A Clergyman's Daughter Page 18

  MRS BENDIGO: I'll bloody mother 'im! [Shouting after the

  policeman] 'I! Why don't you get after them bloody cat burglars

  'stead of coming nosing round a respectable married woman?

  GINGER: Kip down, blokes. 'E's jacked. [Daddy retires within his

  coat.]

  NOSY WATSON: Wassit like in Dartmoor now? D'they give you jam

  now?

  MRS WAYNE: Of course, you can see as they couldn't reely allow

  people to sleep in the streets--I mean, it wouldn't be quite nice--

  and then you've got to remember as it'd be encouraging of all the

  people as haven't got homes of their own--the kind of riff-raff, if

  you take my meaning. . . .

  MR TALLBOYS [to himself]: Happy days, happy days! Outings with

  the Girl Guides in Epping Forest--hired brake and sleek roan

  horses, and I on the box in my grey flannel suit, speckled straw

  hat, and discreet layman's necktie. Buns and ginger pop under the

  green elms. Twenty Girl Guides pious yet susceptible frisking in

  the breast-high bracken, and I a happy curate sporting among them,

  in loco parentis pinching the girls' backsides. . . .

  MRS MCELLIGOT: Well, you may talk about kippin' down, but begod

  dere won't be much sleep for my poor ole bloody bones tonight. I

  can't skipper it now de way me and Michael used to.

  CHARLIE: Not jam. Gets cheese, though, twice a week.

  THE KIKE: Oh Jeez! I can't stand it no longer. I going down to

  the M.A.B.

  [Dorothy stands up, and then, her knees having stiffened with the

  cold, almost falls.]

  GINGER: Only send you to the bleeding Labour Home. What you say

  we all go up to Covent Garden tomorrow morning? Bum a few pears if

  we get there early enough.

  CHARLIE: I've 'ad my perishing bellyful of Dartmoor, b'lieve me.

  Forty on us went through 'ell for getting off with the ole women

  down on the allotments. Ole trots seventy years old they was--

  spud-grabbers. Didn't we cop it just! Bread and water, chained to

  the wall--perishing near murdered us.

  MRS BENDIGO: No fear! Not while my bloody husband's there. One

  black eye in a week's enough for me, thank you.

  MR TALLBOYS [chanting, reminiscently]: As for our harps, we hanged

  them up, upon the willow trees of Babylon! . . .

  MRS MCELLIGOT: Hold up, kiddie! Stamp your feet an' get de blood

  back into 'm. I'll take y'a walk up to Paul's in a coupla minutes.

  DEAFIE [singing]: WITH my willy willy--

  [Big Ben strikes eleven.]

  SNOUTER: Six more--hours! Cripes!

  [An hour passes. Big Ben stops striking. The mist thins and the

  cold increases. A grubby-faced moon is seen sneaking among the

  clouds of the southern sky. A dozen hardened old men remain on the

  benches, and still contrive to sleep, doubled up and hidden in

  their greatcoats. Occasionally they groan in their sleep. The

  others set out in all directions, intending to walk all night and

  so keep their blood flowing, but nearly all of them have drifted

  back to the Square by midnight. A new policeman comes on duty.

  He strolls through the Square at intervals of half an hour,

  scrutinizing the faces of the sleepers but letting them alone when

  he has made sure that they are only asleep and not dead. Round

  each bench revolves a knot of people who take it in turns to sit

  down and are driven to their feet by the cold after a few minutes.

  Ginger and Charlie fill two drums at the fountains and set out in

  the desperate hope of boiling some tea over the navvies' clinker

  fire in Chandos Street; but a policeman is warming himself at the

  fire, and orders them away. The Kike suddenly vanishes, probably

  to beg a bed at the M.A.B. Towards one o'clock a rumour goes round

  that a lady is distributing hot coffee, ham sandwiches, and packets

  of cigarettes under Charing Cross Bridge; there is a rush to the

  spot, but the rumour turns out to be unfounded. As the Square

  fills again the ceaseless changing of places upon the benches

  quickens until it is a game of musical chairs. Sitting down, with

  one's hands under one's armpits, it is possible to get into a kind

  of sleep, or doze, for two or three minutes on end. In this state,

  enormous ages seem to pass. One sinks into a complex, troubling

  dreams which leave one conscious of one's surroundings and of the

  bitter cold. The night is growing clearer and colder every minute.

  There is a chorus of varying sound--groans, curses, bursts of

  laughter, and singing, and through them all the uncontrollable

  chattering of teeth.]

  MR TALLBOYS [chanting]: I am poured out like water, and all my

  bones are out of joint! . . .

  MRS MCELLIGOT: Ellen an' me bin wanderin' round de City dis two

  hours. Begod it's like a bloody tomb wid dem great lamps glarin'

  down on you an' not a soul stirren' excep' de flatties strollin'

  two an' two.

  SNOUTER: Five past ---- one and I ain't 'ad a bite since dinner!

  Course it 'ad to 'appen to us on a ---- night like this!

  MR TALLBOYS: A drinking night I should have called it. But every

  man to his taste. [Chanting] 'My strength is dried like a

  potsherd, and my tongue cleaveth to my gums!' . . .

  CHARLIE: Say, what you think? Nosy and me done a smash jest now.

  Nosy sees a tobacconist's show-case full of them fancy boxes of

  Gold Flake, and 'e says, 'By cripes I'm going to 'ave some of them

  fags if they give me a perishing stretch for it!' 'e says. So 'e

  wraps 'is scarf round 'is 'and, and we waits till there's a

  perishing great van passing as'll drown the noise, and then Nosy

  lets fly--biff! We nipped a dozen packets of fags, and then I bet

  you didn't see our a--s for dust. And when we gets round the

  corner and opens them, there wasn't no perishing fags inside!

  Perishing dummy boxes. I 'ad to laugh.

  DOROTHY: My knees are giving way. I can't stand up much longer.

  MRS BENDIGO: Oh, the sod, the sod! To turn a woman out of doors

  on a night like bloody this! You wait'll I get 'im drunk o'

  Saturday night and 'e can't 'it back. I'll mash 'im to bloody shin

  of beef, I will. 'E'll look like two pennorth of pieces after I've

  swiped 'im with the bloody flat-iron.

  MRS MCELLIGOT: Here, make room'n let de kid sit down. Press up

  agen ole Daddy, dear. Put his arm round you. He's chatty, but

  he'll keep you warm.

  GINGER [double marking time]: Stamp your feet on the ground--only

  bleeding thing to do. Strike up a song, someone, and less all

  stamp our bleeding feet in time to it.

  DADDY [waking and emerging]: Wassat? [Still half asleep, he lets

  his head fall back, with mouth open and Adam's apple protruding

  from his withered throat like the blade of a tomahawk.]

  MRS BENDIGO: There's women what if they'd stood what I'VE stood,

  they'd ave put spirits of salts in 'is cup of bloody tea.

  MR TALLBOYS [beating an imaginary drum and singing]: Onward,

  heathen so-oldiers--

  MRS WAYNE: Well, reely now! If any of us'd ever of thought, in

  the dear old days when we u
sed to sit round our own Silkstone coal

  fire, with the kettle on the hob and a nice dish of toasted

  crumpets from the baker's over the way. . . .

  [The chattering of her teeth silences her.]

  CHARLIE: No perishing church trap now, matie. I'll give y'a bit

  of smut--something as we can perishing dance to. You listen t'me.

  MRS MCELLIGOT: Don't you get talkin' about crumpets, Missis. Me

  bloody belly's rubbin' agen me backbone already.

  [Charlie draws himself up, clears his throat, and in an enormous

  voice roars out a song entitled 'Rollicking Bill the Sailor'. A

  laugh that is partly a shudder bursts from the people on the bench.

  They sing the song through again, with increasing volume of noise,

  stamping and clapping in time. Those sitting down, packed elbow to

  elbow, sway grotesquely from side to side, working their feet as

  though stamping on the pedals of a harmonium. Even Mrs Wayne joins

  in after a moment, laughing in spite of herself. They are all

  laughing, though with chattering teeth. Mr Tallboys marches up and

  down behind his vast swag belly, pretending to carry a banner or

  crozier in front of him. The night is now quite clear, and an icy

  wind comes shuddering at intervals through the Square. The

  stamping and clapping rise to a kind of frenzy as the people feel

  the deadly cold penetrate to their bones. Then the policeman is

  seen wandering into the Square from the eastern end, and the

  singing ceases abruptly.]

  CHARLIE: There! You can't say as a bit of music don't warm you

  up.

  MRS BENDIGO: This bloody wind! And I ain't even got any drawers

  on, the bastard kicked me out in such a 'urry.

  MRS MCELLIGOT: Well, glory be to Jesus, 'twon't be long before dat

  dere church in de Gray's Inn Road opens up for de winter. Dey

  gives you a roof over your head of a night, 't any rate.

  THE POLICEMAN: Now then, now THEN! D'you think this is the time

  of night to begin singing like a blooming bear garden? I shall

  have to send you back to your homes if you can't keep quiet.

  SNOUTER [sotto voce]: You ---- son of a ----!

  GINGER: Yes--they lets you kip on the bleeding stone floor with

  three newspaper posters 'stead of blankets. Might as well be in

  the Square and 'ave done with it. God, I wish I was in the

  bleeding spike.

  MRS MCELLIGOT: Still, you gets a cup of Horlicks an' two slices.

  I bin glad to kip dere often enough.

  MR TALLBOYS [chanting]: I was glad when they said unto me, We will

  go into the house of the Lord! . . .

  DOROTHY [starting up]: Oh, this cold, this cold! I don't know

  whether it's worse when you're sitting down or when you're standing

  up. Oh, how can you all stand it? Surely you don't have to do

  this every night of your lives?

  MRS WAYNE: You mustn't think, dearie, as there isn't SOME of us

  wasn't brought up respectable.

  CHARLIE [singing]: Cheer up, cully, you'll soon be dead! Brrh!

  Perishing Jesus! Ain't my fish-hooks blue! [Double marks time and

  beats his arms against his sides.]

  DOROTHY: Oh, but how can you stand it? How can you go on like

  this, night after night, year after year? It's not possible that

  people can live so! It's so absurd that one wouldn't believe it if

  one didn't know it was true. It's impossible!

  SNOUTER: ---- possible if you ask me.

  MR TALLBOYS [stage curate-wise]: With God, all things are possible.

  [Dorothy sinks back on to the bench, her knees still being

  unsteady.]

  CHARLIE: Well, it's jest on 'ar-parse one. Either we got to get

  moving, or else make a pyramid on that perishing bench. Unless we

  want to perishing turn up our toes. 'Oo's for a little

  constitootional up to the Tower of London?

  MRS MCELLIGOT: 'Twon't be me dat'll walk another step tonight. Me

  bloody legs've given out on me.

  GINGER: What-o for the pyramid! This is a bit too bleeding nine-

  day-old for me. Less scrum into that bench--beg pardon, Ma!

  DADDY [sleepily]: Wassa game? Can't a man get a bit of kip but

  what you must come worriting 'in and shaking of 'im?

  CHARLIE: That's the stuff! Shove in! Shift yourself, Daddy, and

  make room for my little sit-me-down. Get one atop of each other.

  That's right. Never mind the chats. Jam all together like

  pilchards in a perishing tin.

  MRS WAYNE: Here! I didn't ask you to sit on my lap, young man!

  GINGER: Sir on mine, then, mother--'sall the same. What-o! First

  bit of stuff I've 'ad my arm round since Easter.

  [They pile themselves in a monstrous shapeless clot, men and women

  clinging indiscriminately together, like a bunch of toads at

  spawning time. There is a writhing movement as the heap settles

  down, and a sour stench of clothes diffuses itself. Only Mr

  Tallboys remains marching up and down.]

  MR TALLBOYS [declaiming]: O ye nights and days, ye light and

  darkness, ye lightnings and clouds, curse ye the Lord!

  [Deafie, someone having sat on his diaphragm, utters a strange,

  unreproducible sound.]

  MRS BENDIGO: Get off my bad leg, can't you? What you think I am?

  Bloody drawing-room sofa?

  CHARLIE: Don't ole Daddy stink when you get up agen 'im?

  GINGER: Bleeding Bank 'oliday for the chats this'll be.

  DOROTHY: Oh, God, God!

  MR TALLBOYS [halting]: Why call on God, you puling deathbed

  penitent? Stick to your guns and call on the Devil as I do.

  Hail to thee, Lucifer, Prince of the Air! [Singing to the tune

  of 'Holy, holy holy']: Incubi and Succubi, falling down before

  Thee! . . .

  MRS BENDIGO: Oh, shut up, you blarsphemous old sod! 'E's too

  bloody fat to feel the cold, that's what's wrong with 'im.

  CHARLIE: Nice soft be'ind you got, Ma. Keep an eye out for the

  perishing flattie, Ginger.

  MR TALLBOYS: Malecidite, omnia opera! The Black Mass! Why not?

  Once a priest always a priest. Hand me a chunk of toke and I will

  work the miracle. Sulphur candles, Lord's Prayer backwards,

  crucifix upside down. [To Dorothy] If we had a black he-goat you

  would come in useful.

  [The animal heat of the piled bodies had already made itself felt.

  A drowsiness is descending upon everyone.]

  MRS WAYNE: You mustn't think as I'm ACCUSTOMED to sitting on a

  gentleman's knee, you know . . .

  MRS MCELLIGOT [drowsily]: It took my sacraments reg'lar till de

  bloody priest wouldn't give me absolution along o' my Michael. De

  ole get, de ole getsie! . . .

  MR TALLBOYS [striking an attitude]: Per aquam sacratam quam nunc

  spargo, signumque crucis quod nunc facio. . . .

  GINGER: 'Oo's got a fill of 'ard-up? I've smoked by last bleeding

  fag-end.

  MR TALLBOYS [as at the altar]: Dearly beloved brethren we are

  gathered together in the sight of God for the solemnization of

  unholy blasphemy. He has afflicted us with dirt and cold, with

  hunger and solitude, with the pox and the itch, with the headlouse

  and the crablouse. Our food is damp crusts and s
limy meat-scraps

  handed out in packets from hotel doorways. Our pleasure is stewed

  tea and sawdust cakes bolted in reeking cellars, bar-rinsing sand

  spittle of common ale, the embrace of toothless hags. Our destiny

  is the pauper's grave, twenty-feet deep in deal coffins, the kip-

  house of underground. It is very meet, right and our bounden duty

  at all times and in all places to curse Him and revile Him.

  Therefore with Demons and Archdemons [etc., etc., etc.].

  MRS MCELLIGOT [drowsily]: By holy Jesus, I'm half asleep right

  now, only some b--'s lyin' across my legs and crushin' 'em.

  MR TALLBOYS: Amen. Evil from us deliver, but temptation into not

  us lead [etc., etc., etc.].

  [As he reaches the first word of the prayer he tears the

  consecrated bread across. The blood runs out of it. There is a

  rolling sound, as of thunder, and the landscape changes. Dorothy's

  feet are very cold. Monstrous winged shapes of Demons and

  Archdemons are dimly visible, moving to and fro. Something, beak

  or claw, closes upon Dorothy's shoulder, reminding her that her

  feet and hands are aching with cold.]

  THE POLICEMAN [shaking Dorothy by the shoulder]: Wake up, now,

  wake up, wake up! Haven't you got an overcoat? You're as white as

  death. Don't you know better than to let yourself sprawl about in

  the cold like that?

  [Dorothy finds that she is stiff with cold. The sky is now quite

  clear, with gritty little stars twinkling like electric lamps

  enormously remote. The pyramid has unrolled itself.]

  MRS MCELLIGOT: De poor kid, she ain't used to roughin' it de way

  us others are.

  GINGER [beating his arms]: Brr! Woo! 'Taters in the bleeding

  mould!

  MRS WAYNE: She's a lady born and bred.

  THE POLICEMAN: Is that so?--See here, Miss, you best come down to

  the M.A.B. with me. They'll give you a bed all right. Anyone can

  see with half an eye as you're a cut above these others here.

  MRS BENDIGO: Thank you, constable, THANK you! 'Ear that, girls?

  'A cut above us,' 'e says. Nice, ain't it? [To the policeman]

  Proper bloody Ascot swell yourself, ain't you?

  DOROTHY: No, no! Leave me, I'd rather stay here.

  THE POLICEMAN: Well, please yourself. You looked real bad just

  now. I'll be along later and take a look at you. [Moves off

  doubtfully.]

  CHARLIE: Wait'll the perisher's round the corner and then pile up

  agen. Only perishing way we'll keep warm.

  MRS MCELLIGOT: Come on, kid. Get underneath an' let'm warm you.

  SNOUTER: Ten minutes to ---- two. Can't last for ever, I s'pose.

  MR TALLBOYS [chanting]: I am poured out like water, and all my

  bones are out of joint. My heart also in the midst of my body is

  like unto melting wax! . . .

  [Once more the people pile themselves on the bench. But the

  temperature is now not many degrees above freezing-point, and the

  wind is blowing more cuttingly. The people wriggle their wind-

  nipped faces into the heap like sucking pigs struggling for their

  mother's teats. One's interludes of sleep shrink to a few seconds,

  and one's dreams grow more monstrous, troubling, and undreamlike.

  There are times when the nine people are talking almost normally,

  times when they can even laugh at their situation, and times when

  they press themselves together in a kind of frenzy, with deep

  groans of pain. Mr Tallboys suddenly becomes exhausted and his

  monologue degenerates into a stream of nonsense. He drops his vast

  bulk on top of the others, almost suffocating them. The heap rolls

  apart. Some remain on the bench, some slide to the ground and

  collapse against the parapet or against the others' knees. The

  policeman enters the Square and orders those on the ground to their

  feet. They get up, and collapse again the moment he is gone.