Mother’s Day - J. B. Priestley

Mother’s Day - J. B. Priestley

CHARACTERS

MRS ANNIE PEARSON
GEORGE PEARSON
DORIS PEARSON
CYRIL PEARSON
MRS FITZGERALD

The action takes place in the living-room of the
Pearsons’ house in a London suburb.

Time: The Present

Scene: The living-room of the PEARSON family. Afternoon. It is a comfortably furnished, much lived-in room in a small suburban semi-detached villa. If necessary only one door need be used, but it is better with two—one up left leading to the front door and the stairs and the other in the right wall leading to the kitchen and the back door. There can be a muslin covered window in the left wall and possibly one in the right wall, too. The fireplace is assumed to be in the fourth wall. There is a settee up right, an armchair down left and one down right. A small table with two chairs on either side of it stands at the centre.

When the curtain rises it is an afternoon in early autumn and the stage can be well lit. Mrs. Pearson at right, and MRS. FITZGERALD at left, are sitting opposite each other at the small table, on which are two tea-cups and saucers and the cards with which MRS. FITZGERALD has been telling Mrs. Pearson’s fortune. Mrs. Pearson is a pleasant but worried-looking woman in her forties. MRS. FITZGERALD is older, heavier and a strong and sinister personality. She is smoking. It is very important that these two should have sharply contrasting voices—MRS. PEARSON speaking in a light, flurried sort of tone, with a touch of suburban Cockney perhaps; and MRS. FITZGERALD with a deep voice, rather Irish perhaps.

MRS FITZGERALD: [collecting up the cards] And that’s all I can tell you, MRS. PEARSON. Could be a good fortune. Could be a bad one. All depends on yourself now. Make up your mind—and there it is.

MRS PEARSON: Yes, thank you, MRS. FITZGERALD. I’m much obliged, I’m sure. It’s wonderful having a real fortune-teller living next door. Did you learn that out East, too? 34 Snapshots.

MRS FITZGERALD: I did. Twelve years I had of it, with my old man rising to be Lieutenant quartermaster. He learnt a lot, and I learnt a lot more. But will you make up your mind now, MRS. PEARSON dear? Put your foot down, once an’ for all, an’ be the mistress of your own house an’ the boss of your own family.

MRS PEARSON: [smiling apologetically] That’s easier said than done. Besides I’m so fond of them even if they are so thoughtless and selfish. They don’t mean to be...

MRS FITZGERALD: [cutting in] Maybe not. But it’ud be better for them if they learnt to treat you properly...

MRS PEARSON: Yes, I suppose it would, in a way.

MRS FITZGERALD: No doubt about it at all. Who’s the better for being spoilt—grown man, lad or girl? Nobody. You think it does ’em good when you run after them all the time, take their
orders as if you were the servant in the house, stay at home every night while they go out enjoying themselves? Never in all your life. It’s the ruin of them as well as you. Husbands, sons, daughters should be taking notice of wives an’ mothers, not giving ’em orders an’ treating ’em like dirt. An’ don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean, for I know more than you’ve told me.

MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] I—keep dropping a hint...

MRS FITZGERALD: Hint? It’s more than hints your family needs, MRS. PEARSON.

MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] I suppose it is. But I do hate any unpleasantness. And it’s so hard to know where to start. I keep making up my mind to have it out with them but somehow I don’t know how to begin. [She glances at her watch or at a clock] Oh—good gracious! Look at the time. Nothing ready and they’ll be home any minute and probably all in a hurry to go out again.
[As she is about to rise, Mrs. Fitzgerald reaches out across the table and pulls her down.]

MRS FITZGERALD: Let ’em wait or look after themselves for once. This is where your foot goes down. Start now. [She lights a cigarette from the one she has just finished.]

MRS PEARSON: [embarrassed] MRS. FITZGERALD—I know you mean well—in fact, I agree with you— but I just can’t—and it’s no use you trying to make me. If I promise you I’d really have it out with them, I know I wouldn’t be able to keep my promise.

MRS FITZGERALD: Then let me do it.

MRS PEARSON: [flustered] Oh no—thank you very much, Mrs. Fitzgerald—but that wouldn’t do at all. It couldn’t possibly be somebody else— they’d resent it at once and wouldn’t listen—
and really I couldn’t blame them. I know I ought to do it—but you see how it is? [She looks apologetically across the table, smiling rather miserably.]

MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] You haven’t got the idea.

MRS PEARSON: [bewildered] Oh—I’m sorry—I thought you asked me to let you do it.

MRS FITZGERALD: I did. But not as me—as you.

MRS PEARSON: But—I don’t understand. You couldn’t be me.

MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] We change places. Or—really— bodies. You look like me. I look like you.

MRS PEARSON: But that’s impossible.

MRS FITZGERALD: How do you know? Ever tried it?

MRS PEARSON: No, of course not...

MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] I have. Not for some time but it still ought to work. Won’t last long, but long enough for what we want to do. Learnt it out East, of course, where they’re up to all these tricks. [She holds her hand out across the table, keeping the cigarette in her mouth] Gimme your hands, dear.

MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] Well—I don’t know—is it right? 36 Snapshots

MRS FITZGERALD: It’s your only chance. Give me your hands an’ keep quiet a minute. Just don’t think about anything. [Taking her hands] Now look at me. [They stare at each other. Muttering] Arshtatta dum—arshtatta lam—arshtatta lamdumbona... [This little scene should be acted very carefully. We are to assume that the personalities change bodies. After the spell has been spoken, both women, still grasping hands, go lax, as if the life were out of them. Then both come to life, but with the personality of the other. Each must try to adopt the voice and mannerisms of the other. So now Mrs. Pearson is bold and dominating and Mrs. Fitzgerald is nervous and fluttering.]

MRS PEARSON: [now with MRS. FITZGERALD’S personality] See what I mean, dear? [She notices the cigarette] Here—you don’t want that. [She snatches it and puts it in her own mouth, puffing contentedly.]
[Mrs. Fitzgerald, now with Mrs. Pearson’s personality, looks down at herself and sees that her body has changed and gives a scream of fright.]

MRS FITZGERALD: [with Mrs. Pearson’s personality] Oh—it’s happened.

MRS PEARSON: [complacently] Of course it’s happened. Very neat. Didn’t know I had it in me.

MRS FITZGERALD: [alarmed] But whatever shall I do, Mrs. Fitzgerald? George and the children can’t see me like this.

MRS PEARSON: [grimly] They aren’t going to—that’s the point. They’ll have me to deal with—only they won’t know it.

MRS FITZGERALD: [still alarmed] But what if we can’t change back? It’ud be terrible.

MRS PEARSON: Here—steady, MRS. PEARSON—if you had to live my life it wouldn’t be so bad. You’d have more fun as me than you’ve had as you.

MRS FITZGERALD: Yes—but I don’t want to be anybody else...

MRS PEARSON: Now—stop worrying. It’s easier changing back—I can do it any time we want...

MRS FITZGERALD: Well—do it now...

MRS PEARSON: Not likely. I’ve got to deal with your family first. That’s the idea, isn’t it? Didn’t know how to begin with ‘em, you said. Well. I’ll show you.

MRS FITZGERALD: But what am I going to do?

MRS PEARSON: Go into my house for a bit—there’s nobody there—then pop back and see how we’re doing. You ought to enjoy it. Better get off now before one of ’em comes.

MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously rising] Yes—I suppose that’s best. You’re sure it’ll be all right?

MRS PEARSON: [chuckling] It’ll be wonderful. Now off you go, dear. [MRS. FITZGERALD crosses and hurries out through the door right. Left to herself, Mrs. Pearson smokes away—lighting another cigarette—and begins laying out the cards for patience on the table. After a few moments Doris Pearson comes bursting in left. She is a pretty girl in her early twenties, who would be pleasant enough if she had not been spoilt.]

DORIS: [before she has taken anything in] Mum— you’ll have to iron my yellow silk. I must wear it tonight. [She now sees what is happening, and is astounded.] What are you doing? [She moves down left centre.]
[MRS PEARSON now uses her ordinary voice, but her manner is not fluttering and apologetic but cool and incisive.]

MRS PEARSON: [not even looking up] What d’you think I’m doing—whitewashing the ceiling?

DORIS: [still astounded] But you’re smoking!

MRS PEARSON: That’s right, dear. No law against it, is there?

DORIS: But I thought you didn’t smoke.

MRS PEARSON: Then you thought wrong.

DORIS: Are we having tea in the kitchen?

MRS PEARSON: Have it where you like, dear.

DORIS: [angrily] Do you mean it isn’t ready?

MRS PEARSON: Yours isn’t. I’ve had all I want. Might go out later and get a square meal at the
Clarendon.

DORIS: [hardly believing her ears] Who might? 38 Snapshots

MRS PEARSON: I might. Who d’you think?

DORIS: [staring at her] Mum—what’s the matter with you?

MRS PEARSON: Don’t be silly.

DORIS: [indignantly] It’s not me that’s being silly— and I must say it’s a bit much when I’ve been working hard all day and you can’t even bother to get my tea ready. Did you hear what I said about my yellow silk?

MRS PEARSON: No. Don’t you like it now? I never did.

DORIS: [indignantly] Of course I like it. And I’m going to wear it tonight. So I want it ironed.

MRS PEARSON: Want it ironed? What d’you think it’s going to do—iron itself?

DORIS: No, you’re going to iron it for me... You always do.

MRS PEARSON: Well, this time I don’t. And don’t talk rubbish to me about working hard. I’ve a good idea how much you do, DORIS PEARSON. I put in twice the hours you do, and get no wages nor thanks for it. Why are you going to wear your yellow silk? Where are you going?

DORIS: [sulkily] Out with CHARLIE SPENCE.

MRS PEARSON: Why?

DORIS: [wildly] Why? Why? What’s the matter with you? Why shouldn’t I go out with CHARLIE
SPENCE if he asks me and I want to? Any objections? Go on—you might as well tell me...

MRS PEARSON: [severely] Can’t you find anybody better? I wouldn’t be seen dead with CHARLIE SPENCE. Buck teeth and half-witted...

DORIS: He isn’t...

MRS PEARSON: When I was your age I’d have found somebody better than CHARLIE SPENCE—or given myself up as a bad job.

DORIS: [nearly in tears] Oh—shut up!

[DORIS runs out left. MRS. PEARSON chuckles and begins putting the cards together. After a moment CYRIL PEARSON enters left. He is the masculine counterpart of DORIS.]

CYRIL: [briskly] Hello—Mum. Tea ready?

MRS PEARSON: No.

CYRIL: [moving to the table; annoyed] Why not?

MRS PEARSON: [coolly] I couldn’t bother.

CYRIL: Feeling off-colour or something?

MRS PEARSON: Never felt better in my life.

CYRIL: [aggressively] What’s the idea then?

MRS PEARSON: Just a change.

CYRIL: [briskly] Well, snap out of it, Ma—and get cracking. Haven’t too much time. [CYRIL is about to go when MRS. PEARSON’s voice checks him.]

MRS PEARSON: I’ve plenty of time.

CYRIL: Yes, but I haven’t. Got a busy night tonight. [moving left to the door] Did you put my
things out?

MRS PEARSON: [coolly] Can’t remember. But I doubt it.

CYRIL: [moving to the table; protesting] Now—look. When I asked you this morning, you promised. You said you’d have to look through ’em first in case there was any mending.

MRS PEARSON: Yes—well now I’ve decided I don’t like mending.

CYRIL: That’s a nice way to talk—what would happen if we all talked like that?

MRS PEARSON: You all do talk like that. If there’s something at home you don’t want to do, you don’t do it. If it’s something at your work, you get the Union to bar it. Now all that’s happened is that I’ve joined the movement.

CYRIL: [staggered] I don’t get this, Mum. What’s going on?

MRS PEARSON: [laconic and sinister] Changes. [DORIS enters left. She is in the process of dressing and is now wearing a wrap. She looks pale and red-eyed.]

MRS PEARSON: You look terrible. I wouldn’t wear that face even for CHARLIE SPENCE.

DORIS: [moving above the table; angrily] Oh—shut up about CHARLIE SPENCE. And anyhow I’m not ready yet—just dressing. And if I do look 40 Snapshots terrible, it’s your fault—you made me cry.

CYRIL: [curious] Why—what did she do?

DORIS: Never you mind.

MRS PEARSON: [rising and preparing to move to the kitchen] Have we any stout left? I can’t remember.

CYRIL: Bottle or two, I think. But you don’t want stout now.

MRS PEARSON: [moving left slowly] I do.

CYRIL: What for?

MRS PEARSON: [turning at the door] To drink—you clot! [MRS. PEARSON exits right. Instantly CYRIL and DORIS are in a huddle, close together at left centre, rapidly whispering.]

DORIS: Has she been like that with you, too?

CYRIL: Yes—no tea ready—couldn’t care less...

DORIS: Well, I’m glad it’s both of us. I thought I’d done something wrong.

CYRIL: So did I. But it’s her of course...

DORIS: She was smoking and playing cards when I came in. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

CYRIL: I asked her if she was feeling off-colour and she said she wasn’t.

DORIS: Well, she’s suddenly all different. An’ that’s what made me cry. It wasn’t what she said
but the way she said it—an’ the way she looked.

CYRIL: Haven’t noticed that. She looks just the same to me.

DORIS: She doesn’t to me. Do you think she could have hit her head or something—y’know—
an’ got—what is it?—y’know...

CYRIL: [staggered] Do you mean she’s barmy?

DORIS: No, you fathead. Y’know—concussion. She might have.

CYRIL: Sounds far-fetched.

DORIS: Well, she’s far-fetched, if you ask me. [She suddenly begins to giggle.]

CYRIL: Now then—what is it?

DORIS: If she’s going to be like this when Dad comes home... [She giggles again.]

CYRIL: [beginning to guffaw] I’m staying in for that—two front dress circles for the first
house... [MRS. PEARSON enters right, carrying a bottle of stout and a half filled glass. CYRIL and DORIS try to stop their guffawing and giggling, but they are not quick enough. MRS. PEARSON regards them with contempt.]

MRS PEARSON: [coldly] You two are always talking about being grown-up—why don’t you both try for once to be your age? [She moves to the settee and sits.]

CYRIL: Can’t we laugh now?

MRS PEARSON: Yes, if it’s funny. Go on, tell me. Make me laugh. I could do with it.

DORIS: Y’know you never understand our jokes, Mum... 42 Snapshots

MRS PEARSON: I was yawning at your jokes before you were born, Doris.

DORIS: [almost tearful again] What’s making you talk like this? What have we done?

MRS PEARSON: [promptly] Nothing but come in, ask for something, go out again, then come back
when there’s nowhere else to go.

CYRIL: [aggressively] Look—if you won’t get tea ready, then I’ll find something to eat myself...

MRS PEARSON: Why not? Help yourself. [She takes a sip of stout.]

CYRIL: [turning on his way to the kitchen] Mind you, I think it’s a bit thick. I’ve been working all day.

DORIS: Same here.

MRS PEARSON: (calmly) Eight-hour day!

CYRIL: Yes—eight-hour day—an’ don’t forget it.

MRS PEARSON: I’ve done my eight hours.

CYRIL: That’s different.

DORIS: Of course it is.

MRS PEARSON: [calmly] It was. Now it isn’t. Forty-hour week for all now. Just watch it at the weekend when I have my two days off.
[DORIS and CYRIL exchange alarmed glances. Then they stare at MRS PEARSON who returns their look calmly.]

CYRIL: Must grab something to eat. Looks as if I’ll need to keep my strength up. [CYRIL exits to
the kitchen.]

DORIS: [moving to the settee; anxiously] Mummy, you don’t mean you’re not going to do anything on Saturday and Sunday?

MRS PEARSON: [airily] No, I wouldn’t go that far. I might make a bed or two and do a bit of cooking as a favour. Which means, of course, I’ll have to be asked very nicely and thanked for everything and generally made a fuss of. But any of you forty-hour-a-weekers who expect to be waited on hand and foot on Saturday and Sunday, with no thanks for it, are in for a nasty disappointment. Might go off for the week-end perhaps.

DORIS: [aghast] Go off for the week-end?

MRS PEARSON: Why not? I could do with a change. Stuck here day after day, week after week. If I don’t need a change, who does?

DORIS: But where would you go, who would you go with?

MRS PEARSON: That’s my business. You don’t ask me where you should go and who you should go with, do you?

DORIS: That’s different.

MRS PEARSON: The only difference is that I’m a lot older and better able to look after myself, so it’s you who should do the asking.

DORIS: Did you fall or hit yourself with something?

MRS PEARSON: [coldly] No. But I’ll hit you with something, girl, if you don’t stop asking silly questions. [DORIS stares at her open-mouthed, ready to cry.]

DORIS: Oh—this is awful... [She begins to cry, not passionately.]

MRS PEARSON: [coldly] Stop blubbering. You’re not a baby. If you’re old enough to go out with CHARLIE SPENCE, you’re old enough to behave properly. Now stop it.
[GEORGE PEARSON enters left. He is about fifty, fundamentally decent but solemn, self-important, pompous. Preferably he should be a heavy, slow-moving type. He notices DORIS’s tears.]

GEORGE: Hello—what’s this? Can’t be anything to cry about.

DORIS: [through sobs] You’ll see.

[DORIS runs out left with a sob or two on the way. GEORGE stares after her a moment, then looks at MRS. PEARSON.]

GEORGE: Did she say ‘You’ll see’...?

MRS PEARSON: Yes.

GEORGE: What did she mean?

MRS PEARSON: Better ask her. [GEORGE looks slowly again at the door then at MRS PEARSON. Then he notices the stout that MRS. PEARSON raises for another sip. His eyes almost bulge.] 44 Snapshots

GEORGE: Stout?

MRS PEARSON: Yes.

GEORGE: [amazed] What are you drinking stout for?

MRS PEARSON: Because I fancied some.

GEORGE: At this time of day?

MRS PEARSON: Yes—what’s wrong with it at this time of day?

GEORGE: [bewildered] Nothing, I suppose, Annie— but I’ve never seen you do it before...

MRS PEARSON: Well, you’re seeing me now.

GEORGE: [with heavy distaste] Yes, an’ I don’t like it. It doesn’t look right. I’m surprised at you.

MRS PEARSON: Well, that ought to be a nice change for you.

GEORGE: What do you mean?

MRS PEARSON: It must be some time since you were surprised at me, GEORGE.

GEORGE: I don’t like surprises—I’m all for a steady going on—you ought to know that by this time. By the way, I forgot to tell you this morning I wouldn’t want any tea. Special snooker match night at the club tonight— an’ a bit of supper going. So no tea.

MRS PEARSON: That’s all right. There isn’t any. GEORGE: [astonished] You mean you didn’t get any ready?

MRS PEARSON: Yes. And a good thing, too, as it’s turned out.

GEORGE: [aggrieved] That’s all very well, but suppose I’d wanted some?

MRS PEARSON: My goodness! Listen to the man! Annoyed because I don’t get a tea for him that he
doesn’t even want. Ever tried that at the club?

GEORGE: Tried what at the club?

MRS PEARSON: Going up to the bar and telling ’em you don’t want a glass of beer but you’re annoyed because they haven’t already poured it out. Try that on them and see what you get. GEORGE: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

MRS PEARSON: They’d laugh at you even more than they do now.

GEORGE: [indignantly] Laugh at me? They don’t laugh at me.

MRS PEARSON: Of course they do. You ought to have found that out by this time. Anybody else would have done. You’re one of their standing jokes. Famous. They call you Pompy-ompy PEARSON because they think you’re so slow and pompous.

GEORGE: [horrified] Never!

MRS PEARSON: It’s always beaten me why you should want to spend so much time at a place where they’re always laughing at you behind your back and calling you names. Leaving your wife at home, night after night. Instead of going out with her, who doesn’t make you look a fool... [CYRIL enters right, with a glass of milk in one hand and a thick slice of cake in the other. GEORGE, almost dazed, turns to him appealingly.]

GEORGE: Here, CYRIL, you’ve been with me to the club once or twice. They don’t laugh at me and call me Pompy-ompy PEARSON, do they? [CYRIL, embarrassed, hesitates.] [Angrily] Go on—tell me. Do they?

CYRIL: [embarrassed] Well—yes, Dad, I’m afraid they do.
[GEORGE slowly looks from one to the other, staggered.]

GEORGE: [slowly] Well—I’ll be—damned!
[GEORGE exits left, slowly, almost as if somebody had hit him over the head. CYRIL, after watching him go, turns indignantly to MRS. PEARSON.]

CYRIL: Now you shouldn’t have told him that, Mum. That’s not fair. You’ve hurt his feelings. Mine, too.

MRS PEARSON: Sometimes it does people good to have their feelings hurt. The truth oughtn’t to hurt anybody for long. If your father didn’t go to the club so often, perhaps they’d stop laughing at him.

CYRIL: [gloomily] I doubt it. 46 Snapshots

MRS PEARSON: [severely] Possibly you do, but what I doubt is whether your opinion’s worth having. What do you know? Nothing. You spend too much time and good money at greyhound races and dirt tracks and ice shows...

CYRIL: [sulkily] Well, what if I do? I’ve got to enjoy myself somehow, haven’t I?
MRS PEARSON: I wouldn’t mind so much if you were really enjoying yourself. But are you? And where’s it getting you? [There is a sharp hurried knocking heard off left.]

CYRIL: Might be for me. I’ll see. [CYRIL hurries out left. In a moment he re-enters, closing the door behind him.] It’s that silly old bag from next door—MRS. FITZGERALD. You don’t want her here, do you?

MRS PEARSON: [sharply] Certainly I do. Ask her in. And don’t call her a silly old bag either. She’s a very nice woman, with a lot more sense than you’ll ever have. [CYRIL exits left. MRS. PEARSON finishes her stout, smacking her lips. CYRIL re-enters left, ushering in MRS. FITZGERALD, who hesitates in the doorway.] Come in, come in, MRS. FITZGERALD.

MRS FITZGERALD: [moving to left centre; anxiously] I—just wondered—if everything’s—all right...

CYRIL: [sulkily] No, it isn’t.

MRS PEARSON: [sharply] Of course it is. You be quiet.

CYRIL: [indignantly and loudly] Why should I be quiet?

MRS PEARSON: [shouting] Because I tell you to—you silly, spoilt, young piecan.

MRS FITZGERALD: [protesting nervously] Oh—no— surely...

MRS PEARSON: [severely] Now, MRS FITZGERALD, just let me manage my family in my own way— please!

MRS FITZGERALD: Yes—but CYRIL...

CYRIL: [sulky and glowering] MR. CYRIL PEARSON to you, please, MRS. FITZGERALD. [CYRIL stalks off into the kitchen.]

MRS FITZGERALD: [moving to the settee; whispering] Oh— dear—what’s happening?

MRS PEARSON: [calmly] Nothing much. Just putting ’em in their places, that’s all. Doing what you ought to have done long since.

MRS FITZGERALD: Is George home? [She sits beside MRS. PEARSON on the settee.]

MRS PEARSON: Yes. I’ve been telling him what they think of him at the club.

MRS FITZGERALD: Well, they think a lot of him, don’t they?

MRS PEARSON: No, they don’t. And now he knows it.

MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] Oh—dear—I wish you hadn’t, Mrs. Fitzgerald...

MRS PEARSON: Nonsense! Doing ’em all a world of good. And they’ll be eating out of your hand soon— you’ll see...

MRS FITZGERALD: I don’t think I want them eating out of my hand...

MRS PEARSON: [impatiently] Well, whatever you want, they’ll be doing it—all three of ’em. Mark my words, Mrs. Pearson. [GEORGE enters left glumly. He is unpleasantly surprised when he sees the visitor. He moves to the armchair left, sits down heavily and glumly lights his pipe. Then he looks from MRS. PEARSON to MRS. FITZGERALD, who is regarding him anxiously.]

GEORGE: Just looked in for a minute, I suppose, MRS. FITZGERALD?

MRS FITZGERALD: [who doesn’t know what she is saying] Well—yes—I suppose so, George.

GEORGE: [aghast] George!

MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] Oh—I’m sorry...

MRS PEARSON: [impatiently] What does it matter? Your name’s George, isn’t it? Who d’you think you are—Duke of Edinburgh?

GEORGE: [angrily] What’s he got to do with it? Just tell me that. And isn’t it bad enough without her calling me George? No tea. Pompy-ompy PEARSON. And poor DORIS has been crying her eyes out upstairs—yes, crying her eyes out. 48 Snapshots

MRS FITZGERALD: [wailing] Oh—dear—I ought to have known...

GEORGE: [staring at her, annoyed] You ought to have known! Why ought you to have known? Nothing to do with you, MRS. FITZGERALD. Look—we’re at sixes and sevens here just now—so perhaps you’ll excuse us...

MRS PEARSON: [before MRS. FITZGERALD can reply] I won’t excuse you, GEORGE PEARSON. Next time a friend and neighbour comes to see me, just say something when you see her—Good evening or How d’you do? or something— an’ don’t just march in an’ sit down without a word. It’s bad manners...

MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] No—it’s all right...

MRS PEARSON: No, it isn’t all right. We’ll have some decent manners in this house—or I’ll know the reason why. [glaring at GEORGE] Well?

GEORGE: [intimidated] Well, what!

MRS PEARSON: [taunting him] Why don’t you get off to your club? Special night tonight, isn’t it? They’ll be waiting for you—wanting to have a good laugh. Go on then. Don’t disappoint ’em.

GEORGE: [bitterly] That’s right. Make me look silly in front of her now! Go on—don’t mind me. Sixes and sevens! Poor DORIS been crying her eyes out! Getting the neighbours in to see the fun! [suddenly losing his temper, glaring at MRS PEARSON, and shouting] All right—let her hear it. What’s the matter with you? Have you gone barmy—or what?

MRS PEARSON: [jumping up; savagely] If you shout at me again like that, GEORGE PEARSON, I’ll slap your big, fat, silly face...

MRS FITZGERALD: [moaning] Oh—no—no—no—please, MRS. FITZGERALD... [MRS. PEARSON sits.]

GEORGE: [staring at her, bewildered] Either I’m off my chump or you two are. How d’you mean—
“No, no—please, MRS FITZGERALD”? Look— you’re MRS FITZGERALD. So why are you telling yourself to stop when you’re not doing anything? Tell her to stop—then there’d be some sense in it. [Staring at MRS PEARSON] I think you must be tiddly.

MRS PEARSON: [starting up; savagely] Say that again, GEORGE PEARSON.

GEORGE: [intimidated] All right—all right—all right ... [DORIS enters left slowly, looking miserable. She is still wearing the wrap. MRS. PEARSON sits on the settee.]

MRS FITZGERALD: Hello—DORIS dear!

DORIS: [miserably] Hello—MRS. FITZGERALD!

MRS FITZGERALD: I thought you were going out with CHARLIE SPENCE tonight.

DORIS: [annoyed] What’s that to do with you?

MRS PEARSON: [sharply] Stop that!

MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] No—it’s all right...

MRS PEARSON: [severely] It isn’t all right. I won’t have a daughter of mine talking to anybody like
that. Now answer MRS. FITZGERALD properly, DORIS—or go upstairs again... [DORIS looks wonderingly at her father.]

GEORGE: [in despair] Don’t look at me. I give it up. I just give it up.

MRS PEARSON: [fiercely] Well? Answer her.

DORIS: [sulkily] I was going out with CHARLIE SPENCE tonight—but now I’ve called it off...

MRS FITZGERALD: Oh—what a pity, dear! Why have you?

DORIS: [with a flash of temper] Because—if you must know—my mother’s been going on at memaking me feel miserable—an’ saying he’s got buck-teeth and is half-witted...

MRS FITZGERALD: [rather bolder; to MRS PEARSON] Oh—you shouldn’t have said that...

MRS PEARSON: [sharply] MRS FITZGERALD, I’ll manage my family—you manage yours.

GEORGE: [grimly] Ticking her off now, are you, Annie?

MRS PEARSON: [even more grimly] They’re waiting for you at the club, GEORGE, don’t forget. And don’t you start crying again, DORIS...

MRS FITZGERALD: [getting up; with sudden decision] That’s enough—quite enough. [George and Doris stare at her bewildered.] 50 Snapshots [to George and Doris] Now listen, you two. I want to have a private little talk with Mrs. Fitz— [she corrects herself hastily] with Mrs. Pearson, so I’ll be obliged if you’ll leave us alone for a few minutes. I’ll let you know when we’ve finished. Go on, please. I promise you that you won’t regret it. There’s something here that only I can deal with.

GEORGE: [rising] I’m glad somebody can—’cos I can’t. Come on, Doris. [George and Doris exit left. As they go Mrs. Fitzgerald moves to left of the small table and sits. She eagerly beckons Mrs. Pearson to do the same thing.]

MRS FITZGERALD: Mrs. Fitzgerald, we must change back now— we really must...

MRS PEARSON: [rising] Why?

MRS FITZGERALD: Because this has gone far enough. I can see they’re all miserable—and I can’t bear it...

MRS PEARSON: A bit more of the same would do ‘em good. Making a great difference already... [She moves to right of the table and sits.]

MRS FITZGERALD: No, I can’t stand any more of it—I really can’t. We must change back. Hurry up, please, Mrs. Fitzgerald.

MRS PEARSON: Well—if you insist...

MRS FITZGERALD: Yes—I do—please—please. [She stretches her hands across the table eagerly. Mrs Pearson takes them.]

MRS PEARSON: Quiet now. Relax. [Mrs Pearson and Mrs Fitzgerald stare at each other. Muttering;
exactly as before. Arshtatta dum—arshtatta lam—arshtatta lamdumbona... They carry out the same action as before, going lax and then coming to life. But this time, of course, they become their proper
personalities.]

MRS FITZGERALD: Ah well—I enjoyed that.

MRS PEARSON: I didn’t.

MRS FITZGERALD: Well, you ought to have done. Now—listen, Mrs Pearson. Don’t go soft on ’em again, else it’ll all have been wasted...

MRS PEARSON: I’ll try not to, Mrs Fitzgerald.

MRS FITZGERALD: They’ve not had as long as I’d like to have given ’em—another hour or two’s rough treatment might have made it certain...

MRS PEARSON: I’m sure they’ll do better now—though I don’t know how I’m going to explain...

MRS FITZGERALD: [severely] Don’t you start any explaining or apologising—or you’re done for.

MRS PEARSON: [with spirit] It’s all right for you, Mrs. Fitzgerald. After all, they aren’t your
husband and children...

MRS FITZGERALD: [impressively] Now you listen to me. You admitted yourself you were spoiling ’em— and they didn’t appreciate you. Any apologies—any explanations—an’ you’ll be straight back where you were. I’m warning you, dear. Just give ’em a look—a tone of voice—now an’ again, to suggest you might be tough with ’em if you wanted to be—an’ it ought to work. Anyhow, we can test it.

MRS PEARSON: How?

MRS FITZGERALD: Well, what is it you’d like ’em to do that they don’t do? Stop at home for once?

MRS PEARSON: Yes—and give me a hand with supper...

MRS FITZGERALD: Anything you’d like ’em to do—that you enjoy whether they do or not?

MRS PEARSON: [hesitating] Well—yes. I—like a nice game of rummy—but, of course, I hardly ever have one—except at Christmas...

MRS FITZGERALD: [getting up] That’ll do then. [She moves towards the door left then turns] But
remember—keep firm—or you’ve had it. [She opens the door. Calling] Hoy! You can come in now.  [Coming away from the door, and moving right slightly. Quietly] But remember—remember—a firm hand. [George, Doris and Cyril file in through the doorway, looking apprehensively at Mrs. Pearson.]
I’m just off. To let you enjoy yourself. 52 Snapshots [The family looks anxiously at Mrs. Pearson, who smiles. Much relieved, they smile back at her.]

DORIS: [anxiously] Yes, Mother?

MRS PEARSON: [smiling] Seeing that you don’t want to go out, I tell you what I thought we’d do.

MRS FITZGERALD: [giving a final warning] Remember!

MRS PEARSON: [nodding, then looking sharply at the family] No objections, I hope?

GEORGE: [humbly] No, Mother—whatever you say...

MRS PEARSON: [smiling] I thought we’d have a nice family game of rummy—and then you children could get the supper ready while I have a talk with your father...

GEORGE: [firmly] Suits me. [He looks challengingly at the children.] What about you two?

CYRIL: [hastily] Yes—that’s all right.

DORIS: [hesitating] Well—I...

MRS PEARSON: [sharply] What? Speak up!

DORIS: [hastily] Oh—I think it would be lovely...

MRS PEARSON: [smiling] Good-bye, Mrs Fitzgerald. Come again soon.

MRS FITZGERALD: Yes, dear. ’Night all—have a nice time. [Mrs Fitzgerald exits left and the family cluster round Mother as— the curtain falls.

*****

The Weed – Amrita Pritam

The short story “The Weed”, translated from Punjabi, is a story about Angoori, a young girl married off to an old man Prabhati who was the servant of the narrator's neighbour’s neighbour. The story throws light on the condition of women in rural India— the marriage, their sexuality as well as their emotions. Though the short story ‘The Weed’ is translated from a regional vernacular Panjabi, the story maintains a natural flow as well as the humour and the seriousness which are intertwined in its flavour.

The writer of the story is also the narrator of the story and the entire story is told by Pritam who describes Angoori vividly. Angoori was married off at a young age but the union of the husband and wife was delayed by five years owing to her tender age as well as her mother’s ill-health. Angoori is seen to initially have her apprehensions regarding stepping out of purdah but slowly she steps out of it with confidence. She is described as a vivacious and garrulous girl who loves to talk about everything under the sun. Education according to Angoori is not meant for women- a condition added to this statement being that it is not meant for rural women. City women are allowed to read. There is also the introduction of weed by Angoori who firmly believes that it is due to consumption of weed that a woman falls in love with a man and is spell-bound—  “See, what happens is that a man makes the girl eat the weed and then she starts loving him.” It is through these two examples that Pritam shows the readers how superstitions work and how deeply entrenched are certain codes of social conduct in a woman’s mind. When it comes to education Angoori has easily accepted her fate of not reading or writing as has been told to her by others and when it comes to love, she feels that it is not an emotion that naturally occurs but is produced if a particular weed is consumed and hence women should be careful and not be lured by men who would make them eat the weed. The patriarchal set up has been brought to the forefront where the father decides who the girl should marry and when the narrator asks Angoori how marriages are arranged, she replies-

     ‘A girl, when she’s five or six, adores someone’s feet. He is the husband.’

     ‘How does she know it?’

     ‘Her father takes money and flowers and puts them at his feet.’

     ‘That’s the father adoring, not the girl.’

     ‘He does it for the girl. So it’s the girl herself.’

The entire story is based on conversations which happens with Angoori and the character of the girl is revealed through these conversations. The concept of love which Angoori attributes to a weed goes haywire when she realized that she had fallen in love with another man who did not even give her a weed to consume. The story ends with Angoori talking to herself how she never took anything from him but tea hence leaving it open-ended that maybe now Angoori might suspect that the man mixed something in her tea to make her fall in love with him.

This short story discusses the stronghold of customs and traditions on women and how it adversely affects them. The concept of love is stifled and termed unnatural. The story is relevant in the present context where the issues related to a woman’s sexuality, the repressive culture in which they grow up and the patriarchal system that is prevalent has been well portrayed.

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Lithuania – Rupert Brooke (IV Sem. Additional English)

The one act play ‘Lithuania’ by Rupert Brooke, depicts the home of a poor family living in a valley of —LITHUANIA, an agricultural country under Russian rule. When the play begins, a rich stranger arrives in the midst of this poor family for a night’s rest at this poor family when the father is not being at home. The mother and the daughter allow him to stay in their house and serve him food for the night. When the rich stranger asked about their son, the mother tells the stranger that he had run away when he was about thirteen and that she is not sure whether she will welcome him if he ever comes back home. When the father returns, the stranger reveals that he has a lot money and a gold watch with him and he shows his wealth before he is going to bed. Looking at the wealth of the stranger the family is being tempted to rob him as it had been under prolonged spell of poverty and misery. The stranger’s wealth provokes them for uncontrollable greed in the poverty stricken family. The parents and the daughter conspire to rob all his valuables and kill him in his bed. They justify their decision of killing the stranger by considering him as a thief and thought that the stranger had stolen money somewhere and had come to this place for safe shelter.

The father goes into the room with a knife but he is not courageous enough to kill the stranger. He wants to drink before killing him. He goes out for a drink and does not return for an hour. Meanwhile, the mother and the daughter are tired of waiting for father. The daughter takes an axe and kills the stranger ruthlessly with her mother’s assistance. The vodka shop keeper and his son bring the father home. The shop keeper reveals that the stranger was none other else but the son of the family who had run away from home when he was thirteen years old. He had now come back to share his wealth that he had accumulated with the members of his family and thereafter give them happy life. However, he wished to keep his identity a secret until the following day. He wanted to give them the most pleasant and thrilling surprise of their lives. This shocking revelation leaves the mother in remorse and anguish. After knowing that the stranger was her own son she could not control her sorrow and she continuously recalling how her son calling her and said. “He kept saying MOTHER …. MOTHER………” 

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Lithuania – Rupert Brooke

The one act play “Lithuania” by Rupert Brooke, depicts the home of a poor family living in a valley of Lithuania, an agricultural country under Russian rule. When the play begins, a rich stranger arrives in their midst for a night’s rest at this poor family when the father is not being at home. The mother and the daughter allow him to stay in their home for a night. They served him food in simple means. During the enquire of their well-being the stranger asked about her son, the mother tells the stranger that he had run away from home when he was about thirteen and that she is not sure whether she will welcome him if he ever comes home back. The daughter declares that her run away brother died of drowning in the water. Later on the father returns, the stranger reveals that he has a lot of money and a gold watch with him and shows it to them before going to bed.

The family had been under prolonged spell of poverty and misery. The stranger’s wealth and fortune provokes uncontrollable greed in the poverty-stricken family. The parents and the daughter conspire to rob him of his valuables and kill him in his bed. Then justify their decision by picturizing him as a thief. The father goes with a knife but he is not courageous enough to kill the man. He wants to drink much more ale to gather his courage before killing him. He goes out for a drink and does not return home for an hour and more to finish his task.

Meanwhile, the mother and daughter are tired of waiting for the return of the father. The daughter takes an axe and kills the stranger ruthlessly with her mother’s assistance. In the next day’s daybreak, the vodka shopkeeper and his son bring the father home. Knowing the grim situation of killing the stranger the vodka shopkeeper reveals that the stranger was none other else but their son, who had run away from the home. He has now come back home to share with them the wealth he had accumulated over the years when he had been away from the home. However, he wished to keep his identity as a secret until the following the day. He wanted to give them the most pleasant and thrilling surprise to their lives. This shocking revelation leaves the mother and the in an explainable remorse and anguish. In this unexpected bout of mental shock she goes on saying: “He kept saying Mother, Mother……”   

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Summaries for IV Semester Additional English

Lalajee – Jim Corbett

Lalajee was once flourishing grain merchant of Gaya. By mistake Lalajee had taken a partner for his business about whom he had known nothing. For a few years his business prospered and all went well. One day when Lalajee returned from a long journey he found his shop empty. To his utter dismay and shock he discovered that his partner had run away with all his wealth. The little amount of money he had with him was only sufficient to pay his personal debts. The circumstances forced him to leave his house where he lived until everything went well. He had no other option left with him but to seek an employment with some other rich merchant to take care of his family comprising his wife and a son. He worked for a merchant with whom he traded. For the next ten years he worked on seven rupees for a month.

Lalajee had come into contact with cholera in the train when he was on his way from Muzaffarpur to Gaya on his master’s errand. His condition grew worse on board of a ferry steamer. He slowly disembarked from the steamer and crawled close to the sacred waters of Ganges and prayed for his death. Jim Corbett, the author of this short story, had pity on this stranger lying on the banks of the sacred Ganges.  Immediately, Jim Corbett took him to an empty punkah coolies’ house next to his bungalow and placed him on the bed. He identified that the sick man was infected with cholera and there was no hope for his recovery. As there were no doctors nearby, the author started his crude method of treatment. He instilled faith in Lalajee that his treatment would definitely cure his disease. The next day the symptoms of improvement were shown in Lalajee had raised the hopes of Jim Corbett. At the end of the week he was able to get up and tell his story to Jim Corbett.

In the meantime, Lalajee recovered completely from his illness and stayed with the author for a month. He gained strength and prepared to go back his home. He approached Jim Corbett to seek his permission to leave for Gaya. While listening the story of Lalajee, the author Jim Corbett suggested him to resume his business rather than being servant to some master. Lalajee confessed his inability to start his business that he had neither money nor securities to provide surety for his loan. No one can believe a servant of seven rupees for a month to offer a loan five of hundred rupees that he required to start his business.

On the day when Lalajee was leaving for Gaya, Jim Corbett bought him a ticket and gave him five hundred rupee notes. The amount of five hundred rupees was almost a greater part of his entire savings. Lalajee was extremely happy and assured that he would return five hundred rupees within a year. The author, Jim Corbett had thought that it was beyond his capacity and forget about it later.

Lalajee started his business steadily and cautiously with meagre profits from transaction of three bags food grains per day to thirty tons of food grains and managed to get good rates of commission. He returned to Jim Corbett within the expiry of the time that he set himself. The author was very happy to hear that the successful story of enterprise and how his son settled in life by marring rich man’s daughter.  

Bankers Are Just Like Anybody Else, Except Richer – Ogden Nash

The poet, Ogden Nash says in his poem “Bankers Are Just Like Anybody Else, Except Richer” that his poem intends to celebrate banks. Thus, he makes the readers feel curious when the poet states that his poem celebrates banks. The banks will let us hear the clink-clank sound of the coins and the rustling sound of the currency notes. Of course, Money is an attraction that draws people towards it always and forever. Suddenly the poet changes the tone of his voice. He comments that bankers dwell in luxurious buildings. It is because they encourage deposits and discourage withdrawals. The stingy attitude of the bankers in lending and particularly to the poor sets the tone of the poem. He comments that banks are cautious conservatives and the bankers deny lending money to the needy. They dislike the people who have no money and no property to give them as security.

But the bankers shrewdly and tactfully behave with the rich persons. On seeing their rich customers they express their kindliness and greet them courteously and offer to lend as much money as they want. They would serve the rich customers with utmost care and affection. The vice-presidents of the banks nod their heads positively to such proposals. They would even send money to the customers’ place if they want.    

The poet says that bankers deserve our appreciation. The tone of the poet sounds very bitter and harsh. It means the very opposite of what is said.

The poet criticizes the too much commercial attitude of the bankers. They are pro-rich and anti-poor. The banks have to act as catalysts of social change. They have to see that the resources are evenly distributed among the various classes of society. They have to encourage the entrepreneurs and empower the deserving poor and hardworking people. But they are too cautious and conservative; they cannot discharge their duties to the society. They have to fulfill the objectives of the banking industry.  They play safe and fail to realize their obligations and duties; they would only facilitate the rich to grow richer and the poor become poorer.

The poet hints that bankers owe a duty to society. Wealth has to be distributed evenly. Those who do not have money but have the skills and talents, banks ought to help them to come up. But if the bankers play only by rules and stick on to their conservatism and pro-rich stance, they can earn profits without the ‘social gains’. Such attitude is absolutely undeserving. Thus, the poet prompts the bankers and readers to think of their duties and responsibilities with the ultimate objectives of the banking industry.

The Secret of Socrates – Dale Carnegie

Socrates was one of the greatest philosophers in humankind. He changed the course of human thought. He never told people they were wrong. Instead, he presented every question to be answered with a ‘yes’ response, winning one admission after another. After many affirmations, people found themselves supporting or embracing a conclusion that they would have bitterly objected to just minutes earlier.

Socrates’ secret is simple; begin all conversations on things which you agree. Do not begin by discussing differences. Emphasize common purposes and keep emphasizing these things. Keep your opponent saying ‘yes’ and, if possible, never permit him to say ‘no’. ‘No’ is difficult to overcome. Thus, it is of great importance to get people moving in the affirmation direction in soonest.

This is very simple technique but often overlooked and neglected as if some people get a rush off of self-importance by antagonizing others at the onset. Why antagonize other?

Carnegie concludes by citing an ancient Chinese proverb, “He who treads softly goes far.”

The Verger – Somerset Maugham

Part – 1

Albert Edward Foreman was a verger at St. Peter’s Neville Square. He served as a verger of the church for sixteen years efficiently and promptly to fulfill the duties of his office to the satisfaction of everybody concerned to the church.

The new Vicar of the church was so energetic and wanted everything to be proper and correct. The Vicar discovered that the Verger, Albert Edward Foreman was an illiterate who could neither read nor write. He made it clear to Albert that his work was quite satisfactory and that he had the highest opinion both of his character and of his capacity.  But he did not want to take any risk of some accident that might happen owing to his lamentable ignorance. He explained that it was a matter of prudence as well as of principle.

It was a great blow to Albert and he could digest the insult. The Vicar gave him three month’s time to learn to read and write. Albert resisted the proposal as it was somehow he did not like the new Vicar. When he rejected the proposal, the Vicar asked Albert that he would have to leave the church.

Thus, Albert Edward Foreman lost his job as a Verger of the church. His inability to read or write made him ineligible for the post. After his appointment sixteen years ago as a verger he had thought that the appointment was for life. But suddenly he became unemployed after a long service of sixteen years.

Part – 2

When Albert Edward Forman left the church, he was upset and deeply distressed. He strolled across the Square. He was sad and in deep thought. He did not take the street that led him home. He took the wrong turning. He walked slowly along. His heart was heavy. He did not know what he should do. He could not think of going back to domestic service after as a verger. He had saved a small sum but not enough to meet all his family requirements without doing anything.  He was a non-smoker but when he was tired he enjoyed a cigarette. It occurred to him now that a cigarette would comfort him. He could not find cigarette shop in the long street. It sounded strange to him. A tobacco shop in such a place would be profitable, he thought. The new idea that just occurred made him reflect seriously. He them turned and walked home. He considered the matter from every point of view. The next day he went along the street and by good luck found a little shop to let. It exactly suited him. The very next day he took the shop. He became business man. His wife said it was a dreadful to come down after being verger of St. Peter’s. But Albert had decided to move with the times to come. He did so well that in a year he began to think of taking a second shop. He got a good shop in another long street and started the business there. He put a manager in it. When the second shop was also a success, he searched all streets to find suitable places for his shops. Within the next ten years, he ran ten shops and made money. He went round to all of them himself every Monday, collected the week’s takings and took them to the bank.

Within short time Albert had kept thirty thousand pounds in his savings account. One-day the manger of the bank called him and advised him to invest his amount in some safe securities. Albert said that he did not want to take risk and wanted his money safe in the bank. The manager told him that there were safe securities and he could invest his money without least fear. Albert said that he did not know how and in which securities he could invest. The manager said to him that the bank would do it for him and he had merely to put his signature. After setting up the business Albert had learnt to sign. He asked the manager how he could know where he was investing. The manager said that he could read the document and then put his signature on that. Albert confessed that he could not read or write. It was a great surprise for the manager. It sounded him an extra-ordinary thing. Without knowing how to read or write Albert had amassed a huge sum. What he could have done had been a literate and educated. But Albert calmly answered him that if he knew to read and write he would have been the verger at St. Peter’s Neville Square and nothing more.

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Mother’s Day – J. B. Priestley

Mother’s Day, a play by J. B. Priestley, portraying the status of a mother in a household. Priestly humorously explores the story when Mrs. Pearson, in her forties, stands up for her rights and how her family reacts at this. Mrs. Pearson is very fond of her family and works day and night to support her family members in the best possible manner. However, she is upset at the way she is being treated. Nobody cares for her or asks about her. All day long she stays at home doing all the domestic work. In the evening when her children and her husband return she threw herself in meeting their demands. She did not want any dislikeable thing to happen in her household yet she craved for their attention and a little respect. She went to her neighbour Mrs. Fitzgerald, a fortune teller and a magician. Mrs. Fitzgerald looks older and heavier than Mrs. Pearson comes out with a plan. She proposed that they could exchange their bodies and then with Pearson’s body, she would teach a lesson to Pearson’s family that Mrs. Pearson could not do herself for she was too humble and nice woman to do that.

Though reluctant, Mrs. Pearson agreed to the idea and the two exchanged their bodies. Mrs. Pearson was still not sure and asked Mrs. Fitzgerald if she could get her body back from Mrs. Fitzgerald. However, determined Fitzgerald tells Pearson not to worry and that she would handle the matter carefully. She left for Pearson’s home with Mrs. Pearson’s body. She entered the home and knew what she was to do to teach Pearsons a lesson so they would not trouble Mrs. Pearson in future unnecessarily. Mrs. Pearson (Mrs. Fitzgerald’s soul) smoked a cigarette and was confident than ever. A few moments later, her daughter, Doris Pearson, entered the house and started demanding tea and her dress. Mrs. Pearson was sure to make her realise that she was Doris’ mother and not a servant. She was stunned to see her mother smoking and that she had not prepared tea for her and that her dress was not ready as well. Doris told her mother that she was to go out with her beau (boy friend) Charles Spencer on which the mother remarked if she could not find someone better. This broke Doris and she left weeping.

Then came the son, Cyril Pearson, who is amused at his mother’s strange behaviour. They get into an argument. The children could not baffle the situation. When the mother left to fetch the stout, the children discussed their mother’s behaviour. Doris felt that it might have been that mother got her head hit. Then enters mother with a bottle of stout and a glass half filled with it. The children began to laugh and the mother chided them and asked them to behave like grown-ups. Doris then asked her mother for her such behaviour and if they had done something wrong. Then Mrs. Pearson tells them that it is actually the children’s and her husband’s behaviour that has disturbed her. They always come and go without bothering about her. They demand duties from her and she does her best to keep everyone happy and still no body is bothered about her. She remarks that while the three of them do a job of forty hours a week with two days as weekend, she goes on working seven days round the clock. She proclaimed that she would do some work on Saturday and Sunday only if she is thanked for everything.

When the mother scolded Doris and Cyril duly, entered George Pearson and is annoyed at her wife sipping stout. He told her that he would have supper at the club and that he did not want tea. The wife told him that there was no tea. He got annoyed and the wife then said that when he did not want tea then why he was fighting for it. Mr. Pearson is flabbergasted at such conduct of his wife. The wife continues to rebuke the husband telling him that why he goes to club when he is a joke among all there. He is stunned and demanded the truth from his son. Cyril got upset at his mother yet told the father that it was the truth. Then enters Mrs. Fitzgerald (actually Mrs. Pearson). Mrs. Pearson (actually Mrs. Fitzgerald) told her that she was just putting everyone at place and that the things were alright. Mrs. Pearson (Mrs. Fitzgerald in body) requested to have her body then and Mrs. Pearson (Mrs. Fitzgerald in body) on a condition that Pearson would not go soft on her family again. They got into their original bodies and Mrs. Fitzgerald left. The mother and the children and husband smiled at each other and it was decided that they all will have the dinner together and play a game of rummy.

   

                                                                    ****

A Distant Relative – W. W. Jacobs

The one-act play “A Distant Relative” by W. W. Jacobs is a well knitted humorous play. The play opens in the Spriggs’s living room. A middle aged at about fifty years old brick layer Mr. George Spriggs is seen standing up by the fire place.  His middle aged wife Mrs. Spriggs is also seen sewing at the fireside of the living room. Both Mr. and Mrs. Spirggs are hardworking couple whose hands are roughened by their hard work.  Miss. Ethel, the only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Spriggs, is rather thoughtless young girl and eager to get married.  She is engaged to Mr. Alfred Potter who is hardly older than her age and they are going to be married in a fortnight. Of course, Alfred Potter is appeared a little pompous but stupidly ambitious.  Miss Ethel and Mr. Alfred Potter are spending lot of time in the kitchen to say good-byes to each other. They are enjoying in whispering and scuffling and pushing each other ignoring the presence of Ethel’s elderly parents.

Mr. and Mrs. Spriggs are worrying about the arrival of Augustus Price on parole. His sister Mrs. Spriggs called him lovingly ‘Gussie’.  Mr. Price is just released from the jail on ticket-of-leave (parole) in the morning and took some money from Mr. Spriggs in the afternoon for his rented tail-coat, fancy trousers and a top-hat. Mr. Spriggs warned Mr. Price not to tell about his jail life to Ethel and Potter but introduce himself in a dignified manner.  On the arrival, Augustus Price called his sister Mrs. Spriggs ‘Emma’ in weak and mournful voice and said that he had come home to die. Mrs. Spriggs consoled him and Mr. Price tottered into a chair wiping his tears with one of sleeves of his shirt. Later he assures his sister and his brother-in-law that he is going to introduce himself as if he is coming from Australia without trace of suspicion and he can manage it with his little knowledge about Australia from the books he read in the jail.

So, Uncle Augustus Price passed off himself as a millionaire in Australia. He boasted off  that he had left behind a large wealth in Australia and fleet of cars in his name. He had a chef (butler) with five foot-men to cook for him. It is all possible only for seven years of hard work.  He says that Australia is a land of opportunities and anybody may become rich there with a small investment and with considerable hard work.  He tried to entice the young Ethel and Potter to invest Potter’s money £ 280/- which was inherited from his aunt, in one of his companies and he can make it into ten folds within three years. Both Ethel and Potter, under the spell of Augustus Price, are prepared to handover their money to Price. Mr. Spriggs sensed that Augustus Price is going to threaten the peace of his family by cheating the young by extorting money from them on false promises.  

Mr. Spriggs in desperation pretends to report it to the police and rich uncle Augustus Price has to leave for Australia in a hurry. Thus the play ends happily.

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The Tiger in the Tunnel - Ruskin Bond

Twelve-year-old Tembu lives with his father Baldeo, mother, and young sister in a tribal village on the outskirts of a jungle forest in India. They rely on the produce from a small rice field for subsistence, but the land’s paltry yield provides them with little more than a bare living.

To supplement their income, Baldeo works as a watchman at a nearby way station for the railroad. Every night, he stays in a bare hut near a tunnel cut into the rock; his duty is to keep the signal lamp burning and make sure that the tunnel is clear of obstruction so that the overland mail can pass through safely.

When he does not have to help his mother and little sister at home, Tembu accompanies his father to his job at the railroad, sleeping with him in the hut. On this particular night, he awakens close to midnight to find his father preparing to leave to check the signal lamp and the tunnel. Tembu asks if he could go with his father, but his father, Baldeo responds that it is cold outside and that the boy should stay in the hut.

As Baldeo stumbles alone through the darkness, he thinks about the wild animals he might encounter. He has heard tales of a notorious man-eating tiger who is known to be very frequent in this area, but he has neither seen nor heard it so far during his nightly treks.

Despite the dangers in the forest, Baldeo walks with confidence. He is used to the ways of the jungle and carries a weapon, a small axe that is “fragile to look at but deadly when in use.” The axe, which his father made for him, is an extension of himself, and he is capable of wielding it with great skill against wild animals.

When Baldeo reaches the tunnel, he finds that the signal light is out. Hauling the lamp down by its rope, he relights it and hoists it back into its position. When this task is done, he walks quickly down the length of the tunnel to make sure it is clear, then returns to the entrance. The train is late, but soon the trembling of the ground gives notice of its imminent approach. Back at the hut, Tembu also feels the low, distant rumble; wide awake now, he waits for the train to pass and for his father to return.

In the moments before the train’s arrival, a tiger suddenly springs into the area before the tunnel and heads straight towards Baldeo, who sojourns there unprotected. Knowing that flight is useless, the watchman stands firmly with his back to the signal-post, and when the tiger attacks, he leaps to the side and tries to get the tigers neck by his axe but as the tiger ducks away, the axe strikes his forefoot and remains stuck in it almost severing it. The tiger groans while Baldeo is horrified as he was left unarmed. Back at the hut Tembu wonders why his father is taking so much time. Meanwhile, the tiger pounces upon the puny man and tears his body apart. After killing him the tiger sits down licking his leg where he was struck by the axe. Meanwhile, the ground shakes with the approach of the Midnight train. the tiger still is there. With great noise of the engine it enters the cutting with a shower of sparks. The tiger, seeing the train, lifts himself up and tries to walk out of the tunnel but he was not able to and was run over by the train.

While Tembu waits for his father to come back, there at a stop, the tigers half body was seen still above the cow-catcher of the train. Tembu comes out to search for his father and as he finds him dead, controls himself and protects his father’s body from the hyenas with the help of his father’s axe. Baldeo’s family was in a shock but life had to go on and Tembu had to take place of Baldeo.

In the end, Tembu was seen sitting at the cutting at the tunnel with the lamp lit and whistling to himself as he was not afraid of anything now for his father had killed the notorious man-eating ‘Tunnel Tiger’. Even if there is trouble, he had the axe to his defense. This thing of Nature is mostly experienced by the poor villagers and it is they who actually know how to overcome it.

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