A Comedy Play for 4 People
This play requires little in the way of props. 3–4 chairs. A Table. A Coffin.
Introduction:
Doug Brennan has it all, some say. After attending boarding school, away from his home on the Isle of Mull, Doug moved on to a university degree and a great job in London. His mother, Eileen, is proud of him, his boyhood friend, Tim, was envious that Doug had made it away from the island. But when Doug returns for his father’s funeral, it emerges that Doug’s life is very different than what they imagine it to be.
Background:
Through the voices of the characters, we have a social commentary on life in rural Scotland, and particularly the Hebridean islands, highlighting significant contemporary issues. There is no affordable housing for young couples; farming is in decline and secondary education out of reach for many. Very few of those who progress to colleges and universities, the lifeblood of the future, return to live on the island. Once the degrees or diploma certificates are achieved, they realize there is no future in the small towns and villages. Families are broken up geographically but also in other significant ways. Exposure to the outside world brings new attitudes and beliefs and inevitably challenges the traditional order.
Synopsis:
For as long as anyone can remember, Joseph and Eileen Brennan have run the only launderette in Tobermory. It gave them enough to send their only child, Doug, away to boarding school. On the eve of his father’s funeral, Doug returns from London where he has carved out a successful career. Or so his mother believes.
In her eyes, Doug has achieved great things, unlike his father who was more interested in playing the music than in helping her to make money. The only music Eileen loves is the sound of the shop cash register.
When Doug turns up wearing an Armani suit and driving a Mercedes car he impresses his old school-friends, but particularly Tim, who has never lived away from the village. Doug also brings with him his guitar, which does not impress his mother.
When Doug sees his father’s coffin on the kitchen table, he feels it shows disrespect to his father, but to Eileen it is a matter of expediency. Accompanied by crocodile tears, Eileen opens the coffin, and a sad passage develops into comedy as they discuss how Joseph died and about the clothes he is wearing. Eileen leaves the two men, but not before vowing that Joseph’s guitar will be buried with him.
With Eileen safely in bed they drink whiskey, smoke cigarettes, and talk.
Doug is upset because his father promised him the ukulele while Tim stresses that life has dealt him a poor hand. At primary school he was the brightest in the class. Today he is making miserly wages on the family farm with no prospect of affording a house or getting a ‘proper’ job. Even his sex life is unsatisfactory.
The whiskey loosens the tongues of both men. Even so, Doug is reticent to talk about life in London and to Tim’s annoyance appears glib about the advantage he was given in life, as well as being evasive. All Doug wants to talk about are the unhappy times he spent at the boarding school.
After more whiskey they discover they share the same love of music as their fathers and decide to play a few notes together. The tune Dueling Ukuleles becomes the expression of the rising tension between the two men and the playing is only halted with Eileen hammering on the floor. With the temperature still rising, the men decide to have a bout of arm wrestling. The only problem is that the coffin lies on the kitchen table.
They stand it against the wall and the contest begins.
A tumbler is sent crashing to the kitchen floor, and this brings a loud knocking noise. They assume it is Eileen and hide the whiskey bottle in the coffin. But the knocking persists, and Tim goes to the door.
The act comes to an abrupt ending when Rose pushes Tim out of the way and squares up to Doug. ‘You took a lot of finding, but I’ve caught up with you now’, she says.
Act two:
Kicks off on the morning of the funeral with Eileen horrified to find the coffin standing on its end. Over breakfast with Doug, she presses him to return to live with her, but he is evasive. She leaves to answer the bell of the shop despite giving assurances it would be closed for the day. Rose appears and Doug pleads she will say that she is an old university friend passing by. She does however need to have all her wits about when Eileen gets round to questioning her with customary bluntness. While this is going on Doug is on tender hooks, but Rose holds her ground well and impresses Eileen: with her high paid job in advertising and a company car.
That she is an Irish Catholic does not go down so well.
We learn that Eileen had never got round to choosing Doug a wife but this chat with Rose is a reminder she must do something about it, and she makes a mental note to eye up a few suitable local candidates once the funeral is over.
Doug’s discomfort continues when Tim turns up to announce he has split from Gladys, his girlfriend, and after a row with his father, given up the job on the farm. He intends to return with Doug to London.
Doug is now under real pressure but gets a breathing space when the undertaker calls from the shop to finalize catering arrangements after the service. Eileen’s report on this discussion is a light-hearted interlude and serves as a counterpoint to the rising sense of tension as the hour of the funeral draws closer. That there will be some sort of explosion is inevitable. Doug is in a corner. He has let Tim down. Rose is about to reveal to Eileen about his life in London. His mother’s domination of both Doug and his father is about to take another giant stride forward. If he is ever to do so, now is the time to make his stand.
Eileen reaches for the Ukulele to place in the coffin and there is a scuffle. Almost hysterical, she says no way does she want Doug to turn out like his father. Doug turns on his mother and accuses her of trying to run his life, just as she did his dad’s. And why was she so miserly? Why had she not told him about all the property she owns in the village? Eileen pleads for him to return and run the village shop with her but keeps on fighting for the ukulele. Doug will not let go. Eileen: now turns her wroth on Rose who faces her head on and tells Eileen about her son. That is, he was fired from his job months ago for fraud and is eking out a living as a pub singer. The car parked outside is borrowed and there is no apartment. The only thing that belongs to Doug is the baby inside her belly. Eileen: does not want to believe what she is hearing. In a blind rage she opens the lid of the coffin and sees the whiskey bottle. This confirms to her that the devil has been at work, and it is all down to those ukuleles.
Doug did not know about the baby. He regrets running away from Rose and tells her it was only because he couldn’t face up to telling her how he lost his job.
On the other hand, he has never been so happy in his life. Like his father and his grandfather, he was born to play music.
This cuts no ice with his mother. ‘If you want the Ukulele, it’ll be over my dead body,’ she says and stuffs it into the coffin. While she is doing this Tim vents his predicament that he has no job, no girlfriend and now no prospect of going with Doug.
At the end, Doug, and Rose embrace. They invite Tim to return with them to London where he and Doug can form a duo and play Scottish folks’ songs, just like their fathers.
They turn around to see that Eileen has collapsed on the table next to the coffin. Tim rushes to the phone; Doug feels his mother’s pulse and shakes his head. He lifts the Ukulele out of the coffin.
The last tie with his birthplace is broken. No way will Doug return to the shop.
The stage lights darken, and we hear Ukulele as the curtain drops
The Setting:
In the old-fashioned kitchen of a country cottage. One door leads to a shop, the other to the outside. There is a sink with a window above and a dresser. On the table lies a coffin and a bagpipe hangs on the wall next to a tapestry ‘Bless This House’ in a picture frame. There are two worn armchairs and cardboard boxes and crates of goods stored for the shop.
The time is the evening before the funeral
The Characters:
Doug Brennan (son of Eileen)
Aged about thirty and wears an expensive trendy suit with matching shirt and tie. His speech is northern public school. He acts confidently, but this is an act to mask a flawed character. It is only at the end of the play that his inner strength emerges.
Eileen Brennan (mother)
Doug’s mother. Her life is all about making money, and if she was born with a sense of humour or a gentle inner soul, in sixty years on this earth, neither have yet appeared. She is headstrong and determined and surprisingly unmoved by the death of her husband. She is the matriarch of the family. Devout Church of England. Her attitudes and values are chiseled out of granite and unencumbered by any experience of the world beyond the village boundaries. Her speech is Hebridean dialect.
Tim (Doug’s best friend)
A boyhood friend of Doug who still lives in the village. He is a simple lad but there is more to him than first meets the eye. He has a sharp wit. Meeting Doug rekindles his suppressed ambition. His speech is Scottish dialect.
Rose (Doug’s once girlfriend)
The attractive Scottish girlfriend of Doug. She is smart and well educated with a short-fused temper. However, when she realizes Doug’s predicament, she is compassionate and understanding.
Curtain UP:
ACT ONE:
As curtain rises a shop bell is heard. There are three chairs on stage, and a table with a coffin placed on it.
Eileen: (Appears through door onto stage and turns as though saying farewell to someone leaving shop. She walks with the aid of a stick.) “Bye Ms. Teasdale. I’m sorry I didn’t have the stuff you wanted. I’ll see if I can get it in next week.” (She stands by the table and talks to herself.) “Virgin olive oil indeed!” (Then mimics the posh voice of Ms. Teasdale.) “Extra virgin if you have it. Nothing else will do. Delia always uses extra virgin.” (Back to own dialect) “There’s far too many of them cookery programs on the television for my liking. They’re giving folk round here daft ideas. Some of the stuff they come looking for. Well, I’ve never heard of it. Mind you, what they ask for and what they mean can be two completely different things.” (Again mimics Ms. Teasdale) “Have you any petit pois?” (Back to own dialect) “And you should see the look on their face when I tell them to go over to the freezer and lift out a packet of frozen garden peas. And they’re looking for fancy packets to make so called casseroles. I don’t know what’s wrong with a bit of good old fashioned lamb hot pot. Doesn’t sound grand enough I suppose. They’re always going round to each other’s houses for meals. And it wouldn’t do to dish up something simple like a bit of hot pot or Cumberland sausage. At least not without hiding it behind some fancy French name. It’s like a competition to see who can put on the best show. They go to no end of trouble. Even have candles and paper serviettes. It’ll be best china and all I suppose. You would think this was Sainsbury’s instead of the village shop.” (Looks at watch and talks to coffin and sighs) “They’ll be coming round to see you and pay their last respects soon, Joseph. I hope a few of them bring their checkbook as well. I don’t want them to think the slate will get wiped clean just because you’ve departed from the business. Far from it. There’ll still be bills to pay. And the undertaker doesn’t come cheap. (Carefully inspects coffin fittings) “I hope this is real brass. He charged me plenty for it. Said it was guaranteed not to rust for ten years. He gave me a funny look when I said it had better not. I didn’t really mean it. I mean who in their right mind is going to wait ten years to dig up a coffin just to check if the fittings are rusting? Well, they’re not, are they? And that cemetery’s full of boulders. (Inspects handles again) “Mind you, they do feel a bit plasticky…” (Runs hand over length of coffin) “That old ticker of yours packed in at a bad time. Month end, just when all the bills are due. No doubt some of them invoice clerks, or whatever fancy name they go by nowadays, will still expect the money on time. Well, they’ll just have to wait until I’ve checked the invoices and returns. They’re always trying to put one over on me. Charging me for stuff I haven’t had. It’ll be no good telling them how much I’ve been grieving: that I’m on my own now with nobody to help. They’re a hard-hearted lot. Don’t understand us small businesses. They’re all run by accountants. And we all know what they’re like.” (Tries to put tablecloth on table but the coffin is in the way. It is too heavy for her to move. She goes to drawer and gets a further cloth to lie on other side of coffin. Arranges plates and cups and a few biscuits and cakes. There is a knock on the outside door) “Come in.”
Tim: ( Enters wearing a suit and holding a cap) Ms. Brennan, I’m not disturbing you, am I?
Eileen: “Tim?” (and she gives him the once over.) “Wearing a suit, I see.”
Tim: (Nods agreeably)
Eileen: “You’re not in any bother, are you? You know, with the police?
Tim: “No, Ms. Brennan, I’ve just come to pay my respects to Joe.”
Eileen: “I take it you are referring to my late husband, Joseph, who as far as you are concerned Tim Carter, is Mr. Brennan. Just because he is no longer with us does not mean you can take advantage of his good nature.”
Tim: “No, Ms. Brennan. I mean, yes, Ms. Brennan. My respects to Mr. Brennan.”
Eileen: “Are you going to clog up that doorway or come in and sit down?”
Tim: “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll sit down for a minute.”
(Tim Sits at table and eyes up some scones)
Eileen: “I take it you’ll have a cup of tea?”
Tim: (nodding agreement)
Eileen: “But keep your hands off those scones. They’re for the folks from away. Not for the likes of you.” (Busies herself with making tea)
Tim: “Have you heard when Doug’s coming home?”
Eileen: (Stands motionless and glares at Tim)
Tim: (Embarrassed, hurriedly corrects himself) “I mean, Douglas. When’s he coming?”
Eileen: “I’m expecting him sometime this evening. I spoke personally to his personal secretary. Beautifully spoken woman. Well educated. You can tell right away. She said she would track him down. He was away from the office on some important business. Something very, very confidential. She would ring me as soon as she contacted him. But she warned he had said no phone calls unless something extremely urgent came up.”
Tim: “Only something that was extremely urgent? I take it you phoned two days ago. You know when Mr. Brennan….you know….when he….”
Eileen: “Of course, I did.”
Tim: “Did Jacob not ring right back? I take it he has a mobile phone.”
Eileen: (Mindlessly starts re-arranging things on the dresser.) “Of course, he has a mobile phone. But they don’t work everywhere.”
Tim: “Not round here. But I thought they would have worked everywhere in London.”
Eileen: (Scowls at him.) “Maybe the battery was flat. Or something…”
Tim: (Looks to the ceiling.) “I suppose he just can’t get off work at the drop of a hat. Him having such an important job.”
Eileen: “Oh they think the world of him down there in London. He’s the main man you know. They never do anything without consulting him.”
Tim: “He’s done well for himself right enough. What is it he does exactly?”
Eileen: (Ponders.) “Well, he did explain it to me once, but it was very complicated. Something like buying copper for them that wants it at some time in the future.”
Tim: “Ah, yes, I suppose there are always plenty of folk down there in London who want to buy copper, but they don’t know exactly when.”
Eileen: “Not only London. He goes all over the world. Flies you know. In them jumbo jets. None of them little propeller jobs like we go in when off to the Isle of Man. I sometimes wonder how they get off the ground.”
Eileen: (Pours tea) “I don’t suppose you’ve been up in one of them airplanes.”
Tim: “No…But I’ve been to the Isle of Man on a boat.”
Eileen: (Dismissively) “Only on a day trip.”
Tim: (Stands up and goes to window) “There’s a big car coming up the lane.”
Eileen: (Goes to window and peers out.) “That’s his car. Just look at it. It’s foreign you know. He had it specially imported from Germany. A Mercedes Benz. It’s his pride and joy. He has it shining like a new pin.”
Tim: “Well, I’d say we’d better get a bucket of water drawn for him. He’ll be needing it to get rid of that cow shit he’s just splashed through.”
Eileen: “Tim Carter! You should wash your tongue out with soap and water using that language.” (Runs her hands over her dress and stands facing outside door. We see a change in her disposition. She has become the grieving widow.)
Doug: (Enters carrying a suitcase and a guitar case. Places it on floor.)
Eileen: (Rushes to embrace him and weeps on his shoulder.) “You’ve come home son. Thank God. I’ve been waiting and praying every minute since your dad passed away. God Rest his soul. You’re all I’ve got now son. My little boy’s come home.” (Between sobs) “It took you long enough to get here. But never mind. You’ve made it now. And you have no idea how good it is to see you. Back home where you belong.” (Spots his guitar case.) “That had to come with you I suppose?” (Attempts to move his suitcase)
Doug: “Now mother, I’ll attend to that. Stop fussing.” (Holds mum at arm’s length with hands on her shoulders) “Tell me, mum, how are you coping?”
Eileen: Exaggerates sniffs) “Soldiering on son. Soldiering on. It’s never easy when you get to my age. But younger ones don’t understand.”
Doug: “It must have come as a terrible shock.”
Eileen: “It was that. For all of us. As you well know, your dad never ailed a thing in his life…and then this happened.” (Bursts into tears) “Left me all alone. Went off just like that and left me to cope all on my own.”
Doug: (Comforts mum with arms around her) “I’m sure he didn’t do it deliberately. I mean he wouldn’t want to go and leave you. It’s just the way these things happen.”
Eileen: “I know, son. I know.” (Fixes pinafore) “Did you have a good journey? They were very nice about it at your work. Very sympathetic. When I told them my predicament they understood. Them being in business like me. What with a funeral to organize and the shop to run.”
Doug: “Yes, they would be …” (Looks at her doubtfully, then spots Tim and walks over and shakes him by the hand.) Good to see you, Tim. And thanks for coming round. I’m sure mother appreciates it. You know. Support.”
Eileen: (keeps sniffing)
Tim: (Makes no effort to move and says, cynically) “Do you want me to get you a box of tissues from the shop Ms. Brennan?”
Doug: (Looks at Tim quizzically)
Eileen: “No, I’ll be all right. Thank you.” (Wiping hands on her pinafore) You’ll be wanting to have something to eat, son. Get some good home cooking into you. I’ve done a batch of scones.”
Doug: “Mother, I’m not really hungry. Don’t be worrying yourself.”
Eileen: “Of course you are. Sit yourself down. Me and Tim were just going to have a nice cup of tea. Now you’re here, we can light the candle the new vicar brought round. I took it to please him. Before we know we’ll be saying them Hail Mary’s like the Catholics.” (She puts a match to the candle then glances knowingly at Tim before Doug.) “You can have a scone with a bit of homemade rum butter. And there’s a bit of hand cut boiled ham if you want.”
(They all sit at table. Eileen at one side, the two men on the other. The plates and saucers are passed back and forth over the coffin. She pours tea.
Doug: “Mother?”
Eileen: “Yes, son”
Doug: “Did you have to lay dad out on the kitchen table?”
Eileen: “Matter of fact, it was the only place for him.”
Doug: (Exasperated) “Could you not have put him in the front room?”
Eileen: “And close the shop? No son, I had to trade on. The customers would expect nothing less.” (Pauses) We usually do very well on a Bank Holiday. Plenty of visitors around. The weather being fine for a change. You must make the best of these opportunities.”
Doug: “But the Bank Holiday was the day before yesterday.”
Eileen: “There’s always a few stays behind that want the odd pint of milk.”
Tim: “I take it you’ll be closing tomorrow when we bury Mr. Brennan.”
Eileen: “That reminds me. Take a loaf of bread home tonight with you for your mother.”
Doug: “Mother, does that mean you are closing tomorrow?”
Eileen: (Hesitates) “Yes son. I’ll close the shop.”
Doug: (Persisting) “Why didn’t you leave him in the chapel of rest?”
Eileen: (Spikily) “Well you weren’t here to help.” (She softens) “Any-road, it’s a long way for folk to travel to see him. Best part of twenty miles there and back. And besides, they wanted twenty pounds a night to keep him there. That’s as much as bed and breakfast at Ms. Dawson’s down the road. And remember the Chapel of Rest doesn’t have any sheets to launder nor breakfast to make. And anyway, I don’t have that sort of money to throw away. (Looks meaningfully at Doug.) “I’m not well off like some of the family.”
Tim: “They’ll be no problem there, Ms. Brennan. Your Doug will have plenty of money. They all make big money down there in London.
Doug: (Glowers at Tim. Replies hesitatingly,) “Of course….yes, I’ll help out.” (Feels pockets) “I don’t happen to have much money on me. Left in a bit of a rush.”
Tim: “You can use your credit card. Book it down to expenses. That’s what folks like you do isn’t it?”
Eileen: “Credit cards! Credit cards. Credit cards are no use around here. A bit of plastic isn’t real money. The funeral man will want cash. Pound notes in the hand. That’s how we do business in these parts. And he’ll give us a bit back for luck money. Make sure you get a bit of luck money off him.”
Doug: (Frowns as he realizes he is in line to pay expenses)
Eileen But all this talk of money. I never thought…well, anyway, you’ll be wanting to take a last look at your dad. (She tidies up the table.)
Doug: “I’d like that mother. I’d like that very much. It’s ten months since I last saw him.”
Eileen: (Interrupts sharply) “Nobody’s fault but your own.”
Doug: “Mother, it isn’t just like hopping onto a tube train to come to this place at the back of beyond. It takes a full day to get here and a day to get back.”
Tim: “And time is money, as we all know.”
Eileen: (Conciliatory) “Well I suppose if you’re married to a career you have to make some sacrifices.”
Doug: (Glowers at Tim) “It isn’t that easy.” (Smiles) “ I remember the last time, though. It was his birthday. We had a great time together. Went off to see a rugby league match. First one he’d been to in years.”
Eileen: (Interrupting) “And got him so drunk he couldn’t get out of bed to fetch the papers the next morning. If I remember correctly.”
Doug: “He would be sixty-five next time round, wouldn’t he mother?”
Eileen: (Nods)
Doug: “In eight weeks’ time.”
Eileen: “Typical. Just typical of your dad. In eight weeks, he would have started to draw his old age pension. Just like him to miss something like that. All these years the government have taken money off us and what did he get out of it? Nothing. Not a single penny… still I suppose I’ll be entitled to a widow’s pension.
Doug: “Is that something I could look into for you mother?”
Eileen: “Indeed not. I’ll do it myself thank you.”
(Eileen and Doug stand together over coffin. Tim joins them.)
Eileen: (Blows out and removes candle and lifts lid off coffin.) “Doesn’t he look well?” (They all gaze into coffin. She sniffs.) “Them are his best pajamas. New last Christmas. Only wore them a few times. I’ve told the undertaker I want them back when he’s finished. He’d want you to have them son.”
Doug: “The pajamas are very nice, mother. But I thought you might have laid him out in his best suit. You know, like tradition. After all, he got de-mobbed in it. He wore it when you got married.”
Eileen: “And he would have worn it your wedding, if there had been such an event.”
Doug: “And every Sunday, he pressed it to go to church. It was getting a bit on the shiny side, but I thought he would have taken it to his grave.”
Tim: “My dad’s got his suit.”
Doug: (Looks up sharply) “Why would your dad have my dad’s suit?”
Tim: “Matter of fact, Doug, he needs it to buy a new tractor. He’s meeting up with the bank manager directly after the funeral.”
Doug: (Shakes head in disbelief before leaning over to touch father’s brow.) “He looks so peaceful.” (Leans over further to take closer look.) “I know it sounds funny, but he looks …. well, sort of happy. That’s it…happy.” (Sniffs as holds back tears.) “How did he pass away mother? You didn’t mention it over the phone.”
Eileen: (Hesitant) “He stopped breathing.”
Doug: (Arm around mother) “I gathered that, mother…….let me rephrase… why did he stop breathing?”
Eileen: (Sobbing.) “We…I mean he, we… were in bed.”
Doug: (Puzzled) “I thought you slept in separate room because of his snoring?”
Eileen: “Well usually. But not always.”
Doug: “So you were in bed together when it happened?”
Eileen: “Yes…I suppose you could say that.”
Doug: (Shudders) “It must have been terrible for you to wake up next to him. Him being cold and stiff.”
Eileen: (Moving away from Doug) “Well no. It didn’t happen just like that. He wasn’t asleep. Not at first.”
Doug: “But he died next to you. And you were both awake?”
Eileen: “Sort of next to me. Yes. We were both awake… that is… til he wasn’t.”
Doug: (Walks away and has hand on chin as trying to understand.)
Tim: (Joins him and nudges. Speaks as an aside so Eileen can’t hear) I think you’d better let it go at that Doug.” (Sniggers)
Doug: (Realizing what has happened and turns away to laugh) “Oh my God!”
Eileen: (Oblivious to the interaction of the two men) It was a heart attack. Sudden like. His eyes bulged and he went as red as a beetroot and started gasping for breath… for a minute I thought nothing much of it. Then by the time I got away from him and out of bed… it was too late… the doctor came. He wired him up for electricity, but it didn’t work. Even had the ambulance helicopter land on the green. All the folks got out of their beds to have a look what was going on. Doctor said it was a nice way for him to go. He was a young man about your age. He was getting married next week, he said. Met a young solicitor that came from a good family. A nice way to go indeed. Well, I suppose it was for poor Joseph.”
Doug: (Looks away. His eyes fall on the Ukulele hanging on wall. Walks over and takes it down and inspects lovingly) It was the love of his life, these Ukulele. Ever since I was a little boy, he played tunes for me. In summer we sat together on the front porch till it got dark.”
Eileen: (Interrupting) “When he should have been helping me.”
Doug: (Ignoring) “And he played nursery rhymes and smoked his pipe.”
Tim: “That would keep the flies away all right.”
Doug: (Ignores Tim) “We spent hours together.”
Eileen: (Angrily) “A waste of time. Playing the Ukulele indeed. Grown up men shouldn’t be spending their time playing with their ukulele’s especially when there’s work to be done. It’s not natural. And there was more to it than that. If that wasn’t bad enough. The pair of them….(Points to Tim) “Your dad was the other culprit. It wasn’t just playing. Oh no! They weren’t satisfied until they had a bellyful of whiskey. Thought I didn’t know about it. Tried to hide it by swallowing enough peppermints til their breath was hot enough to light a coal fire. But I could still smell the whiskey…and the smoke. Them… ukulele’s… it’s the instrument of the devil. All my life he’s tormented me with so called music coming out of that thing. (Reaches for ukulele but Doug holds on) “Your dad might be on his way to heaven. God rest his soul. And when he goes, that thing goes with him.” (She puts ukulele back onto wall)
Doug: “But mum, dad promised me these his ukulele. He always wanted me to play just like him. And anyway, there’s always been a ukulele player in our family. Your own dad, my granddad, and you said yourself how much you liked to hear him play.
Eileen: (Softening) “That was different. Mind you he never made a penny out of it either. At least your granddad played in tune. He was a good man. But he couldn’t resist the drink. He spent half his life in the pub. When all his wages had disappeared down the drain, they kicked him out and he staggered back home. We sat around the little black and white television and watched the Black and White Minstrel Show. And even when he was full of beer he played along. I miss the Black and White Minstrel Show. But things have changed. We can’t call colored folk colored any more. Too much of this political correctness. And it didn’t end at that. It affected everything. Life was never the same. When it happened, I had a shelf full of Robertson’s marmalade and it took me best part of a day to scrub all the golliwogs of the jars.
Doug: “So you see mother, it wasn’t all bad, was it? You do have some nice memories of the ukulele.”
Eileen: “I suppose so.”
Doug: (Smiles)
Eileen: (Realizes she has been fooled. Gathers herself and is assertive) “No son. When your father goes, so do those Ukulele. I don’t want to discuss it further. (Sobs) But I don’t want to argue with you. It’s been a long day. I’m ready for my bed. It’s well past my normal bedtime. No doubt you’ll be tired as well after the long journey. (Looks at Tim) “When your visitor decides to go to his bed, lock up son. (She goes to re-fix the coffin lid then walks to door. She turns.
Doug: (Replaces the candle and lights on it.)
Eileen: (Comes back and blows it out) “We don’t want the shop setting on fire, do we? (She walks to door and turns again)
Doug: (Lighting up a cigarette)
Eileen: Your father wouldn’t like you smoking in the house. He always said it wasn’t good for you. Would stunt your growth. And think how much money you’re sending up in smoke Goodnight son.”
Doug: (Gives her a long hard look and then stubs out the cigarette in the sink)
Eileen: (Smiles gently) “You have no idea how much it gladdens the old eyes to see my only child. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I’ll go to my bed a contented woman. (Goes and hugs Doug)
Doug: “Goodnight mother. I’ll put the bolts on before I come up.”
Eileen: “Don’t forget to check the shed door.”
Doug: “No mother.”
Tim: “Good night, Mrs. Brennan.”
Eileen: “Goodnight Tim. And don’t be keeping my boy up all night.” (Picks up loaf of bread) “And don’t forget to take the loaf with you. I promised your mother.”
Tim: “No Mrs. Brennan.”
Eileen: (Holds out hand for money for loaf)
Tim: (Searches pockets) “I didn’t fetch any money with me.”
Eileen: (Puts loaf back onto dresser) “You can pick it up first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t forget. And bring some money with you. The right change. I don’t want to be bothered opening the till on the day of the funeral.”
Exits. (The two men wait until her footsteps are out of earshot.)
Tim: “Cigarettes stunting the growth! Fine words indeed. Eileen on her high moral ground. She didn’t always think like that. The number of fags she sold us when we were kids it’s a wonder the village wasn’t full of midgets. And they were ten-pence a pack more than the pub charged.”
Doug: (Smiles) “Never a one to let much come between her and a profit, that’s my mother. Funny, really, she doesn’t seem to be as upset as much as I thought she would be.”
Tim: “Neither are you…..I mean, I’m sorry I said that.”
Doug: “We all have our own way of grieving.” (Pause) “And you shouldn’t make snap judgements. You have no idea what I’m feeling. Or what I’ve gone through this last day or two. What I meant was that my mother wasn’t as upset as I was expecting. To tell you the truth, I was dreading walking through that door.”
Tim: Well, you know your mother. She hides her feelings well.
Doug: “Yes. I suppose she does. When they invented that saying ‘there wasn’t a dry eye in the house’ they forgot about my mother. Oh, she can be a tough nut. But it must have been a terrible shock. Dad never ailed a thing in his life.”
Tim: “It must have been a terrible shock for your dad as well.”
Doug: “Right enough. But when you go as quickly as that, I don’t suppose you think of it as a shock. Maybe feeling a bit tired. A bit off colour. Then a sharp pain. Tightening of the chest. You gasp for air. Feel like you are going to explode. Then a red mist. And nothing. It's something we’ll never know for sure about. Well….one day we will. But then it’ll be too late to tell anybody what it feels like.”
Tim: (Cringing) “I don’t think you need to tell me anymore. I won’t sleep tonight. You seem to know a lot about it.”
Doug: “About what?”
Tim: “Heart attacks. You haven’t had one yourself?”
Doug: (Hesitantly) “No. Not exactly. But I know what it can feel like.”
Tim: “If you haven’t had one how can you know what it feels like?”
Doug: “Oh it’s just something that happened to me at work. I don’t want to talk about it (places hands on coffin) My poor old dad. I would have liked to have seen more of him before he passed away. You know, said a few things that I never got round to saying.”
Tim: Right enough, he were a grand old stick.
Doug: Remember when he used to play football with us?”
Tim: “I do that. He was never any good. Always played in his clogs. Kicked out at anything that moved. Football, ankles, shins. (Rubs legs as though in pain) “God. I used to dread it. My legs finished up black and blue.”
Doug: “But he meant well…..He loved being with us. Teaching us how to fish and set snares for rabbits. Where to look for bird’s nests. Picking blackberries and wood nuts. I’ll miss him.”
Tim: “I don’t remember any fishing. Or bird nesting for that matter. Swimming in the tarn though. Every Saturday in summer. That’s what we did.”
Doug: (Shuddering) “We only once went swimming. It was too damned cold for my liking.”
Tim: “Do you know that heart attack you nearly had when you were at work that you were telling me about?”
Doug: “Yes.”
Tim: “I think it’s affected your memory as well. (Pause) “Anyway, whatever we do both remember, or in your case don’t remember, was your dad did enjoy spending time with us. I think he did a lot of it to get away from your mother……”
Doug: (Looks querying)
Tim: “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Doug: “You can say what you like. It’s too late now.”
Tim: “She gave him a dog’s life. Joseph bring this…Joseph bring that…Joseph, don’t forget to do this…Joseph, don’t forget to do that. And she kicked him out of bed every morning at half past five. It didn’t matter if there was snow on the ground or it was pouring cats and dogs. There was no reprieve. He had to trudge down to the crossroads and pick up the milk and papers. The delivery van wouldn’t come up the lane for the sake of a few bottles of milk and a handful of papers. Then he had to light a fire and take her a cup of tea. And if he wasn’t on time or the tea was not to her liking there was hell to pay.”
Doug: “I’ve been away for so long I’d forgotten what it used to be like. But she meant well. She did it to pay for my education. And to put a bit aside for a rainy day.”
Tim: “Well all I can tell you is that over the years things didn’t get any better for your poor old dad. He went to church every Sunday that God sent, and he knelt and prayed so much that he needed patches on the knees of his best suit. But I don’t think anybody up there was listening. At least I never noticed any divine intervention in the domestic affairs of the Brennan household. Your mother just kept on nagging. Even when she went down with laryngitis, she wrote him instructions on an old notebook. It finished up with more words than there are in the holy bible…… New and Old Testaments combined. Come to think of it, your mother could have nagged for Scotland.
Doug: “You needn’t talk, your mother is just as bad.”
Tim: “Not in the same league. We are comparing a part time footballer with David Beckham.”
Doug: “Come on Tim, that’s a bit harsh on the old girl. You’re being cruel.”
Tim: “I suppose so. I’m sorry. I just got carried away. I liked your dad. He was like an uncle to me
Doug: “Dad must have had some pleasures in his life. It couldn’t all have been bad. There must have been something good that kept him going. Something going on inside his head she couldn’t get at. I mean, even my mother couldn’t get inside his head.”
Tim: “Don’t you kid yourself. She tried hard enough. God knows she tried. I think she stopped short of drugging him….that would have been too expensive for her liking….but she certainly tried everything else. He was very proud of you Doug. Your job. What you’ve achieved. He was always telling folk about how well you were doing. Christ, he used to shove it down my neck enough. (Mimics) Tim, if only you’d made the best of your opportunities like our Jacob, you wouldn’t be standing there in cow shit up to your knees. You could be wearing a suit and tie and driving a nice car. I could have thrown a shovel full of cow shit over him when he was leaning on the wall looking down at me toiling away in the byre. But he meant well….the old stick.”
Doug: Him and your dad used to love to play highland music.”
Tim: “Next to him bragging about what you had done, that was his greatest pleasure.”
Doug: “I thought they were wonderful. I can see them now the day of the vicarage gala. My dad’s eyes lit up with joy. His old fingers, calloused and rough with fetching and carrying, danced over those old Ukulele like a spring lamb. His face was frozen in concentration. But every now and then a bit of a smile would break out when they looked at each other.
Tim: “By God could they play? When they were full steam ahead, the tin roof on the village hall would fairly bounce.”
Doug: “My mother phoned me every week. After six on Sunday to get cheapest rate. Then she would make up an excuse that the line was bad, and it would be better if I could phone her back. To save money of course….”
Tim: “Good old Eileen.”
Doug: “She allowed him one minute to talk to me. That’s all I got with my dad every week, one cheap rate minute. And that was only after she’d read the births, deaths, and marriages column of the local paper. But it didn’t put my dad off. He told me all about playing the Ukulele and every new tune they had learned that week. He sounded happy enough. When his minute was up, not a second more, she took the phone off him to ask if I was eating regularly and changing me socks every day and making sure I wore clean underpants in case….” (Both in unison)…. a bus knocks me down and I have to go to hospital
Tim: “I would like a pound every time I heard that dire warning.”
Doug: “Did the two of them still have a glass or two of whiskey when they played?”
Tim: “Not half, they did.”
Doug: And did they still hide the whiskey bottle in the electric meter cupboard?”
Tim: (Laughing) “They used to. That is until the man from the electric board ran his car off the road.”
Doug: Easy done on these lanes.”
Tim: “Especially when you’ve a skinful of whiskey inside you.”
Doug: “Was he okay?”
Tim: Yes, he was okay when they sobered him up. It was your mother who got the biggest shock when she got an electric bill for over a thousand pounds. She went ballistic. Turned out the fellow was that pissed he couldn’t read meter, so he put first thing down that came into his head.
Doug: “Talking of drink, do you think me mother has any in the house?”
Tim: “Not a hope.”
Doug: (Opens cupboard door and brings out small bottle of brandy) “She always kept a drop of this for medicinal purposes.”
Tim: “You’re not thinking of taking a drop of that, are you?”
Doug: “Why not?”
Tim: “She’ll kill you if she finds out.”
Doug: “She’ll never know.”
Tim: “Don’t you kid yourself.” (Takes bottle and inspects) “There’ll be a mark somewhere.”
Doug: (Also inspects) “There’s no mark I can see.”
Tim: (Turns bottle upside down) “There is now.” (They inspect together)
Doug: “The crafty old devil. Do you fancy a drink?”
Tim: “Never been known to refuse. But… (Looks upstairs) I’m not so sure. You know, with her being up there.”
Doug: “She’ll be asleep by now.”
Tim: “Are you sure?”
Doug: (Goes to his bag and pulls out bottle of whiskey) “Get a couple of glasses. If she starts moving, we’ll hear the stick on the floor. (Pours each a measure of whiskey)
Tim: “Cheers. And here’s to your old man.”
Doug: Cheers. And here’s to me dad.” (They drink in silence for a short while) “Fancy a cigarette?”
Tim: (Looks upstairs) “Christ Doug you’re really pushing it now. I don’t really think we should but…….(Goes to window and forces open to let fresh air inside and comes back)
…. I’m dying for a fag. I’ll get a saucer out of the cupboard. I don’t suppose they’ll be any cut glass ashtrays in this house.” (They both light up)
Doug: (Looks at Ukulele on wall) “I’m having them Ukulele. He promised me. And I don’t care what mother says.”
Tim: (Goes over and takes Ukulele off the wall) “I’ll drink to that Doug. It’s a grand instrument. Would be a shame to destroy it.”
Doug: “Just be careful. They’re very delicate things.”
Tim: “Thanks for that advice, Doug. But I have played this old thing a time or two. Or didn’t you know that?”
Doug: (Shakes head)
Tim: “Your dad used to teach me. Said I wasn’t a bad hand at it.”
Doug: “Gets up and wanders towards coffin.”
Tim: “You’re not interested in what I’m telling you, are you? If it’s not about you, you’re not interested.”
Doug” (Fingering coffin fittings) Of course I’m interested…but these fittings don’t seem to be real brass. I bet the old girl got the cheapest you can get. Probably factory rejects.”
Tim: “Probably. How much she paid for them brass handles or where she got them from will be of more interest to you than what I was saying.”
Doug: “No. Go on. Tell me about the ukulele playing. Or lack of it.”
Tim: (Plays a note or two very quietly)
Doug: “Can you play anything I would recognize?”
Tim: (Immersed in fiddling with tuning)
Doug: Or is that as far as you got?
Tim: “Of course I can play a bit.” (Plays a quiet tune with some skill)
Doug: “That sounds not bad at all.”
Tim: (Puts down ukulele)
Doug: “That’ll be the only tune you can play, I take it? Like the school report, ‘shows promise. A little more application needed.”
Tim: “And where would I get the chance to practice? In case it has slipped your mind I didn’t get the chances you had. Well, me mam and dad wouldn’t entertain me playing in the living room. Too noisy. ‘Shut up lad, we’re trying to watch the tele’. And my bedroom was like an ice box. When I mentioned to me mam and dad about getting central heating, they both laughed in me face. ‘Yer getting to be a right softy,’ they said….. I would have loved to have played more. Not like you. You had all the chances. You went away to that posh school. They encouraged you to play the guitar there. Even your mother couldn’t get them to change that.
Doug: (Nods. They smoke and drink in another silence.) It wasn’t great at that school you know. I didn’t want to go. It was my mother that insisted. ‘You’re our only child and we’ve got to give you every chance in life’, she said. Get me out from under her feet was more like it. My dad didn’t want me to go either but as usual he got overruled. For the first week I cried every night. I was the poor boy. I had a blazer that was two sizes too big so I would grow into it. That’s all they could afford. By the time it fit me it was threadbare. That is, everywhere except for the leather patches on the elbows and cuffs. At first, I didn’t think I spoke the same language as the others. They used to tease me about the accent. Where is it you come from Brennan, they would ask? And when I told them Cumberland, they repeated what I had said. Taking the piss about the way I spoke. The way I pronounced my U’s. It was a long time before I cottoned on.
Tim: “You never spoke that bad, even when you were a lad. Your mother saw to that.”
Doug: “Well whatever it was, it wasn’t up to their standards. But it just wasn’t the way I spoke. ‘What do your parents do for a living,’ they would ask. I told them they were in retailing. I mean just retailing was bad enough let alone just having this little village shop. All the other parents were accountants or solicitors or vicars or company chairmen or admirals. It was most embarrassing when mam and dad came to see me. I had to pretend our old Morris Minor belonged to somebody else. Asked them to park it well away from the school so the others wouldn’t see it and make fun. So I wasn’t like you, having your own bed to go to every night and sitting down for meals with your old folk.
Tim: (Posh voice) “Yes, I can remember those days very clearly. When the dinner gong went, I had to jump into the old dinner jacket and get my man to fix the dicky bow tie. And there was none of your clip-on jobs. Oh no, it had to be the real thing. And I could never lay my hands on the gold cufflinks. It was all such a rush. And father insisted we all got together in the drawing room and had a quick snorter before dinner. ‘Keeps the family together,’ he said. ‘Can’t let standards slip.’ Oh he was terribly insistent on that. He, of course, sat at the head of the table and mater sat opposite so she could direct the butler. Sunday was the big problem because it was cook’s day off. Had to make do with cold cuts.”
Doug: “Okay so things at home weren’t great. And you think I had it good? Well, there wasn’t much of it that was good. The only good thing was learning to play the guitar. I spent hours practicing. It was an excuse to be on my own. I was better than the others at playing music. I suppose it was the only thing I was really good at. The other lads even asked me to play in their band. But I couldn’t do that because there was no way I had the money to buy an electric guitar.”
Tim: I see you’ve brought your guitar with you.
Doug: “Yeah. But I don’t think she was too impressed.”
(They both now drink and smoke and this continues until they become slightly tipsy by the end of the act.)
Tim: “Can I have a look at it?”
Doug: “The guitar, you mean?”
Tim: “What else do you think I was referring to?”
Doug: “Sure you can look at it. But be careful.”
Tim: “I wasn’t planning on standing on it. (Goes and opens case)
Doug: “Just watch what you’re doing. That thing cost a lot of money. I got it from America.”
Tim: “Now, son of Eileen, don’t be worrying. I’ll treat it with the respect it no doubt deserves.”
Doug: (Laughing) I didn’t mean it like that. Bring it over here. I’ll let you hear what it sounds like.
Tim: (Carry’s it to him) “It’s a lovely instrument.”
Doug: (Takes and strums) “The very best. Same as Bob Dylan plays. A Gibson dreadnought.”
Tim: Right enough, it has a great tone. But keep the noise down. She’ll be down on us like a ton of bricks if she hears that.”
Doug: (Plays louder)
Tim: (Cringes)
Doug: “Don’t worry. Once she’s dropped off, she’ sleeps like a log.”
Tim: “You play just like my dad.”
Doug: (Lost in the music) “Mm…. Listen, why don’t you have a proper go on the Ukulele? Now you’ve checked that it’s in tune.”
Tim: (Glowers) Okay. But we’ll have to watch the noise level.” (Looks to ceiling again)
Doug: “You don’t have to play it flat out. Just gentle. Remember, it is a funeral.” (Giggles)
Tim: (Gets Ukulele and sets himself to play) “You know Doug? He doesn’t have much of a say in the matter, but I’m sure your dad would have enjoyed seeing us playing here. Mind you, he would have had one eye pointing up them stairs as well.”
(Both drinking and smoking)
Doug: (Plays first few notes of a scale which is introduction to song ‘Dueling Banjos’)
Tim: (Responds, feeling for same notes)
Doug: (Nods and quickens tempo)
Tim: (Responds. Both Play on and the tempo is upped. They are now competing. We hear a series of loud knocks on the ceiling.)
Eileen: (From above) Will you two turn that noise down? I’m trying to get some sleep. And show some respect for the dead.”
(Both stop playing)
Tim: (Panics. Rushes to put Ukulele back on wall) “We’d better do as she says…. She must think we’re playing a cassette, or she would be down already.”
Doug: (Replaces guitar in case.) “That was good……. All these years we known each other and that’s the first time we’ve played together. I know you we’re a bit rusty, but it sounded okay.”
Tim: “I wasn’t rusty at all. Considering how little I play I think I was pretty good.”
Doug: (Shrugs)
Tim: “I don’t care what you say about boarding school, you were lucky. Getting away from here. I never had a chance to get away. To break free. (Goes to window and looks out) That car of yours looks great.
Doug: “Yes. Cost a fortune. But it goes like the wind. Touched a hundred and twenty on the way up. What sort of car do you run?”
Tim” (Returns from window and sits again. He is slightly embarrassed) “I don’t run a car. Don’t really need one.”
Doug: “I would have thought everybody round here needed a car. Christ, it’s so far away from anywhere. Funny isn’t it. I live in London and could easily manage without a car. You live in the middle of nowhere and don’t have one.”
Tim: “Well that’s the way it is. If I need transport, I borrow my dad’s pickup.”
Doug: “I take it you haven’t got married yet.”
Tim: “You would have got an invitation if I had been. I’ll want you to be the best man when the great day comes around. You know, somebody who can speak well at the do afterwards. Even if your voice is a bit on the posh side.”
Doug: (Ignores taunt) “Still the same girl? Gladys, is it?”
Tim: “Same old Gladys. I’ve never been out with any other girl. She’s the only one in the village my age. But we get on okay. Right enough.”
Doug: “Hell you’ve been going out with her for years. I thought she would have waltzed you up the aisle by now.”
Tim: “She would if she had her way.”
Doug: “What’s stopping you? You must be putting away plenty of money living at home all this time. I mean the only outgoings you have are your board and lodgings. And a bit of beer money.”
Tim: “You’ve been away too long. You’re out of with reality of how things are round here. There’s no money in farming. My dad hardly makes enough to pay his rent. I mean he gives me what he can. But it isn’t much.”
Doug: “Why don’t you get a different job?”
Tim: (Irritated) “Because there are no jobs round here. To get a job I would have to leave this place. Live away. And Gladys isn’t for doing that. She won’t move. You know what lasses are like. Sticking to their mother’s apron strings.”
Doug: “It sounds like you’re as bad as each other. You needn’t complain about Gladys being stuck to her mother’s apron strings. You’re just as bad. At least you have a life with no pressure.”
Tim: “If no money means no pressure, you’re dead right.” (Takes long slug of whiskey) “You can be one smarmy bastard Doug. Do you know that?”
Doug: “You’re jealous because I’ve got up and done something with my life. There’s nothing to stop you doing the same. If you had the guts to go for it.” (Pause. Tim looks down at table, contemplating) “Why don’t you get a job on the oilrigs just for a year or two and save up a bit of money. You know, enough to get a house. To give you a bit of a start in life. I know some lads in London have done that.
Tim: “It sounds easy enough to you. But what skills have I got that would be suited to an oilrig? Maybe nobody has told you Doug, but they don’t have fields and cows and milking parlors in the middle of the North Sea. And I don’t think my muck spreader would be much good in a force ten gale.”
Doug: “You’re just making excuses. All they want out there are guys who will work hard in all weathers.”
Tim: “Well you wouldn’t know much about that. Would you?” (Pause) “And what if I did go and come back with a bit of money in my pocket? Every house you passed on the way up from the main road with a ‘For Sale’ notice costs way and above anything I can afford. Or ever likely to afford. Do you know that every other house in this valley is a second home? People from your part of the woods with big pockets come up here and pay big prices. The estate agents love them. Don’t they just. And most of the year the houses are empty. And empty houses are no good for our little community. The school is struggling to survive. The filling station has gone, and we haven’t had a policeman in the village for five years.”
Doug: “I thought you’d be the last one to worry about a thing like that.”
Tim: (Laughs) “No, I’m not saying that’s altogether a bad thing. But Doug, there’s not a great future around here for young folks like me and Gladys. Looking at the fells and lakes through rose tinted spectacles is all right for them that write poetry and paint, but it doesn’t put a roof over your head or fill your bellies. I don’t want to talk any more about me, it’s too bloody depressing. Tell me about how you’re getting on. You mother mentioned a job and all the money you were making, but she never mentioned anything about a girlfriend. Mind you, knowing your mother she would more interested in the financial side of things. But I take it you have a girlfriend?”
Doug: “Nothing what you would call regular. There’s plenty of talent. London’s heaving with woman. They come from all over the world. Some come looking for work or to study but most of them come for a bit of excitement.”
Tim: “And knowing what you told me of your university days you would be the man to give them that all right. You know, excitement.” (Gestures with folded arms) “Eeeh lad. So they’re keen for it then?”
Doug: “Keen for what?”
Tim: (Gestures again) “You know…that.”
Doug: “I suppose so.”
Tim: “You suppose so. I bet you know so, you randy bugger. And you’ll have a nice flat where you can take them. And do it…without interruption.”
Doug: “What do mean ‘without interruption?”
Tim: “I mean without having to have one ear listening out for your mother creeping downstairs when you’re on the sofa in the front parlor.”
Doug: “Is that where you and Gladys do it, on the sofa?”
Tim: “In winter it’s the only place we can do it. It’s too damned cold outside. And it’s a bit cramped in front seat of the pickup. Mind you I did get my dad to have the gear change on the steering wheel. You know, well out of the way. I told him it was the best thing for this sort of pickup. He believed me. Said it was a good idea… and the extra space makes it a lot easier.”
Doug: “Is Gladys still as big as ever? From what I remember she was a fine, strapping lass.”
Tim: “Oh, she still has a good bit of beef on her. Probably a bit more than when you last saw her. (Giggles) “It’s either that or the front of the pickup is shrinking. I mean summers not too bad. There’s plenty of empty space round here. Although we’re getting a lot more walkers these days. We’ve had a few near misses. Had to lie low. Hardly dare breathe sometimes. Or brazen it out and pretend we were doing a bit of you know, topless sunbathing. Or in my case bottomless. And you have to choose your spot carefully; there’s a lot more gorse on them fells that there used to be, and it can be a bit of a nuisance if you put down in the wrong place. (Lights another cigarette) “I arranged to take her away for a weekend in Selkirk last back end. It was a proper boarding house with a double bed and one of them ensuite bathrooms. The full works. We were all set to go. Got a good supply of them things, you know, from the chemist.”
Doug: “Good lad. You see you can do it if you turn your mind to it.”
Tim: “Typical. Just typical of my luck. Bugger me if her mother didn’t announce she needed a break as well and she would come along and join us. What a waste of money that turned out to be. And she expected me to pay for her room as well. And to cap it all she’s a light sleeper and the floorboards creaked like a sailing ship in a force ten gale. Instead of us two enjoying ourselves properly, on our own, she dragged us around Selkirk Castle and the power station.
Doug: “Hell that sounds really exciting.”
Tim: “She thinks a lot does Gladys’s mother. You have to take lessons from the past and use them to plan the future she says. I don’t think she got the joke when I explained that Selkirk Castle was a high security jail. That’s not what you had in mind for me is it, Selkirk jail? Her face went stonier than usual. When she’s in the mood she can look up to the sky and make the sun hide behind the clouds; that one can.
Doug: “So you didn’t get your wicked weekend with Gladys?”
Tim: “I got the weekend right enough, but it was far from wicked.”
Doug: “Here, have another drop. I don’t have any of those problems with women. It’s getting rid of them that I find the hardest. You know, you shack up with them for a bit and they think they own you. I don’t like hurting them, but it’s for their own good, in the long run. I mean there’s no point in getting hitched with somebody just because they’ve got a nice face and great legs and a good pair of knockers.”
Tim: “It sounds all right to me, mate. I think I could put up with that.”
Doug: “Yeah well, you’re different. You’ve only had one girl. I’ve had dozens.”
Tim: “You mean dozens as in twelve?”
Doug: “Yeah dozens. Maybe more. Maybe hundreds.”
Tim: “Well, you randy bugger. Fancy that. Doug Brennan from Mull, the London super stud ……you’re having me on.”
Doug: “No I’m not. It’s the truth.”
Tim: “You must go through a fair bit of cash entertaining these dozens, no, I mean hundreds, of young ladies.”
Doug: “I can afford it.”
Tim: “I know but is there anybody special. You know, somebody that you really fancy? Let me put it another way…somebody you’d be brave enough to bring up here and introduce to your mother?”
Doug: “No Tim, there’s nobody special in my life. They come and go.”
Tim: “And you’re happy with that state of affairs?”
Doug: “Happy enough. I suppose.”
(Pause)
Tim: “You suppose? What does that mean?”
Doug: “It means exactly what I said.”
Tim: “You never had any girlfriends before you went away.”
Doug: “Not surprising, is it? You don’t do a lot of dating when you’re only twelve years old.”
Tim: “I suppose not. But you know what I mean. Even when you came home for holidays you didn’t exactly click.”
Doug: “I was the outsider. They didn’t know me.”
Tim: “Of course, yes, they knew you. You were the one whose mother had a shop. That would have been enough for most local lasses. The chance of a few free sweeties. And you spoke posh and didn’t run around with patches on your breeches arse like the rest of us.”
Doug: (Turns away) “There is a woman. But I don’t want to talk about it.” (Hostile look) “Okay?”
Tim: “Okay. If that’s the way you want it. You don’t have to tell me.”
Doug: “I’m not” (Walks to window and looks out)
Tim: (Lights up cigarette) “Your mother was saying just before you arrived what a good job you had selling copper to those that want it but not right away. I mean, where did you learn about all that stuff?”
Doug: (Still gazing out of window) “There’s not a lot to learn. You just have to keep your wits about you.”
Tim: “If you’re making a pot of money, there must be something to it or everybody would be at it. Let’s put it another way, if there was so little to learn could you teach me so I can come back with you and make my fortune. A latter-day Dick Whittington. I’ve got an old moggie that’s good for catching rats. That’ll do for a start. What about it, Doug?”
Doug: (Returns to sit down in chair) “I take it you’re not serious?”
Tim: “No, not really. But tell me a bit more about your job.”
Doug: “There’s not much to tell.”
Tim: “So if I’ve got it correctly, this job of yours, there’s not much to learn about and there’s not much to tell……. I think we’re getting there slowly but surely. Tell me? Are there any other secrets you would like to reveal? Like the colour of the carpet in your office. Or how many cups of coffee do you drink in a typical hard-working day?”
Doug: “You’re being stupid now. If I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”
Tim: “Try me. I’m not a country bumpkin.”
Doug: “I know that. I didn’t really mean it. All right, it is a bit more complicated than I made it out to be. But I’ve come to get away from all that stuff.”
Tim: “You’ve come away to bury your dad. Don’t forget that Doug.”
Doug: “Yeah, to bury the old fella.”
(Pause)
Tim: “You’ll be getting soft living in London.”
Doug: “Why do you say that?”
Tim: “Because although what you do at work appears to be state secret, I bet it involves sitting on your arse at a desk all day. That way you’re bound to get soft. There’s no other conclusion I can reach.”
Doug: “So you think the only way to keep fit is by throwing shovelfuls of shit onto the back of a trailer? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
Tim: “Exactly.”
Doug: “Well, you’re wrong mate. I’m telling you I’m as fit as I’ve ever been.”
Tim: “How could you be, living in the middle of London?”
Doug: “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of things like fitness centers. There’s one near where I live. I go two or three times a week.”
Tim: “Fitness center, eh? Sounds a lot of bullshit to me. Of course, I’ve heard of fitness centers. It’s a posh name for gymnasiums.”
Doug: “Not exactly. They have swimming pools, and a bar and weight training. And you can have a personal trainer.”
Tim: “Weight training eh! So, you what they call pump the iron, do you? At a fancy club with plenty of fancy equipment and a personal trainer. And no doubt you trip up in your well pressed little shorts and trainers with a designer label on the outside so everybody can see it. And do you have a little monogrammed towel to wipe away the beads of perspiration from your brow before they fall onto your monogrammed sweatshirt? And afterwards, I suppose you go with your mates and sip gin and tonic and boast how much so called working out you’ve done…… What a load of balls.”
Doug: “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I work out hard. I really put myself through it. I always was stronger than you. I still am.
Tim: “Well, you’re a few months older than me. That makes all the difference when you’re just a kid. But I always got better marks than you when we in the infant’s school.”
Doug: “Maybe you did get better marks. But we weren’t talking about that. Anyway, I didn’t bother then. We were too young to care. I was more interested in playing games than reading and writing. I’m still stronger than you.”
Tim: “Don’t you kid yourself. You’ve never done a proper day’s work in your life.”
Doug: “Maybe not the sort of thing you know about. But remember when we used to arm wrestle? Well, I could beat you then and I bet I can beat you now.”
Tim: “You really fancy your chances, do you?”
Doug: “Yeah.”
Tim: “Well then.”
Doug: “There’s only one way to find out.”
(Both take off jackets and slowly roll up shirtsleeves. Walk to table and sit down and set arms.)
Tim: “I think your dads in the way.”
Doug: “You’re right.”
Tim: “We’ll have to ask him politely if he wouldn’t mind moving over. You know, just to give his favorite boys a bit more room.”
Doug: “I don’t think he’ll hear much inside there. The lids well fastened, and it’s lined with silk.”
Tim: “We’ll have to move him then.”
Doug: (Indignant) “We can’t move him. It’s a coffin. You don’t just move coffins around to do a bit of arm wrestling…it’s not natural.”
Tim: “Looking for an excuse to get out of it now, are you?”
Doug: “No I’m bloody not. I tell you what; we’ll put him gently on the floor.” (He moves into position) “You take the other end. When I give the word lift him up and bring it my way.” (They get hold of the coffin and prepare to lift.) “Are you ready? Up she goes.”
(The coffin is raised from the table and taken over the edge. Doug finds it difficult to hold on and his end slips to the floor.)
Tim: “For Christ’s sake, that’s your dad you’re dropping onto the flags.”
Doug: “I had his head. It was heavier than your end. You only had his feet.”
Tim: “Lucky for me she didn’t bury him with his old clogs on then.”
(The coffin is now standing upright. Both stand and review the situation0
Doug: “Best thing is to just rest it against the wall. It’ll come to no harm.” (The coffin is maneuvered against the wall of the kitchen standing upright. The men take their places again at the table and set their arms to wrestle. The contest begins with much grunting and effort. Doug tips over Tim’s arm.)
Tim: “You cheated. You lifted your elbow off the table.”
Doug: “No way. It was fair and square. You’re always whining and coming up with excuses. That’s just typical. That’s why you’ve never got anywhere in your life. No guts. No stamina.”
Tim: “You cheated. Like you always do.”
Doug: “What do mean ‘like I always do?’”
Tim: “Well I remember you got sent home from school for cheating. It took your mother’s tears in the headmaster’s office to get you back again. And a free week in one of the holiday cottages.”
Doug: “Holiday cottages?” (Puzzled look)
Tim: “Are you going to do this or not?”
Doug: “Mmm…. Okay, if that’s the way you want it we’ll do it again. This time, no whining.”
Tim: “And no cheating.”
(They begin again. Tim wins eventually)
Doug: “My arm slipped.”
Tim: “Slipped my arse.”
Doug: (Points to table) “On that butter. Even you can see that.”
Tim: (Inspects) “There’s no way that’s butter. Your mother wouldn’t allow any butter to fall onto her table. Butter’s too precious a commodity to have lying around. No, there would be no escape for a single gram of butter once it got onto your mother’s knife. No Doug. I’m not having that. You were beat fair and square.”
Doug: (Scowls. Then he sets his arm again) “Okay then. Are you ready?”
Tim: “Ready for what? I’ve already beaten you.”
Doug: “Best of three. We always have best of three goes. It’s only fair.”
Tim: “You didn’t mention it before we started.”
Doug: “I didn’t think I needed to. You know we always have best of three goes. That way the best man always wins. Takes out the possibility of a freak result. Like a minute ago when my arm slipped. I mean think about it. They don’t play the Open golf championship over just one hole, do they? I shouldn’t have to go through the rules every time, should I? Come on, next round.”
Tim: (Puts eyes inches above tabletop)
Doug: “What are you up to?”
Tim: (Grinning) “Checking for the odd breadcrumb in case it’ll damage your elbow.”
Doug: “Come on smart arse.” They start again and Doug wins. He is exhausted. They set up for the third time and are about to begin) “Do you fancy another fag before we start?”
Tim: “No. Get on with it. You’re only playing for time.” (They begin and his elbow knocks a glass off the table and crashing to the floor)
Doug: “God Almighty, that’s enough to waken the dead.” (Playing for time) “We’d best just brush that off the floor.”
Tim: (Keen to get going again) “Ignore it. We’ll tidy it up in a minute. Come on. Get your arm next to mine.” (There is a loud knocking noise. The contest is halted abruptly. Both look to ceiling)
Doug: “Quick, it’s mother. Get rid of the fag ash in the sink. And brush up the broken glass.”
Tim: (Panicking. Rushes to sink and washes ash off saucer and wafts air. Cleans up glass. Doug is struggling with the coffin as though to replace it on the table by himself.)
Doug: “What the hell are you doing dancing with that coffin? Just leave it where it is. She’ll never notice.”
Tim: “Never notice! Good God of course she’ll notice.” (Giggling) “Well we’ll tell her the old fellow got tired of lying on the table and he wanted moving so that he could stretch his legs. (Looks around and sees whiskey bottle and remaining glass) “The whiskey bottle. She’ll see the damned thing. Put it in the cupboard. (More knocking. They look up at the ceiling.)
Doug: The cupboard’s no good. If she suspects anything she’ll go through the cupboards like a dose of Epsom salts. You wash out the glass.” (Hands to Tim who puts them in sink. He opens coffin and puts the bottle inside.)
Tim: (Looks around puzzled) “Doug, that knocking, it’s coming from outside.”
Doug: “Couldn’t be. There’s nobody going to come round here at this time of night.” (Looks towards door. Knocking. “I think you might be right. There is somebody outside. You go and see who it is.”
(Banging on the window)
Tim: “Whoever’s out there is quite is quite keen to come inside and join the party.” (He opens door tentatively and goes outside. We hear the voice of a woman)
Rose: “Is this where Doug Brennan lives?”
Tim: He doesn’t live here. He lives in London. This house belongs to his parents.”
Rose: “Is he in there now?”
Tim: “Who wants to know?”
Rose: “I do.”
Tim: “I see. What do you want exactly?”
Rose: “None of your business. Move out of the way.” (Bursts past Tim and into room. Doug sees her and looks away.) So, there you are? You needn’t be looking away from me Doug Brennan. You took a lot of finding but I’ve caught you now.”
Tim: (Tim comes between the two and faces her and offers his hand which she ignores. She looks right past him) “Well hello. I’m Tim. Nice to meet you. And your name is?”
Rose: (Sharply) ROSE!
Tim: “That’s a lovely sounding name. And how do you spell that?” (Silence) “Is it one of them words that has a funny spelling?” (Stony silence) “I take it you’ve come to the funeral.”
Rose: (Turns to face Tim) “Funeral? What funeral? I’ve come to see him.” (Points at Doug)
End of Act 1:
Thought I’d try my hand at writing a play. This is the first act. If there’s interest and someone is willing to make a donation directly to the Ukraine war effort, I’ll gladly give permission to perform and send Act 2.
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