Alan Bennett: Plays, Volume 2

by Alan Bennett

  Bron Here they’re in rather short supply. One does tend to see people doing it in corners.

  Hilary Only if you look. She looks.

  Veronica I saw somebody peeing in Jermyn Street the other day. I thought, Is this the end of civilisation as we know it? Or is it simply somebody peeing in Jermyn Street?

  Hilary And did you come to any decision on that?

  Veronica No. But I saw a rat in St James’s the next day. That seemed somehow an omen. These things add up.

  Duff Well! Here we are. A country house. Wine. Talk. Friends.

  Veronica Summer days.

  Duff They seem to persist. Country houses. By dint of the turnstile. We open our gardens twice a year.

  Veronica Rhododendrons are our strong suit. A riot of colour.

  Hilary No kangaroos?

  Duff Staff are prohibitive. Still, open prisons, homes for the aged, management training centres … museums or menageries they survive.

  Hilary They must. The Big House as nutshell, the novelist’s venue. Lose that and what happens to the detective story? On the sunlit lawn the empty rug, the open book and the faintly rocking chair compose a setting from which someone has suddenly departed, leaving a thriller open at the point where on a sunlit lawn the empty rug and the open book and the chair faintly rocking indicate someone has suddenly departed.

  Bron (quickly) We haven’t congratulated you.

  Duff What on?

  Bron Sir Hector.

  Duff Hardly a surprise. One’s definite due.

  Veronica If you ask me, it’s just a sharp nudge in the direction of the grave.

  Hilary Well done thou good and faithful servant.

  Duff Nobody more so. They search the ranks for someone still fit for hard labour and I curse my stature that singles me out. Oh let me not be named, I think, when some fresh commission is mooted. Not me. Then comes the call. You, sir! Fall out! So chained and marched away. Another sentence to run concurrently with the others. Another room to sit in all those slow afternoons. Carafe and tumbler, blotter and sharpened pencils … the instruments of my martyrdom. Still, it is what I have to do. Ich kann nicht anders. But pity me. (He raises his hands in a gesture of martyrdom and blessing.) Pity my poor prickling piles. I am unfree. A slave. I am a servant at Liberty Hall.

  Veronica What exactly do you do, darling? Or should I know better than to ask? Except you always knew better than to tell me.

  Hilary Very dull. I have an office. I translate. My advice is occasionally asked and ignored. Not very different from the Foreign Office. However. Why is working for the party like a mushroom?

  Veronica Why?

  Hilary Because you’re kept in the dark and every so often someone comes and throws a bucket of shit over you.

  Veronica Actually I’d heard that, only in my version it was the BBC.

  Hilary What are you writing down?

  Duff I want to … just make a note of that … joke … I never remember jokes. Excellent memory for facts. But jokes just do not seem to stick. Why is that? Mushroom was it? And of course one does need them. Jokes. Very handy with the young. One must count oneself fortunate in numbering among one’s acquaintance several Young People, whose intellectual and spiritual restlessness I find salutary. I come away refreshed. Invigorated. And they in their turn, feel that the world of decisions has a human face if only because they see it over a glass of beer.

  Veronica Beer!

  Duff The place where I find these contacts stand me in unexpectedly good stead is in Whitehall, of all places. Dans les coulisses. Royal Commissions, Arts Council, grant allocations and so on. One can be sitting there with a group of well-disposed people … intelligent, informed and above all concerned. The suggestion is that such and such a proposal will benefit young people. But will it benefit Stephen, the hospital porter? How will Trevor, a counter assistant at Dickins and Jones, fit into the scheme or Fiona, his girlfriend? And I’m afraid the answer I come up with is often very different from that of my esteemed colleagues. The result is I’m getting a name as a bit of a maverick. Duff, they say, Duff is difficile. But I must live with that. What I think is vitally important is not to let the young assume that middle age must necessarily mean the middle ground. There can still be jokes. Adventures. Irreverence. (To himself as he writes.) A bucket of shit. Good. Good.

  Bron We don’t see many young people.

  Hilary Eric? Olga? Called only this morning, wanting us to bathe. We can bathe. Or stroll in these commodious woods. Tea under the trees. Every facility.

  Veronica People call? Here?

  Hilary All the time.

  Bron They’re a sad couple. He was the clerk in the dockyard at Portsmouth, though she was the real brains. When they swapped her she insisted on him being part of the package. Rather touching. I should feel very Hampstead bathing now. The Ladies Pond. My bathing days are done.

  Hilary Do old gentlemen still hurl themselves into the Serpentine on Boxing Day?

  Veronica No. That went out with Pathé News.

  Duff As I understand it, bathing is now considered distinctly therapeutic. We’ve got some of our chronic arthritis people into the baths at the Middlesex Hospital and they go splashing around like two-year-olds.

  Hilary takes the revolver out of the drawer.

  Hilary Best bathing I ever had was in the war. North Africa. (He takes aim at something across the verandah on the edge of the garden.) Did you ever fly in a Sunderland? The old flying boats. (Don’t move, sweetheart. That’s beautiful.) Flew from Gibraltar to Crete in one once, during the war. (Head up a fraction.) Came down in the drink just off the coast of Tripoli. Engine trouble. (To your right a bit, darling.)

  Bron Oh, leave it, Hilary, leave it.

  Hilary Shut up. We sat on top of the water, opposite a brilliant white shore.

  Duff has been getting quite nervous and stands up.

  Sit down, man, for God’s sake.

  (He puts the gun down.) Bugger. We just slipped down into the sea and swam ashore. It was perfect.

  Veronica The Mediterranean? Not any more, dear. It’s the Elsan of Europe. And we tried Tripoli two years ago. It’s the Costa del Tesco.

  Duff The image of soldiers bathing has a long history in art. Does Berenson have an essay on that? Those armed and flexed for war, now relaxed, vulnerable. At rest.

  Hilary It’s my opinion, for what it’s worth, that Berenson was a bit of an arsehole. Don’t you agree?

  Duff Oh … yes. On balance, I think, probably, yes.

  Hilary An ancient American arsehole that anybody who was anybody had to stop and lick if they happened to be passing through Florence. Did you ever go?

  Duff I believe we may have called once – purely out of politeness.

  Hilary I didn’t. I wasn’t famous enough then. I could go now, of course, if he were alive. Now that I’m something of a celebrity. Instead people come and see me. Berenson at I Tatti, Max at Rapallo, Willie at Cap Ferrat. Me here.

  Bron Except you’re not an artist.

  Hilary And always in the background some capable lady of either sex, tucking in the rugs, censuring his utterance, presenting the old boy to the world. Protecting him. Rationing him. The great man. Life is short. Art is long. Breakfast is prompt at eight o’clock.

  Hilary suddenly brings up the revolver and fires. It should not be a loud noise. One of those long revolvers fitted with a silencer.

  Bron goes.

  Jolly good.

  This is when I miss Shep. (He goes.)

  Veronica Help! Help! Help!

  Duff Nonsense. Running pretty true to form. Tiresome, but not more so than one remembered. Nice books. (He wanders round the room, absorbed in its contents.)

  Veronica They’re both so old. Aren’t they?

  Duff Oh very nice. I thought Bron was looking a bit desséchée.

  Veronica She had a little cry upstairs.

  Duff Such a slum. What about?

  Veronica What about? The Scotch for a start. It’s
Jeyes Fluid. I would go mad. All this unnecessary countryside.

  Duff It’s true he was never overly rustic.

  Veronica She’d come back like a shot. Have you said anything to him?

  Duff Pretty. Very pretty. Wasted here.

  Veronica The old fraud.

  Duff And mostly first editions. You think he’s being lazy, it’s then he’s working hardest. Suspect him and his fidelity will put you to shame. Trust him and he instantly betrays you. What sort of man is that?

  Veronica Lyons! He never went into Lyons in his life.

  Duff Are you sure?

  Veronica I am his sister. And what about that gun?

  Duff That’s all silly. So silly. Still he seems not to go at the drink now.

  Veronica I’ve been waiting for someone to say that about Berenson for years.

  Duff It was actually a very ill-informed remark. Berenson was art-historian first and sage second. He didn’t seek society. Society sought him. His exile was not less fruitful for being populous. Whereas who comes here?

  Veronica You, for one. Look out. Home is the hunter!

  Hilary enters with a dead hare, which he holds up by the ears.

  Hilary Isn’t he a beauty! Take him. Go on.

  Duff No.

  Hilary Why? He’s dead.

  Duff I know he’s dead.

  Veronica Darling, it’s only a rabbit.

  Hilary It’s not. It’s a hare.

  Veronica I’ve always thought hares were simply rabbits writ large.

  Hilary Not at all. They’re quite far apart in the evolutionary chain. Further apart than a dog and a fox for instance, which are likewise deceptively similar. Rabbits are gregarious, slow-moving, leading a rich, underground life. Hares are swift, solitary, creatures of the open field. (He waves the hare at Duff.)

  Duff NO!

  Veronica Hilary, behave! Acting the fool!

  Duff There’s blood on my face.

  Veronica It’s only the tiniest spot. Oh and another bit here.

  Hilary Sorry. Sorry. Should I apologize to Duff?

  Duff Don’t be absurd.

  Veronica Yes.

  Hilary Duff. I apologize.

  Veronica I should think so too. There. All gone. What are we having for lunch?

  Hilary Rabbit.

  Duff Not this one?

  Hilary Duff, how many more times? This is a hare. We shall have to hang you a while, won’t we?

  Bron (voice off) Food!

  Duff We’ve had a big best seller about rabbits. Good rabbits and bad rabbits. I haven’t got round to it yet. I suspect the presence of allegory, which is always a slight deterrent. Shall I stagger in? Rabbits are coming back in England now. (He goes.) Myxomatosis or no myxomatosis.

  Hilary goes off with Duff carrying his record. Veronica remains, smoking.

  Hilary returns as a hymn begins on the gramophone.

  Hilary One advantage of living in Russia is that it’s one of the few places where smoking doesn’t cause cancer. At least the authorities don’t say it does, so one must presume it doesn’t.

  Veronica Are you happy?

  Hilary Why does everybody keep asking me that? No. I’m not happy. But I’m not un-happy about it. However.

  Veronica goes.

  Hilary lifts the hare to show it to the watcher in the garden.

  Rather good, don’t you think. Just bagged him. Bonny creatures. Still. One has to live. Popping in for a spot of lunch now. Old friends from way back. Broach a few bottles of the old vino rosso, have a natter about old times. Cheers.

  Hilary goes off, the music continuing, as Bron enters with a tray. She lifts it high to show it to whoever is watching in the garden and just before she does so the music cuts out as Hilary takes the record off inside the house. Bron puts the tray down on the top step of the verandah and goes off.

  Curtain

  Act Two

  Bron and Veronica are talking. It is after lunch.

  Veronica Such a pretty garden. Such a pretty house.

  Bron We love it.

  Veronica It is a knack. Making the place cosy. Newport Street was cosy. Tiny, but cosy.

  Bron We nest. The books help.

  Veronica Ye-es.

  Bron And with the end of summer we walk out of here without even locking the door, come back next spring and nothing will have been touched. Where else in the world could you do that? (She retrieves the tray with empty plate etc. from the top step of the verandah.)

  Veronica Wiltshire once. Not any more. There are muggers in Malmesbury.

  Bron The Hebrides, I suppose. Coll. Tiree. He keeps pretending this is Scotland.

  Veronica Heavenly rabbit. Like chicken used to be before they started locking the poor loves up in factories. Do they have those here? Battery farms?

  Bron No.

  Veronica How very sensible. You are lucky eating so simply. We would, but it’s too complicated.

  Bron I miss shopping.

  Veronica Don’t. London is a midden. Every street knee deep in filth.

  Bron Moscow is clean.

  Veronica Darling, spotless! Are those sweet peas?

  Bron Beans.

  Veronica How clever. Clever old Bron.

  Bron You look younger.

  Veronica To tell the truth, I did actually have a tiny op. Took up a bit of the slack. Why not? Free country.

  Bron All that couldn’t happen quickly enough for me. Getting older. The stroke of fifty I was all set to turn into a wonderful woman. You know what I mean by a wonderful woman.

  Veronica Yes. I’m married to one.

  Bron The wife to a doctor or a vicar’s wife. Chairman of the County Council, a pillar of the W.I. A wise, witty, white-haired old lady, who’s always stood on her own feet until one day at the age of eighty she comes out of the County Library and falls under the weight of her improving book, breaks her hip and dies, peacefully, continently and without fuss under a snowy coverlet in the cottage hospital. And coming away from her funeral in a country churchyard on a bright winter’s afternoon people say, ‘She was a wonderful woman.’ That’s what I wanted to be. Only here there’s nobody to be it for.

  Veronica Nobody to be it for anywhere nowadays.

  Bron I shall die and they’ll still not be able to pronounce my name. Just a coffin waiting on the tarmac to go on the night flight to Heathrow.

  Veronica I’ve a feeling they don’t have cottage hospitals now. I’m not even sure about county councils. There was some alteration, Duff was on the commission. Which only leaves the W.I. and that’s not what it was. Talks on abortion and new trends in foreplay.

  Bron But you need an audience. Character needs an audience or what are you? Here, who’s watching?

  Veronica Hilary.

  Bron Hilary. Hilary is watching Hilary. Watching Hilary.

  Veronica As ever.

  Bron Slightly better if he were dead. Then I could come home and be his widow. So much more rewarding than being his wife. I wake in the middle of the night thinking: I know what this is: it’s happily ever after.

  Veronica It’s not the place. Think of coming to in Wiltshire, beached beside my chosen piece of matrimonial software. Are we going to walk?

  Bron Do you like trees?

  Veronica I don’t mind.

  Bron There’s this way. Or that way. East. West. Guermantes. Combray. Either way, trees.

  Veronica Yes. They have rather overdone it.

  Bron Each one the same height, the same distance from next. Line after line after line.

  Veronica Duff’s taken up embroidery, did I tell you?

  Bron One day our first summer I took a picnic and went along the edge of the trees meaning to reach the corner of the plantation, see what was on the other side. I walked and walked, all day and when I eventually gave up the trees still went on in the same straight line. No break to the horizon. At any point here you might be at any other point. Any time any other time. The leaves don’t fall. No spring. No autum
n. Nowhere.

  Veronica Yes. Well, I wasn’t frantic to go. These are hardly the shoes.

  Bron The one other place I felt the same was Los Angeles.

  Pause.

  Veronica Say we were to lure you to London. Any thoughts? Duff (Duff!) thinks it could be arranged. This is death. Come back.

  Bron One gets used to it.

  Veronica One gets used to it. I used to hate Walton Street until it became all antique shops. Is he happy?

  Bron He never imagined he would have to join. Actually rub shoulders. He thought he would carry his secret to the grave.

  Veronica The country churchyard. I don’t believe it. He’s just a tease. He’d have had to tell somebody. That’s the way all good teases have to end. What fun. What wonderful lifelong fun. I am not what you all think I am. Just like when one was young and thought one had an inner life. Who’s that brute in the garden? Is he watching you or protecting you?

  Bron I don’t know. I shouldn’t think he knows. He’s been there all summer.

  Veronica The liberty! I’d soon get shot of him.

  Bron I’m not sure I want to.

  Veronica You should go straight out and say, ‘Who is your immediate superior?’ then get on the phone, and make a nuisance of yourself. I know it’s different here, but it’s not. Nag, nag, nag. Nag so much they realise it will be easier to do it than not. There is no other principle involved.

  Bron What totalitarian institutions have you dealt with?

  Veronica The worst. The North Thames Gas Board. I’d shift him.

  Bron At least he’s an audience. Watching me gardening, getting up in the morning. Hilary reading, feeding the birds. Like having a tortoise, you can’t always spot it. Then you fall over him, asleep in the sun. I like it.

  Hilary and Duff come in.

  Hilary Did you ever come across Gaitskell?

  Duff Many times.

  Hilary I only met him once. Nice man. We had a long conversation about … hamsters.

  Duff Hamsters?

  Hilary Yes. Like what? You were saying you liked something.

  Bron Here. I like here.

  Duff Charming. It’s charming. It’s a poem.

  Pause.

  I just want to plant the seed. Take the temperature of the water. That’s all I want to do at this moment. That’s all I’m empowered to do. I’m not looking for a Yes or a No. I just want to slot the suggestion in at the back of your mind, then we can go on from there. But know that the possibility exists. The door is at least ajar.