He salutes and stands to attention.
For King George, Britannia and our glorious Empire!
He marches off.
GEORGE. You stitch me up, Tom. Stitch me up.
POPPY is pretty much ready.
POPPY. Sorry to keep you waiting.
GEORGE. Don’t be silly.
POPPY. Ready now.
GEORGE. Wait… I’ve got a little something here that’s looking for a home.
He hands her the box.
Take a peep if you like.
POPPY looks inside the box.
POPPY. Blimey, is this a…
GEORGE gets a typewriter out of the box.
GEORGE. Underwood number five.
POPPY. Now that really is something.
GEORGE places it on a work top/table.
GEORGE. And this is called a QWERTY keyboard… See, from the top line, Q… W… E…
POPPY. R… T… Y!
GEORGE. It’s a damn useful little beast.
POPPY. How much did it cost?
GEORGE. I know someone who knows someone who knows someone.
POPPY. You mean, it’s stolen?
GEORGE. No more than the shirt on my back is! D’you really think I’d bring ill-gotten goods here!
POPPY. I’m sorry… I wasn’t sure… you know… with your packages and all the supplies you get hold of… and dealings… and…
GEORGE. Surplus to requirements… No longer needed… That’s what I look out for… And there’s a lot of it about…
POPPY. Sorry.
GEORGE. What you must think of me.
POPPY. I don’t. Not really.
GEORGE. Honest?
POPPY. Honest.
They look at each other keenly.
I’m sure Smith’ll be very happy with it.
GEORGE. This requires someone to take it on who can fully appreciate the four-bank keyboard with single shift.
POPPY. And what’s this?
GEORGE. That’s the frontstroke mechanism… Looks like this is missing a ribbon…
POPPY. I could get one from the Dreadnought office.
GEORGE. Ah, so you’ve got your eye on it, have you?
POPPY. Only… to have use of it, like… If no one else needs it right now.
GEORGE. First come, first served, I reckon.
POPPY. I mean, like you said, useful beast, isn’t it.
GEORGE. Important to get up new skills, right?
POPPY. I’d say, these days, it’s essential.
GEORGE. Well there you are.
POPPY. Really?
GEORGE. If anyone deserves it, you do.
They gaze at each other keenly.
Still want to go out on the town tonight?
POPPY. You bet.
GEORGE. Come on, then.
POPPY carefully puts the box over the typewriter.
POPPY. Thanks, George. Thank you so so much.
POPPY suddenly kisses him on the cheek.
GEORGE. Now now.
POPPY smiles.
GEORGE smiles.
They keep looking at each other… until they softly, shyly kiss.
GEORGE takes her by the hand and whisks her off.
TOMMY appears.
TOMMY. Right then, my friends…
TOMMY clocks that POPPY and GEORGE aren’t there.
Ah… Gone too, eh?… Oh well…
TOMMY sits at the piano, plays an intro, then improvises.
(Sings.)
Now what is Miss Muffet without her tuffet
A cock horse without Banbury Cross?
And what would Jack Horner without his corner
Or that Mill without its Floss?
(Speaks.) And now even… Mary’s lost her little lamb.
(Sings.)
She don’t know what to do
She thought she had it on her tail
Always there without a fail
But off she went to Belgium bog
Still it followed like a dog
Over tops and under… steel
The bleedin’ thing was close at heel
Across the wastes and through the wire…
Baa baa baa… the fiercest fire…
But odd as strange as odd can be
Now she’s back from o’er the sea…
(Speaks.) Anyone seen an animal hereabouts? Woolly thing. Black eyes. Pink mouth. Makes a sound like… bleating?
(Sings.)
But when she looks behind her
That little friend is gone
And what will poor dear Mary do…
Oh what will poor old Mary do…
Oh what will this poor Mary do… now that I’m alone?
Echoes of bleating of lost sheep.
As TOMMY gathers all his costumes together, the ‘baas’ crescendo and fade. TOMMY leaves with his arms full to bursting.
Night deepens.
The melody of TOMMY’s POPPY song plays.
POPPY wanders on in a dream of delight, kicks off her shoes.
POPPY. Play with me… Sway with me… Stay with me…
She approaches the typewriter with awe and delight.
Each… and every… day… with me…
POPPY raises a finger and taps a single key on the typewriter… Then she taps another… Then taps another…
…and night…
Ukelele plays POPPY’s theme.
Typewriter keys stiltingly tap a yet-to-be-found rhythm.
Sewing machines whirr.
Scene Four
Red
Outside the workshop the wind blows and whistles.
Inside, SMITH is completing a tailcoat by hand.
SMITH. One thread. Not careless.
He snips the final stitch.
No matter how fine…
He places it carefully on a hanger…
No matter how well-crafted a coffin…
He adds it to a rack of other newly made pieces of menswear, all black.
It will not make anyone wish for death.
He stretches.
But at least the undertakers will put on a fine show.
He yawns.
Enough.
He goes to the drawers/shelves where the patterns are kept and pulls out exquisite and detailed drawings of Chinese ceremonial gowns.
Now then…
He finds a quiet spot to sit and peruse.
Hmmm.
He surveys the contents of his workshops, takes out rolls of red silk and satin, carefully lays out the fabrics until they cover the entire floor, like a field of red. He meticulously scrutinises the different shades and textures, then takes up a large pair of tailor’s shears…
Sound of GEORGE and POPPY singing outside the door, an upbeat version of the sentimental classic ‘After the Ball is Over’.
POPPY/GEORGE (sing).
After the ball is over, after the break of morn
After the dancers’ leaving, after the stars are gone…
SMITH disappears.
POPPY and GEORGE enter. She is now wearing the black Chinese dress.
He wears a suit, collar loosened.
Many a heart is aching if you could read them all…
They see the silks and gasp.
Whoa!
POPPY slips off her shoes and tiptoes across.
POPPY (sings).
Many the hopes that have vanished…
GEORGE (sings).
After the ball.
GEORGE lifts up his leg to get across too.
POPPY. Not in those clodhoppers of yours.
GEORGE. Best get back anyhow.
POPPY. Already?
GEORGE. Flies by, doesn’t it.
POPPY. Always ends too soon.
GEORGE. I’d be with you round the clock if I had the chance.
POPPY. D’you really mean that?
GEORGE. Isn’t it what you want me to say?
POPPY. Might be.
GEORGE. What else d’you want me to say?
POPPY. D
on’t want you to say it just coz you think I’ll like it.
GEORGE. What if what you want me to say is what I mean?
How would you like that?
POPPY. A lot.
GEORGE. So tell me and I’ll say it.
POPPY. Whatever I like?
GEORGE. Try me.
POPPY. Well, I want you to say I’m the most wonderful girl in the world.
GEORGE. I am the most wonderful girl in the world.
POPPY. George!
GEORGE. You are the most wonderful girl in the world.
POPPY. I think of no one but you.
GEORGE. I do think of no one but you.
POPPY. I want to be with you…
GEORGE. I really want to be with you… round the clock.
POPPY. So do I.
GEORGE. We’re good company for each other, aren’t we?
POPPY. The best.
GEORGE. To have someone, your own special someone… to love and all… doesn’t come to everyone.
POPPY. Do you love me then?
GEORGE. I reckon I do.
POPPY. I reckon too.
GEORGE. You do?
POPPY. Truly.
They take this in, rather amazed.
GEORGE. There we have it.
POPPY. Is that all?
GEORGE. What else?
POPPY. What else might there be?
GEORGE. Well… alright… Let’s see… So… How’d you feel about making a proper go of it?
POPPY. A proper go?
GEORGE. What the hell… What about getting wed?
POPPY. Wed?
GEORGE. Husband and wife.
POPPY. You and me?
GEORGE. I reckon I’d make you a pretty good husband.
POPPY. What sort of a wife would I make?
GEORGE. Only one way to find out.
POPPY. The thing is… I’ve got to know…
GEORGE. Go on.
POPPY. Don’t want to pry… it’s just Sylvia said…
GEORGE. Sylvia?
POPPY. Sometimes you don’t listen, do you? She’s the one I’m selling the Dreadnought for… and she says that a woman should ask a man who expresses serious intentions towards her, if he’s ever had anything to do with another woman.
GEORGE. How much to do?
POPPY. You know…
GEORGE. You mean kissing?
POPPY. For starters.
GEORGE. Cuddling?
POPPY. Canoodling and the like.
GEORGE. How much canoodling?
POPPY. As far as it goes.
GEORGE. And what if the man has had something to do with another?
POPPY. The woman should say no to him.
GEORGE. Even if he promises to be true to her forever after?
POPPY. ‘Votes for women, Chastity for men.’ That’s the creed.
GEORGE. Up until now, I’ve been a bit of a man’s man, Poppy. This is the furthest I’ve gone with a girl.
POPPY. Promise.
GEORGE. Promise.
POPPY. I’m glad.
GEORGE. So what d’you say?
POPPY. Sylvia isn’t wed to any man.
GEORGE. Proper spinster, is she?
POPPY. Not one bit… she’s settled with some Italian fella.
GEORGE. What kind of settled?
POPPY. Living in their own home together.
GEORGE. Well, that’s not on. I’d want to do right by you, not put you in any compromising situation.
POPPY. That’s very decent.
GEORGE. What d’you reckon?
POPPY. Can I think about it?
GEORGE. Take as long as you like.
GEORGE traces his finger across POPPY’s lips.
You brighten up even the dark of night, my darling Poppy.
GEORGE plants another kiss tenderly on her mouth and then goes to leave.
POPPY swoons slightly.
Sleep tight.
GEORGE goes.
POPPY. Lay me down in the stables!
POPPY drops down onto the fabrics.
The POPPY song music plays.
She relishes the red silk and satin around her, luxuriating in the cloth, enfolding herself in it, urgently feeling its sensual softness. She sings the tune in ‘ahs’ and ‘ohs’.
(Sings.)
…Mmmm…
Play with me…
Sway with me…
Stay with me…
She carefully removes her dress and, in her underwear, caresses the silk, enjoying it with her bare skin.
SMITH appears.
SMITH. What are you doing?
POPPY. Oh heck!
POPPY covers herself.
Pardon, I… Pardon.
SMITH. What right do you have!
She awkwardly tries to reach over to her clothes.
POPPY. I’ll smooth it out… I’ll put it all back…
SMITH. Stop. Be quiet. You’ve done enough.
POPPY freezes still.
POPPY. Could you please pass me…
She reaches out to her underwear and the black dress.
SMITH. That black dress…
POPPY. I’m sorry. It’s all crumpled… I’m sorry. I’ll…
SMITH. The yu-tsi in the Emperor’s court wore black dresses like this.
POPPY. The yu-what?
SMITH. There were scores of them. Emperor’s concubines.
POPPY. You let me go out dancing with George dressed like a Chinese woman of the street?
SMITH. They lived in the palace.
SMITH shows the detailed drawings of Chinese ceremonial gowns.
See!
POPPY. More concubines?
SMITH. Original patterns. Classic patterns. Fixed at the beginning of the Manchu Dynasty. Always followed. This is the form.
He holds out a particular drawing of an intricate and magnificent gown for her to see.
The dress for the Empress.
POPPY. Is it?
SMITH. There was only one Empress.
POPPY. It’s quite something.
SMITH. I was planning to make it at last.
POPPY. For anyone in particular?
SMITH. For its own sake.
POPPY. What d’you mean?
SMITH. For the satisfaction of accomplishing such a significant item… To do it justice… And I admit, for my own sake too.
POPPY. I really didn’t mean to mess it up for you… Sorry for being so…
SMITH.…disrespectful… self-indulgent.
POPPY. All this… redness… though… pure redness… it’s just so… so…
SMITH. Expensive.
POPPY. But I couldn’t… I mean, how could anyone resist… or ever want to resist… the touch… the feel of it… the beauty of its… its…
SMITH.…quality.
POPPY. And silkiness… and… and…
SMITH.…refinement.
POPPY. Don’t you ever feel tempted yourself?
SMITH. To do what?
POPPY. To surrender… to… all this gorgeous material?
SMITH. It must be cherished…
POPPY. The way it falls and flows… and takes shape… changes shape… and the way you can make your own shapes with it…
SMITH. Form must be formed with great care.
POPPY. Don’t you long to be carefree ever?
SMITH. There is a precise way…
POPPY. Or dream…
SMITH. What?
POPPY. Make your dreams come true… It’s like the stuff of dreams… so dreamy…
SMITH. Dreamy?
POPPY. Do you never feel moved simply to dream…?
SMITH. Poppy…
POPPY. Don’t you?
SMITH. Wait there.
POPPY. Like this!
He presses a finger to his lips.
SMITH. Sh!
He carefully pulls up a floorboard or two, reaches down into the floor and pulls out a large-ish leather-bound, well-used and well-kept scrapbook/sketchbook.
POPP
Y. What’s that?
SMITH. A selection of… my very own… pure silly self-indulgence…
POPPY. Not more patterns?
SMITH. Not at all… Still many blank pages, see…
POPPY. Oh.
SMITH. So… What if… May I…?
POPPY. May you what?
SMITH. I wonder… May I… sketch you?
POPPY. Why?
SMITH. Before we lose this moment… in which you indulge yourself so… beautifully… passionately… tonight… and in which your… irresistible indulgence… you are right… cannot be resisted.
POPPY blushes.
POPPY. I wish I hadn’t got so carried away now…
SMITH. Nit dos iz sheyn, vos iz sheyn, nor dos, vos es gefelt
POPPY. Silly… ridiculous…
SMITH. You asked me the point of copying clothes so carefully for people to pretend to be what they’re not…
POPPY. So?
SMITH. So… I ask myself… am I only ever to fashion… what has been fashioned before…?
POPPY. Or what you dare… fashion… create… yourself?
SMITH. Starting with…
POPPY. All this?
SMITH. So may I?
POPPY. Sketch me how?
SMITH. As you are.
POPPY. As I am?
SMITH. Well?
POPPY lets the material drop.
POPPY. Like this?
She starts to find confidence rising in her own skin.
He sketches swiftly.
SMITH. Let’s see…
He circles her as he sketches, getting different perspectives.
POPPY. Nit dos iz…?
SMITH.…sheyn… Beautiful is not what is beautiful… Beautiful is what you like.
POPPY. What you like or I like?
SMITH. What do you like… What are you… really like?
POPPY. Like?… Like… like this?
POPPY playfully swirls some fabric, making shapes around herself.
Or how… how about… like this?
She tries something else with the fabric.
SMITH. Or like this?
He starts to try out the fabric with her too.
POPPY. Like this?
SMITH. Like this?
POPPY. Like this!… Like this…Like this…
SMITH. Like this!… Like this!… Like this…
He suddenly runs about swiftly and wildly opening all the windows and letting in the wind, which blows the fabrics. He pulls more fabrics off shelves. She joins him with glee. SMITH steps back with his sketchbook, watching intently, as POPPY flows with the wind and releases the fabrics.
And so I dream… I work from you!
Scene Five
Head or Heart
A curtain has appeared across the back half of the workshop.
TOMMY appears, wearing a big coat and hobnail boots, carrying a bottle of whisky.
Poppy + George Page 4