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not worth the shipping cost – and would often, in time, be lost. Production budgets were
usually too slim to allow for lavenders or other protection copies to be made for
safekeeping at home: the original release prints would serve out the economic life of the
film. No one anticipated future sales to something called television.

There is a postscript to this story. Years later, a travelling exhibition of stills from our
collection, on show at a Sydney art gallery, brought a surprise present. As a kind
donation, someone handed over the official studio stills book of The Flying Doctor,
picked up at a suburban second hand shop. A remarkable chain of coincidence had
given us back not only both versions of the film, but a complete coverage of its stills.
Truly a happy ending. What’s that?

I haven’t revealed what happens in the last reel? Sorry, but I don’t want to spoil the film
for you if you still haven’t seen it. We could always sell you a video …

(3) Ned Kelly
Hanged in 1880, the iron-clad bushranger Ned Kelly had, within two decades of his
death, acquired celebrity status as a symbol of courage and anti-authoritarianism.
Commemorated first in stage plays, and later in works such as the paintings of Sir
Sidney Nolan, he has long since become a national Australian icon. It’s perhaps no
surprise that he has been the subject of (to date) seven feature films, all of which
survive in whole or in part. The first of these, The Story of the Kelly Gang, made in
1906, is of crucial importance because it arguably represents the first appearance in the
world of the modern feature film concept. A cinematic drama running somewhere
between 40 and 80 minutes (there is no exact record) and occupying the entire
program, it was a major commercial success, screening in Australia, New Zealand and
Britain. It was made in Melbourne, and to save expense the producers even persuaded
the police to lend them Ned Kelly’s actual armour for the actor to wear in the film.
Until the mid 1970s,
however, no trace of the
film was known to survive.
We were fortunate to
acquire a copy of the
original programme
booklet, which contained a
detailed story synopsis
and reproductions of stills
from the film. But there
was no actual footage ...

One day I was idly sifting
through a can of short
nitrate film clips that had arrived as part of a small collection. My eye was caught by a
clip of about ten frames with almost square perforations. It was someone dressed in
Ned Kelly’s characteristic armour. I looked in the can for more: there were two more
similarly brief snippets. I checked them against the stills in the programme booklet.
There was no doubt – I had in my hand about two feet of the original Kelly film .It was
not much, but it was something at last. It was a moment I shall never forget.
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