Only Our Own
Page 2
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ONLY OUR OWN
Ann Henning Jocelyn
ONLY OUR OWN
OBERON BOOKS
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First published in 2013 by Oberon Books Ltd
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Copyright © Ann Hennning Jocelyn, 2013
Ann Hennning Jocelyn is hereby identified as author of this play in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. The author has asserted her moral rights.
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Foreword
When I first came to Ireland in 1982, the one thing that struck me as odd were the social divisions based on religion. Although in Connemara, on the west coast of Ireland, there was no sign of any conflict or animosity, the dwindling Protestant community kept very much to themselves, taking limited part in community affairs, intent on keeping their church going with only a handful of worshippers.
As a Swede I was instantly welcomed into the Protestant fold, and I soon made some very good friends, but I had no wish to restrict myself socially. The saving grace was my love of horses, shared by Protestants and Catholics alike, and acting as a great leveller.
Eager to assimilate into my new home country, I took a temporary break from writing and devoted myself to the breeding and training of Connemara Ponies, thereby entering a milieu refreshingly free of traditional barriers. In the years that followed, my husband and I became more and more involved in the local community, and when our son started at the village school – the first Protestant ever to be taught there – our circle widened further, to include other parents who had similar concerns and interests at heart.
One day a few years ago I was travelling to a pony show with the mother of one of my son’s Catholic friends: “Isn’t it interesting?” she said, “that fifty years ago, you and I wouldn’t have been going anywhere together. We couldn’t have been friends. Why do you think it’s so different now? How did that change come about?”
It was nice to hear those questions asked, as most people in Ireland today take this development for granted. I myself had spent over two decades studying and pondering the same. My academic research had revealed some startling facts about the background of some of my Protestant friends – traumatic experiences that they took great care never to mention.
At the time I had no answer to offer my friend – but what I finally arrived at is contained in my play Only Our Own.
Cashel, Connemara, December 2013.
Ann Henning Jocelyn
Characters
LADY ELIZA, 70s
MEG TAYLOR, her daughter, 50s
ANDREW TAYLOR, Meg’s husband, 60s
TITANIA, their daughter, 18 – 41
All scenes take place in a Victorian fishing-lodge in the heart of Connemara.
ACT I
Scene 1: Autumn, 1989
Scene 2: Winter, 1990
Scene 3: Spring, 1992
ACT II
Scene 1: Summer, 1997
Scene 2: Spring, 1998
Scene 3: Autumn, 1998
Scene 4: Winter, 1999
Scene 5: Spring, 2001
ACT III
Scene 1: Summer, 2013
Contents
Foreword
Characters
Act I (1989 – 1992)
Scene 1A
Scene 1B
Scene 2
Scene 3A
Scene 3B
Act II (1997 – 2001)
Scene 1
Scene 2
Scene 3
Scene 4
Scene 5
Act III (2013)
Scene 1
By the Same Author
ACT I (1989 – 1992)
SCENE 1A
LIGHTS UP on a large old-fashioned room, defined by a worn Oriental carpet, with a sideboard, a long-case clock, a tall bookcase, a fireplace with embers glowing and the shape of a sleeping Pekingese in front of it. A dining-table is formally laid with white damask, crystal and silver plate. Candles flicker in tall candelabra either side of an elaborate flower arrangement.
DOWNSTAGE LEFT, UNLIT, is a small writing desk and a chair.
ANDREW TAYLOR sits at one end of the table, wearing a velvet smoking-jacket and a Paisley-patterned silk cravat. Opposite him, by the fire, LADY ELIZA, an elegant, commanding presence, and between them MEG, rather in her mother’s shadow. Both women wear cashmere sweaters and long tweed skirts. The table is laid for four; the three of them are eating soup. The chair opposite MEG is vacant.
ELIZA: But where is Titania?
It’s twenty past eight and I’m halfway through my soup.
MEG: Perhaps I should go and look for her.
ANDREW: Don’t worry, she’ll turn up.
TITANIA appears, wearing blue jeans, muddy gumboots and a baggy sweater.
ELIZA: (Halting her with her gaze.) Did you not have your bath?
TITANIA: I was busy outside.
MEG: Well run along and change, dear.
We’ve been waiting long enough.
TITANIA: (Making for her chair.) Oh do I have to?
I’m starving.
ELIZA: (Sternly.) Go on. Hurry up.
TITANIA leaves.
ELIZA: I must say, the years at the Cheltenham Ladies College have done little to refine her.
Let’s hope Trinity College do a better job.
At least with her dress sense.
ANDREW: (Getting up to serve wine from a cut-glass decanter.)
As a matter of fact…she’s not going to Trinity.
ELIZA looks at him.
ANDREW: They didn’t offer her a place.
She didn’t have the points required.
ELIZA: Such nonsense, this points system.
Didn’t you tell them her ancestors practically built the place?
ANDREW: That, I’m afraid, wouldn’t have cut much ice.
ELIZA: So what is she going to do with herself?
These days gals, too, need some form of education.
MEG: All she wants to do is take over the farm.
You know how she loves animals.
ELIZA: Hm.
I suppose it’s in her blood.
While MEG removes the soup plates and serves the main course from the sideboard, TITANIA reappears, looking no less dishevelled. She has a long tweed skirt on but denim trouser-legs and gumboots are showing beneath the hem, and she wears the same baggy sweater. She takes her seat and starts eating her soup.
ELIZA peers critically at her plate.
ELIZA: Is this pork?
MEG: It’s from the good butcher in Clifden.
ELIZA: You know I’m not a great fan of pork.
MEG: It’s the fillet. Only the best.
ELIZA: Pork is for servants.
MEG: Mother! This is 1989!
Servants are a breed extinct.
ELIZA: Alas! (Beat.) If only the same could be said for pigs.
Pause.
They all eat.
TITANIA: (Loudly, hint of provocation.) I think we should get a microwave oven.
MEG: What would we do with a microwave oven?
TITANIA: For one thing I wouldn’t have to eat my soup cold.
ELIZA: The same would apply if you appeared in time for dinner.
TITANIA: And I’d be able to eat whenever I feel hungry.
Not starve all day, just for the pleasure of sitting down to some antiquated ritual at night.
ELIZA: You spend enough time snacking.
Forever sneaking into the kitchen.
It’s not good for you, you know.
You’re putting on weight.
TITANIA: No one sits down to dinner any more.
MEG: It’s how we do things here.
ELIZA, after eating her vegetables, has cut up the meat on her plate and now puts it down on the floor in front of the sleeping Pekingese.
ELIZA: Here, darling… Look what you’re getting…
(Waits a moment, then turns to the others, holding out the plate.)
See! Hercules won’t eat it either.
TITANIA gets up, puts her soup plate away on the sideboard and sits down with her main course. MEG, meanwhile, has cleared the other plates and is serving the dessert.
ELIZA contemplates her granddaughter, who is eating heartily.
ELIZA: I hope you’ll tidy yourself up in time for church tomorrow.
TITANIA: I’m not going to church.
The others stare at her. TITANIA wipes her mouth on the napkin.
TITANIA: Since I no longer believe in God, I see no point in going to church.
Stunned silence.
ELIZA: My dear gal.
Our church signifies a whole lot more than personal conviction.
It’s a symbol of our culture, all that we stand for.
What we are up against…
ANDREW: While we still have our church, it’s the least we can do to support it.
MEG: Now that poor Mr Jeffreys has passed on, there are only six of us left. Hardly enough to keep services going.
TITANIA has gone up to the sideboard and is eating her pudding there, standing up.
TITANIA: Well if it’s bums on seats you want, you’ll have to ask someone else.
She takes off her skirt, dumps it on a chair and makes for the door.
ELIZA: Where do you think you’re going?
TITANIA: (Exiting.) Out.
ELIZA: This time of night?
The front door slams.
MEG: She’s probably gone to check on her calf.
ELIZA: Her calf?
ANDREW: Gerry Lee gave her an orphaned calf.
It’s very weak, but she’s determined to save it.
MEG: She’s crazy about animals.
Just like you.
Remember your tame fox cub, and the gull with the broken wing…
ELIZA is not listening.
Pause.
ANDREW gets up to pour more wine.
ELIZA waits for him to sit down again.
ELIZA: (Slowly and deliberately.)
I think we have made a great mistake bringing up Titania.
ANDREW and MEG look at her.
ELIZA: Yes. I’m willing to shoulder my share of the blame.
We’ve all failed her.
ANDREW: In what way?
ELIZA: By depriving her of an essential part of her identity.
ANDREW and MEG look uncertain.
ELIZA: Her background.
How we ended up here.
Why we’re not in Tipperary.
MEG: Mother – for God’s sake!
We’ve always done our best to protect her from all that.
ANDREW: It’s baggage the young generation can do without.
ELIZA: That was indeed the view my father took.
‘Certain things are best forgotten.’
The one and only instance where he was in full agreement with the crowd who took over this country.
ANDREW: It’s not unusual when atrocities have been committed. The victims don’t want to be reminded of their humiliation;
the perpetrators reject the knowledge of their guilt.
Both sides have a vested interest in suppressing the facts.
ELIZA: In this house the subject was always taboo.
Father wouldn’t let me breathe a word about it.
Afraid, no doubt, of the effect it might have on my mother.
MEG: Well nothing could be more depressing!
ELIZA: I was left harbouring my flashbacks and nightmares as if they were a shameful secret.
To this day no one has ever let me share the knowledge of what happened that night.
ANDREW: It’s no good dwelling on the past, Eliza.
Let bygones be bygones.
ELIZA: So that when I die, the memories of Belford, the truth of what happened there, can be conveniently buried with me?
Is that how you think it should be?
MEG: Mother – please!
ELIZA: ‘Mother please’ – that’s all I get from you, whenever I try to open my heart.
You may regret it when you feel the weight of my coffin, as you bury me with this millstone still around my neck.
ANDREW: Eliza – there’s no need to be dramatic.
ELIZA: All I ask is for a chance to rest in peace!
The clock strikes nine.
MEG: (Jumps up, relieved.) The radio concert!
We’ll have coffee in the drawing-room.
ELIZA: Oh Meg – this has always been your way, hasn’t it?
Turn your back on anything remotely unpleasant.
Ever the ostrich.
MEG: (Defiant, on the verge of tears.) I want to hear the concert.
ELIZA: DAMN THE RADIO CONCERT!!!
Stunned silence. MEG sits down.
ANDREW: Eliza – are you all right?
ELIZA: No, Andrew, I am not all right. Far from it.
As a matter of fact, I’m dying.
Silence, as the other two struggle to take this in.
ELIZA: It does rather alter your perspective.
Pause.
ELIZA: (Slowly.) Has it ever occurred to you two
what it was like to be a young girl…
to have an older brother you adore…
A brother who wouldn’t stand idly by,
watching rebels invade his home,
prepare to burn down his inheritance –
MEG, seriously perturbed, gets up and starts frantically to clear the table.
MEG: I don’t want to hear about this!
ELIZA: You’re a fool, Meg, to think you can escape.
Can’t you see the shadow still hanging over us?
All our lives have been eclipsed by it.
MEG: No! That’s not true!
It can’t be true! How could it?
She rushes out.
ANDREW, concerned, follows.
ELIZA, wincing in pain, puts a hand over her heart.
BLACK OUT.
SCENE 1B
DIM LIGHTS on room, a few hours later, as before but without Pekingese.
ELIZA enters furtively, wearing a dressing-gown and spectacles, carrying a sheaf of papers and a fountain pen.
<
br /> She switches on a light, pours herself a glass of port, adds turf to the fire, sits down at the desk and prepares to write, lit by a SPOT.
ELIZA: (Writes.) My darling granddaughter…
She pauses, screws up the paper, throws it away, starts again.
ELIZA: (Writes.) My dear Titania…there is something I feel you should know.
(Dictates to herself.) I am leaving this letter for you to read one day after I’m gone…
You have a right to know more about yourself…
who you are…where you come from…
She takes notes.
ELIZA: (Dictates to herself.).
You and I, Titania, share the same origin.
We are links in the same chain, a long chain going back centuries.
And what you dismiss as ‘antiquated rituals’
is what holds the chain together.
It’s all that is left of the life I was born to,
a life that would still have been mine, and yours too…
had it not been for events that took place
one dark winter night
many years ago…
She takes notes.
Then starts to reflectively recall events, taking notes as she goes along.
ELIZA: It was the twenty-third of January, 1922,
six days after my eleventh birthday.
Everyone was fast asleep,
the fire in my grate had died down to embers,
when I was alerted by a low growl from Petrus,
my very first Pekingese, who slept at the foot of my bed.
Next came an almighty crash, followed by a giant shudder,
as if the great house itself was being assaulted.
I rushed out of bed, followed by Petrus,
and opened my door.
The landing outside was flooded with light
from the huge crystal chandelier
that the third Earl had brought back from Bohemia.
My father had had it converted to electricity,
and it glittered and sparkled
over each corner of the broad stairwell
and the vast pillared entrance hall.