A Voyage Round My Father

by John Mortimer

SON. I’m new to movies …

  DORIS. Great Scott! You don’t have to know anything about movies. You’re here to fetch the subsistence …

  SON. The what?

  DORIS. Tea breaks. Coffee breaks. After lunch special refreshment and in lieu of breakfast breaks. The Sparks have tea and ham and lettuce rolls, known to them as smiggett sandwiches. The Chippies take coffee and cakes with coconut icing. The director needs Horlicks, liver pâté sandwiches and Wills Whiffs. Keep your mouth shut except to call in a firm and authoritative manner for ‘Quiet’ when we shoot. Any questions?

  SON. Yes.

  DORIS. What?

  SON. Where do I get liver pâté sandwiches?

  DORIS. Use your bloody imagination! That’s what you came into the film business for …

  DIRECTOR (calling her from the camera). Doris!

  DORIS. Coming, Humphrey. (To the SON.) Remember, next tea break in ten minutes. (She goes to chatter to the DIRECTOR.)

  SPARKS comes up to the puzzled-looking SON. Talks at great speed.

  SPARKS. You looking for something?

  SON. Well, yes.

  SPARKS. Don’t worry. Maybe you left it in the Officers’ Mess. You know we’ve got two ATS in the next scene?

  SON. I didn’t know.

  SPARKS. There’s two sorts of ATS let me tell you. Cocked ATS and felt ATS. Had it in last night, did you?

  SON. What did you say?

  SPARKS. Seen the King last night?

  SON. No. (Innocent.) Was he here?

  SPARKS. Was he here! … That’s a good one. Who did you say you was out with?

  Upstage two ATS girls appear in uniform. One scans the sky with binoculars. The other starts to pour tea. The camera is focused on them. A STAGE MANAGER holds a microphone on the end of a long bamboo pole near to them.

  SON. Actually … No one.

  SPARKS. Didn’t spend out on her, I hope? Never spend out till you get lucky … Then you can buy her a packet of small smokes.

  DIRECTOR. All right, we’ll try a rehearsal.

  SPARKS. What did you say you was looking for?

  SON. A liver pâté sandwich.

  SPARKS. A liver pâté … You’re a caution! That’s what you are.

  DORIS. Rehearsal!

  The ATS GIRLS start to speak. SPARKS returns to his light which is switched on them. The SON wanders off disconsolately. Other members of the Unit start a game of pontoon somewhere.

  FIRST ATS GIRL. Gerry a bit naughty tonight, Hilda.

  SECOND ATS GIRL. Yes. (She offers the other a mug of tea.) Tea, luv?

  FIRST ATS GIRL (lowers her binoculars). Ta, luv.

  SECOND ATS GIRL. Sugars, do you?

  FIRST ATS GIRL. Ta.

  SECOND ATS GIRL. One or two sugars?

  FIRST ATS GIRL. Two, ta. (Pause.) Ta.

  Pause.

  SECOND ATS GIRL. You know, I’ve been thinking lately.

  FIRST ATS GIRL. Have you, luv?

  The SON comes back with a tray, starts handing tea and sandwiches round the Unit.

  SECOND ATS GIRL. Oh yes, Hilda, I’ve been thinking.

  FIRST ATS GIRL. What about, luv?

  SECOND ATS GIRL. You know what I reckon this war’s all about?

  Long pause.

  FIRST ATS GIRL. No.

  SECOND ATS GIRL. Just our freedom. To talk to each other.

  FIRST ATS GIRL. You want sugar, luv?

  DIRECTOR. That was marvellous. Tremendously real. My God, you couldn’t do that with actors! All right, Doris. I’m going for a take.

  DORIS. Assistant! Get a bit of silence will you?

  SON (moving away from the tea tray). Sorry Doris …

  DORIS. Yell ‘Quiet’ for God’s sake.

  SON (moves to the centre of the stage, clears his throat and says very nervously). Quiet, please!

  The noise of the Unit continues.

  Can we have a little quiet now, please?

  From this moment, the noise intensifies. The CHIPPY saws at his bit of wood. SPARKS sings ‘Oh, Salome’ and hammers at his 2K. The pontoon game erupts into a loud argument and the two ATS girls start to dance together, humming ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’. The light concentrates on the SON, fading on the rest of the stage as he becomes more and more panic-stricken.

  SON. We’d appreciate a bit of quiet now, thank you!

  Noise.

  All quiet now! We’re going to try a take.

  Noise.

  Ladies and gentlemen, will you please give us a little QUIET!

  Noise.

  QUIET now PLEASE!

  There is increased noise. He now sounds hysterical as he yells.

  SHUT UP, YOU BASTARDS!

  Total silence. Everyone except the SON quietly leaves the stage, taking with them the paraphernalia of the film unit. The SON is left alone. Light change. Upstage a dark girl, ELIZABETH, comes in with a chair and sits down to a portable typewriter, puts in paper, lights a cigarette and starts at it. She is dark, beautiful, wearing tight corduroy trousers and a fisherman’s sweater.

  SON (moving towards her). Is this the writer’s department?

  The typing continues.

  They said I’m not cut out by nature to be an Assistant Director. When I called for ‘Quiet’ all the electricians went on strike.

  The typing continues.

  They said with me as an Assistant Director the War’d be over before they finished the movie.

  She stops typing, looks up at him and smiles for the first time. Encouraged, he goes and looks at what she is typing.

  What’s the script?

  ELIZABETH. It’s something Humphrey wants to do. (She pulls a face.) There’s a character in it called the ‘Common Man’. He keeps saying, ‘Look here, matey, what is the World Health Organization?’

  SON. Sounds ghastly.

  ELIZABETH (smiles). Yes, it is rather.

  SON (sits on the edge of her table). What on earth do you want to write that for?

  ELIZABETH I suppose … the school fees.

  SON. You studying something?

  ELIZABETH (laughing). No, you fool. My kids … Peter’s only got his Captain’s pay and …

  SON. Peter?

  ELIZABETH. My husband.

  SON (getting up and moving away from her). He’s abroad?

  ELIZABETH. Uxbridge. In Army education.

  SON. My father says … in time of War you should avoid the temptation to do anything heroic.

  ELIZABETH. How odd.

  SON. What?

  ELIZABETH. What an odd thing for him to say.

  SON. You know, after today I think I’ll abandon the film business and take up the Law.

  Pause. She doesn’t react.

  My father’s a lawyer.

  ELIZABETH. Do you always copy your father?

  SON. Good God no!

  ELIZABETH. Really? (She pushes her hair back and looks at him, her long legs stretched out, her hands in her trouser pockets.) You look the type to agree with dad.

  SON (looking at her). There’s one thing he says I don’t agree with at all.

  ELIZABETH. What’s that?

  SON moves to her table. Takes one of her cigarettes, lights it, blows out smoke, doing his best to be elegant and casual.

  SON. He says that sex has been greatly over-rated. By the poets …

  Upstage, light fades. Downstage the FATHER enters, half-dressed, without his coat, waistcoat or tie. He hooks his braces over his shoulders, shouts, moves round the stage, his hands out in front of him, groping for the furniture that isn’t there.

  FATHER. My tie … Oh God in heaven, where’s my tie? Will nobody hand me a waistcoat even? Can’t any of you realize the loneliness of getting dressed?!

  The SON enters with the coat, waistcoat and tie over his arm, finds the FATHER’s wandering hand and puts the tie into it.

  Is that you?

  SON. Yes.

  FATHER. I suppose you expect me to talk about it.

  SON. I know it came as a bit of a shoc
k to you, when Peter divorced Elizabeth.

  FATHER. Must have come as a shock to you too, didn’t it? The fact that she was available for marriage must have rather chilled your ardour. I mean you’re hardly in any state to get married …

  SON. Do you want to stop us?

  FATHER. Are you asking me to? (Starting to tie his tie without looking.) How long have you been at the bar, exactly?

  SON. Nine months …

  FATHER. Nine months! I’d been in practice ten years before I felt the slightest need to marry your mother …

  SON. Perhaps … Needs weren’t so urgent then.

  FATHER. Got any work have you?

  SON. A little work.

  FATHER. Unsuccessful defence in a serious case of non-renewed dog licence. That’ll hardly keep you in Vim …

  SON. I don’t want to be kept in Vim.

  FATHER. But you won’t be able to help it – once you’re married. Your no-income will be frittered away on Vim and saucepan scourers, mansion polish, children’s vests and such like luxuries …

  SON. I’m quite ready to take on her children.

  FATHER. You sound like a railway train. Short stop to take on her children … Waistcoat about anywhere? Yes. In the course of her life … she has acquired children. Mixed blessings I should imagine, for both of you.

  SON. If you’re worried about money …

  FATHER. My dear boy. I’m not worried about it. I just think you haven’t bargained for the Vim … How long are you going to deny me my waistcoat?

  SON. Here.

  The SON holds out the waistcoat, helps the FATHER to struggle into it.

  I know you think we’re insane …

  FATHER (buttoning his waistcoat). You feel the need to be dissuaded.

  SON. Of course not. Coat. (Holding it out.)

  FATHER. I can’t help you, you know. (He struggles into his coat.)

  SON. We don’t want help.

  FATHER. The children seem lively. As children go. (Buttoning his coat.) Of course it won’t be I who has to keep them in rompers! I wonder, should I have a drop of Eau-de-Cologne on the handkerchief? I understand your poor girl’s coming to tea. We seem now to be totally surrounded by visitors.

  SON. You’re not going to be rude to her?

  FATHER. Certainly not. Your poor girl and I have got a certain understanding …

  SON. For God’s sake. Why do you keep calling her my poor girl?

  FATHER. That’s really something … I’ll have to explain to her after tea.

  He takes the SON’s arm. They move off the stage together. ELIZABETH enters. She waits nervously in the garden area: lights a cigarette. The SON enters, goes to her quickly, also nervous.

  SON. They’re just coming … (Pause.) It’s going to be all right. (Pause.) Whatever he says, you won’t mind?

  ELIZABETH. Will you?

  SON. Of course not.

  ELIZABETH. Whatever he says?

  SON. I’m used to it. (Pause.) He doesn’t mean half of it.

  ELIZABETH. I know. But it’s difficult …

  SON. What?

  ELIZABETH. Telling which half he means.

  The FATHER enters in his garden hat, his hand on the MOTHER’s arm.

  FATHER. Rhododendrons out?

  MOTHER. Yes, dear.

  FATHER. A fine show of rhododendrons … And the little syringa?

  MOTHER. Just out.

  FATHER. Just out. And smelling sweetly. Azaleas doing well?

  MOTHER. You can see they’re a little brown, round the edges …

  FATHER. Azaleas doing moderately well … Our visitor here?

  MOTHER. Yes, dear. Elizabeth’s here.

  FATHER. Is that you?

  SON. We’re both here.

  FATHER. Is your visitor enjoying the garden?

  ELIZABETH. Very much. Thank you.

  FATHER. Good. And is he treating you well?

  ELIZABETH. Quite well. Thank you.

  FATHER. I’ve often wondered about my son. Does he treat girls well … ?

  SON. Why’ve you wondered that?

  FATHER. I once knew a man named Arthur Pennycuick. Like you in some ways. He didn’t treat girls well …

  MOTHER. Please, dear … Arthur Pennycuick’s not suitable.

  ELIZABETH. Tell us. What did he do to girls?

  FATHER. When I was a young man, I was out with this Pennycuick. And he picked up a girl. In the promenade of the old Empire Music Hall. And before he went off with her, he took off his cufflinks and gave them to me for safekeeping. In her presence! I felt so sick and angry, seeing him take out his old gold cufflinks. I never spoke to him again. Disgusting!

  ELIZABETH. You think if you sleep with someone – you should trust them with your cufflinks?

  FATHER. At least not take them out – in front of the girl! Well, we can see a fine show of rhododendrons.

  MOTHER. Yes. And I showed you the polyanthas.

  FATHER. A reward at last, for a good deal of tedious potting up.

  ELIZABETH (impatient, as letting out something she’s kept bottled up for a long time). Why do you bother?

  FATHER. What?

  ELIZABETH. I said why do you bother to do all this gardening? I mean when you can’t see it …

  Both the MOTHER and SON try to interrupt her, protectively.

  MOTHER. My dear …

  SON. Elizabeth …

  ELIZABETH. Well he can’t see it can he? Why do you all walk about – pretending he’s not blind?

  The FATHER shakes off the MOTHER’s arm and moves, his hand out in front of him, towards ELIZABETH. He gets to her: touches her arm, feels down her arm, and puts his in it.

  FATHER. Is that you?

  ELIZABETH. Yes …

  FATHER. Would you take me to West Copse? I’d like … a report on the magnolia. Would you do that? (Pause.) Be my eyes.

  ELIZABETH looks at him, suspicious, not quite understanding what he’s up to. Then she says, almost brutally.

  ELIZABETH. Come on then …

  She moves away, with the FATHER on her arm.

  MOTHER (looking after ELIZABETH). She has nice eyes.

  SON. Yes.

  MOTHER. Not at all the eyes … of a divorced person.

  SON. Does he want to stop us?

  MOTHER. Well, it’s not easy for him. He’s such a household word in Probate, Divorce and Admiralty Division.

  SON. Is he going on about that?

  MOTHER. No. Not at all.

  SON. If he could see her he’d understand why I want to marry her.

  MOTHER. Oh, he understands that. (Smiling.) I think his main difficulty is understanding why she wants to marry you …

  SON. That’s nice of him!

  MOTHER (puts her arm in the SON’s). Would you like to come and help me cut up the oranges? I do hate making marmalade.

  SON (as they move away). Why not buy it, for God’s sake?

  MOTHER. He does so enjoy our great annual bout with the marmalade …

  They have now left and the FATHER and ELIZABETH have arrived at a seat in the garden part of the stage. ELIZABETH sits the FATHER down and sits down beside him.

  FATHER. Come over, did you, in your own small car?

  Pause.

  ELIZABETH. You’ve been trying to put him off..

  FATHER. Not at all.

  ELIZABETH. I told him. You’d put him off.

  FATHER. He came to me for advice.

  ELIZABETH. And I suppose you gave it.

  FATHER. I never give advice. It’s far too precious. Bit of an asset, don’t you find, that private transport?

  ELIZABETH. We made up our minds.

  FATHER. And your children, I believe, are pretty lively. For children …

  ELIZABETH. He gets on marvellously with them …

  FATHER. And I believe you have your own bits and pieces of furniture. A bedroom suite they tell me. In a fine state of preservation. You’re a catch! If you want my honest opinion.

  ELIZABETH. Then you ought
to be glad for him …

  FATHER. Him? Look here. Joking apart. You don’t want to marry him, do you? I mean he’s got no assets … of any kind. Not even … a kitchen cabinet. And here’s another thing about it. (He takes out a cigar case, removes a cigar.)

  ELIZABETH. What?

  FATHER. He won’t like it, you know. If you have the flu …

  ELIZABETH. Really … ?

  FATHER. You see, most people are naturally sympathetic towards illness. They’re kind to people with high temperatures. They even cosset them. But not him! He runs a mile. Sneeze once and he’ll be off! In the opposite direction!

  He puts the unlit cigar in his mouth.

  ELIZABETH. I don’t get ill all that much …

  FATHER. But when you do … he’ll run a mile!

  ELIZABETH, I thought it was me you might disapprove of …

  FATHER. Why ever … ?

  ELIZABETH. Think he’s marrying someone unsuitable …

  FATHER. You have particularly nice eyes they tell me.

  ELIZABETH. Thanks.

  FATHER. And some handsome furniture …

  ELIZABETH. Not much.

  FATHER. And as you told me yourself, your own small runabout.

  ELIZABETH. Very bashed.

  FATHER. Even so. Not many girls with assets of that description. Couldn’t you do better, than someone who bolts if you go two ticks above normal? (He puts the unlit cigar in his mouth.)

  ELIZABETH. I hadn’t thought about it.

  FATHER. Oh do think. (He feels in his pocket, pulls out a box of matches.) Think carefully! There must be bigger fish than that in your own particular sea. (He strikes a match, holds it somewhere in the air.) You are, I mean, something of a catch.

  ELIZABETH looks at him, smiles, gets up and moves his hand so that the flame lights his cigar.