(The Symposium—in bizarre dream form, CROUCH is the
Chairman, ARCHIE stands to one side.
THREE USHERS (JUMPERS) sit in front of CROUCH’s raised platform. They wear yellow gowns.
Stained glass slides are in at the beginning and stay in. The sobs subside. GEORGE lies still.)
CROUCH: Well, gentlemen, that’s approximately two minutes of approximate silence. I think we might proceed with our opening statements—‘Man—good, bad or indifferent?’—Sir Archibald.
USHER: Call Sir Archibald Jumper!
ECHO: Call Sir Archibald Jumper.
(GEORGE remains prone. Enormous applause, unrealistically cut off, for ARCHIE.)
ARCHIE: Mr. Crouch, ladies and gentlemen. ‘Man—good, bad or indifferent?’ Indeed, if moon mad herd instinct, is God dad the inference?—to take another point: If goons in mood, by Gad is sin different or banned good, f’r’instance?—thirdly: out of the ether, random nucleic acid testes or neither universa vice, to name but one—fourthly: If the necessary being isn’t, surely mother of invention as Voltaire said, not to mention Darwin different from the origin of the specious—to sum up: Super, both natural and stitious, sexual ergo cogito er go-go sometimes, as Descartes said, and who are we? Thank you. (Shattering applause.
The USHERS hold up score cards: ‘9.7’—‘9.9’—‘9.8’.)
ARCHIE: Call the Archbishop of Canterbury.
(The cry is taken up by other voices. There is music for the ARCHBISHOP’s entrance. He enters, dressed as for a coronation, attended by two yellow-garbed chaplains (JUMPERS) who
position themselves downstage, facing the audience. GEORGE gets to his feet and looks at CLEGTHORPE, who ‘blesses’ him.)
USHER (to Archbishop): Take the book in your right hand and read what is on the card.
ARCHBISHOP: Nine.
ARCHIE: My lord, it might save the court’s time if I were to explain now that his Grace has certain doubts about the existence of God, and does not wish to take the oath, as a matter of conscience. You are Samuel Clegthorpe, Arch-bishop of Canterbury?
ARCHBISHOP: For my sins.
CROUCH: What does he mean by that?
ARCHIE: I think he was hoping for a Cabinet post, my lord.
… Your Grace, we are gathered together to dispute the goodness, badness or indifference of man. As the senior cleric of the Church of England, you have no doubt thought deeply about this.
CLEGTHORPE: Well, until recently, I have been mainly interested in the birds of the air and the beasts of the field—rooks, badgers, rabbits—and so on.
ARCHIE: Quite. But I think you are aware that there is great uncertainty in the land. The ground shifts. The common people to look to you for guidance.
CLEGTHORPE: Yes. My chaplains had to use tear gas to disperse them. In my opinion, the Government is going too fast. (The CHAPLAINS turn to look at him.)
ARCHIE: Surely that is a matter best left to the Government?
CLEGTHORPE: They were shouting ‘Give us the blood of the lamb.
Give us the bread of the body of Christ’——
ARCHIE: That’s hardly a rational demand.
CLEGTHORPE: They won’t go away!… Surely belief in man could find room for man’s beliefs…? (Behind him the USHERS stand up.)
ARCHIE: Archbishop, the cat has already jumped. (The CHAPLAINS back-flip into the middle of the stage,
flanking CLEGTHORPE now; or cartwheels if back-flips are not
possible.)
No further questions.
CLEGTHORPE: Well, I’d just like to say—I don’t like to see my flock weeping in my garden at Lambeth——
ARCHIE (sharply): My Lord Archbishop, when I was last in
Lambeth I saw good strawberries in your garden—I do beseech you send for some.
(USHERS and CHAPLAINS take a step.)
CLEGTHORPE: Yes, all right, but you must appreciate my position—I mean now that I am Archbishop of Canterbury——
ARCHIE: Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest!
(From each side of the stage, as though catapulted (from trampolines offstage) a YELLOW JUMPER leaps into the middle
of the stage, both JUMPERS landing together in front of
CLEGTHORPE, with the first bar of the introduction to ‘Sentimental Journey’.
The SEVEN JUMPERS (i.e. two chaplains, three ushers and the latter two) are now one unit, using the music to choreograph the threat to CLEGTHORPE.
GEORGE watches, moves hesitantly.
This is what happens now, and it ought not to take as long to happen as it does to describe it: The JUMPERS and the music
together keep the beat: The pattern of men changes and in six separate movements CLEGTHORPE is moved upstage until he is
standing on CROUCH’s desk as part of a pyramid of JUMPERS.)
GEORGE: Point of order, Mr. Chairman.
CLEGTHORPE: Professor—it’s not right. George—help.
CROUCH: DO you have any questions for this witness, Professor?
GEORGE: Er… no, I don’t think so.
CROUCH: Thank you.
(The music goes louder.)
GEORGE: Well, this seems to be a political quarrel…. Surely only a proper respect for absolute values… universal truths—philosophy——
(A gunshot. It stops the music, and knocks CLEGTHORPE out of the pyramid, which disintegrates.
When everything is still:)
ARCHIE: Call Dotty Moore!
(Everything comes vividly to life: loud music brings the JUMPERS to their feet. The Screen turns to a brilliant starry sky. The music is the introduction to ‘Sentimental Journey’, and DOTTY is to make her entrance on a spangled crescent
moon… with the JUMPERS as Dancers.)
JUMPERS (sing): Calling Dotty Moore, calling Dotty Moore, call
Dotty Moore.
DOTTY (sings): Did I hear you call, will you tell me why?
Am I dreaming, is this really me?
Show me where to stand, and I’ll tell you my Philosophy.
Here is my consistent proposition,
Two and two make roughly four—
Gentlemen, that is my position,
Yours sincerely, Dorothy Moore.
As for man, I got my reservations,
Going by experience
Some ain’t bad and some are revelations,
Never met indifference.
Heaven, how can I believe in heaven?
Just a lying rhyme for seven!
Scored for violins on multi-track
That takes me back
To happy days when I knew how to make it
I knew how to hold a tune
Till the night they had to go and break it——
GEORGE (shouts): Stop!!
(Everything freezes.)
A remarkable number of apparently intelligent people are baffled by the fact that a different group of apparently intelligent people profess to a knowledge of God when common sense tells them—the first group of apparently intelligent people—that knowledge is only a possibility in matters that can be demonstrated to be true or false, such as that the Bristol train leaves from Paddington. And yet these same apparently intelligent people, who in extreme cases will not even admit that the Bristol train left from Paddington yesterday—which might be a malicious report or a collective trick of memory—nor that it will leave from there tomorrow—for nothing is certain—and will only agree that it did so today if they were actually there when it left—and even then only on the understanding that all the observable phenomena associated with the train leaving Paddington could equally well be accounted for by Paddington leaving the train—these same people will, nevertheless, and without any sense of inconsistency, claim to know that life is better than death, that love is better than hate, and that the light shining through the east window of their bloody gymnasium is more beautiful than a rotting corpse!—In evidence of which I ask you, gentlemen of the jury, to consider the testimony of such witnesses as Zeno Evil, St. Thomas Augustine, Jesus Moore and my late friend the late Herr Thumper who was as innocent as a rainbow…
ARCHIE: Do not despair—many are happy much of the time; more eat than starve, more are healthy than sick, more curable than dying; not so many dying as dead; and one of the thieves was saved. Hell’s bells and all’s well—half the world is at peace with itself, and so is the other half; vast areas are unpolluted; millions of children grow up without suffering deprivation, and millions, while deprived, grow up without suffering cruelties, and millions, while deprived and cruelly treated, none the less grow up. No laughter is sad and many tears are joyful. At the graveside the undertaker doffs his top hat and impregnates the prettiest mourner. Wham, bam, thank you Sam. (The light has reduced to a spot on DOTTY.)
DOTTY (sings without music): Goodbye spoony Juney Moon.
BLACKOUT
If you don’t love me this morning
Don’t break the news too soon;
Can’t keep the daylight from dawning,
Can’t face the afternoon.
But save it baby I’ll get by
Tell me under a starry sky
Just like you found me
Want you to leave me
Below a lover’s moon.
Call it a day but wait for the night
Don’t go away the sun is still high
I’ll drink to you in moonshine tonight
Tell me I’m through I’ll find someone new
You won’t see me cry.
Don’t have to give me the lowdown,
Call off the honeymoon
You paid the piper but slow down,
Take time to call the tune.
Need time ’til all my tears have dried
Catch me when I’m all starry eyed.
Just like you found me
Want you to leave me
Below a lover’s moon.
Call it a day, it’s nearly tonight
Help me to keep tomorrow at bay
I’ll dream of you, pretend it’s all right,
Maybe it’s true
Tomorrow is new
Forget yesterday.