JACK lowers his telescope.
JACK. No ta.
MARTIN. It makes me very angry. When I see something like that.
JACK. Yeah.
He sits down as before. MARTIN is standing by his cushion, he pours himself coffee.
MARTIN. It makes me angry.
JACK. Yeah like.
MARTIN puts the cup carefully on the grass and screws the cap on the flask. He puts the flask down and picks up his cup. JACK looks at his watch.
Would you ’ave the right time?
MARTIN looks at his watch.
MARTIN. Two minutes to four.
JACK. I can never tell with my watch. It says twenty past one at the moment.
MARTIN. I’ve had mine a long time.
JACK. So ’ave I like, that’s the trouble.
MARTIN smiles and sips his coffee.
Si’ down then.
MARTIN puts his cup carefully on the grass.
MARTIN (sitting down). I like the summer. When we have a summer it makes a pleasant change from winter.
He settles on his cushion.
Whereabouts d’you live, Jack?
JACK. Me like? Thornaby. Near what used t’be the railway line.
MARTIN. How d’you get there?
JACK (pointing). See that old Austin Healey Sprite wi’ the dent in the bumper. The little green two-seater. That’s mine. F’what it’s worth – bits keep on droppin off it. ’Ump-back bridges’re fatal.
MARTIN smiles and sips his coffee.
Yer guaranteed t’lose ’alf the sub-frame. Usually a lose the person next t’me an’ all. A wanted a sports car like so a got one.
MARTIN. Yes.
JACK. I’m stupid, I suppose, but – yer can’t account f’ things people do ’alf the time like, so why should I account f’ mesell. At the time I couldn’t afford it, so I got it.
MARTIN. Whereabouts d’you work?
JACK. ICI Wilton.
MARTIN. Am I being nosey?
JACK. A’ yer?
MARTIN. I’m a teacher. I teach in a primary school.
JACK. Pannel Man on’t Cracker Plant me.
MARTIN. I teach in Redcar.
JACK. Very nice.
MARTIN. I have the top class – boys and girls of nine and ten.
JACK. Yes – a couldn’t do that, they’d bash me up.
MARTIN. No they wouldn’t.
JACK. You ’aven’t seen ’em like – I suppose you ’ave.
MARTIN. I don’t talk to an empty classroom.
JACK. No like – mekk meself sound stupid. Keep me mouth shut, shouldn’ I?
MARTIN. Not at all.
JACK. I’ll ’ave t’be off soon anyway.
MARTIN sips his coffee.
Jus’ finished six till two, that’s ’ow come I’m ’ere.
MARTIN sips his coffee.
MARTIN (smiling). My wife has sent me out from under her feet.
JACK. Oh aye?
MARTIN. She’s busy packing. We’re going on holiday. I put what I could into the car before coming out.
JACK. Good f’ yer like.
MARTIN sips his coffee.
MARTIN. We’re going to South Devon, to a place called Salcombe, I don’t know whether you know it? It’s a nice little spot.
JACK. A don’t.
MARTIN. More and more people seem to. It’s the sort of place you tell people about hoping they won’t go, and the next thing, there they are walking down the main street.
JACK. Yes.
MARTIN. And we might as well have stayed at home. I don’t mean that of course.
He sips his coffee.
I broke up from school at lunchtime. Ann’s been at it all day.
He sips his coffee.
What I started out to tell you, was not to marry a girl with big feet.
JACK. I am married like.
MARTIN. I was going to tell you because it can be painful when you get under them, but obviously you know.
He smiles and shakes his head.
My class are always talking about Star Trek – back at home I wish Captain Kirk’d come and teleport me.
JACK smiles. MARTIN sips his coffee.
You wouldn’t think there could be so much fuss over two weeks away. And it gets worse every year, Jack. I think she looks forward more to the fuss than the actual holiday. What do you do with a woman like that? If she were a child you’d buy her a spinning top and tell her to be quiet.
JACK smiles.
Don’t smile.
JACK (worried). I –
MARTIN. I’m sorry, I was only joking.
JACK. A thought yer weren’t.
MARTIN. I can see the amusing side.
The sound of the foghorn, very faintly.
I frightened you, didn’t I?
JACK. Yer did a bit like.
MARTIN. I am sorry. Oh dear, I am sorry. I’m in need of a rest. Especially on the last day of term when the class are very excited and everything – they’re quite a handful.
MARTIN puts the cup on the grass.
JACK. We’re ’avin’ the middle weeks of August.
MARTIN stands, picks up his flask and puts it on the grass by the hut door. He walks back and sits down.
MARTIN (brightly). Where are you going?
JACK. Don’t know yet like. Somewhere.
MARTIN. Salcombe is a lovely spot.
He throws the dregs of his coffee from the cup onto the grass.
I’d always thought that would be the first signs of old age, going to the same place year after year. But we like it and it doesn’t matter.
JACK smiles.
JACK (leaning back, his elbow on the grass). I ’aven’t booked, I suppose I should ’ave done really. We have a mortgage y’see like an’ don’ wanna put off payin’ it – not that a could if a wanted to.
MARTIN. That’s the trouble, isn’t it.
JACK. It is like, yer dead right. End up goyn somewhere f’ the weekend probably. Trouble is we ’ad a ’oneymoon in January. We were goyn up to Scotland skiin’ but there wasn’ any snow so we ended up in Carlisle. Put the kibosh on that.
MARTIN takes a white hanky from his pocket. JACK lies back on the grass.
What’s it like then Salcombe?
MARTIN (mopping his brow). It’s a little fishing and boating town – getting slightly more spoilt, but it’s still very peaceful – and holiday town of course. We stay on a houseboat.
JACK puts his hands behind his head.
JACK. Aren’t yer leavin’ it a bit late? T’be settin’ off today?
MARTIN shifts position slightly so that he is facing JACK.
MARTIN. No, we travel down overnight.
He puts away his hanky.
We always have done. It made the journey more of an adventure. When the boys were little. It was the sort of thing we got in to. And we’ve carried on ever since.
He takes off his jacket, stands, picks up the cup and walks to the hut. He hangs his jacket on a nail and screws the cup onto the flask. JACK watches him.
The traffic was a lot quieter then.
He puts the flask by the hut door.
It was quite an unusual way to travel.
JACK. Yer must be nuts. It’s miles and miles.
MARTIN is still by the door, he turns to JACK and smiles.
MARTIN. Thank you for that kind comment.
JACK. I didn’t mean t’say that.
MARTIN (walking back). That’s what my pupils say to me – I’ll let you off this once.
JACK sits up.
JACK (worried). I –
MARTIN (stopping him). Never – regret anything in this life. (Smiling.) Except marrying a nagging wife – I hold to that.
He sits down.
And another thing. Never take anything too seriously.
JACK (leaning back). Yer talk about yer wife, yer fuss about a bit yersel like – (Realising.) I’ m off agen, aren’t a.
MARTIN (smiling). It’s the years of training, Jack.
JACK puts his hands behind his head.
JACK (almost flippant). Sorry like.
MARTIN (smiling). Sorry, my left foot. (More seriously.) I imagine the real boating people of Salcombe think we look foolish because neither of us can swim and we wear those yellow lifejackets. We stand out a mile as amateurs.
JACK. Yeah?
MARTIN. The houseboat is anchored in a place called The Bag – moored, I should say really. Salcombe is on the mouth of an estuary.
A slight pause.
Coming back we break the journey at my son’s in Gloucester. He’s the Deputy Head of a large comprehensive there – or rather one of two deputy heads, Martin’s on the teaching side. He’s my eldest son. Stephen my other son teaches in Romford.
The sound of the foghorn, very faintly. MARTIN looks.
Your boat is nearly in the docks.
The sound of a foghorn, loud. JACK sits up.
JACK. There’s one comin’ out look.
MICHAEL HADDAWAY enters. He is thirty-four, has short cropped hair, and is wearing wellingtons, fawn trousers, and an Arran sweater. He is in a hurry, he is looking for something.
MICHAEL. Hello, Martin.
MARTIN. Hello, Captain Hook. (Stumbling to his feet.) How are you, Michael?
MICHAEL. My clock’s still ticking but that’s about it.
He sees the oars and goes to them.
I left these here so I wouldn’t forget where they were and I’ve been looking for them f’ half an hour. (He is still.) How’re you? – long time no see.
MARTIN. One thing and another has kept me busy.
MICHAEL (leaning against the side of the hut). Yes? – musn’t grumble?
MARTIN. No.
A slight pause.
MICHAEL. Neither must any of us, Martin.
MARTIN. How is Sheila?
MICHAEL. Very well, bearing up.
MARTIN. And the children?
MICHAEL. Bearing up too.
He takes a packet of Benson & Hedges from his pocket.
We’re in the process of buying Lucy a pony, if we can find a field. James wants to take up hang-gliding.
He lights his cigarette.
Which is ridiculous for a ten-year-old. Apart from that life goes on as normal – never ask about my marriage, Martin. How’s the other Martin?
MARTIN. Fine. We’re seeing them in a fortnight. They’re going to Greece on holiday shortly after.
JACK is looking through his binoculars, scanning the horizon.
MICHAEL (still leaning against the hut). Remember me to them.
MARTIN. I will do.
A slight pause.
How is it with you and Sheila?
MICHAEL. We’ve patched over the last quarrel. There are times when our marriage leaves little time for anything else. We both need to hang on to it – for the children’s sake as well as our own – the children are old enough to cope now. We need to hang on to things, Martin, even though doing so is pretty hopeless.
MARTIN. Yes.
MICHAEL. I can’t see her point of view. She can’t see mine. Sheila sees our friends as being perfect matches, she thinks it’s just us, James is in the middle with his Meccano set, Lucy with her pony. We’re all concerned with our own little lot, Martin. All of it very stupid, none of it making sense.
He gathers up the oars.
I work twice as hard as a result.
JACK lowers his binoculars.
MARTIN. Yes.
MICHAEL (brightly). And remember me to Mrs Martin.
MARTIN. Ann.
MICHAEL. Yes.
MARTIN. I will do.
JACK has taken a packet of twenty No6 from his pocket.
MICHAEL (walking towards MARTIN). I’ve to row out to the Skerries.
Faintly from the distance, the bugle-like call of a herring gull.
(Standing beside MARTIN. Hushed voice.) I’m working for British Steel, you’ve never seen such a mess in all your born days.
JACK lights a cigarette with a Zippo lighter.
For a nationalised industry it speaks novels. (Walking away.) Luckily I’m being paid. (Walking back. Hushed voice.) They keep bringing men up from London – the first stage is supposed to open on Tuesday – they haven’t a clue, not an iota of knowing what the job’s about. They’ve got to get the plant working and they don’t know how to do it. (Speaking quickly, aggressively.) They’re having me out all hours of the night. (Walking away.) Anyway, see you.
JACK is watching.
MARTIN. Cheerio, Michael.
MICHAEL (hurrying). I found my oars.
MICHAEL has gone. MARTIN stands for a moment. JACK is looking at him.
MARTIN. My friend the pilot. He has his own business now, running cargo to and from the rigs, and doing odd boating jobs about the harbour. He’s always in a hurry.
JACK. Yeah.
He puts the cigarettes and lighter back in his pocket. MARTIN walks to the hut door, goes inside and returns, carrying a hard-backed notebook, the club sightings book. It has a pen attached to it with string.
Very faintly, very gently, the sound of the sea can be heard breaking against the shore. This remains until the end of the scene.
MARTIN (to himself as much as to JACK). Oh dear, it’s a rum old world. It’s Sheila I feel sorry for.
He picks up the flask, unscrews the cup and pours himself coffee. JACK picks up his binoculars and looks inland. MARTIN puts the flask by the door and returns to his cushion, carrying the bird book and his coffee. He sits down and sips.
JACK. It don’t seem real? Know what a mean?
He lowers his binoculars.
Watchin’ them blokes like, buildin’ the steel plant. It looks like a ware’ouse.
MARTIN. It looks like a monstrosity.
JACK. An’ wi’ all that fencin’ round the outside. (It occurs to him.) It looks like Colditz.
MARTIN. Yes. That’s to stop the vandals getting in.
JACK. Stop blokes pinchin’ stuff an’ all, more like.
JACK looks through his binoculars at the steel plant.
It’s gonna be massive.
MARTIN sips his coffee.
Bloody great cooling towers? Cool sommat they will.
JACK lowers his binoculars.
(Leaning back on the grass.) Sod me, it’s gettin’ hotter.
He puts one hand over his eyes.
Sun’s bright.
He smokes. MARTIN sips his coffee.
I could jus’ sail away on of them boats.
MARTIN. I thought you said you didn’t like foreigners.
JACK (sitting up). A didn’t say that.
He stubs his cigarette out on the grass.
Can’t smoke when it’s hot.
He leans back again. MARTIN sips his coffee.
Chuggin’ along like, on the watery water.
MARTIN places his cup carefully on the grass. He loosens his tie and undoes the top two buttons of his shirt.
When I was a kid, I ’ad this dream. T’put all me stuff in a JCB an’ drive off. Roamin’ thee ’ole world. All I ’ad t’do was put a clean shirt in the scoop. Sounds daft dun it?
MARTIN. Yes.
JACK. Yeah, it does – a were a daft kid. That’s all me ma ever bloody told me. Me dad thought a were bonkers. ’E’s never ’ad an ambition in ’is life. ’E didn’t know what a meant.
MARTIN picks up his cup and takes a sip of coffee.
You know what I’m gonna tell my kiddies? (Thinking.) About ambition? (Thinking.) You see, it doesn’ matter if you do anythin’ about yer ambition, so long as you’ve ’ad ’em. Then you’ve always got something to think about. (After a moment’s pause.) I suppose that’s true.
He raises his hand and looks at MARTIN for a brief moment.
MARTIN. Most of us are lazy and afraid, Jack. We don’t do what our instincts tell us.
JACK (shielding his eyes again). What’s that mean?
MARTIN. Sometimes we make a wrong choice. We forget what is important.
JACK (getting bored with the conversation). What is important like?
MARTIN. I’ve lived a few more years than you and I still don’t know.
JACK. Nobody does, I reckon.
MARTIN sips his coffee.
MARTIN. Perhaps that’s what I’m trying to say.
He takes a sip of coffee and then puts the cup carefully on the grass.
(Undoing his shirt-sleeve buttons.) When I was your age my instincts told me I should get up and leave the area. My mum and dad begged me to stay, so I did. Through no fault of their own they were short-sighted.
He picks up his coffee and takes a sip.
I remember my mother pawning her wedding ring to buy us shoes. She was determined that we should have a good education. It was a few years later, when they got older, that they became fuddy in their attitudes. Then out of a sense of responsibility I didn’t feel I could let them down.
A slight pause.
Teach your children to ignore their sense of responsibility. Teach them to love you. They’re not the same thing.
JACK raises his hand and looks at MARTIN for a brief moment. MARTIN smiles. JACK sits up. MARTIN looks through the bird book.
There hasn’t been a rare bird sighted for three weeks. Mr Modley saw a puffin on June the twentieth.
JACK stands up.
JACK. Ground’s ’ard. (Picking up the bag of Glacier Fruits.) Want one o’ these?
He offers the bag. MARTIN takes one.
What d’yer teach your classes?
Faintly from the distance, the bugle-like call of a herring gull.
JACK takes a sweet.
MARTIN puts his wrapper in his pocket, JACK throws his away.
MARTIN. A little bit of everything, Jack. I’ve tried to interest them in birdwatching – occasionally one of them will come to me and say they’ve seen a so-and-so and what is it. The girls enjoy looking after the bird table. Apart from that they’re not very bothered.
JACK. ICI ain’ much cop really. I’ve applied to go on a course like – Carol keeps persuadin’ me – f’ promotion an’ more money an’ that. A won’t get it though, I never do.
MARTIN. Why not?
JACK. I dunno, I jus’ don’t.
MARTIN. Be an optimist.
JACK. Then I’d ’ave my ’ead in the clouds, wouldn’ I? I won’t get it.
MARTIN. What’s the course for?
JACK. It’s a technical course like. Leads yer on t’bein’ a plant manager. Eventually like. ICI’s daft – yer think it’s great when yer first start, cos there’s never owt t’do. Yer can get by doin’ two hours’ work in an eight-hour shift. Rest o’the time yer playin’ cards. Or dominoes. Or darts. Or shuv’apenny on the control box – bloody daft – when yer reckon up the money that must be wasted. The bosses’ve got their ’eads on the wrong way. Not that there is anythin’ fo’yer t’do like, yer jus’ see it’s kept runnin’. If anything does go wrong and yer can’t ’andle it, yer call in the supervisor – that’s what I wanna be. Mind, we’re alright, we’ve got a good Union man – ’e int bin bribed yet. ’Alf the shop stewards ’ave bloody posh ’ouses. ICI were tryin’ a lay men off our shift – they reckoned it was overstaffed. The Unions wouldn’t let ’em, thank God.
German Skerries Page 2