An Inspector Calls and Other Plays

by J. B. Priestley

  ROBIN: Snob!

  MRS C: I don’t see Madge marrying, but then she’ll be headmistress of a big school quite soon, and then she’ll become one of these women who are on all sorts of committees and have to go up to London to give evidence, and so becomes happy and grand that way.

  ROBIN: I’ll bet she will, too, good old Madge!

  MRS C [gaily]: I’ll go and stay with her sometimes – very important, the headmistress’s mother – and the other mistresses will be invited in to dine and will listen very respectfully while I tell them about my other children –

  JOAN [happily, admiringly]: Oh – Mrs Conway – I can just imagine that. You’ll have a marvellous time.

  MRS C [same vein]: Then there’s Carol. Well, of course, Carol will be here with me for years yet –

  CAROL [excitedly]: I don’t know about that. I haven’t exactly decided what to do yet, there are so many things to do.

  JOAN: Oh – Carol – I think you could go on the stage.

  CAROL [with growing excitement]: Yes, I could, of course, and I’ve often thought of it. But I shouldn’t want to be on the stage all the time – and when I wasn’t playing a part, I’d like to be painting pictures – just for myself, y’know – daubing like mad – with lots and lots and lots of the very brightest paint – tubes and tubes of vermilion and royal blue and emerald green and gamboge and cobalt and Chinese white. And then making all kinds of weird dresses for myself. And scarlet cloaks. And black crêpe-de-Chine gowns with orange dragons all over them. And cooking! Yes, doing sausages and gingerbread and pancakes. And sitting on the top of mountains and going down rivers in canoes. And making friends with all sorts of people. And I’d share a flat or a little house with Kay in London, and Alan would come to stay with us and smoke his pipe, and we’d talk about books and laugh at ridiculous people, and then go to foreign countries –

  ROBIN [calling through]: Hoy, hoy, steady!

  MRS C [affectionately amused]: How are you going to begin doing all that, you ridiculous child!

  CAROL [excitedly]: I’d get it all in somehow. The point is – to live. Never mind about money and positions and husbands with titles and rubbish – I’m going to live.

  MRS C [who has now caught the infection]: All right, darling. But wherever you were, all of you, and whatever you were doing, you’d all come back here sometimes, wouldn’t you? I’d come and see you, but you’d all come and see me, too, all together, perhaps with wives and husbands and lovely children of your own, not being rich and famous or anything but just being yourselves, as you are now, enjoying our silly old jokes, sometimes playing the same silly old games, all one big happy family. I can see us all here again –

  KAY [a terrible cry]: Don’t! [She is standing, deeply moved.

  [The others stare in silent consternation.]

  MRS C: But what is it, Kay?

  [KAY, still moved, shakes her head. The others exchange puzzled glances, but CAROL hurries across, all tenderness, and puts an arm round her.]

  CAROL [going to her with the solemnity of a child]: I won’t bother with any of those things, Kay, really I won’t. I’ll come and look after you wherever you go. I won’t leave you ever if you don’t want me to. I’ll look after you, darling.

  [KAY stops crying. She looks – half-smiling – at CAROL in a puzzled, wistful fashion. CAROL goes back to her mother’s side.]

  MRS C [reproachful but affectionate]: Really, Kay! What’s the matter?

  [KAY shakes her head, then looks very earnestly at ALAN.]

  KAY [struggling with some thought]: Alan … please tell me…. I can’t bear it … and there’s something … something … you could tell me….

  ALAN [troubled, bewildered]: I’m sorry, Kay. I don’t understand. What is it?

  KAY: Something you know – that would make it different – not so hard to bear. Don’t you know yet?

  ALAN [stammering]: No – I don’t – understand.

  KAY: Oh – hurry, hurry, Alan – and then – tell me – and comfort me. Something – of Blake’s – came into it – [Looks hard at him, then struggling, remembers, saying brokenly]

  Joy … and woe … are woven fine,

  A clothing for the … soul divine….

  I used to know that verse, too. What was it at the end? [Remembers, as before]

  And, when this … we rightly know,

  Safely through the world we go.

  Safely … through the world we go….

  [Looks like breaking down again, but recovers herself.]

  MRS C [almost a whisper]: Over-excitement. I might have known. [To KAY, firmly, cheerfully] Kay, darling, all this birthday excitement’s been too much. You’d better go to bed now, dear, and Carol shall bring you some hot milk. Perhaps an aspirin, too, eh? [KAY, recovering from her grief, shakes her head.] You’re all right now, aren’t you, darling?

  KAY [in muffled voice]: Yes, Mother, I’m all right. [But she turns and goes to the window, pulling back the curtains and looking out.]

  MRS C: I know what might help, it did once before. Robin, come with me.

  JOAN [rather helplessly]: I ought to go, oughtn’t I?

  MRS C: No, stay a few minutes, Joan. Robin.

  [She and ROBIN go out.]

  CAROL [whispering as she moves]: She’s going to sing, and I know what it will be.

  [CAROL switches out the lights and returns to sit with HAZEL and JOAN, the three girls making a group, dimly but warmly lit by the light coming in from the hall. Very softly there comes the opening bars of Brahms’s ‘Wiegenlied’. ALAN joins KAY at the window, so that his face, too, like hers, is illuminated by the moonlight.]

  ALAN [quietly through the music]: Kay.

  KAY [quietly]: Yes, Alan?

  ALAN: There will be – something – I can tell you – one day. – I’ll try – I promise.

  [The moonlight at the window shows us ALAN looking at her earnestly, and we just catch her answering smile, as the song swells out a little. And then the lights begin to fade, and very soon the three girls are no more than ghosts and all the room is dark, but the moonlight – and the faces of KAY and ALAN – still lingers; until at last there is only the faintest glimmer, and the Conways have gone, the curtain is down, and the play over.]

  END OF PLAY

  I Have Been Here Before

  A PLAY IN THREE ACTS

  Characters

  SALLY PRATT

  SAM SHIPLEY

  DR GÖRTLER

  OLIVER FARRANT

  JANET ORMUND

  WALTER ORMUND

  The Scene throughout is the sitting-room of the Black Bull Inn, Grindle Moor, North Yorkshire, at Whitsuntide.

  Act One

  Friday

  Act Two

  Saturday

  Act Three

  Sunday

  ‘I Have Been Here Before’ was first produced at the Royalty Theatre, London, on Wednesday, 22 September 1937, with the following cast:

  SALLY PRATT

  Eileen Beldon

  SAM SHIPLEY

  William Heilbronn

  DR GÖRTLER

  Lewis Casson

  OLIVER FARRANT

  William Fox

  JANET ORMUND

  Patricia Hilliard

  WALTER ORMUND

  Wilfrid Lawson

  Produced by Lewis Casson

  (For some of Dr Görtler’s theories of Time and Recurrence, I gratefully acknowledge my debt to P. D. Ouspensky’s astonishing book, A New Model of the Universe. It must be understood, however, that I accept full responsibility for the free use I have made of these borrowed ideas, and that it does not follow because I make use of them that I necessarily accept them.) – J.B.P.

  Act One

  Sitting-room of the Black Bull Inn, Grindle Moor, North Yorkshire, a moorlandinn of the farmhouse type that serves as the local ‘pub’ and also takes a few guests. The room is simply furnished in the style of a north-country farmhouse sitting-room. On the left, is a long low window, deeply set, w
ith a cushioned seat, and the sunlight is streaming in through this window. At the back, on the left, is a door that serves as an entrance to the Inn to the people staying there, but not to people who merely go for a drink or a meal. On the right at the back is the door that leads to the dining-room, the bar and the rest of the Inn, including two of the guest bedrooms. Through this door a passage can be seen. Downstage right is a slighter door, leading to two bedrooms; it opens directly on to a steep flight of stairs. Through the main door, when open, can be seen a distant glimpse of high-moorland. The fireplace of the room is presumed to be in the fourth wall. On the right is an old-fashioned sofa, and a table towards centre. A couple of shabby but comfortable easy chairs, not too large, at either side of this table, and two or three smaller chairs near walls. Near door to the dining-room is a telephone attached to the wall. It is an evening in June, about eight o’clock. The room is empty at rise of curtain, but immediately afterwards SALLY PRATT enters bringing in some flowers. She is a pleasant-looking country-woman in her middle thirties and is nicely dressed, but wears an apron as if she were still busy with household work. She speaks in a rather loud tone and with a north-country accent, but not too broad. After a moment or two, SAM SHIPLEY enters. He is a stout, humorous, contented Yorkshireman in his sixties. He is in his shirt-sleeves and is smoking apipe. His accent is broader than his daughter’s, but not very broad.

  SALLY [as she finishes her task]: That looks a bit better.

  SAM: Ay.

  SALLY [sharply but not unpleasantly]: Father – get your coat on.

  SAM: What for?

  SALLY: You know what for, I’ve told you often enough. Landlord o’ the Black Bull in his shirt-sleeves like a barman!

  SAM: Long as folk pay me what they owe me – they can tak’ me for a barman if they like. I’m not a particular chap.

  SALLY: Now go on. We’ll have somebody here in a minute. I don’t want Miss Holmes and her friends marching in, catching you in your shirt-sleeves.

  SAM: If they never see worse nor that, they’ll be lucky. [Pause.] When’s Mr Farrant getting back?

  SALLY: Any time. He only wanted some cold meat and salad and cheese left for his supper. I wish they were all as easy to please.

  [He wanders out during this speech, leaving door open behind him. Then he pops his head back.]

  SAM: Butcher’s here.

  SALLY: An’ he’s rare an’ late. [As she is going, there is the sound of a car. She hears it and shouts] Father, I believe there’s somebody here.

  SAM [off]: I’m coming.

  [She hurries out. In the empty room we hear the clock ticking. A moment’s pause. Then there is a quiet knocking on the outer door and it opens slowly, and DR GÖRTLER enters. The clock chimes. He is a man about sixty, in well-worn darkish clothes of a foreign cut. He has a slight foreign accent, and speaks with precision. Although his appearance and manner suggest the quiet detached scholar, he has a good deal of assurance and authority. He looks about him with eager interest and curiosity, and when he has taken the room in, consults a small notebook, as if comparing its appearance with some notes there. Finally, he nods. SAM now returns, wearing his coat. The two men look at one another for a moment.]

  SAM: Good evening, sir.

  DR GÖRTLER: Good evening. You are the landlord?

  SAM: That’s right. Sam Shipley.

  DR GÖRTLER: You let rooms to visitors?

  SAM: A few.

  DR GÖRTLER: Three or four, perhaps?

  SAM [slightly surprised]: Yes.

  [SALLY bustles in, then stops short in surprise when she sees DR GÖRTLER.]

  SALLY: Oh! – good evening.

  DR GÖRTLER [smiling]: Good evening.

  SALLY: Were you wanting a room?

  DR GÖRTLER [slowly]: I am not sure.

  SALLY [who does not like this]: Oh! – well it doesn’t matter because I’m afraid we can’t oblige you.

  DR GÖRTLER: You have no room?

  SALLY: We’ve only four bedrooms and they’re all taken for this Whitsuntide. There’s a gentleman in one already, and the other three are coming tonight.

  DR GÖRTLER: So. These three who are coming tonight – you know them?

  SALLY [surprised]: Yes.

  DR GÖRTLER [gently, tentatively]: Two of them – perhaps – are married people – the man older than his wife – he might be rich – and then – perhaps – a younger man –?

  SALLY [who has listened to this with some surprise]: No. We’re expecting three ladies.

  DR GÖRTLER [rather taken aback]: Three ladies?

  SALLY: Teachers from Manchester.

  DR GÖRTLER: Oh! Perhaps there is another inn here, eh?

  SAM: Nay, this is t’only one. There’s t’Lion at Dale End, but that’s eight mile from here.

  SALLY: But there’s one or two here that lets rooms. You might try Lane Top Farm – Mrs Fletcher – it’s just a bit farther on.

  SAM: Not five minutes in a car – if you’ve come in a car.

  DR GÖRTLER [still showing signs of disappointment]: Yes, I have a little car. I will try this farm but I do not think it will be any use. [Smiles rather forlornly.] This must be the wrong year.

  SAM: Don’t you know what year your friends are coming?

  DR GÖRTLER [with a slight smile]: They are not my friends. [He goes to the door.] How do I find this farm?

  SAM [following him]: When you get out o’ t’yard here, turn sharp to your right, and she has a sign up – you can’t miss it. [By the time he has said this, DR GÖRTLER is outside and SAM is at the door. There is the sound of small car starting up. SAM closes door and comes in.] There’ll be no rain this week-end. We’d have had a smell of it by now.

  SALLY: Just fancy! Creeping in like that and asking questions!

  SAM: What, yon chap? Well, he’s a foreigner o’ some sort, you see.

  SALLY: What’s that got to do with it?

  SAM: Well, happen it’s foreign style o’ doing things. [Begins to chuckle.] Nay, what tickled me was him saying he must ha’ come at wrong year. Now that’s as good as aught I’ve heard o’ some time. If he’s going round asking for people – not friends of his, mind you – and he doesn’t know where they are nor what year they’ll be there – I reckon he’s got his work cut out. I must tell that to some of ’em in t’bar.

  SALLY: You and your bar!

  [Telephone rings.]

  SALLY [at telephone]: Yes, this is the Black Bull. Yes, well I am waiting…. Oh, Miss Holmes, yes – this is Mrs Pratt – we were wondering what had become of you…. Oh dear dear! … Well, I never did! … No, if your friend’s so poorly I don’t suppose you could…. No, well it can’t be helped…. Yes, we’re sorry too…. Oh, we’ll manage to get somebody … that’s right … good-bye. [Puts down telephone. To SAM] Miss Holmes – ringing up from Manchester – to say they can’t come.

  SAM: Nay!

  SALLY: One of the other two’s been suddenly taken poorly, and they don’t like to leave her.

  SAM: Oh!

  SALLY [indignantly]: Yes, I should think it is ‘oh!’ That’s all three rooms going begging, at very last minute, an’ we could have let ’em four times over. Here we are – Friday night – Whit Saturday tomorrow – an’ now only one room taken. We ought to do what everybody else does, an’ charge ’em a deposit when they book rooms in advance, and then if they do give backword we’re not clean out o’ pocket.

  SAM: Well, it’s happened afore.

  SALLY: Does that make it any better?

  SAM: Yes, ’cos we know we’ll fill ’em up easy. Black Bull’s nivver had rooms empty o’ Whitsuntide. There’ll be some motorists coming. Ay, and happen some business chaps who’ll spend more nor them three women teachers. All they want is cups o’ tea, an’ they’d nivver put their noses into t’bar.

  [OLIVER FARRANT enters. He has been walking and wears a tweed jacket and flannel trousers, and is rather dusty. He is about 28–30, good-looking, with something of the boy left in him and something of the
intellectual man. He has a decisive, slightly donnish manner, which shows itself least with these two, with whom he is on pleasant easy terms. He has more personal charm than would appear from his actual words, and though he suffers from the rather priggish conceit of the successful intellectual, there is more of this in the matter than in the manner of his talk.]

  FARRANT: Any sherry left, Sam?

  SAM: Yes, Mr Farrant. [Goes to get it.]

  SALLY [who obviously likes him]: Your supper’ll be ready when you are.

  FARRANT: Good! [Sitting down and relaxing.] The last few miles were becoming a bit grim. [Remembering, with whisper and slightly droll manner] Oh! – have the three females from Manchester arrived yet?

  SALLY: No, they’re not coming. One of ’em’s poorly.

  FARRANT: Well, I can’t say I was looking forward to them – but I’m sorry. It’s bad news for you, isn’t it?

  SALLY: It’s a nuisance, but we’ll fill up tomorrow all right. I only hope, whoever we do have, you can get on with ’em, Mr Farrant.

  FARRANT: Now you’re not going to suggest I’m hard to get on with.

  SALLY [earnestly]: No, I don’t mean that, Mr Farrant, but you know what it is. If we take people at last minute, we can’t be too particular, and when you’ve all got to sit in here together, it might be a bit awkward.

  FARRANT: Oh, don’t worry about me. I don’t suppose I shall be in much this week-end, anyhow, and if the worst comes to the worst I can always go up to my room and read.

  [SAM enters with a glass of sherry.]

  SALLY: I’ll see if you’ve everything you want in there. Do you like Wensleydale cheese, Mr Farrant, ’cos I’ve got some?

  FARRANT: I don’t know. I’d like to try it.

  [SALLY goes out.]

  SAM: Bit o’ nice Wensleydale tak’s some beating. Have a good walk, Mr Farrant?

  FARRANT: Yes, thanks, Sam. I must have done about sixteen miles. Down the dale, then across by the church, up the moor and back over Grindle Top.

  SAM: Ay, that’ll be all o’ sixteen mile. Did you find a bit o’ bog again at the top.