by Laura Wade
ALICE: Mimsy?
HUMPTY DUMPTY: Flimsy and miserable.
ALICE: Borogoves?
HUMPTY DUMPTY: Thin, shabby looking birds with feathers that stick out all round.
ALICE: Mome raths?
HUMPTY DUMPTY: Raaths! To rhyme with baaths! Speak properly.
ALICE: Where I come from we say bath.
HUMPTY DUMPTY: A rath is a sort of a pig.
ALICE: Oh, ok, I saw a pig earlier.
HUMPTY DUMPTY: Mome means from home – as in someone who’d lost their way.
ALICE: Oh, that’s me! I’ve lost my way home.
HUMPTY DUMPTY: One can only go so far with a conservative structure like that. Most poets of any worth these days have abandoned the rhyme entirely. We like to let our words roam free.
ALICE: Yes, so the next bit says –
HUMPTY DUMPTY: I said, WE like to let our words roam free.
ALICE: Right. You’re a poet, are you?
HUMPTY DUMPTY: Oh no, I couldn’t possibly.
ALICE: Sorry?
HUMPTY DUMPTY: It’s so exposing to read one’s work aloud – it’s a very delicate process.
ALICE: OK, we could just carry on / with this then –
HUMPTY DUMPTY: Well, if you insist.
HUMPTY takes a piece of paper from his breast pocket.
ALICE: No, I don’t insist, really.
HUMPTY DUMPTY: I can’t bear to disappoint people, you see. But I’m still tinkering with this one, so –
ALICE: OK.
HUMPTY DUMPTY: It is called ‘Sleeping With The Fishes’.
HUMPTY clears his throat.
Ahem.
I have slept with the fishes
Oh I oh I
Down in the murkiest depths
On a dark dark dark dark dark dark dark dark dark
Night
Repetition there, I don’t know if you spotted it.
ALICE: Just about.
HUMPTY DUMPTY:
Sing us a story! Oh! Cry the fishes
For we are so scared that the spectre will come.
Up on the beach, the beach that is breadcrumbs
The prawns are a-dancing
And laugh with the waves
Anthropomorphism there, of course, since we know that waves don’t laugh.
ALICE: Neither do prawns.
HUMPTY DUMPTY:
Then out of the shadows, a-shuffling, a-groaning
Shuffling, stumpy
Slow and moaning
Assonance. Slow and moaning.
I’ll sing you a song! Says the terrible spectre
Of earths that have worms in and things that eat eyes
The life underground is not fit to keep rats in
I AM NOT AT PEACE! the spectre cries
The rat, of course, a classical symbol for survival of the human spirit.
Did you catch the reference to Finnegans Wake back there?
ALICE: Absolutely. Just I’ve really got to –
HUMPTY DUMPTY:
Take thou my hand, and the hands of the fishes
Come with me dancing to infinite death
Oh oh oh oh
Do not let them burn me he cries
ALICE: Thank you, I’ve really got to –
HUMPTY DUMPTY: I haven’t finished.
Nails clawing at the lid of the coffin
ALICE: I think I’ve had enough poetry now.
HUMPTY DUMPTY:
I AM NOT AT PEACE! he cries
DO NOT BURN ME, I AM NOT AT PEACE!
ALICE: Stop it!
HUMPTY DUMPTY:
Deep. Deep. Deep. Deep.
Sleeping with the fishes
I AM NOT AT PEACE.
ALICE: Stop it now! I mean it.
ALICE shakes a little.
HUMPTY DUMPTY: I have never been spoken to like that.
ALICE: Sorry. Sorry, just –
HUMPTY DUMPTY: You can interpret your own poem, and good luck to you, I say.
ALICE: No I’m sorry. Please can you –
HUMPTY DUMPTY: THE BELL IS FOR ME NOT FOR YOU!
Homework in by Friday please, or there’ll be no jam for anyone. It’s your own life you’re wasting, you know...
Some WONDERLANDERS come and wheel HUMPTY off.
ALICE: Yeah, well done, Alice, that’s excellent. He could have explained that whole thing to you, but now you’ve pissed him off and he’s pissed off, gone away. Fat lot of good you turned out to be.
ALICE sees the POSTMAN approaching. She pulls herself together.
OH, OK. Here we go. Hello.
The POSTMAN doesn’t seem to see her.
Hello?
POSTMAN: Hello?
ALICE: Hi.
The POSTMAN smiles blandly and carries on.
Haven’t you got anything for me? In there?
The POSTMAN stops, looks at ALICE.
POSTMAN: Don’t think so.
ALICE: Um, sorry, could you – would you mind checking?
Please.
He opens the post box and starts to go through it.
POSTMAN: I do have a round to do, you know.
ALICE: Yes, thank you.
POSTMAN: What’s the name?
ALICE: Alice. You gave me a letter before.
POSTMAN: Not ringing any bells, I’m afraid.
He pulls out a bucket and spade and hands it to ALICE.
This any good to you?
ALICE: Um, not really.
POSTMAN: How about this?
He pulls out a pair of flip flops tied together.
ALICE: No, I was thinking more like a –
POSTMAN: What about this – lovely.
He pulls out an ice cream and holds it towards ALICE.
ALICE: For god’s sake I don’t want stupid knick-knacks I want something proper. What am I going to do with a bloody bucket and spade? I need a letter or a postcard or I don’t know, a message written on a piece of bark I mean something useful that’ll tell me what to do cause I don’t know what to do.
POSTMAN: Well.
ALICE: Sorry.
POSTMAN: Just trying to do my job.
ALICE: I’m sorry.
POSTMAN: Under trying circumstances.
ALICE: I just want to go home. I saw you and I thought you must be coming to give me something.
ALICE looks away. The POSTMAN softens.
POSTMAN: Let’s have another look, shall we?
He starts to go through the box again. He pulls out a plastic cricket bat, but thinks better of giving it to ALICE, and puts it back in.
POSTMAN: Can’t see anything for an Alice, I’m afraid. What’s the surname?
ALICE: Little.
POSTMAN: Little. Nope.
The POSTMAN pulls out a plastic wrapped skate shop catalogue.
Got a Joseph Little, I’m guessing that’s not you.
ALICE: Joe.
The POSTMAN hands the catalogue to ALICE.
He gets these all the time, this is the only kind of post he gets, this and guitar catalogues. We’ll have to cancel them.
POSTMAN: Sorry, d’you know this person?
ALICE: Yeah.
POSTMAN: Don’t fancy delivering that for me, do you?
ALICE hands the catalogue back.
ALICE: He’s not here.
POSTMAN: Ah well. Pop it back in. Never know when you might bump into someone.
ALICE: No, I mean he’s gone.
POSTMAN: Gone’s where I should be. These knick-knacks won’t deliver themselves, you know.
ALICE: (To herself.) He’s gone.
POSTMAN: Cheerio then.
The POSTMAN leaves.
ALICE: Gone for always. I’ll never get to tell him I –
We’ll never have popcorn together and watch a dvd again. He’ll never do that funny face behind mum’s back when she’s being – We’ll never go for a bike ride. He won’t be there to take me to the pub when I’m big enough. I was dreading him going to university next year but he won’t
even be going to university now.
The stupid – Why was he so stupid? He knows how to cross the road. He bloody taught me how to cross the road.
ALICE hears a strain of the birthday song Joe wrote for her.
Joe?
She listens for a moment, then the song fades away.
No no, don’t go – I can’t remember the words. Joe?
Don’t cry – Don’t cry, Alice, don’t –
She’s interrupted by a crying wail somewhere close by. She turns around, looking for where the sound came from.
Two voices are heard approaching.
MOCK TURTLE: Oh no. This is a disaster.
GRYPHON: Now love, let me just – I just need to get hold of your hands and we’ll try to flip you, OK. We’ll get you upright in no time.
Hup hup heave!
The GRYPHON and MOCK TURTLE appear – she’s flat on her back (as much as you can be with a tin bath strapped to your back) and he is pulling on her hands to try to flip her over, but only succeeds in pulling her along the floor, closer to ALICE.
MOCK TURTLE: It’s no good, you’ll never get me’t right way up again. I’ll have to spend’t rest of my life flat on my back.
GRYPHON: Might be quite nice.
MOCK TURTLE: And since I’ve got this terrible cold,
GRYPHON: You haven’t got a cold love, it’s just nerves.
MOCK TURTLE: I know what’ll happen – the snot’ll all go backwards down my throat and I’ll choke to death and I’ll be powerless to stop it, and won’t they all laugh at me. Choking to death.
GRYPHON: There’s someone over there. They might be able to help.
The MOCK TURTLE cranes her head to look.
MOCK TURTLE: It won’t work. We’ll just be disappointed.
The GRYPHON comes over to ALICE.
GRYPHON: Hello.
ALICE: Hi.
GRYPHON: Don’t suppose you’d give us a hand, would you?
ALICE: OK.
GRYPHON: Thank you. Thanks everso much.
The GRYPHON and ALICE walk over to the MOCK TURTLE.
Thing is my wife’s got a bit –
MOCK TURTLE: Hello.
GRYPHON: Got a bit upset.
MOCK TURTLE: I’m very upset.
GRYPHON: Upset in the sense of being overturned.
MOCK TURTLE: Disturbed!
GRYPHON: I think it might take two of us to get her back again.
ALICE: OK, why don’t you pull that foot over?
GRYPHON: Yes.
ALICE: And I’ll pull this hand – sorry, can I have your hand? Other one.
The MOCK TURTLE grudgingly gives ALICE her hand.
MOCK TURTLE: It’s never going to work.
I mean whose idea was it to go for a walk, anyway?
ALICE: OK, and then if we both pull at the same time...
GRYPHON: It was a lovely walk – we went all along’t beach.
MOCK TURTLE: Sand made my toes itch.
ALICE: Pull a bit harder!
GRYPHON: We had a paddle, talked about old times. It were lovely.
MOCK TURTLE: It were terrible.
ALICE: Once more!
They finally pull hard enough and the MOCK TURTLE flips over onto her hands and knees.
MOCK TURTLE: Ooof.
ALICE: There we go.
Can I help you stand up?
GRYPHON: One hand each.
They each take one of the MOCK TURTLE’s hands and help her to stand up.
Well int it nice to be’t right way up again?
The MOCK TURTLE won’t let go of ALICE’s hand.
MOCK TURTLE: No – lead me to’t sofa, I’m too weak to stand.
ALICE: Sofa?
GRYPHON: Over there.
ALICE looks over and sees a battered sofa sitting on the beach.
ALICE: A sofa on a beach. I’m not even surprised anymore.
MOCK TURTLE: I mean this is why I prefer not to go for walks and things – ‘cause when I fall over I can’t get back up again.
It is so terribly hard on me.
The MOCK TURTLE starts to wail. Then, after a moment –
Tissue!
The GRYPHON grabs a box of tissues and hands one to the MOCK TURTLE.
It’s my husband I feel sorry for, really.
GRYPHON: No, love.
MOCK TURTLE: What can it be like, being stuck wi’ me all’t time?
The MOCK TURTLE blows her nose loudly on the tissue, then puts her hand out for another.
I have been so ill for so long.
ALICE: What’s wrong with you?
GRYPHON: What’s not wrong with her?
MOCK TURTLE: You see? The burden I am?
I used to be a dancer, you know. I wish you could have seen. I can hardly move now for’t terrible pain in my back – rheumatic, phlegmatic, asthmatic, operatic, you name it I’ve got it.
Tissue!
The GRYPHON reaches into the tissues box, but it’s empty.
GRYPHON: They’re all gone, love.
MOCK TURTLE: Oh no!
ALICE: What?
MOCK TURTLE: All’t tissues have gone. This is aaaaaawful. This is a disaster.
ALICE: It’s not really a –
MOCK TURTLE: How is this not a disaster? How can I wipe my eyes if there aren’t any more tissues?
GRYPHON: No no, tell her about the dancing, love.
ALICE: It’s OK, you don’t have to –
GRYPHON: D’you want her to stop crying? Go on love – the night we met.
MOCK TURTLE: All-Wonderland Maritime Dance Championship. Right here on this very beach.
GRYPHON: Bit smarter then.
MOCK TURTLE: There were strings of twinkling lights.
GRYPHON: I saw the Mock Turtle from across a crowded dance floor.
MOCK TURTLE: The Cuttlefish Rumba!
GRYPHON: Just something in the turn of her wrist, the extension of her arm, and that were it, that were me – gone!
ALICE: And did you see him, too?
MOCK TURTLE: He danced as if he had wings.
GRYPHON: I was thinner back then.
MOCK TURTLE: All I wanted was for him to come and introduce himself.
GRYPHON: I waited for the Anchovy Quickstep.
MOCK TURTLE: And that were it, that were me – gone!
GRYPHON: We’ve hardly been apart since.
MOCK TURTLE: Quickstepping all over Wonderland. But it’s all gone now!
GRYPHON: No love, no no no – remember our song?
MOCK TURTLE: Of course I do.
GRYPHON: Why don’t you sing it for her?
ALICE: No, it’s OK, I’m sure I can just imagine –
MOCK TURTLE: If she doesn’t want to hear it –
The GRYPHON raises his eyebrows at ALICE.
ALICE: No, please. I’d love to.
GRYPHON: There you go love.
Just after we danced together for the first time, we were sitting over a delicious bowl of pea soup, the fairy lights all twinkling – and she started, ever so softly, to sing:
MOCK TURTLE: (Sings.)
Beautiful Soup, so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureen!
Who for such dainties would not stoop?
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
ALICE: It’s a song about soup.
GRYPHON: She sang it at our wedding, too.
MOCK TURTLE:
Beau-ootiful Soo-oop!
Beau-ootiful Soo-oop!
Soo-oop of the e-e-evening,
Beautiful, beautiful Soup!
By the end of the song, the MOCK TURTLE is standing up.
GRYPHON: Beautiful, my love. Int it?
ALICE: It’s the best song about soup I’ve ever heard.
The MOCK TURTLE sits down again.
MOCK TURTLE: It were a long time ago.
GRYPHON: We were champions, weren’t we, love?
MOCK TURTLE: Till I lost it.
/> The GRYPHON goes behind the sofa and pulls out a number of trophies which he hands to the MOCK TURTLE, who hands them to ALICE.
GRYPHON: Tuna Samba, Salmon Cha Cha Cha.
ALICE: Lost what?
MOCK TURTLE: My confidence. Left it in a dressing room once, came back couldn’t find it anywhere and that was the end of it all.
GRYPHON: That’s when she took to wearing that thing.
Look love, Lobster Quadrille...
ALICE: What’s a Lobster Quadrille?
GRYPHON: The Lobster Quadrille is a stately and beautiful dance.
MOCK TURTLE: It is very beautiful. I shall never dance it again.
ALICE: How d’you know?
MOCK TURTLE: I’m in constant pain. My back.
ALICE: Is that maybe because you’ve got a tin bath strapped to you?
MOCK TURTLE: Sorry?
ALICE: Well that’s got to be heavy, hasn’t it? Maybe that’s what’s making your back hurt.
MOCK TURTLE: What does she mean?
ALICE: I mean why have you got a big tin bath strapped to you?
MOCK TURTLE: I need it for support.
ALICE: It’s not much support if it’s making you fall over all the time.
MOCK TURTLE: I’m very delicate – I need protecting.
ALICE: From what?
MOCK TURTLE: World’s full of sharp things and germs and things that want to hurt you –
The MOCK TURTLE looks at the GRYPHON.
This is making me very upset.
ALICE: I mean what if it’s you that’s holding you back – what if it’s just that funny fake shell you’re wearing? You might find your confidence again if you took that thing off.
GRYPHON: Now it’s not her fault she’s –
ALICE: Why d’you let her get away with it? What if she could have been dancing all this time? All this time you’ve wasted feeling sorry for yourselves.
The GRYPHON stops, nods.
MOCK TURTLE: Why aren’t you looking after me?
GRYPHON: You know, she might have a point, love.
ALICE: Maybe getting a bit of exercise would make you feel better.
GRYPHON: Bit of fresh air through your lungs.
MOCK TURTLE: My poor lungs!
The GRYPHON comes close to the MOCK TURTLE.
GRYPHON: Wouldn’t being able to dance again be nicer than anything? Nicer even than being poorly and being looked after? Remember what it used to feel like?
Why don’t we try taking’t shell off, eh? See how it feels.
MOCK TURTLE: But what if I take it off and something bad happens?
GRYPHON: If we’re together, it doesn’t matter if something bad happens.
This girl needs us to teach her the Lobster Quadrille –
ALICE: Oh god do I have to dance?
GRYPHON: (To Alice.) Please?