ROO: Yes, sir. [Following some interrogation of his own] Enlisted Melbourne, May the third, 1940—if you come from Queensland, soldier, what the hell you doing South in wartime?

BARNEY: You’re not listenin’, Private. We came straight home from the Depot—

ROO: Trained at Seymour, May to August—

BARNEY: —landed in here, ’bout a quarter to six—

ROO has jerked a slim book from the top pocket of his tunic.

ROO: Service in the Middle East, Palestine to Alamein— [Tearing a page from the book] We got cures for dumb insolence, Private—

BARNEY: [alarmed, dropping the NCO pose] Hey now, hang on, that’s your service book—

ROO: We put scorpions in the bastard’s mouth, and sew his lips up. [Ripping out more pages] Service in Pacific areas, New Guinea through to Tarakan—

BARNEY: Quit it, willya?

ROO tosses the pages aside. BARNEY makes an attempt to secure the book from him, but ROO throws him aside with a powerful sweep of his arm.

ROO: An honourable discharge in your case, Private, doesn’t cover areas of non-cooperation.

He tosses the book high into the air, and snaps a salute.

Yes, sir.

BARNEY: Okay, okay, made your point—

But ROO is not to be deterred. In a mood of mounting liberation, he pulls other papers from various pockets and tosses them into the air—not tearing them up, but showering them away in a glorious rejection of all official restraint.

ROO: Army pay book—discharge papers—one month’s re-establishment leave pass—three civilian ration books—one civilian identity card—issued in the name of Webber, Reuben. Sir!

BARNEY: Wouldn’t read about it—

ROO: [with a heel-stamping salute] Permission, sir, to speak?

BARNEY: What else is there?

ROO: [another salute] Last report. Before dismissal. Message for the captains and the kings, sir.

ROO heads for the street door at the double, and BARNEY warns the women:

BARNEY: Beggin’ for it—if the provos turn up—he’s just beggin’.

ROO is through the street door and emerges onto the front verandah. There he pulls the slouch hat from his head, his exaggerated army manner drops away, and he addresses the gathering darkness with fervent words from a half-forgotten past.

ROO: ‘Scatter thou the people that delight in war, O God—the warriors, the tyrants, the dividers of the spoils.’

A heartfelt and personal farewell to arms.

‘And on the day of judgement, Lord, may they be pissed on for eternity by some buck private, so at least they’ll smell like men.’

His fingers tear at the buttons of his tunic, and he lifts his head in a savage yell:

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

He races back inside the house, discarding his hat and tugging away at his tunic as he leaps up the stairs, following his yell with a victory whoop of sheer euphoria:

Yaaaaaahoooooooo!

The immediate stunned reaction in the sitting room is broken by an incisive and dramatic statement from BUBBA.