Echoes
by
Alistair Faulkner
© Alistair Faulkner 1996
11 Coldharbour Lane, Salisbury, Wiltshire, SP2 7BY
Tel. 01722 415117 e-mail info@alistair-faulkner.co.uk
| Rose.......................... | An old woman in her 90s. |
| Young Rose............... | Rose as a young woman.(16 and 19). |
| James........................ | Rose's elder brother. |
| Father........................ | Rose's father. |
| Mother...................... | Rose's mother. |
| Edward...................... | A young officer. |
| Nurse Bridget............ | A young Irish nurse. |
| Matron...................... | Matron at the nursing home. |
| Doctor Davies............ | A local GP. |
| Peter.......................... | A young male nurse |
The parts of James/Peter, Mother/Matron and Father/Doctor are intended to be doubled. The cast is therefore:- three men and four women.
ACT 1
The stage is dominated on one side by the trunk and lower branches of a large and magnificent beech tree, its foliage forming a canopy that extends over a large portion of the stage. Its roots spreading out over a gently sloping bank.
It gives the feeling of an omnipresent witness to all the scenes.
Additional scenery on the opposite side of the stage to suggest the interior scenes of Edwardian decor can be as simple or complex as facilities dictate.
The action of the play is continuous and generally alternates between interior and exterior scenes.
Doctor Davies comes forward and addresses the audience.
He is a Welsh GP in his fifties. Congenial and with a slightly vague manner which hides an intelligent mind. He speaks with the lyricism of his native land even though he lives and works among the English.
Doctor. I have a medal in my desk drawer; in among the prescription pads, the headed note paper and the drug company bumf.... A military cross. Not mine, I hasten to add, nor any of my relations even.... It was given to me by an elderly patient of mine..... Miss Peters. Miss Rose Peters.
Somehow she stays in my memory more than the others, - (He stops and smiles a private smile). In my memory, yes.... Maybe she reminded me of an aunt of mine, - well several aunts really.
When I was growing up in Rhossili near Swansea, there were four of us lads in our little gang of ruffians, and between the four of us we had fourteen maiden aunts.... Something of a record I should think. Fourteen. But we could only scrape together three uncles.... Well that was the war for you.... The ‘great’ war, as they call it.
Yes.... A medal in my desk... That's what she left me.... Oh, and a poem..... I nearly forgot.... A medal in my desk and a poem in my mind.
It is an afternoon in late summer in a nursing home in Dorset. This home, like many, was once a country house of some size and has been refurbished in mock Edwardian decor.
Rose is pushed on stage in a wheel chair by a nurse.
Rose is in her 90s. Frail, but still very alert. The years have been kind to her appearance and she looks several years younger than her age. Her hair is in a neat bun, almost pure white. She has a disarming charm and a twinkle in her eye. The only indicator of her considerable age is the slight tremble in her hand and voice. She wears an amber brooch of a butterfly in all the scenes. At present she is holding a book.
The nurse is in her early twenties and is of Irish origin. She is bright and cheerful and has a genuine affection for her elderly patients. Her name is Bridget.
Bridget. Do you want to sit in the sun by the window, or shall I put you in the shade?
Rose. I'd like to sit in the sun please.
Bridget. Right. There you go now..... And would you like me to fetch you another rug to go over you?
Rose. No. I'm fine, dear.
Bridget. It's no bother, you know. The sun will go behind the tree soon and you'll be in the shade then.
Rose. No, It's quite all right.
Bridget. Fine.... (Looking out at the tree) That big aul' thing shades most of the garden on this side of the house. It needs cutting down so it does.
Rose. Cutting down? Oh, no, no, that won't do...... It's such a beautiful tree.
Bridget. But it's much too close to the house.
Rose. What harm is it doing to deserve that? Cutting down?
Bridget. Well, maybe.... (Making to go). I'll be coming round with tea in a while. Will you be all right till then?
Rose. Yes, I'm fine.
Bridget. Right then.
Rose. (Looking at the tree). It's a beech, you know.
Bridget. What's that?
Rose. The tree.
Bridget. Oh.... Is that so?
Rose. One of Napoleon's Sentinels perhaps.
Bridget. Napoleon's what?
Rose. Sentinels. French prisoners planted them during the Napoleonic wars. The big avenue at Badbury Rings and all round here. Didn't you know that?
Bridget. Napoleon? Well that certainly makes it old then.
Rose. If my brother were here he could have told us more about it.
Bridget. Was that his job then? History teacher or something?
Rose. Heavens, no.... I mean trees... As a boy he loved to climb them.
Bridget. Don't they all?
Rose. Oh but James was different. Trees, telegraph poles, even a church steeple once. Anything to be up there in the sky..... Fifty feet, a hundred feet, the higher the better. He said it was the closest thing to being a bird.
Bridget. A hundred feet up in the air did you say? Sweet God, that would never do for me. I've no head for heights at all. I can't even climb a ladder.
Rose. I climbed the trees too. I wasn't as fearless as James, but I still loved to sit among the big strong branches and look down on the world.
They are both looking out at the tree.
Bridget. Napoleon's Sentinel is it?.... Well, perhaps we'll let him stand guard over us for a while longer then, even if the old fella does cut out the sun of an afternoon.
Peter, a male nurse from the local General Hospital, enters; quietly and unnoticed.
He is a Londoner in his early twenties; cocky but likeable.
Peter. (Whispering) Hey, Bridget!
Bridget. Sweet God you made me jump! What are you doing here?
Peter. I tunnelled under the perimeter fence of the hospital and legged it up the road here to get five minutes with my beautiful Bridget.
Bridget. You'll get me the sack, Peter Skinner, so you will! You shouldn't be here.
Peter. Ah, now, that's where you're wrong see. Because, actually, I'm here on official business.
Bridget. I don't believe you.
Peter. Straight up. Dr Davies wanted some samples from here taken down the General for analysis, and I volunteered. (He notices Rose). Morning.
Rose. Good morning.
Bridget. This is Rose. Rose, this is Peter from the General Hospital down the road.
Rose. So I gathered.
Peter. Hello Rose.
Bridget. Peter likes to think I'm his girl friend.... But I'm not.
Peter. Ooh, she's a cruel one... I'm crazy about her, Rose, honest... D' you know what it is? It's her voice I've fallen for. I just love the Irish accent.
Bridget. Will you listen to him?
Peter. (Swooning) Do you hear that? It makes me go all weak at the knees.
Bridget. Stop it now.
Peter. I've always had a liking for Irish girls, I can't help it.... D' you know, I only became a nurse because there are so many of them in the hospitals.... I broke my leg when I was sixteen and spent a week surrounded by them.... Bliss! I thought - right, that's the job for me!
Rose laughs.
Bridget. Don't believe a word he says.
Peter. Just listen to that. It's like, - it's like - the taste of Guinness and clean fresh air all rolled in to one.
Bridget. Get away with you... Look, if matron catches you in here you'll be for the high jump. You'd better collect your samples and go, before you get me in to trouble.
Peter. Right. Your wish is my command. I'll go - on one condition.
Bridget. What's that?
Peter. (Putting his arms round her waist). Give us a kiss!
Bridget. (Pushing him away). I will not!
Peter. Oh?.. Spoil sport.
Bridget. Go on. Away with you!
Peter. All right, all right. But just say my name again. Go on, please.
Bridget. (Reluctantly). Peter.
Peter.(Imitating her). Peter, Peter, Peter. That's gorgeous. (He starts to go). Oh, I nearly forgot. Can you get a night off Saturday week?
Bridget. Why?
Peter. There's a dance on at the recreation hall... Irish night. There's going to be a real ceilidh band.... I thought you might like to go.
Bridget. Well, I'm supposed to be on duty, but I might be able to swap.
Peter. Great!
Bridget. I'll think about it.
Peter. Only it's my last free Saturday night for ages, see. I go on to a different duty after that.... You'd enjoy the dancing.
Bridget. Well, I'll have to clear the swap with matron.
Peter. Good... You should see this one dance Rose.
He grabs hold of her and starts to dance.
Bridget. Stop it now.
Peter. Her feet don't touch the floor at all, I swear it.
Bridget. Get away with you.
Matron enters unseen by the others. She is in her late forties. An efficient and professional administrator but with an air of remoteness about her.
Peter. She sort of whizzes round the hall about six inches off the ground the whole time.... And there's me thumping along behind her.
Bridget. Will you listen to him.
Matron. I know this used to be a ball room, nurse, but I don't think we need a practical demonstration.
They stop immediately.
Bridget. Sorry, Matron. Peter was just..... He was just...
Peter. I was just on an errand for Doctor Davies.
Matron. Yes, he phoned me.... Could you come up to room five please, Bridget, and help me with Mr Brent. I'll just get the drugs book. (Looking at her fob watch). Two minutes.
Bridget. Yes, Matron.
Matron. The samples are at reception, young man. You could have collected them from there.
Peter. Oh... Right.
Matron. Room five, nurse.
Bridget. Yes.
Matron exits.
Peter. Bli'me.
Bridget. Come on. You'd better be off.
Peter. Yea, Okay... But you'll ask the dragon about changing duty?
Bridget. Yes, but when she's in a better mood.
Peter. Right... I'll give you a bell later on... Cheery-o then.
Bridget. Bye.
Peter. Cheery-o Rose.
Rose. Good bye... ah...
Peter. Peter.
Rose. Peter, yes.
Peter and Bridget are close together at the exit. He is about to go when he suddenly points out front.
Peter. Cor, look at that!
Bridget. (looking) What?
Peter. (Putting his arm round her waist and planting a smacking kiss on her cheek). That.
Bridget. Why, you...
Peter winks at her and exits rapidly.
Bridget. The great eejit. Did you see that?
Rose. He seems to like you.
Bridget. Like me? You can say that again. I can't seem to shake him off.
Rose. Do you want to shake him off?
Bridget. I don't know... Perhaps not. He's quite fun to go out with. He makes me laugh.
Rose. He's rather - well, what we would have called - forward.
Bridget. Forward? Forward is it?... Brazen, I'd call it. But I do like him I suppose.... And I do like dancing.
Rose. Dancing?... Oh, yes.. Dancing.
Bridget. Always have.
Pause.
Rose. So this used to be a ball room then?
Bridget. A long while ago of course, when the Manor was a hotel.
Rose. (Looking around). Yes. I can just imagine.. But that's why I like it here...... I didn't like that new place I was in, all fluorescent lighting and strange pictures on the walls. I like it here much better.
Pause.
Bridget. Good..... Well, I must be off or Matron will be on the war path. (starts to go) I'll leave your man there to keep an eye on you.
Rose. My man?
Bridget. Napoleon's whatsit or whatever.
Rose. (Smiling) Oh yes. Napoleon's whatsit.
The Nurse exits.
Rose picks up her book and opens it, but almost immediately looks up and out at the tree.
Rose. Look at this beautiful tree James, look at this beautiful tree.
The lighting changes, but Rose remains visible in her wheel chair on the periphery; an observer.
The scene is a hill top near the coast in Dorset during a hot summer's day in July 1914.
Young Rose enters, appearing over the top of the bank from the back stage area. She is a girl of sixteen. Her long golden hair is hanging loose down her back and she wears a simple, but attractive full length skirt and blouse of the period.
She has been running up the hill holding her skirts up and now stops, breathless at the top.
Young Rose. (Calling back) Look at this beautiful tree James, look at this beautiful tree.
She stands looking up into the branches still panting for breath. A few seconds later James appears over the top of the bank; he too has been running up the hill.
James is a handsome and athletic young man of eighteen. He wears a light suit, but carries the jacket slung over his shoulder. He has the same disarming charm and glint in the eye as his modern-day reincarnation, but public school has made him sound very different.
Young Rose. (As James reaches her) Beat you.
James. I gave you too much of a head start that's all.
Young Rose. What rot!
James. And I had to stop and take my jacket off half way up.
Young Rose. You just don't want to admit that I can run as fast as you.
James. Nonsense. It's a fact, I had to take my jacket off.
She gives him a playful push and he collapses down on to the bank
James. All right, all right. You win. (He lays out face upward)
Rose calls back down the hill.
Young Rose. We've found a splendid place for the picnic! (She waves, then comes back under the tree)
James. Isn't this glorious?(He closes his eyes)
Young Rose. They're miles away, but I think father heard me.... He waved anyway.
James. I could lie here forever. It's so warm isn't it?
Young Rose looks up at the trees, but it is Old Rose who speaks her lines.
Rose. What kind of tree is this?
James. (Without opening his eyes) Beech.
Rose. How old do you think?
James. (Briefly looking at it) A hundred years perhaps.
Rose. Could you climb it?
James. (Eyes closed again) No.
Rose. Why not?
James. The trunk's too smooth. You can't get a grip, and the lowest branches are well out of reach.
Young rose turns away.
Young Rose. Pity. (Pause, then gazing up into the branches again) But isn't he magnificent?
James. He?
Young Rose. Yes. He.
James. Why can't it be a she?
Young Rose. Oh no, it's definitely a he. Aren't you... George?... Don't you think he looks like a George? (She goes up to the trunk and puts her arms round it). Hello George. (She kisses the trunk).
James. (Laughing) You really are a case Rose.
Young Rose. ( She looks down the hill again and waves). They've just reached the bottom of the hill. (She comes back to the tree)........You know, I'm sure natives in the jungles of Africa climb trees like this. Perhaps bare feet help them to get a grip on the trunk. What do you think?
James has sat up and is listening intently to something in the distance.
Young Rose. James?
James. Sh! Listen.
Young Rose. (Pause-listening) I can't hear anything.
James. (Getting up and coming forward from under the tree). In the distance. Can't you hear it? It's an aeroplane, somewhere over there. (He starts scanning the sky).
Young Rose. I can hear something, but it could be a motor car.
James. No it's an aeroplane. It's got that steady drone....... Look, there it is.
Young Rose. where?
James. There. See it? Directly above that clump of trees on the ridge.
Young Rose. Oh yes..... Isn't it tiny?
Rose. Like a toy.
James. It looks like a two seater. It could be out from Netheravon.
Young Rose. Where's that?
James. Salisbury plain. It's where number three squadron is based. They're probably preparing to cross over to France.
Young Rose has turned away
James. What's the matter?
Young Rose. Nothing. It's just that for a while I had quite forgotten.
James. Sorry.
Young Rose. It's so beautiful here. It seems like another world.
James. You mustn't worry you know. (He puts his arm round her shoulder).
Young Rose. No.
They stand and watch the aeroplane.
James. It must be priceless being up there in control of one of those machines. To go where you like, free as a bird, sailing along among the clouds....... Wouldn't you like to have a bash at something like that?
Young Rose. Yes. I think I would.... But I don't think father would allow it. I've practically had to blackmail him just to teach me to drive.
They both stand in silence for a short while watching the aeroplane.
This time it is James' line that Old Rose utters.
Old Rose. "The tingling desert of the sky"
Young Rose. That's beautiful.
James. Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Young Rose. "The tingling desert of the sky".... (Pause) There.............It's gone.
There is a pause as Young Rose turns away and sits down on the bank.
James. You know, a few weeks ago, old Robinson our science master took a group of us to the flying school at Brooklands. We had a guided tour of the aircraft hangars and then we watched as one of the instructors took off and did some stunts. Big, open loops, a fast dive then a low pass over the aerodrome just a few feet off the ground. It looked such wonderful sport........ I've got to try it Sis'. I just know it's something I'd be good at. I'm going to ask father if I can go to Brooklands before I start university, and learn to fly.
Young Rose. It's not fair. Boys have all the fun.
James. Yes, but once I had my Aero Club certificate I could take you up with me. Wouldn't that be grand?.
Father and mother have appeared over the top of the bank. They carry a small wicker picnic hamper between them. A kite rests on top. Father is a Liberal Member of Parliament of the Edwardian vintage and is about fifty years of age. He sports substantial side whiskers. Mother is an elegant Edwardian lady but with a slightly pallid complexion.
Father. I say, that was quite a hill. What was wrong with having the picnic at the bottom? I'm sure you didn't need to drag us up here. You know your mother isn't strong.
Young Rose. There's a cool breeze up here, and there's a wonderful view.
Father takes the hamper and puts it down on the bank. Mother removes her hat and fans herself with it.
Mother. Don't worry, Arthur, I'm fine. And Rose is right, it is nice up here.
Father. (To James). And what's all this about Aero Club certificates?
James. Oh that.... I was going to ask you, father. I'd.... Well I'd like to learn to fly.
Father. Good God, you wouldn't catch me up in one of those things.
James. I went with some of the chaps to Brooklands just before the end of term. It was terribly impressive. You ought to go there, I'm sure you'd -
Father. I have been there. And the Royal Aircraft Factory..... That's surprised you hasn't it? (To mother). Mind you, - the factory just happens to be in my constituency, but that's beside the point....... So, you would like to learn to fly eh?
James. Yes, father.
Mother. But isn't it terribly dangerous, darling?
James. Not really.
Father. To hear young Churchill speak, you'd think it was as safe and easy as riding a bicycle.
Mother. I didn't know Winston could fly.
Father. Oh yes. He took lessons last autumn, and don't we all know it. (He approaches James) And do you know how much it costs to learn to fly, my boy?
James. Seventy five pounds.
Father. And where did you hope to get this seventy five pounds?
James. Well I was hoping that you might advance me -
Father. (Interrupting) I thought you might hope that. Well I shall consider it.... Now, let's have some lunch.
James. Of course, I could join the army then volunteer for the Royal Flying Corps. I would learn to fly for nothing then.
Father. (This touches a raw nerve) You're going to Cambridge to read History. I thought that was settled.
James. But if there is going to be a war then that changes everything.
Father. I don't see why it should.
James. I shouldn't want to stay at home while my friends are volunteering for active service. It wouldn't be honourable.
Father. Honourable?...What you really mean is that you want your share of the excitement and glory.
James. Well, what's wrong with that?
Mother. James, Arthur, please?
Young Rose. If James isn't going to university perhaps I could go instead.
Father. Don't be ridiculous. Naturally he's going to university.
Young Rose. (Plonking herself down next to her mother). It's not fair. Boys have all the fun.
Father. War is not inevitable you know. What is happening in Europe is nothing to do with us. We don't have to get involved, and I don't think we will.
James. Billy Billingham says that the army and navy are preparing for mobilisation. He says it's just a matter of days.
Father. And how does Billy Billingham know all this?
James. His father is in the War Office.
Father. Well you tell him from me that if his father is foolish enough to talk to him about such things, he shouldn't be foolish enough to repeat it to his school friends.
James. Yes, father.
Mother. Let's not discuss it any further, please. It won't do any good. Let's enjoy our few days of holiday away from politics.
James. I'm sorry mother.
There is an uneasy silence.
Young Rose. Come on James, lets fly my kite. There's more breeze up here than there was on the beach.
James. Right-ho, sis'.
Mother. Don't go too far away. I'll be preparing the picnic.... Ten minutes.
Young Rose. Yes, mother.... Come along James. Race you over to that style over there.
She runs off.
Father. James?
James. Yes, father?
Father. We'll talk about these lessons later. We'll see what can be arranged.
James. Thank you father.
Young Rose. (Off). James!... Come on!
Father. Go on. Off you go.
James. Right... And thanks again. You'll be jolly proud of me, you'll see.
He runs off.
Father watches him go, then -
Father. (To himself). I am already, boy. No need for heroics. (He turns back and comes down front). God, he's suddenly growing up very quickly.
Mother. They both are.
Father. It seems like only yesterday he was playing on the beach down there. Building castles in the sand, teaching his little sister to swim. And now?...... I feel my influence with him slipping all the time.
Mother. It's a different world from when we were young.
Father. Yes..... And he's right you know.
Mother. Right?... About what?
Father. About the war. It is just a matter of days.
Mother. But you said...
Father. I know.... I didn't want to frighten the girl.
The lights gradually fade to a brief blackout.
Edward is illuminated in a separate area of the stage.
Edward is about twenty-four, intelligent, attractive, but slightly reserved and enigmatic.
He wears the uniform of an officer in the Royal Army Flying Corps.
Edward. Approaching from the north west at dawn, flying low over the desert, three strangely regular and overlapping objects interrupted the horizon, puncturing its straight line like shark's teeth.
Climbing up to fifteen hundred feet, and now seen in perspective they became more like immense triangular dice thrown to earth by a giant's hand, casting man's fortune and inky black shadows across the dunes towards me.
But it's only when you can make out the palm dotted roads and the city beyond that you become aware of their immense scale; only when you fly round them, between them, over them - that their awesome presence sends the hair on the back of your neck prickling. There they stand as they have stood for four thousand years; silently guarding their secrets in the grey light of dawn.
And the largest and the most impressive of the three, the great one, stands in the centre; its summit pointing with certainty into the dark, dark, dark blue sky; a signpost, prophesying our destiny.
And with an ear ringing, clattering, impertinent thunder, on a January morning in 1917, my machine of war was greeting these silent, unfathomable symbols of worship.
But I was saying my farewells to Egypt.
The lights fade to a brief blackout.
The lights come up on the external setting. It is a bright morning. Rose is sitting reading a letter beneath the tree. After a few seconds Matron enters.
Matron. Good morning Rose.
Rose. Hello Matron. And how are you?
Matron. (Momentarily thrown). Oh, busy as usual.... But how are you? That's what I came out here to ask.
Rose. Oh, I can't complain.
Matron. Good.... Good.
Pause.
Rose. Is there something in particular you wanted to say to me?
Matron. Well..... You've been with us nearly six weeks now. How are you settling in?
Rose. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world.
Matron. That's nice to hear. Not all our patients are as appreciative as that.
Rose just smiles at her.
Matron. I notice you spend a lot of time out here, sitting under this tree on your own.
Rose. It's a beautiful tree, don't you think?... It's a beech.
Matron. Yes it's lovely, but wouldn't you sometimes rather be inside chatting with the others?
Rose. (Smiling) No.... I don't think so.
Matron. I'm sure you would, - sometimes.
Rose. No.
Matron. They're quiet a friendly bunch, and it would be company for you.
Pause.
Rose. I've been watching the butterflies on the Buddleia. It's really a glory at the moment, don't you think so?
Matron. Yes, - very nice.
Rose. But it needs staking up. It's hanging over the lawn. Get a bit of a down pour and it'll be dragged right down to the ground, and that would be such a shame. Perhaps you could tell the gardener.
Matron. Yes, I'll try to remember.
Rose. And you could also tell him to dead-head the pansies. They're looking a bit sorry for themselves.
Matron. Yes, if I get the time I will.
Rose. I do so love gardens. Don't you?.... There is always something to look at. Something going on.
Pause.
Matron. You won't be able to sit out here in the winter, I'm afraid.
Rose. Then I shall sit in my room. I don't mind.
Matron. But won't you feel lonely up there, all on your own?
Pause.
Rose. I've lived on my own for nearly sixty years. I'm quite happy keeping my own company..... Anyway, - I won't be here in the winter.
Pause.
Matron. Well if you're sure it's what you want.
Rose. It is.
The matron turns to go.
Rose. You see - the truth is, looking at the others reminds me that I'm old. And I don't want to be reminded of that; not here... Particulary not here.... You know I haven't looked at myself in a mirror for twenty years. I looked in my mirror then and said to myself - "Rose Peters, you look old", I won't look at you again. And I haven't.... You see I just don't feel old. I never have... I don't feel any different now to how I felt when I was a young woman, a girl even. Can you understand that?
Matron. Perhaps.
Rose. I've never had a husband or children, or anything like that, you see, to make me feel older.... Don't you still feel like a young girl inside?
Matron. No, no I don't think I do.
Rose. But perhaps you have a family; that makes a difference.
Matron. No.... I have no family.
Rose. But that's why I don't sit with the others... I'm not frightened of being old, you understand. And I'm not frightened of death, not at all..... So you see I just want to sit here alone with my memories and wait for the good Lord to take me.....
Matron. But that's morbid. You'll make yourself depressed and unhappy. You'd feel much better if you joined in more with what's going on here and now, instead of living in the past.
Rose. Would I? Can you guarantee that?..
Pause.
Matron. (Not wishing to continue the argument) Well, so long as you are happy I suppose it doesn't matter.
Rose. Oh I am. You see I know I haven't got all that long to go, but I'm happy in that. I know I shall be going to a good place. All my friends went there a long, long while ago.
Matron. (A little too nicely, patting her arm) Yes, that's right......
Rose. You do believe in Heaven, don't you?.... (Pause).. Don't you have friends and family there too.
There is a tense silence for a few seconds. Matron looks at her watch.
Matron. It's nearly lunch time. I'll take you in.
Rose takes hold of her hand as she comes to the wheelchair.
Rose. I'm sorry. I talk too much, that's my trouble.
Matron makes no reply, just starts to wheel Rose off.
The lights fade.
Bridget addresses the audience.
Bridget. Sometimes, when we haven't got much on, which is precious seldom I can tell you, I do a bit of tidying up in the rooms.
Rose's room is all very spick and span, but the other day she'd been looking through her old memento kind of things and they were scattered over the table. I couldn't help but be a bit nosy, so I took a peek.
There were old letters, theatre programmes, concert tickets, official looking telegrams, some medals and things. But what caught my eye were two photo's. One I recognised. It was her brother James. She keeps a framed copy of it on her little bedside table. A head and shoulders portrait of a young man in a smart uniform. He has these gorgeous heroic eyes staring into the distance. ‘A grand looker’ as my nan would say. The other photograph was of an officer too, but it was very different.
It was a full length photo taken against a very badly painted backcloth of fountains and trees and things. The man was standing with one arm resting on a sort of pillar. His uniform was all creased, like he'd been wearing it for months on end, and his boots were dusty. And he's standing there almost casual... And his eyes look straight out at you with a kind of tired smile. Almost like he's sharing a joke or something. And he looks so real and ordinary as if he might just open his mouth and say hello.
James, Young Rose and father enter the interior setting and the scene starts as the light on Bridget fades. James is showing off his new uniform and is in an exuberant mood. Father is subdued bordering on morose, ostentatiously preoccupied with his newspaper. It is the beginning of April, 1917 at the family home. Rose is now 19, wears her hair up and is generally more mature. At the same time, old Rose is under the tree, asleep with a box of letters and photographs on her lap.
James. Well, what do you think? Better than that first uniform I had?
Young Rose. Oh yes. I think you look very smart. Don't you think he looks smart father?
Father. He looks much the same as all the other young officers. Goodness knows we see plenty of them these days.
Young Rose. But the tunic is very modern, very dashing. And the wings look rather grand.
Father. When do you join your squadron?
James. I'm with them already, I wrote and told you, remember. The whole squadron are over here training with the new aircraft.
Father. Yes, yes of course...... Well when do you go to France then?
James. In three days..... On the 7th.
Father. I see.
Young Rose. Are you exited?
James. I should say so. Can't wait to get into the thick of it.
Father. I can't think why.
There is an uncomfortable pause as Rose and James exchange a glance.
Father. Will you be in town before then?
James. Possibly.
Father. (Moving away from them uncomfortably). I... I thought we might meet in my club..... Give you a bit of a send off.
James. That sounds fine. We'll have to arrange a day, only I'm rather busy -
Father. Of course if you don't want to, you only have to say.
James. No, no, I'd like to... Thank you father.
Father. (Resuming his seat and his examination of the paper). Good.... Good.
Pause.
Young Rose. How was the training squadron? You didn't say much in your letters.
James. Tremendous fun, and the new SE5 is a really good machine. It's got a Vickers firing through the propeller, a Lewis on the upper wing, and a top speed of about 120 miles per hour!.... So you see father, I have a much better chance than the pilots who were going out a few months ago...... And I've had much more flying experience than most, thanks to you, and of course I'm joining perhaps the best squadron in the whole Flying Corps. Even discounting Ball, there are some first rate pilots to look after me and show me the ropes.
Father. Yes.... I'm sure.
There is an uncomfortable pause.
James. Anyway, - enough of my news. How about you sis? Did they take you?
Pause.
Young Rose. Well -
Father. Take her? Did who take her?
Young Rose. I was going to tell you father.
Father. (Putting down his paper). Well? What where you going to tell me.
Young Rose. I put my name down three days ago to be a VAD ambulance driver.
Pause.
Father. I see.
James. Well done! But why an ambulance driver?
Young Rose. That's easy.... I can drive.
Father. Thanks to your father again.
Young Rose. Yes. You see I told you it would come in useful.... I start training in two days. I could be out in France within the month.
James. We'll be out there together then. That's marvellous.
Father. I think you might have consulted me first, Rose.
Pause.
Young Rose. You mean I should have asked your permission.
Father. Well... Yes. If you want to put it like that, I think you should.
Young Rose. But what was the point, father? I knew what your answer would be.
Father. Then why go against me?... Your place is here, Rose, here with me. Even more so now.
Young Rose. It's my life.
Pause.
Father. I'm sure your mother would never have approved.
Young Rose. That's not fair!
Father. It's just not suitable, Rose!
Young Rose. Why?!
Father. War is a man's business. Girls should.... Well they should....
Young Rose. Do what they are told?
Pause.
Father. Yes..... But since it seems I am now surplus to requirement after providing flying lessons for James and driving lessons for you so that you can both throw your lives away, if you'll excuse me I have some papers to prepare for tomorrow.
James. Father, please -
Father. Though it appears my opinion counts for just as little in that other House these days.
Father starts to exit.
James. Father, I told a fellow officer of mine that he could call and have tea. I hope that was all right.
Father. Why ask me? Surplus to requirement.
James. He's a really good sort and very intellectual. I think you'll like him.
Father. Yes... Well....
Father turns to go again.
James. I do mean to make you proud of me father.
Young Rose. We both do.
Father turns but says nothing. He exits.
James. Is he always like this?
Young Rose. Not always. Sometimes he's a great deal worse.
James. I wish he'd try and perk up a bit.
Young Rose. He's had one blow after another that's all. First mother's death, then losing the battle in the House over conscription. The collapse of the government was the last straw; now he has no influence at all. He can't stand Lloyd George. He calls him our little dictator.
James. Poor old Rose. It can't be much fun for you here.
Young Rose. No..... But then I shan't be here much longer shall I?
James. You know, that's tremendous. My little sister driving ambulances around. (He puts his arms around her). Who would have thought it, eh?..... Dear me.
You know, the other day I was out on a navigation exercise along the south coast. I was just buzzing along admiring the scenery, when I suddenly realised I was flying over the place where we used to go on holiday. It was all there laid out like a map. The beach and the rocks where we went bathing and shrimping, the cliffs where we walked. And remember where we went for that picnic up on the hill..... It was all still there, just the same. It seemed so familiar. I half expected to see ourselves down there, as we were then.
It was the most strange feeling. I circled round for ages, just looking down. I didn't want to leave it behind......Three years, not even that, but it seems like a lifetime ago.
Young Rose. "The war changes everything". That's what you said then.
James. Did I?
Young Rose. You were right.
The sound of a door bell is heard.
James. That will be my friend...... Now you mustn't be put off by first impressions. He's rather reserved, doesn't say much and all that, but he's jolly good company once you get to know him.
Young Rose. Is he from your squadron?
James. No, I met him up at Harlaxton. He hasn't joined any squadron yet, he's doing further training.
Father enters and shows in Edward.
He is rather nervous at first.
Father. James. Your friend is here.
James. Edward, come in, come in. It's good to see you again. How are you?
Edward. Very well, thank you.
James. Excellent, excellent. This is my father.
Father. Yes. We introduced ourselves at the door.
James. Of course..... And this is my sister, Rose.... Rose, this is my very good friend Edward Fletcher.
Young Rose. How do you do.
Edward. (Shaking hands) Delighted to meet you.
Father. Well, if you will excuse me I will continue with my work, for what little it's worth. Very pleased to have met you Mr. Fletcher.
Edward. And you sir.
Father exits.
James. You mustn't mind him. Like most of them, he feels a bit out of it.
Young Rose. Surplus to requirement.
Edward. I see.
James. Here, do sit down, old chap.
Edward. Thank you.
Young Rose. James tells me you met together whilst learning to fly?
Edward. Well not exactly.
James. Whilst we were training Sis', not learning .
Young Rose. Oh I see. Sorry.
James. Edward learnt to fly in Cairo, lucky devil.
Young Rose. Really? What were you doing out there?
Edward. I'd been in India with my regiment, but there wasn't much going on out there and I was getting bored, so I volunteered for the RFC. Cairo was a kind of half way house on the way back.
Young Rose. Did you fly around the pyramids?
Edward. Yes, once or twice.
Young Rose. How romantic. What were they like?
Edward. (After a self conscious pause). Very impressive.... Quite an extraordinary feat of engineering for the period.
James. Edward is terribly down to earth. He studied Architecture and Engineering at university, didn't you Edward?
Edward. Yes.
James. He won't tell you himself, of course, but he's really very clever. Gets a grip of all the theoretical stuff they try and drill into us straight away. Heaps better than me.
Edward. James exaggerates.
James. Nonsense, that's why Staff have siphoned him off to learn all about reconnaissance and artillery co-operation and aerial photography and all that.
Young Rose. That sounds rather important.
Edward. The real reason is that I'm not a terribly good flyer and I'm a hopeless shot with a Lewis gun, even though I could tell you exactly how it works.
Rose laughs and Edward responds with smile.
James. You fly very well Edward.
Edward. Not nearly as well as you. (To Rose) James is quite fearless and that's what you need to be a really good pilot. He's a natural.
James. You see Rose, I'm a natural.
Young Rose. A natural exhibitionist.
They laugh.
James. Rose has this uncanny knack of bursting ones bubble in front of company. It's most infuriating, especially when it's in front of my girl friends.
Young Rose. Serves you right James.
James. Talking of girl friends; I called on Elsie Jenkins on my way here. She tells me there's a dance this evening at The Chesterfield Arms. What do you say to us all going; the four of us. Rose can partner you, Edward, and I'll partner Elsie.
Young Rose. Yes.... Why not? I haven't been to a dance in months.
James. How about you Edward? You don't have to get back early do you?
Edward. No,- no, not really.
Young Rose. And I do hope that you're not so down to earth that you don't dance, Edward. I do hope not.
Edward. No. Not that down to earth.
We hear the sound of Bridget calling.
Bridget. Rose, Rose.
James. Excellent! That's all settled then!
The characters freeze. The light gradually cross fades back to the present.
The lights come up on the exterior setting as the nurse is trying to wake Old Rose. Her box of mementoes is on her lap, but some of its contents have slipped from her hand and are now on the ground.
Bridget. Wake up now. It's time to come in.
Rose gradually wakes.
Rose. Mm.... Yes Bridget, what is it?
Bridget. You've been asleep. I've come to take you in. It's getting cold out here.... Look now, your photo's have fallen on the ground. I'll pick them up for you. (She picks up the photo of Edward). Oh, I - I don't think I've seen this photo before.
Rose. No, - that was..... (She instinctively touches her amber broach). He was a friend of my brother, James.
Bridget. (probing). Looks like a nice young man.
Rose. Yes. (She places it back in the box quickly).
Bridget. Look, - and here's your gorgeous brother! I bet all the girls were falling over themselves for that one.
Rose. Oh yes. They used to queue up to have dances with him.
Bridget. And I don't blame them. I would have done so meself if I'd been around. (Handing the photos across).There you go..... Come on now, I'll wheel you in.
To tell you the truth, I'd forgotten all about you out here. I just happened to see you from Mrs Gillbert's window up there.
They stop and look up.
Rose. How is she?
Bridget. She's gone to meet her maker. (Crossing herself like a good Catholic) God rest her soul. Doctor Davies is up there with her.
Pause.
Rose. Not long now.
Bridget. Ach, don't be thinking about that.
Rose. (With thoughts elsewhere). Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, old time is still a flying: and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying.
Pause.
Bridget. Live it up while you can, eh? Is that the gist?
Rose. Yes.
Bridget. Right.... (Getting hold of the wheelchair) Let's make hay while the sun shines, and have a nice cup of tea.
Rose. Yes, let's.
Bridget. Tell you what.... We'll even have a short-bread biscuit.
Rose. No. Let's be really extravagant; let's have two!
Bridget wheels Rose off as the lights change.
James appears in a single spotlight down stage. He holds a letter.
Edward and Rose appear in the background. They are dancing.
James. My dear Rose. - The dance was glorious fun, wasn't it? And a tremendous send off. You looked radiant, and I never imagined old sober sides Edward would cut such a dashing figure on the dance floor, although perhaps that was due to his partner.
But now for my little adventure. Today I went on my first patrol and I was pretty nervous I can tell you, though more afraid of making an ass of myself in front of the others than of being shot down by the opposition. We flew in close formation and had been out over enemy territory for quite some time before encountering the Hun. But then we spotted five of them below us, chose one each - and set to work.
Mine put up a tremendous fight and we dodged and weaved all over the sky, each trying to gain an advantage. I let off a good few rounds at him, but my fire was a bit wild to put it mildly. He got pretty close to me at one point and the tracer bullets came whistling and crackling past; a couple even ripping through my wing. This put the breeze up me a bit, but then I managed to turn tables and get behind him, and I put a solid burst of fire into his tail plane. And after that he turned and scuttled home.
Our patrol returned in tact and Leach had even scored a confirmed kill, the lucky blighter.
How's that for a first days sport?
Edward and Rose have stopped dancing. Rose exits and Edward now comes forward.
Edward. Dear Miss Peters, I thought I must tell you how much I enjoyed the dance, and how much I appreciated your company and kind attention. It really was one of the best evenings I've spent since being back in England, and to tell you the truth was far more enjoyable than any grand regimental ball out in India. The British officials one had to invite to such affairs were always rather pompous and the young ladies terribly superior, so unlike you in every way.
I saw James just before he left for France and he seemed in excellent spirits. He tells me that you will be in London for your training and I wondered if you would care to meet me there one evening. I understand that there are some good shows to see and I would be delighted to return the hospitality you showed me last week. - My regards to your father, Edward Fletcher.
The light on Edward fades and comes up on Rose who is now in VAD uniform.
Rose. Dear Edward, thank you for your charming letter. Of course I would be delighted to see you in London. I'd love to go to see 'Chu Chin Chow' or maybe Owen Nares in 'Romance' or the new opera at the Garrick. And perhaps, if you can spare another evening, we might be really extravagant and go to a dance at the Savoy. I hope they don't work us too hard at this training thing, I do so want to have a good time before being packed off to France.
Kindest regards, Rose. - PS. Don't laugh when you see my uniform. It's hideous!
Warm lighting now comes up over the stage and Edward and Rose dance a fast and expertly executed Quick Step. Rose laughing as Edward sweeps her round the floor. After a few seconds, James appears in a separate spot, again holding a letter. As the mood of his speech becomes more emotionally charged, the music first changes to a slow waltz then the general lights and dance music fade and he is left alone.
James. Dear Sis', I'm delighted to hear that you and Edward are having such a good time together in London. You'll be pleased to know that I too have been having the time of my life, but in a very different way.
I was out on patrol with five others when a group of Hun appeared above us and came in to attack. We spotted them early but kept formation right up to the last second when they were almost on top of us, then we scattered in all directions!... I had a terrific scrap with one of the blighters and eventually forced him down having put a few holes in his engine. I felt jolly pleased with this and came back up to join the fray.... I noticed a Hun was hot on the tail of one of our chaps and was strafing him mercilessly. He was so busy at this game that he didn't notice me below him, which gave me plenty of time to keep a cool head and get in close... I let off with the Lewis gun from right underneath, taking him completely by surprise. I saw the machine give a sudden jerk and then it started to turn and dive. I followed it down, swearing like a trouper at the top of my voice and put forty rounds from the Vickers gun right into the middle of it. It went down out of control on our side of the line crashing into what had once been a wood.
When we got back I went to have a look at my handiwork. We found the wreckage fairly easily..... The pilot was as dead as they come. One of my bullets had gone right through his head and half his face was missing. He was rather a crumpled mess and there was blood everywhere. A toy bear was in the cockpit, spattered with blood but still more or less in one piece. I suppose it was a sort of lucky mascot.... It hadn't brought him much luck though. To tell you the truth it shook me up a bit and I resolved not to go and look next time. Best not to dwell on that kind of thing, just do one's duty and keep saying to yourself - if it hadn't been him, it would have been me.
The light on James gradually fades to a blackout.
A soft blue light comes up over the stage and Edward and Rose enter. It is night and Edward has escorted Rose back to her lodgings after a dance. They walk arm in arm.
Edward. Here we are then, back safe and sound.
Young Rose. I'd like to ask you in for a mug of tea or something, but I'm afraid it's not allowed.
Edward. That's all right.
Young Rose. It was a lovely evening, thank you Edward. And it was very good of you to see me home.
Edward. My pleasure.
Young Rose. I'm afraid you've probably missed the last tram back to the station.
Edward. It doesn't matter, I can walk back. It's a fine night and it's only a couple of miles.
Pause
Young Rose. I'll say goodnight then.
Edward. Goodnight.
Rose turns to go and takes a step or two, then turns back.
Young Rose. Thank you again. It was a wonderful dance.
Edward. I'm glad you enjoyed it.
Rose turns to go again, but Edward moves towards her.
Edward. Look, I've got some leave to take before going to France. I shall go and see my family for some of it of course, but I wondered, if you had some spare time, if you would like to go out somewhere for a day; perhaps the Saturday or Sunday?
Young Rose. I'm free on Sundays. It's our one day off.
Edward. I thought we might take a train out in to the country. Find a quiet little village inn somewhere to have lunch..... Somewhere away from all the crowds of London, and away from the war.
Young Rose. That sounds lovely. I'd like that very much.
Edward. Good.... I'll call for you here then, at about ten o'clock.
Young Rose. That will be fine.
Pause
Young Rose. Well, goodnight then.
Edward. Goodnight.
There is a long pause as they look into each other's eyes
Young Rose. You can kiss me if you want to Edward.
A slight pause and then they kiss.
The lights gradually fade to blackout.
Rose is in her usual position, under the tree. Matron stands close-by. She has a list and a pencil.
Matron. Boiled fish or steak and kidney?
Rose. Is that pie or pudding?
Matron. Pie.
Rose. I think I'll have the fish.
Matron. Apple crumble or ice-cream?
Rose. Just ice-cream, I think, after the fish.
Matron. Right.... Wednesday, - Ham salad or cottage pie?
Rose. Cottage pie, please.
Matron. I don't know why I'm doing this for you, you're quite capable of ticking the list yourself.
Rose. I haven't got my glasses. I'd be ticking all the wrong ones.
Matron. Strawberry Mousse or ice-cream?
Rose. Did I see Doctor Davies arriving?
Matron. Yes. He's come to see Mr Brent.
Rose. Oh yes, of course.
Matron. Well, come to write out the certificate.
Rose. Yes.... God rest his soul..... We're having a bit of a bad week aren't we? Departures I mean.
Pause.
Matron. Yes.... Well, the menu?
Rose. Oh, sorry, what did you ask?
Matron. Strawberry Mousse or ice-cream?
Rose. Ah.... Strawberry Mousse, please.
Matron. Right. Thursday, - Chicken and rice or sausage toad?
Rose. Oh, sausage toad, definitely.. He was very confused, wasn't he, poor man, towards the end. Didn't seem to know where he was, or who he was, or anything..... It's a blessing really.
Matron. Yes..... Peaches and ice-cream or just ice-cream?
Rose. Can I have the peaches on their own, without any ice-cream?
Matron. I suppose so.... (Writing). No ice-cream.
Rose. Was he a religious man?
Matron. I really don't know.... Friday....
Rose. I'll say a prayer or two for him anyway.... It doesn't do any harm.
Matron. I suppose not... Friday...
Rose. But then, you don't believe in all that, do you?
Pause.
Matron. Friday there's....
Rose. Do you?
Pause.
Matron. No. I'm afraid I don't..... I'm very happy for you, that you do, and that it gives you comfort. But I can't believe in it myself..... No.... Friday....
Rose. But you did once.
Pause.
Matron. What makes you think that?
Rose. You still sing the hymns at the Sunday service.
Matron. To swell the sound, yes. It sometimes seems rather pitiful when there's only such a few from the church leading the singing. The patients appreciate it. I see it as part of my job.
Rose. Yes, but you know all the hymns off by heart. You hardly look at the book.
Matron. You don't miss much do you?
Pause.
Rose. (Rose just smiles). Friday?
Matron. Friday.... Cod in bread crumbs or vegetable lasagne?
Rose. Fish on Friday. It reminds me of the canteen when I was at work. Always fish on Friday.
Matron. Is that a comment or your selection?
Rose. Both.
Matron. Rhubarb tart or ice-cream?
Rose. Rhubarb tart, I think, with the fish..... Just to make a change.
Matron. Right.... That's the whole week.
Rose. All ticked off.... Another week gone.... Fish on Tuesday, fish on Friday, peaches and ice-cream on Thursday.
Matron. Most people seem to like a routine.
Rose. Yes.... If nothing else, we are creatures of habit.
Pause.
Matron. Well, I'll put this with the others.
Rose. Why are you here?
Matron. I'm sorry?
Rose. Why are you here?
Matron. What do you mean?
Rose. I know why I'm here.... But why are you here?
Matron. To look after you of course, and the others.
Rose. But why? Why you? Why here?.... I came here to die. Don't tell me you came here to live, I won't believe you.
Matron. I really don't understand what you mean.
Rose. You work here. You have rooms here. On-call at any hour. You can't have much of a social life.
Matron. Thank you for your concern, Miss Peters. But I get by... I really am quite happy you know.
Rose. Yes... I'm sure you are.
Matron. This place keeps me very busy. I enjoy my work.... I read.... I go for walks.
Pause.
Rose. How old are you?
Matron. Does that matter?
Rose. Come, you can tell me. How old are you?
Matron. You really are the most extraordinary.....
Rose. Sixty?
Matron. Sixty?.... I'm forty six.
Rose. Forty six.
Matron. (Realising she has been tricked). Yes.
Rose. A war baby then.
Matron. Yes, I suppose so.
Rose. When you were born I was only just a little younger than you are now, driving lorries in London; helping people move from bombed-out houses into churches, halls, schools.
Matron. Yes, I know..... (Adding). I think you told me.
Rose. Did I?..... Perhaps I did. Did I also tell you that my family home was here in Dorset?
Matron. Possibly.
Rose. Well it was. But during the war I was never there. I don't think I slept in any one place more that a couple of times during the whole five years. You see, I know how easy and tempting it is to loose oneself in helping others.
Matron. Meaning?
Pause.
Rose. Where do you come from then?
Matron. Why do you want to know all this?
Rose. I'm interested... I've told you where I come from.... Indulge me.
Matron. Well if you must know, I was born in Esher - in Surrey.
Rose. Oh I know where Esher is. I lived there for quite a while after the war. A settled existence, just for a time..... Perhaps I knew your family.
Matron. I shouldn't think so.... We weren't there very long I'm afraid. We moved up north when I was thirteen or so.
Rose. Oh, I see...... But now you've come back down south.
Matron. Yes. Four or five years ago.
Rose. What made you move?
Pause.
Matron. (Making a move to go). I really must be getting on with my work.
Rose. You're uneasy about me, aren't you?
Matron. Uneasy?... No I wouldn't say that.
Rose. I would.
Matron. I'm just not used to being quizzed in quite so much depth.
Rose. Come now.... I've seen you handle patients far more difficult than me. Water off a duck's back.
Matron. Perhaps I'm a little tired today. As you say, we've been rather unlucky with departures recently. It makes a lot of work.... And we all have our ups and downs.
Rose. Yes... Of course.
Matron. And now I really must be getting on.
Rose. I'm sorry if I've upset you.
Matron. Nonsense. I'm fine. Don't worry yourself about me.
The doctor enters.
Doctor. Ah, there you are, Matron...... A stroke, almost certainly.
Matron. I beg your pardon?
Doctor. Mr Brent... A stroke... After all, he'd had a couple of minor ones already..... I'll leave you to do the necessary. You're always very efficient at that sort of thing.
Matron. Thank you, Doctor. Never a very pleasant job.... But someone has to do it.
The Matron exits.
Doctor. Oh dear. Looks like I said the wrong thing.
Rose. No. I've been rather naughty, I'm afraid; probing her about her past life. She came to fill in the menu for next week. I don't think she expected such an inquisition.
Doctor. Ah..... And did you uncover any skeletons in the matronly closet?
Rose. No.... Disturbed a few ghosts perhaps. I didn't mean to. I'm just - inquisitive.
Doctor. She is rather a mystery; our Matron.
Rose. She doesn't believe in God, I know that. But she did at one time... But something has driven out her faith. And driven her here to find - what?... Anonymity perhaps, in among the driftwood.
Doctor. The what?
Rose. The driftwood. That's what we are here, don't you think?..... Sooner or later all the driftwood lands up on the same little piece of beach. A final resting place.... "Surplus to requirement" as my father would say.... Poor father.... Anyway, so here we all are; washed up by the tide; and Matron too.
Doctor. So do you include me in this scheme of things? Am I some old lump of barnacled ship's timber tossed up to dry and desiccate in the sun?
Rose. Are you?
Doctor. And what about Bridget, and Peter?
Rose. Ah.... They are the children playing in the sand. They look at us, collect us, decorate their castles with our curios shapes...... But then leave us, forget us in favour of the pretty shells, the rock pools or diving into the waves, and then each other's arms.... And at their age that's just as it should be.
Doctor. Yes. Well you're right there..... Oh to be young again eh?
Pause.
Rose. "Youthful strength and adult wisdom, - Infant cry and shallow dying breath".
Doctor. What's that?
Rose. A line from an old poem. It just popped into my head, I don't know why. Isn't that strange? I hadn't even thought about that in years. It was something I used to know by heart. All about what lies ahead and all things coming together..... How does it start now?... "The spirit trapped in earthly frame, - awaits the time when time itself lets loose its grip......." Then something about the immortal soul.... Then later on that line - "Youthful strength and adult wisdom, Infant cry and shallow dying breath. All facets of the - something jewel....." No.... I can't remember the rest. Aren't our memories funny, playing tricks on us. What we remember and what we don't.
Doctor. Mr Brent's memory certainly played a particularly unkind trick on him. Go out of the room and come back again two minutes later and he'd look at you like he'd never seen you before in his life.... Now there really was someone washed up on the beach.
Rose. Poor man.... Sometimes I'd watch him. He'd sit for hours gazing at his own reflection in one of the mirrors. It used to frighten me... He didn't even seem to know himself.
Doctor. Yes.
Rose. I thank god I still have my memory, even if it is a little rusty.... And you know, - I think that's the one thing we must take with us into the next life. At least I hope it is, because without it we are nothing.
Doctor. Perhaps.
Rose. Oh, yes.... "I think, therefore I am" really isn't good enough you know. It sounds too empty, far too empty..... After all, single notes of a symphony are meaningless without the melody that has gone before..... So simply existing without our memory would be meaningless, and therefore heaven would be meaningless. And I don't think it should be. God wouldn't make it like that.
Doctor. Well, I don't know. I'm no theologian.
Rose. Then do you think Mr Brent was in a kind of heaven or a kind of hell before he died?
Doctor. His mind was in a kind of hell, certainly.
Rose. But his soul? Where was his soul?
The lights fade.
In the darkness we hear the sounds of a busy London station. A steam train whistles and begins to move off. There are echoey sounds of people walking, talking, closing compartment doors etc. Edward and Rose enter. They carry between them Edward's kit. There is now a physical and emotional closeness between them, not seen before.
Edward. Here we are, platform eight. (Looking at his watch). We've got about five minutes.
They put down Edward's kit.
Young Rose. You'll write to me, won't you?
Edward. Yes of course. You'll have to let me know which field hospital you're going to.
Young Rose. I will.
Edward. From what I can gather I shouldn't be too far away from James' squadron. I'll try and get to see him.... They say 56 squadron are great entertainers. They throw some pretty outrageous parties by all accounts.
Young Rose. That sound like James... Well if you do see him, tell him to write more often. I haven't had a letter for ages.
Edward. Yes, I will.
Pause.
Young Rose. It was a wonderful day yesterday.
Edward. We'll have to go there again; next time we're back in England together.
Young Rose. Yes.
Edward. Goodness knows when that might be, though.
Young Rose. Probably not until all this ghastly business is over.
Edward. Yes, probably.
Pause.
Young Rose. I'm going to miss you, Edward.
Edward. I'm going to miss you too.
They embrace.
Edward. Look, I've got something for you. (He takes a small box out of his pocket and gives it to Rose). It's nothing much, just a small parting gift.
Young Rose. (Opening the box). Edward, it's lovely.
Edward. A silver and amber butterfly.
Young Rose. It's beautiful. Here, pin it on my lapel.
Edward. (Doing so). Do they let you wear jewellery on your uniform?
Young Rose. We're not supposed to, but plenty of girls do.
Edward. There.
Young Rose. Thank you Edward, it's lovely (She kisses him).
Pause.
Edward. I wanted you to have something to remember me by, in case......
There is an emotional pause.
Young Rose. Then I want you to have something in return. (She puts her hands to the back of her neck and unfastens a chain clasp). Here, take this. It's a gold cross my mother gave me when I was sixteen.
Edward. No, really I can't. It must mean a great deal to you.
Young Rose. It does mean a great deal to me.... But so do you, Edward. Here, I'll put it round your neck. (She reaches up and fastens it around Edward's neck.).... There.
Edward. Thank you.
Pause.
Young Rose. (Still with her arms round his neck). I think..... I think I've fallen in love you Edward.... That's all really.... I can't think of anything else to say, which is rather unusual for me.
Pause.
Edward. I think I love you too.
They embrace.
Edward. I didn't mean this to happen you know.... It's terribly unfair on you.
Young Rose. Why?
Edward. Now you could lose two people close to you; James, and me.
Young Rose. You mustn't think that, honestly you mustn't.. I wanted it to happen... Ever since you came on that first evening, ever since that first dance together, I wanted to fall in love with you.... I've never felt like that before about anybody, - ever.
Edward. And I thought you were the most - well, the most adorable girl any chap could possibly meet.... I just couldn't believe my luck that you wanted to see me again. I can't believe my luck now.
Young Rose. Believe it Edward... Believe it.
A guard's whistle is heard.
Edward. I've got to go.
They hug each other.
Edward. I'll come back, you'll see.
Young Rose. Yes.
They hug again then Edward breaks away and picks up his kit.
Edward. Good bye, Rose.
Young Rose. (Giving him one last kiss).Good-bye.
He starts to go.
Young Rose. Write soon.
Edward. As soon as I get there. I promise.
He turns and strides off. The guard's whistle is heard again and then the sound of a steam train getting underway. Young Rose stands still, staring after it. The general lights fade, but the light on Young Rose remains.
The lights come up on the interior setting. Bridget is brushing Old Rose's long white hair, having just washed and dried it. Rose is deep in thought, and after a few seconds lifts her hand up to her amber broach. Young Rose copies this action, then looks down at the broach on her lapel.
Bridget. You've got beautiful hair, do you know that?.... It's still wonderfully thick... I only hope my hair is half as good as this when I'm your age.
Pause.
Rose. The butterfly, now trapped in amber, - takes flight on iridescent wings.
Bridget. What's that?
The light on young Rose fades.
Rose. A poem, or part of a poem I knew when I was a girl. I've been trying to remember it...... It begins :-
The spirit, trapped in earthly frame,
Waits the time when time itself lets loose its grip
On God's creation; man's immortal soul.....
But I can't remember what comes next. Just a line in the middle and then the end...
And the butterfly, now trapped in amber,
Takes flight on iridescent wings.
I used to know it all, but now it's gone.
Bridget. I don't think I know that one. Not that I know much poetry at all.
Pause.
Rose. It doesn't matter..... Sorry Bridget, I was miles away. What were you saying?
Bridget. I said you've still got wonderful hair... I'm dead jealous so I am.
Rose. Of course it was golden then and much longer.
Bridget. When?
Rose. During the war.
Bridget. Oh.
Rose. All the girls had long hair.... I remember when we were in France it used to be a great nuisance. If we managed to wash our hair once a month we were lucky.
Bridget. Once a month! That must have been awful. Did you never think of having it cut short?
Rose. Oh no. It wasn't fashionable... A few girls had short hair, but they were considered to be very tom-boyish. We thought men wouldn't be attracted to us if we had short hair.
Bridget. It doesn't seem to make much difference these days.
Rose. I think they've got more to look at in a girl now, that's what it is. We wouldn't dream of showing off our figures like you do these days. All those curves and legs showing. I'm not surprised they don't take much notice of your hair.
Bridget. (Laughing) You could be right there!
They both laugh like a couple girlfriends sharing a slightly dirty joke.
Bridget. (She puts a hand on Rose's shoulder). You're very different from the others, Rose.
Rose. (Putting her hand on Bridget's) So are you Bridget.... I like you a lot.
There is a slight pause, then Bridget resumes brushing Rose's hair.
Bridget. So you've always had your hair like this then?
Rose. Yes. When I was a child I wore it loose, or in a ribbon. Then when I was seventeen I put it up. And there it's stayed ever since.... You know you're only the fourth person who has ever brushed my hair for me.
Bridget. Is that so now?
Rose. First there was mother. Then when she died, James my brother used to brush it for me.... And then, - and then there was Edward.
Bridget. Edward?
Rose. (After a pause). He was my fiancé.... He brushed my hair on just four occasions... He said it was like brushing the hair of an angel.
Bridget. That's beautiful.... Sounds like he had the gift of the gab. Kissed the Blarney stone had he?
Rose. Oh no. He wasn't like that at all. Very quiet really. But he did sometimes say some wonderful things. Especially in his letters..... It was he who gave me this brooch.... My amber butterfly... And something else too. I'd thought I'd lost it, but it was in an envelope with all the other things. I've got it here. (she takes out an envelope from the pocket of her cardigan).... It's my engagement ring.
Bridget. Oh, that's lovely.
Rose. He bought it in France.
Bridget. You ought to wear it. It's too good to keep in an envelope.
Rose. I'm afraid it doesn't fit any more. All my joints are so swollen I can't get it on any finger.
Bridget. Now that's a shame.
Rose. I'd like to put it on a chain. I've got one here, but my old fingers can't open the catch.
Bridget. Give it here, now. I'll do it for you.
Rose. Thank you.
Bridget threads the ring on to the chain then puts it round Rose's neck.
Bridget. There.
Rose. Thank you Bridget. You're a treasure.
Bridget. Oh, get away with you....
Pause.
Bridget. Well, that's your hair done. Here's a mirror to see how it looks. (she gives Rose a small hand mirror).
Rose looks in the mirror for some time, staring at herself.
Rose. It's strange... I used to look younger when I had my hair down.... Now it makes me look older. (She puts the mirror down slightly upset).
Bridget. I'll be back with a supper drink in a few minutes. I'll put it back up for you then if you like.
Rose. Thank you.
Bridget collects her hair washing and combing kit together then exits.
Rose picks up the mirror again and looks at herself.
We hear the sound of the waltz music.
Perhaps we see the shadowy outline of Edward..... Watching.
Rose. Look at me Edward. Isn't it ridiculous? A nineteen year old girl in a ninety year old body. (She puts the mirror down)..... But I'm here, Edward. I'm actually here.... And it won't be long now, it wont be long....
The lights gradually fade.
This is the end of the first half of the play. If you want to read the rest, just e-mail me and I will e-mail back a complete script. info@alistair-faulkner.co.uk