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The Wonderful Story of Madam and Weave
This was an idea that came up at The Hewett's Creative Writing Club. Izzy and I came up with it and we've roped Danny in. The idea is to write the story from 3 separate points of view: Madam, Weave, and Mango. It is irreverent, or intends to be, so please do not read it if you don't like that sort of thing.
It is set in a Garden in Sweden (amongst some tower blocks).
The Wonderful Story of Madam and Weave
Weave 1
The blocks are tall and oppressive and keep the sun from falling on me. I do not like this. Madam and I are taking Dog for a walk. Occasionally a bit of sun gleams off a window and I get it, but generally it is kept away even though if I look right up bending my neck back till it feels a bit wrong then I see a long strip with sideways strips of bright blue sky and not a cloud in the air. We pause as Dog pisses against a mailbox.
Madam and I have this long-standing plan to explain to Dog that just because he’s the last to have pissed doesn’t mean he’s the greatest, nor the owner of the mailbox. For example we are his owners, and although the Beatles and Shakespeare were both a long time ago they are by far the greatest, even here in Sweden they are the greatest we know. It’s inter-countrynental.
We have a series of visual aids planned out based on musicians. I will produce the pictures first in a random order and Weave, dressed in my white Madonna Vogue skirt suit, will give appropriate actions of awe depending on the greatness of the band (the Beatles being near orgasmic ecstasy). I will then produce the pictures in chronological order and Madam’s reactions will stay the same for each band, despite the difference in order (obv.). We have not yet enacted this plan as Madam says he needs to do more research re. the orgasmic ecstasy.
Madam says, “If you look slightly lower down you’ll see that Crayon has taken in his trainers from the washing line.”
I say to him, “That only matters to you.”
He says, “You cared on Wednesday.”
But that was Wednesday. It may even have been last Wednesday.
We walk on along the street between the tower blocks where everybody lives, and the sky tries to reach us. Dog does what he needed to do, and we return home. I do not like this.
Madam 1
Weave sits opposite me talking a load of gibberish like normal. I straighten out my skirt as Mango continues his constant tapping on the door. Sighing, I decide to let him in.
It always baffles me how he thinks he's a mango yet he can knock on doors. I guess he's just that weird.
He sits in the corner next to a sleeping Dog. Mango doesn't talk. He rarely does anything but be annoying and yet Weave insists I Need The Help. What a psychologist she is.
Weave continues talking about the benefits of visual aids - whilst my mind drifts of to what to wear tomorrow. Skirt or dress? Maybe trousers this time? Pink? Blue?
Weave looks at me. I start to pay attention and pretend I've been doing that the whole time.
Weave 2
Mango has come round because he’s remembered Madam needs his help. He’s usually fairly good at this. Madam let him in and then Pretended To Listen, so I have stopped revising our plan for Dog. His focus is not equal to mine: it’s gone again. This is why he needs help.
I walk by Mango who is sitting in the cushion on our short couch front table that we pretend is a fruit bowl – we fill it with fruit which he removes when he comes here – and I check his wrists. Sometimes he gets hungry and tries peeling himself, ready to eat.
Madam will want to find trainers soon. But while Mango is here he will stay for his help. I continue into the kitchen, my velvet flares knocking the lamp as I swing round, over it goes onto Madam’s lap and up into his head, but gently, just being friendly, because it is not a table lamp, it is a tall lamp. It rocks back again.
Madam says, “Ow.”
In the kitchen I make coffee. I put orange into Madam’s because he needs his Vitamin C. I give Mango water with sugar in it.
Mango's expression indicates that he's glad. He needs it to keep him juicy.
Madam puts his cup to his mouth. I stare at him until he drinks.
Madam puts his coffee down, very suddenly, and stands. He says, “I need to go shoe shopping.”
I say, “Mango is here. You need his help.”
Madam says, “I want to go shoe shopping.”
That does not need a reply.
When Mango visits he blocks the TV. I do not mind this really. I close my eyes and bring the crossed rulers of sky that reached us through the tower blocks back to me.
Mango 1
Nobody cares what I think. I’m just a mango, I think. I don’t think therefore. Ah, but that’s just what I say. And they say I’m crazy. Well, I’m not, I can tell you that! I can tell you that, but you wouldn’t believe me. Well, I wouldn’t exactly ‘tell’, because I don’t speak, being a fruit and that, so I’ll just be writing my thoughts. Obviously, I can’t write either, but just don’t tell Madame and Weave, okay?
Okay, so this is a secret, right? An authorial intervention that overcomes the constraints of fiction! Yeah I got my BA at Black Sheep so you can expect to be surprised by me from time to time. If you expect it, it’s not surprise then is it? Anyway, are you ready for it? It? It? Yes, it- get on with it!
The plot is thus/ this:
You see, the slug and I have this cunning plan to seduce Madam and get him to eat me. Oh, it’s so funny! I’m gonna dress up like a pear (because he likes that kind of thing) and he’s gonna fall for me (or on me, I can’t remember which) and he won’t be able to resist chewing off a big chunk of my juicy, pear-shaped, mango-flesh. And then- well, I don’t want to tell you how it ends. Right now, anyway, I’m just playing it cool, like cucumbers do, and acting as if I’m a really normal, friendly, tasty fruit. I even offered to come here and help Weave this afternoon. Bless them (Madam just sneezed).
I’m so comfortable in this fruit bowl over here. Weave is really very hospitable, without meaning to be. Really, she doesn’t care. Nobody cares. That’s why dog will send his only pup… to piss on every lamppost, shit on every lawn, and, dog-damn it… teach this old world some new tricks!
Weave 3
Madam wants to go shoe-shopping: his obsession zig-zags and today is zag day (girls they all love me: no ecstasy for Zig and Zag, just a mind-connection referencing). I don't think I can stop him today, even though he knows Crayon's are down: there are other shoes. Sometimes Madam goes for Doc Martens. Madam has gone to the door. Mango was supposed to help. I was going to suggest Madam do a still-life, in the style of Modigliani or Manet, of the Fruit-bowl. Madam appreciates form. (Two peaches, four stones.)
Madam is waiting for me.
I say, “We can't leave Mango.”
(He might peel himself.)
Madam says, “We can use my handcuffs.”
(To stop him peeling himself.)
I say, “That's cruel.”
Madam says, “You're cruel!”
He stomps off and returns with his handcuffs. I glare at him, but this only half works: Madam clips one of Mango's sweet appendages onto his own arm – another bracelet to add to the Indian inspired multitude - and then yanks at him.
(To take him with us: Mango-lead.)
Strangely, Mango stands, willingly. He smiles with his fruity sugar. Dog walks in, knowing we're going out again, while we watch Mango, in this unusual not-hunched, not-rounded position, puts his feet into efface derriere (bottom-half). He slowly brings his arms - from hanging down at his side - up, describing two neat arcs (one of Madam's hands following), till his hands reach at the top, and then he claps and flips into a handstand.
Madam is yanked to the floor and yelps. This confuses Dog who almost barks.
He is coming with us, so I change my plan: more fruit for the fruit-bowl. (Still-life.) Madam likes multiples.
I say, “We must find his family. He needs our help.”
I say, “Unfruited by contrast.”
“Come on, let's go.”
Madam says, “I'm hungry.”
I say, “What do you want to eat?”
We walk out, with Mango one arm chained to Madam's other wrist, and the other arm making half of his circle, swinging backwards and forwards. Dog follows.
I look up at the sky again, and wonder where to go. We follow the first left of the Wrigleys Extra Ice highways.
Dog 1
So, fellows, in previous Episodes, what we have so far is.... Let's start it simple: Madam wants drugs. (Type – non-specific.) Weave wants Mango with Madam, to satisfy them both. They don't know this - Madam thinks Weave wants to defruit Mango. Madam is willing to go along with this.
Mango just wants to be eaten.
I (Dog) am going to help, via a slug. Now, excuse me while I go pee up this lamppost: a Yorkie has forgotten it is mine.
Madam 2
Weave's really got her work cut out for her.
Mango has insisted we follow this slug trail but all I want is some new shoes, although I’m stuck between heels and wedges. Maybe I should buy both? Yes, yes. I’ll treat myself.
“Hungry yet?” Weave asks out of the blue.
“No,” I say, trying to decide on which colour shoes would go best with my new dress. I wish she’d shut up and let me think. Why do we have to follow Mango anyway? Who put him in charge? We could be in the store right now, surrounding by beautiful shoes but instead we’re here.
We walk past a fruit shop. I see rows and rows of succulent pears. My belly rumbles and I try to stealthy hint (or should that be stealthily?) that we should enter the store. Weave smirks, Mango stares at me and Dog starts sniffing another lamppost. Fucking Dog!
It is set in a Garden in Sweden (amongst some tower blocks).
The Wonderful Story of Madam and Weave
Weave 1
The blocks are tall and oppressive and keep the sun from falling on me. I do not like this. Madam and I are taking Dog for a walk. Occasionally a bit of sun gleams off a window and I get it, but generally it is kept away even though if I look right up bending my neck back till it feels a bit wrong then I see a long strip with sideways strips of bright blue sky and not a cloud in the air. We pause as Dog pisses against a mailbox.
Madam and I have this long-standing plan to explain to Dog that just because he’s the last to have pissed doesn’t mean he’s the greatest, nor the owner of the mailbox. For example we are his owners, and although the Beatles and Shakespeare were both a long time ago they are by far the greatest, even here in Sweden they are the greatest we know. It’s inter-countrynental.
We have a series of visual aids planned out based on musicians. I will produce the pictures first in a random order and Weave, dressed in my white Madonna Vogue skirt suit, will give appropriate actions of awe depending on the greatness of the band (the Beatles being near orgasmic ecstasy). I will then produce the pictures in chronological order and Madam’s reactions will stay the same for each band, despite the difference in order (obv.). We have not yet enacted this plan as Madam says he needs to do more research re. the orgasmic ecstasy.
Madam says, “If you look slightly lower down you’ll see that Crayon has taken in his trainers from the washing line.”
I say to him, “That only matters to you.”
He says, “You cared on Wednesday.”
But that was Wednesday. It may even have been last Wednesday.
We walk on along the street between the tower blocks where everybody lives, and the sky tries to reach us. Dog does what he needed to do, and we return home. I do not like this.
Madam 1
Weave sits opposite me talking a load of gibberish like normal. I straighten out my skirt as Mango continues his constant tapping on the door. Sighing, I decide to let him in.
It always baffles me how he thinks he's a mango yet he can knock on doors. I guess he's just that weird.
He sits in the corner next to a sleeping Dog. Mango doesn't talk. He rarely does anything but be annoying and yet Weave insists I Need The Help. What a psychologist she is.
Weave continues talking about the benefits of visual aids - whilst my mind drifts of to what to wear tomorrow. Skirt or dress? Maybe trousers this time? Pink? Blue?
Weave looks at me. I start to pay attention and pretend I've been doing that the whole time.
Weave 2
Mango has come round because he’s remembered Madam needs his help. He’s usually fairly good at this. Madam let him in and then Pretended To Listen, so I have stopped revising our plan for Dog. His focus is not equal to mine: it’s gone again. This is why he needs help.
I walk by Mango who is sitting in the cushion on our short couch front table that we pretend is a fruit bowl – we fill it with fruit which he removes when he comes here – and I check his wrists. Sometimes he gets hungry and tries peeling himself, ready to eat.
Madam will want to find trainers soon. But while Mango is here he will stay for his help. I continue into the kitchen, my velvet flares knocking the lamp as I swing round, over it goes onto Madam’s lap and up into his head, but gently, just being friendly, because it is not a table lamp, it is a tall lamp. It rocks back again.
Madam says, “Ow.”
In the kitchen I make coffee. I put orange into Madam’s because he needs his Vitamin C. I give Mango water with sugar in it.
Mango's expression indicates that he's glad. He needs it to keep him juicy.
Madam puts his cup to his mouth. I stare at him until he drinks.
Madam puts his coffee down, very suddenly, and stands. He says, “I need to go shoe shopping.”
I say, “Mango is here. You need his help.”
Madam says, “I want to go shoe shopping.”
That does not need a reply.
When Mango visits he blocks the TV. I do not mind this really. I close my eyes and bring the crossed rulers of sky that reached us through the tower blocks back to me.
Mango 1
Nobody cares what I think. I’m just a mango, I think. I don’t think therefore. Ah, but that’s just what I say. And they say I’m crazy. Well, I’m not, I can tell you that! I can tell you that, but you wouldn’t believe me. Well, I wouldn’t exactly ‘tell’, because I don’t speak, being a fruit and that, so I’ll just be writing my thoughts. Obviously, I can’t write either, but just don’t tell Madame and Weave, okay?
Okay, so this is a secret, right? An authorial intervention that overcomes the constraints of fiction! Yeah I got my BA at Black Sheep so you can expect to be surprised by me from time to time. If you expect it, it’s not surprise then is it? Anyway, are you ready for it? It? It? Yes, it- get on with it!
The plot is thus/ this:
You see, the slug and I have this cunning plan to seduce Madam and get him to eat me. Oh, it’s so funny! I’m gonna dress up like a pear (because he likes that kind of thing) and he’s gonna fall for me (or on me, I can’t remember which) and he won’t be able to resist chewing off a big chunk of my juicy, pear-shaped, mango-flesh. And then- well, I don’t want to tell you how it ends. Right now, anyway, I’m just playing it cool, like cucumbers do, and acting as if I’m a really normal, friendly, tasty fruit. I even offered to come here and help Weave this afternoon. Bless them (Madam just sneezed).
I’m so comfortable in this fruit bowl over here. Weave is really very hospitable, without meaning to be. Really, she doesn’t care. Nobody cares. That’s why dog will send his only pup… to piss on every lamppost, shit on every lawn, and, dog-damn it… teach this old world some new tricks!
Weave 3
Madam wants to go shoe-shopping: his obsession zig-zags and today is zag day (girls they all love me: no ecstasy for Zig and Zag, just a mind-connection referencing). I don't think I can stop him today, even though he knows Crayon's are down: there are other shoes. Sometimes Madam goes for Doc Martens. Madam has gone to the door. Mango was supposed to help. I was going to suggest Madam do a still-life, in the style of Modigliani or Manet, of the Fruit-bowl. Madam appreciates form. (Two peaches, four stones.)
Madam is waiting for me.
I say, “We can't leave Mango.”
(He might peel himself.)
Madam says, “We can use my handcuffs.”
(To stop him peeling himself.)
I say, “That's cruel.”
Madam says, “You're cruel!”
He stomps off and returns with his handcuffs. I glare at him, but this only half works: Madam clips one of Mango's sweet appendages onto his own arm – another bracelet to add to the Indian inspired multitude - and then yanks at him.
(To take him with us: Mango-lead.)
Strangely, Mango stands, willingly. He smiles with his fruity sugar. Dog walks in, knowing we're going out again, while we watch Mango, in this unusual not-hunched, not-rounded position, puts his feet into efface derriere (bottom-half). He slowly brings his arms - from hanging down at his side - up, describing two neat arcs (one of Madam's hands following), till his hands reach at the top, and then he claps and flips into a handstand.
Madam is yanked to the floor and yelps. This confuses Dog who almost barks.
He is coming with us, so I change my plan: more fruit for the fruit-bowl. (Still-life.) Madam likes multiples.
I say, “We must find his family. He needs our help.”
I say, “Unfruited by contrast.”
“Come on, let's go.”
Madam says, “I'm hungry.”
I say, “What do you want to eat?”
We walk out, with Mango one arm chained to Madam's other wrist, and the other arm making half of his circle, swinging backwards and forwards. Dog follows.
I look up at the sky again, and wonder where to go. We follow the first left of the Wrigleys Extra Ice highways.
Dog 1
So, fellows, in previous Episodes, what we have so far is.... Let's start it simple: Madam wants drugs. (Type – non-specific.) Weave wants Mango with Madam, to satisfy them both. They don't know this - Madam thinks Weave wants to defruit Mango. Madam is willing to go along with this.
Mango just wants to be eaten.
I (Dog) am going to help, via a slug. Now, excuse me while I go pee up this lamppost: a Yorkie has forgotten it is mine.
Madam 2
Weave's really got her work cut out for her.
Mango has insisted we follow this slug trail but all I want is some new shoes, although I’m stuck between heels and wedges. Maybe I should buy both? Yes, yes. I’ll treat myself.
“Hungry yet?” Weave asks out of the blue.
“No,” I say, trying to decide on which colour shoes would go best with my new dress. I wish she’d shut up and let me think. Why do we have to follow Mango anyway? Who put him in charge? We could be in the store right now, surrounding by beautiful shoes but instead we’re here.
We walk past a fruit shop. I see rows and rows of succulent pears. My belly rumbles and I try to stealthy hint (or should that be stealthily?) that we should enter the store. Weave smirks, Mango stares at me and Dog starts sniffing another lamppost. Fucking Dog!
Reunion at Midnight
A play for radio by David Elgood and Jacqui Burgoyne
This is a rough (attempt at a) radio play based on a story written by David. He's going to look at what I've done and we're going to redraft it. Pasting it in has messed up the formatting. D'oh.
SOUNDS OF PUB – TALKING, GLASSES.
FRED One more Bernie?
BERNIE Same again, thanks Fred.
THEN BARMAN CALLS “TIME” AND WE HEAR DOOR CLOSE. (PUB SOUNDS FADE) AND FOOTSTEPS, AND RAIN. THEY STOP, TWO CARS DRIVE BY, THEY START AGAIN. THE PUB SOUNDS DISAPPEAR.
BERNIE Grant Holt’ll get one and Jackson two.
FRED You’re always overjudging things – Jackson won’t get two, he can’t score for toffee.
BERNIE No, no, Jackson’s –
FRED Do you reckon Barnett’ll be back?
BERNIE That’s what they’re saying.
FOOTSTEPS STOP.
FRED Well, this is where I leave you.
BERNIE See you tomorrow.
FRED Night Bernie.
ONE SET OF FOOTSTEPS WALK AWAY, THEN FRED’S FOOTSTEPS START AGAIN. HE IS MUMBLING TO HIMSELF.
FRED [MUTTERING] Barnett’s important. Hope he’ll be back. Should have brought an umbrella.
Brrr it’s a cold night. Real cold night. There she is.
HIS FOOTSTEPS STOP.
Beautiful place. Shame she’s not working any more. [ASSUMES A FILM-ADVERTISEMENT STYLE VOICE] And tonight your feature presentation is!...[RETURNS TO NORMAL VOICE] Long time ago.
FAINT SOUNDS OF MUSIC – WARSAW CONCERTO.
FRED Kids? Is that kids? It’s midnight!
MUSIC BECOMES AUDIBLE.
FRED That’s coming from her...the cinema, the Savoy! No, it can’t be. It’s ringing in my ears. Or memories – beer’s made the brain confused. It can’t.... Should be getting on.
MUSIC IS PULSING LOUDER THEN A BIT SOFTER. IT GETS LOUDER AGAIN.
FRED No,...it’s music! Kids. Damnable creatures they are. [PAUSE AS HE PROPERLY LISTENS TO THE MUSIC.] The Warsaw Concerto! It’s the Warsaw Concerto. 1941. Don’t know why kids’d play that. Warsaw – no! Concerto – no! And put the two together....
Maybe it’s…something else. Maybe…maybe people are having…a…reunion. A reunion at the cinema. Or somebody having a joke. Having a joke or could be having a remember on their own. Warsaw Concerto – that was “Dangerous Moonlight” that was.
OCCASIONAL TRAFFIC NOISE, BUT THIS GETS GRADUALLY MORE DISTANT AND THE MUSIC MORE INSISTENT.
But where’s it coming from? Where is the person, the music? Maybe I should go see. Maybe I could go see. Maybe I could. Just take a look.
SOUNDS OF HIS FOOTSTEPS
FRED Just a look.
AND THEN RATTLING OF A GATE.
FRED Locked. Maybe round the back.
HIS FOOTSTEPS START AGAIN, OCCASIONALLY FALTERING AND WE HEAR SOUNDS OF FENCES BEING PUSHED, AND THE MUSIC SOUNDS CONTINUE. THEY SEEM TO JOLT BACK A COUPLE OF TIMES, WHEN IT COMES NEAR TO THE END, THEN WE HEAR “AND NOW FOR THE FEATURE PRESENTATION: DANGEROUS MOONLIGHT STARRING .................
FRED Ah, here we are.
SOUND OF GATES CREAKING AS HE COMES THROUGH.
FRED And back round – if they’re playing a film it’ll be open up front. There may be bunting. And a sign. Nobody told me. They should have told me. Worked there for years.
MORE FOOTSTEPS AS HE WALKS ROUND TO THE FRONT.
FRED Yes. Main doors are open. A reunion or they are putting on the film again. I must be late. Can’t see anyone, hear anyone. Because it’s already started. Opening scenes.
(FOOTSTEPS)
It’s dark out, late, dark. Not many people around. Shouldn’t have those lights on over there. Not once the sun’s gone down.
WE HEAR WHAT MIGHT BE THE FIRST NOTE OF AN AIRRAID SIREN, OR ALMOST HALF A NOTE, AND THE MUSIC ABRUPTLY CUTS. FRED JOLTS SLIGHTLY – WE HEAR HIS BREATHING JUMP FOR A BEAT AND HIS CLOTHES MOVE AS HE TWITCHES AND TENSES.
FRED It’s dark. No lights.
Must be children. Little blighters. Doors open. Yes, doors are open. They must be messing around in the projection room. Found an old reel. It’s dark in here.... (HE WALKS IN.) Ruddy little-
A VOICE INTERRUPTS HIM
TICKET LADY That’ll be sixpence then….Or did you want the one and six seats?
FRED Uh, uh ah no, no, this’ll be good thanks.
TICKET LADY Would you like some icecream, sir?
FRED No, no thanks. I mean no – no I work here. I used to.... I don’t want a ticket!
TICKET LADY Sorry sir, didn’t recognise you. [PAUSES FOR SOME KIND OF RESPONSE BUT THERE IS NONE.] Well you know your way around then.
FRED [AFTER A GAP, BUT WITH DETERMINATION.] Yes I do. I worked here.
TICKET LADY You don’t work here now? Because, sir, I think you’ll need a ticket if you no longer work here, I’m afraid, we can’t really be giving out tickets all the time you know. I mean, I don’t think we can....
FRED No, I-
TOM [JOLLILY, CUTTING IN] Fred! She try to charge you to come in?
FRED Yes…. [FALTERING]
TOM She’s new. She didn’t know you.
THERE ARE SHUFFLING STEPS AS FRED STARTS WALKING FORWARD.
She’ll know you now though!
FRED [DISTRACTEDLY] She will...yes, you’re right. [TONE IS A LITTLE CHEERIER BY THE END OF THIS.] Busy tonight Tom? We expecting any trouble?
TOM Usual business. We’ll see what Herr decides.
THEN THERE’S THE SOUND OF A POLICE CAR AND AN AMBULANCE GOIN BY.
FRED Oh, what’s....Is that the...?
TOM Fred? Fred? You coming up?
TRAFFIC SOUNDS HAVE AGAIN RECEDED AND INSTEAD WE HEAR TALKING OF PEOPLE EXCITED ABOUT THE FILM.
FILMGOER1 I haven’t heard from him in weeks. I’m starting to get-
FRIEND of 1 Don’t think of it.
OTHER Good one, I’ve heard.
OTHER 2 Hope so....
TICKET LADY Hello sir, hello madam. [THERE ARE MURMURS TO WHICH SHE REPLIES.] No, don’t worry, you haven’t missed it – we’re having it a bit later tonight. [CONSPIRATORIALLY] Thought we’d risk it. Thank you. Hello Sir-
TOM Fred? You coming then? Cup of cha maybe?
FRED [JUST TO PUSH THE VOICE AWAY] I’ll come in a bit Tom.
THE SOUNDS RECEDE: IT IS QUIET. PAUSE, THEN:
Getting confused. Damn memories.
MOTORBIKE WHIZZES BY (IN THE DISTANCE).
It was this way. They must be in the projection room. Found an old reel, and started playing around. Who is doing this? Ruddy kids.
FOOTSTEPS THEN UP STAIRS. THE WARTIME FILMGOING NOISES ARE JOLTING (QUIETLY) IN THE BACKGROUND. LIKE A STUCK RECORD.
Kids wouldn’t know it – how to do it, make it work. Who is it? Careful...Handrail, good, there’s a handrail. Stairs are ok, they didn’t get....
GOES SLOWER UP THE STAIRS.
FRED Projection box was this way. I can hear it, the clicking.
QUIETLY HEAR THE SOUNDS OF AN OLD PROJECTOR
FRED There’s a light. The door.
CREAK OF DOOR.
FRED SNEEZES BECAUSE OF THE DUST.
FRED Oh, old stuff. (SPEAKS:)‘Choo. Dusty. Oh!-
KEN Hello, Fred, would you mind lacing this projector?
FRED Oh, of course sir.
KEN I know you’ve been off, but we’re short staffed and-
FRED No, it’s no problem sir, really sir....Good to see you.
KEN Good to see you too.
WE HEAR KEN WALK OUT. FRED STAYS WITH THE PROJECTOR, WE HEAR HIM MOVE A CHAIR AND SIT DOWN.
THE FILM BEGINS – WE HEAR IT FAINTLY THEN IT FADES AWAY THEN UP AGAIN AT THE BIT BEFORE THE INTERVAL.
THE DOOR OPENS.
KEN We have a five-minute interval here. Would you like to have a chat with Jimmy? He’s in the rewind room. I’m sure he’d like to see you, after all these years.
FRED Yes,...that would be nice. Just give me a second....Creaking old bones these days....
CHAIR CREAKS AS HE STANDS, THEN TWO SETS OF FOOTSTEPS.
KEN It’s been strange without you here, everyone’s missed you, you know. Janet’s asked after you. And Mabel too. And Jimmy, when he heard you were here, he said, “Fred’s here, bring him straight over, I want to see how he’s doing. Bring him to me in the break,” he said, and he was ever so excited....
THIS FADES AFTER “And Jimmy” AND WE HEAR FRED’S MUMBLING TO HIMSELF OVER IT.
FRED Jimmy. Jimmy.... But how could that be?
THE SOUND OF AIRRAID SIREN CUTS IN AND THEN GETS LOUDER.
Jimmy died when the bomb fell in 1942, and so did Ken.
It fell right through the-
I wasn’t there.
It fell right through-
THERE IS THE SOUND OF VOICES, SHOUTING, CRYING, RUBBLE BEING MOVED.
VOICE 1 Alright, everyone out of here-
VOICE 2 Jimmy! Ken! It fell right through. Just obliterated it. The rewind room. Oh we shouldn’t have opened, we shouldn’t have opened this late....
THE SOUNDS FADE.
PAUSE (SILENCE)
WE HEAR THE SOUND OF A SIREN BEING SWITCHED OFF AND A CAR PARKING.
AMBULANCE DRIVER What do we have here?
POLICEMAN Bag and tag. Bloke fell. Fell from the second floor. Don’t know what he was thinking. Place’s been derelict for years.... (HE IS TURNING AND WALKING AWAY AS HE TALKS.)
IN BACKGROUND THERE ARE NOISES OF PEOPLE MOVING AROUND, PHOTOGRAPHS BEING TAKEN.
WALKIE TALKIE VOICE Gate round the back needs dusting. Front doors have been opened but front gate is closed. No signs of forced entry.
WE HEAR BEGINNINGS OF INTERVIEW OF BERNIE
BERNIE I left him at around 11. We’d been at the pub. Talking about football. Grant Holt and the- I don’t know what he was doing there.
WARSAW CONCERTO FADES UP AND THEN OUT AGAIN.
This is a rough (attempt at a) radio play based on a story written by David. He's going to look at what I've done and we're going to redraft it. Pasting it in has messed up the formatting. D'oh.
SOUNDS OF PUB – TALKING, GLASSES.
FRED One more Bernie?
BERNIE Same again, thanks Fred.
THEN BARMAN CALLS “TIME” AND WE HEAR DOOR CLOSE. (PUB SOUNDS FADE) AND FOOTSTEPS, AND RAIN. THEY STOP, TWO CARS DRIVE BY, THEY START AGAIN. THE PUB SOUNDS DISAPPEAR.
BERNIE Grant Holt’ll get one and Jackson two.
FRED You’re always overjudging things – Jackson won’t get two, he can’t score for toffee.
BERNIE No, no, Jackson’s –
FRED Do you reckon Barnett’ll be back?
BERNIE That’s what they’re saying.
FOOTSTEPS STOP.
FRED Well, this is where I leave you.
BERNIE See you tomorrow.
FRED Night Bernie.
ONE SET OF FOOTSTEPS WALK AWAY, THEN FRED’S FOOTSTEPS START AGAIN. HE IS MUMBLING TO HIMSELF.
FRED [MUTTERING] Barnett’s important. Hope he’ll be back. Should have brought an umbrella.
Brrr it’s a cold night. Real cold night. There she is.
HIS FOOTSTEPS STOP.
Beautiful place. Shame she’s not working any more. [ASSUMES A FILM-ADVERTISEMENT STYLE VOICE] And tonight your feature presentation is!...[RETURNS TO NORMAL VOICE] Long time ago.
FAINT SOUNDS OF MUSIC – WARSAW CONCERTO.
FRED Kids? Is that kids? It’s midnight!
MUSIC BECOMES AUDIBLE.
FRED That’s coming from her...the cinema, the Savoy! No, it can’t be. It’s ringing in my ears. Or memories – beer’s made the brain confused. It can’t.... Should be getting on.
MUSIC IS PULSING LOUDER THEN A BIT SOFTER. IT GETS LOUDER AGAIN.
FRED No,...it’s music! Kids. Damnable creatures they are. [PAUSE AS HE PROPERLY LISTENS TO THE MUSIC.] The Warsaw Concerto! It’s the Warsaw Concerto. 1941. Don’t know why kids’d play that. Warsaw – no! Concerto – no! And put the two together....
Maybe it’s…something else. Maybe…maybe people are having…a…reunion. A reunion at the cinema. Or somebody having a joke. Having a joke or could be having a remember on their own. Warsaw Concerto – that was “Dangerous Moonlight” that was.
OCCASIONAL TRAFFIC NOISE, BUT THIS GETS GRADUALLY MORE DISTANT AND THE MUSIC MORE INSISTENT.
But where’s it coming from? Where is the person, the music? Maybe I should go see. Maybe I could go see. Maybe I could. Just take a look.
SOUNDS OF HIS FOOTSTEPS
FRED Just a look.
AND THEN RATTLING OF A GATE.
FRED Locked. Maybe round the back.
HIS FOOTSTEPS START AGAIN, OCCASIONALLY FALTERING AND WE HEAR SOUNDS OF FENCES BEING PUSHED, AND THE MUSIC SOUNDS CONTINUE. THEY SEEM TO JOLT BACK A COUPLE OF TIMES, WHEN IT COMES NEAR TO THE END, THEN WE HEAR “AND NOW FOR THE FEATURE PRESENTATION: DANGEROUS MOONLIGHT STARRING .................
FRED Ah, here we are.
SOUND OF GATES CREAKING AS HE COMES THROUGH.
FRED And back round – if they’re playing a film it’ll be open up front. There may be bunting. And a sign. Nobody told me. They should have told me. Worked there for years.
MORE FOOTSTEPS AS HE WALKS ROUND TO THE FRONT.
FRED Yes. Main doors are open. A reunion or they are putting on the film again. I must be late. Can’t see anyone, hear anyone. Because it’s already started. Opening scenes.
(FOOTSTEPS)
It’s dark out, late, dark. Not many people around. Shouldn’t have those lights on over there. Not once the sun’s gone down.
WE HEAR WHAT MIGHT BE THE FIRST NOTE OF AN AIRRAID SIREN, OR ALMOST HALF A NOTE, AND THE MUSIC ABRUPTLY CUTS. FRED JOLTS SLIGHTLY – WE HEAR HIS BREATHING JUMP FOR A BEAT AND HIS CLOTHES MOVE AS HE TWITCHES AND TENSES.
FRED It’s dark. No lights.
Must be children. Little blighters. Doors open. Yes, doors are open. They must be messing around in the projection room. Found an old reel. It’s dark in here.... (HE WALKS IN.) Ruddy little-
A VOICE INTERRUPTS HIM
TICKET LADY That’ll be sixpence then….Or did you want the one and six seats?
FRED Uh, uh ah no, no, this’ll be good thanks.
TICKET LADY Would you like some icecream, sir?
FRED No, no thanks. I mean no – no I work here. I used to.... I don’t want a ticket!
TICKET LADY Sorry sir, didn’t recognise you. [PAUSES FOR SOME KIND OF RESPONSE BUT THERE IS NONE.] Well you know your way around then.
FRED [AFTER A GAP, BUT WITH DETERMINATION.] Yes I do. I worked here.
TICKET LADY You don’t work here now? Because, sir, I think you’ll need a ticket if you no longer work here, I’m afraid, we can’t really be giving out tickets all the time you know. I mean, I don’t think we can....
FRED No, I-
TOM [JOLLILY, CUTTING IN] Fred! She try to charge you to come in?
FRED Yes…. [FALTERING]
TOM She’s new. She didn’t know you.
THERE ARE SHUFFLING STEPS AS FRED STARTS WALKING FORWARD.
She’ll know you now though!
FRED [DISTRACTEDLY] She will...yes, you’re right. [TONE IS A LITTLE CHEERIER BY THE END OF THIS.] Busy tonight Tom? We expecting any trouble?
TOM Usual business. We’ll see what Herr decides.
THEN THERE’S THE SOUND OF A POLICE CAR AND AN AMBULANCE GOIN BY.
FRED Oh, what’s....Is that the...?
TOM Fred? Fred? You coming up?
TRAFFIC SOUNDS HAVE AGAIN RECEDED AND INSTEAD WE HEAR TALKING OF PEOPLE EXCITED ABOUT THE FILM.
FILMGOER1 I haven’t heard from him in weeks. I’m starting to get-
FRIEND of 1 Don’t think of it.
OTHER Good one, I’ve heard.
OTHER 2 Hope so....
TICKET LADY Hello sir, hello madam. [THERE ARE MURMURS TO WHICH SHE REPLIES.] No, don’t worry, you haven’t missed it – we’re having it a bit later tonight. [CONSPIRATORIALLY] Thought we’d risk it. Thank you. Hello Sir-
TOM Fred? You coming then? Cup of cha maybe?
FRED [JUST TO PUSH THE VOICE AWAY] I’ll come in a bit Tom.
THE SOUNDS RECEDE: IT IS QUIET. PAUSE, THEN:
Getting confused. Damn memories.
MOTORBIKE WHIZZES BY (IN THE DISTANCE).
It was this way. They must be in the projection room. Found an old reel, and started playing around. Who is doing this? Ruddy kids.
FOOTSTEPS THEN UP STAIRS. THE WARTIME FILMGOING NOISES ARE JOLTING (QUIETLY) IN THE BACKGROUND. LIKE A STUCK RECORD.
Kids wouldn’t know it – how to do it, make it work. Who is it? Careful...Handrail, good, there’s a handrail. Stairs are ok, they didn’t get....
GOES SLOWER UP THE STAIRS.
FRED Projection box was this way. I can hear it, the clicking.
QUIETLY HEAR THE SOUNDS OF AN OLD PROJECTOR
FRED There’s a light. The door.
CREAK OF DOOR.
FRED SNEEZES BECAUSE OF THE DUST.
FRED Oh, old stuff. (SPEAKS:)‘Choo. Dusty. Oh!-
KEN Hello, Fred, would you mind lacing this projector?
FRED Oh, of course sir.
KEN I know you’ve been off, but we’re short staffed and-
FRED No, it’s no problem sir, really sir....Good to see you.
KEN Good to see you too.
WE HEAR KEN WALK OUT. FRED STAYS WITH THE PROJECTOR, WE HEAR HIM MOVE A CHAIR AND SIT DOWN.
THE FILM BEGINS – WE HEAR IT FAINTLY THEN IT FADES AWAY THEN UP AGAIN AT THE BIT BEFORE THE INTERVAL.
THE DOOR OPENS.
KEN We have a five-minute interval here. Would you like to have a chat with Jimmy? He’s in the rewind room. I’m sure he’d like to see you, after all these years.
FRED Yes,...that would be nice. Just give me a second....Creaking old bones these days....
CHAIR CREAKS AS HE STANDS, THEN TWO SETS OF FOOTSTEPS.
KEN It’s been strange without you here, everyone’s missed you, you know. Janet’s asked after you. And Mabel too. And Jimmy, when he heard you were here, he said, “Fred’s here, bring him straight over, I want to see how he’s doing. Bring him to me in the break,” he said, and he was ever so excited....
THIS FADES AFTER “And Jimmy” AND WE HEAR FRED’S MUMBLING TO HIMSELF OVER IT.
FRED Jimmy. Jimmy.... But how could that be?
THE SOUND OF AIRRAID SIREN CUTS IN AND THEN GETS LOUDER.
Jimmy died when the bomb fell in 1942, and so did Ken.
It fell right through the-
I wasn’t there.
It fell right through-
THERE IS THE SOUND OF VOICES, SHOUTING, CRYING, RUBBLE BEING MOVED.
VOICE 1 Alright, everyone out of here-
VOICE 2 Jimmy! Ken! It fell right through. Just obliterated it. The rewind room. Oh we shouldn’t have opened, we shouldn’t have opened this late....
THE SOUNDS FADE.
PAUSE (SILENCE)
WE HEAR THE SOUND OF A SIREN BEING SWITCHED OFF AND A CAR PARKING.
AMBULANCE DRIVER What do we have here?
POLICEMAN Bag and tag. Bloke fell. Fell from the second floor. Don’t know what he was thinking. Place’s been derelict for years.... (HE IS TURNING AND WALKING AWAY AS HE TALKS.)
IN BACKGROUND THERE ARE NOISES OF PEOPLE MOVING AROUND, PHOTOGRAPHS BEING TAKEN.
WALKIE TALKIE VOICE Gate round the back needs dusting. Front doors have been opened but front gate is closed. No signs of forced entry.
WE HEAR BEGINNINGS OF INTERVIEW OF BERNIE
BERNIE I left him at around 11. We’d been at the pub. Talking about football. Grant Holt and the- I don’t know what he was doing there.
WARSAW CONCERTO FADES UP AND THEN OUT AGAIN.
