Dame Hilda: Summer is an especially busy time in Stackton Tressel with all manner of outdoor events taking place. There's the flower show. There are all manner of fates, most of them worse than death. And there is the annual display and gymkhana organised by the goat fanciers circle. I know, I know, it sounds unlikely. But there are in Stackton a surprisingly large number of people who do fancy goats. Or as the Stackton bugle put it recently, goats are on the up and up. However, by far the biggest of summer's events is the carnival with its procession and subsequent field day and dance. This is traditionally held on the second Saturday in July. And it was about this particular event that Major Dyrenforth called to see, Evadne, and me one morning some weeks ago.

{Drawing room.}

Major: I wondered ladies, what if anything were your abiding memories of last year's carnival?

Dame Hilda: Definitely the dance in the evening, Major. I'll never know how, but I remember ending up surrounded by the rugger club with cocktail cherries all around my feet and a sausage roll in my glass.

Major: Oh, yes, the hokey cokey. I'm sure we all have very vivid memories of that, don't we?

Dr. Hinge: I don't.

Dame Hilda: You wouldn't, Evadne. You were determine not to enjoy yourself, and you didn't.

Major: By and large the dance was a great success. But what did you think of the procession?

Dame Hilda: Well, of course. I shall always cherish the memory of it marching resolutely into that narrow cul-de-sac. And emerging a few moments later, backwards with that steam roller in hot pursuit. And all those men with shovels.

Major: Yes, that was lesson number one. Make sure all marshals know the route backwards.

Dame Hilda: They knew it perfectly backwards.

Dr. Hinge: All I remember is the rain.

Dame Hilda: We all remember the rain, Evadne. It wasn't just raining on you, you know! I think one of the other lasting memories, Major, is of the float carrying the sea cadets, driving straight into the river.

Dr. Hinge: The sea cadets got no wetter than the rest of us. Do you know more than four inches of rain fell that afternoon?

Dame Hilda: Yes, and I bet if anyone was measuring it, you were, dear.

Dr. Hinge: It was the wettest July on record in Stackton.

Dame Hilda: Well, of course you noticed it more than usual, Evadne, didn't you? Because you'd left your umbrella on the bus.

Dr. Hinge: I did not leave it anywhere, Hilda. It was stolen.

Dame Hilda: Oh, don't be ridiculous, Evadne. Who'd want that terrible old blue umbrella with the horse's head handle? I should think that someone handed it into the bus conductor and he broke it over his knee, because I would have done.

Dr. Hinge: You probably did.

Major: You know, you sound a bit like me, Hilda. I once took a hat of Lorna’s that I particularly disliked and dug it into the garden with the compost.

Dame Hilda: That was sneaky of you, Major.

Major: It was, wasn't it? She often wondered what had happened to it, but she never found out. And my rhubarb has never been better. I digress. Are there any other carnival memories, ladies? You see, I'm trying to make a point.

Dr. Hinge:  Good. I was beginning to wonder.

Major: My point is that all we really seem to remember is a series of little mishaps. Now, we had a committee meeting this morning and everyone was agreed that we must try harder to ensure that such things do not happen in the future. We can, alas, do nothing about the weather.

Dame Hilda: Oh, but there I don't agree with you, Major. Everyone knows why it always rains on the carnival. It's the curse of cocky legs Finnegan.

Dr. Hinge: Oh. Don't tell me you're going to bring up cocky legs Finnegan again.

Major: Funny that, do you know, Lorna half believes that cocky legs Finnegan stuff.

Dr. Hinge: It's a load of superstitious nonsense, Major. Now, how could a stupid little bandy-legged apple seller possibly have affected the weather?

Dame Hilda: Perhaps if you weren't so rude about cocky legs, Evadne, you wouldn't get so wet. It might have been him who hid your umbrella.

Major: An apple seller was he? Lorna, seemed to think he was a fishmonger.

Dr. Hinge: No, dear, no, he's sold codlings, Major. Small apples, not small fish.

Dame Hilda: The size and nature of his codlings has nothing whatever to do with it. The point is, it is not a legend. It is a true story.

Major: I know it's supposed to be based on truth.

Dame Hilda: It was actually reported in the Stackton bugle.

Dr. Hinge: And we all know how reliable that is. They once referred to me as Dr. Binge.

Dame Hilda: I told you before the interview that you should have powdered your nose, dear? Anyway, according to the paper it was carnival day. And cocky legs Finnegan was standing in the high street with his basket of codlings. When a coal cart, carrying one of the floats ran over his foot, well, of course he dropped his basket and his codlings all over the road, and nobody lifted a finger to help. So, of course, he shouted a curse on them.

Dr. Hinge: She loves telling people about this, Major.

Dame Hilda: Evadne, I really cannot understand why a clever woman like you, who believes so strongly in the ring of Nibelungen, should flatly refuse to believe in cocky legs Finnegan.

Major:  Then you really do believe him, that our carnival is cursed.

Dame Hilda: We know it is Major. Yet everyone scoffs like Evadne. I mean, and what's the result? Every year on the second Saturday in July, we all march out in our nice summer frocks thinking, sunshine, sunshine and get soaked to the skin. It's high time that someone did something about getting that curse rescinded, or whatever it is one does to curses.

Major: Well, Hilda, by a happy quirk of fate, that task could fall to you.

Dame Hilda: What?

Major: The committee has decided to divide the organisation of the event into three separate parts. They have suggested that Lorna arranges the field day, the sports and the stalls and things like that, and that I handle the dance, little enough to go wrong there, just make sure the bar doesn't run dry and the band doesn't run off. And that I attempt to persuade you, two, dear ladies, to take on the procession. It is, after all, something akin to a theatrical event.

Dame Hilda: Well, what an opportunity, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, isn't it, dear? I'm sure you’ll manage it very well.

Dame Hilda: It's the two of us they want, dear.

Dr. Hinge: We'll still, as long as they've got the clever one.

Major: Well, we don't need a decision at once. I'll leave you two to thrash it out. I mean, talk it over between you.

Dame Hilda:  Don’t worry major, we'll do it. Evadne can't resist a challenge, can you, dear?

Dr. Hinge: I am not in the least worried about organising the procession, dear.

Dame Hilda: Well, of course you're not. You can use some of the ideas you picked up from the victory parade in 1919.

Dr. Hinge: And risk having you say you'd seen it all before, I suppose! No, Hilda, what worries me is this element of exorcism I see creeping in.

Dame Hilda: Oh, no need to worry your head about that, Evadne. I know how to handle cocky legs Finnegan

Dame Hilda: To tell the truth, I hadn't the foggiest idea of how to handle cocky legs. I thought of asking the vicar. But the last time he attempted an exorcism, he was found in a duck pond with bull rush in his ear. Then the thought struck me. What about trying to outwit cocky legs? By changing the date of the carnival or the route or even the town. I mean, holding it somewhere like, Bury St Edmonds. But then I thought this might be looked upon as a confession of failure. And then eventually I thought, I know. I'll handle cocky legs in exactly the same way that I handle Evadne.

Dame Hilda: What we have to do, Evadne, is flatter him.

Dr. Hinge: How?

Dame Hilda: Make him feel important, dear.

Dr. Hinge: How?

Dame Hilda: I do wish you'd stop saying how! You sound like a red Indian at a powwow. We'll get someone to make a huge effigy of cocky legs, and we'll give him pride of place in the procession.

Dr. Hinge: And what about the carnival queen? We don't want to put her nose out of joint.

Dame Hilda: Well, why not, it might improve her appearance, you know who it is this year, don't you?

Dr. Hinge: No, I don't. Who?

Dame Hilda: Stephanie Carter, the coal man's daughter.

Dr. Hinge: Not the ugly one who delivers the papers​?

Dame Hilda: No, dear, that's Melanie.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, well, that's a relief.

Dame Hilda: No, Stephanie's the even uglier one who delivers the coal.

Dr. Hinge: Well, good heavens. If we put her on a float and parade her through the streets, they’ll probably stone her.

Dame Hilda: We can, but hope, dear.

Dr. Hinge: Now, I tell you what, Hilda. We'll be artful. We'll divert people's attention from her. We'll put her and her attendants on the same float as your giant effigy of cocky legs Finnegan.

Dame Hilda: Oh, I don't think that would be wise, dear. After all, it was a coal cart that ran over his foot in the first place. If we saddled him with the coal man's repulsive daughter, it would surely be adding insult to injury.

Dr. Hinge: Yes. We're going to saddle anyone it aught to be her, really.

Dame Hilda: I understand she's known among the local lads as nutty slack. And she certainly looks both.

Dr. Hinge: What do you suggest, then?

Dame Hilda: I suggest we put cocky legs first and Stephanie second and tell her she's in the best position. She's stupid enough to believe it.

Dr. Hinge: Very well. Now, let me make a note of this. Say we have the silver band first.

Dame Hilda: Oh, and we must ask them to walk a little slower this year, dear,. It's so undignified when we all have to break into a run to keep up.

Dr. Hinge: All right, I've got that. So there's the silver band crawling along at the front.

Dame Hilda: There's no need for it to crawl, Evadne. All that I ask is that it walks normally. It's the Stackton carnival, dear, Not the Stackton marathon!

Dr. Hinge: Right, so there's the silver band walking perfectly normally.

Dame Hilda: That sounds lovely.

Dr. Hinge: Now, behind the band comes a cocky legs Finnegan.

Dame Hilda: Covered in flowers.

Dr. Hinge: Covered in flowers.

Dame Hilda: And draped in flags.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I'm going to leave all that to you, Hilda. It's getting a little vulgar for my taste.

Dr. Hinge: Then comes the carnival queen.

Dame Hilda: God help us.

Dr. Hinge: Amen. And then what?

Dame Hilda: Why not the little man with the elephant?

Dr. Hinge: No. Definitely not, Hilda. Not after what that elephant did to me last year. And I'd just given it a bun.

Dame Hilda: The trouble with you, Evadne, is that you don't understand the ways of elephants, dear. You unsettle them.

Dr. Hinge: I didn't like that man and I didn't like his elephant.

Dame Hilda: Couldn't we stick it right at the very end, dear? I mean, as long as nothing's following it.

Dr. Hinge: Hmm, yes, all right. Very well. By the way, tell me, what is the theme of the Women's Institute float this year?

Dame Hilda: Things you find in fields.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I hope that's wise. What sort of things?

Dame Hilda: Oh, I don't know, mushrooms and flowers and twigs and rabbit holes.

Dr. Hinge: How in heaven's name do you dress up as a rabbit hole?

Dame Hilda: No idea. But I bet someone in the WI knows. It's a pity you're not on their float, Evadne. You could have gone as a stick insect.

Dr. Hinge: And you could have gone as a wasp! Anyway, now to the most important point. Where are we going to put the Stackton operatic and theatre society? In other words, us.

Dame Hilda: How about right in the middle, dear? Just as they're getting bored to death, we come on and pick the whole show up off the floor. And we must make sure that everything that follows us is rubbish.

Dr. Hinge: Well, that shouldn't be difficult. Mind you, we must be as far as possible from the two bands who are going to advertise the production of Tom Jones. I can't bear being oom pahed while playing the piano.

Dame Hilda: That's quite understandable, dear.

Dr. Hinge: Now, I suggest we make a tableau out of act two. You know the inn at Upton, and we'll sing a selection from the score.

Dame Hilda: One song we ought to do, dear, is Honor’s song, you know, as all the maids. I do so adore it. I say, you don't happen to have it handy, do you, dear?

Dr. Hinge: Now, you know very well I do. Do you want to run through it now?

Dame Hilda: Why not, dear? And do try not to worry about the elephant, Evadne, I'm sure it hasn't got that long a memory. It might even get to like you in the end, or is that a word I shouldn't use?

Dr. Hinge: Shut up and sing!

As all the maids and I one day, were in the meadow a making hay.

There came to the lane of Tipton down, a gentleman fine from London town.

And oh, he looked at me, looked askance at me. I felt my cheeks go flaming red,

I hadn't got eyes in the back of my head.

But I knew that he looked, I knew that he looked, I knew that he looked at me.  I knew, I knew.

Said he, I'm going to London town and I've lost my way across the down.

If one of you maids will show the way,

A kiss for the service I will pay. And oh, he looked at me, looked askance at me.

So lest he lost his way again, I took him up to the top of the lane.

For I knew that he looked, I knew that he looked, I knew that he looked at me. I knew, I knew.
And when I showed him the way to go, he lightly stood to his saddle bow.

With a here’s your kiss and a silver crown and a come with me sweet to London town

And oh, he looked at me, he looked askance at me.

But when I found the heart to cry, kind sir, do you see any green in my eye.

The way that he looked, the way that he looked, the way that he looked at me. The way that he looked, he looked at me.

Dame Hilda: Well, that should have the whole town looking at us! Oh, that sounds like Maud.

Dr. Hinge: Does she go on a float?

Dame Hilda: Oh, no, dear, she prefers to walk.

Dr. Hinge: Banned, was she?

Maud: Good morning, Dame ‘ilda. Doctor.

Dame Hilda: Hello, Maud.

Dr. Hinge: Good morning, Maud:

Dame Hilda: I know what you've come for, the bottles for your stall, dear. I've put some out there on the kitchen table.

Maud: Do you know they've not given me the bottle stall this year?

Dr. Hinge: Well, that's a relief. I hear they're still digging broken glass out of the cricket pitch from last year.

Maud: Well, that's nothing to do with me, Doctor. They've been playing with glass balls, I shouldn't wonder.

Dame Hilda: So, what are you doing this year, then, Maud?

Maud: Well. Mrs. Dyrenforth, reckoned as I should ‘ave something more suited to my particular talents, Dame ‘ilda.

Dame Hilda: And?

Maud: I'm captain of the lady's tug o’ war team.

Dr. Hinge: Pulling your weight at last, eh, Maud?

Maud: If you've any complaints about my work, Doctor, I’ll thank you to address them to Dame‘ilda.

Dame Hilda: Oh, Doctor's only joking, aren't you, Evadne? Well, aren't you, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, dear. If you say so.

Maud: Mind, you never know the trouble we ‘ad finding somewhere suitable to practice. Arthur won't let us do it at ‘ome, you know.

Dame Hilda: Why ever not, dear?

Maud: I don't know. ‘e's getting ever set in ‘is ways. See, I ‘ad the lady's tug o’ war team round the ‘ouse on Saturday.

Dr. Hinge: That must have been nice for him.

Dame Hilda: But perhaps rather heavy going, eh, dear?

Maud: Well, we was all in the garden, you see. And my Arthur were sitting in ‘is deck chair, dozing. Grab ‘old the end of the rope, I says, just as a joke. And ‘e does.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, dear.

Maud: So ‘e ‘as ‘old one end and my six ladies as ‘old the other.

 Dame Hilda: Yes.

Maud: Now, whether ‘e weren't ready or not, I don't know. Any road, I shouts, ‘eeeeave!
 And my lot ‘eaved. Well, all I seed were my Arthur flashed by me up the path. ‘e's shot in through the French windows and out through the front door. And ‘ed have been in Scotland, I shouldn't wonder, but for that bird bath!

Dame Hilda: They’re such handy things to have about, aren't they? like, sun dials.

Dame Hilda: Did he hurt himself, dear?

Maud: You never ‘eard such a fuss in all your born days. ‘e reckoned ‘ed twisted ‘is knee, ‘e did. Well, one of my ladies darn soon twisted it back for ‘im.

Dr. Hinge: The merciful healing hands of the ladies tug o’ war team!

Maud: She is a physiotherapist, Doctor!

Dame Hilda: I bet that's not what Arthur called her. Still no bones broken Maud?​

Maud: Why, I were coming to that.

Dr. Hinge: I rather thought you might be.

Maud: It were entirely ‘is own fault, Doctor. If ‘e'd not got straight back in ‘is deck chair and not sat there facing that tree, ‘e'd ‘ave been perfectly all right.

Dame Hilda: What had the tree got to do with it, dear?

Maud: Well, we tied our rope around the tree to ‘ave another little tug like.

Dr. Hinge: Yes, I thought that was probably it.

Dame Hilda: But, if he was facing the tree, Maud, surely he must have seen it coming?

Maud: Oh, ‘e seed it coming, all right, Dame ‘ilda. And the great daft lummox leaps out of ‘is chair to avoid it, trips over ‘is teapot and plunges straight into the pond!

Dame Hilda: Well, you be thankful for small mercies, Maud. At least he avoided the tree, didn't he?

Maud: No, that were just it.

Dr. Hinge: You don't mean to say that that poor man was trapped in the fish pond under a tree.

Maud: Well, yes, I do, Doctor. ‘e was. Do you know, when I first glimpsed ‘im through the foliage, ‘e ‘ad a water lily on ‘is ‘ead and a goldfish behind his ear.

Dr. Hinge: You did get him out, I hope, Maud?

Maud: Well, of course we got ‘im out, doctor. Our rope was still around the tree. So my lady's grab's ‘old and I shout, eeeve! And out comes Arthur. And you know that clumsy fool had somehow managed to get ‘is collarbone broke. ‘e's accident prone.

Dame Hilda: Poor Arthur.

Maud: Oh, sympathy’s quite wasted on that man, Dame ‘ilda. After all we done to ‘elp ‘im, ‘e’ll still not let us practice at ‘ome. That's why I was wondering if we might...

Dame Hilda: No, dear!

Dr. Hinge: No, definitely not!

Maud: Well, I simply don't understand it. The lady's tug o’ war team don't seem welcome anywhere.

Dame Hilda: You'll be walking in the procession, I hope?

Maud: Oh, yes, Dame ‘ilda, all of us. We've ‘ad special uniforms.

Dame Hilda: Oh, really? Come on, let's hear?

Maud: Green and yellow striped dresses, green and yellow striped blazers, yellow shoes, and green and yellow bands round our boaters

Dame Hilda: Good, heaven's dear, you'll look like a plague of caterpillars.

Dr. Hinge: Still we know where we can place them in the procession, don't we, Hilda?

Dame Hilda: Where's that, dear?

Dr. Hinge: Right behind the elephant.

{Parade.}

Dame Hilda: And so, the day finally dawned. The procession formed up in the school yard. The rugby club, as usual, proved extremely imaginative. They sprayed themselves from head to toe in silver paint and came as apostle spoons. Though some of their postures were most unapostle like.  Evadne and I set up our headquarters in the headmaster's study and it was from here, as the time for the off approached, that we eagerly scanned the sky.

Dame Hilda: What's it doing, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: Clouding up. Very rapidly.

Dame Hilda: Well, of course, I never promised this would work.

Dr. Hinge: You gave everyone out there the idea that it would. Look at them, not a care in the world not an umbrella between them.

Dame Hilda: Evadne, why are you putting your mackintosh on?

Dr. Hinge: I never believed it in the first place.

Dame Hilda: Take that mackintosh off at once, this instant. I absolutely insist. You'll ruin it for everybody. Besides, it makes you look like a Tolpuddle martyr.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, Very well, Hilda, but I warn you, if I get drenched again,

Dame Hilda: {Thunder clap!} listen to that. Evadne, would you say those dark clouds were coming or going?

Dr. Hinge: I'd say they were stopping right where they are, dear. over head!

Dame Hilda:  I tell you what, nip down and tell them to pile more flowers around cocky legs.

Dr. Hinge: And where are they supposed to get them from at this late stage?

Dame Hilda: Tell them to take them from the WI float. They've got far too many, it looks like a mobile lying in state.

Dr. Hinge: I say, Hilda, I've just noticed. They've got the bonnet up on cocky legs truck.

Dame Hilda: What?

Dr. Hinge: And Major Dyrenforth’s coming this way looking very serious.

Dame Hilda: Oh, no, if anything's gone wrong, Evadne, I shall blame it on your disbelief. And I shall burn your macintosh!

Major: I say, Hilda, we've got a bit of a problem.

Dame Hilda: Oh, dear!

Major: We can't get that first float started.

Dame Hilda:  Oh, well, then we must delay the off until we can Major.

Major: Which brings me to the second problem. The silver band won't wait.

Dame Hilda: Won't wait?

Major: Well, what can you expect with a bank manager for a band master? He has just informed me in that voice he normally reserves for refusing a loan. That he was told to march off at two o'clock sharp, and that at two o'clock sharp he's going to march willy nilly.

Dame Hilda: Evadne, go down and stop that pompous little man at once. Tell him we shall take our accounts elsewhere. And our overdrafts.

Dr. Hinge: Too late. I'm definitely putting on my mackintosh!

Major: We'll have to leave cocky legs where he is I'm afraid, Hilda, and tell the rest to follow on. They can get round all right.

Dame Hilda: No, Major. I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll get the rugger club to push and the ladies tug o’ war team to pull. And if they can't get cocky legs on the road, we'll block it. No cocky legs, no parade.

Major: Don't worry, Hilda. Leave it to me.

Dr. Hinge:  I say, Hilda. It may be a coincidence, but I do believe the sun is breaking through.

Dame Hilda: There you are. The curse is lifting. Cocky legs Finnegan is placated at last. Evadne, give me that mackintosh!.

Dr. Hinge: What do you want it for?

Dame Hilda: I'm going to burn it, dear. I've never liked it any more than I like that awful blue umbrella of yours with the horses head handle.

Transcribed by Lorraine Taylor