Always ready to encourage new talent, we at
‘The Dumpdee Major,’ bring you the monthly play -
Ah yes Xmas, what a time indeed. Presents you do not want, from people you do not like. Xmas cards from ‘friends,’ sending their love, even though they cant be arsed during the preceding 365 days to pick up a phone and find out if you are in fact dead or not.
It’s Xmas? So thank goodness for Jameson’s…!
For your Winter delectation we would like to present the full transcript of the play ‘Blue-Birds Or A Matter Of Grammar,’ which was enacted in the West-Wing, third floor ‘Tommy Sheridan Memorial Theatre,’ at the Towers, on New Years Evening 2008.
And so the heavy blue velvet curtains open on the second floor theatre to reveal a stage set of early 1940’s proportions. The chintz. The soft-furnishings. The cold champagne and canapés. The unrelenting death, destruction, degradation!
Ah, happy, halcyon days indeed…
……
BLUE-BIRDS…OR A MATTER OF GRAMMER…
A PLAY IN TWO ACTS…WITH MINIMUL STAGE DIRECTION…
ACT ONE…
Late spring, 1942. The balcony, of a flat in
A door opens behind her…
Leanorra - “Oh Wodger you came..?”
Rodger - “Well no. Not right now old thing. I was hoping to save that for later…?”
Awkward Silence…
Leanorra - “He’s gone you know!”
Rodger - “Who darling! Who…?”
Leanorra - “That man who was here yesterday!”
Rodger - “Oh, you mean your husband?
Leanorra - “Yes, yes, him. Jimmie I think his name was. One forgets things so easily. It’s the war, the damn war. It makes things so awkward. Its the war, the damn war…”
Awkward Silence…
Rodger - “Well. It’s not so bad old thing.”
Leanorra - “What about the rationing.”
Rodger - “Well, yes there is that…”
Leanora - “And the bombs!”
Rodger - “Um, yes!”
Leanora - “And you know I have to confess that I’m down to my last square of that wonderful velvety soft toilet tissue..!”
Awkward Silence…
Rodger - “Oh alright you’ve got me there. We are up the creek without the jolly old paddle, when that happens.”
Awkward Silence…
Leanora - “But it’s like he never left Wodger”
Rodger - “Who?”
Leanora - “What’s his name! Jimmie I think it was…?”
Rodger - “Oh, were back on him are we?”
Leanora - “Even now I can here the thrum of his Lancaster as it permeates the night sky. Off to reign death and destruction down on the hapless Hun…”
Rodger - “No old gal. You’ll find that’s the battery of your whizzy friend, old Mr V. It’s just turned itself on and skittered under the legs of the piano..”
Leanora - “Oh Wodger, I feel so cheap!”
Rodger - “Cheap? Not you old thing. That was a sausage and egg supper last night. That cost a pretty penny I can tell you. Things are not easy on an airman’s wages.”
Leanora - “How long is it now?”
Rodger - “Steady old, thing one doesn’t like to talk of such things outside the mess you know. After all there is a lady present.”
Awkward Silence…as they both stop and peer around the stage…
Rodger - “No I mean, how long have we been together. Like this, in sin, naughty as it were!”
Leanora - “Oh…since Friday fore’ noon.”
Rodger - “And this is?”
Leanora - “Sunday evening - I think?”
Rodger - “So shall we do it, and let the consequences be damned…!”
Leanora - “What a spiffing idea…” she says as they both head for the bedroom, which is situated stage right…Suddenly Leanora stops in her progress and places her hand to her mouth in an act of complete astonishment….
Rodger - “Oh, gosh perhaps he is not gone…Perhaps he may come back…?”
The say in unison - “After all there’s a war on you know…!”
They embrace as the curtain falls…
----------
ACT TWO...
The curtain rises on an airfield somewhere in Kent. Dawn the following morning.
Squiffy - “Hello Wing’ co…?”
Wing’co - “Hello Squiffy…!”
Squiffy - “Hell of a show last night…?”
Wing’co - “Oh no Not that woman with the performing poodles again, and the bucket of water?”
Squiffy - “No not that one…!”
Wing’co - “Then that ventriloquial chappie. I can tell it’s him and not his friend Mr Socky saying all those saucy things. Seen his bally lips move?”
Squiffy - “No, no Wing’ co, the operation…!”
Wing’co - “Oh yes, the operation. Yes, yes, mustn’t grumble. Once the stitches come out the Doc said that it shouldn’t interfere with my up-swing…”
Squiffy - “No, no Wing’ co the mission. The mission…!”
Wing’co - “Yes, Yes! Sorry I see now. Big place made of mud. That nice reverend gentleman who was with the Memsahib and I in Lahore founded it. Oh, must be 20 years ago now. Full of dark children. Big saucer eyes. Good teeth though…”
Squiffy - “No, no, Wing’ co. Last nights shout. A shot at trouncing Jerry!”
Wing’co - “Well why didn’t you say that man. Cant waste time you know there’s a bally war on you know! - Any trouble…?”
Squiffy - “Oh the usual. Flack over Flanders. Choppy over the Channel. Strafing over Stuttgart. Bombs over Berlin.”
Awkward silence…
Wing’co - “Where’s Jimmie…?”
Squiffy - “Ah, I’m afraid he didn’t make it…”
Wing’co - “What do you mean…?”
Squiffy - “He’s gone, he’s gone…Sir!”
Wing’co - “Gone! Gone! I’ll have his wings for this. He can just go off in the middle of a bally war.”
Squiffy - “It’s his wings Sir. I think he’s replaced them with real one’s.”
Wing’co - “No, I’m still not getting you Squiffy!”
Squiffy - “He’s bought it Sir Over the Channel, sir.”
Wing’co - “What…?”
Squiffy - “The farm, Sir…”
Wing’co - “Oh wonderful…! Will it have piggie’s…?”
Squiffy - “What…?”
Wing’co - “Or moo cows…They’ll get wet you know, trying to graze in all that water. Oh and what about milking. Dashed difficult if you ask me?”
Squiffy - “What?”
Wing’co - “The farm Squiffy. The farm…?”
Squiffy - “Look Wing’ co there is no farm. It’s a grammatical metaphor…!”
Wing’co - “A What?”
Squiffy - “A metaphor. A simile. Something that is, but it isn’t.”
Wing’co - “Duck…!”
Squiffy - “What…?”
Wing’co - “Duck…!”
An explosion is heard offstage. A large piece of debris crashes from the wings slicing Squiffy’s head off. His body collapses in a pile, and the Wing’ co who has seen it coming, rises from the stage brushing down his uniform
Wing’co - “Bally grammar? When I say duck. I mean duck boy…!
Medics rush to the aid of the mortally wounded airman as the curtain falls…