{Drawing room.}

Dame Hilda: Isn't it lovely looking at all these old photographs again, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: It's alright for you I suppose, not really much fun for me.

Dame Hilda: Why ever not dear?

Dr. Hinge: Because all the photographs are of you.

Dame Hilda: Oh, no they're not. You're in a lot of them too.

Dr. Hinge:  Well I haven't seen a single one with me in so far.

Dame Hilda: All right, I'll jolly soon find you some. Yes, now what about that one there? Of me in front of the orchestra bus in 1952. That's you with your head stuck under the bonnet. And that one of me standing in front of the lyceum in Crewe, those are your feet, dear.

Dr. Hinge: Where?

Dame Hilda: There at the top, up the ladder behind me. I think you were bill posting or lighting the gas lamp. Oh and what about that one of me on the platform at St Pancras station, shaking hands with the engine driver. And see that feather sticking up out of that cloud of steam.

Dr. Hinge: Yes.

Dame Hilda: Well that was your hat. I remember that hat. I think it was a vulture feather. We always used to say that every time you put it on the theatre cat ran for cover. Oh, I say. Oh, that's a nice snap of me isn't it. Cecil Beaton took that one. He signed it. See?

Dr. Hinge: And that's exactly what I mean. Apart from one or two bits of me that got it by accident. Those photographs are all of you.

Dame Hilda: If you were so keen on having your photograph taken, you shouldn't have kept vanishing up ladders or behind milk churns when people were flashing their cameras. The trouble is you see, you've never had that natural flair. A flair for finding centre stage that I have. That's why I became a star. And you spent your time in the pit waving your little stick at that motley collection of alcoholics you called an orchestra. Oh, I say. Isn't that a lovely one of me there? I really did look quite ravishing in oriental costume, didn't I?

Dr. Hinge: Hmm. The baby you're carrying on your back doesn't look too happy

Dame Hilda: That was in the musical play The Mousmé. Remember? I was singing that jolly little Lionel Monckton song. The little Japanese mama.

Dr. Hinge: Of course, the thing audiences liked best about that show was the earthquake scene. And I must say, as directed by me, it was tremendously effective.

Dame Hilda: Well, they liked that, of course. I mean, no one's going to turn up their nose at an earthquake scene, are they?  Especially in places where they usually got nothing more exciting than Izzy Bonn and performing dogs. But they always adored me singing that song. It should be on the Piano somewhere. I'll dig it out and remind you if you like.

Dr. Hinge: I don’t suppose you could mime the earthquake scene instead, could you?

Dame Hilda: Evadne, if it's anything theatrical, I can do it. But it seems silly to mime when one has been blessed with such splendid vocal cords. Ah, here it is. I bet this will bring back a few memories.

Dr. Hinge: Very possibly. But it won't seem the same without the earthquake. 

Happy little Jackie, mother's little baby boy.

Round little head and big brown eyes.

Brave as a Doge and oh so wise.

Upsidaisy, baby, baby, look at nice new toy.

He's going out for a nice ta-ta

Perched on the back of his dear mama.

Baby good, baby bad.

If you pinch him, he will cry.

If you tickle him, he will smile.

Though he’s sleeping all the while.

If you tickle him, he will laugh. Ha, ha, ha!

With a little Japanese baby.

Of the little Japanese mama.

Mama, mama, mama, mama.

The little Japanese mama.

If you pinch him, he will cry

If you soothe him, he will smile.

Though he’s sleeping all the while.

If you tickle him, he will laugh. Ha, ha, ha!

With a little Japanese baby

Of the little Japanese mama.

Mama, mama, mama, mama.

The little Japanese mama.

Dame Hilda: Do you know, Evadne, I think that's the first time I've ever sung that song all the way through with a dry neck.

Dr. Hinge: What do you mean, dear?

Dame Hilda: Well the baby on my back used to dribble. Of course I'd have replaced him with a doll if his doting father hadn't been our publicity man.

Dr. Hinge: Right.

{Door knocks.}

Dame Hilda: Now who can that be I wonder?

Maud: It's all right, Dame ‘ilda, I’ll go.

Dame Hilda: Thank you, Maud.

Maud: Is there anyone you don't want to see?

Dame Hilda: Well, I can't think of anyone off hand.

Dr. Hinge: I can think of someone I don't want to see.

Dame Hilda: Just a minute, Maud. Who dear?

Dr. Hinge: Maud’s Sister, Gudrun.

Dame Hilda: Well, I can hardly tell her that now, can I?  It's all right, Maud. Even the Doctors at home to everyone this morning.

Maud: Very well Dame ‘ilda.

Dame Hilda: And you can uncross your fingers, Evadne. I happen to know that Gudrun's gone on a coach trip to Lowestoft today.

Dr. Hinge: Well if she wanted to go on a coach trip, why didn't she go on a nice long one? Back home to Bodmin.

Dame Hilda: I suspect that even Maud wishes she'd do that, dear. But apparently every time she phones home to tell them she's coming back, someone there talks her into taking a few more days away.

Dr. Hinge: It must be nice to be wanted.

Maud: It’s Major Dyrenforth, Dame ‘ilda, I'm sending ‘im in.

Dame Hilda: Thank you, Maud, dear. I do wish she wouldn't shout.

Major: Good morning, ladies.

Dame Hilda: Good morning, Major. How nice to see you.

Dr. Hinge: Good morning, Major.

Dame Hilda: Come along in, sit yourself down. Here, I'll move these photograph albums of mine and you can have this chair.

Major: Oh, there's no need for that, Hilda. I don't want to disturb you. I'll be quite happy parking myself over there.

Dr. Hinge: She's only trying to draw your attention to her photograph albums, Major. And I warn you, if you're not very careful, you'll find yourself being frog marched down memory lane.

Major: I say you don't have to have any photographs of Stackton in among that little lot, do you, Hilda?

Dr. Hinge: I don't think the Rosa Charles ever played the co-op hall, Major. But if they did, you can bet your bottom dollar she's standing in front of it.

Dame Hilda: As you will no doubt have gathered, Major, Evadne’s in rather a waspish mood this morning, you see, we've been up and down memory lane quite a few times since breakfast. And she's upset that we've seen so little of her there. Like the coelacanth, she appears to go back a very long way without having left much trace of herself.

Dr. Hinge: What do you know about the coelacanth? You wouldn't know a coelacanth if one walked up and bit you.

Dame Hilda: I bet you would though. When you were a girl you probably had one instead of a gold fish.

Major: Well ladies, if I've come at an awkward time.

Dame Hilda: Not at all, Major, not at all, dear. You really mustn't let our playful badinage discomfort you. We're only joking, aren't we, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, you’ll know when we get really serious, Major. You'll have to duck.

Dame Hilda: So what can we do for you then, Major?

Dr. Hinge: Major: Well, I'm quite possibly being a little premature. But have you been approached recently by the Rotary club?

Dame Hilda: Not en masse, dear, no, though I have passed the time of day with the occasional member in the high street.

Major: They've not written to you then?

Dame Hilda: No, well, not since they wrote to thank me for being such a good sport in their charity run a week or two back. It was so kind of them to send that beautiful bouquet. After all, I really did nothing. Just lay in bed and let them push me for 25 miles.

Major: Ah, but singing all the way, Hilda, singing all the way.

Dame Hilda: That, Major, is what being a good trooper is surely all about. A cheery song always makes the task seem lighter don’t you think.

Dr. Hinge: It was all very well for you, propped up on your pillows like the Queen of Sheba. I was stuck in an old iron bathtub for 25 miles, trying to play the banjo.

Dame Hilda: Yes, and I must say, Evadne, as we overtook you, it struck me that you were sounding better than ever, dear. Oh, didn't we have some fun that day? Nevertheless, Major, I do hope the Rotary club isn't going to ask us to do it again.

Major: Oh, no, no. Their latest idea is mercifully more restful. They're going to organise an exhibition called Stackton through the ages. It's amazing the things that people have tucked away. For example, did you know that Naomi Mellinger has in her possession a fragment of a monk's gravestone from the old monastery?

Dr. Hinge: How did she come by that?

Major: Apparently it was given to her one Christmas by the then president of the historical society.  Have either of you ever seen it?

Both: No.

Major: It's nicely mounted in a cast iron trivet. She uses it as a teapot stand.

Dame Hilda: Is there's nothing sacred to that woman.

Major: She's also got the handcuffs and leg irons from the old jail. They were another gift from the same fellow.

Dame Hilda: Their relationship doesn't sound awfully wholesome to me.

Dr. Hinge: So, where are they holding this exhibition? In Naomi Mellingers back room?

Major: They're rather hoping that this exhibition will flush out a good deal of stuff. There's a letter on the way to you I know asking you if you would organise the photographic section of the exhibition. You have such a flair for that sort of thing. We were all most impressed with that little display you mounted at the music emporium, recently.

Dr. Hinge: Correction Major. I did that.

Dame Hilda: Under my supervision Evadne’

Dr. Hinge: Supervision? all you did was point at a pile of sheet music and a wall and say that lot goes there. Then you went out to tea.

Dame Hilda: Ah, yes. But everything was already selected and sorted. All you had to do was stick it up. Any fool could have done that. Well, any fool, did.

Major: I say I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean to put the cat among the pigeons. However, I'm sure the Rotary club's letter is quite properly addressed to you both.

Dame Hilda: How much photographic material do we have?

Major: To tell the truth, not very much so far. Lorna's been going through all our snaps, of course. But they're mostly of picnics, people paddling and horses looking over gates. So what we thought we'd do is put out a general call for material and ask for it all to be delivered here. If that's all right, then you two good ladies can choose what you think is most interesting. It'll give the exhibition a personal viewpoint.

Dame Hilda:  Oh, that's a very good idea, Major. A personal viewpoint. Isn't that a good idea, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: I would say it rather depends upon which of us actually does the choosing, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: Well, we both will do that.

Dr. Hinge: I mean, which of us actually has the final choice?

Dame Hilda: It will be a joint decision, Evadne,

Dr. Hinge: Isn't it amazing how reasonable she can sound, Major? But who will make this joint decision, Hilda?

Dame Hilda: We will, together.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, yes. How?

Dame Hilda: Oh, Evadne, how do two rational, sensible people arrive at such decisions? By a process of reasoned discussion, a willingness to listen to each other's arguments and a determination to reach a mutually satisfactory conclusion?

Dr. Hinge: This, I have to see.

{Later.}

Dr. Hinge: So, we're agreed then. The one here of the little boy in the Eton collar prodding the pig goes on the no pile.

Dame Hilda: Yes, agreed. I certainly don't like the look of that pig.

Dr. Hinge:  And I don't like the look of the little boy in Eton Collar.

Dame Hilda: I say, the no pile's getting quite big, isn't it?

Dr. Hinge: Well, there's not much wall space in that exhibition room above the library anyway. So we just might just as well be choosy. Now, what's the next one you've got there?

Dame Hilda: Um, three old men sitting in a field.

Dr. Hinge: How old?

Dame Hilda: Oh, about ninety by the look of them.

Dr. Hinge: No, I mean, how old is the photograph?

Dame Hilda: Oh, oh, wait a minute. Yes, yes, this one's got it written on the back. Dinner time for the hay mowers 1899.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, now, that sounds interesting.

Dame Hilda: Certainly doesn't look it.

Dr. Hinge: It's the only picture of agricultural workers at work that we've come across so far.

Dame Hilda: They're not at work, they're having their dinner. And we wouldn't have known that if it wasn't written on the back. None of them are eating anything.

Dr. Hinge: They've obviously already partaken of their humble repast, Hilda, and are resting briefly in the summer sun, prior to resuming their labour with scythe and sickle.

Dame Hilda: Or to put it simply, three old men sitting in a field. No, I don't like the look of them.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I do.

Dame Hilda: I think it's a boring picture.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I don't.

Dame Hilda: Then it's stale mate again, isn't it? Do we go to arbitration?

Dr. Hinge: Oh, anything to save time and pointless interminable arguments.

Dame Hilda: Right. Heads or tails.

Dr. Hinge: Heads.

Dame Hilda: It's tails, you lose. And that's another one for the no pile. Oh, I say Evadne, look, here's a pretty one. And its hand coloured. And it's a picture of a gypsy girl selling bluebells.

Dr. Hinge: And what's that got to do with Stackton? Could be anywhere.

Dame Hilda: You know, she looks rather like I did in the gypsy princess, doesn't she?

Dr. Hinge: Yes. Too posed, and as much like a gypsy as you did too.

Dame Hilda: It's 1888, you know. And it says, a gypsy girl selling bluebells.

Dr. Hinge: Why don't you move your thumb and read the small print? Yes, you see, there you are. Granby street studios, Nottingham. It's obviously a studio job. The things that try to palm you off with around here, really.

Dame Hilda: All right, you don't like it. Your toss and my call.

Dr. Hinge: Very well. Call.

Dame Hilda: Tails.

Dr. Hinge: It’s heads. The gypsy girl's out, and bye-bye, bluebells. Chuck it away.

Dame Hilda: So be it. If that's what the fates decree.

Dr. Hinge: Hilda, where are you putting that?

Dame Hilda: Down here, dear, on the side table.

Dr. Hinge: Now just a minute. That's the no pile there in that old shoe box, isn't it?

Dame Hilda: Yes.

Dr. Hinge: And that's the yes pile on that tray.

Dame Hilda: That's right.

Dr. Hinge: So what's the little pile down there on the side table then?

Dame Hilda: Well, they're the ones that I like and you don't that we've agreed to throw out.

Dr. Hinge: And then why are they being kept separate from the ones that I like and you don't that we've agreed to throw out?

Dame Hilda: Because I'm going to use them anyway.

Dr. Hinge: I might have known you up to something. You've been behaving far too reasonably all morning. Well, I'll tell you this. We are not having any of those pictures on the wall of that exhibition. We agreed.

Dame Hilda: Oh, I'm not going to put them on the wall, Evadne. No, no. I intend to enter a rather special and very personal little exhibit of my own.

Dr. Hinge: What’s that?

Dame Hilda: A folding scrap screen.

Dr. Hinge: Whatever gave you that idea.

Dame Hilda: Well, I assume, dear, that being a Scot, you will have at some time visited that little house at number 24, Cheyne row Chelsea, in which that great fellow countryman of yours, the historian Thomas Carlisle, resided.

Dr. Hinge: And what if I have?

Dame Hilda: If you have, you will no doubt have noticed the scrap screen made by Mrs. Carlisle that stands in her bedroom there. That simple little four fold screen belonging to the Carlisle's is covered in tastefully arranged pictures of all the things that dear Jane liked best. Each little picture pasted on with her own fair hands. It is now quite famous in its way. And I intend to make a similarly personal screen, which I shall present to Stackton and which I have every reason to believe will eventually become as famous as that one in Cheyne row, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Dame Hilda: Thus was born the idea of Hilda Bracket's Stackton screen, but alas, as ever, Evadne was there to spoil it, well, I got so tired of her standing at my elbow, criticising, carping, and pulling off pictures that I had just stuck on, that I finally bowed to the inevitable, and I let her do half, the back half. Well, I thought we could always stand it with that side to the wall, which is exactly what I did with Maud's help. I got it to the exhibition hall early on the morning of the opening day.

{Exhibition hall.}

Maud: Oh, Dame ‘ilda! don't that look lovely! You can't see the Doctor's side at all!

Dame Hilda: Well, I don't think anyone really wants to see a lot of old basket weavers at work Maud, or endless pictures of the town hall car park full of empty sheep pens.

Maud: And I reckon you're about right, too, Dame ‘ilda. Oh, I know as the Doctors a clever women in ‘er way, but she does give you the willies, don't she?

Dame Hilda: I don't know about the willies, dear.

Maud: I mean, ‘er sides depressing, isn't it? All dark and ‘orrible, and to many old misery dicks with bandy legs and whiskers.

Dame Hilda: Well, the way the Doctor describes it, it's reminiscent of the cinematic styles of Luis Manuel and Ingmar Bergman.

Maud: What’s she mean by that, then?

Dame Hilda: That it gives everybody the willies I suppose. Well, I don't think there's much more we can do here just yet, dear. So why don't we pop across the corridor and see how the Rotarians are getting on with their side of the business?

Maud: They've got Arthurs old flags and whistle in there, you know, from when ‘e were a station master.

Dame Hilda: Yes.

Maud: And that notice board ‘e used to stick out, telling yer as the last train had gone and the next one weren't due for a while.

Dame Hilda: That's the sort of thing that history's made of.

Gudrun: Maudie! Maudie! Where are yer?

Dame Hilda: Oh, heavens, that sounds suspiciously like the dulcet tones of your sister, Gudrun, doesn't it?

Maud: Ah, it does, Dame’ ilda. Now, who could ‘ave been daft enough to tell ‘er where I was, I wonder?

Dr. Hinge: It's up the stairs, Gudrun, just follow the signs.

Dame Hilda: Does that answer your question?

Dr. Hinge: No, no, I'll carry to the pictures, dear. We don't want any more accidents. You go on ahead and make sure the door's open for me.

Gudrun: As you like. What a place to ‘old it. Are you sure you'll be able to manage them stairs?

Dr. Hinge: Oh, do get a long woman before I drop this lot.

Maud: You know, I think them twos beginning to ‘it it off, Dame ‘ilda.

Dame Hilda: Well, they do have one thing in common, dear. They're both a bit of a nuisance.

Gudrun: So, there you are. What a place to ‘old an exhibition. Come on, Doctor they’re in ‘ere!

Dr. Hinge: I know perfectly well where they are. And do please keep your voice down, Gudrun. The library is just below us.

Dame Hilda: Hello, Evadne, had a nice journey?

Dr. Hinge: Oh, shut up. Let me put these frames down.

Maud: And what are you doing ‘ere, Guddie? We ain't open to the general public, you know. Not till this afternoon.

Gudrun: Open or closed, tain’t likely to make much difference if you ask me. Stackton folk maybe daft as brushes, but I doubt as even they’ll want to come all this way just to see this lot. You'll not catch me coming. Not if they was ‘anding out fivers. Why, if I wanted to see Arthur's little whistle, I could have seed it at ‘ome.

Maud: So, what you doing ‘ere then?

Gudrun: Trying to find you? That's what. I went up to the old manse looking for yer and you'd gone. And the Doctor ‘appened to have a taxi waiting, so she said as though she'd bring me down.

Dame Hilda: What a very kind thought, Evadne.

Dr. Hinge: Well, Hilda, it was a choice between bringing her down here, or letting her wait at home. And on balance, I considered it safer to bring her. As it turned out I was wrong. She broke the glass in three of my picture frames, when she sat on them in the taxi.

Maud: So, what you want then, you great daft, Lummox?

Gudrun: I only come to tell yer as I was going ‘ome to Bodmin'.

Maud: Well, goodbye then.

Dame Hilda: Oh, goodbye then.

Dr. Hinge: Goodbye then.

Gudrun: I ain’t going now this minute, I'm going in the morning. Lanky ‘arry phoned. ‘e's coming this way with ‘is wagon again, so I've got a lift back.

Dame Hilda: Your family, do they know you're coming, dear?

Gudrun: No, Dame ‘ilda they don't. I'm gonna give them a little surprise.

Dame Hilda: I bet you are?

Dr. Hinge: It's been too quiet on the Bodmin front for too long.

Dame Hilda: Incidentally, dear, what are those pictures you've just brought with you.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, there were just a few left over. And so I thought I might as well frame them up and use them.

Dame Hilda: And where are you going to put them, dear? There's not an inch of wall space left.

Gudrun: Yes, there is. There’s a bit over there, where you've dumped that thingamajig.

Dame Hilda: I'll have you know, Gudrun my dear. That thingamajig, as you call it, is my folding…...

Dr. Hinge: {cough!} Our!

Dame Hilda: Our folding scrap screen and it is not dumped. It's arranged.

Dr. Hinge: You must be joking. You can only see one side of it.

Dame Hilda: Exactly. It's been very carefully arranged.

Dr. Hinge: Well, that's not where it goes. It goes out in the middle of the room so that people can walk around it. I've already put marks on the floor there, see? Maud, Gudrun, perhaps you'll be kind enough to lift the screen onto those chalk marks in the middle of the floor there, would you?

Maud: Is that all right, Dame ‘ilda?

Dame Hilda: Well, I suppose so dear, Seeing the Doctor's side can only make people wonder all the more at the excellence of my side.

Maud: Come along then, Guddy get ‘old.

Gudrun: Get ‘old of what?

Maud: Get ‘old the screen.

Gudrun: Oh, that's the trouble with Stackton, always was. People ain’t enough to do. So they're always finding ways of wasting time. What you need is a bingo hall!

Maud: Oh! Stop your rattle and get ‘old.

Gudrun: Oh, very well. Lets lift!.

Maud: Oh, swing it round.

Dame Hilda: Oh, do the careful both of you.

Gudrun: Oh, this is ‘eavy!

Maud: It's should ave andle!

Dr. Hinge: Careful, careful, it's tipping!

Dame Hilda: It's all right, Evadne, I'm behind it and I've got it.

[Crash.}

Gudrun: Oh! Oh! Was you meant to do that?

Dame Hilda: Oh, dear, Evadne. I seem to have done a certain amount of damage to your side, dear. Well, it's your own silly fault. It wouldn't have happened if you'd left it where it was.

Dr. Hinge: Honestly, Hilda. And I can't repair it. I've got no pictures left.

Dame Hilda: Well, I suppose I could always let you have a few of me out of my photograph album.

Dr. Hinge: Forget it. You can stand it against the wall.