Guy Yes, I think so. He said round about this time.
Bridget Wait there, then. Mr Jones, yes?
Guy Yes.
Bridget goes.
Guy hops around a little. Half because of nerves, half because of the cold. He spies a piano in the corner and moves to it. From the envelope he is holding he produces a small piece of music, obviously torn from a book. With an inexperienced finger, he taps out the odd note and attempts to match them with his voice.
Whatever he plays appears to be outside his range. He clears his throat but it’s quite obvious that his voice has packed up completely. With sudden determination, Guy screws up the piece of music, stuffs it into his pocket and marches towards the door. Before he can leave, there is a burst of chatter from off and Dafydd enters. He is a busy, slightly overweight, energetic man in his late thirties. A live-wire. The mainspring of the society. Never using one word where three will do, never walking when he can hurry. Whatever the temperature, Dafydd always appears to find it a little on the warm side.
Dafydd (seeing Guy) My dear chap, I’m so sorry. I’m deeply sorry. I knew you were coming. I wrote down you were coming. It slipped my mind. How do you do? Dafydd ap Llewellyn. Good of you to come along. We’re on our first stages of rehearsal. Just getting started. Broken for tea for ten minutes.
Guy Ah. Yes.
Dafydd (calling) Mr Ames? I’ll just fetch Mr Ames in and he can play for you. Brought something along to sing, have you?
Guy Well, I had sort of –
Dafydd (calling) Mr Ames? Otherwise we’ve got plenty of bits and pieces lying around, you know. And of course, Mr Ames, he’s encyclopaedic. He’s played practically every musical comedy you could name. Choose a key, choose a tune, choose a tempo, he’s away – where the bloody hell is he? Excuse me. (He moves to the door, calling.) Mr Ames? – ah, there you are. This is Mr Ames.
Mr Ames enters. He is a small, intensely shy man whose silent, unobtrusive personality is in direct contrast to that of Dafydd.
Dafydd Mr Ames, this is Mr – God, I’m afraid I don’t even know your name – Mr …?
Guy Jones.
Dafydd Mr Jones – not Welsh, are you?
Guy No. No. ’Fraid not. From Leeds.
Dafydd (dubiously) Leeds?
Guy Originally.
Dafydd Originally from Leeds. Right. This is our Mr Ames. Mr Ames, Mr Jones is going to sing for us. Give us an idea of his range. And intonation. Which is a polite way of saying can he sing in tune? (He laughs.) If not, welcome to the club. What are you, tenor, are you?
Guy I think I’m a sort of light baritone. I think.
Dafydd Oh yes? Light baritone, eh? Yes, we’ve got plenty of those lurking in the back row, haven’t we, Mr Ames? They’re what we call our down the octave brigade.
Guy (laughing) Yes, yes …
Dafydd Come on then. Let’s have a listen. Did you say you had some music? Or shall we ask Mr Ames to rifle through his golden treasure chest of memories?
Guy (fumbling for his music) No, I’ve brought … (unable to find it and rummaging through his pockets) Just a second …
Dafydd Bit of Merry Widow? Fancy that?
Guy (somewhat panic-stricken at the thought) No, no, please …
Dafydd West Side Story? Oklahoma? The King and I?
Mr Ames plays a bar of this last.
Guy (finding his music at last) No. Here we are. Found it. Here. (He holds up the crumpled piece of music.)
Dafydd Is that it?
Guy Sorry.
Dafydd You shouldn’t have splashed out like that, you know. Not just for an audition. (He laughs again, and takes the scrap of music from Guy and gives it to Mr Ames.) Here we are, Mr Ames. Second Act of Tannhäuser, by the look of it. (He laughs.) No, I’m sorry, Mr Jones. We’re only having a little joke. Don’t mind us, you’ll get used to it. Possibly. (briskly) Right. Seriously for a moment. Be serious, Llewellyn, boy. What have we got here? (putting on his reading glasses) My word, my word. You still claim you’re not Welsh? What does that say there, Mr Ames? What does it say to you? ‘All Through the Night’. ‘Ar hyd y nos’.
Guy Yes. Coincidence.
Dafydd (mock serious) Well. I don’t know. Should we allow a man from Leeds to sing this, Mr Ames? Eh? What do you think?
Guy It was just the only song I happen to …
Dafydd Well. Seeing your name is Jones. Maybe. Special dispensation, eh?
Guy (gamely trying to keep up with the joke) Thank you very much …
Dafydd Just this once.
Guy It was the only song I knew in the piano stool. My mother used to sing it. Years ago.
Dafydd Your mother’s Welsh, then?
Guy No.
Dafydd But she sings?
Guy No, she …
Dafydd Bring her down. Bring her down next time with you.
Guy No, she’s dead.
Dafydd (sadly) Ah. Well. Too late then. Too late. Sad. Can you play that, do you think, Mr Ames?
Mr Ames Yes, yes … (He plays a chord or two, peering at the music.)
Enid Washbrook appears in the doorway during this. Behind Enid, her daughter Linda cranes round her to catch a glimpse of the newcomer.
Enid Are we starting again, Dafydd?
Dafydd In just one moment, Enid, just one moment. We’ll give you a call. We’re just going to hear this gentleman sing …
Enid Oh, right. Excuse us, won’t you …
Dafydd We’ll give you a call.
Enid (to Guy, as they go) Good luck.
Guy Thank you.
Enid and Linda go out.
Dafydd Now, Mr Jones, the million dollar question. Are you going to sing this in Welsh or in English?
Guy Well, I’m sorry, in English if that’s all right …
Dafydd (hopping about in mock pain) Oh, oh, oh, oh … Like ‘Pomp and Circumstance’ in Japanese … If you must, if you must … Right. When you’re ready, Mr Ames. Take it away …
Mr Ames plays the introduction. Dafydd moves away slightly. Guy opens his mouth to sing. Before he can do so, Dafydd is there before him sounding off in a full Welsh tenor.
Dafydd
Holl amrantau’r ser ddywedant, Ar hyd y nos,
Dyma’r ffordd i fro gogon-iant, Ar hyd y nos;
Go-lau a-rall yw tywyll-wch, I arddangos gwir brydferthwch,
Teulu’r nefoedd mewn ta-welwch, Ar hyd y nos.
Dafydd stops singing. Mr Ames stops playing. There is a respectful silence.
Sorry. I’m sorry. I sincerely beg your pardon, Mr Jones. Every time I hear … (He breaks off, too moved to continue. Then, clapping Guy on the shoulder) It’s all yours. Take it away, boy.
Guy (horrified) Right.
Mr Ames re-starts the introduction. Dafydd moves away to the far reaches of the auditorium. Guy, by now very nervous, misses the introduction first time round but manages on the second.
(nervously)
While the moon her watch is keeping,
All through the night,
While the we–
Dafydd (calling from the darkness) Mr Jones, sorry to interrupt you just as you were getting underway. That’s lovely. Very pleasant. A little tip. Just try facing out this way a bit more, would you? You’re not in need of the music, are you?
Guy (straining to see Dafydd) No, no.
Dafydd No, it didn’t appear you were reading it. (waving Guy away from the safety of the piano) Now. Just try placing your weight equally on both your feet. Legs slightly apart. That’s it. A bit more. Now, can you feel yourself balanced, can you?
Guy Yes, yes.
Dafydd Singing is a great deal to do with balance, Mr Jones. Balance, you see. You can’t sing on one leg now, can you? You’d feel unbalanced.
Guy Yes, yes.
Dafydd Good. Shoulders back, then. Shoulders right back, man.
Guy Yes.
Dafydd That’s better. That’s better. Now, before you start this time, Mr Jones, I want you for a moment to breathe, if you would
. Like this. (Dafydd demonstrates noisily from the darkness.) In through the nose, you see, out through the mouth. That’s it. And again. Deep as you can, that’s it.
Guy sways and staggers.
No, no. There’s no need to hyperventilate. Breathe normally, that’s all. Now, Mr Jones, can you feel all that air, can you? In your passages? Can you feel it rushing along your passages?
Guy Yes, yes.
Dafydd Blowing the cobwebs from your passages?
Guy (coughing slightly) Yes.
From this point, people begin to assemble, unseen by Guy, to listen to him. First to appear are Jarvis Huntley-Pike and Ted Washbrook. Jarvis is a man in his late fifties – the epitome of a ‘Knowing Northerner’. Ted, ten years younger, is a mild, pleasant, abstracted, ineffectual man.
Dafydd Now you look like a real singer, Mr Jones. From the top, please, Mr Ames. From the top.
Mr Ames starts again.
(over the introduction) Let it flow out of you, Mr Jones. Let it flow. It’s a song that sings itself, you see. Like a river. (singing) Holl amrantau’r … You see?
Guy Yes, yes. (He waits for the introduction to come round again.)
Fay Hubbard and Enid Washbrook enter and stand watching. Fay is an extremely attractive woman in her thirties. One of the local younger married jet-set. Enid, a little older, is a careworn sort of woman, even less effectual than her husband, Ted.
(singing)
While the moon her watch is keeping,
All through the night,
While the weary world is sleeping,
All through the night.
Dafydd (over this, as he sings) Good, good. Don’t hunch. Don’t hunch. You can’t sing if you’re hunched, Mr Jones. Good. (joining in with him, singing) All through the night.
Linda Washbrook and Crispin Usher have meantime entered. Linda is the nicely brought-up, rather petulant daughter of her over-anxious parents, Ted and Enid. Crispin, her currently unsuitable boyfriend, is a tough, hostile young man very much at odds with his present environment and with most of the Society.
Guy
O’er my bosom gently stealing,
Visions of delight revealing,
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night.
As Guy reaches the final stages of the song, Ian Hubbard and Rebecca Huntley-Pike appear. They are followed by Bridget. Ian, Fay’s husband, is almost her male counterpart. An ambitious young man with a cultivated laid-back cool designed to make money and charm women, in that order. Rebecca, Jarvis’s wife, is younger than him by a few years. She has that dignified appearance of one who has just had several stiff drinks. Maybe she has. Guy finishes.
Dafydd (applauding) Bravo. Bravo.
The rest of the company joins in his applause. Guy jumps in alarm, unaware that such a large audience has gathered.
Ah, here they all are. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present a new member of our Society. Mr Jones, who has just passed with flying colours.
A burst of general chatter and greeting.
(through this) Now, these are – these are a lot of different people who are going to have to introduce themselves. I can’t be doing with that.
The following section overlaps.
Rebecca Hallo, welcome. Is he playing Matt the Mint?
Dafydd Ah, well. Maybe, maybe.
Rebecca We need a Matt the Mint. He’d be wonderful. Lovely voice.
Guy (smiling gratefully) Thank you.
Rebecca Isn’t it? A lovely voice. Most unusual.
Fay Yes.
Rebecca Mr Jones, is it?
Guy Guy.
Rebecca Guy. Oh, that’s a nice name. I like the name, Guy, don’t you? It’s very masculine.
Enid Manly, yes. Manly.
Fay Frightfully, yes.
Ian Are we going on or going home? I’m for going home.
Jarvis I don’t care what we do. Five past ten, I’m in the pub. I tell you.
Dafydd Everybody, could I have your attention? Please. Just a second, everybody.
Bridget (shouting) Shut up!
Rebecca I do wish she wouldn’t shout like that.
Dafydd Now, everybody, I must apolo–
Rebecca Why can’t she just ask people to be quiet?
Dafydd I must apologize, ladies and gentlemen, for making much, much slower progress than I anticipated. So, apologies for calling you all in and for keeping you hanging around. Mind you, I must say this evening has not been wasted. We’ve done some good solid groundwork and that’s surely going to pay off later. So what I’d like to do just before we call it a night, is a quick recap from the top. OK? All right, Ted?
Ted From the top?
Dafydd If you’d be so kind. OK, Mr Ames?
Rebecca Oh, good. We can watch.
Ted (to Mr Ames) We’re going from the top, apparently.
Mr Ames Right.
Jarvis What’s the time, then?
Ian We’ve got half an hour yet.
Fay (to Rebecca) Do you want to go over now?
Rebecca Not on your life. We’ve all been sitting back there in the cold for two and a half hours. Let’s see what they’ve been up to, for heaven’s sake.
Dafydd So. The house lights dim. Blackout. Mr Ames in position. Ted in position. And then the soft glow of lamp light very gently – and – cue.
Mr Ames (reading as The Beggar) If Poverty be a Title to Poetry, I am sure Nobody can dispute mine. I own myself of the Company of Beggars; and I make one at their Weekly Festivals at St Giles. I have a small Yearly Salary for my Catches, and am welcome to Dinner there whenever I please, which is more than most Poets can say.
Ted (reading as Player) As we believe by the Muses, ’tis but Gratitude in us to encourage Poetical Merit wherever we find it. Be the Author who he will, we push his Play as far as it will go. So (though you are in want) I wish you Success heartily. But I see ’tis time for us to withdraw; the Actors are preparing to begin. Play away the Overture.
Ted exits with a flourish. Then reappears somewhat sheepishly having evidently gone off the wrong way. He tiptoes across to the correct exit, and, with an apologetic look at Dafydd, goes. A silence.
Dafydd (choosing to ignore Ted’s mistake) Splendid, splendid. Well done.
Rebecca Is that it?
Dafydd Yes, yes. So far.
Rebecca That’s all you’ve done?
Dafydd Yes.
Rebecca My God. We’re not on till page 30. When do you want us? Next June?
Dafydd All right, all right.
Ted (anxiously) Was that OK?
Dafydd Marvellous, Ted, marvellous.
Rebecca Riveting. Can’t wait to find out who done it. Right, let’s have that drink, then.
A general move to the door. Chatter.
Jarvis (confidentially to Dafydd) Just looking at that scene, I think you’ll find it might benefit from a bit of gesture, you know …
Dafydd (gathering up his things) Yes, yes, thank you, Jarvis. I’m sure it would …
Jarvis It’s just in those days they used their arms a lot, you know. Great deal of gesture.
Dafydd Yes, well, I’ll be stuffing it full of gestures at a later stage, Jarvis. Be patient. You won’t see the stage for arm movements …
Jarvis You don’t mind me saying …?
Dafydd Not at all. It’s just, you know with Ted you can’t go too fast. It takes a month or two just to get him pointing the right way … You know old Ted. (He laughs.)
Jarvis (going out) You don’t mind me coming up with the odd idea, do you, now and again?
Dafydd Not at all, Jarvis, any time … feel free …
Jarvis goes out.
(calling) You really must do a production yourself some time. (muttering) And I’ll come and bugger yours up, you interfering old fascist … (seeing Guy is still there) Ah, Mr Jones, you’re still here. Splendid. Fancy a quick pint? We usually go across the road to The Fleece. He’s a cantankerous old bastard, the chap who runs it, but it’s
the best pint for 30 miles …
Guy Righto. Splendid. Lead on.
Bridget comes from backstage.
Dafydd Ah, Bridget. You’ll switch off, will you?
Bridget Yes.
Dafydd Bridget’s our stage manager. Also playing Jenny Diver. We couldn’t function at all without Bridget. She’s the one who keeps us all sane, Mr Jones.
Guy Good for you.
He smiles at Bridget. Bridget doesn’t react. Dafydd gathers together his papers. Guy perseveres cheerily.
I’m just going over the road to brave this cantankerous old publican. See you over there, perhaps?
Dafydd You certainly will. Bridget’s his daughter.
Guy Ah.
Bridget Are we picking it up tomorrow from where we stopped?
Dafydd Yes, we’ll carry straight on, my love.
Bridget Right. From the bottom of page 1, then.
Dafydd Oh, now please, please. Don’t you start, there’s a dear. (to Guy) Fit then, are you, Mr Jones? Right. Away we go.
The scene changes to the pub. A crowded saloon bar containing most of the Society. Dafydd and Guy jostle their way in.
Dafydd (shouting above the din) Tends to get a bit crowded but it’s worth it for the beer.
Ian (calling across) Pint, Daf?
Dafydd Oh, bless you, my love. Though I think it’s my shout.
Ian It’s all right, I’m getting them.
Dafydd Pint for you, Mr Jones?
Guy Would it be all right to have a gin and tonic?
Dafydd Gin and tonic? That’s what they’re drinking in Leeds, is it? Right. (calling) Ian? Can you get this fellow a gin and tonic?
Ian Gin and tonic. Is he coming in here a lot, is he?
Dafydd (laughing, to Guy) You mustn’t mind him. He’s got a great sense of humour. Ian and his brother, they’re in partnership together. The brother does the work. Ian spends the money. (He laughs.)
Rebecca (her voice ringing across the pub, to Guy) We’ve all voted for you to play Matt the Mint. We think you’re lovely.
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