Alan Bennett: Plays, Volume 1

  HARMAN: And shall be again. And people coming round will watch you work and skimp and save and remember the labour their mothers had and all for nothing and will go away contented and assured of the future. And if you do forget, don’t worry; it simply tells another story.

  DAD: What’s in it for you?

  HARMAN: We’re a young team. We do it for love.

  DAD: Love! I’m paralysed.

  MAM: Has it not gone off yet? It will, I’m sure. Try to look on the bright side.

  DAD: I don’t want to go.

  MAM: I do.

  HARMAN: Perfect. The woman clings to the past, the man holds out for the future. You were right, Kim. They are ideal.

  DAD: I want our Linda.

  MAM: It doesn’t sound to me in Linda’s line. Ask her.

  DAD: How can I ask her? She’s in Saudi Arabia.

  MAM: She’s not in Saudi Arabia. She’s upstairs.

  MS CRAIG: Linda can come if she wants.

  DAD: I’m not going anywhere without Linda. Me and Linda are inseparable.

  HARMAN: I must go. Dear lady. Put one or two things together, but only the barest essentials. Packing is unnecessary as these trained staff will shortly transfer your home and its contents to its new setting. Nothing will change.

  MAM: That’s ideal.

  HARMAN: The only difference, unavoidable in the circumstances, is that your windows will have a distant prospect of green fields. That apart, no expense has been spared to convince you that you are still living in the depths of the slums.

  MAM: It sounds a work of art. I’m so excited. I’ve always felt the past was over and that I’d somehow missed it. Now it’s starting all over again.

  (HARMAN kisses MAM on both cheeks.)

  That’s the classy way of kissing, isn’t it? Do you kiss like that, Kim? Oh, love, I’m so proud! (She goes upstairs.)

  DAD: I’m not coming. I refuse to move.

  HARMAN: Warm. Familiar. A genuine community where misfortune brings not isolation but a spate of visitors. Neighbours (with broth, possibly). A family doctor, your name at his fingertips, a vicar of stout faith to whom consolation is second nature. A place, Dad. Roots. Home. It’s such a powerful image I’m loath to lose him.

  MS CRAIG: He embarrasses me.

  HARMAN: Of course.

  DAD: Young man. Young man, I’ve something to tell you, something that will change your ideas. That’s not a woman. I’m ashamed to say that’s my son. He’s a lad dressed up. Or something.

  HARMAN: (Whispering) I know. (He goes back to MS CRAIG and the others.) We must have him.

  DAD: I shall write personally to the Town Hall.

  HARMAN: Bless you. Kim’s a big feather in their cap. We’re very proud of Kim, aren’t we?

  DAD: I feel sick.

  (HARMAN kisses MS CRAIG.)

  HARMAN: Do your best. (To DAD.) Goodbye. And don’t change.

  (HARMAN goes. GREGORY, ADRIAN, ROWLAND and CHARLES remain.)

  MS CRAIG looks at the magazine that has the pictures of LINDA in it.)

  DAD: That’s mine. Put it away. Don’t let her see it.

  (MS CRAIG goes on looking at it.)

  You’d never get into a magazine like that. Kim. Magazines like that … they go into thousands of homes. They’re distributed in every part of the English-speaking world. She’s famous is our Linda. She’s a known face. She’ll get correspondence from all over. Be asked to open precincts, supermarkets, betting-shops. You can’t despise fame.

  (MS CRAIG puts the magazine away, LINDA comes in.)

  That’s your brother, Linda.

  LINDA: I had a feeling it might be. Hi. Long time no see.

  DAD: Doesn’t he disgust you?

  LINDA: Should he?

  DAD: He disgusts me.

  LINDA: I find him not unattractive.

  DAD: It’s unnatural.

  LINDA: Dad. This is the twentieth century. Mam was telling me about the museum. I won’t come if it’s all the same to you. Quite frankly I don’t feel part of this environment any more. (LINDA and MS CRAIG are smiling at one another.)

  We’ve both of us had to break out. In our different ways.

  DAD: Don’t bracket yourself with him, Linda. You’re a personal secretary. He’s bent.

  LINDA: I knew that years ago. I knew it as soon as I saw the photographs in his room.

  DAD: Male nudes?

  LINDA: Judy Garland.

  DAD: Don’t leave me, Linda. I don’t fancy being in a glass case. I want my declining years to be spent with you.

  LINDA: Be practical. You can’t be with me.

  DAD: Why?

  LINDA: I work late; I often bring work home.

  DAD: I find the sound of typing soothing.

  LINDA: Typing! (She laughs.) Sid was telling me upstairs he has a brother-in-law with a string of launderettes all over the Channel Islands. He thinks I may be qualified for an executive post.

  DAD: Could there be a position for me?

  LINDA: Dad, you’re paralysed from the neck downwards.

  DAD: It sounds a large organization, there might just be a niche.

  LINDA: Oh Dad.

  DAD: I blame you. She’d have stayed if it hadn’t been for von. What did you want to come back for?

  MS CRAIG: I wanted to refresh my memory. It’s my job.

  DAD: Your job to stir things up. Your job to provoke. Your job to sit there, casting an educated eye. We were a more or less united family on the threshold of a nice modern flat. Now Linda’s leaving and your Mam and me are stuck in a museum the rest of our lives. Stay the same? It’s a revolution.

  MS CRAIG: Some degree of interference in the social processes is inevitable. The trained observer makes allowances for that.

  (MS CRAIG gives LINDA the magazine.)

  DAD: No. Don’t look, Linda. Take no notice. You, you’re a passive observer. You’re not supposed to take a hand.

  MS CRAIG: I’m your son, Dad.

  DAD: You want me killed.

  LINDA: (To MS CRAIG) Is this yours?

  MS CRAIG: No. It’s our Dad’s.

  LINDA: But you thought I was a personal secretary.

  DAD: Not altogether.

  LINDA: You thought I was a typist.

  DAD: I always had an inkling.

  LINDA: You never let on?

  DAD: Out of love, Linda. Out of consideration. Out of tact.

  LINDA: Your only daughter drifts into prostitution and you don’t lift a finger.

  DAD: It’s not prostitution, Linda. It’s art. Fame. Those magazines go all over. People will know you who’ve never seen you. In Denmark or West Germany! I just wanted you to get on.

  LINDA: You disgust me.

  DAD: We were always such pals.

  LINDA: He interfered with me, that’s what he means.

  (She shows MS CRAIG the magazine.)

  Nice wallpaper, don’t you think. To look at him you’d never dream he’d got a degree in philosophy would you. Some daughters would have reported you. You could be had up. Sent to prison.

  DAD: Don’t say such things. You’re hurting me.

  LINDA: They gave me that candlestick. It’s upstairs.

  DAD: I’ve still got feelings.

  LINDA: I was supposed to be the apple of your eye. That’s one of them continental quilts. She’s from Birmingham. You can tell as soon as she opens her mouth.

  DAD: I love you, Linda.

  LINDA: Too late. I’m not a personal secretary. I’m a slag.

  DAD: We could still be together. I could be standing by.

  LINDA: Do you mean watching?

  DAD: Some people like being watched. Being watched improves it for some people. Alters it. Makes it different.

  LINDA: You can hardly see.

  DAD: They won’t know that. You’ve got to adapt to changing circumstances. I’ve been slow to adapt. Looking back I can see that’s been my problem all the way through. Come on, Linda. We could make an enterprising duo and we’d be together.
r />   LINDA: Dad!

  DAD: I’ve still a bit of a future left. If you leave me I shall be on my own.

  LINDA: You won’t. You’ll be in the park with Mam. There’ll be people traipsing round every day, looking at you. They’ll be watching you all the time. You won’t be lonely. You’ll never have a moment to yourself. And there’ll always be Kim to pop in and keep an eye on you. I’m telling you, you’ll be in clover. Bye-bye, chick.

  (LINDA kisses DAD on the top of his head. MAM comes in looking very smart.)

  MAM: Are you off, love? Where is it this time? Winnipeg? Santa Fe?

  LINDA: Actually I’m just popping across to Jersey.

  DAD: Jersey! Show her. Show your Mam that magazine. Go on. See whether that’s Jersey. Look. That’s not Jersey. It’s filth.

  (MAM looks at the magazine.)

  MAM: Well, times change. You’ve got to keep up with the times.

  DAD: It’s our Linda.

  MAM: Top secretaries, they do get their pictures in magazines.

  DAD: She’s no clothes on.

  MAM: They use nudes to sell office furniture now. It’s the modern world. Bye-bye, love. Spare us a thought when you’re coming through the duty free. Say goodbye to Kim.

  DAD: Don’t let him touch you, Linda. He may be successful, but he’s still a nancy.

  LINDA: He obviously fancies me. How can he be a nancy?

  DAD: He’s wearing a frock so it’s still wrong.

  MAM: It’s clear you could have had a lovely brother-and-sister relationship. What a pity you’re going now we’re all together.

  LINDA: (Shouts upstairs) Sid.

  DAD: Kiss me, Linda. Just give me a kiss.

  MAM: Now Dad, don’t spoil it.

  (SID appears.)

  LINDA: I hope these launderettes aren’t a figment of your imagination.

  SID: Thank you for letting me see your lovely home.

  MAM: It’s been a pleasure. Off you go.

  (SID and LINDA depart.)

  DAD: Linda!

  (MAM stands, a bit lost.)

  MAM: Now, I’m all dressed up and I know we’re going somewhere but I’ve forgotten where it is. Are we going to London, Kim?

  DAD: She’s getting worse. You don’t know what you’re taking on. She’ll drive you mad. We’re going into cold storage, you dozy cow. We’re headed for a glass case.

  MAM: We’re not going into a home?

  MS CRAIG: No, Mam. It’s not a home.

  DAD: It’s worse than a home.

  MAM: It can’t be. There’s nowhere worse than a home. My mother went into a home. I’ve never forgiven myself.

  DAD: Now it’s our turn.

  MS CRAIG: Listen, it’s your life as it used to be, down to the last detail. But it’s not a home. It’s this home, for ever and ever. I promise.

  (At this point GREGORY, ADRIAN, ROWLAND and CHARLES begin to dismantle the house. Large sections of the room are removed, walls, furniture, the lot.)

  MAM: If Kim says it isn’t a home, Dad, I think we should believe her. So let’s get you dressed and ready. She’s been educated and (MAM watches as a wall is silently and smoothly removed.) they seem to know exactly what they’re doing.

  DAD: He tried to kill me.

  MAM: When? With the car? She probably doesn’t even drive. Oh, Dad.

  DAD: What’s matter?

  MAM: You’re all wet. Why didn’t you say you wanted to go?

  DAD: I didn’t know. I’ve told you, I can’t feel anything. MAM: I’ve just put my best frock on.

  DAD: It’s not my fault.

  MAM: Where’s your clean pants?

  (MAM manages to rescue a pair from a piece of furniture which is on one of the sections being removed. She does this as if it is the most natural thing in the world.) This puts a different complexion on things. If he’s going to be like this, Kim, he’ll want tip-top nursing. I’m not sure I’m up to that.

  DAD: You are, Mam, you are.

  MAM: In the absence of any labour-saving devices I shall have quite enough to do without you wetting all up and down.

  MS CRAIG: We’re basically a museum. We haven’t the facilities to cope with incontinence.

  MAM: Whereas a hospital would have all that at their fingertips. What do you think?

  MS CRAIG: You must decide. It must be your decision.

  MAM: You are a comfort. I’ve never had such support from your father.

  MS CRAIG: Maybe when we’ve got you settled in we could look round for somebody else. A nice lodger, perhaps. That’s a traditional situation, ideal for a model community.

  MAM: He’d have to be clean. A widower perhaps. Someone retired. Gents’ outfitters have always seemed to me a nice class of person.

  DAD: What are you whispering about? I want to go with you. I want to be preserved too.

  MAM: Say if he didn’t go, we could advertise for some sort of attendant. A young person wanting to pull their weight in society might just jump at a genuine invalid.

  MS CRAIG: That’s true.

  MAM: Opportunities calling for devoted self-sacrifice don’t turn up every day of the week.

  MS CRAIG: Quite. Any really first-rate chance of improving the soul gets snapped up by the social services department.

  (MAM has been stood with a bowl and towel and now just manages to park them on the next piece of the room that is on its way out.)

  MAM: Another thing, Dad, is now that Kim’s come back, Terry as was, I can see how little you and me have got in common. Even memories. Husband and wife you’d think we’d have the same memories, but we don’t. My memory’s bad, I know that. I take after my mother, but the memories I do have I share with Kim. And she’s interested. You’re not. You’ve never been bothered about the past at all. You couldn’t wait to get to the future.

  DAD: I only want to get into the flat. All this’ll be different when we get into the flat.

  MAM: No, love. You’ll be better off in the new wing at the Infirmary. It’s the last word in architecture as well as treatment. It was opened by the Duchess of Kent.

  DAD: I won’t wet myself again, I promise.

  MAM: It doesn’t matter if you do, love. It’ll all be catered for by the nurses, it’s part of their training. We’ll be able to bob in and see you any time: they’re very liberal about visiting hours now. It’s this new dispensation: you can pop in any time provided you don’t actually see the patients being treated. (She goes out, calling,) Don’t take away the scullery till I’ve washed my hands.

  (The scullery is removed. DAD and MS CRAIG are now left on a completely open stage.)

  DAD: Don’t leave me, Terry. You’ve been educated, you can’t abandon me. I love you. I know I loved Linda more but you can’t always love your children fifty-fifty.

  MS CRAIG: Don’t worry about it, Dad.

  DAD: Take me with you. I’ll even use your name. I’d call you … Kim.

  MS CRAIG: You wouldn’t enjoy it.

  DAD: I would. I’d enjoy anywhere. I enjoy life. I just need the right circumstances. Given the proper environment I’d be a different person.

  MS CRAIG: No.

  DAD: Then kill me. Don’t leave me. Kill me.

  MS CRAIG: I don’t want to kill you.

  DAD: You always wanted to kill me. So go on. Get it over with.

  (In the scullery MAM starts singing ‘We’ll Gather Lilacs’

  (Novello, Perchance to Dream).)

  MS CRAIG: No.

  DAD: What are you doing?

  MS CRAIG: I’m going to kiss you.

  DAD: I’d rather you killed me than kissed me. I don’t want kissing. Men don’t kiss.

  MS CRAIG: I’m not a man.

  DAD: Get away.

  MS CRAIG: Go on, Dad. Just a hug.

  (He takes DAD and holds DAD’s face against his chest as DAD struggles briefly, then stops.

  MAM comes back.)

  MAM: Where is it we’re bound for? Are we off to London?

  MS CRAIG: No. The park. Your old lif
e. Remember.

  MAM: I don’t, love, but you can explain as we go. (Pause) You know you remind me of somebody and I’ve forgotten who it is.

  MS CRAIG: Terry, Mam.

  MAM: It is Terry. I am sorry. I shan’t forget like this love, once I get settled. There’s courses you can take to improve your memory, you see them advertised. I’m going to send up. Your Dad’s asleep. Never mind. I knew he wouldn’t be interested. Anything that bit unusual you could never get him interested, bless him. I could have had a promising singing career but for him, and he’d never have let you stop on at school. That was all me. I was the one. You get it all from me.

  (GREGORY, having worn a brown coat for the removals, now enters in a white one with a wheelchair.)

  What a spanking wheelchair. Light as a feather. Bye-bye, Wilf. (Kisses DAD.) Oh, I’ve lipsticked you. (She takes out a hanky and wipes it off.) We’ve never really got on. You could tell by our names. Connie and Wilf … it doesn’t sound right somehow. Not to me anyway. Peggy and Frank, Madge and Perce, Duggie and Maureen … they all sound like couples. But Connie and Wilf—that never sounded like anybody to me.

  (DAD is wheeled off by GREGORY.)

  He’ll be better off in hospital. Waited on hand and foot.

  MS CRAIG: Naturally.

  MAM: They’re very good that way now. It’s wonderful what they do for you. We never had services like that when we were young.

  (ADRIAN takes her arm to the music of ‘Did You Not Hear My Lady’ (Handel) sung by MAM on tape.)

  Oh, are you my escort? This takes me back to when I was first married. I don’t know where we’re going but I’m looking forward to it.

  I forget everything but never songs. What does that mean?

  MAM continues singing as she is escorted away, leaving MS CRAIR alone.)

  MS CRAIG: That’s a load off my mind, seeing them both settled … my father didn’t die: he’d just swooned from distaste at that physical contact with his ex-son. I shan’t stay around long. I’ve got my sights set on New York. You can be yourself there and nobody turns a hair. Meanwhile I seem to be coming round to my Dad. When I go to see him they wheel him out on to the balcony and we talk. We talk a lot now.

  (DAD and MAM appear on either nde of the stage, DAD in a wheelchair. All three characters remain isolated.)

  DAD: They showed this view to Princess Alexandra when she came round and she said ‘This view is as good as any medicine.’ You can see the whole of Leeds. I wish I’d branched out a bit now, Terry. I should have been more like you. Do you still wear that stuff?