(FRANKLIN does not close his eyes during the prayer.)
O God, look down upon our bodies which are made in Thine own image. Let us delight in our boy bodies that they may grow day by day into man bodies that our boy thoughts may become man thoughts and on that glorious day when manhood dawns upon us it may dawn upon us as on the clean dewy grass with birds singing in our hearts and innocence looking from our eyes ….
CARTWRIGHT: Amen.
HEADMASTER: I haven’t finished. I haven’t finished. As I was praying … so that day by day as our bodies grow more beautiful so too our soul life may grow more beautiful as the soul is the mirror of the body and the body the mirror of the soul.
ALL: Amen.
HEADMASTER: This school, this Albion House, this little huddle of buildings in a fold of the downs, home of a long line of English gentlemen, symbol of all that is most enduring in our hopes and traditions. Thirty years ago today, Tupper, the Germans marched into Poland and you’re picking your nose. See me afterwards. We aren’t a rich school, we aren’t a powerful school, not any more. We don’t set much store by cleverness at Albion House so we don’t run away with all the prizes. We used to do, of course, in the old days and we must not forget those old days, but what we must remember is that we bequeathed our traditions to other schools, and if now they lead where we follow it is because of that. My successor is well-known to you all, in the person of Mr Franklin ….
(WIGGLESWORTH cheers feebly.)
When the Governors want your approval of their appointments, Wigglesworth, I’m sure they will ask for it. Mr Franklin has long been my senior housemaster. Now he is promoted to pride of place. Doubtless the future will see many changes. Well, perhaps that is what the future is for. We cannot stand still, even at the best of times. And now, as has always been the custom on this the last day of term, staff and boys have come together to put on the Play. Perhaps here I might say a word about Mr Fairbrother, whose jealously guarded province the play has always been. I recall with particular pleasure that first trail-blazing production of Dear Octopus, and last year’s brave stab at Samson Agonistes. We shall miss him and his Delilah of that production, Miss Glenys Budd, who has contrived to delight us on innumerable occasions. Now of course she is Mrs Fairbrother. Long may they flourish amid the fleshpots of Torquay. Ave atque vale.
O God, bless all those who leave and take their ways into the high places of the earth that the end of leaving may be the beginning of loving, as the beginning of loving is the end of life, so that at the last seekers may become finders and finders keepers for Thy Name’s Sake. Amen.
Mr Franklin has put together this term’s production… a short fling before he is crippled with the burden of administration. He has recruited a veritable galaxy of talent. Connoisseurs of the drama, could they but spare the time from rummaging in the contents of their neighbours’ ears, Jarvis, may be interested to note that I myself am to play some part in this year’s proceedings. On the distaff side no expense has been spared in procuring the services of Matron (cheers), Miss Nisbitt (groans), and of course Mr Tempest (a guffaw). Now if I could just see those boys I had occasion to admonish we will sing the school song together and the play will begin shortly. Skinner, Tupper.
ALL: Forty years on, when afar and asunder
Parted are those who are singing today
When you look back and forgetfully wonder
What you were like in your work and your play.
Then it may be that there will often come o’er you
Glimpses of notes, like the catch of a song;
Visions of boyhood shall float then before you,
Echoes of dreamland shall bear them along.
Chorus:
Follow up, follow up,
Follow up, follow up, follow up
Till the field rings again and again
With the tramp of the twenty-two men
Follow up, follow up.
Forty years on, growing older and older
Shorter in wind as in memory long
Feeble of foot and rheumatic of shoulder
What will it help you that once you were strong?
God give us bases to guard or beleaguer,
Games to play out whether earnest or fun;
Fights for the fearless and goals for the eager,
Twenty and thirty and forty years on!
Follow up, follow up etc.
(Chorus as above.)
(The boys now set the stage for the school play. Everyone should have something definite to do, with the exception of the HEADMASTER. FRANKLIN is at the centre of the activity, organizing, interfering, setting matters to rights. The main section to be set up is the chairs, etc., at stage left to represent the basement of Claridge’s. This should not be a literal representation, nor a gloomy air-raid shelter. It is only specifically referred to as Claridge’s basement twice during the play and should not be tied down too definitely to that, but simply be the setting for HUGH, MOGGIE and NURSIE during the years 1939–45. They obviously would not have been in Claridge’s basement every minute of the war. The props should be simple, stylish and capable of being made by the boys themselves.
The boys who play instruments tune them up during this section.)
FRANKLIN: I want everyone not connected with the play off the stage right away.
HEADMASTER: I thought it best to say much as I’ve always said at the end of term. Like it or not, Franklin, boys are conservative creatures. The tug of ritual, the hold of habit. They like it.
FRANKLIN: They love it. (To a boy carrying something.) You’re going the right way about getting a rupture. Get under it, you silly child, get under it.
Where’s Miss Nisbitt? Has anybody seen Miss Nisbitt?
(The HEADMASTER is wandering about, getting in everybody’s way and looking a bit lost.)
I want everyone not in the opening scene off the stage now. Headmaster, you’re not in the opening scene, are you?
HEADMASTER: No. (But makes not attempt to go.)
TEMPEST: Skinner, Tupper. I don’t want you two sitting together. No, Tupper. You stay there. That’s the whole object of the exercise. And you, young man, you want to be round here.
(TEMPEST takes CHARTERIS, who is to act as prompter, by the scruff of his neck, and puts him below stairs stage right, where he remains for the duration of the play.)
MATRON: (To FRANKLIN) Oh Bill, I won’t be a tick. I’ve got to minister to one of my small charges who’s been sick. It’s the excitement coming on top of that mince. I’ll just assess the damage and be back in a jiff. All hands to the pumps!
TEMPEST: Oh, Best of Ladies, Matron mine! How did you like our excellent Headmaster’s farewell speech? Did it wring your withers?
MARON: No. And I don’t think you ought to either.
TEMPEST: Ο vain futile frivolous boy. Smirking. I won’t have it. I won’t have it. I won’t have it. Go find the headmaster and ask him to beat you within an inch of your life. And say please. I can’t find the music. I put it down somewhere and can’t think where.
FRANKLIN: Charles, have you seen Miss Nisbitt.
TEMPEST: The last time I saw her she was en route for the lavatory.
FRANKLIN: What the hell is she doing there? I want her on stage. Miss Nisbitt.
(MISS NISBITT rushes on to the stage still adjusting her dress.)
MISS NISBITT: I’m so sorry. I just had to go to the Bursary.
FRANKLIN: Don’t move an inch from this spot till the start. And look after these. They’re the choir’s music. And don’t move. Do you understand?
MISS NISBITT: Yes, Mr Franklin.
HEADMASTER: Am I needed yet? Does anybody want me?
FRANKLIN: Oh, Wigglesworth. Maximum of fuss, minimum of performance. Take hold of the damned thing. You frame like a girl.
(A boy should be testing microphones saying ‘Testing, testing, testing. One, two, three, four, one, two, three four.’ The lights flicker on and off.)
Who’s mucking about w
ith the flaming lights? You touch that switch again, Crabtree, and I’ll flay the bloody hide off you. What will I do?
CRABTREE: (On the microphone) Flay the bloody hide off me, sir.
FRANKLIN: Right.
HEADMASTTER: And don’t swear, boy. It shows a lack of vocabulary.
(MISS NISBITT is taking advantage of the confusion to steal off.)
FRANKLIN: Miss Nisbitt, I thought I told you to stay here.
MISS NISBITT: I was just wondering whether I ought to put on a cardigan. Do you think I’ll be warm enough. July can be very treacherous. And it’s better to be safe than sorry. I might get something I can’t get rid of. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask. After all, I’ve just nicely got over a cold and I washed my hair last night. I should feel much happier …. (Exits.)
TEMPEST: … I wish I could put my hands on the choir’s parts. (FRANKLIN hands the music to him and TEMPEST exits.)
FRANKLIN: Wigglesworth. If I might just have a word in your fair, albeit somewhat grubby ear. That is a nut. And this is a bolt. It is a long established custom that the one goes inside the other. Thus. Had your forefathers, Wigglesworth, been as stupid as you are, the human race would never have succeeded in procreating itself.
HEADMASTER: Surely somebody wants me?
MATRON: I do, Headmaster. I wonder if I might sit you down and paint your face.
HEADMASTER: I don’t see why not, provided you exercise restraint.
(She takes him to one side, throws a Union Jack over him from the prop basket and begins to make him up.)
MATRON: Just a spot of five and nine, I think. And we’ll try and take out your eyes a little.
HEADMASTER: I’m still not altogether happy about this, you know, Matron. I wish I’d never agreed to do it.
MATRON: You can’t abandon ship at this late date, Headmaster. We’re relying on you. You’re absolutely essential, isn’t he, Mr Franklin? Purse your lips ever so slightly, that’s it.
FRANKLIN: Go easy on the Helena Rubinstein, Matron. He only wants the bare essentials.
HEADMASTER: The bits I have to do aren’t so bad, but there are some bits I haven’t even been allowed to see. I suppose that means it’s either sex or God. It’ll be that business of the School Magazine all over again. The trouble with you, Franklin, is that you have this unfortunate tendency to put ideas into the boys’ heads.
FRANKLIN: I thought that was what education meant.
HEADMASTER: I never liked the word ‘education’. I prefer the word ‘schooling’. Still, what does it matter.
MATRON: That’s the spirit.
HEADMASTER: Besides, it’s never been my policy to interfere with my housemasters. I’ve done my best. I’ve maintained the forms. I’ve not always believed in them, but I’ve maintained them. When I became Headmaster – (There is a boy behind his chair making faces. The HEADMASTER peers in MATRON’S mirror.) -you can’t afford to do that with a face like yours, Leadbetter.
(He is covered in a flurry of powder.)
MATRON: You’ll do. I’ll just dust you off and your own mother wouldn’t know you.
(The stage should now be clear ready for the play to begin. The HEADMASTER again addresses the audience.)
HEADMASTER: Are we ready? I am told that what we are to see is neither comedy nor tragedy, but a mixture of both. And that’s a jolly good opportunity for you, parents included, to keep your wits about you so as to tell the one from the other. In those parts that are funny, and in those parts only, I shall expect you to laugh. And in other parts, er, the reverse. And intelligently. Remembering always that as the crackling of thorns under a pot, Cartwright, so is the laughter of a fool. For what we are about to see, may the Lord make us truly thankful.
(He gives a final look about him and goes off. The stage is now set for the School Play. There is a pause. From somewhere off stage there is a whisper.)
MATRON: Where’s Miss Nisbitt?
FRANKLIN: Oh hell.
(MISS NISBITT runs on to the empty stage, looks round in horror and then runs off as a boy ascends to the lectern and the School Play begins. The lights are down. A light on the lectern.)
LECTERN: ‘All our past proclaims the future, Shakespeare’s voice and Nelson’s hand, Milton’s faith and Wordsworth’s trust In this our chosen and our chainless land.’ The Albion House Dramatic Society presents Speak for England, Arthur, a memoir of the life and times of two nice people in a world we have lost. (The boys around the gallery, each carry two clip-boards. On cue they reverse the boards which spell out the title of the play Speak for England, Arthur)
We begin a quarter of a century ago, in the basement of Claridge’s Hotel, London.
HUGH, a member of parliament; MOGGIE, his wife, NURSIE, her Nanny. CHRISTOPHER, their son.
(Eleven o’clock strikes on Big Ben as HUGH (FRANKLIN), MOGGIE (MATRON), NURSIE (MISS NISBITT) and CHRISTOPHER (TEMPEST) enter, coming downstairs from the gallery stage left. HUGH is a Tory MP, upper-class, mild, scholarly and disillusioned. MOGGIE, his wife, is aristocratic, eccentric, sloppily dressed, but with great presence. NURSIE is as all Nannies are, or were, slightly older than HUGH and MOGGIE, but seeming much older and still apt to treat them as they were when children. Sharp, vinegary, unemotional. CHRISTOPHER is a young man in his early twenties.)
HUGH: Come on, Nursie.
NURISE: But I’ve left my gas-mask.
HUGH: Never mind.
MOGGIE: If we’ve missed it Nursie, I shall never forgive you. (FRANKLIN, as HUGH, is still wearing his gown.)
NURSIE: (As MISS NISBITT) You’ve still got your gown on. (FRANKLIN tears it off and throws it offstage.)
MOGGIE: Wars break out once, or at the most twice in a lifetime and you have to lose your gas-mask. It must be past eleven now.
HUGH: It’s all right. The ultimatum’s for eleven. The broadcast is after that.
(He fiddles with NURSIE’s portable wireless.)
NURSIE: Now you leave it alone. I understand it. See! You keep your fingers to yourself, young man. It’s not a machine you know, that you can do just what you like with.
(CHAMBERLAIN’s voice is heard, broadcasting the Declaration of War on September 3rd, 1939.)
RADIO: I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that, unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany. You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed.
HUGH: Grovel, grovel, grovel! He’s got so used to grovelling to Hitler he now feels he has to grovel to us.
MOGGIE: Do you mind! The Prime Minister’s trying to speak.
NURSIE: And I’m trying to listen.
RADIO: Now may God bless you all. May he defend the right. It is the evil things we shall be fighting against, brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution… and against them I am certain that right will prevail.
CHRISTOPHER: I wish I was.
(An air raid siren goes, faintly.)
NURSIE: What’re you crying for, young lady. What’s done is done. I knew there’d be tears. That Hitler has no business interfering with other people even if they are foreign.
HUGH: Well, thank God for that! What a relief!
NURSIE: There! Big blow! That’s better.
HUGH: We’re at war. At long last. We’re at war.
CHRISTOPHER: You don’t have to go though.
MOGGIE: Things won’t ever be the same, you know.
CHRISTOPHER: They said that last time.
MOGGIE: And things never were the same last time. So it will be even less the same this time. It won’t be the same world. Goodbye darling. Except that they say it will be over by Christmas.
HUGH: They said that last time
too. I heard in the lobbies he wanted to wriggle out of it even at this stage. ‘What have we got to do with Poland?’ (Shakes hands with CHRISTOPHER) ‘What have we got to do with Poland?’
MOGGIE: Poor old thing. I’ve always had a soft spot for him.
NURSIE: It’s his mother I feel sorry for. (CHRISTOPHER exits left.)
HUGH: Collapse of all my hopes, my public life, he made it sound as if he’d just lost a by-election not determined the fate of Europe. He doesn’t even know what day it is. He might have made something of that.
MOGGIE: Yes, it’s Sunday.
NURSIE: Fancy declaring war on a Sunday. They’ve no respect.
HUGH: Not Sunday. It’s September 3rd. Cromwell’s great victory over the Scots. Now let God arise and let his enemies be scattered. Only Chamberlain doesn’t know that.
MOGGIE: I’m not in the least surprised. I didn’t know it either.
HUGH: It’s September, you see. Hitler waited until the harvest’s in.
(CHRISTOPHER re-enters left carrying a greatcoat and he changes into uniform as they talk.)
NURSIE: Cheats never beat.
HUGH: At least this time we know what we’re fighting for.
MOGGIE: We knew what we were fighting for last time.
HUGH: What?
NURSIE: What’s dead long ago and Pardon took his place.
CHRISTOPHER: This time, last time, what difference does it make.
MOGGIE: We were fighting for … honour and … oh lots of things I can’t remember now, but I remember that I knew quite clearly then.
HUGH: They can’t have been very important if you can’t remember them now.
MOGGIE: One always forgets the most important things. It’s the things one can’t remember that stay with you.
NURSIE: I lost goodness knows how many babies in the last war, two peers, a viscount and umpteen commoners. Scarcely a nanny among my acquaintance but didn’t lose at least a couple.
HUGH: I feel more lighthearted than I’ve done for years.
CHRISTOPHER: (Shouldering kit-bag) I don’t. (Exits.)
MOGGIE: It’s the end of our world, Nursie. They are rolling up the maps all over Europe. We shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.