep in touch?

Not for a long while now, no.

[Simeon sucks his teeth] Cha.

Enough about me now.

Me never suffer like you, you know.

You know how me end up in the prison, right?

So come on, youth man, what happened to you?

- I took a wrong turn. - No, man.

Listen up, now. Not one man, woman or a child

ever learnt anything in life

without making a mistake.

For me, it was always about the music.

[soft chuckle]

That was it, dread.

[sighs]

♪ One good thing about the music ♪

When it hits you...

♪ You feel no pain Yeah ♪

♪ Me say one good thing about the music ♪

♪ When it hits you you feel no pain ♪

♪ Come and say hit me with music ♪

♪ Come and say hit me with music now ♪

♪ 'Cause dis a Trenchtown rock ♪

♪ Don't watch that Trenchtown rock ♪

♪ Big fish or sprat ♪

♪ Trenchtown rock You reap what you sow ♪

♪ Trenchtown rock Only Jah-Jah know ♪

Jah know the gong speak!

Yeah, my youth. Come here, man.

[Simeon laughs]

Yes, my youth.

Have corn for these, but not this one.

Can you keep it for me, just for a couple of days?

Irie. You have until Friday. Safe.

- Respect, Lincoln. - Respect.

You is too fat. You can't see how you need church?

Fat, stinkin' dog.

You is a scrawny little rat boy, you know that?

You not see how your trouser, them a burst out?

Look how your head big like bread fruit, dog.

- Big like bread fruit? - [Badger] Eh?

You know what, you look like some sewer rat, you know. You know that?

[laughter]

Dog, you is the fattest man in Brixton. You know that?

And guess what? Me still take your girl, you know. You know that?

- You can't take my girl. - I can't? Ask her.

You can only take my girl McDonald, dog.

- And what, that's... - Listen, you is a sausage dog.

Brethren, you see your nose?

You're like Blackwall Tunnel or something like that, you know what me say?

You is a dumpling.

And I'll squash you, brethren. I destroy you.

- You is a Jamaican panda. - A Jamaican panda?

Shut the fuck up, man, before me chop off your two lip them

and make two imitation sausage out of them... to rart!

Say it!

- Me? - Yes, fat man.

You must be mad, you know.

I'm not mad, you is just fat.

Frig my days.

Valentine Golding!

Come find you, innit.

[indistinct insults continue]

[Alex laughs]

Welcome, sir. [laughs]

- What, you did all this? - Mm-hmm.

Check my new suitcase.

Philips 423.

Dread, how you lay your hands on this record?

Spent every penny of my G-checks.

Me sometimes keep a lookout for the bad men up on the line

to make a little extra corn.

Can still run fast, innit. And the beast never seem to bother me.

Check this: Corn is money.

[Valentine] Ohh. Hey, that's the skills man have to have.

Yes, man.

I knew it. You ain't changed.

I have.

A likkle bit. [laughs]

[Alex] You're mad, you know that, right?

- Ah, shut up. - [Alex laughs]

All the leg-back's mine you know, brethren.

Where's mine, man?

[indistinct lively chatter]

[Dennis] I keep telling you. You're not ready, man.

Today's gonna be the best night, I swear to god.

[indistinct remark]

[Dennis] Aaahhh.

[man] Mind yourself, dog.

That's Festus, Coxsone's operator.

[indistinct amazed chatter]

- You telling me, brethren. - Careful, man. Careful.

That's how much leg-back are going to be in there, brethren with that bass, man.

Man, there's gonna be every type of girl here.

Girl from North London. South London.

West London. Southeast London.

[laughter]

Raaahhh.

Me gone. Yo, baby, yo.

- Hold on. Whoa, whoa, whoa. - One-fifty for coming in.

What you mean?

Give me one-fifty to come in, otherwise fuck off. Move from the door.

Man, fuck this.

All the criss girls are with the soundman.

To get dem leg-back is simple.

Yeah. We need our own sound.

That's it.

That's right, man.

But we have to make it proper. That's crucial.

Of course, dread.

To rarted.

We can call our sound Crucial Rocker Sound System.

Crucial Rocker.

Crucial Rocker to rarted, yeah.

To rarted.

[Valentine chuckles softly]

But we haven't got any equipment.

Ah, don't worry.

Me know where.

[power tool whirrs]

[♪ indistinct music playing on radio]

Thank you, Dawn.

In tune to the great boss sound of Crucial Rocker.

- Flash up your lighter. - Easy.

We want to have at least a hundred watts a channel in the amp.

Then we can be nuff match for Tupper King and all them dread heads.

We thiefed enough ply for at least three boxes.

But you haven't got nothing to put in them.

What a blowoh. We never had nothing to start with.

Watch, this sound is gonna be wicked and wild. Trust me.

♪ Wicked and wild ♪

♪ That's the sound of the underground ♪

♪ See me there in a Brixton town ♪

♪ Give the beastman a crucial pound ♪

- Eh! - Crucial. Crucial.

♪ Wicked and wild ♪

♪ That's the sound of the underground ♪

♪ Give the beastman a crucial pound ♪

[audibly straining]

Fuck my days!

Eighteen.

Eighteen, twelve, twelve...

[large dog barking]

Frig, man!

There's a dog. There's a dog.

Hurry up! Move, man! Move!

Move, move.

Hurry up, man!

[tools clatter]

Fuck it!

[train passing nearby]

I'm here to see Cutlass.

[latch opens]

Is Cutlass there?

Mr. Rankin, I mean.

And what if him is?

Him might want chat a likkle business.

Wholesale business.

[dishes clatter]

Youth.

I've come to talk business.

Take off your clothes.

What?

Take off your clothes.

[coat hits floor]

[pants hit floor]

Take off your brief.

I ain't carrying no wire, dread.

I ain't no undercover beast.

Who control Moa Anbessa sound?

Beres.

Who are the mic men then for Front Line International?

Welton Youth and Silver Fox.

Who run tings down by Villa Road?

Soferno B.

Who operate the sound?

Big Youth.

But some man call him Chabba.

All right. Still me question your dialect.

Your accent sound too English. But all right, my youth.

How much collie you want?

Half ounce, dread.

But the brethrens I sell to smoke top-ranking bush.

[laughs]

You know the runnings!

What name them call you, my youth?

My friends call me Wheats.

My sound is gonna be called Crucial Rocker.

[Cutlass] Irie, a'ight. Crucial Rocker. [laughs]

Next time you want to make your order don't forward here.

Call this number.

Pull up your brief now.

[pulls up zipper]

Youth!

I like your jacket.

[laughs]

Aaah! Crucial Rocker.

[laughs]

Big Wheats, me no have no weed left,

so me need three ounces, all right?

Three ounces, and just come link me back next week,

I deal with you proper. I give you something nice, all right?

Nah, I don't know about that one, Badger.

What you mean, you don't know about that?

You see the road, big man, you have to know everything about everybody.

Yeah, but if I give them three ounces, how do I know you'll give 'em back to me?

Oh, you know me, I give it back.

Boy, me look like criminal to you?

You think that me ever rob big Wheats?

- Yeah, yeah, whatever, Badger. - What happened to ya, dog?

I need to go pee, all right? Wait there, yeah?

[Badger] Come back and we talk some real business, yeah?

- Yeah, yeah, yeah. - Go on, man.

[exhales]

[vehicle approaches, stops]

- [man] You got any gear? - What ya talk about, big man?

Yo, yo, move from me, man. What ya...

[Badger shouting]

- Come here. - Yo, get the fuck off me!

[all shouting]

[man 2] Come here, you!

[blow lands, Badger groans]

- [man 2] Get in the van! - Fuck! Get the fuck off me!

[metallic bang, Badger groans]

[man] Get in the van. Get him in!

[revving engine]

[men shout, Badger groans]

- [blow lands] - [Badger groans]

- [chatter] - [♪ music playing in club]

[cop] That's a nice jacket, nig-nog.

Fuck off, bacon.

- [blow lands] - [Alex groans]

- [onlookers protesting] - [cop] Something to say?

Something to say?!

[crowd shouting]

[siren wailing]

[footsteps]

[vehicle door opens]

[door closes]

[starts van]

[cop] Fucking black bastard, he's got a long walk home.

They never learn, do they? They never learn.

♪ Me walk 'pon Acre Lane inna freezing rain ♪

♪ Watch out behind you Watch out ♪

♪ Me sight two beastmen Swear they were insane ♪

♪ Watch out behind me Watch out ♪

Just chill now, brethren.

Tell her hair look nice, that kind of thing.

The needle's stuck, dread.

School finish, and I don't want you to have to teach me so many things

when I know so many rarted things about you.

If I were to blab, you'd have to walk down the street with a bag over your head

and a serious muff covering them ears,

'cause the laughter all round would drown out even Shaka speaker box.

- [doorbell rings] - Hm!

[scoffs] Come on. Let's trod.

[Dennis] Look at this little ras youth.

[♪ music playing on stereo]

- Hi, come on in! You all right? - [laughing] How are you?

- Thank you for coming. - All right.

[Alex, Dennis chattering]

[music continues]

[Dawn] And this is Alex's sound.

Crucial Rocker.

[scoffs]

- And Val's as well, innit? - Hm.

[Dawn] Innit a ting?

Yeah, they thiefed every bit of it.

[Val] Not the vinyl, man.

Not thiefed any of the gold.

- But they make it all themselves. - Mm-hm.

Innit, Alex? With like, a big saw and that.

You gotta hear him MC.

[Dennis] Mm.

[Dawn] Katrina know one of them girl who dead in the fire.

The thing in New Cross last week?

Yeah.

Everyone was chatting about it at the dance last night.

Maybe thinking one of them National Front boy would come

and fling a petrol bomb inna the dance or somethin'.

How many dead now?

Thirteen.

[Dennis sucks teeth]

[Dawn] Thirteen youth dead...

and nothing being said.

[Beverly] And 30 more injured or in hospital.

Them all kids, man.

[Dennis] And they have made no arrests.

That's why the people, them are so vex.

[Dennis sucks his teeth]

There's talk of some kind of march if the beast don't do nothin'.

A march if they're lucky.

We're in the middle of a friggin' war.

And nobody sight who did it.

Nobody? It was dark and one minute everybody wining and dining.

And the next? [sucks teeth]

The next, the yard just catch alight from a petrol bomb?

It's a serious business! Something ah snap!

[Dawn] That's what them Brixton Panther man say, innit?

Something ah snap.

[♪ record starts]

Oh, me love this tune! Come on!

[♪ reggae music playing]

Yeah, man!

[girls chattering, laughing]

Boy, her leg demanding a stroke.

Now your chance, Wheats.

Well, do your thing man, come on.

Don't let me down, brethren, do your thing.

Come on, you're embarrassing me. Do your thing, man.

[sucks teeth] Brethren!

Come on, look at that leg-back, man. Do your thing!

- [♪ different music plays] - [Dawn and Beverly chattering]

[Dawn] Have you had a good time?

[chatter continues]

You let me down, brethren.

You let us all down.

We bring you to meet a fit girl and you don't even say two words to her?

Whatever the matter with you?

She was never going to be interested inna nobody like me.

Cha! That's what I'm talking about.

Talk like that, and you are never even catch them leg-backs who are troggs.

Shut your frickin' beak, man, before I shut it for you!

You know nothing about me, dread.

Now get the fuck out.

[narrator] We didn't know ourselves could have happened, you know.

Anytime. Anywhere.

Fire don't it happen to we and the nations them are ready.

But in spite a all that, everybody was still shocked

when we get the cold facts about that brutal attack,

when we find out 'bout the fire over New Cross.

'Bout the innocent life dem were lost.

'Bout the physically scarred, the mentally marred,

and them relatives who take it so hard.

And you know, although plenty people were surprised,

they no say them kind of thing there could of happened to we

inna this here Great Britain, inna London today.

And a few get frightened and a few get subdued.

Almost everybody had to sympathize

with the loved ones of the injured and the dead.

For this here massacre that we come to realize

it could have been me, It could have been you,

or one of few pickney dem

who fell victims to the terror by night.

But wait. You not remember

how the whole of Black Britain did wrack with grief,

how the whole of Black Britain did turn a melancholy blue.

Not the possible blue of the murderer's eyes,

but like the smoke of gloom on that cold Sunday morning...

...what start.

You no remember

how the whole of Black Britain turned a fiery red.

Not the callous red of the killer's eyes,

but red with rage like the flames of the fire.

It's a hell of a something fe true, you know.

What a terrible price we have to pay though, man,

just fe live a little life.

Just fe struggle to survive.

Every day is just worries and struggle and strife.

Imagine so much young people cut off inna dem prime,

before the twilight of them time,

without no reason nor rhyme,

cast in the shadow of gloom over our life.

Look how the police and the press

try dem desperate best to put a stop to a quest for the truth.

You 'member? First them say it could be arson,

then them say it could be not.

First them say a firebomb, then them say it was not.

Them implied coulda white, them implied coulda Black

who response for the attack against those innocent young Blacks.

Instead of raising the alarm, let the public know wagwan.

Plenty paper print pure lie

for blind your public eye.

And the police, them plot and scheme,

confuse and conceal.

Me hear seh even the poor parents of the dead

them tried fe use.

But you know, in spite of them wicked propaganda,

we refuse to surrender to them ugly innuendo.

For up till now, not one of them,

neither Stockwell, neither Wilson, nor Bell,

not one of them can tell we why,

not one of them can tell we who.

Who turned that night of joy into a morning of sorrow?

Who turned the jollity into a ugly tragedy?

[♪ reggae music playing]

[overlapping chatter]

[passersby yelling]

[Yardman] Yo, Brixton on fire!

- [man] Come on. - [excited chatter]

[crowd yelling angrily]

[shouts] Babylon!

[all shouting]

Go on then! Go on, you bastards!

- [shouting continues] - [man] Rasclaat!

Go on, you fucking cunts!

- Fucking pigs! - [whistle blowing]

[shouting continues]

[cop] Fucking Black cunt! Fuck off!

Dutty Babylon!

[cop] Yeah, come on!

- [whistle blows] - [all shouting]

[man] Come on let's go. Let's go.

[glass breaking]

- [cop laughing] - Fucking leggit!

[rhythmic banging on shields]

[cop] Oi! Oi!

[man] Let go of me!

[man screams]

[siren wailing]

You mother cunt, get off me!

[siren wails in distance]

[men shouting in distance]

[Cutlass] Yardman Irie fresh from the war zone.

Man a man. What that friggin' smell?

Me a smell some rarse foulness in the air.

Yo, Yardman Irie need to discover deodorant.

Me feel sick. Him stink like cabbage water.

And you're put politetities upon it. Man, you reek like rancid baby nappies.

- Shut the fuck up, dread. - You say what?

It was either that or to get mash up in a beast cell, to rarted.

You come here reeking like ghetto sewage. Remove from this yard with speed!

Let man take some collie. Please, man.

[package hits floor]

Next time me see you, me want me money.

Now remove.

[sucks teeth]

Come here and stink up me yard.

[man] What me tell you about that youth, you know.

What you think about this one?

- Mm. - [Alex] ♪ Uprising ♪

♪ There's an uprising ♪

♪There ain't no work and we have... ♪

[tuts]

♪ Uprising There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work and we have no... shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more of this suffering ♪

♪ So we riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more of this suffering ♪

♪ So we riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more of this suffering ♪

♪ So we riot inna Brixton ♪

♪Uprising There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more of this suffering ♪

♪ So we riot inna Brixton ♪

[humming melody]

♪ So we riot inna Brixton ♪

- [♪ music playing] - [chatter]

[over PA] In tune to the great boss sound of Crucial Rocker.

This one goes out to all the revolutionary foot soldier.

Flash up your lighter if you there in the uprising.

- [crowd cheers] - To the murder of Blair Peach.

The New Cross fire.

And then today, the 11th of April, 1981,

where Babylon took a rarseclaat beating.

If you were there, so bawl forward!

- [♪ reggae backing track plays] - [all chant] Forward! Forward!

Forward! Forward! Forward! Forward!

♪ Uprising There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more of this suffering ♪

♪ So we gwan riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more of this suffering ♪

♪ So we gwan riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more of this suffering ♪

♪ So we gwan riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more of this suffering ♪

♪ So we gwan riot inna Brixton ♪

♪ Uprising There's an uprising ♪

♪ There ain't no work and we have no shilling ♪

♪ We can't take no more of this suffering ♪

♪ So we gwan riot inna Brixton ♪

[door slams open]

[shouting voices approach]

[cop] Get...Oi! Get him up, get him up!

Get him out of here. Check that room.

Check that room over there. Take him down.

[cop shouts]

Right, get up!

[Alex] Fucking pigs! Move, man!

- Get off me! - [woman] Get off him!

[cop] Get inside now. Get inside.

- Aaah! - [Alex] Get the fuck off me!

[cop] Oi, shut it! Shut up.

Get off me! I didn't do nothing. This is a...

[Alex sighs]

Me say to you...

you might feel sorry and blame yourself for them things there,

but there is plenty of tribulations

and ways for dealing with dem ting.

And education, me can give you.

That is your key.

- And why would you do that? - [scoffs]

My thoughts long been trained upon the youth, man.

I have to play my part 'cause me know the future is yours.

[Alex sucks teeth] Some future, dread.

For all the youth outside that window, it's the dole office

and the inside of a beast cell, and that's it.

Free yourself from the negativity, Alex, man.

You been lied to about fe we people. Hm?

- [Alex tuts] - Enough of that, man. Cha. Listen,

I want tell you about the system in here, yes.

So listen me, and listen me carefully.

There's enough talk of ism and schism and racism.

Me no defend nobody against the charge of racism,

'cause Rasta don't discriminate.

But the main thing you have to worry about in this here country

is the system of class and classism.

When the children of Africa was dragged to the West, hm?

It's 'cause of money.

'Cause of the cheap labor benefitting the upper classes.

Lining them pockets. Hm?

All know the system, still,

still... the poor little pickney them inna the inner-city school,

them cannot make much progress.

Otherwise who gonna build them house, hm?

Who gonna drive them bus, hm?

Some of them make it through, yes, but only a few of them.

And that is why me keep going on about education.

Education.

You have to supplement what them teach you by teaching yourself.

Teaching how then, man?

You have to unlearn what you have learned.

And you can start by reading.

Reading the scholars of fe we people.

That will turn your life around.

You see? Look.

You saw all them book, yeah? Hm?

You see them?

From this day,

every single one of them book now belongs to you.

And me can recommend you start by reading...

this here one here, so.

The Black Jacobins,

by Cyril Lionel Robert James.

Jah know him will show you the way!

Education, Alex.

Education is the key!

Hear me now? Alex.

You see, if you don't know your past,

then you won't know your future.

[TV plays in distance]

[Simeon] You see, if you don't know your past,

then you won't know your future.

[woman] Just a moment.

[opens filing cabinet]

[telephone rings]

Excuse me one minute.

- [picks up phone] - [woman] Welfare and Social Services.

Uh-huh.

[man] Twenty-seventh of the eighth, 1976.

Report on Alphonse Wheatle.

Date of birth: third of the first, 1963,

Holly House, 121 Wickham Road.

House Mother, Miss Joyce Cook.

In Shirley since aged three and a half years.

Initially had severe eczema and asthma and needed intensive treatment.

Both conditions now better.

He's not had an asthmatic attack for a year.

Chief problem now, daytime enuresis.

None at night.

Lonely boy, but gets involved in sports and general activities.

Because of his sullen indifference,

house mother says she finds it difficult not to pick on him.

Recently he accused her of not caring,

but Martin Jones promptly stuck up for her.

Mr. Hutton, social worker, came fortnightly for a year,

but got no response at any time from Alphonse's relatives.

Shirley High School.

He gets good reports and appears to take an interest in a wide range of subjects.

Spoke of liking German, French,

English, Maths, Science, and Drama.

Alphonse, one Saturday night recently,

came down and said they did not help him at school.

The excellent German teacher interestedly asked repeatedly about his mother

and did not know about his parental situation.

[Badger] Wheats!

Wheats, what happened to you? It's me, dread.

It's Badger. Yes, me spar.

Jesus Christ. You look good, to rarted.

Badger, it's good to see you, dread.

- How's tricks? - [sucks teeth] Bwai?

Yeah, man. Tricks.

You beg you some money now?

Nah, sorry, dread.

Come on. Give me a few pounds, my man.

I haven't got anything.

It's good to see you, though.

[chuckles] Yeah, man, it's good to see you too, man.

Mm.

So, um, what you do, hm?

What's the Wheats doing with himself? [chuckles]

Dunno, dread.

Not much.

I think I might go and find my family.

Rarted!

For real? Fuck.

Yeah.

And maybe try and write a book.

Writin'. Shut the fuck up, me...

Me, me, me...

me have a typewriter for you, you know.

Brand-new. It still work and everything.

It still does work, man. Trust me, it still work.

And you can have it for a special price.

'Cause you is Yardman Irie.

[laughs] Ten pound. Ten pound and it's yours!

Hm?

- Go on. - Come now, man.

- Let's trod. - What happen to you, man?

Dry your eye now. It's a big man hug.

- Long time me no see you. - Good to see you, man.

- Yes, brethren. You want some? - Nah, you're good.

Brethren, drink the drink and I'll walk with you.

- I'm all right. - You sure?

- Yeah, man. - All right.

Good to see you, though.

If you like this typewriter me a gonna get for you.

- It's a real thing, it is a proper... - All right, all right.

- It's just round the corner there. - It better be good, though.

You see the girl there?

[laughs]

[voices fade]

[♪ Bob Marley "Natural Mystic"]