TWIST OF GOLD
First published in 2012 by Oberon Books Ltd
This electronic edition published in 2012 by Oberon Books Ltd
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Twist of Gold stage adaptation copyright © Simon Reade 2012
Twist of Gold copyright © Michael Morpurgo 1993
Simon Reade is hereby identified as author of this adaptation in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. The author has asserted his moral rights.
All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before commencement of rehearsal to United Agents, 12-26 Lexington Street, London, W1F 0LE (
[email protected]). No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained, and no alterations may be made in the title or the text of the play without the author’s prior written consent.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise be circulated without the publisher’s consent in any form of binding or cover or circulated electronically other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on any subsequent purchaser.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Mobipocket ISBN: 978-1-84943-306-8
EPub ISBN: 978-1-84943-322-8
Cover image by Pictureguy
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For Miles, Becky, Izzy & Ben
THE STORY
Ireland. 1847.
Driven out by starvation, plague and the occupying English, Sean (14) and his sister Annie (11) leave their Mother on her deathbed and adventure across the Atlantic to America in pursuit of their father. They take with them their torc, a twist of beaten gold, the golden necklace that has been the lucky talisman in their family for generations. Braving shipwreck, Boston winter, a mean-eyed bounty hunter on the wagon trail and the desolate prairies of the Wild West, they play the fiddle and dance a jig across the New World to the fertile pastures of Grass Valley, California. They are helped and supported on their eventful journey by characterful benefactors – and hindered by rogues whose greed is sparked by a glimpse of their twist of gold. It is Annie and Sean’s resourcefulness, tenacity and courage in the face of adversity that keeps their spirits up and their hopes alive and sustains them on their journey into adulthood.
THE CHARACTERS
Ireland
ANNIE – nearly 11, gregarious, forthright, on the offensive when slighted. If called Sean’s ‘little sister’ retorts ‘I’m not little!’ Blunt, curious, always asking questions; speaks her mind without always thinking through the consequences. Courageous. Irrepressible effervescence, which inspires all around her. Sister of:
SEAN – 14, positive, protective, proud of his sister. A good judge of character, responsible, loyal.
MOTHER – stoic, proud, pragmatic. Driven by love and hope and faith.
WILL – a Sergeant of the English Dragoons, a soldier of thirty years, but in Ireland ‘I have seen and done things that turn my stomach with shame’. A jocular, belly-laughing giant of a man.
The Pelican
CAPTAIN MURRAY – English, embittered. Rules his America-bound emigrants’ ship The Pelican like a tyrant. A man with a twisted soul, corrupted by the money to be made from the ever-hopeful Irish migrating to America. Cruel, greedy, but can turn on the charm.
MR BLUNDELL – The Pelican’s First Officer. Resembles a gargoyle more than a man, but not as fierce as he at first appears; tender-hearted beneath a rough exterior.
DONNELLY – a gangly, incorrigible, fiddle-playing young man from Sligo. Gentle, a joker. Full of confidence and good spirit, immodest yet selfless; seeking his fortune in America.
New England
MARTY – baccy-chewin’ villager from the coast. Wry humour.
BOSTON CHANCER – a smile too broad to be believed.
MISS HENRY – imperious, domineering, formidable. Hardhearted; short-haired. Beneath her bluster lies a heart of gold. Twin sister of:
MISS MARTHA – altogether more shy, soft-hearted and more obviously compassionate. Overwhelmed by her twin sister, Miss Henry. By contrast long-haired.
LIL’ LUKE – a big, generous, optimistic black man, freed from the slavery in Virginia he ran away from years ago. General factotum to the spinster twins.
The Mid-West
BOUNTY HUNTER – trading in black men captured in the free north of America to take to the southern states. A cheat at cards, a mean-eyed man who smiles with his mouth only. He feeds off the unwary and the innocent.
COLONEL – the black sheep brother of Miss Henry and Miss Martha, who, thirty years ago, squandered a fortune, broke their father’s heart, and was never forgiven by his sisters. Tall, elegant, leans on a silver-topped cane. Now tee-total. Owns a paddle-steamer which charts the Missouri river with a casino on board. A commanding presence, a natural born leader.
The Wild West
MATT COLBY – an honest Farmer, heading West on the wagon trail.
FRENCH CHARLIE – surly, whiskey-drinking, seasoned guide on the wagon-trail. Not to be trusted.
Sierra Nevada
SEAMUS FINN – Kerry-born, old man of the Mountain in the Sierra Nevada. Pursuing his dream of striking gold regardless of ridicule. Dotty but wise.
RED INDIAN CHIEF – fierce-looking but genteel; wily and wise.
THE CAST
This play can be performed by an ensemble of as few as six with doubling and cross-casting. Or it can be played by a company of up to thirty.
Sailors, Emigrants, Villagers, Crowds, Bystanders, Farmers, Grizzly Bears and other parts to be played by the ensemble.
SEAN and ANNIE might be cast from younger actors to differentiate them as children in an adult’s world.
MUSIC
It would be neat to discover that the actor playing Sean and the actor playing Donnelly are both accomplished fiddle-players. Original music is welcome, but traditional airs, ballads and jigs can also be interwoven.
DESIGN
The scenes can be played with the minimal of design fuss. Bold lighting, a fabulous soundscape, and we’re in a dwelling because we’re told we are and there’s the crackle of fire. Or we’re on a ship because we’ve gone up a gang-plank; or climbed a ladder for a crow’s-nest, and so on. Maybe everything is created organically from the same object, like a Wild West pioneer wagon? Above all everyone should have as much fun in creating the play as the authors did in writing the novel and now the play. It’s all in the storytelling.
Simon Reade, 2012
Twist of Gold was commissioned by Polka Theatre, where it was first performed on February 16th 2012.
Cast
Jo Castleton
Mother/Miss Martha/French Charlie
Trevor Allan Davies
Mr Blundell/Boston Chancer/Bounty Hunter/Seamus Finn
Charlie Hamblett
Sean
Ian Harris
Will/Donnelly/Marty/Miss Henry/Colonel/Red Indian Chief
Clive Llewellyn
Father/Captain Murray/Lil’ Luke/Matt Colby
Clare McMahon
Annie
Other parts played by members of the company.
Creative Team
Philip Wilson
Director
Max Jones
Designer
&nb
sp; Philip Gladwell
Lighting Designer
Olly Fox
Composer
Max Perryment
Sound Designer
Richard Ryder
Accent & Dialect Coach
Crew
Dan Rainsford
Production Manager
Christopher Randall
Technical Manager
Nick Graham
Stage Manager
Emma McKie
Deputy Stage Manager
Lara Mattison
Assistant Stage Manager
Annie James
Wardrobe Supervisor
Lenny Hill
Wardrobe Assistant
Paula Hopkins
Prop Maker
Michalis Kokkoliadis
Set Builder
Mark Bramfitt
Assistant Set Builder
Lucy Ackland
Scenic Artist
Fani Louisa Parali
Scenic Artist
With thanks to: Michael Morpurgo, Miles Ketley, Gill McNeill, Philip Wilson and Jonathan Lloyd. And to Rose, Amy, Hazel, Otto and Alison.
Contents
PART I
PART II
PART I
Ireland. Autumn 1847.
SEAN (14, pale, thin, barefoot, in rags) and his sister ANNIE (nearly 11, barefoot, also in rags) support their frail MOTHER as they lay fresh, wild flowers on three small mounds of freshly dug, naked earth: the graves of their three dead siblings.
MOTHER: Danny, Mary, little Joe. A few more bites to eat and you’d not now be lying there in the ground. Oh my poor children.
MOTHER collapses, overwhelmed by grief, by hunger. SEAN comforts her.
* * *
The lights cross-fade to:
A brook. Drizzly autumn evening. Flies buzz irritably. SEAN fishes, hopelessly, with a line and baited hook. ANNIE is on lookout. She hears a horse cantering towards them on the opposite bank. An English DRAGOON – resplendent in scarlet cloak, golden plumed helmet and sword – dismounts.
DRAGOON: Whose waters are you poaching, children?
ANNIE and SEAN don’t budge from their fishing.
SEAN: This is an Irish stream and Englishmen aren’t welcome!
The DRAGOON looks at how SEAN is holding his line.
DRAGOON: You’ll not catch any fish like that, and you look like you could do with a bite to eat.
He puts some biscuits into his handkerchief, ties it into a knot, and throws the modest bundle across the brook to the children. ANNIE is about to say ‘thank you’ – but thinks better of it.
WILL: My name is Will.
The Children say nothing. SEAN glares at WILL.
What’s your name, boy? What do they call you at home?
Pause.
The biscuits. Maybe you’ve someone at home who’d be in need of them? Hm?
Pause.
I’m beginning to feel a bit stupid talking to myself.
ANNIE: Our Mother won’t eat your English biscuits. She’d rather die.
SEAN: Hush, Annie.
WILL: I like a child who speaks their mind. Perhaps if she won’t eat my biscuits then she’ll eat this:
And he reaches inside his tunic to fetch out a small fish which he holds up by its tail.
Irish trout. Well, young lady, what do you think of that?
ANNIE: I’m not a young lady, I’m Annie O’Brien and my Mother says you’ve no business here, any of you. She says you’re robbers and thieves.
A pause.
WILL: Is your mother sick?
SEAN: Everyone’s sick.
ANNIE: She has the hunger.
Beat.
Brother Danny’s dead and sister Mary’s dead and little Joe died three weeks back.
WILL: And your father?
SEAN: Father’s away, in ’Merica.
WILL: (Gently.) Tell your Mother I’m sorry about your brothers and sisters. I’d like to do what I can for you. For the three of you.
SEAN: How can we trust you?
WILL: How can I trust you? I don’t even know your name, boy.
SEAN: Sean. I’m called Sean. Sean O’Brien.
WILL: Well, Sean, if you tell anyone about our meeting they’ll lock me up and I’ll never be able to see you again. So that’s how you can trust me.
SEAN: Oh.
ANNIE: I’ll trust you if you promise never to tumble our home and put us out.
WILL: Why would I do that?
ANNIE: You’re an English soldier. We have no money for rent.
WILL: I won’t tumble your home, Annie O’Brien. And as much as I can I’ll see to it that no one else does either. Now, do you know how to cook a fish?
ANNIE: Slowly, so you don’t burn away all the goodness.
WILL: That’s right. (He replaces his helmet.)
ANNIE: Mister Soldier, is it not awful heavy having to wear such a hat as that?
WILL: It’s what’s inside your head that weighs heavy. Not what you wear on it. Do you understand me?
ANNIE: (Boldly.) No.
SEAN: Why are you helping us, Mister?
WILL: Sean, I’m a soldier. I have been a soldier for over thirty years. I’ve fought the world over for my Queen and for my country – that’s my trade, and I do it well. But in Ireland I have seen and done things that turn my stomach with shame. Do you understand?
SEAN: I think so.
ANNIE: Well I don’t.
WILL smiles.
WILL: To survive you must learn to live from the land.
ANNIE: That’s what Mother says. But there’s nothing left on the land to live from. Not now all you soldiers have taken it.
WILL: You may be right, Annie. But there’s people dying in this country because they don’t know where to look for their food, don’t know how to catch it. You’ve all dug potatoes for so long, you’ve forgotten.
SEAN: That’s not true! I know how to fish.
WILL: And how many fish have you caught, Sean?
Pause.
Three? Four?
No response.
Two?
SEAN: Not one.
WILL: And eels?
SEAN: Eels?
WILL: Eels are there in plenty if you can only catch them.
SEAN: How do you catch them?
WILL: When it’s a still, dark night with no moonshine, and you can feel the light drizzle on the back of your neck as you stare into a black pool.
ANNIE: How does that catch an eel?
WILL: Keep your voice low, Annie. And when you laugh, laugh softly, else those eels will laugh too as they shoot off down river. An eel can hear you, you know.
ANNIE: No, I didn’t know. Will: in your country, in England, do the people have enough food to eat?
WILL: The poor are always hungry, no matter where they live. But there are more poor living here and there is less food to go round, and more people stopping you from finding it.
ANNIE: People?
WILL: Soldiers.
ANNIE: English soldiers. Like you.
WILL: Yes, but not like me, Annie.
ANNIE: No, not like you.
SEAN: Before the potatoes died, we had food. Plenty of it. Sure, we went a bit short every year, just before the new potatoes were lifted – summer time – but then there were always the hens and the spring berries to keep us going.
WILL: Yes.
SEAN: Will we die do you think? Will everyone in Ireland die?
Pause.
ANNIE: (To WILL.) What’s the matter?
WILL: Annie, Sean: I have to see your Mother.
SEAN: No.
WILL: Take me to your home.
ANNIE: It’s a trick, Sean. Mother said it would be.
WILL: It’s no trick, Annie.
ANNIE: She won’t speak to you. She hates you.
WILL: Then I’ll not come.
SEAN: We’ll take your biscuits, mister, but not your fish. And we’ll be thanking you.
WILL: Well. Goodbye.
* * *
SEAN and ANNIE make the journey home, accompanied by music. They enter their home: a spartan dwelling, no furniture, no bed; just fresh bracken on the hard earth floor. MOTHER, beneath her blanket, speaks without stirring.
MOTHER: (Attempting to smile.) Well, Sean dear: is it a salmon that you’re bringing us this time?
SEAN: No salmon, Mother, but what would you say to a biscuit? A great, thick, oatmeal biscuit.
SEAN unwraps the tied handkerchief to reveal the biscuits – to his MOTHER’s astonishment. She struggles to raise herself onto her elbows.
MOTHER: Three!
ANNIE: There’ll be one for each of us, Mother. Can I eat it today? Can I eat all mine now?
MOTHER: Every bit, Annie dear. But eat slowly, for ’tis manna from heaven.
SEAN: Not heaven, Ma.
MOTHER: You didn’t steal it, Sean?
SEAN: No!
ANNIE: (Blurting it out.) ’Tis a present from the English Army himself!
MOTHER: Sean?
SEAN: A Sergeant of the Dragoons. He brought his horse to the brook to water. He gave us the biscuits.
MOTHER: It’s a trap! They followed you home. Annie: look out and see if there’s anyone there.
SEAN: There’s no one there, Mother. No one followed us. ’Tis food, Mother. If we don’t eat, then there’ll be none of us left when Father comes home to fetch us.
MOTHER: Have you not yet learned never to trust an English uniform? Do they not tumble homes, burn villages? While there are still fish in the rivers, rabbits in the field, we’ll not be taking their biscuits –
SEAN: But Mother…
MOTHER: You’re a good boy, Sean. Your father will be proud of you. And when he comes home to fetch us I will tell him how you’ve kept us in food when there’s been no food. But I will not touch another of your English biscuits. I should die rather.