Time and the Conways
I Have Been Here Before
An Inspector Calls
The Linden Tree
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J. B. Priestley was born in Bradford in 1894. After leaving school, he spent some time as a junior clerk in a wool office and a lively account of his life at this period may be found in his volume of reminiscences, Margin Released (1962). He joined the army in 1914, and in 1919, on receiving an ex-officers’ grant, went to Trinity Hall, Cambridge. He settled in London in 1922, where he soon earned a reputation as an essayist and critic. His third and fourth novels, The Good Companions (1929) and Angel Pavement (1930), were a great success and established an international reputation. This was increased by the plays he wrote in the 1930s and 1940s, notably Dangerous Corner (1932), Time and the Conways (1937) and An Inspector Calls (1947). During the Second World War he was exceedingly popular as a broadcaster and published collections of his broadcasts in the volumes Britain Speaks (1940) and All England Listened (1968). His most important novels during the post-war period include Bright Day (1946), Festival at Farbridge (1951), Lost Empires (1965) and The Image Men (1968). His more ambitious literary and social criticism can be found in The Art of the Dramatist (1957) and Literature and the Western Man (1960). With his third wife, Jacquetta Hawkes, a distinguished archeologist and a well-established writer herself, he collaborated on Journey Down a Rainbow (1955) and a play, Dragon’s Mouth (1952). His other books include English Journey (1934), The Edwardians (1970), The English (1973), Particular Pleasures (1975) and Lost and Found (1976). J. B. Priestley was awarded the Order of Merit in 1977. He died in 1984.
My dear Mitch,
I hope you will accept, with my affectionate regards, the dedication of this play. You were enthusiastic about it from the first, and it took us back to the Duchess Theatre again, in the happiest circumstances, after an interval of nearly ten years, during which it looked as if we should never work together in the Theatre again. To have you on the management once more, together with my friends of the Westminster venture – and Dame Sybil and Sir Lewis Casson playing so beautifully – this has been happiness when I had almost ceased to dream of finding it in the Theatre. So far as the play itself has any virtue, it was a virtue plucked out of necessity. The heaviest snowfall the Isle of Wight had known for about a hundred years found me down at Billingham, in a house hard to warm and then desperately short of fuel. Besieged by this cruellest of Februarys, I ate, toiled and slept in one small room, and there the Lindens were born; and for ten days or so, while I worked at the play, they were almost my only company and the people I seemed to know best. And then – what luck! – I was back with you, back with the others, back at the Duchess, and all went miraculously well. So please accept the piece as a tribute to our friendship and your love of the Theatre.
Yours ever,
J.B.P.
There is a party at the Conways, this autumn evening of 1919, but we cannot see it, only hear it. All we can see at first is the light from the hall coming through the curtained archway on the right of the room, and a little red firelight on the other side. But we can hear young voices chattering and laughing and singing, the sharp little explosion of a cracker or two, and a piano playing popular music of that period. After a moment or two, a number of voices begin to sing the tune we hear on the piano. It is all very jolly indeed.
Then we hear a girl’s voice (it is HAZEL CONWAY’s) calling, loud and clear: ‘Mother, where shall we put them?’ The voice that replies, farther off, can only be MRS CONWAY’s , and she says: ‘In the back room. Then we’ll act out here.’ To this, HAZEL, who is obviously very excited, screams: ‘Yes, marvellous!’ and then calls to somebody still farther away, probably upstairs: ‘Carol – in the back room.’
And now HAZEL dashes in, switching on the light. We see at once that she is a tall, golden young creature, dressed in her very best for this party. She is carrying an armful of old clothes, hats, and odds and ends, all the things that happy people used to dress up in for charades. The room looks very cosy, although it has no doorway, only the large curtained archway on the right. At the back is a window with a step up to it, and a cushioned seat. The curtains are drawn. On the left is a fireplace or an anthracite stove, glowing red. There are several small bookcases against or in the walls, some pieces of fairly good furniture, including a round table and a small bureau, and some passable pictures. It is obviously one of those nondescript rooms, used by the family far more than the drawing-room is, and variously called the Back Room, the Morning Room, the School-room, the Nursery, the Blue, Brown or Red Room. This might easily have been called the Red Room, for in this light it seems to range from pink to plum colour, and it makes a fine cosy setting for the girls in their party dress.
Another one has arrived, while HAZEL is dumping her charade things on a round settee in the middle of the room. This is CAROL, the youngest of the Conways – perhaps sixteen – and now terrifically excited, breathless, and almost tottering beneath a load of charade stuff, including a cigar-box gloriously filled with old false whiskers and noses, spectacles, and what not. With all the reckless haste of a child she bangs down all this stuff, and starts to talk, although she has no breath left. And now – after adding that CAROL is an enchanting young person – we can leave them to explain themselves.
CAROL [gasping but triumphant]: I’ve found – the box – with all the false whiskers and things in –
HAZEL [triumphantly]: I knew it hadn’t been thrown away.
CAROL: Nobody’d dare to throw it away. [Holds it out, with lid open.] Look! [HAZEL makes a grab at it.] Don’t snatch!
HAZEL [not angrily]: Well, I must look, mustn’t I, idiot? [They both, like children, eagerly explore the contents of the box.] Bags I this one. [She fishes out a large drooping moustache.] Oo – and this! [Fishes out very bulbous false nose.]
CAROL [an unselfish creature]: All right, but don’t take all the good ones, Hazel. Kay and Madge will want some. I think Kay ought to have first choice. After all, it’s her birthday – and you know how she adores charades. Mother won’t want any of these because she’d rather look grand, wouldn’t she? Spanish or Russian or something. What are you doing?
[HAZEL has turned aside to fasten on the nose and moustache, and now has managed it, though they are not very secure. She now turns round.]
HAZEL [in deep voice]: Good morning, good morning.
CAROL [with a scream of delight]: Mr Pennyman! You know, Hazel, at the paper shop? The one who hates Lloyd George and wags his head very slowly all the time he tells you Lloyd George is no good. Do Mr Pennyman, Hazel. Go on.
HAZEL [in her ordinary voice, incongruous]: I couldn’t, Carol. I’ve only seen him about twice. I never go to the paper shop.
[ALAN looks in, grinning when he sees HAZEL. He is a shy, quiet, young man, in his earlier twenties, who can have a slight stammer. He is dressed, rather carelessly, in ordinary clothes. CAROL turns and sees him.]
CAROL: Alan, come in, and don’t let the others see. [As he does.] Isn’t she exactly like Mr Pennyman at the paper shop, the one who hates Lloyd George?
ALAN [grinning shyly]: She is – a bit.
HAZEL [in a fantastic deep voice]: ‘I hate Lloyd George.’
ALAN: No, he doesn’t talk like that, Hazel.
CAROL: Not the least little bit. He says [with a rather good imitation of a thick, semi-educated man’s voice]: ‘I’ll tell you what it is – Mish Conway – that there Lloyd George – they’re going to be shorry they ever put ’im where they did – shee?’
ALAN [grinning]: Yes, that’s him. Very good, Carol.
CAROL [excitedly]: I think I ought to be an actress. They said at school I was the best Shylock they’d ever had.
HAZEL [taking off the nose and moustache]: You can have these if you like Carol.
CAROL [taking them]: Are you sure you don’t want them? I don’t think you ought to dress up as a silly man because you’re so pretty. Perhaps I could wear these and do Mr Pennyman. Couldn’t we bring him into the third syllable somehow? Instead of a general. I think we’ve had enough generals.
ALAN: We have. Ask Kay to work in Mr Pennyman instead.
HAZEL: Kay ought to be here now, planning everything.
ALAN: She’s coming in. Mother told me to tell you not to make too much of a mess in here.
CAROL: You must have a mess with charades. It’s part of it.
HAZEL: And just wait till mother starts dressing up. She makes more mess than anybody. [To ALAN] I hope some of the old ones are going now. Are they?
ALAN: Yes.
HAZEL: It’s much more fun without them. And mother daren’t let herself go while they’re still here. Tell Kay and Madge to come in, Alan.
ALAN: Right.
[Goes out. The two girls begin turning the clothes over. HAZEL picks out some old-fashioned women’s things and holds them up or against herself.]
HAZEL: Look at these! Could you believe people ever wore such ridiculous things?
CAROL: I can just remember mother in that, can’t you?
HAZEL: Of course I can, infant!
CAROL [more soberly, looking at a man’s old-fashioned shooting or Norfolk coat]: That was Daddy’s, wasn’t it?
HAZEL: Yes. I believe he wore it – that very holiday.
CAROL: Perhaps we ought to put it away.
HAZEL: I don’t think mother would mind – now.
CAROL: Yes she would. And I know I would. I don’t want anybody to dress up and be funny in the coat father wore just before he was drowned. [She has now folded the coat, and puts it on the window-seat. Then, as she returns] I wonder if it’s very horrible being drowned.
HAZEL [impatiently]: Oh, don’t start that all over again, Carol. Don’t you remember how you used to go on asking that – until mother was furious?
CAROL: Yes – but I was only a kid then.
HAZEL: Well, now that you think you aren’t a kid any longer, just stop it.
CAROL: It was the coat that made me remember. You see, Hazel, to be talking and laughing and all jolly, just the same as usual – and then, only half an hour afterwards – to be drowned – it’s so horrible. It seemed awfully quick to us – but perhaps to him, there in the water, it may have seemed to take ages –
HAZEL: Oh, stop it, Carol. Just when we’re having some fun. Why do you?
CAROL: I don’t know. But don’t you often feel like that? Just when everything is very jolly and exciting, I suddenly think of something awfully serious, sometimes horrible – like Dad drowning – or that little mad boy I once saw with the huge head – or that old man who walks in the Park with that great lump growing out of his face –
HAZEL [stopping her ears]: No, I’m not listening. I’m not listening.
CAROL: They pop up right in the middle of the jolly stuff, you know, Hazel. It happens to Kay, too. So it must be in the family – a bit.
[Enter MADGE. She is a year or two older than HAZEL, not so pretty, and a far more serious and responsible person. She has been to Girton, and already done a little teaching, and you feel all this in her brisk, decided, self-confident manner. She is, too, an earnest enthusiast.]
MADGE: You found them? Good. [Looks over the things.] I didn’t think we’d have so many old things left. Mother ought to have given them away.
HAZEL: I’m glad she didn’t. Besides, who’d have had them?
MADGE: Lots of people would have been glad of them. You never realize, Hazel, how wretchedly poor most people are. It just doesn’t occur to you, does it?
HAZEL [not crossly]: Don’t be schoolmistressy, Madge.
CAROL [who is trying things on, turning to point at MADGE impishly]: Has Gerald Thornton arrived?
MADGE: As a matter of fact, he has – a few minutes ago.
CAROL [triumphantly]: I knew it. I could see it in your eye, Madge.
MADGE: Don’t be absurd. He’s brought another man with him, a new client of his, who’s desperately anxious to know this family.
HAZEL: So he ought to be. Nice?
MADGE: Oh – a funny little man.
CAROL [dancing about]: That’s just what we want – a funny little man. Perfect for charades.
MADGE: No, not that kind. In fact, he probably hasn’t any sense of humour. Very shy, so far, and terrified of mother. Very much the little business man, I should think.
CAROL: Is he a profiteer – like the ones in Punch?
MADGE: He looks as if he might be, some day. His name’s Ernest Beevers.
HAZEL [giggling]: What a silly name! I’m sorry for his wife, if he has one.
MADGE: I gather he hasn’t. Look here, we ought to be starting.
[Enter KAY, whose twenty-first birthday party this is. An intelligent, sensitive girl, who need not be as pretty as HAZEL. She has a sheet of paper.] Kay, we ought to be starting.
KAY: I know. The others are coming. [Begins rooting among the things.] Some good costumes here, ladies. Oo – look! [She has fished out some absurd old-fashioned woman’s cape, cloak or coat, and hat, and throws them on ridiculously, then stands apart and strikes absurd melodramatic attitude and speaks in false stilted tone.] One moment, Lord What’s-your-name. If I am discovered here, who will believe that my purpose in coming here tonight – visiting your – er – rooms – er unaccompanied – was solely to obtain the – er papers – that will enable me to clear – er – my husband’s name, the name of a man who – er – has asked nothing better than the – er privilege of serving his country – and ours too, Lord Thingumtibob – one who – that is – to whom – [In ordinary tone] No, I’m getting all tied up. You know, we ought to have had a scene like that, all grand and dramatic and full of papers.
MADGE: Well, what are we to have?
HAZEL [coolly]: I’ve forgotten the word.
CAROL [indignantly]: Hazel, you’re the limit! And we spent hours working it out!
HAZEL: I didn’t. Only you and Kay, just because you fancy yourselves as budding authoresses and actresses.
KAY [severely]: The word – idiot! – is Pussyfoot. Puss. See. Foot. Then the whole word.
MADGE: I think four scenes are too many. And they’ll easily guess it.
KAY: That doesn’t matter. It makes them happy if they guess it.
CAROL [rather solemnly]: The great thing is – to dress up.
[Enter MRS CONWAY. She is a charming woman in her middle forties, very nicely dressed, with an easy, vivacious manner.]
MRS C: Now I’m ready – if you are. What a mess you’re making. I knew you would. Let me see. [Dives into the clothes, and scatters them far more wildly than the others have done. She finally fishes out a Spanish shawl and mantilla.] Ah – here they are. Now I shall be a Spanish beauty. I know a song for it, too. [Begins putting the Spanish things on.]
HAZEL [to KAY]: What did I tell you?
MRS C [who is specially fond of HAZEL]: What did you tell her, darling?
HAZEL: I told Kay, whatever she arranged, you’d insist on doing your Spanish turn.
MRS C: Well, why not?
KAY: It doesn’t come into the scenes I’d thought of, that’s all.
MRS C [busy with her costume]: Oh – you can easily arrange that, dear – you’re so clever. I’ve just been telling Dr Halliday and his niece how clever you are. They seemed surprised, I can’t imagine why.
HAZEL: It’s the first time I’ve seen Monica Halliday out of her land girl costume. I’m surprised she didn’t turn up tonight in her trousers and leggings.
KAY: She looks quite queer out of them, doesn’t she? Rather like a female impersonator.
MADGE: Oh, come on, Kay. What do we do?
KAY: The first scene, Puss, is an old lady who’s lost her cat. She’s really a kind of witch.
CAROL [happily]: I’m to be the old lady.
[CAROL begins finding suitable clothes – an old shawl, etc. – and some white hair – for the old lady. And during following dialogue, converts herself into a very creditable imitation.]
KAY: Mother, you and Hazel are her two daughters who are visiting her –
HAZEL: I know my bit. I keep saying ‘I always hated that terrible cat of yours, Mother.’ What can I wear? [Pokes about.]
MRS C [now Spanish]: Well, that’s all right, dear. I’ll be the Spanish daughter, you see.
KAY [resignedly]: She didn’t have a Spanish daughter, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.
MRS C: Not in the least. Nobody cares. And then I think I’d better not appear in the others, because I suppose you’ll be wanting me to sing afterwards.
KAY: Of course. But I’d put you down for two more. Madge and Joan Helford will have to do those.
MRS C: What a pity Robin isn’t here! You know, Madge, he wrote and said he might be demobbed any day now, and it seems such a shame just to miss Kay’s party. Robin loves parties. He’s like me. Your father never cared for them much. Suddenly, right in the middle, just when everything was getting along, he’d want to be quiet – and take me into a corner and ask me how much longer people were staying – just when they were beginning to enjoy themselves. I never could understand that.
KAY: I can. I’ve often felt like that.
MRS C: But why, dear, why? It isn’t sensible. If you’re having a party, you’re having a party.
KAY [earnestly]: Yes, it isn’t that. And it isn’t that you suddenly dislike the people. But you feel – at least I do, and I suppose that’s what father felt too – you feel, quite suddenly, that it isn’t real enough – and you want something to be real. Do you see, Mother?
MRS C: No I don’t, my dear. It sounds a little morbid to me. But your father could be quite morbid sometimes – you mightn’t think so, but he could – and I suppose you take after him.
KAY [very gravely]: Do you think that sometimes, in a mysterious sort of way, he knew?
MRS C [not too attentive to this]: Knew what, dear? Look at Hazel, doesn’t she look rather sweet? I can remember where I first wore those things. Absurd! Knew what?
KAY: Knew what was going to happen to him. You know, Alan said that some of the men he knew who were killed in the trenches seemed to know sometimes that they were going to be killed, as if a kind of shadow fell over them. Just as if – now and then – we could see round the corner – into the future.
MRS C [easily]: You have the most extraordinary ideas. You must try and put some of them into your book. Are you happy, darling?
KAY: Yes, Mother. Very happy.
MRS C: That’s all right then. I want you to have a lovely birthday. I feel we all can be happy again, now that the horrible war’s all over and people are sensible again, and Robin and Alan are quite safe. I forgot to ask – did Robin send you anything, Kay?
KAY: No. I didn’t expect him to.
MRS C: Oh – but that isn’t like Robin, you know, Kay. He’s a most generous boy, much too generous really. Now that may mean he thinks he’s coming home very soon.
[Enter ALAN with JOAN HELFORD, who is HAZEL’s friend and the same age, pretty and rather foolish.]
KAY: Alan, tell them we’re beginning – and it’s three syllables.
[ALAN goes.]
JOAN: I think you all look marvellous. I’m rotten at this, you know, Kay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
KAY: Now then, Carol, you start. And remember, only say ‘Puss’ once. Don’t you two say it – only Carol. [ALAN returns. CAROL goes out – and there can be the sound of distant laughing and clapping.] Good old Carol. Now then – you two. [Almost pushes them off.] Now the next syllable is S. Y. So I thought it wouldn’t be cheating too badly if we called that ‘sy’. Y’know, Cockney – ‘I sy, Bert.’ So this is an East End scene. Madge, you’re the old mother.
MADGE [who has started putting on very droll shabby clothes]: Yes, I remembered.
ALAN: What am I? I forget.
KAY: You’re Bert. Just put something silly on. Is there anything here you can wear, Joan?
[During following dialogue, they all dress up.]
JOAN: I was in London last week, staying with my uncle, and we went to the theatre three times. We saw Tilly of Bloomsbury and Cinderella Man and Kissing Time. I liked Cinderella Man best – Owen Nares, y’know. I thought Robin was coming home soon.
KAY: He is.
JOAN: He’s an officer, isn’t he? You weren’t an officer, were you, Alan?
ALAN: No, I was a lance-corporal. One stripe, y’know. Nothing at all.
JOAN: Didn’t you want to be anything better than that?
ALAN: No.
KAY: Alan has no ambition at all. Have you, my pet?
ALAN [simply]: Not much.
JOAN: If I were a man, I’d want to be very important. What are you doing now, Alan? Somebody said you were at the Town Hall.
ALAN: I am. In the Rate Office. Just a clerk, y’know.
JOAN: Isn’t it dull?
ALAN: Yes.
KAY: Alan never minds being dull. I believe he has tremendous long adventures inside his head that nobody knows anything about.
JOAN: Hazel says you’ve started to write another novel, Kay. Have you?
KAY [rather curtly]: Yes.
JOAN: I don’t know how you can – I mean, I think I’d be all right once I’d started properly – but I can’t see how you start. What did you do with the last one?
KAY: Burnt it.
JOAN: Why?
KAY: It was putrid.
JOAN: But wasn’t that an awful waste of time?
KAY: Yes, I suppose so.
ALAN: Still, look at the time you and I waste, Joan.
JOAN: Oh – no – I’m always doing something. Even though I haven’t to go to the canteen any more, I’m always busy. [MADGE, who has withdrawn herself a little, now laughs.] Why do you laugh, Madge?
MADGE: Can’t a girl laugh?
JOAN [humbly]: You always did laugh at me, Madge. I suppose because I’m not clever, like you.
[HAZEL returns, letting in noise – laughing and clapping – from outside.]
HAZEL: Well, you can imagine what happened. Mother let herself go, and of course it became all Spanish. I don’t believe they’ll ever remember hearing ‘puss’ mentioned. What are you supposed to be, Joan?
JOAN [hopefully]: A sort of Coster girl.
HAZEL: You look a sort of general mess. Oh – [to KAY] Carol wants to do Mr Pennyman at the paper shop instead of a general for the third syllable.
KAY: How can she? If it’s soldiers drilling, you can’t have Mr Pennyman. Unless we make him another soldier – and get Gerald Thornton or somebody to be a general.
[CAROL returns, very hot and flushed, and begins taking off her old woman’s disguise.]
CAROL: Mother’s still on. Golly! – it’s baking being an old witch.
KAY: Do you insist on being Mr Pennyman in the third syllable?
CAROL [brightening up]: Oo – I’d forgotten that. Yes, please let me do Mr Pennyman, Kay – my lamb, my love, my precious –
KAY: All right. But he’ll have to be a soldier. Just joined up, you see.
[Enter MRS C very grand, flushed, triumphant. She is carrying a glass of claret cup.]
MRS C: Well – really – that was very silly – but they seemed to enjoy it, and that’s the great thing. I thought you were very good, Carol. [To KAY] Carol was sweet, Kay. Now don’t ask me to do any more of this, because really I mustn’t, especially if you want me to sing afterwards. So leave me out, Kay. [Begins to sip cup.]
KAY: All right. Now come on. [Begins shepherding her players, MADGE, ALAN, JOAN.]
JOAN: Honestly, Kay, I’ll be awful.
KAY: It doesn’t matter. You’ve nothing to do. Now then – Madge.
MADGE [loudly, in laborious imitation of Cockney mother]: Nah then, Bert. End yew, Dy-sy. Cem along or we’ll be lite. [Leads the way off, followed by other three.]
HAZEL: How on earth did you get that claret cup, Mother?
MRS C [complacently]: Got Gerald Thornton to hand it to me – and it rounded off my little scene nicely. I don’t want any more. Would you like it?
[HAZEL takes it, and sips while removing things. They are all removing things.]
CAROL: Mother, you weren’t going to be an actress, were you – just a singer?
MRS C: I don’t know what you mean by just a singer. I was a singer certainly. But I did some acting too. When the Newlingham Amateur Operatic first did Merrie England, I played Bess. And I’d had all you children then. You were only about two, Carol.
HAZEL: Mother, Joan did stay in London last week, and she went to three theatres.
MRS C: She has relatives there, and we haven’t. That makes a great difference.
HAZEL: Aren’t we ever going?
MRS C: Yes, of course. Perhaps Robin will take us – I mean, just you and me – when he comes back.
CAROL [solemnly]: It says in the paper this morning that We Must All Get On With Our Jobs. This Mere Rush For Amusement has gone on long enough now. There’s Work Waiting To Be Done.
HAZEL [indignantly]: A fat lot of rushing for amusement we’ve done, haven’t we? I think that’s frightfully unfair and idiotic. Just when we might have some fun, after washing up in canteens and hospitals and queueing for foul food, with nobody about at all, they go and say we’ve had enough amusement and must get on with our jobs. What jobs?
CAROL: Rebuilding a shattered world. It said that too.
MRS C [half lightly, half not, to HAZEL]: Your job will be to find a very nice young man and marry him. And that oughtn’t to be difficult – for you.
CAROL [now getting into trousers to play Mr Pennyman]: Hurry up, Hazel, and then I can be a bridesmaid. I believe you’re my only chance. Kay says she won’t get married for ages, if ever, because her Writing – Her Work – must come first.
MRS C: That’s nonsense, my dear. When the proper young man comes along, she’ll forget about her writing.
CAROL: I don’t believe she will, Mother. And anyhow, she won’t have bridesmaids. And if Madge ever marries, I know it will be to some kind of Socialist in a tweed suit, who’ll insist on being married in a Register Office –
HAZEL: I’m not so sure about that. I’ve had my eye on Madge lately.
CAROL [now as Mr Pennyman]: And I’ve ’ad my eye on Lloyd George. An’ what for, Mish Conway? Bee-corsh yew can’t trusht that little Welshman. Yew watch ’im, that’sh all I shay –
MRS C: That’s very good, dear. You’re rather like Mr Worsnop – do you remember him – the cashier at the works? Every New Year’s Eve, your father used to bring Mr Worsnop here, after they’d done all the books at the office, and used to give him some port. And when I went in, Mr Worsnop always stood and held his glass like this [she holds glass close to herself in a rather cringing attitude] and said ‘My respects, Mrs Conway, my deepest respects.’ And I always wanted to laugh. He’s retired now, and gone to live in South Devon.
[After slight pause, MADGE, still in absurd old Costerwoman disguise, enters with GERALD THORNTON. He is in his early thirties, a solicitor and son of a solicitor, and is fairly tall and good-looking, and carefully dressed. He has a pleasant, man-of-the-world air, very consciously cultivated. MADGE is arguing hotly, with all the fiery slapdash of enthusiastic youth.]
MADGE: But what the miners want and ask for is simply nationalization. They say, if coal is as important as you say it is, then the mines shouldn’t be in the hands of private owners any longer. Nationalize them, they say. That’s the fairest thing.
GERALD: All right. But supposing we don’t want them nationalized. What then? Some of us have seen enough of Government mismanagement already.
MRS C: Quite so, Gerald. Everybody knows how ridiculous they were. Sending bags of sand to Egypt!
MADGE [hotly]: I don’t believe half those stories. Besides they had to improvise everything in a hurry. And anyhow it wasn’t a Socialist Government.
GERALD [mildly]: But you don’t know they’d be any better. They might be worse – less experience.
MADGE [same tone]: Oh – I know that experience! We’re always having that flung in our faces. When all that’s wanted is a little intelligence – and enthusiasm – and – and decency.
GERALD [to MRS C rather as one adult to another at children’s party]: I’ve been conscripted for the next scene. To be a general or something.
HAZEL: We haven’t fancy dress for you.
GERALD: Good!
MRS C: I really mustn’t neglect them any longer, must I? And most of them will be going soon. Then we can have a nice cosy little party of our own. [Goes out.]
CAROL [to GERALD]: Well, you must look different somehow, you know. You could turn your coat inside out.
GERALD: I don’t think that would be very effective.
CAROL [impatiently]: Wear an overcoat then. Oh – and – [Fishes out a large false moustache and gives it to him.] Put this on. That’s a very good one.
[GERALD takes and looks at it dubiously. JOAN rushes in, more animated now her ordeal is over.]
JOAN [excitedly, girlish]: Hazel, d’you know who’s here? You’ll never guess!
HAZEL: Who?
JOAN [ignoring this]: That awful little man who always stares at you – the one who followed us once all round the Park –
HAZEL: He’s not!
JOAN: He is, I tell you. I distinctly saw him, standing at the side, near the door.
GERALD: This sounds like my friend Beevers.
HAZEL: Do you mean to say the man you brought is that awful little man? Well, you’re the absolute limit, Gerald Thornton! He’s a dreadful little creature. Every time I go out, he’s somewhere about, staring and staring at me. And now you bring him here!
GERALD [not worried by this outburst]: Oh – he’s not so bad. He insisted on my bringing him, and your mother said it was all right. You shouldn’t be so devastating, Hazel.
JOAN [giggly]: I told you he must be mad about you, Hazel.
HAZEL [the haughty beauty now]: I swear I won’t speak to him. He just would butt in like this!
CAROL: Why shouldn’t he, poor little manny?
HAZEL: Shut up, Carol, you don’t know anything about him.
[Enter KAY and ALAN.]
KAY: That wasn’t much good. The Costers were a wash-out. Oh – that’s all right, Carol. Now you’re a general, Gerald, and the others are recruits. Hurry up, Alan, and put something different on. Gerald, you’re inspecting them – you know, make up something silly – and then say to one of them: ‘Look at your foot, my man.’ Anyhow, bring in ‘foot’.
GERALD: Have I only two recruits, Carol and Alan?
KAY: No, mother’s sending in another man. They aren’t guessing anything yet, but that’s simply because it’s all such a muddle. I don’t think I like charades as much as I used to do. Dad was marvellous at them. [To GERALD] He always did very fat men. You’d better be a fat general. And you can be fat, too, Alan.
[Piano can be heard playing softly off. As the men are stuffing cushions under coats, and JOAN and KAY and MADGE are finishing removing their last things, ERNEST BEEVERS enters slowly and shyly. He is a little man, about thirty, still socially shy and awkward, chiefly because his social background is rather lower in the scale than that of the CONWAYS, but there is a suggestion of growing force and self-confidence in him. He is obviously attracted towards the whole family, but completely fascinated by HAZEL.]
ERNEST [shyly, awkwardly]: Oh – er – Mrs Conway told me to come in here.
KAY: Yes, of course. You’ve to be one of the recruits in this next bit.
ERNEST: I’m – not much good – at this sort of thing – you know –
KAY: It doesn’t matter. Just be silly.
GERALD: Oh – Beevers – sorry! I’d better introduce you. [Carries off slightly awkward situation with determined light touch.] This – is Mr Ernest Beevers, a rather recent arrival in our – er – progressive city. Now all these are Conways, except this young lady – Miss Joan Helford –
ERNEST [seriously]: How d’you do?
JOAN [faintly giggly]: How d’you do?
GERALD: This is Kay, who decided to be twenty-one today so that we could have this party –
ERNEST: Many happy returns.
KAY [nicely]: Thank you.
GERALD: She’s the literary genius of this distinguished family. Over there is Madge, who’s been to Girton and will try to convert you to Socialism.
ERNEST: I’m afraid she won’t succeed.
GERALD: This strange-looking middle-aged person is young Carol –
CAROL [nicely]: Hello!
ERNEST [grateful for this, smiling]: Hello!
GERALD: Alan I think you’ve met already. [Teasing] Oh – and let me see – yes, this is Hazel. She creates such havoc that when the Leicesters were stationed here the Colonel wrote and asked her to stay indoors when they had route marches.
ERNEST [solemnly]: How d’you do?
HAZEL [crossly]: Don’t be idiotic, Gerald. [Very quickly to ERNEST] How d’you do?
[Faint giggle from JOAN.]
ALAN [to ERNEST]: You’d better do something funny to yourself. Is there anything here you’d like?
[ERNEST pokes about in the things, while HAZEL looks disdainfully on and JOAN wants to giggle. ERNEST is very clumsy now.]
KAY: Carol and Alan, you start. You’re recruits. Carol can do bits of Mr Pennyman to fill in.
[CAROL, followed by ALAN, goes out. GERALD is waiting for BEEVERS. KAY goes out.]
JOAN: What did your mother say, Hazel, about removing?
HAZEL: Oh, of course, she won’t think of it. And she’s been offered five thousand pounds – five thousand – for this house!
ERNEST [the business man]: Tell her to take it. I’ll bet in ten years she couldn’t get two thousand. It’s only this temporary shortage that’s forced prices of property up. You’ll see ’em come down with a bang yet.
HAZEL [snubbing him]: But she adores being here, of course, and so it’s hopeless.
[ERNEST realizes he has been snubbed. He has now made a few ridiculous changes in his clothes. He looks hard at HAZEL, who will not return his look. JOAN still giggly.]
ERNEST [with dignity which ill assorts with his appearance]: If I spoke out of my turn, I’m sorry.
KAY [looking in]: Hurry up, Mr Beevers.
ERNEST [hurrying forward]: I’m no good at this, you know, Miss Conway, and it’s no use pretending I am –
[But she rushes him and GERALD off, and follows them. JOAN bursts into a peal of laughter.]
HAZEL [indignantly]: I don’t think it’s funny, Joan. I’m furious.
JOAN [between gurgles and gasps]: He – looked – so – silly.
[HAZEL begins laughing, too, and they laugh together, rocking round.]
HAZEL [hardly distinguishable]: Did you hear him? ‘If I spoke out of my turn, I’m sorry.’
JOAN [hardly distinguishable]: We ought to have said ‘Pleased to meet you,’ and then he’d have said ‘Granted.’
[KAY comes back, and looks rather severely at these two.]
KAY [severely]: I think you were rather beastly to that little man.
[They still laugh, and as she looks at them KAY begins to laugh too. They all laugh.]
HAZEL [coming to]: Oh – dear! Oh – dear! But that’s the little man I told you about, Kay, who always stared, and once followed us round.
KAY: Well, now he’ll be able to raise his little hat.
HAZEL [vehemently]: And that’s all he’ll jolly well get out of this, I’ll tell you. And I think Gerald Thornton had the cheek of the devil to bring him here. Just because he’s a new client.
JOAN [still giggly]: You don’t think you’ll marry him then, Hazel?
HAZEL: Ugh! I’d just as soon marry a – a ferret.
KAY [rather loftily]: I don’t believe you two ever think or talk about anything but clothes and going to London and young men and marriage.
HAZEL [not too rudely]: Oh, don’t you start being so grand! [Quotes dramatically]The Garden of Stars.
KAY [hastily]: Now, shut up, Hazel!
HAZEL [to JOAN]: That’s what she called the last novel she started. The Garden of Stars. And there were so many bits of paper with the opening words on that I know them off by heart.
[Quotes dramatically. As soon as she begins KAY makes a rush at her, but she dodges, still quoting.] ‘Marion went out into the still smooth night. There was no moon but already – already – the sky was silver-dusted with stars. She passed through the rose garden, the dying scent of the roses meeting the grey moths –’
KAY [shouting her down]: I know it’s all wrong, but I tore it up, didn’t I?
HAZEL [mildly]: Yes, my duck. And then you cried.
KAY [fiercely]: I’ve just begun a real one. With some guts in it. You’ll see.
HAZEL: I’ll bet it’s about a girl who lives in a town just like Newlingham.
KAY [still fierce]: Well, why shouldn’t it be? You wait, that’s all.
[GERALD, plus false moustache, ALAN and ERNEST in their absurd get-up come in slowly and solemnly.]
GERALD: That’s true, Alan.
ERNEST [seriously]: But they can’t expect people to behave differently when they’ve still got their war restrictions on everything. They can’t have it both ways.
GERALD: Well, there’s still a lot of profiteering.
ERNEST: You’ve got to let business find its own level. The more interference the worse it is.
ALAN: The worse for everybody?
ERNEST [decidedly]: Yes.
ALAN [stoutly, for him]: I doubt it.
ERNEST [not too unpleasantly]: You’re working in the Town Hall, aren’t you? Well, you can’t learn much about these things there, y’know.
KAY [with tremendous irony]: I say! You three must have been terribly good in the charade, weren’t you?
ALAN: No, we weren’t very amusing.
CAROL [who has just entered]: Oh – they were awful. No, you weren’t too bad, Mr Beevers, especially for a man who was doing a charade in a strange house.
ERNEST: Now I call that handsome, Miss Carol.
KAY [briskly]: The whole word now. Pussyfoot. It’s supposed to be a party in America, and we can’t have anything to drink. We won’t bother dressing up for this. Just some good acting. I’ll say the word. Joan, tell Madge, she’s in this. Just the girls, for the grand finale.
[JOAN goes.]
GERALD [now normal again]: So we’re sacked?
KAY: Yes. No good.
GERALD: Then we can give ourselves a drink. We’ve earned a drink. Any dancing afterwards?
KAY: There might be, after mother’s done her singing.
GERALD: Do you dance, Beevers?
ERNEST: No, never had time for it.
HAZEL [significantly, in loud clear tone]: Yes, we must have some dancing, Gerald.
[ERNEST looks hard at her. She gives him a wide innocent stare of complete indifference. He nods, turns and goes. GERALD, after distributing a smile or two, follows him. CAROL is busy getting out of her Mr Pennyman disguise.]
CAROL [excitedly]: Kay, we could have done the Prince of Wales in America for this last scene. Why didn’t we think of it? You could be the Prince of Wales, and you could fall in love with Hazel, who could turn out to be Pussyfoot’s daughter.
KAY [laughing]: Mother’d be shocked. And so would some of the others.
CAROL: I’d hate to be a Prince of Wales, wouldn’t you?
HAZEL [with decision]: I’d love it.
CAROL: Old Mrs Ferguson – you know, the one with the queer eye – the rather frightening one – told me there was an old prophecy that when King David came to the throne of Britain everything would be wonderful.
[Sound off of a loud shout, then confused voices and laughter.]
KAY: What’s that?
HAZEL [excitedly]: It’s Robin.
[They all look up with eager interest. HAZEL moves, but before she gets very far, ROBIN dashes in. He is twenty-three, and a rather dashing, good-looking young man in the uniform of an RAF officer. He is in tremendous spirits. He carries a small package.]
ROBIN [loudly]: Hello, kids! Hazel! [Kisses her.] Kay, many happies! [Kisses her.] Carol, my old hearty! [Kisses her.] Gosh! I’ve had a dash to get here in time. Did half the journey on one of our lorries. And I didn’t forget the occasion, Kay. What about that? [Throws her the parcel, which she opens and finds is a silk scarf.] All right, isn’t it?
KAY [gratefully]: It’s lovely, Robin. Lovely, lovely!
ROBIN: That’s the stuff to give ’em. And I’ve finished. Out! Demobbed at last!
HAZEL: Oo – grand! Have you seen mother?
ROBIN: Of course I have, you chump. You ought to have seen her face when I told her I was now a civilian again. Golly! we’ll have some fun now, won’t we?
KAY: Lots and lots.
CAROL: Have you seen Alan?
ROBIN: Just for a second. Still the solemn old bird, isn’t he?
CAROL [very young and solemn]: In my opinion, Alan is a very wonderful person.
ROBIN [rattling on]: I know. You always thought that, didn’t you? Can’t quite see it myself, but I’m very fond of the old crawler. How’s the writing, Kay?
KAY: I’m still trying – and learning.
ROBIN: That’s the stuff. We’ll show ’em. This is where the Conways really begin. How many young men, Hazel?
HAZEL [calmly]: Nobody to speak of.
CAROL: She’d worked her way up to Colonels, hadn’t you, Haze?
KAY [affectionately]: Now that it’s civilians, she’s having to change her technique – and she’s a bit uncertain yet.
ROBIN: All jealousy that, isn’t it, Hazel? [MRS C appears, carrying a tray laden with sandwiches, cake, etc., and some beer.] A-ha, here we are! [Rushes to take the tray from her. MRS C is very happy now.]
MRS C [beaming]: Isn’t this nice! Now we’re all here. I knew somehow you were on your way, Robin, even though you didn’t tell us – you naughty boy.
ROBIN: Couldn’t, Mother, honestly. Only wangled it at the last minute.
MRS C [to KAY]: Finish your charade now, dear.
ROBIN: Charade! Can I be in this? I used to be an ace at charades.
MRS C: No, dear, they’re just finishing. We can have as many charades as we want now you’re home for good. Have something to eat and talk to me while they’re doing the last bit.
KAY [to HAZEL and CAROL]: Come on, you two. We can collect Madge out there. Remember, it’s an American party, and we can’t have anything to drink, and then, after kicking up a row, you ask who’s giving the party, and then I’ll say Pussyfoot.
[She is going off and the others following her as she is saying this. MRS C hastily puts some of the old clothes together, while ROBIN settles down to the tray. MRS C then comes and watches him eat and drink with maternal delight. Both are happy and relaxed, at ease with each other.]
MRS C: Is there anything you want there, Robin?
ROBIN [mouth full]: Yes thanks, Mother. Gosh, you don’t know what it feels like to be out at last!
MRS C: I do, you silly boy. What do you think I feel, to have you back at last – for good?
ROBIN: I must get some clothes.
MRS C: Yes, some really nice ones. Though it’s a pity you can’t keep on wearing that uniform. You look so smart in it. Poor Alan – he was only a corporal or something, y’know, and had the most hideous uniform, nothing seemed to fit him – Alan never looked right in the Army.
ROBIN: He’s got a piffling sort of job at the Town Hall, hasn’t he?
MRS C: Yes. He seems to like it, though. And perhaps he’ll find something better later on.
ROBIN [eagerly]: I’ve got all sorts of plans, y’know, Mother. We’ve all been talking things over in the mess. One of our chaps knows Jimmy White – you know, the Jimmy White – you’ve heard of him – and he thinks he can wangle me an introduction to him. My idea is something in the car and motor-bike line. I understand ’em, and I’ve heard people are buying like mad. And I have my gratuity, you know.
MRS C: Yes, dear, we’ll have to talk about all that. There’s plenty of time now, thank goodness! Don’t you think all the girls are looking well?
ROBIN [eating and drinking away]: Yes, first-rate, especially Hazel.
MRS C: Oh – of course Hazel’s the one everybody notices. You ought to have seen the young men. And Kay – twenty-one – I can hardly believe it – but she’s very grown-up and serious now – I don’t know whether she’ll make anything out of this writing of hers – but she is trying very hard – don’t tease her too much, dear, she doesn’t like it –
ROBIN: I haven’t been teasing her.
MRS C: No, but Hazel does sometimes – and I know what you children are. Madge has been teaching, you know, but she’s trying for a much better school.
ROBIN [indifferently]: Good old Madge. [With far more interest] I think I ought to go up to town for my clothes, Mother. You can’t get anything really decent in Newlingham, and if I’m going to start selling cars I’ve got to look like somebody who knows a good suit when he sees one. Lord! – it’s grand to be back again, and not just on a filthy little leave. [Breaks off, as he looks at her, standing quite close to him.] Here, Mother – steady! – nothing to cry about now.
MRS C [through her tears, smiling]: I know. That’s why. You see, Robin – losing your father, then the war coming – taking you – I’m not used to happiness. I’ve forgotten about it. It’s upsetting! And Robin, now you are back – don’t go rushing off again, please! Don’t leave us – not for years and years. Let’s all be cosy together and happy again, shall we?
[JOAN enters, then stands awkwardly as she sees them together. MRS C turns and sees her. So does ROBIN, and his face lights up. MRS C sees ROBIN’s face, then looks again at JOAN. This should be played for as long as it will stand.]
JOAN [rather nervously]: Oh – Mrs Conway – they’ve finished the charade – and some people are going – and Madge asked me to tell you they’re expecting you to sing something.
MRS C: Why didn’t she come herself?
JOAN [rather faltering]: She and Kay and Carol began handing people sandwiches and things as soon as they finished the charade.
ROBIN [rising]: Hello, Joan!
JOAN [coming forward, thrilled]: Hello, Robin! Is it – nice to be back again?
ROBIN [smiling, rather significantly]: Yes, of course.
MRS C [rather irritably]: Really this room’s a dreadful mess. I knew it would be. Hazel and Carol brought all these things down here. Joan, go and tell them they must take these things upstairs at once. I can’t have this room looking like an old clothes’ place. Perhaps you’d like to help them, dear.
JOAN: Yes – rather.
[Smiles at ROBIN and goes. MRS C turns and looks at him. He smiles at her. She has to smile back.]
ROBIN: You’re looking very artful, Mother.
MRS C: Am I? I’m not feeling very artful. [Carefully just.] Joan’s grown up to be a very nice-looking girl, hasn’t she?
ROBIN [smiling]: Quite.
MRS C [same careful tone]: And I think she’s got a pleasant easy disposition. Not very clever or go-ahead or anything like that. But a thoroughly nice girl.
ROBIN [not eagerly]: Yes, I’ll bet she is.
[HAZEL sails in, to begin packing up the things. This should be done as quickly as possible.]
HAZEL: They’re all panting for a song, Mother. They don’t even mind if it’s German.
MRS C: Thank goodness, I was never so stupid as to stop singing German songs. What have Schubert and Schumann to do with Hindenburg and the Kaiser?
[CAROL comes in, followed by JOAN. HAZEL goes with her armful. ROBIN helps JOAN to collect her lot. MRS C stands rather withdrawn from them.]
CAROL [loudly and cheerfully as she collects her stuff]: Everybody guessed the charade, just because it was Pussyfoot – though they hadn’t guessed any of the syllables. All except Mr James, who thought it was Kinema. [Hard ‘k’.] When they say ‘Kinema’ I can’t believe I’ve ever been to one. It sounds like some other kind of place. Robin, have you seen William S. Hart?
ROBIN: Yes.
CAROL [pausing with her armful, very solemnly]: I love William S. Hart. I wonder what ‘S.’stands for.
ROBIN: Sidney.
CAROL [turning in horror]: Robin, it doesn’t! [Goes out.]
[JOAN now has the remainder of the things.]
MRS C: Come along, Robin, I may want you and Alan to move the piano for me.
ROBIN: Righto.
[They all go out. Nearly all the things have been cleared now. Sounds of the party – vague applause and laughter – off. Then KAY enters quickly and eagerly, and finds a bit of paper and pencil in some convenient drawer or cupboard. She frowns and thinks, then makes some rapid notes, not sitting down but standing against table or bookshelf. A few chords and runs can be heard from the piano. CAROL looks in, to remove the last of the charade things.]
CAROL [with awe, very charming]: Kay, have you suddenly been inspired?
KAY [looking up, very serious]: No, not really. But I’m bursting with all kinds of feelings and thoughts and impressions – you know –
CAROL [coming close to her favourite sister]: Oh – yes – so am I. Millions and millions. I couldn’t possibly begin to write them.
KAY [that eager young author]: No, but in my novel, a girl goes to a party – you see – and there are some things – I’ve been feeling – very subtle things – that I know she’d feel – and I want my novel to be very real this time – so I had to scribble them down –
CAROL: Will you tell me them afterwards?
KAY: Yes.
CAROL: Bedroom?
KAY: Yes, if you’re not too sleepy.
CAROL: I couldn’t be. [She pauses happily, one earnest young creature staring at the other. And now we can just hear MRS CONWAY in the drawing-room beginning to sing Schumann’s ‘Der Nussbaum’. CAROL is now very solemn, a little awed.] Kay, I think you’re wonderful.
KAY [awed herself]: I think life’s wonderful.
CAROL: Both of you are.
[CAROL goes out, . , , , . . , , . , , , , .]