The Return Of Digger Carew.
Dame Hilda: When looking back over my years in the theatre, one of the things I remember with most pleasure is how much my audiences loved me. And this is not egoism, whatever Evadne may say. To tell the truth there's a modicum of sour grapes there. Well, I can remember several occasions on which rowdy galleryites threw hot pennies onto the kettle drum while she was conducting. No one ever threw hot pennies at me. For me, it was gorgeously luxurious things. Orchids, hand made chocolates, champagne. There was one man who used to conceal small but exquisite pearls inside strawberries. Goodness knows how many I must have swallowed before he told me he was doing it. But one of my most ardent admirers was an Australian called Digger Carew. Well, recently he returned to England after almost 30 years. And you can imagine my excitement the day he was due to call on us at the old manse. {Drawing room.} Dame Hilda: Now, are you quite sure this room looks alright, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: Perfectly alright, dear. Why? Dame Hilda: I don't know. There just seems to be something lacking somehow. Dr. Hinge: Well, it certainly isn't another photograph of you. Dame Hilda: Oh, you've noticed them. I thought it would be nice to have one or two dotted about it. Dr. Hinge: One or two, Hilda. There must be 50. Dame Hilda: Well, it'll give us all something to talk about, won’t it? Dr. Hinge: Yes, dear, you. Dame Hilda: Oh, I know what's missing. We need a photograph of Digger. Dr. Hinge: Which one, dear? I only remember two. One taken in very short shorts with corks hanging off his hat, imitating a kangaroo hopping down the front at Frinton. And the other one with an ice cream cornet in his hand and a litter bin on his head, imitating god knows what. Dame Hilda: I remember that day in Frinton. Dr. Hinge: I would imagine Frinton remembers it too. Dame Hilda: We had such fun that summer. He followed the company absolutely everywhere, didn't he? Dr. Hinge: Yes, didn't he? You know, the rest of us thought he was a bailiff. And we were just waiting for him to impound the costumes. Dame Hilda: You were never that struck on him were you, dear? Dr. Hinge: No, dear. Never. Dame Hilda: He was always very fond of you, you know. Dr. Hinge: Oh, I see? Is that why he used to leave his empty beer bottles in my dressing room? Dame Hilda: What are you complaining about? You always got the money back on them, didn't you? You will be nice to him, won't you, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: I shall do my best, Hilda. Of course, he'll not be here for very long. Will he? Dame Hilda: No, dear. Probably not. Dr. Hinge: What do you mean, probably not? You did say it was a flying visit. Dame Hilda: Well, yes, dear. I mean, that's what he said, flying. Dr. Hinge: Then why is Maud making up the bed in the spare room? Dame Hilda: Just in case. Dr. Hinge: Just in case what? Dame Hilda: Well, one doesn't want to appear inhospitable. {Door knocks!} Dame Hilda: Oh, that'll be him him. Oh, come to the front door with me, Evadne. My legs are all wobbly. Dr. Hinge: Mmm. Blame the six inch heels, dear. Still, lead on, I'll be behind you and ready to catch. Dame Hilda: It's all right, Maud. We're going. Oh, all right. I'm coming. I'm coming. Before I open the door Evadne, do I look all right? Dr. Hinge: All right. Dame Hilda: Well, here goes, then. Digger! Digger: Hilda, after all this time, and you haven't changed a bit. Dame Hilda: Oh! Oh! But I must have done, dear. Surely? just a teeny bit?. Digger: Not a jot nor a tittle. You were exactly as I remember you, sitting on the back of my tandem the day we went to Glyndebourne. I can still see you sitting there with bonza flowers in your hair. Holding my evening shoes in one hand and my white dicky in the other. As I said, you haven't changed a bit. Dame Hilda: You're still looking at the world through your rose coloured spectacles. Digger: Now, now, look, I'm being fair dinkem. I wouldn't pull your leg, would I? You don't look a day older not one single day. Dame Hilda: Well, perhaps it's something to do with having high cheekbones. And my flair for choosing frocks. Dr. Hinge: Perhaps you should come in off the step, Hilda, Before your head gets too big it's come back through the front door. Digger: Hilda, who’s she? Dame Hilda: You remember Dr. Hinge? Digger: No. Dame Hilda: Of course you do. Digger: No, I don't. Dame Hilda: The Doctor and I shared digs. She was usually in the pit, of course, conducting the orchestra. Dr. Hinge: Perhaps it would jog his memory if I turned round and showed him my back, dear. Dame Hilda: What a good idea, Evadne, It is one of your best features. Digger: I've got it. Now I remember. It's ding ding! Dr. Hinge: Ding ding? Digger: That's what we used to call her, isn't it, Hilda? Dame Hilda: Well, yes. But that was just between you and me. Dr. Hinge: And they say two heads are better than one. Digger: It was because you were the conductor, see? Hold very tight please, ding ding. You get it? Dr. Hinge: Yes, I think I get it. Despite its incredible subtlety. Now, why doesn’t someone close that front door, I'm sure we're all far too old to be standing about in a draughts. Digger: Ladies, allow me. Dame Hilda: Thank you. Come with me, Digger. We'll go to into the drawing room. Digger: Where should I dump me bags, Hilda? Dr. Hinge: You may as well dump your bags in the hall, Mr. Carew. You can take them up to your room when it's ready. Dame Hilda: His room, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: Don't be coy, Hilda. Do you think I didn't know he was staying? Dame Hilda: You haven't been reading my letters. Dr. Hinge: I don't need to, Hilda. I can read your face. Now, do let's go and sit down. Dame Hilda: Come along, then, this way. Now, sit yourself down. Make yourself at home. Digger: Oh, thanks. Dame Hilda: And, why don't you tell us what you get up to over there? Digger: Oh, well, to tell the truth, Hilda, I don't seem to be able to get up to very much these days. Dr. Hinge: I think she means, what do you do for a living there? Digger: Oh, oh, yes. Well, I'm the editor of a little magazine. It's called the Dosser. Dame Hilda: What's it devoted to, dear, sleeping around? Dr. Hinge: I think she means sleeping rough. Digger: No, no, no. It's an arts magazine. It's called the Dosser because the office was originally near a part of Sydney, known as Dossers alley. Dr. Hinge: Oh I see. And what is your special contribution to the arts, then, Mr. Carew? Digger: Well, the main plank of our policy is to get the Sydney Opera house pulled down. Dame Hilda: But it hasn't been up so very long, has it dear? Digger: Nevertheless, we wanted to pull it down again. Dame Hilda: But why? Digger: Because it's in the way. Dr. Hinge: You mean the buses can’t get around it or something? Digger: No, I don't mean that. It's in the way of art. The bricks and mortar come between the audience and the performance. Dr. Hinge: Well, I've heard there were one or two architectural blunders, dear, but surely they didn't put a proscenium arch in. Digger: Yes, but they should never have built it in the first place. Nor any of the others, Covent garden, they should pull it down, or la Scala, pull it down, the Met. pull it down. Dr. Hinge: Who reads your magazine, dear? Artists or demolition men? Digger: Now, we believe that buildings have become far too important. People no longer talk about going to see a work of art, only about going to see a building. I'm going to Covent garden on Thursday. I'm going to the la Scala on Thursday. I'm going to the Met on Thursday. Dame Hilda: You're going to have a busy time on Thursday. Digger: Yes, well, I can see you're not treating this seriously. We argue about it for hours back home. Dame Hilda: Where, in the office? Digger: No, usually in the bar at the Sydney Opera House. Dame Hilda: Oh, here comes Maud. And some tea by the look of it. Maud: I thought you must be about ready for a drop, Dame ‘Ilda,. Dame Hilda: Thank you, Maud. You remember Maud, don't you, Digger? Digger: No! Dame Hilda: Oh, don't start that again. Maud: I were in the wardrobe the last time ‘e were ‘ere. Digger: And they’ve let you out at last, did they? Dame Hilda: Maud was our wardrobe mistress with the company, Digger. But she could turn her hands to almost anything, couldn't she, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: She could, dear, yes. We always did our best to stop her after that fiasco at Rustington on sea. Digger: Rustington on sea? Not Dido and Aeneas in that school hall. Dr. Hinge: That's it. The last thing ever staged there. And, of course, they never rebuilt the hall. Digger: The stupid rat bags. Oh, remember that place as long as I lived? I was in the audience. Dr. Hinge: I was in what passed for a pit? Dame Hilda: I was on what passed for a stage. Maud: And I were out in what passed for a car park. That weren't no more than a field full of cows and whatnot. Dr. Hinge: And that's where the trouble began. Maud: Well, you can't blame me, Doctor. I never chose that great fat lummox for a sprite. Dr. Hinge: That great fat Lummox, as you call him, always plays a sprite. Maud: Well, ‘e should ‘ave known better at his age. Dr. Hinge: He happened to have the right voice, dear. Maud: Well, ‘e didn't ‘ave much else right about ‘im, did he, Doctor? Not if ‘e wanted to be ‘eld up in that roof. With no but me on the other end of whatever were ‘olding ‘im up! Dame Hilda: But be fair, Evadne, It wasn't really Maud’s fault. The place was far too small for one thing. Dr. Hinge: As I had designed it. It was perfectly simple, dear. The sprite sat on his little swing tight up under the roof over the stage. A rope was right over a pulley wheel, through a hole in the back wall, and into the car park. Where all Maud had to do was hold onto it, and at a prearranged signal, lower it slowly in. Digger: Well, put it like that, it’s difficult to understand what caused the panic. Dr. Hinge: Maud, caused the panic. Maud: I did just as I were bid. So, come act two, there was the sprite up in the roof, and me out in the car park ‘olding on for grim death, and waiting for the word. And then the rain starts. And it were muddy. And I feel me feet beginning to slip. And I knows as every inch nearer that ‘all I were dragged, that sprite come down an inch nearer the stage. And people ‘ave been looking up and saying, Who's that ‘anging about up there? Digger: I'll tell you something, an old Sheila sitting next to me, said she'd never seen a trapeze act in the middle of a Dido and Aeneas Maud: And it were then that this man comes up and asks me the way to the bus stop, and I make a fatal mistake, see, in pointing it out to ‘im I takes one ‘and off the rope. Well, you should ‘ave seen ‘is face as I were whisked off down the car park. Dame Hilda: You should’ve seen our faces as that sprite suddenly dropped about 12 feet towards the stage, swinging like a pendulum. I remember I ducked. Dr. Hinge: I remember I ducked. Digger: I remember I got up and moved four rows back. Maud: Grab ‘old of this rope, I shouts to the man as ‘e's about to run for ‘is bus. I got a sprite on the other end. You’ve a what? says ‘e? A sprite, says I. Well, you've got it on a long enough lead. Says ‘e, is it dangerous? It will be if you don't grab ‘old of this rope, says I. So ‘e grabs, and together we gives one mighty ‘eave! Dame Hilda: I know, dear, there was such a nasty thwack as the sprites head hit that roof. Maud: Then we takes the rope and we ties it off to the bumper at the back of a car, not knowing as there were a man inside and he’d just slid into reverse. Well, all of a sudden, back he shoots, Dr. Hinge: And the sprite came hurtling down. Maud: Forwards I shouts pull forwards! Dr. Hinge: And the sprite went hurtling up again. Dame Hilda: And there was another, there a nasty thwack! Digger: And I moved four rows forward again. I couldn't see what was happening up there, you see? It was obviously far more interesting than anything I could see, because everyone was looking up. Dame Hilda: And that's when the ceiling came down. Dr. Hinge: No, no, dear, the roof, dear, it was, the roof, which came down. Digger: All I remember is the stampede to the doors. I'd only just gone out when the walls caved in. And I still haven’t seen the end of Dido and Aeneas. Dame Hilda: Well, there you are then, dear. I was right right. You do remember, Maud? Dr. Hinge: Maud, did you ever work for Kirsten Flagstad? Maud: Who? Dame Hilda: Kirsten Flagstad, dear, soprano, Maud, like me. But she was Norwegian. Dr. Hinge: Yes, I was just wondering. If you did, Maud, you see, it might explain why she kept making so many farewell appearances in Dido and Aeneas, Maud: I didn't, Doctor, so there. Not much gone on, foreigners, as Dame ‘ilda well knows. Though I dare say, some's a lot more grateful than others I could mention. Dame Hilda: Now, no, no, Evadne, Maud, please not in front of Digger. Whatever will he think of us? Digger: I was thinking in 30 years, not one of you has changed. Maud: Now, I'll just finish off in the kitchen, Dame ‘ilda, and then I'll be away. The guest room's all ready. I’ve put tea out and coffee out, so you can help yourself first thing, Mr. Carew, I think you've enough up there for the five days. Bye for now? Dr. Hinge: Five days? Digger: Well, I did say it could only be a flying visit. Dame Hilda: What's the matter, dear, is that something my face didn't tell you? Dr. Hinge: It is, dear. Yes, you're obviously becoming less transparent with age. Dame Hilda: I bet you wish now that you’d read my letters, don't you? Or is your eyesight no longer up to prying? Digger: Which one of you actually is the oldest? Dr. Hinge: Mind your own damn business. Digger: Uh-oh, I was only wondering. Dame Hilda: Well, don't dare, please. Now, who on earth could that be? Maud: It's all right, Dame ‘ilda, I’ll go. I think it's Major Dyrenforth, Hilda. Dame Hilda: The Major is a very sweet neighbour of ours. He lives up at the big house, you know, he was in the desert. Digger: In oil? Dame Hilda: No, dear, with Rommel. Digger: He's a German Major?. Dame Hilda: No, English. Digger: What’s he doing with Rommel? Dame Hilda: Oh, I do hate it when you're so deliberately obtuse. Major: Morning, ladies. All right, my coming in? Dame Hilda: Ah, Major. Dr. Hinge: Good morning, Major. Dame Hilda: Major, I want you to meet a very dear friend of mine, Digger Carew. Major: Hello, there. Digger: G'day. You know, Hilda, that I wasn't actually christened Digger. Dame Hilda: To tell the truth, dear, I've never even thought about it. Digger: Digger is not my real name. Dame Hilda: Then what is your real name? Digger: Chips. Dr. Hinge: Well, isn’t it nice to have got that straightened out after all this time Major: Look, I'm awfully sorry to burst in on you when you have company, but Lorna thought you might have a few capers. Dr. Hinge: Well, Hilda’s got one, she use to keep for parties, Major. But I'd sooner you didn't ask her to repeat it now. Last time she tried she cocked her leg over the back of the settee and couldn't uncock it again. Dame Hilda: Evadne, you can be a very indelicate, dear, when you want to. What I choose to cock in the privacy of my own home is surely nobodies business but mine. Major: But actually, it was culinary capers I was after. You see, Lorna's been playing about with a chicken all morning. Dame Hilda: They can be very amusing, can't they? Digger: I had a pet chicken when I was a boy. I used to walk about with it on a lead. Dr. Hinge: How very appropriate, chicken and chips. Major: You see, she was going to stuff it, but she thought better of i Digger: Do you know that my chicken used to cross the road all on its own? Dr. Hinge: Did you ever ask it? Why? Dame Hilda: Please, do you think we could change the subject? Major: I say, you've got a sight more photographs about than unusual, haven't you, Hilda? Dame Hilda: I'm glad someone's noticed them at last, Major. Major: I don’t think I've seen any of these before. I say, that's Anna Neagle isn't it? Dame Hilda: No, it's me. Major: I say, so it is. Oh, now there's a face I know. No, don't tell me. It's, er, it's... Digger: They're all of Hilda. I refuse to be drawn. Dame Hilda: Well, really, you are a swine. Digger: You know, Major, I took 1,000 photographs when I was in England last time to remind me of me stay. And when I got home I found that 998 of them were of Hilda. Dame Hilda: And what did you waste the other two on? Digger: I don't know, they didn't come out. Major: What brings you to England this time, Mr. Carew? Digger: Well, I'm here doing research for my book, Major. Dame Hilda: A book? Oh, will I be in it? Digger: Oh, no, you won't. It's a serious book. Dame Hilda: Swine. Dr. Hinge: Hilda, do you think you could find another term of endearment? Digger: My book is called attitudes to poverty and riches in Victorian England as expressed in the popular literature of the day. Don't you think that's a good title? Dame Hilda: Lovely, dear, nice and snappy. Digger: Oh, I'm glad. I found some riveting stuff. Dr. Hinge: Trust you? Digger: Do you know the poem, The rich girl and the poor boy? All: No! Digger: It's about a rich girl and a poor boy. Dr. Hinge: What a surprise. Digger: Yeah. And The rich girl says to the poor boy, we must not play together, Thomas Smith. I'm very sure, for my papa is very rich and yours is very poor. Dame Hilda: She sounds a brat. Major: Spoilt! Dame Hilda: I shouldn't wonder. Digger: Anyway, he goes on. Among your fine rich furniture, you cannot eat in peace. Lest on your Brussels carpet, you should get a spot of grease. Dame Hilda: Or a sprout. Digger: Hey? Dame Hilda: Lest on your Brussels carpet, you should get a Brussels sprout. Digger: I don't think you're treating it with the seriousness it deserves Hilda: Then come to think of it, you always were a bit of a flibbertigibbet! Dame Hilda: A what? dear. Digger: Flibbertigibbet, Isn't that the expression? Dame Hilda: Flibbertigibbet means flighty. Digger: That is the expression. You're always flibbertigibbet, you never knew when to stop. It was one that things I least liked about you. Dame Hilda: One of the things. And just how many things about me pray did you dislike? Digger: Well, I can't remember them all off hand. Well, it was a long time ago. But you just reminded me of another. Yes, it was that look that comes over your face when someone says something you don't like. And your jaw sets like a rat trap. Dame Hilda: You know, Digger. You can be very rude when you want to be. Digger: Oh, thank you, but I don't think it want to be just at the moment. Dame Hilda: I always found these flippant remarks of yours very irritating. Major: Perhaps we should have a song. Dr. Hinge: What a good idea, Major? Soothe the savage breast and all that sort of thing, eh? Now, what do we have here? Oh, yes, how appropriate. The amorous goldfish. Digger: Oh, yes, I always liked that song. Dame Hilda: Well, I'm glad you can remember something you liked.
Dr. Hinge: Hilda come over here and stand by me, dear. Dame Hilda: Digger, you’ve always spoilt that song. Digger: I was only joining in! Dr. Hinge: Then let that be a lesson to you, and perhaps next time you’ll let me read your letters and draft your replies!
Transcribed by Lorraine Taylor |
