Dame Hilda: Nothing in Stackton Tressel causes more interest than the sudden appearance outside one of the houses of a for sale board. When that board goes up it's, why are the old people going? How much are they asking for it? And how on earth will the agent manage to make that place sound attractive without landing himself in prison? Most of the sheets of particulars are quickly snapped up from the agent's office by nosy locals trying to find out. And then it's three good sized bedrooms. How can they? it's a bedroom, a box room and a cupboard off. Now, I normally endeavour to remain aloof from such inquisitiveness, but I have to admit that when last autumn new people moved into Larkswood House, I was mildly curious.

{Dining room.}

Dame Hilda: They've got their dining room curtains up, Evadne.

Dr. Hinge: Who has?

Dame Hilda: The people at Larkswood House.

Dr. Hinge: How do you know?

Dame Hilda: I pass there on the way back from shopping.

Dr. Hinge: You came the long way round, didn't you?

Dame Hilda: Well, it's such a lovely morning. And you know, I felt like a breath of fresh air. Mind, that house has stood empty so long that the front hedge is quite out of hand. Do you know I can't see over it now, not even on tiptoes?

Dr. Hinge: You seem to take that road no matter where you're going these days.

Dame Hilda: I do, since I started collecting pine cones, yes. Well, it's the only road in Stackton that has a pine tree.

Dr. Hinge: It's amazing how a property changing hands can stimulate your normally dormant interest in nature, isn't it? I mean, when they sold the willows, you started collecting catkins, and when the chestnuts changed hands it was conkers. One can only hope that people at chimney's never move. I mean, what are you going to do with all those pine cones anyway?

Dame Hilda: I'm going to paint them, dear, for Christmas. They’ll look lovely when I’ve finished with them, a splash of silver paint, a bit of red ribbon and maybe a handful of glitter.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, how vulgar!

Dame Hilda: Oh, Don't be such a frump. Anyway, you won't be getting one.

Dr. Hinge: Incidentally, Hilda, while you were out, some idiot kept trying to phone this number from a call box without putting any money in. Happened three times, all I got was the peep peep peep sound, you see, and then the line went dead.

Dame Hilda: Oh, it's all right, dear, there's nothing to worry about, that was me.

Dr. Hinge: You? Oh, why didn't you put your money in?

Dame Hilda: I didn't have any.

Dr. Hinge: What was the point of phoning? What did you want?

Dame Hilda: I didn't want anything. I just wanted to look as if I was the phone.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, I see. You were in the call box opposite Larkswood house, were you?

Dame Hilda: Do you know, if you stand on the directories and look in the mirror? You can see right up their drive, that's how I discovered that they have a cat.

Dr. Hinge: How?

Dame Hilda: I saw someone putting it out of the front door. It's not a very nice cat, Evadne. It's rather sinister. It's not Stackton. And I do hope it's not going to set our three a bad example.

Dr. Hinge: Do you think it's going to break in and sit round the fire with them?

Dame Hilda: And do you know who I bumped into as I came out of that phone box?

Dr. Hinge: No, who?

Dame Hilda: Naomi Mellinger!

Dr. Hinge: Oh, has she started collecting pine cones, too?

Dame Hilda: Well, it was Naomi who first got me interested.

Dr. Hinge: You know, I think I'll go away at Christmas. Those things are going to be hard to avoid?

Dame Hilda: Now, you know how astute Naomi is when it comes to finding out what's going on.

Dr. Hinge: I do indeed, Naomi Mellinger has ears like satellite dishes and the nose of an anteater.

Dame Hilda: Yes, hasn't she? Anyhow, Naomi doesn't know a thing.

Dr. Hinge: I could have told you that.

Dame Hilda: I mean about the new people, dear?

Dr. Hinge: Anyway, I thought you'd seen them.

Dame Hilda: Me, when?

Dr. Hinge: Oh, when they put the cat out.

Dame Hilda: Oh, no, it just sort of shot out. They only opened the front door a tiny crack and then it was slammed shut. You don't suppose they're lying low, do you? I mean, perhaps they've just done a job. They might be about to do one.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I hope for their sake, they aren't, dear? They obviously won't be able to get out of their front gate without knocking someone down.

Dame Hilda: Or of course it could be a recluse. Somebody like Howard Hughes.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I'd have thought that house was the very last place a recluse would choose. Seeing there's nothing but an overgrown hedge between its front windows and Stackton’s pine gathering army of quidnuncs.

Dame Hilda: And what is a quidnunc?

Dr. Hinge: You are! You're too inquisitive and you're a gossip!

Dame Hilda: Evadne, don't you think it rather strange that we know nothing at all about these people? After all, they've been here four days now.

Dr. Hinge: I think it's strange that so many supposedly intelligent people should be wasting so much time trying to find out about them. Who cares?

Dame Hilda: Well, if that's your attitude, you should become a hermit. After all, no man is an island. We're all part of the main and when a new bit joins us, we naturally want to know whether it's going to fit or not.

P&D: Cooee! Hello! It’s us!

Dame Hilda: Good heavens. Look who's at the garden door, Peter and Mandy Moore.

Dr. Hinge: That's part of the main I'd be happy to see crumble.

P&D: Secret, secret, we've got a secret!

Dame Hilda: They've got a secret, Evadne.

Dr. Hinge: Why don't they go home and keep it to themselves?

Dame Hilda: I shall have to let them in, dear.

P&D: Let us in and you shall hear something to delight your ear.

Mandy: Hello, Dame Hilda.

Peter: Hello.

Dame Hilda: Hello, you two. Come along in.

Mandy: Hello, Doctor.

Peter: Hello.

Dr. Hinge: Hello.

Dame Hilda: Well now, sit yourselves down and tell me what is this all about? It all sounds most intriguing.

Mandy: Well, we just bumped into Naomi Mellinger and she said you didn't know.

Dame Hilda: I didn't know what, dear?

Mandy: Didn't know who the new people at Larkswood House are.

Dame Hilda: Well, neither does she.

Mandy: She does now.

Dame Hilda: How?

Peter: Because we told her.

Dame Hilda: And how do you know?

Peter: Because we went to the house and asked.

Dame Hilda: You never did!

Dr. Hinge: Let's face it Hilda it is the simplest way.

Mandy: We just went to welcome them to Stackton Tressel.

Peter: No, D. We went to find out who they were.

Mandy: And to welcome them to Stackton Tressel, P.

Peter: Well, yes, but principally to find out who they were.

Mandy: P, everybody wanted to find out who they were.

Peter: Well, there you are then.

Mandy: Oh, why must you argue? Anyway, Dame Hilda, we just marched up to the front door and we knocked, didn't we, P?

Peter: Well, I rang the bell first, D, but that didn't work.

Mandy: Well, it did until you broke it. And then I had to knock. And when the door was opened, I said, hello, we’re your neighbours?

Dame Hilda: Neighbours, but you live nearly two miles away.

Peter: Oh, yes, but they don't know that.

Dr. Hinge: And you don't think they'll ever find out?

Mandy:  Oh, they'll find out all right, Doctor. But that'll only serve to show them how jolly neighbourly we Stacktonians are.

Peter:  Exactly, it's a long way to walk just to welcome total strangers.

Dame Hilda: I must confess, Mandy. I'm absolutely dying to know who the new people are.

Mandy: Well, Dame Hilda, there's just the two of them. A man and his housekeeper. But, and this is the interesting part.

Dr. Hinge: Hilda, do sit a bit further back in your chair, dear. Otherwise you're going to roll off.

Dame Hilda: Evadne, I'm on what I believe they call tenterhooks.

Dr. Hinge: And if you're not very careful you're going to be on what I believe they call the floor.

Dame Hilda: Now, Mandy, dear, please?.

Mandy: Well, this man knows you from your days in the theatre.

Dame Hilda: Does he?

Peter: And he knows the Doctor, too.

Dame Hilda: Does he?

Dr. Hinge: Probably one of your old flames, Hilda. I was always being sent to put them out.

Dame Hilda: Well, as well as a friend, you know, I've always looked upon you as a fire bucket. I think it's the face.

Mandy: I don't think he was actually a friend, Dame Hilda.

Peter: Mind, D, we don't know that he wasn't.

Mandy: No P, but we don't know that he was.

Peter: True. He might or he might not have been.

Mandy: Well, isn't that what I said?

Peter: Not in so many words, dear. No.

Mandy: Well, apparently, Dame Hilda, he was a theatre critic.

Dame Hilda: Oh, a critic! Well, the critics were always my friends.

Dr. Hinge: Yes, and who was always sent out to buy the whisky for them?

Mandy: He was on the Snitterton Clarion for a while.

Dame Hilda: Ah, the dear, old Snitterton Clarion.

Dr. Hinge: Tatty Rag!

Dame Hilda: I got my very first notice with the Rosa Charles opera company from the Snitterton Clarion. It's here in the cupboard somewhere, if you'd like to see it?

Dr. Hinge: Now you've started something.

Dame Hilda: I've got all my old press cuttings in here. You might like to borrow them sometime.

Mandy: Oh, we love to, wouldn't we, P?

Peter: Oh, yes. We'd adore to, D.

Dr. Hinge: You'll need a forklift truck.

Dame Hilda: What's the man's name?

Peter: Oh, here. I wrote it down erm... It's, um... Oh. Can you read that, D?

Mandy: I don't need to, P, his name's Roland Quartermaine.

Dame Hilda: Roland Quartermaine? No, it doesn't ring a bell. Do you have any idea when he was at Snitterton?

Peter: I'm not really awfully sure

Mandy: He particularly mentioned seeing you in something called The lady of the rose.

Dame Hilda:  Ah, yes. 19 hundred and…. that was a good show!

Dr. Hinge: I think she's about to sing, Mandy. But you've only yourself to blame for that.

Dame Hilda: Yes, Mandy, dear. Now, here are all my cuttings. See if you can find his piece. And here's the score, Evadne. We must invite him round to dinner. And afterwards we could run through the show for him. Just for old times sake.

Dr. Hinge: He's going to regret moving into Stackton. Now, which of these songs do you want to start with?

Dame Hilda: This one, dear. ‘Catch a butterfly while you can.’ It was my big number. Now, Peter, Mandy. In this, I played the part of Sofie Lavalle, the beautiful, glamorous leader of a dance company run by an Italian nobleman called Baron Sprotti-Sprotti.

Dr. Hinge: Can't we just do the song, Hilda?

Dame Hilda: No, no, I think the story helps, dear… anyway, Peter, Mandy, try to imagine that this here is a room in castle Beltrami. Now, you see, we’ve been stranded in a castle full of soldiers. We were on the way to Milan, and I am now surrounded by handsome young officers. You’ll have to imagine them, of course, to whom I sing this song.

P&D: Lovely!

Dame Hilda: Evadne! EVADNE!!

Dr. Hinge: Sorry, I must have nodded off.

Dame Hilda: Typical. You were always doing that in the orchestra pit. That's why the first violin had a hat pin on his bow.

Dr. Hinge: Oh do let's get on with it.

Some girls prefer to stay at home

Beyond familiar walls

They never care to range

We’re painted butterflies that roam

Wherever fancy calls

In search of something strange

For the worlds a garden

And we ask no pardon

As from flower to flower we gaily go

Each heart's a rover

Of the wide world over

And the flowers are ours we know,

Goodbye, far over the world we love to wander

Goodbye, the butterfly life it calls us yonder.

Here, there. we fair, where’er

We find a sunny hour to squander.

Men may try to cast his nets about us

He'll say life's so lonely gets without us

Poor men, vainly you plot and plan

You have to catch a butterfly while you can.

Gay little gadabouts are we

As careless and as free, as birds that fly above
We long for something new to see

For somewhere new to be and someone new to love

If you have the same one

Life's a dull and tame one

But when new men woo you every day

They fill your fancies

Full of fresh romances

That are sweet as flowers in May.

Goodbye, far over the world we love to wander

Goodbye, the butterfly life it calls us yonder

Here, there. we fair, where’er

We find a sunny hour to squander.

Men may try to cast his nets about us

He'll say life's so lonely gets without us

Poor men, vainly you plot and plan

You have to catch a butterfly while you can

Goodbye, far over the world we love to wander

Goodbye, the butterfly life it calls us yonder

Here, there. we fair, where’er

We find a sunny hour to squander.

Men may try to cast his nets about us

He'll say life's so lonely gets without us

Poor men, vainly you plot and plan

You have to catch a butterfly while you can

Mandy: Oh, that was lovely!

Peter: Bravo, Bravo! I'd like to hear the whole score.

Dame Hilda: Another time, my dears, another time.

Dr. Hinge: It'll have to be, I've just locked the piano.

Dame Hilda: Now, Mandy, have you managed to find our Mr. Quartermaine's notice yet?

Mandy: Not yet, Dame Hilda, but you see that cutting there with a little smudgy photograph beside it?

Dame Hilda: Yes.

Mandy: Well, that could be him, couldn't it, P?

Peter: I suppose it could be, D, yes.

Mandy: Well, do you think it is or not?

Peter: No, no, I don't.

Mandy: Oh, I'm not so sure. I mean, if that dark hair was grey and the moustache was shaved off and he was wearing glasses, well it could be him then, couldn’t it?

Peter: It could be anybody then, D. I mean, if you're going to change it entirely.

Mandy: No, no, that's him, I'm sure that's him.

Dame Hilda: But that's Henry Hornet! Evadne, you remember Henry Hornet?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, indeed. I always thought he was a very good critic.

Dame Hilda: Well, I didn't.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I used to get some very good notices from him.

Dame Hilda: Well, I didn't. He was the rudest man I've ever come across. He's had me in tears before now and there have not been many men who were able to do that.

Dr. Hinge: Nonsense! You were always in tears for one reason or another, you were famous for your tantrums!

Dame Hilda: Well, it's better than being famous for the size of one's feet.

Mandy: I say, P. I do hope we haven't put our foot in it.

Dame Hilda: If your Mr. Quartermaine does turn out to have been Henry Hornet I shall most certainly give him a piece of my mind.

Peter: Oh, well, this looks like being your chance, Dame Hilda. That's him coming up the drive.

Dame Hilda: Oh, dear.

Mandy: That's it. P. Smooth things over.

Dame Hilda: Evadne, dear, when Mr. Quartermaine knocks, I suggest that you answer the door and see what he wants. And do try not to be too effusive I know you didn't often get good reviews, but you've no cause to grovel.

Dr. Hinge: I'm sure I'll be able to restrain myself, Hilda. But if you should see me touching my forelock, give me a nudge, won’t you? You wouldn't like me to say you're out, would you? I mean, you could always nip out the garden way.

Dame Hilda: And leave you two here on your own to pick me to pieces, certainly not.

{Door knocks.}

Dr. Hinge: Very well, then. Here goes.

Mandy: Well, we'd better be making tracks, hadn't we, P.

Peter: What already aren’t we going to stay and say hello?

Mandy: No, we’re not. We'll go the garden way. Oh, Dame Hilda, I'm sure Mr. Quartermaine can't have been Henry Hornet. He seemed such a very nice man.

Dame Hilda: Well, we shall see, shan't we? But don't worry, my dear, whether he is or not I shall endeavour to remain the perfect lady. Bye-bye.

P&D: Bye!

Dr. Hinge: Ah, Hilda. This is our new neighbour, Mr. Quartermaine. He’s called to pay his respects.

Dame Hilda: Mr. Quartermaine, how very kind.

Roland: Not at all, Dame Hilda, not at all. As soon as I heard I had to come, I always enjoy seeing the old faces.

Dame Hilda: It must have been a rare treat to see Evadne’s then.

Roland: Well, yes indeed, to see you both. I've lost so many of my old friends in the theatre lately.

Dame Hilda: Well, you didn't have to rush around here quite so quickly. Evadne and I are good for a few years yet. Indeed, we're both still in the prime of life and feeling exceedingly spry. Well, I am.

Roland: Oh, you mustn't misunderstand me.

Dr. Hinge: I wouldn't pursue that line of conversation if I were you, Mr. Quartermaine. It will almost certainly end with Hilda doing a cartwheel. Now, why don't you sit down?

Roland: Oh, thank you.

Dr. Hinge: Can I offer you a glass of sherry?

Roland: That would be most welcome.

Dr. Hinge: And how about you, Hilda? Are you going to join us?

Dame Hilda: If you've no objections.

Roland: Well, this is really nice. And a very pleasant change. I've been stuck up a ladder for four whole days with a paintbrush in my hand. In truth, I'd not be sitting here now had I not run out of paint.

Dame Hilda: Oh, well, I'm afraid we can't help you there. Now, if it was a cup of sugar.

Dr. Hinge: I've got some paint.

Dame Hilda: Evadne, I don't think for one moment that Mr. Quartermaine is decorating his new home with ex army camouflage paint.

Roland: No, no, no, I've not come a cadging! Mrs. McAllister is fetching paint back from the shops at this very moment.

Dr. Hinge: Your sherry, Mr. Quartermaine.

Roland: Oh, many thanks, indeed.

Dr. Hinge: Hilda.

Dame Hilda: Thank you.

Dr. Hinge: Well, Mr. Quartermaine, welcome to Stackton Tressel and to your new home.

Roland: And here's to my new neighbours.

Dr. Hinge: Ah!

Dame Hilda: Cheers, god bless. mud in your eye.

Roland: God bless you. I should say perhaps, that Mrs. McAllister is my housekeeper. She runs me, she runs the house, she runs errands. And I'm afraid she tends to run people down, both verbally and unless they be nimble, physically. She's the most appalling driver. It's why we're without a car at this very moment, it's in a ditch in Essex. Unless they've got it out, of course, lord knows when we'll see it again.

Dr. Hinge: Well, if you want running anywhere, or if you ever need to borrow a car,

Dame Hilda: We can recommend a very reliable tax, yes, sir.

Roland: No, no, no, no. I'll be all right. I'm a great one for having things delivered. And I'm a firm believer in using the telephone, which again makes things rather difficult just now because, of course, we have not yet been connected.

Dr. Hinge: Well, if you ever want to use a phone.

Dame Hilda: There's a public call box right opposite!

Roland: I know, I know. I can see it from my window. And do you know every time over the past few days that I have wanted to use that box I have looked out to find some garrulous old biddy in it, gabbing away.

Dr. Hinge: Yes, it's a particularly busy box that one. Isn't it, Hilda?

Dame Hilda: I don't think I've ever used it, dear.

Dr. Hinge: What?

Dame Hilda: Well, not properly.

Roland: Mind, the road itself has been a good deal busier over the past few days than I seem to remember it being when I viewed the property.

Dr. Hinge:  It's the time of year, Mr. Quartermaine. I think you'll find it will return to normal once the pine cone season’s over.

Roland: So that’s it, is it? My dear late wife was a great one for the pine cones, the things she used to do with them. You know, in most respects, in most respects she was a woman of irreproachable taste and great finesse, but when it came to pine cones, she could be guilty of the most deplorable lapses.

Dr. Hinge: Don't tell me she used to make table decorations for Christmas.

Roland: I'm afraid she did ghastly things, so garish.

Dr. Hinge: Those things always are aren't they?

Dame Hilda: I like them. I think they're Christmassy.

Roland: Oh, I suppose they're that all right. Though in my opinion, they are symptomatic of what that festival has unfortunately become, rather than what it should be.

Dr. Hinge: I couldn't agree more.

Dame Hilda: Oh, you are a toad, Evadne!

Roland: I say, who's is the press cutting book?

Dame Hilda: It's mine, Mr. Quartermaine. Just one of many. And you'll find that with certain notable exceptions the notices contained therein are splendidly complimentary.

Roland: Ah, I see you've got one of mine here.

Dame Hilda: Ah, so you were Henry Hornet, were you?

Roland: Oh, just for a while. Oh dear, oh dear, looking at this crit, I did say some pretty harsh things about you in The lady of the rose, didn't I, Dame Hilda? But you know I’d completely forgotten.

Dame Hilda: I'm glad you're enjoying reading it. I don't mind telling you I didn't at the time. And there's not the slightest point you're saying that you didn't mean it.

Roland: Oh, if I said it I meant it all right.

Dame Hilda: Well, the harms done now and the wounds have healed. But I was deeply hurt at the time.

Roland: Then you had no business to be in the theatre. After all, if one chooses to stick oneself up there and charge honest, decent, hard working folk good money to watch one cavorting in a load of musical rubbish, one shouldn't be surprised if one receives the occasional brick bat or even the occasional rotten egg.

Dame Hilda: Are you implying that what I did was rubbish?

Roland: Well, that would certainly appear to be the gist of the piece I have here in my hand.

Dr. Hinge: Can I offer anyone a refill? You both must be getting rather dry.

Dame Hilda: Evadne, we are trying to have a serious conversation. Well, Mr. Quartermaine, an awful lot of water has flowed under the bridge since then. And I'm not one to bear a grudge, nor to blame a man for the conceits and follies of his youth. I suppose we are now all of us a good deal older and wiser. Though of course, some of us don't look that much older.

Dr. Hinge: And some of us don't seem that much wiser.

Dame Hilda: What do you mean by that?

Dr. Hinge: Nothing, just an introspective observation.

Dame Hilda: Well, you can keep your introspective observations to yourself. Now, I am going to be gracious, Mr. Quartermaine. You will doubtless be pleased to hear that I have decided to forgive you for the truly awful notices you sometimes wrote.

Roland: In which case, Dame Hilda, I too shall be gracious, and you will doubtless be equally pleased to hear that I have decided to forgive you for the truly awful performances you sometimes gave.

Dame Hilda: Mr. Quartemaine, just between you and me, I will admit that very, very occasionally I did, perhaps, when battling against influenza, give a performance that was marginally below my normal standard of perfection. But not one of the leading critics in the country ever had the temerity to remark on the fact. So who is Henry Hornet among so many? Now, Mr. Quartermaine, another glass of sherry before you leave us.

Transcribed by Lorraine Taylor