Scene: The same. A week later. 4 a.m.
Before the CURTAIN rises, as the house-lights fade, the ‘Applehurst Theme’ is heard.
When the CURTAIN rises, the music fades, By the light of the table-lamp on the sideboard and shafts of light from the ard-away R, JUNE can be discerned sitting R of the table LC, her head in her arms. She is wearing a dressing-gown over pyjamas. On the table beside her is a bottle of gin, a tumbler, a press-cutting book and her spectacles. The window curtains are open and show a faint blue light outside. After a few moments, JUNE is roused from her torpor by the sound of an alarm clock in the bedroom up LC.
JUNE: [looking up; startled] What ... ? It must be morning. I must have dropped off. [She calls] Alice! Childie! Rise and shine—that’s if you persist in this ridiculous enterprise. Childie! [The sound of the alarm ceases]
I’m in the living-room. [See drops her head oil to her arms]
[ALICE enters quietly from the bedroom. She is dressed only in a black brassiere and pants and carries a bundle of clothing. She puts the clothes on the sofa, moves quietly and mischievously to R of JUNE, and attacks her, pinching and punching her right arm]
ALICE: Pinch, punch, first of the month. [JUNE, very startled, jumps up and clutches the back of her chair]
JUNE: Are you out of your mind?
ALICE: [retreating RC; squashed] It’s the first of the month—October.
JUNE: You could have given me a heart attack.
ALICE: Sorry. [She goes to the switch below the fireplace and switches on the table-lamp R and the standard lamp]
JUNE: [collapsing on to the chair R of the table LC] Gawd Almighty! What’s the time?
ALICE: [glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece] Ten to four. [She takes her slippers from the pile of clothes, and puts them on]
JUNE: When are you supposed to get there?
ALICE: There’s no rush; the gang gets there at about five. Have you made out your list?
JUNE: No.
ALICE: [annoyed] Well, why didn’t you? You are a nuisance. Are you sure you don’t want me to try for Swan Lake? [She takes a pullover from the sofa and puts it on]
JUNE: Positive. I can’t stand those bloody little cygnets prancing about in their tu-tus.
ALICE: All right, all right. Nobody’s forcing you.
JUNE: [rising and stretching] My sympathy’s entirely with Von Rothbart. [She moves to the sideboard]
ALICE: I’ll just try for Giselle, then.
JUNE: Yeah, you try. [She takes a box of cheroots from the sideboard cupboard] And Petrushka—don’t forget Petrushka.
ALICE: You told me last night you didn’t want to see Petrushka,
JUNE: [moving to the table LC] Did I? Well, I changed my mind. [She puts the box on the table]
[ALICE, exasperated, goes to the mantelpiece and collects a Covent Garden brochure and a pencil]
ALICE: Oh, you are a nuisance! I’d put a tick against Petrushka and then I crossed it out, and now I’ve got to put a tick again. [She kneels above the pouffe, puts the brochure on it and looks through it] And now I can’t find it.
JUNE: [sitting R of the table LC] You’re annoying me, you know. Stop getting so—so het-up about your bloody ballet. [She pours a drink for herself]
ALICE: It’s all very well for you to talk—you’ll be sitting at home. There’s a big queue, and if you don’t know what to ask for...
JUNE: You’ve got plenty of time to decide what to ask for. You’re only queueing for queue tickets now. [She drinks]
ALICE: I know. But we’ve all got our lists. [She rises, moves to the fireplace and studies the brochure] Anyway, there’s no certainty that we get what we ask for: you only get so many for Fonteyn and Nureyev.
JUNE: In that case, why make a list?
ALICE: [on the brink of hysteria] You’ve got to ask for it first, even if you don’t get it.
JUNE: You’ll get something you’re not asking for in a minute.
ALICE: [turning to the mantelpiece and writing on the brochure] Anyway, it wouldn’t have hurt you to come with me. You’re up.
JUNE: I wouldn’t be seen dead with that mob. What a collection! [ALICE puts the brochure and pencil on the mantelpiece and crosses to JUNE]
ALICE: There’s nothing wrong with them. They’re very nice, the regulars. I’ve known some of them for fifteen years. Do you know—there’s a woman there who follows Anya Linden everywhere.
JUNE: Everywhere?
ALICE: [crossing to the watch] Oh, shut up!
JUNE: Anyway, I did come with you one day—remember? Never again. All that gossip and name-dropping... [ALICE reaches through the hatch and switches on the electric kettle, then puts a spoonful of instant coffee from a tin into a mug standing on the hatch shelf]
ALICE: The only reason you didn’t like it was because you were embarrassed by the lorry-driver. [she picks up a knapsack from the floor L and puts it on the table LC]
JUNE: What lorry-driver?
ALICE: The one that called at you ‘That’s a nice pair of headlamps’.
JUNE: I had totally forgotten. Besides, he was paying me a compliment—unlike the gentleman in Soho, who suggested that you should wear a pair of sun-glasses for a brassiere.
ALICE: [taking a packet of potato crisps from the hatch shelf] Don’t be disgusting!
JUNE: [jeering] You’re my flat mate in more senses than one. [She pours herself a gin]
[There is a pause. ALICE puts the crisps in the knapsack]
ALICE: George, don’t drink any more.
JUNE: [dangerously] Mind your own business.
ALICE: Night after night I find you sitting up—with a bottle of gin and that old press-cutting book. And then you wonder why you’re tired.
JUNE: I can’t sleep.
ALlCE: You don’t even try. [She picks up the knapsack and crosses to the sofa] You must try to relax—unwind.
JUNE: [imitating; caustically] Relax—unwind! It’s easy for you to talk. [ALICE puts her office skirt and slip into the knapsack]
ALlCE: You’ve been impossible ever since that day Mrs. Mercy came to tea.
JUNE: Well, I’m more impossible since I ran into her again yesterday.
ALICE: Where? [She drops the knapsack to the floor]
JUNE: At B.H.
ALICE: Was she friendly? [She sits on the sofa]
JUNE: She smiled at me—with the same expression as my old cat Tiddles had when she used to look in the goldfish bowl. Until one Sunday my parents and I came home from church, and there on the table lay the five goldfish—[she demonstrates on the table] all neatly laid out, like sardines.
ALICE: Did she—say anything to you?
JUNE: [rising] I’ll show you what she did. Get up. Go on, stand up. I’ll show you what she did. [She moves RC]
[ALICE rises and moves to R of JUNE] You’re me. I was just coming out from the studio on my way to the canteen, when I turned a corner rather sharply, and ran slap bang into her. Go on—bump into me.
ALICE: [peevishly shifting from foot to foot] Oh, I don’t want to do that.
JUNE: Don’t be so soppy. Bump into me. [ALICE turns her back to the audience and feebly pushes her right shoulder against JUNE’S left shoulder]
Oh, God help us! No, properly, daftie!
ALICE: [shifting from foot to foot] I’ve got to go in a minute. [She moves to the fireplace]
JUNE: [moving below the table LC] You’ll wait till I’ve bloody well finished with you. Now then: you’re coming down the corridor. [She claps her hands and gives an imperious gesture] Start! [ALICE takes a run, bumps into JUNE and floors her. The light increases a little for dawn effect. JUNE rises. ALICE watches with a slightly malicious smile]
[As MERCY] Oh, it’s you. [She surveys ALICE with MERCY‘s half-smile] Chin up, Sister George. [she pats ALICE’s arm and crosses below her to R] Chin up, indeed, the lousy old cow. You noticed the way she patted my arm—as if to say ‘Sorry, it can’t be helped’.
ALICE: You’re imagining things again.
JUNE: [moving down R] She’s been avoiding me, I tell you, and I know why.
ALICE: She was probably in a hurry to get somewhere. A committee meeting or something. [She moves RC]
JUNE: They’ve had that. And I found out what happened.
ALICE: [alarmed] What?
JUNE: [sitting on the chair down R] I’m to be written out of next Tuesday’s episode.
ALICE: What?
JUNE: Are you deaf? I said...
ALICE: I heard. So what? It’s happened before. Every time you go on holiday.
JUNE: But I’m not going on holiday, am I? [ALICE is silent]
Sister George is confined to bed with a bad cold.
ALICE: Oh, now, that in itself... [JUNE rises, moves above the arch R and turns away]
JUNE: That in itself could mean a dress rehearsal for my extinction.
ALICE: [sitting on the pouffe] Nothing of the sort.
JUNE: They want to see what it sounds like without me. If I am expendable.
ALICE: What about the following episodes?
JUNE: [grimly] We shall know soon. The new scripts are due in the post this morning. I can see what is going to happen. [She moves down R and wraps her dressing-gown tightly around her] That cold’s going to get worse—I can feel it in my bones. It’ll turn to bronchitis, then pneumonia, and before I know where I am I shall be out like a light.
[She sits in the chair down R]
ALICE: [only half-convinced] You are making a mountain out of a molehill. You’ve missed episodes before—it’s nothing to lose sleep over.
JUNE: That’s what you think. [She blows her nose] Anyway, I’m not the only one.
ALICE: What do you mean?
JUNE: Did you know that you talk in your sleep?
ALICE: I don’t.
JUNE: You do. I heard you. Last night and distinctly again tonight. You woke me up.
ALICE: [nervously] What did I say?
JUNE: You were tossing about, and mumbling something. And then out it came, loud and clear.
ALICE: [unconvinced] What?
JUNE: [leaning back with arms spread out; in a plaintive high-pitched voice] ‘Take me!’
ALICE: You’re lying!
JUNE: [as before] ‘Take me, Isidore!’
ALICE: [rising and moving to JUNE] That’s a filthy lie, and you know it.
JUNE: The ‘Isidore’ wasn’t any too distinct: it might have been some other name.
ALICE: [moving C] I don’t believe a word of this.
JUNE: [more in sorrow than in anger] You’re having an affair with someone, aren’t you?
ALICE: [looking back over her left shoulder] I wish I were.
JUNE: [after a pause; crushed] That was very—unkind.
ALICE: Well, you asked for it. Always nagging me. Even if I did shout ‘Take me’ in my sleep—and I am not aware of it . . .
JUNE: You couldn’t be, of course, because you were asleep at the time.
ALICE: [moving above the table LC] All right: even if I did, it might have meant ‘take me for a walk’—or—[brightly] ‘take me to the ballet’.
JUNE: A likely story. [ALICE goes to the hatch, switches off the kettle then pours hot water on to the coffee in the mug]
ALICE: You always put the nastiest interpretation on things.
JUNE: [rising and moving RC] In nine cases out of ten I’m right. Are you making yourself some breakfast before you go? [She moves C]
ALICE: Just a cup of coffee. I usually have a hot pie later on with the gang. In one of the workmen’s cafés, [She picks up her coffee and sits L of the table LC] It’s ever such fun, really. You get the ballet crowd and the night shift from the market all mixing together.
JUNE: Sounds scintillating.
ALICE: It’s ever so lively. [JUNE sits R of the table LC]
Why don’t you get dressed and come? They’d be thrilled to see you, and everyone would ask you for your autograph.
JUNE: [in a high-pitched tone] ‘Take me!’
ALICE: Oh, George!
JUNE: No, you run along and enjoy yourself. Leave me here—waiting for the new scripts to arrive.
ALICE: I don’t know what’s the matter with you just lately. You’ve become really—morbid. You used to be such fun.
JUNE: What are you talking about? We’re going to that fancy dress ball tonight, aren’t we? I bet it’ll be you who’ll be pale and wan tonight—after getting up at this unearthly hour.
ALICE: [rising and moving to the sideboard] I’m glad you said that. I must take my iron pills. [She collects a small bottle of pills from the sideboard] They help to keep me awake. [She shakes out a pill, swallows it and replaces the cap on the bottle]
JUNE: Let me see them.
ALICE: What for?
JUNE: [emphatically] Let me see them.
ALICE: [handing the bottle to JUNE] All right. [She sits L of the table LC]
JUNE: [examining the bottle] Why doesn’t it say what they are? [ALICE looks nonplussed]
There’s no name on the label.
ALICE: I don’t know.
JUNE: [scrutinizing the label] All it says—[she has difficulty in deciphering the writing] is—‘One to be taken every day, as prescribed.’ [She sniffs the bottle] I don’t believe these are iron pills at all. They’re those birth pills. [She bangs the bottle down on to the table]
ALICE: Oh, really! [She picks up the bottle] Dr Kunjaghari gave them to me. Why don’t you go and ask him?
JUNE: [viciously] Because I don’t trust Dr Kunjaghari, that’s why. He’s a quack. He’s like those Indians who come to the door in turbans, flogging brass bangles for rheumatism.
ALICE: Perhaps you’d like to have them chemically analysed?
JUNE: It would shake you if I did, wouldn’t it?
ALICE: [rising and putting the pills on the sideboard] You can do what you like—you’d only make yourself look ridiculous. [She crosses to the sofa and sorts through the pile of clothing. Contemptuously] Like that time you rang up at the office, pretending to be Mrs. Katz.
JUNE: Well, it served its purpose—it gave him a fright.
ALICE: It very nearly got me the sack. He knew it was you.
JUNE: He couldn’t prove it.
ALICE: He’s a solicitor—he could prove anything. Can’t find my socks. [She picks up the knapsack, puts it on the armchair R and rummages inside]
JUNE: I say—[she looks benignly at ALICE] seeing you in black pants reminds me of the A.T.S. We had to wear regulation black woolen pants. We used to refer to them as our black-outs. One day, a chap came to talk to us on the subject ‘What not to do with our black-outs down’. He couldn’t understand why we kept giggling.
ALICE: [bringing out a pair of long white socks] Found them. [She sits on the pouffe, kicks off her slippers and puts on the socks]
JUNE: [after a pause] Your legs are unusually white—luminous white. Loooo-minous white. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such white legs.
ALICE: They don’t get much sun on them.
JUNE: There’s something uniquely touching about white legs—especially when they are loo-minous white. You’re pale altogether, you know. You’re anemic—you ought to take iron pills. [ALICE throws JUNE a meaningful glance and puts on her slippers]
I mean proper pills—not that muck. [She pours herself another gin]
ALICE: Haven’t you had enough? [She rises, crosses to the sofa, kicks off her slippers and picks up her slacks from the pile of clothing]
JUNE: [quickly] No. [she raises her glass and chuckles] To absent friends. Your health, albino mice.
ALICE: [putting on her slacks; with a smile] You are naughty.
JUNE: Say that again.
ALICE: What?
JUNE: [pouring another drink] What you just said.
ALICE: You are naughty?
JUNE: That’s it. The same inflection. Takes me back years.
ALICE: Oh. You mean...
JUNE: When we first met—in Mrs. Goodbody’s tastefully furnished bedsitters. D’you know for weeks I watched you come and go—and never said a word to you.
ALICE: [collecting a windcheater from the sofa and putting it on] You were different then—you hadn’t become famous.
JUNE: Every morning I used to watch you go to work. Punctually at ten past nine every morning. You were always in a rush.
ALICE: [fastening the windcheater] I had to get on the underground at twenty past.
JUNE: Often you were in such a hurry you would fill over the doorstep; or, if it had been raining, you’d come slithering out, shouting ‘oops!’ [ALICE picks up her shoes, scarf and woolen cap and puts the scarf and cap in the knapsack]
ALICE: I had no idea you were watching me. [She sits in the armchair R]
JUNE: One night, I went into the bathroom just after you’d had a bath. The mirror was all steamed up, and the bath mat was moist and glistening where you’d stood on it. There was a smell of talcum powder and bath crystals—it was like an enchanted wood. I stood quite still on that mat—in your footsteps—and I saw that you’d left your comb behind. It was a small pink plastic comb, and it had your hairs in it. I kept that comb as a souvenir. And all this time I’d never spoken a word to you.
ALICE: [after a pause] You soon made up for it. [She puts on her shoes]
JUNE: That night your boy friend saw you home, I knew I’d have to strike quickly. [ALICE rises, picks up the knapsack, puts it on the pouffe, then kneels on the floor above the pouffe]
ALICE: That was Roger. He wanted to marry me.
JUNE: [bitterly] That’s what they all said—and you fell for it, silly goose.
ALICE: [pulling out the cap and scarf and putting them on the floor L of the pouffe] Some of them meant it; Roger meant it.
JUNE: What are you talking about; Roger was already married.
ALICE: [adamantly] He still meant it. I liked Roger; he had a ginger moustache.
JUNE: What a lot of rubbish. His moustache was ginger because he used to singe it with his cigarettes—you told me so yourself. You said that every time he kissed you it tasted all burnt and beery. [She drinks]
ALICE: [after a pause] I might have had babies. [There is a long pause]
JUNE: [quietly] You haven’t been lonely, exactly. [ALICE picks up the cap, rises, goes to the fireplace, looks in the mirror and puts the cap on. It is a babyish knitted cap which fastens under her chin]
ALICE: [changing the subject] There’s a performance of Petrushka on the nineteenth. I might try for that.
JUNE: [rising; suddenly] Shh! Shh! [She pauses and listens] Was that the post?
ALICE: At this time in the morning? It won’t be here for hours yet. You really ought to go to bed. [There is a pause]
JUNE: [crossing below the table LC to L of it; seriously] What am I going to do? They’re driving me round the bend.
ALICE: You’re driving yourself round the bend. [She crosses to C] Why don’t you go to bed?
JUNE: [sitting L of the table LC; desperately] Because I can’t sleep.
ALICE: [moving above the table LC] Shall I get you some hot milk?
JUNE: Urghh!
ALICE: You’ll catch cold, you know, sitting up like this.
JUNE: I’ve already got a cold.
ALICE: [moving above JUNE to L of her] Well, keep your throat covered up, then. [She arranges JUNE’s collar] Put your dressing-gown on properly. It’s time we got you a new dressing-gown—this collar is all frayed. I’ll put some new braid on it tomorrow. There, better?
JUNE: Thanks.
ALICE: [moving above the table LC and indicating the gin bottle] Shall I put this away?
JUNE: [picking up the bottle] No, I just want to hold it for a moment. [She hugs the bottle]
ALICE: [moving C and looking at the clock] I ought to be going—it’s half past four. [She turns to JUNE. Worried] Will you be all right? [She moves to R of the table LC and faces JUNE across it]
JUNE: Childie, they won’t do it, will they? They can’t, after all I’ve done for them.
ALICE: Of course they won’t, George. You must stop brooding about it. You’ll make yourself ill. [She sits R of the table LC]Why don’t you go to bed and try and sleep it off? You can set the alarm to wake you for rehearsal tomorrow.
JUNE: There’s no rehearsal tomorrow.
ALICE: That’s good, then. You can get a nice long rest. [she pauses a moment, then rises and moves R] Now George, I’ve got to go.
JUNE: [looking yearningly across at ALICE] No, wait a minute.
ALICE: Oh, George, they’ll be waiting for me. [She picks up the knapsack and puts it on] I’ll be at the back of the queue.
JUNE: [rising and moving C] You can’t go like that, you know.
ALICE: Like what?
JUNE: [pointing to the knapsack] You’re not going on a hike, you know. Mind you, donkeys are best for loading.
ALICE: There’s only a change of clothing in it, to take to the office. And a few provisions. [She backs towards the arch R and puts on her scarf] Please, may I go now?
JUNE: Did you speak?
ALICE: Yes, I said ‘May I go now?’
JUNE: [considering the request] Not before you have made your obeisances to me in the proper manner.
ALICE: [alarmed] What do you mean? [JUNE breathes heavily and alcoholically for a few moments]
JUNE: You must kiss the hem of my garment. [With an imperious gesture] On your knees. Go on! Down, boy, down! [She snaps her fingers and motions ALICE down stage]
[ALICE removes her knapsack and shrugs]
ALICE: Oh, all right. [She goes onher knees down R of the pouffe]
JUNE: [moving to L of Alice] Now repeat after me: ‘I hereby solemnly swear—’
ALICE: [mechanically]‘I hereby solemnly swear—’
JUNE: ‘—that I will not allow—’
ALICE: ‘—that I will not allow—’
JUNE: ‘—anyone whooomsoever—’
ALICE: ‘—anyone—[she imitates JUNE] whoomsoever—’
JUNE: ‘—including Mr. Katz, gratification of his fleshly instincts with me today or at any other time.’
ALICE: [quickly] All right, all right, I swear. [She kisses the hem of JUNE’s dressing-gown]
JUNE: [making sweeping gestures over ALICE’s head] Mind you remember, or may the curse of Satan fall on your head.
ALICE: [rinsing and quickly reiterating] That’s one Giselle, one Petrushka, and no Lac—right?
JUNE: [with enormous effort] Rien de ‘Lac de Cygnes’. C‘est juste. [She holds on to ALICE’s scarf. With maudlin affection] Mon petit chou.
ALICE: All right, all right, George, let go. Let go.
JUNE: [still with affection] What’s this? [She looks at the scarf]
ALICE: What?
JUNE: This isn’t yours, is it? [She jerks the scarf away from ALICE and looks suspiciously at it] Where did you get it?
ALICE: Oh, come on now, give it back to me.
JUNE: [moving C and looking at the libel on the scarf] Who is J.V. S. Partridge?
ALICE: A young Liberal. Satisfied? [She makes a grab for the scarf]
[JUNE jerks the scarf out of ALICE’s reach]
JUNE: Far, far from satisfied. How long have you been entangled with this—youth?
ALICE: He’s not a youth. He’s forty-six.
JUNE: Bit long in the tooth for a young Liberal, isn’t he? [Fiercely] Who is he?
ALICE: [shifting from foot to foot] The chap from downstairs, daftie. Madame Xenia’s lodger. [She crosses behind JUNE to L of her and makes a grab for the scarf]
JUNE: [jerking the scarf out of ALICE’s reach] Ah—I thought there was some monkey business going on there.
ALICE: There is not. I’ve only ever seen him twice.
JUNE: How did you get his scarf, then?
ALICE: [after a pause; sheepishlly] I pinched it off the hall-stand.
JUNE: D’you expect me to believe that?
ALICE: [shaken, but sincerely] Look, George, I’ve never even spoken to him. It’s nothing.
JUNE: That’s what you said when you went off with that estate agent for a weekend in Birmingham.
ALICE: [moving L] That was five years ago.
JUNE: It happened once—it can happen again.
ALICE: [looking away] Nothing happened.
JUNE: [suspiciously] Oh?
ALICE: [rounding on JUNE; almost screaming] Nothing!
JUNE: Well, nothing’s going to happen now because I forbid you to speak to him.
ALICE: You must be raving mad. He’s a neighbour, there’s no harm in being friendly.
JUNE: [shouting]I forbid you to speak to him, do you hear?
ALICE: I’ll flipping well speak to him if I want to—why shouldn’t I?
JUNE: [venomously]You fancy him, don’t you? [She shouts] Don’t you?
ALICE: He seems perfectly agreeable. [JUNE’s face is contorted with suspicion]
Yes, I do fancy him—he’s a dish. [JUNE steps threateningly towards ALICE]
[She shrinks back against the sideboard] Don’t you touch me—you’ve no right to . . .
JUNE: I’ve got every right.
ALICE: I’m not married to you, you know. [There is a long pause then JUNE hands the scarf to ALICE and moves up C]
[In a low voice] I’m sorry, George, but you asked for it.
JUNE: You’d better get along, you’ll be late. [She moves C]
[ALICE crosses to R, picks up the knapsack, but does not put it on]
ALICE: Look after yourself. Don’t forget the party tonight. [ALICE makes a kissing motion to JUNE, but JUNE has turned away and does not see it. ALICE exits through the arch R. JUNE wanders up C, turns and surveys the room for a few moments, swaying slightly. She moves to the chair R of the table LC with her arms out]
JUNE: [in her country accent] Ah, there’s my beautiful bike. [She pats the back of the chair] ‘Morning, old friend. We’ll have you started up in no time. [She turns the chair and places it C with the back, to the audience, stands L of it, looks after ALICE for a moment, then makes a starting movement with her foot, and a purring noise to indicate the start of the engine] Prrrrm! Prrrrrrrrrrrr! [She sits astride the chair and grasps the back as handlebars] Prrrr! Prrrr! ’Bye, Jean, ‘bye, Rosie. Tell your dad to mind his gammy leg. [She sways the chair from side to side] Prrrr! Prrrrr! Prrrrr! [She sings] ‘Oh God, our help in ages past—’ Prrr—prrr—prrr—‘our hope for years to come.’ Prrr—prrr! ’Morning, Ginger, ‘morning, Vicar, my word you’re up early. Prrr—prrr! Yes, first call old Mrs Hinch. Prrrr—prrrr! [She sings]‘Be Thou our guard while troubles last—’ Prrrr—prrrr! ‘And our eternal—’—prrr—‘home . . .’
The CURTAIN quickly falls
Scene: The same. Late afternoon of the same day.
Before the CURTAIN rises, as the house-lights fade, the ‘Applehurst Theme’ is heard.
When the CURTAIN rises, the music fades. The chairs have been replaced. The hatch is cleared and closed. Through the window can be seen the pink rays of sunset, which, spill into the room. It is late afternoon and becomes darker as the scene progresses. The room is empty. Laughter and shrieks can be heared off in the bedroom.
JUNE: [off; imperiously] Pull yourself together. Try again, and this time do it properly.
ALICE: [off] I can’t promise I’ll get it right. [There is more laughter, then the well-known signature tune of Laurel and Hardy is heard, laboriously played on the penny whistle.
JUNE enters from the bedroom, in the costume of Hardy, and carrying a carpet bag.
ALICE follows JUNE on, dressed as Laurel and playing the whistle. They march on in step to the tune, down the steps from the rostrum and across down R. JUNE halts abruptly, which makes ALICE bump into her. ALICE blows the whistle in JUNE’s ear. JUNEdrops the bag on to her toe and nurses her foot]
JUNE: [imitating] Hardy]And what, may I ask, is the meaning of that? [She strikes ALICE’s upstage arm with her bowler hat]
ALICE: [as Laurel]Nothing, Oily. I was just playing—a tune.
JUNE: May I suggest that you stop playing—a tune—and get on with the next bit. A-one, a-two . . . [ALICE and JUNE, side by side, do a soft-shoe dance routine, dancing across and down L]
BOTH: [singing] ‘By the light—dum da dum da dum da dum—of the silvery moon—dum da dum—’ [They reverse and dance to RC] ‘I used to—rum dum da dum da dum da dum—with my honey and—ta da da. By the light . . .’ [JUNE turns to L to reverse again. ALICE bumps into her]
JUNE: What was the meaning of that?
ALICE: [imitating Laurel and starting to cry] Nothing, Olly, I was only—practising.
JUNE: [turning away and fluttering her tie] Oh, fiddlesticks! [She moves R and bends to pick up the bag]
ALICE: [following JINE] Did you say ‘fiddlesticks’? [She jabs the whistle into JUNE’s behind]
JUNE: [straightening up and forgetting her impersonation]Ouch, that hurt! [She rubs her behind]
ALICE: [moving C; giggling]Sorry, Only. [JUNE follows ALICE and gives her a great swipe with the bowler hat on her upstage arm]
[As herself] That hurt!
JUNE: Sorry, Satan.
ALICE: That’s not in it. [JUNE, in the best Hardy manner, dusts her hands and crosses above ALICE to L of her]
JUNE: Let that be a lesson to you. [She turns away down L, beaming]
ALICE: [singing the Laurel and Hardy tune] Boop-a-doo, boop-a-doo . . .
[She follows JUNE and rams the whistle against heir]
[JUNE seizes the whistle] No, no, be careful, it’s Miss Broadbent’s.
JUNE: [only half acting] A very useful instrument. [She hits ALICE over the head with the whistle]
[ALICE squares up to JUNE, making sounds of frustrated rage and boxing movements with her hands]
ALICE: You, oh . . . [She backs C]
JUNE: That’s not Laurel, daftie, that’s the Three Stooges.
ALICE: [moving down C, taking off her hat and scratching her heard] Sorry, Olly. [Brightly] Olly.
JUNE: Yep?
ALICE: Give me your hat.
JUNE: What for, Stan?
ALICE: I just want to look at something. [She puts her own hat on]
JUNE: [thrusting her hat at ALICE] O.K., Stan. [ALICE bends over the bowler and spits into it slowly, then puts the hat on JUNE’s head again, giving it a little tap. JUNE makes no protest while this is going on, but watches coldly]
[As herself] What was that supposed to be?
ALICE: [as herself; backing RC]I don’t know. Just an idea. Horse-play, you know. We’re celebrating because you’re back in the series, aren’t we?
JUNE: [with an evil glint in her eye] Just because the scriptwriters have cured my cold, there’s no need to go raving bloody mad, you know.
ALICE: I thought it was funny.
JUNE: You thought it was funny?
ALICE: Yes, I thought it was funny.
JUNE: You thought it was funny. [As Hardy] Stan.
ALICE: [as Laurel] Yes, Olly?
JUNE: Give me your hat.
ALICE: What for, Olly?
JUNE: I just want to look at something. [ALICE gives JUNE her hat]
[She points up R] Look up there, Stan. [ALICE obediently looks up R. JUNE goes to the table LC, squirts soda water from a syphon into ALICE’s hat then returns to L of ALICE]
ALICE: [staring upwards] There’s nothing up there, Olly.
JUNE: Try this, then, Stan. [She empties the water over ALICE as she puts the hat on ALICE’s head]
ALICE: [as herself] Oh! You fool—now you’ve spoilt my costume. [She hits JUNE]
JUNE: [keeping ALICE at arm’s length] Steady, now. Steady.
ALICE: What was the point of that? [She hits JUNE, feebly]
JUNE: Just an idea. Horseplay, you know. [She does Hardy’s slightly reeling turn round towards L and puts the whistle on the table LC]
ALICE: [crossing towards the arch R and brushing herself] You are rotten. I’m all wet. Now I’ll have to change my things.
JUNE: [moving C] Don’t be so soppy, woman. A drop of water never did anybody any harm.
ALICE: Oh, didn’t it? All right. [She takes the flowers from the vase on the table down R and moves menacingly towards JUNE with the vase of water]
JUNE: [laughing and backing to the table LC] Don’t! No! No! No!
ALICE: Take your punishment like a man.
JUNE: [shouting] All right. [She takes off her hat and stands like a martyr with arms outstretched and squared shoulders, eyes shut] Go on—what are you waiting for? [ALICE quickly pulls out JUNE’s trousers by the waist and makes to pour the water inside. Both burst into shrieks of laughter and struggle with the vase]
No! No! No! [They are helpless with laughter, then they straighten up and ALICE returns the vase to the table down R]
ALICE: Never mind.
JUNE: [gasping and putting on her hat] You’re like marshmallow. [The door bell rings off R]
ALICE: It’s Madame Xenia, come to fetch us. She’s early. [She picks up the carpet bag, moves up C and stops, hesitantly]
JUNE: Well, don’t stand and gape. Open the door. [ALICE gives the bag to JUNE, who turns her round and shoves her towards the arch R, giving her a good-humoured kick]
ALICE: [imitating the Laurel and Hardy whistle and still giggling happily] Doo-do-doo, doo-do-doo ... [ALICE exits through the arch. JUNE puts the carpet bag on the floor L of the sofa]
JUNE: I must get it right this time. [She moves down LC, closes her eyes and winds her tie, twiddling it round, like Hardy, and turning from side to side]
ALICE: [off R] Oh! Oh, I’m sorry—we were expecting... [MERCY enters through the arch, looking back in bewilderment at ALICE. ALICE follows MERCY on and stands down R]
MERCY: [moving RC] I’m so sorry to intrude. I do hope it’s not inconvenient. [She turns and looks startled on seeing JUNE]
JUNE: [taken aback] Not at all. I’m sorry, we were just...
MERCY: Playing charades?
ALICE: As a matter of fact we were just getting ready to go out—to a fancy dress ball.
JUNE: [overlapping] Ball—fancy.
MERCY: Oh, I’ll come back another time when it’s more convenient. [She moves C] Perhaps Miss Buckridge could come to see me tomorrow morning, before the rehearsal?
JUNE: We’re not in a rush. We can talk now. Would you have a drink? MERCY: No, thank you. [JUNE takes the tray of drinks from the table LC and puts it on the sideboard]
ALICE: [moving RC; cordially] Won’t you sit down, Mrs. Mercy?
MERCY: [moving to the table LC] Thank you, dear. I know it’s most remiss of me, turning up unexpectedly like this. [she sits R of the table] Actually, I’ve come straight from a meeting—I felt I had to see you personally.
[She puts her handbag on the table and removes her gloves]
ALICE: [anxiously] The nuns?
MERCY: Oh, didn’t the office tell you? We had a most charming communication from the Mother Superior. All is forgiven. But there’s still the little matter of the charity.
JUNE: What charity?
ALICE: The donation you promised to give to the convent.
JUNE: Oh, that.
MERCY: It’s only obliquely mentioned in the letter.
JUNE: [with a wry smile] I didn’t expect her to forget about it. [To ALICE] Remind me to send her a cheque tomorrow. [She moves to the table down L] It’ll help keep their Irish novices in hair shirts. [She picks up a cigar box from the table]
[ALICE moves to the fireplace and makes a note on a notepad on the mantelpiece]
MERCY: Very nice of you, Miss Buckridge. I’m relieved to see the matter settled.
JUNE: [moving and proffering the box to MERCY] May I offer you a small cigar?
MERCY: Oh, no—no, thank you. I gave up smoking years ago.
JUNE: You don’t mind if I smoke?
MERCY: Well ...
ALICE: [moving RC] You smoke far too much.
JUNE: [with a mock bow] Thank you for your touching concern. [She returns the box to the table down L, without taking a cigar, then moves below the chair L of the table]
MERCY: [after a pause] Well, now, Miss Buckridge, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. [The lights dim a little for dusk effect]
JUNE: Bad news?
MERCY: You’re the first to be told. It’s only just been decided; or rather, it’s only just received the official stamp of approval.
ALICE: [terrified] You can’t mean...
JUNE: Be quiet, Childie.
MERCY: Yes. I’m sorry, Miss Buckridge: it’s the end of Sister George. [There is a stunned pause. JUNE sinks into the chair L of the table LC]
ALICE: [suddenly shouting] But why? Why?
MERCY: Believe me, dear Miss Buckridge, the decision is no reflection on your ability as an actress. You created a character that has become a nation-wide favourite.
ALICE: [still incredulous] But why kill her?
MERCY: Why do some of our nearest and dearest have to die? Because that’s life. [ALICE moves slowly to the pouffe and sits on it, facing L]
In Applehurst we try to re-create the flavour of life, as it is lived in hundreds of English villages.
ALICE: But she’s the most popular character in it.
MERCY: [slightly uncomfortable] I know. The B.B.C. took that into consideration. They felt—and I must say I concurred—that only some dramatic event, something that would get into the news headlines, could save Applehurst. We felt that in their grief, robbed of one of their greatest favourites, listeners would return again to Applehurst with a new loyalty, with a . . .
JUNE: [interrupting dully] How?
MERCY: [quietly] It’s not for another fortnight. It’s scheduled for the twelfth.
JUNE: But how?
MERCY: [smiling benignly] It’s just an ordinary morning in Applehurst. The chaffinch on Sister George’s window-sill wakes her up as usual and is rewarded with its daily saucerful of crumbs.
JUNE: [under her breath, automatically, in her country accent] Hello, dicky. [She sits, staring downwards, very subdued ]
MERCY: [brightly] Up the road, in the Old Mill Farm, young Jimmy Bromley, the scamp, wakes up with a cough and doesn’t want to go to school. ‘We’d better get Sister George in,’ says his mother—and he’s up in a jiffy. Meanwhile, punctual to the minute, Sister George finishes her breakfast and packs a basketful of preserves and cottage cheese for old Mrs. Hinch, in bed with bronchitis. On with her bonnet and cape, and off she goes, striding purposefully through the autumn leaves—sound effects here—to the bicycle shed. The bolts are pushed back, and the door creaks open, and there stands her prized possession—the Moped.
JUNE: [in her country accent; quietly] ’Morning, old friend.
MERCY: Whiz—pop—the engine starts—and away she goes. Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop ... ‘Hurry up, Jimmy, you’ll be late for school,’ she calls out. ‘Tell Mrs. Pemberton to give you plenty of homework to keep you out of mischief.’ ‘I will,’ the boy calls back—adding as she drives out of earshot—‘I don’t think.’
JUNE: [in her country accent] Cheeky little beggar!
MERCY: A chorus of greetings follows her as she heads for the open country—the wind billowing in her cape—and bursts, as usual, into a snatch of her favourite hymn; ‘Oh God, our help in ages past.’ Honk-honk answers her hooter in a merry descant as she turns into Oakmead Road, and then—bang! Collision with a ten-ton truck.
JUNE: [very quietly] Oh, my God! [She puts her hand over her eyes for a moment]
ALICE. Is it—is it...?
MERCY: Instantaneous. Never regains consciousness.
ALICE: [weeping] You can’t, you can’t...
MERCY: It so happens that your death will coincide with Road Safety Week: a cause which we know has been close to you for many years.
JUNE: [recovering slightly] I’ve never ridden carelessly. [She rises and moves above her chair] I protest.
MERCY: [anxious to placate her] I know, I know. We’re taking great care to establish it’s the lorry-driver’s fault.
JUNE: [pacing up L and turning; unconvinced] But even so—a ten-ton truck... [She paces down LC]
MERCY: I’m sorry, but there it is.
JUNE: [with dignity] I think I have a right to a say in my own mode of death.
MERCY: [kindly] Now, do leave it to us, dear Miss Buckridge. Leave it to the B.B.C. We know best. We’ve had experience in these matters.
JUNE: [crossing above MERCY to C] If I could have been killed in the course of duty—from some infection, perhaps. [With a sudden idea] An epidemic! That’s it—I could go to nurse a patient somewhere up in the hills, someone suffering from some unspeakable disease ...
MERCY: I’m sorry, Miss Buckridge. the scripts have been typed.
JUNE: But they could be altered.
MERCY: I’m afraid they’ve been officially approved.
JUNE: [moving down R] Then I shall take this to a higher authority.
ALICE: [rising and moving to L of JUNE] Yes, don’t let them treat you like this. You’ve still got your public behind you: they won’t let them kill you off.
MERCY: [rising and facing JUNE and ALICE; annoyed] I’m surprised at your attitude, Miss McNaught: I thought you’d be more sensible. I came here of my own volition, as a gesture of courtesy to a valued and trusted colleague.
ALICE: But—it’s not fair.
JUNE: Shut up, Childie!
ALICE: I won’t shut up.
MERCY: I was going to say that I’m sure the B.B.C. will want to find some other outlet for Miss Buckridge’s talents.
JUNE: I’m still not satisfied about the—accident.
MERCY: [hard] I’m afraid that decision is final. [JUNE subsides on to the chair down R. There is a pause]
ALICE: [to JUNE] Do you think you ought to lie down? You look awful. [To MERCY] She hasn’t been sleeping well lately [She puts an arm around JUNE’s shoulders]
MERCY: [crossing slowly to C] Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.
JUNE: [after a pause] Will I be buried in the churchyard?
MERCY: [moving to the pouffe and sitting on it; cheerfully] Oh, it’ll be done in style. Don’t you worry your head about that. There’s some talk of a special memorial broadcast, with contributions from all sorts of famous people—but I shouldn’t really be talking about that, as everything’s still in the planning stage.
JUNE: Would I be in it? In the memorial broadcast, I mean?
MERCY: Naturally. There will be lots of recorded extracts of Sister George.
JUNE: No, I meant: would I be able to tell the people how the character developed?
MERCY: Oh, no! That would spoil the illusion.
JUNE: But you said the B.B.C. wanted to use me again.
MERCY:Yes, but not as Sister George.
JUNE: [on the brink of hysteria] What’s wrong with Sister George?
MERCY: Nothing, dear Miss Buckridge. She’ll be dead, that’s all. [There is a pause. JUNE’s head droops. ALICE gently helps JUNE to her feet]
ALICE: Come on, George, come and lie down. (She leads JUNE up C] Come on—come on.
MERCY: [rising] In due course, I hope to discuss ideas for a new series with you. We’ll do something really exciting; I’m sure of it. [JUNE halts C and turns to MERCY. ALICE takes her arm away from JUNE’s shoulders and stands R of her]
JUNE: [with dignity; quietly] Mrs. Mercy: I would like to thank you for coming here personally today to tell me of the—the decision. I don’t really feel up to discussing ideas for a new series at the moment. MERCY: Of course you don’t.
JUNE: Please don’t go. Childie—Miss McNaught—will make you a cup of tea, or something. I’ll have to go and lie down—[she moves above the table LC] for a bit, I think. [She picks up the bottle of gin from the sideboard and turns to MERCY] I’ll put this away, in the—[she pauses] cabinet. [She moves towards the bedroom door]
ALICE: [moving to R of the steps] Will you be all right, George?
JUNE: [stopping and turning] What did you say?
ALICE: I said: Will you be all right?
JUNE: You called me ‘George’ then, didn’t you. You’ll have to get out of that habit. [JUNE exits to the bedroom and is heard to bolt the door. There is a pause]
MERCY: [moving C] I really don’t think I should stay any longer.
ALICE: [moving to L of MERCY] Please stay, Mrs. Mercy. I’d like you to.
MERCY: Well, of course—if I can be of any assistance. . .
ALICE: Just to have someone to talk to . . .
MERCY: [crossing to the armchair R] I expect things haven’t been easy for you—recently. [She sits]
[ALICE crosses to RC]
ALICE: [with an anxious look at the bedroom door; quietly] She’s been impossible. Life’s been absolute hell. You’ve no idea.
MERCY: I thought as much.
ALICE: Night after night I found her sitting up, drinking. Said she couldn’t go to sleep with worry
MERCY: Did she keep you awake? [ALICE moves to the sofa, sits, takes off her bowler hat and puts it on the seat beside her]
ALICE: Some nights she made such a din—you know, reciting and things—that the neighbours complained.
MERCY: I had no idea it was as bad as that.
ALICE: It’s been—diabolical.
MERCY: I do feel sorry for you.
ALICE: When she gets anxious, or nervous, or anything, she has to take it out on somebody. Who do you think bears the brunt? Yours truly.
MERCY: I’m amazed you put up with it.
ALICE: I have no alternative.
MERCY: Oh, come, surely there must be lots of openings for a girl with your qualifications.
ALICE: I’ve been with George for seven years.
MERCY: Seven years—as long as that.
ALICE: Yes, she was quite unknown when we first met.
MERCY: I expect she was easier to get on with in those days.
ALICE: She was always very jealous: wouldn’t let anyone come near me.
MERCY: What a shame. Particularly as it’s so important for someone with literary ability to have contact with a lot of people.
ALICE: How did you know that I . . . ?
MERCY: You mentioned your interest in poetry last time we met—you attend classes, I believe?
ALICE: Yes, every Wednesday.
MERCY: I’d like to read your poems, if I may.
ALICE: Would you? Would you, really? [She rises and moves up LC] Shall I get them now?
MERCY: [rising and moving RC] No, we’d better not disturb Miss Buckridge, now. Give me a ring at the B.B.C. and my secretary will fix an appointment.
ALICE: [moving to L of MERCY] Oh, thank you. It’s really awfully kind of you—to take such an interest.
MERCY: Have you ever thought of writing for the radio?
ALICE: It had occurred to me. You know: sometimes one hears such tripe, and one thinks. . . [She hastily puts a hand over her mouth]
MERCY: [with mock reproof] I know what you were going to say.
ALICE: Sorry.
MERCY: Never mind. We all feel the same way at times. Anyway, I’m not responsible for all the programmes.
ALICE: I’m sure yours are by far the best.
MERCY: [very pleased Flatter.
ALICE: No, honestly. Years ago, before I knew you had anything to do with Applehurst, I listened to your talks on the wireless about people’s problems, and honestly, they were really—understanding.
MERCY: [touched] I’m so glad. [she crosses below ALICE to the table LC and collects her bag and gloves] You’ve got a little problem on your hands—[she looks towards the bedroom door] and no mistake.
ALICE: A big problem. MERCY: What are we going to do?
ALICE: [moving C] Don’t know.
MERCY: [after a pause; quietly sympathetic] Is she always so—difficult?
ALICE: Difficult! She gets very violent—especially after she’s had a few pints. You’ve no idea the things she gets up to.
MERCY: [sitting L of the table LC] Really?
ALICE: Oh, yes. she looks round a little wildly, then turns quickly to R of the table LC and sits, facing Mercy] Mrs. Mercy: I’m scared. I’m scared of what will happen.
MERCY: Now don’t be silly. Nothing will happen. You’ve been living through a difficult few weeks, that’s all. It was the uncertainty that made her nervous. Now that she knows the worst she’ll be much more bearable, you’ll see.
ALICE: You don’t know George. I don’t know how I’m going to survive the next two weeks.
MERCY: [putting on her gloves] I’ll do what I can to help.
ALICE: [after a pause] I hope she won’t get in a rage and murder me.
MERCY: [startled] Are you serious?
ALICE: Dead serious. When she gets into a temper, she’s capable of anything.
MERCY: Has she ever—attacked you?
ALICE: Often. It happens all the time.
MERCY: But this is outrageous.
ALICE: She beats me, you know. She hits me with anything that comes into her hand.
MERCY: [with sudden sharpness] But why do you put up with it?
ALICE: [after a cause] I have nowhere else to go.
MERCY: Surely there’s somewhere ...
ALICE: I couldn’t face living alone. Not any more.
MERCY: [overcome] My poor child. This is terrible. [She rises, glances at the bedroom door then moves above the table and leans over to ALICE] Look, if there’s any more trouble—with George, I mean, don’t hesitate to give me a ring. Please regard me as your friend.
ALICE: [seizing MERCY’s hand] Oh, you are kind, Mrs. Mercy.
MERCY: And we must find somewhere for you to go.
ALICE: [gratefully] Would you? Would you really?
MERCY: [patting ALICE’s hand] Leave it to me. [She moves to the table behind the sofa and looks around. After a pause] How pretty this room looks in the evening sunlight. All these charming dolls. [She picks up the doll Emmeline from the table behind the sofa]
ALICE: That one’s my favourite. Her name is ‘Emmeline’.
MERCY: [shaking the doll by the hand] Hello, Emmeline. [There is a pause. ALICE rises and moves up LC]
ALICE: Do you think I ought to go and see if George is all right?
MERCY: [speaking in a childish voice to the doll] I should leave her where she is—the naughty woman.
ALICE: [moving C] I haven’t even offered you a cup of tea.
MERCY: We haven’t time for a cup of tea. We have to go. [To the doll] Good-bye, little Emmeline. [She replaces the doll on the table then moves towards the arch R]
ALICE: I wish you could stay.
MERCY: [stopping and turning] So do I. But I’m glad we had a chance to have a little chat. Now remember what I told you: if there’s any more trouble, get straight on the telephone to me. [ALICE picks up her bowler hat from the sofa and puts it on]
That’s the spirit.
ALICE: [moving below the sofa; in a Laurel voice] Gee, I’m frightened.
MERCY: Don’t let her bully you.
ALICE: [in a Laurel voice] She’s a devil when roused.
MERCY: Good-bye, dear. Must run. Have fun. [MERCY exits through the arch R]
ALICE: [mechanically] Must run—have fun. [She looks towards the bedroom, undecided, picks up the whistle from the table LC and goes to the bedroom door, playing the Laurel and Hardy signature tune. She calls] George. [She knocks on the door and tries the handle but the door is bolted. She calls] George, are you all right? [She taps on the door with the whistle and chants] Geor-orge. [She suddenly angrily kicks the door and shouts] George! [She pauses, then runs to the table LC, slams down the whistle on to the table and throws the bowler hat on to the sofa. Rapidly and intensely] What am I going to do?
The CURTAIN quickly falls
At the end of the interval the house-lights go out, leaving the footlights lighting the CURTAIN, and the following recording is heard on the front-of-house speakers.
There is the sound of SISTER GEORGE’s Moped, a background of country noises, the twittering of birds, mooing and neighing, etc.
SISTER GEORGE: [singing] ‘Oh God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, our shelter from the stormy blast and our eternal home.’ [The singing fades out. The monotonous sound is heard of the engine of a heavy lorry]
BILL: [in a thick North Country accent] You awake, Fred?
FRED: [grunting something unintelligible] Oh, ay . . .
BILL: Won’t do to fall asleep now. We’re nearly there.
FRED: [in a thick North Country accent] I’m not up to it any more—this all-night driving.
BILL: There’s the turning coming up now—don’t miss it.
SISTER GEORGE: [approaching; singing] ‘Oh God, our help in ages past . . .’ [There is a sound of acceleration and changing of gears from the lorry]
FRED: Let’s get there fast—I’m hungry.
BILL: [shouting] Look out. [There is a screeching of brakes, followed by an explosion]
[Near hysteria] We hit her! Fred, we hit her! [The lorry cab door is heard to slam]
FRED: It weren’t my fault. I braked. . .
BILL: Is she. . . ? My God, she looks bad. [He calls] Hey, there! [The sound of heavy footsteps is heard, coming nearer]
FARMER BROMLEY: [in a country accent] What happened?
BILL: Bike came round the corner, oh—fast.
FRED: I tried to brake. It weren’t my fault.
FARMER BROMLEY: [panting] I always did say it’s a dangerous crossing. Is she—is she badly. . . ? Holy Saints! It’s—it’s Sister George!
FRED: It were.
The ‘Applehurst Theme’ swells up and plays cheerfully.