You have the consumption, girl?
GIRL: [under her breath] I might have now …
CONCEPTUA: We’re all under strain, Mother.
DOLORES: Hong Kong’s burning. They’ll surrender.
CONCEPTUA: But it’s Christmas!
DOLORES: Oh, Christmas?! The Japs are at mass, of course.
Planes murmur in the distance. Lights on ROSE and LILY who are spooning a mixture into jam tins.
CONCEPTUA: Rose is making puddings.
DOLORES: Puddings? What’s that recipe, Rose?
ROSE: Half citric acid—from the lemons; half fertiliser—
LILY: From the chickens!
CONCEPTUA: You can’t eat that?!
ROSE: We don’t intend to. It’s our latest grenade—I call it the Chin Chicken Chucker, Number 5, Mark 1.
She chucks the grenade to the street. It fizzles disappointingly and gives a sad pop.
Alright—let’s work on Mark 2.
CHORUS: [newsreel-style] Any man, woman or boy who can throw a brick can hurl a grenade. Get a friend to cycle past towing a pram … Learn to dig a hole for yourself, lying on your stomach …
DOLORES: Look! An army of ants—
CONCEPTUA: Scurrying before the storm—
DOLORES: Digging holes—
CONCEPTUA: Looking for shelter—a manger for baby Jesus!
DOLORES: Blowing bon-bons—bang!
CONCEPTUA: Wishing on angels—
DOLORES: Kissing beneath the mistletoe as it falls …
Music: GRACE plays a melancholy version of ‘Away in a Manger’. She wears Ruby’s shoes.
AGNES: [approaching the doorway] Good Girl …
She hovers in the doorway.
What are you doing inside? There’s plenty of food.
GRACE shrugs; keeps playing.
GRACE: Ruby didn’t come.
AGNES: Oh, well. And look how she’s missing out!
She enters, with a glass of port and a present.
Did you see your family?
GRACE shakes her head.
GRACE: They’re long way away. [Still playing] They don’t know I’m here, I think.
AGNES: Oh. When did you last see them?
GRACE: Four.
AGNES: Four years ago?
GRACE: Four. Where your kids, missus?
Beat.
AGNES: I don’t have any.
GRACE: [nodding] Might be later, eh?
AGNES gives a little smile.
AGNES: Would you like your present?
GRACE: What is it?
AGNES: Close your eyes …
She passes the present. GRACE opens it—it’s a book. She reads the title.
GRACE: ‘Glasses to the Left …’
AGNES: ‘Goblets to the Right.’ It’s the latest handbook from the Savoy!
She paws at the book, excited. Finds something …
[Reading] ‘A seafood or cocktail fork is always placed to the right of the soup spoon.’ [To GRACE] Hmm … You learn something new every day. Well, talking of etiquette—I must get back to the guests! Joyeux Noël, as they say!
She walks away from the unimpressed GRACE. As she passes the window, she hesitates.
There’s a light on at Takahashis’ …?
GRACE: They’re in jail, eh?
AGNES: Internment—they’re Japanese. He did a marvellous job on my portrait, though.
AGNES leaves. GRACE grows curious and goes to the window. She watches the flashing light, a smile growing on her face.
She grabs bits of food and other things while the CHORUS chant:
CHORUS: [newsreel-style, but gently] Learn to take advantage of cover. Learn how to stop tanks, and use your weapons. Learn the likely tricks and tactics the enemy will use …
The lights flicker and die. In the darkness, we hear GRACE whispering loudly:
GRACE: Ruby?
The sound of planes approaching. We hear AGNES and LILY similarly:
AGNES: Grace …?
LILY: Rosey?
Low light on DOLORES and CONCEPTUA.
DOLORES: Flying ants prefer to die in company.
CONCEPTUA: Mother …?
DOLORES: It’s a massacre … all those wings. They’re all falling.
CONCEPTUA: Are you not well?
DOLORES: It’s Christmas. The girls should sing.
Radio broadcast music.
CHORUS: [newsreel-style] The city of Hong Kong has officially fallen.
ROSE and LILY rush in, grenades in hand; they go to the radio.
After seventeen days of fighting, Allied troops have surrendered.
LILY: We won’t surrender, hey, Rose?
ROSE: Shhh!
CHORUS: The Japanese commanders paraded their prisoners through the streets. Then they gave the city to their soldiers.
LILY: Dirty Nips!
CHORUS: All Chinese women have been declared prostitutes and free.
The radio static returns.
LILY: We’re Australian … hey, Rose?
ROSE is toying with the grenade.
ROSE: This won’t protect you. [Breaking] I promised Mum I’d protect you!
LILY: What about the ARP?!
ROSE: [shaking her head] You were right before—I’m not invincible …
She looks around.
We’ll have to leave it—all those years of work … Those shelves we made from the gallon drums … Our beautiful silk curtains—I just put them back up! Grandma Tay made those curtains.
LILY: The Yam Yan girls are putting their things on a truck.
ROSE: Where they going?
LILY: Katherine …
Beat.
Rose … imagine if we made a new shop in Katherine—a beautiful one like this! Then, after the war’s over, we could easily come back! It would be business as usual—the Katherine branch of the Chin empire!
ROSE almost smiles.
ROSE: Look at you, hey. [Tapping her head] Got that business head—just like Mum. You got her looks, and her head …
LILY smiles shyly.
LILY: What do you think?
Pause.
ROSE: Does anyone sell iced lemon squash in Katherine?
Beat.
LILY: Only us! Come on!
She gets up and starts sorting things. ROSE joins in.
GIRLS: [singing/chanting] The enemy comes to the Territory.
Enemies go with the territory.
Whose is the territory?
And where’s the enemy?
We crossed the wire—
A loud plane flies over. The GIRLS look up, hold their breaths. The plane flies on.
[Slowly] Chop, chop, chop.
Lights crossfade to the post office where a booze-soaked JOAN sorts the mail.
JOAN: H.C. White, Mrs Lamb, C. Loydstrommm, Rose Chin … Ooh, that gorgeous J.B. Wills … Mm-mm. Whoops—got a little J.B. Wills in Mrs Lamb. Half her luck. [Playing with the letters like dolls] Mrs Lamb, how would you like a little Wills in you? ‘Yes, please—I haven’t had a scrap of intercourse since The Great War’. There you go … And there you go, Rose—pay a visit to Andy Howard—marriageable chap … We should all be friends … Even Takahashi. Someone spent oodles of time writing you a letter—and I’m gonna see that H.C. White fully appreciates it …
BETTY walks in.
BETTY: Hong Kong’s gone.
JOAN: What?
BETTY: They surrendered.
JOAN: That’s terrible …
BETTY: I hope Dad’s alright?
JOAN: Dad?
BETTY: In Hong Kong?
JOAN: Oh.
Beat.
Oh, he’s probably not there.
Pause.
That letter was ages ago.
BETTY sits down. JOAN stands.
I’m going home.
Beat.
BETTY: You’re going to the pub.
JOAN: I’m going to the pub … on my way home.
JOAN leaves. BETTY gazes disinterestedly at the mess of letters. Then
an envelope catches her eye. She picks it up, considers.
CONCEPTUA: Betty … what did we say about reading other people’s mail?
BETTY: Mum’s drunk.
DOLORES: Her mother’s drunk. It’s a massacre, all those wings. The secrets are falling …
BETTY rips the envelope open.
BETTY: [reading] ‘Dear Joan, it’s been so long! I miss you so much. Not a day goes by that I don’t remember you. Hong Kong’s taking a beating. Any day now, we’ll go under … Why haven’t you written? I’m surrounded by Chinese. Sometimes, it seems I’m the only Englishman around …
She falters, then goes to the end.
‘Forever yours, George.’ Who the hell’s ‘George’?
She scans the letter.
‘There isn’t enough time to record all the stories: dead comrades, wives who abandoned them at home … Joan, we should tell Billy! You could be travelling the world with me! How about London? We’ll get you back on the stage … I want you beside me, dear. I know it’s rough on the poor fellow, but Billy’s a total loss …’
BETTY’s so angry she can’t keep reading.
Thunder claps, wind rips and rain pelts down as the lights flicker and crossfade to CONCEPTUA and DOLORES. The GIRLS are jumping up and down at the windows. DOLORES is hunched on the floor. CONCEPTUA bursts in and shuts the windows.
GIRLS: We havin’ a cyclone, Sister?
CONCEPTUA: Monsoon.
GIRL: Like a baby cyclone?
CONCEPTUA: I suppose.
GIRLS: We’re havin’ a cyclone!
CONCEPTUA: Shoosh! They’re coming to collect us tomorrow, and everybody must help—even you, Alice. Now be a good girl, and start on those dresses.
The GIRLS starts work to the sound of wind and the rain.
GIRLS: [singing/chanting] Over the garden wall,
I let the baby fall.
Then mother came out and gave me a clout,
And sent me over the wall, the wall, the wall, the wall … [etc.]
The Girls’ chant continues under the following dialogue:
DOLORES: We dress for the funeral. We sail the graves.
CONCEPTUA: Lie down, Mother. You’re sick.
DOLORES: The horizon isn’t constant, you know.
CONCEPTUA: Hush.
DOLORES: Birds aren’t nice! They abandon each other! That bird was struggling in the storm. What if she fell?
CONCEPTUA: Birds don’t fall, Mother.
DOLORES: She fell! Her wings got caught and she tumbled.
CONCEPTUA: Shoosh.
DOLORES: I abandoned her in a hundred degrees!
CONCEPTUA: [shaking her head] It was a seizure!
DOLORES: [crying] And she fell …
The chant dies as DOLORES wails.
CONCEPTUA: You weren’t to know.
DOLORES: If I was her real mother, I would’ve known! Mothers know these things!
The girls are watching, gobsmacked. CONCEPTUA takes DOLORES in her arms and rocks her.
CONCEPTUA: Hush now … good girl …
Lights crossfade to Government House where the wind and rain can be heard still squalling.
The dining room is half-packed. GRACE is wiping a crystal glass.
AGNES bowls in, startling GRACE. She shuts the door behind her.
AGNES: Heavens! It’s a bad time to move! There’s a lake out there.
She takes off her hat and gloves.
Have you finished the crystal?
GRACE shakes her head and starts wrapping it. AGNES walks over, her shoes squelching.
Singapore’s in trouble. Good thing we started early.
GRACE: When we leaving, missus?
AGNES: Monday.
GRACE: What about Ruby?
AGNES: [shrugging] She’s probably miles away … Have you seen her?
GRACE: I don’t think so.
Pause.
AGNES: We can’t wait for her … Lord knows we could do with her help, though.
GRACE: You go, missus. I’ll wait here.
AGNES: Of course not, girl. The Japs are coming!
GRACE: We can’t leave Ruby!
AGNES: She left us?!
GRACE: We have to go get her—you have to say ‘Sorry’!
AGNES: ‘Sorry’ for what?!
GRACE: For the dance, missus.
AGNES: That’s ridiculous! She knew she wasn’t allowed. Everyone was shocked! Now, if she goes off on walkabout, doesn’t mean you have to lose commonsense. I thought you were a good girl?
GRACE: Well, I’m not!
AGNES is stunned.
That’s just my stupid name! It’s what the nuns called me—‘Good Girl’. I had a proper name before that—before that day they took me.
Beat.
They were gonna take me to the swings. If I was a good girl … and let go of my mummy … they were gonna take me. I never knew they meant forever!
Pause.
My name’s Grace … missus.
RUBY: Amazing Grace?
A wet and bedraggled RUBY walks in.
GRACE: Ruby?!
GRACE leaps up and hugs her.
RUBY: Gracey Girl.
AGNES: Well, you’ve come home just in time?
RUBY stops; gives an icy stare.
The Japanese …
Silence.
So, you’re coming to Alice?
AGNES smiles hopefully.
RUBY: [nodding] With Gracey.
Pause.
AGNES: I’m sorry if there was a … misunderstanding. We’re all clear, now?
RUBY: Yes—clear as that crystal.
Beat.
AGNES: Wonderful! You know, I would’ve been lost without you.
RUBY: I’m coming for Grace.
Beat.
That wasn’t clear, madame?
Beat.
AGNES: Perhaps, you don’t like me … That’s a pity. Perhaps we were … overly familiar. Too long in the tropics—one can go ‘native’.
AGNES exits, shoes squelching. RUBY ruffles GRACE’S hair.
Lights up on the post office. Air-raid siren.
BETTY sits beside a crackly radio, ignoring the air-raid practice.
CHORUS: [newsreel-style] You might be a casualty! During the blackout, someone may tap you on the shoulder and say, ‘You’re a casualty’. If so, play along with the game, and wait for a stretcher bearer.
Crackly music plays.
JOAN enters, goes to the light switch.
JOAN: Air raid, pumpkin …?
She turns out the light, plonks down, opens a beer and drinks. A ceiling fan punctuates their silence.
Are you alright?
Beat.
Hard day at the ‘war office’?
News broadcast music starts.
BETTY: Shhh.
CHORUS: [radio voice] Prime Minister Curtin has called the surrender of Singapore ‘Australia’s Dunkirk’. The crushing defeat saw a hundred and thirty thousand captured and nine thousand killed. Meanwhile, Japanese casualties stand at nine thousand killed or wounded …
BETTY turns off the radio.
JOAN: Looks like we’re even … nine-all.
Pause.
BETTY: So where’s Dad?
JOAN: [shrugging] I’m not sure.
BETTY waits.
Alright. They were on their way to Singapore. [She shrugs.] That was the last I heard. I don’t know. I never hear from him.
Pause.
BETTY: Well … you’re lucky you still get letters, then.
She takes a letter out of her bag and passes it to JOAN.
A nervous musical bass line starts as planes are heard approaching.
Why don’t you open it?
Beat.
Go on.
JOAN: I’m not … sure who it’s from.
BETTY: Hong Kong.
JOAN: Hong Kong?
She pulls it out and reads the first line.
‘Dear Joan …’
She unfolds it to find the letter has be
en hacked. There’s nothing left.
Ah.
Beat.
Thanks.
Pause.
The only letter I’ve had in weeks—
BETTY: How could you do that?
She has no answer.
You’re married!
Beat.
You’re married to my dad!
Pause.
JOAN: I’m sorry, Bett.
Pause.
George cooked for me. That time Billy didn’t come back. He cooked … a beautiful meal … Billy meant well. He was fun … but he never thought of things like that. He never took care of me—or you.
BETTY: He was nice!
JOAN: Nice doesn’t count! Where was Billy when you were sick or had a busted-up bike? When I went into labour, he wasn’t even here—he was off at a mate’s place, being ‘life of the party’.
BETTY: No, Mum. This is all wrong! Were you gonna tell him?
JOAN: Of course.
BETTY: And now we’ll never see him again!
JOAN swigs at her beer.
JOAN: Well, you’re probably right there … He didn’t come home for leave, remember? What does that tell you, Betty?
BETTY: It tells me he hates you—and I don’t blame him!
JOAN: Oh, listen to her, Miss High and Mighty. Spends her days reading other people’s mail! People in glass houses …
BETTY snatches the beer from her mother, takes a swig. Then she drops it to the floor and stomps outside. JOAN calls to her from the doorway.
Betty—it’s dark!
Silence.
Betts …?!
She plonks down on the step. The air-raid siren starts. ROSE, in ARP gear, bustles in.
ROSE: [above the siren] Excuse me. Are you a casualty?
JOAN looks at her.
The siren cuts out. Lights crossfade to DOLORES and CONCEPTUA.
DOLORES: Listen.
Silence.
CONCEPTUA: There’s not a sound.
DOLORES: I hear planes.
CONCEPTUA: I hear peace.
DOLORES: The planes are falling!
CONCEPTUA: There are no planes. [Under her breath] Lord, grant me patience.
DOLORES: Christ have mercy.
Beat.
GIRL: When that boat comin’, Sister?
Beat.
They’re gonna leave us here, aren’t they?
CONCEPTUA: Heavens, no! They’re on their way.
DOLORES: The ships burn!
CONCEPTUA: And before you know it, we’ll be down south—
DOLORES: The horizon breaks—
CONCEPTUA: Crackling fires, hot cocoa …
DOLORES: —breaks like bones.
CONCEPTUA: Won’t that be lovely? Who’s all packed, then?
Lights up on ROSE and LILY who are closing the shop.
DOLORES: Rose and Lily are boarding their windows.
Mr Takahashi Page 4