FLESH TO A TIGER
Flesh to a Tiger premiered (under the original title Della) at the Ward Theatre in Kingston, Jamaica in 1953. The play was first performed in the UK in 1954, under the title Adella. It was revived in London for the second time at the Royal Court Theatre in 1958 under the title Flesh to a Tiger directed by Tony Richardson. The cast included English Jazz singer Cleo Laine (Della), Tamba Allan (Joshie), Pearl Prescod (Lal), James Clarke (Shepherd Aaron), Edgar Wreford (The Doctor), Dorothy Blondel-Francis (Vie), Lloyd Reckord (George), Edmundo Otero (Papa G), Johnny Sekka (Ruddy) and Nadia Cattouse (Gloria) to name but a few.
Flesh to a Tiger explores the subject of modern-day medicines versus traditional Obeah remedies, a conflict which also becomes a battle of race, White doctor versus Black Obeah as a Jamaican single mother, Della, is put in an uncompromising situation to save the life of her dying baby. The play is set in Kingston, Jamaica. Della lives in an impoverished area in Trench Town, Jamaica, with her teenage son Joshie and sick baby Tata. Desperate to save the life of her dying baby, Della decides to stop using the unproductive remedies of the popular Obeah doctor Aaron Shepherd and instead trust new-age medicine prescribed by the white doctor, White Wolf. Aaron Shepherd is insulted and threatens to get revenge by killing baby Tata using black magic. Joshie and Della are not fooled by his manipulation, but when Aaron uses his power to encourage his followers to ostracise the family from the community, things suddenly take a turn for the worse.
Barry Reckord was born in Kingston Jamaica on 19 November 1926 (under the name Barrington John Record) and passed away on 20 December 2011, aged 85 in Jamaica. Reckord came to England in the 1950s, after receiving a scholarship to read English at Cambridge University. He is recognised as one of the most intellectual and groundbreaking playwrights of the 50s and 60s, alongside other writers of his generation, namely Derek Walcott, Errol John and Edgar Nkosi White; they all helped to pave the way for black contemporary writers in Britain. Barry Reckord’s writing gives light to a range of different societal issues in London and Jamaica.
Other published plays by Barry Reckord include Skyvers and White Witch.
Summary (Extract)
DELLA is at the lowest point in her life. Aaron Shepherds’ followers have been taunting her from outside her house, her eldest son Joshie has decided to leave home and none of the medicines prescribed by White Wolf have worked on her baby Tata. Stuck in a house with a dying baby and no cure, Della has no choice but to take matters into her own hands.
Leave me too, Tata; leave me for good.
What is Della? A dirty frock with a half-dead baby. ‘A good woman’ I hear you whisper, oh Lord? Joshie want goodness? He want station and power, so he sleep at White-Wolf’s, while the good Della dwindles, her future wrapped up with Tata bedclothes.
This useless fever will stay with you, Tata, shake and burn you till darkness come. The young men are for Della, not Shepherd. Tata, if I give you this pillow then plant the murder on Shepherd, how they would root up a tyrant… When the people hear that part of his magic is murder they will laugh and drink rum and spit obeah out. Oh, but the glutinous eye, treasure like its own pupil, the life it once lit on. Let Shepherd and the yard gorge themselves on the stenchy sin till they sicken, I won’t root up my son to purge them… Oh, Almighty God, my life’s in a tangle: single it out. If I’m to trudge on with my necessary purpose, reduce Tata to the unseen foetus I’d be glad to wash out.
JOSHIE re-enters.
You leavin’ me, Joshie?
JOSHIE doesn’t answer, but collects his things and goes.
Then take the lantern.
Exit JOSHIE.
In war young men just walk over to death; with no more thought than in a sleep they walk. So I must learn to use death to strain life clean. Tata, Tata. Good. Sleep. Life not made for use, it made in sport, and so light as it come, so light it should be wiped out. Oh, the long generations of mothers nestling sons, drag the power from my hand. How anxious to keep what breed in a dark corner stink with urine. When I whisper to the young men and they come to one another how Shepherd savage to quench a son, pity will kindle in them, anger spurt up, the multitude lose their dampening fear and blaze. Run, Shepherd, from the heat of that fire. So, Tata, by death you destroy Shepherd and yet make White-Wolf less strong. Now Negroes will wonder whether they should cook the food they can’t eat, wash the clothes they can’t wear, make the beds they can’t climb into, and sleep.
She smothers TATA, and sits by the child for a long time, saying nothing.