(To the WOMAN:) Aye and now I see your face, you be pretty in spite of your costume.
He kisses her roughly. She turns her head and spits in his face.
What sort of whore runs with Loyalist bastards eh? No need to answer on that for we’re about to find out.
ROSE. No.
SOLDIER. Fair’s fair, me first. (Sitting on the WOMAN. He takes his sword off and throws it aside.)
ROSE, remembering GRACE’s advice, lets out an unnerving howl of laughter.
Don’t take on, you’ll get your turn. (Then on seeing ROSE advance, pistol in hand.) And it’s not that gun you’ll be needing, son. (The WOMAN takes this moment to struggle from underneath him but he restrains her.) Not so fast.
She scratches his face.
You little vixen.
They struggle on the ground in front of the fire. ROSE realises that should she shoot, she might hit the wrong one. Putting the pistol down she goes to the fire and tearing a red hot branch, waits till the SOLDIER is on top of the WOMAN and puts it down his back. He screams and lets go. A shot is fired. And it is the woman, BRIDGET, who stands shaking, but her pistol pointed at ROSE. They stand in silence, the body of the SOLDIER between them.
BRIDGET. So it was to be your turn next?
Pause.
ROSE. You will not make your way alive from here without my help.
BRIDGET. You must take me for a halfwit. I will not leave you here whilst you still have tongue in your head.
ROSE (looks at the body). I will ride with you.
BRIDGET. Aye. In front – this pointing to your back, and if I am brought down, I shan’t be alone.
Scene Two
The church.
HELEN’s husband a PARSON, is sitting in the pulpit making notes. HELEN enters, pausing to give the inside of the font a wipe. She walks down the aisle towards the pulpit.
HELEN. May I be granted words with you husband?
PARSON. Presently, dear. Not now for I am too busy.
HELEN. And what is this task?
She starts to step up in the pulpit.
PARSON. Women are not allowed in the pulpit. Take thy foot off from that step.
HELEN obeys.
I am recording events in my diary.
HELEN. You don’t need to do that perched up there.
PARSON. It serves to keep me ever mindful of my responsibility to my congregation.
HELEN. But you can’t have anything to record other than ‘today I wrote in my diary’ for you’ve done nothing else.
PARSON (impatiently). I won’t be a moment, I am just writing history.
HELEN (wandering over to the lectern). And where is the reason behind that?
PARSON. In many years hence, men will want to read it and find out about the accounts and happenings of our time.
HELEN. You only know what goes on inside a church. Could I not help you with it?
PARSON. A woman cannot write, for even if she has a mind to understand the lines on paper, her emotions get in the way of truth.
Pointing to his diary.
This is plain statement of fact so it will not be questioned as to its accuracy in the future.
HELEN. What does it detail?
PARSON. You need not be troubled with it.
HELEN. I’m sure t’would improve under my guidance.
PARSON. Don’t be foolish, women don’t make history.
HELEN. Best read me your version before my curiosity causes me to test if the bird can fly.
Meaning the lectern, which is a wooden eagle.
PARSON (sighs). Very well. If it will mean some peace for me and be of some amusement to you.
HELEN (mutters). It will be of little else I’m sure.
PARSON (reads as though delivering a sermon). ‘The war has rid us of many evils not least of the evil embodied in some of the female sex who were weighed in the balance and found wanting. Suitably dealt with through rigorous court procedures and brought to justice either swum or hung.’
HELEN (curtly). You’ve repeated the word evil twice.
PARSON (casually). ’Tis part of women’s nature since life began with Eve.
HELEN. I have heard that so many times the words form wax and block my ears.
PARSON. God’s word writ since time began. Is not for mortals to meddle with.
HELEN (wild with rage, sweeps the bible from the lectern to the floor, smashes her fists on the lectern and jumping and down shouting). Why can’t you change? Why can’t you change?
An elderly WOMAN PARISHIONER enters from the main door at the back, scurries to a back pew and kneels, hands tightly pressed together, eyes firmly shut. On seeing her, the PARSON scrambles from the pulpit, crosses to HELEN.
PARSON (in hushed whisper). Do not take on in such a hysterical humour, calm yourself. Do you want for us to be footing another bill from the quack?
HELEN (calmly). Pray continue.
Simultaneously the PARISHIONER starts to mumble a jumbled up, only half-remembered version of the Lord’s Prayer.
Our father witch chart in heaven
Hello to thy brain
Give us this day our daily bread
Forgive us our panes
As we forgive those will be done
Thy kindom be done
As now or never
Lead us up to temptation
Deliver us from weevil
Thine be the glory every lasting son
For ever and ever, Amen.
The words cannot be heard clearly, i.e. it should not compete with the following dialogue, but should continue until HELEN speaks directly to her.
PARSON. This is but a humble clergyman’s account.
HELEN (nods). Aye. (She waits, tapping her foot.)
PARSON (scrambling with his notes; reads in hushed tones). Some of these women were unfortunate. (Looks up.) See, I too can find sympathy. (Continues reading.) In fact many were merely harmless, repulsive, foul-smelling hags who cursed everyone who cam near and were quite mad in the head.
HELEN (aggressively). Can you not know what a dangerous thing you write.
PARSON. You are rapidly putting me in bad humour. Now I have quite lost the flow, please content yourself to leave me be.
HELEN (coldly). Presently, dear, for I wanted to speak with you.
PARSON. Well, speak then and leave me in peace.
HELEN (calmly). Have no fear. Firstly, are you a Quaker?
PARSON. In our Lord’s name what blasphemy are you asking of me? You know my religion. Steady as the rock of St Peter.
HELEN. Even he was known to quake in a cock’s presence.
PARSON. Do not play games with the scriptures.
HELEN. Well, I am a Quaker.
PARSON. You cannot be, you are wed to me.
HELEN (serenely). Oh dear. Now a Quaker must be married to another Quaker.
PARSON. Have you been victim to bites from mad dog?
HELEN. I must make sure. You say you are not a Quaker?
PARSON. You know I’m not.
HELEN. Then I cannot stay married to you.
PARSON. Have you lost all sense?
HELEN. No. The dilemma is solved. I wilt leave you to your solitude now husband. Thank you for sparing me the time.
She turns on her heel and strides down the aisle.
PARSON. But you can’t.
HELEN (on reaching the praying PARISHIONER, stops briefly and taps her on the head). That pes would be put to better use saving your knees whilst scrubbing floors. Take it with you.
She continues walking.
PARSON (trying to catch up with his wife whilst retaining his dignity). Helen? (On reaching the PARISHIONER he lays his hand on her head so she sinks back to her knees.) Bless you, child.
(Continues to follow HELEN.) But you are my wife.
Pausing only to spit in the font, HELEN goes, shutting the door behind her. Once outside she laughs.
Scene Three
A rowing boat on the river.
ROSE and BRIDGET are seated opposite each other in a small rowing boat. ROSE sits back trailing her burnt hand in the water. BRIDGET rows but cannot take her eyes off ROSE which proves a preferable pastime to rowing.
ROSE (sitting up). Shall I take my turn now?
BRIDGET. Your hand is too sore. Besides I am far from tired.
ROSE. What ails you then?
BRIDGET (blurts out). I thought I must be only one of my kind under the sky, and now I have found you – is that joy which distracts me.
ROSE (laughs). Will be short-lived if it prevents you from pulling on the oars – for we shall perish.
BRIDGET. I am too happy. I care not.
ROSE. Well I do. Here. Stand up and change places.
They both stand. The boat rocks. ROSE holds onto BRIDGET to steady herself. BRIDGET kisses ROSE. Both slightly surprised and shocked and sit down again without having changed places.
BRIDGET. Rose, cam home with me.
ROSE. Home?
BRIDGET (starting to row with renewed vigour). You’d not want for anything again.
ROSE. You must have wanted for something – to leave its comfort.
BRIDGET. Was for something I didn’t want, namely a rich toad with his brain in his stones and one thought between them.
ROSE. And if he still waits for you? Your mother will put me to work in her garden no doubt.
BRIDGET. She’ll be only too overwhelmed with joy to see me alive and that you have no money will play no part when I tell you saved my life. Rose, you will have riches and servants such as you never imagined.
ROSE. And do you imagine that this war with its blood and death and gore has meant nothing to me? For it is about no one being a servant to another. No more rich and idle by virtue of their birth but every person equal.
BRIDGET. Every man. For they might each have equality but they still take upon themselves, rich or poor, a wife who is but a slave and not paid into the bargain.
ROSE. But now it is you who talk of servants. I am a servant. Do you think I’d take it upon myself to treat my kind likewise?
Pause.
BRIDGET. Then I shall share with you all I have.
ROSE. Then cam back with me?
BRIDGET. Back where?
ROSE. To my village.
BRIDGET (shakes her head). I’d be out of place.
ROSE. I’d not be out of place with your kind?
BRIDGET. Money can buy a person any place.
ROSE (ironically). Oh Aye. Money.
BRIDGET. Please think on it Rose.
ROSE (shakes her head). My longing to see my friends again be too strong.
BRIDGET. They will be asleep now.
ROSE. But the morning will unite us.
Pause.
BRIDGET. Then spend this night with me.
Scene Four
A misty day by the pond.
Enter ROSE, on foot. She can just about see HELEN standing on a tree stump and MARY, ANN and an unknown WOMAN standing motionless beside HELEN.
ROSE (approaching slowly). So none have mislaid our pledge.
HELEN (shouts). Cam closer, sir, show yourself.
ROSE moves closer and finds the only person there is HELEN.
ROSE (to herself). Two years and I’d quite forgot tricks marsh mist could play.
HELEN. You be a stranger here?
ROSE. No more stranger than you, Helen.
HELEN. Who are you? (She takes two steps towards ROSE.) Rose? Young Rose?
She hugs her.
ROSE (laughs and frees herself). Steady, lest the village tongues have us tied in holy state afore we can be acquainted again.
HELEN (stands back). My, what a handsome fellow you make. I hope two years at war has not turned you to the habits of other young men.
ROSE (quietly). I am home.
HELEN. Rose. Oh Rose, I am pleased to see this day. What have you done to your hand?
ROSE (putting her hand behind her back). Nothing. And how have you fared these two years since?
HELEN. You have been constant in my thoughts, Rose, not least because you were right. My dealings with doctors served only to punish and humiliate me. I do swear they loathe us worse than the rest of their kind. But, for me now that is finished.
(Carefully.) And what news of Jane?
ROSE. I know not where she is. So make cheerful with your tales, for there must be some event you can recall which will warm my heart.
HELEN. Rose …
ROSE. Helen, tell me only of cheerful things. Tell me of London and the jick-a-joy women kicked up there.
HELEN. Oh aye, and why would you be interested in peace protests when you was making money in the war?
ROSE. Oh rouse yourself.
HELEN. Was all but wonderful, Rose, how we wished you’d seen it.
Slight pause.
Mary (She falters but continues.) becam so carried away with her protesting against violence that she broke the Duke of Richmond’s staff over his own head.
ROSE (laughs). That do sound like her.
HELEN. That is not but half of it. The chant went up over and over ‘We will not be wives and tie up our lives to villainous slavery’.
ROSE. So another war broke out at the moment I’ll wager.
HELEN. The retort was varied but in the usual manner. From contemptible vileness to what they deemed as reasoned arguments like ‘Go home and wash your plates’. But you have never heard women’s voice so strong. One immediately rejoined ‘You give us something to put on our plates and then we’ll wash ’em’. While another cried ‘We ent washing no more plates for you’. And another much to Ann and Mary’s delight screamed ‘When I have your head on a plate then I’ll wash it off’. I had to keep reminding the other two that our purpose there was to ask for peace. And we met there women and, Rose, they had so many ideas like yourself you’d have talked till your clacker fell apart. Cam home with me so we can eat and talk at leisure. Is too cold standing on this spot.
ROSE. But first you must reveal to me, what are these clothes you have on?
HELEN. I have become a Quaker.
ROSE (alarmed). You mean thou has the shaking pox? I thought you looked in peculiar shape tossing your arms on this stump.
HELEN (laughs). It is but the new religion.
ROSE (more alarmed). That is good news? The misery religion has wrought us. Helen, what folly is this?
HELEN. Afore you lambast me hear me out, for in this new religion I am a preacher.
ROSE. You?
HELEN. Any person who feels so moved can be.
ROSE. No doubt St Paul’s corpse be a-quaking too.
HELEN. I’ll have you know I can draw quite a crowd with details of my visions, which I can reveal to you, are well structured so as to be precise on pointing out the nature of women’s accumbrements.
ROSE. But what of your husband? I perceive your walls would crumble under strain of two preachers practising their sermons within.
HELEN (gleefully). The way of this new religion be if your spouse be not of the same persuasion, you can leave for another who shares your beliefs.
ROSE. Is far less of an evil solution than ridding yourself of a wife by getting her hung.
Pause. HELEN does not respond.
So you have some bad news? You have taken yourself a Shaker husband?
HELEN (smiles). My visions are such that I cannot seem to find a suitable one. You wait, we shall stir up this country in this time of unrest, till woman shall laugh till she cries at very notion of being pinned down to man.
ROSE. I will fetch the others and we shall have a meeting like never afore.
HELEN. No. (Gently.) Rose, you can’t.
ROSE (ruefully). Oh, waste no worry over me. Dressed as a man has given me wonderful freedom to go charging about where I want.
HELEN. Let’s sit down.
ROSE. For why? We’re not in church. (Pause. So she sits on the tree stump.) Right, I am sat down. Oh, Mary and Ann are still in London?
&nb
sp; HELEN (sits down next to her and holds her hand). Rose, Ann and Mary are dead.
ROSE. Dead? They are dead?
HELEN. Yes. Hung.
ROSE (in disbelief). Hung? For what?
HELEN. For what else?
ROSE. We did rid this place of the pricker, did we not? I can’t believe it. Did we not rid this place … ?
HELEN (gently). About the same time as we went our separate ways he returned with fame, fortune and self-appointed title and powers and set about his task more zealously than ever.
ROSE. But you said you all went to London.
HELEN. Aye but others returned for child, whilst I stayed on to waste money on their doctors.
ROSE (letting go of HELEN’s hand, stands and turns accusingly, raising her voice). They are dead? And you are content to sit here holding my hand and say they are dead and you did nothing?
HELEN (stands, angrily, almost shouting). And what would you know of what’s been done? There has been one hundred hung since you’ve been gone and to my reckoning double that number swam and drowned unrecorded. And you demand of me what has been done when women live in fear of drawing next breath for it bringing the noose closer to their windpipe. When women take to practising holding their breath in hope they might sink and be then dragged from the water alive.
(Quieter.) And you ask me what has been done in this place where we dare not even look at one another or, God forbid, converse for that be deemed conspiracy enough. And you will tell me the old story that love is as strong as death? For in these times, to my mind, life all but holds a weak flame to fear.
ROSE (sits ashamed). I did not know.
HELEN (calmly but still angry). And well might you brag of men’s clothes. For it does not pay to be a daughter today. The child, aye, with not two years of life behind her was swam along with her mother for the crime – the crime of being descendant of Eve – which be but a mispelling of Evil to their minds. (Sadly.) Rose, they have all but bled our village dry of our sex.
ROSE. I dare but ask the question burning in my head.
HELEN. We know what they can do. We have paid for that knowledge at such cost that those remaining can no longer afford to be left divided.
ROSE. And Grace? Helen, what of Grace?
HELEN (gently). Rose, I know not whether she is yet living or has died from her sufferings.
Plays One Page 32