Dr. Hinge: Right then, Hilda, we can go now.

Dame Hilda: Oh, just a minute, Evadne, not so fast.

Dr. Hinge: What is it?

Dame Hilda: You're not in any special hurry, are you?

Dr. Hinge: Me? I would have been quite happy to sit in there playing for another hour. If you hadn't kept popping in and out and telling me you were waiting for me.

Dame Hilda: You can't pretend that makes any difference. Every time I came in you just pulled out one thing and pushed in another and you said you weren't ready.

Dr. Hinge: Those things are called stops, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: Ah, so that's what stopped you. Ha, ha, ha!

Dr. Hinge: Well, now I am ready so we can go.

Dame Hilda: No, Evadne? We can't.

Dr. Hinge: Well, why can't we?

Dame Hilda: Because I'm not ready.

Dr. Hinge: Well if you're going to play silly beggars I'll leave you to it I'm going home.

Dame Hilda: I am not playing silly beggars. In fact, if you must know, I'm waiting for Mr. Adkins.

Dr. Hinge: In the church porch, in the twilight?

Dame Hilda: As it happens.

Dr. Hinge: What's this then, a romantic assignation?

Dame Hilda: Oh, don’t be so silly. The man's a church warden!

Dr. Hinge: Well, they don't take vows of celibacy as far as I know. And I've noticed the funny way he sometimes looks at you over the collection plate.

Dame Hilda: Oh, that means I’ve inadvertently dropped an Irish coin in.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I'm certainly not hanging about to play gooseberry.

Dame Hilda: Yes, you'd make a good gooseberry, wouldn't you? you're tart enough.

Dr. Hinge: I shall see you at home.

Dame Hilda: No, no, no, Evadne. I don't want to walk up that lane on my own. Not in the dark, not now there are all those goats loitering on the verge.

Dr. Hinge: They're quite harmless, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: Oh, don't you believe it? Do you know one of them cornered Lorna Dyrenforth last week and tried to eat her bolero?

Dr. Hinge: Well, if they come for you, throw them your hat and run, or get Mr. Adkins to walk you home.

Dame Hilda: Oh, I can't do that, dear. He was complaining only a moment ago that he can't walk like he used to, not that I can see any difference he's always been a bit bandy.

Dr. Hinge: Then get him to run you up on the crossbar of his pushbike. But watch out if he suddenly stops and says his saddle needs adjusting.

Dame Hilda: Oh, don't be so stupid. I don't joke like that about you and Mousey Butler. Not even when he brings you home on the tractor with your pockets full of parsnips.

Dr. Hinge: You do joke about it.

Dame Hilda: Well, if I do, it's only because it's so funny.

Dr. Hinge: Hilda, as you're obviously not going to volunteer the information, I shall risk being called nosey and ask, why are you waiting for Mr. Adkins?

Dame Hilda: Nosey!

Dr. Hinge: That does it. I'm off. I'll tell the goats to look out for you.

Dame Hilda: Oh, very well, Evadne. Sit down and I'll tell you.

Dr. Hinge: Why do I have to sit down, is it going to come as something of a shock?

Dame Hilda: Well, not a shock exactly, but Mr. Adkins came up to me a moment or two ago and he asked me something which may come as a bit of a surprise to you.

Dr. Hinge: He hasn't asked you to marry him, has he?

Dame Hilda: Well, dear, I could do a lot worse. He is a widower with a little bit put by. And he's got a lovely house. What's more, he grows pineapples under glass and he's got a pianola, which would be a lot easier to sing to than your piano playing.

Dr. Hinge: What would happen to me?

Dame Hilda: Oh, you'd be all right. You'd have half the money from the sale of the old manse, so you could rent a cave and become a hermit.

Dr. Hinge: You wouldn’t seriously consider an offer of marriage, not after all these years?

Dame Hilda: Oh, it's all right, dear, you can calm down, you're shaking like a jelly.

Dr. Hinge: Well, err...

Dame Hilda: Mr. Adkins has merely asked me to edit the parish magazine this month.

Dr. Hinge: You?

Dame Hilda: I told you it might come as a surprise.

Dr. Hinge: Why should he ask you? What's wrong with Inky Tomlinson? he usually does it.

Dame Hilda: Apparently the bank suddenly decided to send him off on a course of some sort.

Dr. Hinge: About time too, let's hope its to teach him to count. Hm... anyway, how long do you intend to wait here for Mr. Adkins?

Dame Hilda: Oh, he won't be long now. He's just popped round to his cottage to get the bits and pieces.

Dr. Hinge: Funny, I saw him at the service. Wonder why he didn't ask me? after all, I have edited it before.

Dame Hilda: Maybe he didn't dare to interrupt you while you were playing the organ. I mean, you do look a bit like the Phantom of the Opera

Dr. Hinge: It didn’t stop you interrupting, did it?

Dame Hilda: Oh, well, I've known you too long, dear. I mean, I know that beneath that gaunt and forbidding exterior, there dwells plain old warm hearted Evadne.

Dr. Hinge: Was that meant to be another joke?

Dame Hilda: Well, the plain old certainly wasn't. Oh, this sounds like Mr. Adkins.

Dr. Hinge: How lucky for you. I was just about to hit you with my handbag!

Adkins: Well, here we are, Dame Hilda, I’m back, safe and sound and all in one piece.

Dame Hilda: I say, you weren't long, were you?

Adkins: No, but I'm going to have to sit down for a minute or two if you good ladies don't mind, these boots are killing me.

Dr. Hinge: New are they, Mr. Adkins?

Atkins: Well, not rightly speaking they ain’t. See, I've had ‘em nigh on twenty years, but I only wore ‘em just the once, and ooh, this time I know why.

Dame Hilda: Yes, there's nothing worse is there than uncomfortable shoes? I mean, you see this pair I'm wearing now, I bought these in Bognor, yet they're quite comfortable, I would have bought a few more pairs, only Evadne wouldn't lend me any more money.

Dr. Hinge: Hilda, could we save the saga of your feet for another time? it is getting rather late.

Adkins: Oh, before I forget it Dame Hilda: ‘ere it is. It’s all in this ‘ere plastic bag. All the little bits and pieces for the magazine. Just like that were ‘anded to me, all any old ‘ow.

Dame Hilda: Oh, thank you, Mr. Adkins. And don't you worry, once I'm seated comfortably in my editorial chair, I'll soon sort this lot out.

Dr. Hinge: I suppose you'll be buying a green eye shade next Hilda? Incidentally, Mr. Adkins, did it never occur to you to ask me to deputise for Inky?

Adkins: Why course it did ma’am and I nearly did, but then in the end, I daresn’t!

Dr. Hinge: You daresn’t, Mr. Adkins, why ever not?

Adkins: Why, ‘cos Inky say, if I do, you'll likely bite me ‘ead off.

Dame Hilda: There you are, Evadne, you see what a reputation you've got.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I really can't think why!

Adkins: Well, Inky say the last time ‘e asked you, you bit ‘is ‘ead off.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I might not have done if he’d approached me properly.

Dame Hilda: Well, I wouldn't lose any sleep, Evadne, he should be used to it by now.

Adkins: Ah, he's young.

Dr. Hinge: And don't say he'll learn, because in my opinion he won’t.

Adkins: Oh, I don’t know about that Doctor, we all seem to learn in the end, don't we? If we get enough fleas in our ears early on.

Dame Hilda: Oh, very true, Mr. Adkins, very true. Now, we really must be getting along. If you're ready Evadne, I want to start work on this first thing in the morning and you can help me, dear.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I'd be happy to advise, for example, in the selection and treatment of individual articles. I could also, of course, give you a few tips on editorial style and page layout.

Dame Hilda: That's not what I had in mind. I wanted someone to sharpen my pencils.

{Drawing room.}

Dame Hilda: Oh, bother this pencil sharpener, it keeps breaking the point, Evadne.

Dr. Hinge: I never have any trouble with it.

Dame Hilda: Just look at that, that was a brand new pencil when I started sharpening it. Now it's practically a stub.

Dr. Hinge: And whose fault is that?

Dame Hilda: Yours, because you wouldn't do it for me.

Dr. Hinge: I am not your slave, if you want someone to sharpen your pencil, call Maud in.

Dame Hilda: Oh, no, no, I'm not doing that, she'll use the carving knife and with that in her hand she looks like Sweeney Todd!

Dr. Hinge: Well you're stuck then, aren't you?

Dame Hilda: Oh, Evadne, it's done it again. If it goes on like this I shall have no pencil left. And I bought this one specially, do you know I haven't even chewed the end of it yet?

Dr. Hinge: Oh, all right, if you're going to be helpless, give it here.

Dame Hilda: Thank you, dear. Now, perhaps I can get on with the real job of editing and I'll have a glance at the material in Inky’s File.

Dr. Hinge: No wonder the sharpener's not working properly, you've got a piece of lead wedged right up at the end here.

Dame Hilda: Well poke it out with something, and don't use your tongue.

Dr. Hinge: Here, give me one of your paper clips, I'll straighten it out and use that.

Dame Hilda: You'll do no such thing, I've only got three.

Dr. Hinge: I'll bend it back again

Dame Hilda: Oh, well, here you are then. I can always use the stapler instead. Incidentally, where is the stapler?

Dr. Hinge: How should I know?

Dame Hilda: Well, you had it last. You were putting up the hem on your dress with it.

Dr. Hinge: Well, if that’s the last time it was used it'll be back in its proper place.

Dame Hilda: And where might that be?

Dr. Hinge: In the needlework basket.

Maud: ‘Scuse me, Dame ‘ilda. I'm not interrupting your work, am I?

Dame Hilda: Well, I'm afraid I haven't even started yet, dear, the Doctor's put me right behind.

Dr. Hinge: There you are, one sharp pencil. Now, shut up and edit.

Maud: I'll not ‘old you up then, Dame ‘ilda, but I've just made this for you.

Dame Hilda: What is it, dear, junket?

Maud: Oh, no, Dame ‘ilda.

Dr. Hinge: To lumpy for junket, looks more like gruel.

Maud: Well, that just shows ‘ow much you know, Doctor, because it ain't. That there's flour and water paste, that is.

Dame Hilda: Well, if that's lunch Maud, then I think I'll settle for a cucumber sandwich.

Maud: That ain't for your lunch Dame ‘ilda.

Dame Hilda: Thank heavens for that!

Maud: That's for your hediting, Now, as you’re a heditor, you're sure to have bits and bobs as needs sticking down.

Dr. Hinge: Flour and water paste shouldn't be lumpy.

Maud: Then, I'll tell you summat, Doctor. When my Arthur and me were first married and that were thirty year ago now.

Dame Hilda: Is it really that long, dear?

Maud: Ah, Dame ‘ilda, thirty three year this year.

Dame Hilda: My goodness, hasn't the time flown?

Maud: Not for me it ‘asn't.

Dr. Hinge: And what has flour and water paste got to do with this epic of matrimonial bliss, Maud?

Maud: I'll tell you, Doctor, it were my old gran’s wedding present to us, see.

Dame Hilda: What a bowl of flour and water paste, dear, I mean, I know times were hard.

Maud: Oh, no, Dame ‘ilda, see, as a wedding present, my old gran come round to our new ‘ouse, and papered our sitting room for us. And what do you think she used?

Dr. Hinge: Old newspapers?

Maud: Don't be so daft, Doctor. My old gran had better uses than that for old newspapers.

Dr. Hinge: Well, you can't hang wallpaper with lumpy paste.

Maud: And that's just where you’re wrong, Doctor. And if either of you don't believe me, you can come round ‘ome and ‘ave a look.

Dame Hilda: Have a look at what, Maud?

Maud: At our sitting room wallpaper, Dame ‘ilda. It's still solid as a rock after 33 years. Yet it’s got lumps as big as your ‘and behind it.

Dr. Hinge: Must look as if you’ve cobbled your walls?

Maud: I admit its a wee bit faded in parts, but it just shows you as a few lumps don't matter much when it comes to sticking things down.

Dame Hilda: There you are, Evadne, perhaps that's what you should put your hems up with in future.

Maud: Do you know, Dame ilda, when my Arthur were heditor of the Stackton pigeon fancier's magazine, ‘e used to get through buckets of that stuff.

Dr. Hinge: What did he do with it, feed to the pigeons?

Dame Hilda: Oh, don’t be silly, Evadne, they'd never get off the ground.

Maud: My Arthur always used to say there’s just four things a good heditor needs.

Dame Hilda: And what are they then, dear?

Maud: Why, a sharp pencil, a big pair of scissors, a pot of strong paste and sound judgment!

Dr. Hinge: Well, you're not doing too badly then, Hilda. You've got the sharp pencil, you've got the strong paste and when I've got you the scissors, you'll have three out of four, won't you?

Maud: Mind, I reckon there’s five things as you're going to need, Dame ’ilda?

Dame Hilda: I suppose the fifth wouldn't buy any chance be a nice big pot of steaming hot coffee would it.

Maud: Why, that's just what it would be, Dame ‘ilda, I'll go and make a pot straight away.

Dame Hilda: Oh, thank you, dear, isn't she an old sweetie, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, pity someone doesn’t eat her!

Dame Hilda: And now, perhaps at last, I can have a look through this file of Inky’s. Just look at the state of it!

Dr. Hinge: The parish magazines a rag bag anyway, it's never been the same since I did it.

Dame Hilda: No, I do miss your little monographs on Stackton during the black death!

Dr. Hinge: Well, at least they were informative and entertaining.

Dame Hilda: Yes, nearly as entertaining as your theories on how to remove lichen from old tombstones. By the look of it, half this stuff's got nothing to do with the parish anyway.

Dr. Hinge: What is it?

Dame Hilda: Well, bits and pieces of Inky’s, I suppose. There’s holiday brochures, a couple of menus, a motor show catalogue, a paper napkin from Cluckers.

Dr. Hinge: What's Cluckers?

Dame Hilda: It's a fried chicken house in Wittering.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, that’s where he came from originally, Wittering.

Dame Hilda: Oh, perhaps the fried chickens drove him out.

Dr. Hinge: I would have thought fried chickens would’ve found Inky Tomlinson very compatible, intellectually, I mean.

Dame Hilda: Oh, you are awful about the poor man, no wonder he’s frightened of you. Ah, this looks like a bit of magazine material, chapel news, Brownie trip, a party of Brownies from Stackton went to see Ken Dodd.

Dr. Hinge: When?

Dame Hilda: It doesn't say.

Dr. Hinge: Where? 

Dame Hilda: It doesn't say.

Dr. Hinge: Well, in what?

Dame Hilda: It doesn't say that either.

Dr. Hinge: That story's going to need a bit more research, isn't it?

Dame Hilda: And here's the report of the annual general meeting of the over 60s club.

Dr. Hinge: Is there any more meat on that?

Dame Hilda: Not really. It says five members were present, the chairman gave an account of what had been achieved during the 12 months.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, that's something.

Dame Hilda: Yes. They had four outings, a strawberry tea and a sausage and mash supper.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, and people say life in the country’s dull.

Dame Hilda: And what's this doing in here?

Dr. Hinge: What is it?

Dame Hilda: It's a piece of old sheet music. It's a song. ‘Sailor who are you dreaming of tonight?’

Dr. Hinge: It's about Inky's level, musically speaking.

Dame Hilda: Oh, no, it's not Inky's. No, no, look there. Written on the top here, see. Naomi Mellinger, form 3B.

Dr. Hinge: Oh. Probably her school song.

Dame Hilda: I wonder how Inky came by it?

Dr. Hinge: How do people usually come by things of Naomi’s?

Dame Hilda: What? Oh, you mean the milkman and his pigskin purse?

Dr. Hinge: Mind, that was only gossip.

Dame Hilda: Oh, yes, but it came from the bread shop.

Dr. Hinge: Yes.

Dame Hilda: And that's a very reliable source.

Dr. Hinge: Mm-hmm.

Dame Hilda: But I say, what a good idea.

Dr. Hinge: What?

Dame Hilda: A gossip column. Why don't we have a gossip column?

Dr. Hinge: I thought we'd come round to that!

Dame Hilda: We could call it crumbs from the baker's basket, or, let me see, tit bits from the tart tray.

Dr. Hinge: You'll end up in prison, Hilda!

Dame Hilda: Or, of course. It could be ‘Sailor who you dreaming of tonight?’ Shall we play this song then?

Dr. Hinge: I thought you were supposed to be working.

Dame Hilda: Yes, but coffee will be coming soon, so there's no point really getting down to it until that's out of the way.

Dr. Hinge: Very well then, give me your sailor song. And can we expect a horn pipe as well?

Dame Hilda: Don't tempt me, dear. My horn pipe I'll have you know, was once the talk of the Mediterranean fleet.

Dr. Hinge: I bet it was.

Dame Hilda: Now, weigh anchor and play.

A young romantic sailor likes to be tattooed

With girls of every sort, when he gets into port

On the mighty ocean beneath the silvery moon

When it's time for turning in the crew begin to croon

Sailor who you dreaming of tonight

When you’re swinging too and fro

In your hammock down below

Sailor who you dreaming of tonight

I’ll wager that you're dreaming of a lady

Girls galore you’ve met before

Are tattooed on your skin

It's up to you to tell the crew which one you're out to win

Out on the ocean wave there isn’t a girl in sight

Sailor who you dreaming of tonight

Dame Hilda: Well, after a good deal of hard work the job was finally done. And I must say in all modesty that it was the best issue of Stackton’s parish magazine that I have ever seen. What’s more, it was the biggest. Over 30 fun packed pages of articles, jokes, gossip, short stories, fashion news and memoirs and I'd written it all. All that is, except one joke. And that, that was the one about the woman who went window shopping and arrived home with seven windows. My hairdresser told me that, but I've changed hairdressers now. By the end of the week, the magazine was ready to be put to bed, as they say, and Evadne and I found ourselves outside the cottage of the lady who was to type and duplicate it.

{Outside cottage.}

Dame Hilda: I say, Evadne, she must be out, there's a note pinned to the front door!

Dr. Hinge: I can see that, what does it say?

Dame Hilda: It says, key in usual place.

Dr. Hinge: Oh.

Dame Hilda: So where's that then?

Dr. Hinge: How should I know?

Dame Hilda: Well, you used to be the editor or didn't Miss. Tideman type it in your day.

Dr. Hinge: Yes, she did, but I had a special arrangement with her.

Dame Hilda: Well, what was that?

Dr. Hinge: I used to make sure she was in before I arrived.

Dame Hilda: Always the clever one. So what do we do now then?

Dr. Hinge: Well try the letterbox. I mean, the key might be on a piece of string.

Dame Hilda: Yes, I suppose that could be the usual place. Oh, yes, there's a string here, Evadne.

Dr. Hinge: Well, pull it through.

Dame Hilda: That's what I'm doing. Oh. Oh, this isn't the key.

Dr. Hinge: What is it?

Dame Hilda: It's a bottle opener.

Dr. Hinge: She's obviously going round the bend.

Dame Hilda: Or she's taken to drinking in the hall. Where else might she have hidden that key?

Dr. Hinge: I shudder to think.

Dame Hilda: We need a bit of inspiration, let me think. Where would I hide a front door key?

Dr. Hinge: Well, the last time you hid one, it was in the rainwater butt.

Dame Hilda: That's right, it was.

Dr. Hinge: And you forgot to tie a string to it before you dropped it in.

Dame Hilda: Oh look, a little Scottie dog! 

Dr. Hinge: With a tartan waistcoat.

Dame Hilda: Just because you don't care what you look like. Oh, look, he's found a little hole in the hedge and he's coming to say hello. Oh, come along, then little boy, come along there, there, oh, bless you. You've come to say hello to your auntie Hilda. Isn't he sweet? Oh, look, Evadne, he’s pleased to see me, he's wagging his tail

Dr. Hinge: Clear off you stupid thing.

{Dog growls.}

Dame Hilda: Oh, really, Evadne, he only wants to be friends, don't you, my little darling.  Oh, I say, what a smart little coat you're wearing, did your mummy make that for you?

Dr. Hinge: Did your mummy make that for you then?

Dame Hilda: There, there. There's nothing to worry about, it's only your old auntie Evadne, go on, give it a little pat, dear.

Dr. Hinge: I don't want to give it a little pat. It doesn't like me.

Dame Hilda: Of course he does, don't you? Oh go on Evadne, do something outrageous make a friend today, look at this little tail.

Dr. Hinge: Well, I'm not going to pat his little tail.

Dame Hilda: Well, just pat his head, dear, like this.  And look, he loves it. You love it, don't you?  Come on then, Evadne.

Dr. Hinge: Very well.{Dog snaps.} Oohh, did you see that?

Dame Hilda: I said pat it, not slap it.

Dr. Hinge: It tried to bite me!

Dame Hilda: No, it didn't.

Dr. Hinge: It did, it showed all its teeth, didn't you see?

Dame Hilda: It was smiling at you dear.

Dr. Hinge: Smiling?

Dame Hilda: Weren’t you my little man?

Neighbour:  Hector! Hector!.

Dame Hilda: That sounds like your mummy, Hector. I think you'd better be off back next door.

Dr. Hinge: Thank heavens for that!

Neighbour: Come here, boy, where you been? You know very well you ain't supposed to go in Miss. Tideman’s garden, you get back in that house!

Dame Hilda: Oh, excuse me. We're looking for Miss. Tideman.

Neighbour: Well, she ain’t there?

Dr. Hinge: We gathered that.

Dame Hilda: You see, I am acting editor of the parish magazine, this month and we brought it all round for her.

Neighbour: Oh, yes. Well, you'd better let yourselves in then. That's what Mr. Tomlinson always does.

Dr. Hinge: And where's the key?

Neighbour: Ain’t she told you?

Dame Hilda: Well, not exactly, no. She left us a note saying key in usual place.

Neighbour: Well, that's where it'll be then, ain’t it?

Dr. Hinge: And where is the usual place?

Neighbour: Oh, if you don't know, it ain't my business to tell you. Anybody she wants to know that knows it.

Dame Hilda: We are bona fide, dear, I am Dame Hilda Bracket.

Neighbour: Oh, I know who you are, all right, but you don't know Miss. Tideman.

Dr. Hinge: I do. So perhaps you'd be good enough to tell us where she hides her key.

Neighbour: Well, I don't properly know. I mean, she's never said, but I'll tell you this, every time she goes out, and every time she comes in, I see her bending over that garden gnome there, does that help you?

Dame Hilda: Well, yes, dear. Yes, thank you very much.

Dr. Hinge: I'll go and have a look.

Neighbour: Only don't tell Miss. Tideman I told you. Or she's likely to go hide it somewhere I can't see.

Dr. Hinge:  Yes, it’s here Hilda, and guess where?

Dame Hilda: Where, dear?

Dr. Hinge: Dangling in the pond on the end of the gnomes fishing rod.

Dame Hilda: What a very funny woman? Well, thank you, Mrs...err

Neighbour: Wetherhead, dear. Mrs. Wetherhead.

Dame Hilda: Thank you, Mrs. Wetherhead. We'll just pop in and leave the stuff on the table for her then.

Neighbour: Well, that'll not do you much good. Not if you want it typed and run off.

Dame Hilda: Isn't that what she does, dear?

Neighbour: Oh it is, yes. but not since she broke her arm.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, she hasn’t?

Neighbour: Just this morning, that's where she is now down the hospital.

Dame Hilda: Oh, dear.

Dr. Hinge: Well, she’s is not going to be able to do it then, is she?

Neighbour: Not unless she's pretty clever with her feet.

Dr. Hinge: So, it’s over to you Hilda, shame it’s such a bumper issue!

Dame Hilda: No, Evadne. I've got a much better idea.

Dr. Hinge: What might that be then?

Dame Hilda: We'll get all those ladies who usually go round delivering the magazine to tell everybody to come to the parish hall on Wednesday evening and I shall perform the entire issue as a one woman show. What do you think of that?

Dr. Hinge: Not very much.

Dame Hilda: I would have thought that would have appealed to you. It would be like the old town crier. You'll remember that, of course.  Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!