Roots (Modern Plays)

by Arnold Wesker

  Act Two

  Scene One

  Two days have passed. Beatie will arrive at her own home, the home of her parents. This is a tied cottage on a main road between two large villages. It is neat and ordinary inside. We can see a large kitchen – where most of the living is done – and attached to it is a large larder; also part of the front room and a piece of the garden where some washing is hanging.

  Mrs Bryant is a short, stout woman of fifty. She spends most of the day on her own, and consequently when she has a chance to speak to anybody she says as much as she can as fast as she can. The only people she sees are the tradesmen, her husband, the family when they pop in occasionally. She speaks very loudly all the time so that her friendliest tone sounds aggressive, and she manages to dramatise the smallest piece of gossip into something significant. Each piece of gossip is a little act done with little looking at the person to whom it is addressed. At the moment she is at the door leading to the garden, looking for the cat.

  Mrs Bryant Cossie, Cossie, Cossie, Cossie, Cossie, Cossie! Here Cossie! Food Cossie! Cossie, Cossie, Cossie! Blust you cat, where the hell are you. Oh hell on you then, I ent wastin’ my time wi’ you now.

  She returns to the kitchen and thence the larder, from which she emerges with some potatoes. These she starts peeling. Stan Mann appears round the back door. He has a handkerchief to his nose and is blowing vigorously, as vigorously as his paralysis will allow. Mrs Bryant looks up, but continues her peeling.

  Stan Rum thing to git a cold in summer, what you say Daphne?

  Mrs Bryant What’d you have me say my manny. Sit you down bor and rest a bit. Shouldn’t wear such daf’ clothes.

  Stan Daf’ clothes? Blust woman! I got on half a cow’s hide, what you sayin’! Where’s the gal?

  Mrs Bryant Beatie? She ent come yit. Didn’t you see her?

  Stan Hell, I was up too early for her. She always stay the weekend wi’ Jenny ’fore comin’ home?

  Mrs Bryant Most times.

  Stan sneezes.

  Mrs Bryant What you doin’ up this way wi’ a cold like that then? Get you home to bed.

  Stan Just come this way to look at the vicarage. Stuff’s comin’ up for sale soon.

  Mrs Bryant You still visit them things then?

  Stan Yearp. Pass the ole time away. Pass the ole time.

  Mrs Bryant Time drag heavy then?

  Stan Yearp. Time drag heavy. She do that. Time drag so slow, I get to thinkin’ it’s Monday when it’s still Sunday. Still, I had my day gal I say. Yearp. I had that all right.

  Mrs Bryant Yearp. You had that an’ a bit more ole son. I shan’t grumble if I last as long as you.

  Stan Yearp. I hed my day. An’ I’d do it all the same again, you know that? Do it all the same I would.

  Mrs Bryant Blust! All your drinkin’ an’ that?

  Stan Hell! Thaas what kep’ me goin’ look. Almost anyways. None o’ them young ’uns’ll do it, hell if they will. There ent much life in the young ’uns. Bunch o’ weak-kneed ruffians. None on ’em like livin’ look, none on ’em! You read in them ole papers what go on look, an’ you wonder if they can see. You do! Wonder if they got eyes to look around them. Think they know where they live? ’Course they don’t, they don’t you know, not one. Blust! the winter go an’ the spring come on after an’ they don’t see buds an’ they don’t smell no breeze an’ they don’t see gals, an’ when they see gals they don’t know whatta do wi’ ’em. They don’t!

  Mrs Bryant Oh hell, they know that all right.

  Stan Gimme my young days an’ I’d show ’em. Public demonstrations I’d give!

  Mrs Bryant Oh shut you up Stan Mann.

  Stan Just gimme young days again Daphne Bryant an’ I’d mount you. (Pause.) But they ’ont come again will they gal?

  Mrs Bryant That they ’ont. My ole days working in the fields with them other gals, thems ’ont come again, either.

  Stan No, they ’ont that! Rum ole things the years ent they? (Pause.) Them young ’uns is all right though. Long as they don’t let no one fool them, long as they think it out theirselves. (Sneezes and coughs.)

  Mrs Bryant (moving to help him up) Now get you back home Stan Mann. (Good-naturedly.) Blust, I aren’t hevin’ no dead ’uns on me look. Take a rum bor, take a rum an’ a drop o’ hot milk and get to bed. What’s Mrs Mann thinking of lettin’ you out like this.

  She pulls the coat round the old man and pushes him off. He goes off mumbling and she returns, also mumbling, to her peeling.

  Stan She’s a good gal, she’s right ’nough, she don’t think I got it this bad. I’ll pull this ole scarf round me. Hed this scarf a long time, hed it since I started wi’ me cars. She bought it me. Lasted a long time. Shouldn’t need it this weather though . . . (Exits.)

  Mrs Bryant (mumbling same time as Stan) Go on, off you go. Silly ole bugger, runnin’ round with a cold like that. Don’t know what ’e’s doin’ half the time. Poor ole man. Cossie? Cossie? That you Cossie? (Looks through door into front room and out of window at Stan.) Poor ole man.

  After peeling for some seconds she turns the radio on, turning the dial knob through all manner of stations and back again until she finds some very loud dance music which she leaves blaring on. Audible to us, but not to Mrs Bryant, is the call of ‘Yoo-hoo Mother, yoo-hoo.’ Beatie appears round the garden and peers into the kitchen. Mrs Bryant jumps.

  Mrs Bryant Blust, you made me jump.

  Beatie (toning radio down) Can’t you hear it? Hello, Mother. (Kisses her.)

  Mrs Bryant Well, you’ve arrived then.

  Beatie Didn’t you get my card?

  Mrs Bryant Came this morning.

  Beatie Then you knew I’d arrive.

  Mrs Bryant ’Course I did.

  Beatie My things come?

  Mrs Bryant One suitcase, one parcel in brown paper –

  Beatie My paintings.

  Mrs Bryant And one other case.

  Beatie My pick-up. D’you see it?

  Mrs Bryant I hevn’t touched a thing.

  Beatie Bought myself a pick-up on the HP.

  Mrs Bryant Don’t you go telling that to Pearl.

  Beatie Why not?

  Mrs Bryant She’ll wanna know why you didn’t buy off her on the club.

  Beatie Well, hell, Mother, I weren’t gonna hev an ole pick-up sent me from up north somewhere when we lived next door to a gramophone shop.

  Mrs Bryant No. Well, what bus you come on – the half-past-ten one?

  Beatie Yearp. Picked it up on the ole bridge near Jenny’s.

  Mrs Bryant Well I looked for you on the half-past-nine bus and you weren’t on that so I thought to myself I bet she come on the half-past-ten and you did. You see ole Stan Mann?

  Beatie Was that him just going up the road?

  Mrs Bryant Wearin’ an ole brown scarf, that was him.

  Beatie I see him! Just as I were comin’ off the bus. Blust! Jimmy Beales give him a real dowsin’ down on his allotment ’cos he had an accident.

  Mrs Bryant What, another?

  Beatie Yearp.

  Mrs Bryant Poor ole man. Thaas what give him that cold then. He come in here sneezin’ fit to knock hisself down.

  Beatie Poor ole bugger. Got any tea Ma? I’m gonna unpack.

  Beatie goes into front room with case. We see her take out frocks, which she puts on hangers, and underwear and blouses, which she puts on couch.

  Mrs Bryant Did you see my flowers as you come in? Got some of my hollyhocks still flowering. Creeping up the wall they are – did you catch a glimpse on ’em? And my asters and geraniums? Poor ole Joe Simonds gimme those afore he died. Lovely geraniums they are.

  Beatie Yearp.

  Mrs Bryant When’s Ronnie coming?

  Beatie Saturday week – an’ Mother, I’m heving all the family along to meet him when he arrive so you patch your rows wi’ them.

  Mrs Bryant What you on about gal? What rows wi’ them?

  Beatie You know full well what rows I mean – them o
nes you hev wi’ Pearl and Susan.

  Mrs Bryant ’Tent so likely. They hev a row wi’ me gal but I give ’em no heed, that I don’t. (Hears van pass on road.) There go Sam Martin’s fish van. He’ll be calling along here in an hour.

  Beatie (entering with very smart dress) Like it Mother?

  Mrs Bryant Blust gal, that’s a good ’un ent it! Where d’you buy that then?

  Beatie Swan and Edgar’s.

  Mrs Bryant Did Ronnie choose it?

  Beatie Yearp.

  Mrs Bryant He’ve got good taste then.

  Beatie Yearp. Now listen Mother, I don’t want any on you to let me down. When Ronnie come I want him to see we’re proper. I’ll buy you another bowl so’s you don’t wash up in the same one as you wash your hands in and I’ll get some more tea cloths so’s you ’ont use the towels. And no swearin’.

  Mrs Bryant Don’t he swear then?

  Beatie He swear all right, only I don’t want him to hear you swear.

  Mrs Bryant Hev you given it up then?

  Beatie Mother, I’ve never swore.

  Mrs Bryant Go to hell, listen to her!

  Beatie I never did, now! Mother, I’m telling you, listen to me. Ronnie’s the best thing I’ve ever had and I’ve tried hard for three years to keep hold of him. I don’t care what you do when he’s gone but don’t show me up when he’s here.

  Mrs Bryant Speak to your father gal.

  Beatie Father too. I don’t want Ronnie to think I come from a small-minded family. ‘I can’t bear mean people,’ he say. ‘I don’t care about their education, I don’t care about their past as long as their minds are large and inquisitive, as long as they’re generous.’

  Mrs Bryant Who say that?

  Beatie Ronnie.

  Mrs Bryant He talk like that?

  Beatie Yearp.

  Mrs Bryant Sounds like a preacher.

  Beatie (standing on a chair) ‘I don’t care if you call me a preacher, I’ve got something to say and I’m going to say it. I don’t care if you don’t like being told things – we’ve come to a time when you’ve got to say this is right and this is wrong. God in heaven, have we got to be wet all the time? Well, have we?’ Christ, Mother, you’ve got them ole wasps still flying around. (She waves her arms in the air flaying the wasps.) September and you’ve still got wasps. Owee! shoo-shoo! (In the voice of her childhood.) Mammy, Mammy, take them ole things away. I doesn’t like them – ohh! Nasty things.

  Beatie jumps off chair and picks up a coat-hanger. Now both she and her mother move stealthily around the room ‘hunting’ wasps. Occasionally Mrs Bryant strikes one dead or Beatie spears one against the wall. Mrs Bryant conducts herself matter-of-fact-like but Beatie makes a fiendish game of it.

  Mrs Bryant They’re after them apples on that tree outside. Go on! Off wi’ you! Outside now! There – that’s got ’em out, but I bet the buggers’ll be back in a jiffy look.

  Beatie Oh yes, an’ I want to have a bath.

  Mrs Bryant When d’you want that then?

  Beatie This morning.

  Mrs Bryant You can’t hev no bath this morning, that copper won’t heat up till after lunch.

  Beatie Then I’ll bake the pastries for Jenny this morning and you can put me water on now. (She returns to sort her clothes.)

  Mrs Bryant I’ll do that now then. I’ll get you the soft water from the tank.

  Mrs Bryant now proceeds to collect bucket and move back and forth between the garden out of view and the copper in the kitchen. She fills the copper with about three buckets of water and then lights the fire underneath. In between buckets she chats.

  (Off – as she hears lorry go by.) There go Danny Oakley to market. (She returns with first bucket.)

  Beatie Mother! I dreamt I died last night and heaven were at the bottom of a pond. You had to jump in and sink and you know how afeared I am of water. It was full of film stars and soldiers and there were two rooms. In one room they was playing skiffle and – and – I can’t remember what were goin’ on in the other. Now who was God? I can’t remember. It was someone we knew, a she. (Returns to unpacking.)

  Mrs Bryant (entering with second bucket; automatically) Yearp. (Pause.) You hear what happened to the headache doctor’s patient? You know what they say about him – if you’ve got a headache you’re all right but if you’ve got something more you’ve had it! Well he told a woman not to worry about a lump she complained of under her breast and you know what that were? That turned out to be thrombosis! There! Thrombosis! She had that breast off. Yes, she did. Had to hev it cut off. (Goes for next bucket.)

  Beatie (automatically) Yearp.

  She appears from front room with two framed paintings. She sets them up and admires them. They are primitive designs in bold masses, rather well-balanced shapes and bright poster colours – red, black, and yellow – see Dusty Wesker’s work.

  Mother! Did I write and tell you I’ve took up painting? I started five months ago. Working in gouache. Ronnie says I’m good. Says I should carry on and maybe I can sell them for curtain designs. ‘Paint girl,’ he say. ‘Paint! The world is full of people who don’t do the things they want so you paint and give us all hope!’

  Mrs Bryant enters.

  Beatie Like ’em?

  Mrs Bryant (looks at them a second) Good colours ent they. (She is unmoved and continues to empty a third bucket while Beatie returns paintings to other room.) Yes gal, I ent got no row wi’ Pearl but I ask her to change my Labour Tote man ’cos I wanted to give the commission to Charlie Gorleston and she didn’t do it.

  Well, if she can be like that I can be like that too. You gonna do some baking you say?

  Beatie (enters from front room putting on a pinafore and carrying a parcel) Right now. Here y’are Daphne Bryant, present for you. I want eggs, flour, sugar, and marg. I’m gonna bake a sponge and give it frilling. (Goes to larder to collect things.)

  Mrs Bryant (unpacking parcel; it is a pinafore) We both got one now.

  Mrs Bryant continues to peel potatoes as Beatie proceeds to separate four eggs, the yolks of which she starts whipping with sugar. She sings meanwhile a ringing folk song.

  Beatie

  Oh a dialogue I’ll sing you as true as me life.

  Between a coal owner and a poor pitman’s wife

  As she was a-walking along the highway

  She met a coal owner and to him did say

  Derry down, down, down Derry down.

  ‘Whip the eggs till they’re light yellow,’ he say.

  Mrs Bryant Who say?

  Beatie Ronnie.

  Good morning Lord Firedamp the good woman said

  I’ll do you no harm sir so don’t be afraid

  If you’d been where I’d been for most of my life

  You wouldn’t turn pale at a poor pitman’s wife

  Singing down, down, down Derry down.

  Mrs Bryant What song’s that?

  Beatie A coalmining song.

  Mrs Bryant I tell you what I reckon’s a good song, that ‘I’ll wait for you in the heavens blue’. I reckon that’s a lovely song I do. Jimmy Samson he sing that.

  Beatie It’s like twenty other songs, it don’t mean anything and it’s sloshy and sickly.

  Mrs Bryant Yes, I reckon that’s a good song that.

  Beatie (suddenly) Listen Mother, let me see if I can explain something to you. Ronnie always say that’s the point of knowing people. ‘It’s no good having friends who scratch each other’s back,’ he say. ‘The excitement in knowing people is to hand on what you know and to learn what you don’t know. Learn from me,’ he say, ‘I don’t know much but learn what I know.’ So let me try and explain to you what he explain to me.

  Mrs Bryant (on hearing a bus) There go the half-past-eleven bus to Diss – blust that’s early. (Puts spuds in saucepan on oven and goes to collect runner beans, which she prepares.)

  Beatie Mother, I’m talking to you. Blust woman it’s not often we get together and really talk, it’s nearly always me listening t
o you telling who’s dead. Just listen a second.

  Mrs Bryant Well go on gal, but you always take so long to say it.

  Beatie What are the words of that song?

  Mrs Bryant I don’t know all the words.

  Beatie I’ll tell you. (Recites them.)

  I’ll wait for you in the heavens blue

  As my arms are waiting now.

  Please come to me and I’ll be true

  My love shall not turn sour.

  I hunger, I hunger, I cannot wait longer,

  My love shall not turn sour.

  There! Now what do that mean?

  Mrs Bryant (surprised) Well, don’t you know what that mean?

  Beatie I mean what do they do to you? How do the words affect you? Are you moved? Do you find them beautiful?

  Mrs Bryant Them’s as good words as any.

  Beatie But do they make you feel better?

  Mrs Bryant Blust gal! That ent meant to be a laxative!

  Beatie I must be mad to talk with you.

  Mrs Bryant Besides it’s the tune I like. Words never mean anything.

  Beatie All right, the tune then! What does that do to you? Make your belly go gooey, your heart throb, make your head spin with passion? Yes, passion, Mother, know what it is? Because you won’t find passion in that third-rate song, no you won’t!

  Mrs Bryant Well all right gal, so it’s third-rate you say. Can you say why? What make that third-rate and them frilly bits of opera and concert first-rate? ’Sides, did I write that song? Beatie Bryant, you do go up and down in your spirits, and I don’t know what’s gotten into you gal, no I don’t.

  Beatie I don’t know either, Mother. I’m worried about Ronnie I suppose. I have that same row with him. I ask him exactly the same questions – what make a pop song third-rate. And he answer and I don’t know what he talk about. Something about registers, something about commercial world blunting our responses. ‘Give yourself time woman,’ he say. ‘Time! You can’t learn how to live overnight. I don’t even know,’ he say, ‘and half the world don’t know but we got to try. Try,’ he says, ‘’cos we’re still suffering from the shock of two world wars and we don’t know it. Talk,’ he say, ‘and look and listen and think and ask questions.’ But Jesus! I don’t know what questions to ask or how to talk. And he gets so riled – and yet sometimes so nice. ‘It’s all going up in flames,’ he say, ‘but I’m going to make bloody sure I save someone from the fire.’