The Scene: The bed sitting room. More signs of occupancy this time, with books on the shelves and a photograph of Emily on the study desk. The curtains and window are open; late afternoon sunlight streams into the room. DAVID is standing at the window, motionless and silent, his back turned to the audience. He is dressed in the military uniform of a British Army Second Lieutenant. A khaki kit bag, obviously laden, rests on the bed.
[Note: As the Scene progresses, the light coming into the room becomes progressively weaker, until at the end of the Act the light fades from grey twilight to total darkness.]
[DAVID and JEREMY sit down in the room; sitting is an arduous task for JEREMY, who is disabled and on crutches. They listen silently to the radio broadcast. It is a wireless of the contemporary period, fashioned in wood, with a speaker on the front that resembles a church window. For the moment, even the radio is quiet. Big Ben strikes quarter past the hour. It is unclear whether the sound of its chime emanates from the radio, from outside the window, or both.]
[The Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain’s voice intones solemnly that Berlin has ignored Britain’s ultimatum to commence a military withdrawal from Poland by eleven o’clock, London time. As a result, the broadcast continues, Britain, the Empire and France have all declared war on Germany.]
JEREMY (finally, after a lengthy pause): Well, that’s it then. (He stares down forlornly at his left leg, taps it with his knuckles. It makes a hollow, wooden sound.) Not much use in a scrap these days, am I?
DAVID: I don’t know – I bet you could still hold your own on a Friday night after you’ve had a skin full.
JEREMY (laughs): You’re right there. But no regiment would take me.
DAVID: There will be something you can do, Jeremy. You’ve always been amazing at whatever you’ve done. That’s why you went to Spain and I stayed here.
JEREMY (interrupts): Look what good that did for me!
DAVID: That’s not the point. You still went. You’re worth ten of me, at least.
JEREMY (inquisitively): Is that what you think, or is that Emily talking?
DAVID (flatly): I’ve no idea. She and I aren’t talking at all.
JEREMY: She’ll come around. She’ll have to now. Emily won’t let you go marching off into battle with any ill feeling still between you.
DAVID: I don’t know. She’s so adamant that she doesn’t want me to be any part of this.
JEREMY: Too late for that, Lieutenant, I’m afraid. This has been on the cards for long enough for her to come to terms with it.
DAVID: I bet that’s not what they’re doing in Warsaw right now – coming to terms with it.
JEREMY: Oh, they’ll come to terms all right, once the Nazis have given them a pummelling. They’ll be Adolf’s terms, though. Have you heard? The Poles lost all of their air force on the ground on the first day. They’re trying to retaliate with cavalry charges, for Christ’s sake! Gallant but stupid, I’d say.
[Note: The word ‘stupid’ is repeated several times throughout the Act – and is said with increasing emphasis each time, particularly by EMILY.]
DAVID: We’d do the same, if it was all we had.
JEREMY: Would we? I’m not so sure. Wait until our turn comes before you say that.
[DAVID pours measures of scotch into two glasses and hands one to Jeremy. DAVID raises his glass in a self-deprecating toast.]
DAVID: To Hitler! May he be kind to us and not tear us limb from limb as he has done to Spain and is at this very moment doing to Poland!
JEREMY: Steady on, David. That’s a rather poor choice of words. He’s taken one of my legs already! (Raising his glass) How about, “To King and Country”?
DAVID: And a short end to the war.
BOTH (repeating the toast in unison): Amen.
JEREMY: When are you reporting for duty?
DAVID: 0600 hours tomorrow. I’m catching the late train from Waterloo to Dover tonight.
JEREMY (Raising his glass again): Good luck to you, brother. Rather you than me… (Drains glass) I’m not even sure I’d be up to the train trip these days. Off to France then, do you suppose?
DAVID: No orders posted yet, but more than likely. Poland’s finished, as well as too bloody far away. To get at us, Jerry’s got to go through Belgium and France, just like last time.
JEREMY: Stay out of the trenches, if you can help it.
DAVID: No trenches this time. Have you seen how quickly the Germans are carving up the Poles? Their army will either have surrendered within a week or they’ll be no one left to raise a white flag.
JEREMY (standing with effort, voice heavy with forced good humour): Why don’t you come down to the pub with me? I’ll get you so legless, pardon the pun, that the stationmaster will have to carry you on and off at both ends of the line.
DAVID: Yes… later. I’ll meet you down there, if you’re planning to stay for a while. I just want to hang on for a while, say goodbye and thank you to Mrs. Wilson.
JEREMY: And wait to see if Emily puts in an appearance?
[DAVID does not answer.]
JEREMY: I’ll arrange with your landlady to pick up the rest of your belongings tomorrow in the Morris. Don’t worry about that today. Let’s just get you plastered – you’re not coming back here tonight.
DAVID (resignedly, adopting his brother’s false good humour): Just as well. Mrs. Wilson would never allow me through the door if I’d drunk myself into a state, war or no war.
JEREMY (at the door): I’ll expect you soon, then. I’ll get the drinks in and wrestle the darts from the old timers.
DAVID: If they’re playing, let them have them. They earned the right to that in the last scrap.
JEREMY (with mock contempt): Bollocks to the old buggers! They’ll have plenty of time to monopolise the pub games while you’re away. This is your turn now, your war!
[JEREMY exits. We hear his limping footsteps echo and diminish to nothing as he leaves down the stairs. For the next several minutes, the scene on stage is focused entirely on DAVID as he sips his drink, rises, checks his kit bag and rummages around in a few boxes, replacing several items from box to kit bag and vice versa. He seems to do so with increasing agitation, unable to become satisfied with his efforts to pack. Finally, there is a knock on the bedroom door.]
JEREMY: Come in.
MRS. WILSON (only half-entering the room, shielding another person behind her in the hallway): David, dear, you have a visitor…
[DAVID turns to face the door, full of a mixture of hope and fear that it is EMILY who has come to see him. MRS WILSON moves to one side to admit her, and EMILY enters the room nervously.]