ROBERT ALAN EVANS
The Tale of Little Bevan
Contents
Title Page
Premiere Production
Characters
The Tale of Little Bevan
Scene One
Scene Two
Scene Three
Scene Four
Scene Five
Scene Six
Scene Seven
Scene Eight
Scene Nine
Scene Ten
Scene Eleven
Scene Twelve
Scene Thirteen
Scene Fourteen
Scene Fifteen
Scene Sixteen
Scene Seventeen
Scene Eighteen
Scene Nineteen
Scene Twenty
Scene Twenty-One
Scene Twenty-Two
Scene Twenty-Three
Scene Twenty-Four
Scene Twenty-Five
Scene Twenty-Six
Acknowledgements
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
The Tale of Little Bevan was first performed at Pentabus Theatre, Bromfield, Shropshire, on 16 October 2019, prior to a national tour. The cast, in alphabetical order, was as follows:
Owen Aaronovitch
Annie Grace
Andy Peppiette
Director Sophie Motley
Designer Alyson Cummins
Lighting Designer James Mackenzie
Songs by Little John Nee
Lyrics by Little John Nee and Robert Alan Evans
Composer and Musical Director Little John Nee
Movement Director Vicki Igbokwe
Voice and Accent Coach Emma Stevens-Johnson
Characters
Tony
Mikey
Gill
Josie
Pat
Driver
Date
Andy
Mrs Hargreaves
Mrs MacKenzie
THE TALE OF LITTLE BEVAN
ONE
A long, long time ago.
A hand is sinking into the ground.
We hear holy music.
This story begins with St Agathus.
Such a very long time ago that even the words we need had not yet arrived.
Though they were about to.
Harvest moon, eight hundred and sixty-five. As Christians fled from the vast heathen army that had come from across the sea.
About to smash down upon the Kingdom of the Angles.
Drit, dregg, myki, myre.
They will set this world on fire.
Pillage. Rape. Kill. Burn.
Hope must be hidden.
And so, with nowhere to go,
It was below that Agathus fled.
In North Folks’ earth; the dirt, the muck, the myre.
Where heathen’s fire could not find her.
Went the holy lady of the Fens.
To return again, when she is most needed.
The hand disappears below.
TWO
Tony has been staring at a piece of blank paper.
He rips it up in frustration and even eats some of the pieces.
Which he realises are disgusting, so he tries to drink some water in an old glass.
Which he realises is also disgusting and spits out.
Tony.
Tony Come on! Come on!
Trying for the two hundred and sixteenth time to start his book.
Tony who only seven years before was so much more.
A colossus.
A god.
A man who was once very close to being made a semi-permanent member of the University of East Anglia’s History Department.
For his work on the origins and myths of ninth-century East Anglia.
With specific reference to the cult of St Agathus.
Oooooooh it was good stuff.
His last article in which he had come close to proving where Agathus’ remains might lie had been called …
‘Almost too hot to handle’
and
‘Very well researched’
and
‘Interesting’.
A man on the up.
Until …
We hear a phone ring, distantly.
The sound of Tony’s mum on the other end, in distress.
‘Tony …
Love.’
That day. Seven years before.
When Tony’s career hit a wall.
His mum had had a fall.
And so began the next six years of his life.
You care, and then you don’t.
Float further from the world; your colleagues, the teaching.
Until eventually you stop going in.
They try to call, but it’s all …
The sound of his mother at night watching telly.
Him trying to write, still trying to be somebody. Until eventually …
He gives in. Watches Mel and Sue as they talk about a master bake.
Tony It’s cake, Mum.
Cake!
We just need to get you up.
On here.
Your son. I’m your son.
Just lift this one.
This one.
No.
This one.
(Suddenly snapping.)
THIS ONE! THIS ONE! THIS ONE!
Silence.
Gone
Now he could finally get on.
Back to his book.
He’d done his research. Read almost every book.
Though he felt there might be a few notes to make on St Agathus’ crook. Which some believed might have been a sword. Others a stick. Tony felt he needed to really understand every angle before he could even dream of putting pen to paper.
Then he’d spent two months trying to get the title right.
He’d toyed with something minimal like just a Celtic symbol.
Nah. Too ‘in-the-know’, elite.
He wanted his book to appeal to the man on the street.
Tony ‘Agathus: Woman or God’.
Crossed it out in a hurry.
Thinking it sounded a bit … Jenni Murray.
Tony Yes. Yes. It’s coming. It’s coming.
It’s practical, informative, yet has a certain spice.
‘The Historical Origins and Details of the Figure Known as St Agathus: Her Relationship to Pre-Christian Ritual and the Kingdom of the East Angles … with Dates, Maps and a Study of the Derivation of Related Norfolkshire Place Names … Along with a Comprehensive and Fully Illustrated Guide to the Appearance or Non-appearance of St Agathus in the Stained Glass Art of the Area …’
Tony crumples up the paper in frustration. He lets out a sort of desperate moan, trying to hold everything in. He’s like a wounded animal.
How was he meant to write when –
There
That.
A gap.
On the shelves.
His mum’s statue. Gone.
How?
She must’ve taken it.
That … cow!
Tony’s sister had come a few days before.
‘Are you okay?’
But really to start a sort of war of attrition.
Wanted ‘a few of Mum’s things.
Something to remember her by.’
But why? Why should she have a thing?
Where was she for the washing, the cleaning, the muck and the mire?
Tony had smiled.
Given her a box.
Tony Here, fill this.
Put it in the shed.
That way you can come get it if I’m out, or in bed.
I’ll be changing
the locks.
Some of the carers that came …
Very nice, but I don’t quite trust them all the same.
‘But you’ll give me a key.’
Tony … Of course.
He’d followed her round. See what she took.
The odd photo. A book of recipes.
Fine.
But the statue.
Tony That’s mine.
‘I thought Mum left it to me.’
Tony No. No. Well, we’ll see.
She must’ve come back and swiped it.
A gap on the shelf. Rage.
Better than uncertainty. Than staring at a blank page.
Wondering how the hell you’ll ever get a job at your age.
No!
THREE
We see Mikey. He is hunched over his phone.
Mikey.
Mikey (under his breath, staring at the phone) Come on!
Come on!
If you’d been watching, say twenty minutes before.
You’d have seen Mikey vault over Tony’s wall and enter his shed.
A Grindr message sound. *
— Hey!
Yes! Hey. Sorry bout that.
Got cut off.
— Yeah, thought you’d left me there, mate.
No! I mean – (Deleting and retyping.) Yeah, sorry.
— What you doing?
Eh …
Reading.
No one says reading. No one’s reading. No one reads.
— Like an actual book? With sentences?
Yeah. Haha.
Gone. Gone. Lost him.
— Nice. What is it?
It was pretty cool. 1984.
— I love that one. Feels like we’re living it.
Yeah. My mum’s like the thought police.
— (Laughing tears emoji.)
He gets my jokes.
— How old you?
Should he come clean?
…
Nah.
Eighteen.
— Cool. You’re hot btw. Where’s the pic from?
…
Argentina.
And he’s back.
And the chat.
Never been like this before.
An actual person. Funny and sweet and …
— So, do you wanna meet?
Shit.
Tony Something not right.
In the sunny September light, Tony can see in the shed.
A sort of glow.
Then gone.
How about next week?
— Have to be tonight. I’m off to uni on Monday.
Nervous.
(Mouthing to the phone.) I love you.
Okay.
— You got wheels?
Yeah. Two … that would do.
— Town?
There’s a nice pub. Called The Bell. In Wortwell.
— What time?
Nine?
— See you there.
Tony What the hell are you doing?
Mikey Shit.
Tony.
What was he doing, crouched on the floor? Sweaty paw hiding his phone.
Alone.
Oh …
Tony Michael. Were you …?
Mikey No.
Get up. Just get away.
Tony Because I know it’s hard for young people today with … well, with the pressures of … the body.
Oh God.
Mikey No. Really, Mr Grieves, I just needed –
Your internet.
Tony What?
Mikey My mum … sometimes she forgets to pay the bill.
And you know they turned the mast off on the hill.
So … I hook on to yours sometimes.
Actually you should probably change your password.
Not that it’s wrong, but ‘password’ itself, it’s just not that strong.
…
I suppose I should …
Scrabbles to get up.
And that’s when Tony sees on the shelf above.
A cardboard box.
And peeking out the statue he’d always loved. His mother’s Virgin and Child.
Almost in slow mo. Tony can see what’s about to happen.
The boy not right. Something gone.
Dead leg.
Reaches out to hang on to something.
Grabs the shelf which due to maybe not being the best DIY job in the world.
Pivots. The box and statue hurled.
Mary, flying headlong, hits the roof.
Which might’ve been proof of a God as she stayed intact.
But then in fact ricocheted off, hit a wall and smashed to pieces after all.
Silence.
The sound of nothing really.
Actually there was the sound of a goose flying over.
Back when he was ten, Tony once came down to find his mum sitting in her favourite chair. Talking to the air. The statue in hand. A song. Was it a song she sang?
We hear music of St Agathus.
He’d watched this woman, strange to him somehow.
Was it even his mum?
He’s lost.
Tony I’m lost, Mum.
Mikey Mr Grieves, I’m sorry.
Tony Get out!
Now!
In the silence Tony feels this sort of …
Well, something like a darkness start to rise. Start to choke …
And then he spies. There. On the floor.
He picks up a parchment.
Had it been there before?
No. Old. Had been hidden in the statue.
And something goes off in Tony’s head.
This sort of tinkling bell far away. The sort of sound that dreams are made of.
Because this is the sort of thing, Tony knows, that happens at the start of Indiana Jones.
* Grindr is a geo-social dating application for gay, bi, queer and trans people. It has a very specific message sound.
FOUR
Across the village. Fly! Come on! Come on!
We haven’t introduced everyone.
FIVE
Five p.m.
Gill.
Standing still.
Bedroom. Calm. Listens, nothing, just the tick of the alarm clock, next to Rob’s book. He was reading about the nesting habits of bats.
She’d always loved that. This village. The peace.
The geese flying over head. That time of year. Departure.
Everything was ready, pretty much.
Downstairs, enough food to kill, if it all landed on top of you at once.
Village favourites. Gill’s famous ‘Cassoulet Rustique’. A sort of chic sausage affair.
Then there were salads and salmon, a whole tray of dressed crab. She liked to educate people’s palates, nothing drab.
The things she’d made every year for her Harvest Moon Ball.
And to top it all, her punch.
The thirtieth year.
There’d been ups and downs, the time they set the thatch on fire. The time Pat got her head stuck in the tombola. The year Andy lost a molar after someone had accidentally left their baking beans in the quiche.
Oops!
But Gill felt that overall it … well, it had been a ball.
A good party. Hadn’t it?
Downstairs a knock at the door.
Gill Josie, hi.
Josie Gill. Sorry, can’t stop. I just wanted to pop over and say I’m really sorry, but me and Steve can’t come tonight.
Gill What?
You have to.
Josie There’s been a cancellation at the Three Musketeers.
We’ve been on the list almost a year.
And you know Steve and his Michelin stars.
Getting a table’s like a mission to Mars.
Very small window of opportunity, he says.
So you see …
Sorry.
Gill Right. Yes. No problem.
Josie How are things?
Gill Things? Things are great.
Josie Only, it’s funny, but Steve was in Norwich today. And guess who was there?
A sudden tightness inside. Hide it. Hide.
Josie Rob.
Gill Really?
Josie And, well, I just remember you said he was away on a job.
Gill He is. He was. He’s back.
Josie I see, because Steven said he asked something quite funny. He said ‘How’s Gill?’
Gill He’s such a silly.
Josie And I thought …
Gill What?
He got back last night.
Josie Right.
Gill Long flight.
In fact I should really go and …
Josie Okay.
Inside. The glint of the glasses laid out.
Loads the dishwasher, turns it on.
Then stands for a while looking out the window. To the woods at the back. Imagines herself in there. Running full pelt like she’s in some kind of horror. She likes to do that sometimes. Would never tell a soul. She imagines what it’s like to be chased by, what? A man with a knife? No, too much. She doesn’t care what’s behind, she just likes to think about the branches underfoot. Clothes ripped and torn. Face pale. She stops and holds on to a tree. Looks down to the cottage, the life she once had, into the kitchen warm and cosy. Remembers what it was like to order the white goods from John Lewis. Miele. The carpets and the suite. Remembers what it was like to have the wet room put in. The multifuel stove. Was a wreck when they bought it. Her and Rob. Now look at it. Perfect.
Whatever’s chasing is getting close.
She looks to the woods. Runs further in.
Gill Hello? Yes. Is that the Three Musketeers?
I’d like to cancel a booking ….
Tonight.
Wright. Steve and Josie Wright.
Harvest Moon. She’d always liked to think of the village enjoying the fruits of the year.
Tonight though would be different.
This year, bitter fruit had grown.
Tonight they would reap what they had sown.
SIX
What do you wear?
Jeans, T-shirt. Hair. Hair.
Smell. Should I wax?
Wax what?
Oh God.
Shave? Shave it off?
Is it so obvious? Bumfluff.
Pout. Frown. Butch. Lay down and go to sleep.
NO!
Time! Time please ladies.
Teeth. (As he cleans his teeth.) Sticks his head out of the Velux and looks at the dying afternoon. The moon pale, a smudge starting to rise. The blue to darker blue of vast Norfolk skies. For the first time in a while he feels the space of this land. The stretch. The span. Been here forever.
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