The Last Of The Old Raccoonians.
Dame Hilda: When I really want to enjoy myself, do you know what I do? I curl up on the settee in front of a blazing fire with a big box of chocolates and one of my old diaries. It's naughty but it's nice. Some of the things I've got up to in my time. I frequently surprise myself just reading about them. But rereading old diaries can also have more practical purposes as I discovered one morning in the early part of last September. {Drawing room.} Dame Hilda: Evadne? Dr. Hinge: Mmmm? Dame Hilda: Do you know what day today is? Dr. Hinge: It is Thursday the 6th of September Hilda. Dame Hilda: Correct. Dr. Hinge: But, if you knew, why did you ask? Dame Hilda: Because something very important happened on the 6th of September. Can you remember what it was? Dr. Hinge: On the 6th of September? Dame Hilda: Now cast your mind back, dear. Dr. Hinge: Let me see. 6th of September, 6th September? Dame Hilda: Yes. Dr. Hinge: And something important? Dame Hilda: Yes. Yes. Dr. Hinge: Oh, I know. Yes. It was on the 6th of September 1620 that the pilgrim fathers set sail from Plymouth. Dame Hilda: Oh, you went to see them off, did you? No, I was thinking of something a little more recent, dear. Dr. Hinge: More recent than 1620. Dame Hilda: Yes. Dr. Hinge: Well, of course! Dame Hilda: Come on, come on. Dr. Hinge: Of course, It was on the 6th of September. Dame Hilda: Yes. Dr. Hinge: 1651. That the future King Charles II hid in the oak tree after the battle of Worcester. Dame Hilda: And I suppose you were there to give him a leg up. Dr. Hinge: No. And it was on the 6th of September 1666 that the great fire of London was finally extinguished. Dame Hilda: Oh, I wonder how you put that out? Now come along, Evadne. Your knowledge of historical tittle tattle may be encyclopedic, dear. But it is also extremely boring. I'll give you a clue. 1955. The 6th of September 1955, what happened that day? Dr. Hinge: 1955? Dame Hilda: Yes. Yes. Dr. Hinge: I really can't think of a thing. You didn't mean 1954? Dame Hilda: I mean 1955. Dr. Hinge: Because on the 6th of September 1954, the Manila conference began. Dame Hilda: Evadne, for your information, it was on the 6th of September 1955 that you and I, that is both of us, moved into this house. Dr. Hinge: I thought I was supposed to be remembering something important. Dame Hilda: Well, whatever you may think, this place is more important to me than the Manila conference ever was, this is home! Dr. Hinge: You really are incredibly insular. Dame Hilda: It is 29 years ago today that we moved into this house. Dr. Hinge: What are you going to do? Put flags out. Dame Hilda: I can remember that day as if it was yesterday. Dr. Hinge: So can I, I can remember the day after even better, because I could hardly move after humping all that furniture. Dame Hilda: You didn't have to hump it, dear. The removal men were quite willing to have humped it for you, if you'd only given them a chance. Dr. Hinge: If I’d waited for that lot, we wouldn't be moved in yet. All they did was sit about, drink tea and encourage you to recall the tears of the triumphs of your long career in the world of tinsel. Dame Hilda: Well, they'd never moved a star before now. So I felt I owed it to them to give them a little insight into the sort of lives we really lead. Dr. Hinge: I don't recall you telling them anything at all about the endless sardines on toast and the damp sheets and the dingy digs. Dame Hilda: I was telling them about my life, dear, not yours. Now, how are we going to celebrate? Dr. Hinge: Well, I certainly don't want a party, I hate parties. Dame Hilda: So do I, dear, when you're at them? No, I tell you what. Do you remember what we did that night 29 years ago after the removal men had left? Dr. Hinge: Yes, very clearly. We fell through the floor in the kitchen. Dame Hilda: But after that, Evadne, after we found we couldn't switch the electricity on, we decided we'd better eat out. Dr. Hinge: Well, we ate out, didn't we? Dame Hilda: Well, don't sound so enthusiastic about it. It was a marvellous meal at the White Hart. Dr. Hinge: I don't remember it being especially marvellous. Dame Hilda: Oh, it was, dear, it was. It's all here in my diary. Now, do you know what I had to eat? I started with lobster tails in chartreuse sauce, then I had honeyed lamb with aubergines, flambéed peaches in brandy syrup, and I finished off with a huge slice of chocolate liqueur gateau. Oh, I say, oh, oh, I've made myself feel quite peckish. Dr. Hinge: I don't recall having anything like that. Dame Hilda: Oh, no, wait a minute. Oh, yes, there’s something about you in the margin here. Now, all you had was a glass of warm milk and a bowl of sago, apparently, your tummy was a bit dicky. Mind, it also says you cheered up a bit when I bought you a large cherry brandy to take your business in. Dr. Hinge: Won’t historians find your diaries fascinating. Dame Hilda: I say, Evadne. Why don't we go to the White Hart again tonight? We haven't been there for donkeys, years. We can do exactly what we did that night, 29 years ago. We can sit at the same table, have the same meal. Dr. Hinge: What warm milk and sago? Dame Hilda: Not the meal you had, dear, no, we'll have the meal I had. So you'd better pop into the garden and dig your purse up. Dr. Hinge: Why? Have you forgotten where you buried yours? Dame Hilda: Now, what am I going to wear I wonder? Dr. Hinge: Do we have to go tonight. Dame Hilda: Yes, we do. Dr. Hinge: It's so silly celebrating the 29th anniversary. Let's wait until next year and celebrate the 30th. You never know, we might have moved by then. Dame Hilda: Ah, that’ll be Maud. Now, I bet you she’ll remember the day we moved in. Dr. Hinge: Very probably. After all, she's as thick skinned as an elephant, so I see no reason why she shouldn't have a memory like one. Maud: Good morning, Dame ‘ilda, Doctor. Dame Hilda: Morning, Maud, dear. Dr. Hinge: Good morning, Maud. Dame Hilda: Now, Maud. Do you know what today is? Maud: Of course I do, Dame ‘ilda. Dame Hilda: There you are, Evadne, you see? Maud: It’s Thursday. Dr. Hinge: Well done, Maud. Dame Hilda: Now, Evadne, just keep out of it, would you? It's Thursday the what? Maud. Maud: Thursday the 6th. Dame Hilda: Of what? Maud: Well, September, Dame ‘ilda. Dr. Hinge: And now for the tricky part. Dame Hilda: Really, will you be quiet, Evadne, now Maud, dear, The 6th of September is the anniversary of something very important. Dr. Hinge: Oh, that's misleading. Dame Hilda: Very important to Stackton Tressel, that is. Do we have any idea what it might be? Maud: Of course I do, Dame ‘ilda. It were on the 6th of September as you and the Doctor first come to live in this ‘ouse. Dame Hilda: Bravo, dear, bravo. I knew you'd remember. Maud: 30 years ago today, Dame Hilda: No, 29, dear. Maud: No, 30. Dame Hilda: No, Maud. No, 29, dear. Dr. Hinge: Are you sure you're both working to the Gregorian calendar? Maud: Dame ‘ilda, you moved into this ‘ouse on the same day as my Arthur were made station master, didn't you? Dame Hilda: No, dear, we didn't. Maud: You did, you know. I'm sure you did. Dame Hilda: Oh, no, no. Maud: You did. The 6th of September, 1954. Dame Hilda: But we moved in a year later to the day, didn't we, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: Don't drag me into it, hardly matters anyhow. Though I must say I'm thoroughly enjoying the intellectual cut and thrust of the argument. Dame Hilda: Now, believe me, Maud. We moved in on the 6th of September, 1955. It's all here in my diary. And my diaries never, never lie. They are, to quote Hamlet, the abstract and brief chronicles of the time. Dr. Hinge: Abstract, they may be, but brief, they are certainly not. You get through four diaries a year. Maud: Oh, Dame ‘ilda I brought you a special present, thinking as it were your 30th anniversary. Dame Hilda: Oh, oh, very sweet of you, Maud. Well, I'll tell you what now. We'll pretend this year is the 30th, shall we? Dr. Hinge: And what happens next year? Dame Hilda: Well, next year is the 30th, isn't it? So we shall just have to celebrate it all over again. Maud: Then you shall ‘ave your present Dame ‘ilda. It’s in me basket ‘ere. I’ll just pop it on the table and fetch it out for you. Dame Hilda: Oh, I say, this is exciting, isn't it, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: Isn't it, I'm on tenterhooks. Maud: There we are, I throwed the old dishcloth over it to keep the flies off, the flies love my ‘omemade trifle. Dame Hilda: I'm not a bit surprised, dear. It looks absolutely delicious, doesn't it, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: Is that a fly I can see in it? Maud: Where? Dr. Hinge: There, beside that cherry, is that fly? Maud: No, Doctor. That's just a bit of cork. It's a sherry trifle. Dr. Hinge: Did you chuck the empty bottle in as well? Dame Hilda: You really are so ungracious, dear. If I was a gift horse, I'd not let you anywhere near my mouth. Maud: Mind, it ain't just a trifle Dame ‘ilda, the bowls a present an’all. That's a family ‘eirloom, that is, cut glass. I just filled it with a trifle to show it off like, and to make sure it weren't leaking. Dame Hilda: Leaking, dear? Maud: Well, it used to leak a bit at one time, years ago. Well, that's why I ‘ad to stop keeping me tadpoles in it. Dr. Hinge: Your tadpoles? I thought you said it was a family heirloom. Maud: Well, so it is Doctor, but it weren't when I were a girl. It were just a common or garden glass bowl then, as me gran ‘ad won at a fair. It's only become an ‘airloom in very recent times. Yes. That's why I ‘ad to stop my Arthur keeping ‘is paintbrushes in it. Took me days to clean it up it did, and the smell of turps ‘as only just gone. Dame Hilda: Not into the trifle, dear, I hope? Maud: Why, I don't think so, Dame ‘ilda, no. Dame Hilda: Good. Dame Hilda: Well, I've ‘ad it stood full of bleach for a week, and even then I've done it over with caustic soda. Dr. Hinge: Well, if the trifle has a bit of a tang, at least we'll know what it is. Dame Hilda: Well, it really is kind of you Maud. It's a lovely present. I shall treasure it always. We shall have to put it somewhere safe, won't we, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: Don't you think it'll go off? Dame Hilda: Not the trifle, dear, the bowl. Dr. Hinge: What are you going to do with the trifle, then? Dame Hilda: Well, to tell you the honest truth, if Maud hadn't gone to so much trouble, I'd probably tip it over your head. Maud: If that's what you fancy doing with it, Dame ‘ilda, you go right ahead and do it. I only made it to give you pleasure. Dame Hilda: Well, no, no, we'll have this tonight, with our dinner. Maud: Oh, well, Dame ‘ilda, if you've not got nothing special planned, ‘ow about me popping ‘ome, and knocking you up a nice bit of dinner, and running it up to you later. I'll do you something special, with a bit o’ belly pork. Dame Hilda: Well, how about that, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: I thought we were going out to dinner? Dame Hilda: Yes, but you didn't seem very keen. Dr. Hinge: It wasn't our 30th anniversary then. But apparently it is now, and I am very keen. In fact, I think I'll phone the White Hart straight away just to make sure they've got a table. Dame Hilda: Oh, and Evadne, dear, we don't want just any old table, we want the one we had the night we moved in. Now, according to my diary, it was number 14. Dr. Hinge: Hello, is that the White Hart? Dame Hilda: Oh, I am looking forward to tonight. Dr. Hinge: I’d like to make a reservation. {White Hart.} Dame Hilda: Yes, yes, this is the table all right, dear. Look, see number 14. It's rather reassuring, isn't it, that nothing's been changed? Dr. Hinge: Not even the tablecloth by the look of it. Dame Hilda: Ah, but good linen tablecloths always tend to look slightly yellowish, dear, especially by candlelight. The last time, I'm sure they had a few electric lights on as well. I know I could see to read the menu. You are sure this place is open? Dr. Hinge: Of course it's open, we booked. And that waiter lit the candle and gave us a menu. Dame Hilda: Oh, that might have been just from habit, dear. I mean, we haven't seen him since. It doesn't look very open to me. I mean, we appear to be the only people here. Do you know it’s bit spooky sitting here in the half light all on our own, isn't it? Dr. Hinge: Shall I bang on the table and see if anyone appears? Dame Hilda: What do you mean, try to get service through spiritualism? Dr. Hinge: Well, that wasn't really what I meant, but anything's worth a try. The place must be full of the ghosts of waiters past. {Tap, tap, tap!} Dr. Hinge: Is there anybody there? Dame Hilda: Evadne, don’t dear.{Tap, tap, tap!} Dr. Hinge: Is there anybody there? Dame Hilda: Shh, Evadne, Shh! Dr. Hinge: What's the matter? Dame Hilda: No, no, no, don't look round, dear. But there's a man standing in the doorway, peering at us. Dr. Hinge: Does he look like a freshly materialised waiter? Dame Hilda: It’s hard to tell in this light. Dr. Hinge: Well, he’s wearing an overcoat and a muffler? Dame Hilda: Then he is a waiter and he's obviously on the cold table. On the other hand, perhaps he's going home. Do you think we ought to leave in case he locks us in? Dr. Hinge: Oh, don’t be silly, Hilda, it's not eight o'clock yet, and this is a hotel. Dame Hilda: Yes, but it's an English country hotel, dear, and they do tend to lock up rather early. Dr. Hinge: Well, whoever he is, he may be able to help us. Excuse me! You’re not by any chance a member of the hotel staff, are you? Parkinson: No, I'm afraid not. But I am a fairly frequent visitor, know the layout and whatnot. So if you want to know where anything is? Ladies: Oh, oh, no! No, no, no, no! Dame Hilda: No it’s nothing like that. We were just wondering, you see, what had happened to our waiter. Not that we knew him very well, you understand, we only met him briefly, didn’t we dear? Dr. Hinge: Very briefly indeed. Yes. Dame Hilda: I doubt it we'd even recognise him again. Well, especially in this light. Parkinson: They have left you in rather a murk, haven't they? However, I happen to know where the light switches are, they're over in that alcove. What do you fancy? All lights, chandeliers, or should we go mad and switch on the whole darn shooting match? Dame Hilda: Oh, in for a penny in for a pound, whole darn shooting match, I think. Don't you Evadne? Dr. Hinge: Why not? As long as they don't put it on the bill. Parkinson: Right there! Here goes! and voila! there was light. Dame Hilda: Oh, oh, good heavens, oh no, no, I think that's rather too bright now. No, couldn't you try it with one of the chandeliers off? Parkinson: Very well. How's that? Dame Hilda: No, no, no, not really, no, better put it on again. I'll tell you what, try it with those wall lights at the far end off. Parkinson: Righty-ho! Dr. Hinge: Hilda, the poor man's not your servant, you know. Dame Hilda: Oh, don't be so fussy, Evadne. He doesn't mind. He's as happy as a sand boy in his little alcove there. And you know men they love messing about with switches. Parkinson: No! Sorry, no, can do. Somebody's made a bit of a dogs' breakfast of the wiring, I say. I suppose I could always take the bulbs out for you. Dr. Hinge: No, no, no, no, that really won't be necessary. This is perfectly all right. And you've done quite enough for us already, we're most grateful, aren't we, Hilda? Dame Hilda: Oh, yes, dear, yes, most. Parkinson: My pleasure, my pleasure. Dame Hilda: But there is just one tiny, weenie, little thing you might do for us. And that is, try and find us a waiter and point him in this direction. Parkinson: By all means, though I should warn you that you've chosen rather a bad night. They’re a bit pushed here tonight, you see. Dr. Hinge: Pushed? There's only the two of us here. I mean, if we'd realised they'd be unable to cope with us both together, we'd have come on separate nights. Parkinson: Oh, you may be the only ones in here. But you see that door across the lobby there. Ladies: Yes. Parkinson: Well, it's in there, in the function room, that all efforts are concentrated tonight. It's the annual dinner and do of the old Racoonians. That as matter of fact, was where I was heading when I heard you call. Dame Hilda: And who are the old Racoonians when they're at home? Friends of Davy Crockett? Parkinson: No, no, no, no. We're an organisation somewhat similar to the elks or the buffalos. We hold our do every year here on the 6th of September, have done for the past five years. To tell you the truth, I was always under the impression that they closed the restaurant on the 6th of September. I mean, our lot may all be jammed in the function room at the moment, but as the evening wears on, we do tend to spill out. Dame Hilda: Really? Parkinson: I say, I really must be getting in, I'm always the last. Oh, good heavens? What have I done with my tail? Dame Hilda: I'm sorry? Parkinson: My tail! I'm sure I had it when I came in. Oh, it's about so long, greyish brown and furry. Dr. Hinge: A la raccoon. Parkinson: Exactly. I just clip it on. We all wear them, just for the evening, of course. Dame Hilda: Yes. Evadne, get down in your knees, dear, and give this gentleman a hand with his tail. Dr. Hinge: Perhaps it fell off in the alcove. Parkinson: No, panic over. It's in the pocket of the jolly old DJ. Oh, well, don't worry. I'll dispatch a waiter. You know, I'm sure I've met you somewhere before. Dame Hilda: Who me, dear? Oh, I don’t think so. I'm sure I'd have remembered. Parkinson: Oh, perhaps not. It'll come back, no doubt. See you later then. Bye for now. Ladies: Bye-bye. Dr. Hinge: You know you're going to have to watch it, Hilda. Dame Hilda: Watch what? Dr. Hinge: He's trying it on with you. Dame Hilda: Oh, don't be silly. Dr. Hinge: I think I've seen you somewhere before! Well, we all know what that means, don't we? Dame Hilda: Well, I certainly do, but I'm rather surprised to find you do. Dr. Hinge: Just be careful, that's all. Dame Hilda: Oh, oh, he’s at it again? He's peering at us from behind that pillar, he thinks he can't be seen. Dr. Hinge: Yes, perhaps they should consider renaming their organisation the old ostriches. Oh, why don't we just give this evening up and go? Let's face it, it's been an unmitigated disaster. We’d probably have enjoyed ourselves far more if we'd stayed at home with the belly pork and the trifle. Dame Hilda: Yes, I must admit, dear, it's not been a great success, has it? Not one of your better ideas this coming out. And I'm getting so hungry. Dr. Hinge: Oh, oh, here it comes again, our friend. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. Parkinson: Well, I've had a word, and the waiter should be with you ere long. Meanwhile, I thought you might be in need of a little sustenance, so I’ll leave you with a sherry bottle and a bowl of nibbles, compliments of the old Raccoonians. Dr. Hinge: Oh, that’s very kind of, of you. Dame Hilda: How very thoughtful, thank you, dear. Parkinson: I say, I do hope you don't mind my asking, but were you by any chance ever the cashier at the Roxy cinema in Pinang? Dame Hilda: No, I'm afraid not, dear. That's one position in the world of entertainment, to which I have never aspired. Parkinson: Oh, I just wondered. I spent a good deal of time in that part of the world. In rubber. Dame Hilda: In rubber? Isn't that fascinating, Evadne? I mean, this gentleman may have had a hand in your gum boots. Dr. Hinge: I’m sure, the gentleman must find that possibility most gratifying. Parkinson: I say, I'm awfully sorry, you must think me frightfully remiss the name’s Parkinson, Neville Parkinson. Dame Hilda: Well, a very belated, how do you do, to you, Mr. Parkinson? This is my colleague here, Dr. Evadne Hinge. Dr. Hinge: Hello. Dame Hilda: And I am Dame Hilda Bracket. Parkinson: Hilda Bracket! Of course. Now I remember, it was at the old Empire theatre in Snitterton. Dame Hilda: Snitterton! Parkinson: Yes one Sunday, there was some charity do. You signed my programme for me. I'll never forget it. And you sang a song called Neville. Neville was a devil, a perfect little devil. Dame Hilda: He trotted after anything in curls. That's the one. Oh, you remember that one, don't you, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: I remember it. Dame Hilda: A lovely little song, one of Gertie Millers. Now I say, Evadne, there's a piano out in the lobby there, dear. Why don't we nip out and sing it for Mr. Parkinson while we're waiting? Parkinson: Oh, if you would, Ladies, it would make my evening. Dr. Hinge: Well, I'm game, come on then. Dame Hilda: Are you sure you can remember it, dear? Dr. Hinge: I'm quite sure. Dame Hilda: Without the music? Dr. Hinge: Without the music. Dame Hilda: Yes. Well, you're sometimes better without it than with it. Parkinson: There we are, ladies. One piano primed and ready for action. Dr. Hinge: Oh, not bad, quite nice. Right, Hilda, I'm ready when you are, and if this doesn't attract a waiter, nothing will.
Of all the boys in town, the smartest anywhere. Was Master Neville Brown, the chaperones despair. He chased the lady's round from Bloomsbury to Balham And he even cut the ground from under Basil Hellam Neville was a devil, a perfect little devil The ladies had their portraits done in oils And those who had a sitting Were often heard admitting Gee, Neville is a devil with the girls!
Ha ha ha! Parkinson: That was absolutely splendid. Dr. Hinge: I fancy not, Hilda. He's got his tail and his hand. Parkinson: Oh, that's King Snouter, our president. He's probably looking for me. Excuse me, ladies, and thank you so much. Dr. Hinge: Come on, Hilda. There's no point in hanging out any longer. Let's go. Dame Hilda: Well, let's at least finish the sherry and the nibbles first. We don’t want to appear rude. Dr. Hinge: Oh, oh, here he comes again. Parkinson: I say, ladies, King Snouter wonders if you'd consent to join us in our little do as our very special guests. He feels we’ve rather ruined your evening for you. And to tell you the truth, I think he rather fancies a sing song later on. Dame Hilda: Well, isn't that kind of him? We'd be honoured, wouldn't we, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: Would we have to wear tails? Parkinson: Oh, no. I’m sure we could waive that little formality. Hm-hmm, no pun intended. Dame Hilda: Now, you're not to waive anything. I think it behoves us as special guests to enter fully into the spirit of things. And anyway, Evadne, just think of tomorrow. Dr. Hinge: What about tomorrow? Dame Hilda: Well, when people ask us what sort of an evening we had, we should be able to say an absolutely splendid one. And thereby hangs a tail.
Transcribed by Lorraine Taylor |
