{Dining room.}

Dame Hilda: Now then, Milton, have you had a good night's sleep, darling? {Chirp!} yes, I thought you would have, didn't fall off your perch, did you? {Chirp!} well, of course you didn't, now come on, Milton, today's the day you're going to say, Happy Birthday, Doctor. Come on now, Happy Birthday, Doctor, {Chirp!} yes, I know you're a pretty boy.

{Door opens.}

Dame Hilda:  Now, oh, talk of the devil, hello, dear, and Happy Birthday.

Dr. Hinge: Thank you, Hilda, oh, by the way, thank you for your present.

Dame Hilda: Oh, thank you, dear, I always say you can't have too many vests, you know. Now come on, Milton, say, Happy Birthday, Doctor.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, don't, Hilda, please, don't.

Dame Hilda: What's the matter, dear?

Dr. Hinge: It's my head, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: Yes, it's on your shoulders, dear, did you think you'd lost it?

Dr. Hinge: I wish I had, it's spinning and buzzing and throbbing, it's as though someone's banging on the inside of my skull with a sledgehammer.

Dame Hilda:  And apart from that, how do you feel?

Dr. Hinge:  Dreadful, I'm shaking all over, Hilda, and it's affecting my eyes, do you know, I can see two of you.

Dame Hilda: Oh, now that's nice for you, of course, champagne does affect some people like that.

Dr. Hinge:  I don't think it was the champagne.

Dame Hilda: Oh, no, no, no, no, no, of course not, no, well, not the champagne on its own, but you did mix it with orange juice.

Dr. Hinge: Hilda, I have not got a hangover, it's nothing to do with the champagne, I think I'm developing a cold.

Dame Hilda: Whatever you say, dear, I'm not going to argue with you as it's your birthday, now, what would you like for breakfast? Streaky bacon or a kipper?

Dr. Hinge: Oh, Hilda, you can be cruel.

Dame Hilda: What have I said now, dear?

Dr. Hinge: And you don't have to shout.

Dame Hilda: I'm not shouting!

Dr. Hinge: I'm going back to my room.

Dame Hilda:  Probably a good idea, I don't think you're going to be very good company till you've sobered... till your headache subsides, I'll call you for lunch, I thought we might have those nice pork fillets.

Dr. Hinge:  Groan!

{Door slams.}

Dame Hilda: Oh, I wish she wouldn't slam that door, Milton, it could give me a headache. You know, you don't look too well this morning, Milton, you're not developing a cold, are you? you're looking quite peaky, in fact, I would say you've got a peaky beaky, ha, ha, ha! A peaky beaky, I bet you wish you'd said that, don't you? {Chirp!} yes, I thought you would.

{Door opens.}

Dame Hilda: Oh, good morning, Maud.

Maud: I let meself in.

Dame Hilda: Yes, well, I gathered that, yes, I didn't think you'd crawled through the letterbox.

Maud:  Sorry I'm late.

Dame Hilda: Not at all, actually, I haven't been up long myself.

Maud: Oh, ‘ad a late night, did yer?

Dame Hilda: You could say that, dear, you see, the Doctor wanted us to stay up until her birthday, you know, after midnight.

Maud:  Oh, I see.

Dame Hilda: And then, would you believe it, she produced two bottles of champagne that she'd been keeping for this occasion since her twenty-first birthday.

Maud: Well, I never...

Dame Hilda: What a time we had, Maud, I mean, we're not what you might call hardened drinkers, the Doctor and I, but we laughed, we were still at it at half-past two this morning.

Maud: What, boozin’?

Dame Hilda: No, trying to get the corks out of the bottles.

{Door opens.}

Dame Hilda: Oh, Evadne, you’re back again?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, Hilda, my head is worse when I lie down, it starts in my right temple and then throbs across my forehead, pounds the back of my head, and it's excruciating just above my left ear.

Maud: Got an ‘eadache, ‘ave yer, Doctor?

Dr. Hinge: I've got a headache all over, Maud.

Maud:  ere, I'll cheer you up.

Dr. Hinge:  Why, are you going?

Dame Hilda: Now, Evadne, you're being touchy, Maud's only trying to help, you know.

Dr. Hinge:  That's what I'm afraid of.

Maud: I brought yer a birthday cake Doctor, ‘ere, it's in me bag.

Dame Hilda: Oh, look, Evadne, isn't that lovely?

Dr. Hinge: Amazing, still in one piece.

Maud:  I just put the one candle on, Doctor.

Dr. Hinge: So I noticed, Maud, very diplomatic.

Maud: It weren't because I couldn't get ‘em all on the cake.

Dr. Hinge: I'm sure it wasn't.

Dame Hilda: It was because the shop didn't have enough in stock, wasn't it, Maud? Ha, ha, ha!

Maud:  Anyway, I ‘ope yer like it, it's me grandmother's recipe, Doctor.

Dr. Hinge:  Good, just as long as your grandmother didn't bake it.

Maud: Oh, I baked it, all right, I baked it nearly 12 months ago.

Dame Hilda: 12 months Maud, I know you're slow, but don't you think that’s sort of overdoing it?

Maud:  Oh, no, Dame ‘ilda, it gives it a chance to mature, you see.

Dame Hilda: Yes, well, come along then, dear, aren't you going to cut it?

Dr. Hinge: I suppose so, pass me the cake knife, Hilda, thank you, well, here goes.

{Crack!}

Dr. Hinge: Oh, Hilda!

Dame Hilda: Oh, dear, that was the knife that belonged to your mother, wasn't it, dear?

Dr. Hinge: Maud, Maud, you stupid woman, do you realise that cake knife was over 100 years old?

Maud: Oh, why, yer worryin’ about it, it's ‘ad a good innin’s.

Dame Hilda: And nothing's made to last, dear.

Maud: ‘ere, let's ‘ave a look at it.

Dr. Hinge: Get away, Maud, or I might be tempted to use what's left of it.

Dame Hilda:  I think you're overreacting a little, if I may say so. Now, let's see, oh, yes, look, it's only the handle that's shattered.

Maud:  What you want is some of that fast settin’ super duper glue, they sell.

Dr. Hinge: Well, you're not mending, that's for sure.

Maud:  Tom ‘as some in ‘is toolkit.

Dame Hilda:  Are you sure you didn't squeeze a few tubes into the icing sugar, Maud?

{Later.}

Dame Hilda: Are you ready, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, dear, fingers poised on the keyboard.

Dame Hilda: And you're quite sure your head is better?

Dr. Hinge: Much better, it's only going round about 60 miles an hour now.

Dame Hilda: Splendid. Now, Miss Primley.

Miss Primley: Yes, Hilda?

Dame Hilda: Are you sitting comfortably?

Miss Primley: Oh, yes, yes, indeed, I always feel this armchair is a cocoon against the infinite pulsations of a plastic environment.

Dame Hilda: Yes, actually, I think it's uncut moquette, anyway, the Doctor and I thought this song would be suitable to perform at your school speech day tomorrow, see what you think of it, dear.

I did not know when first I took your hand

And felt a thrill I did not understand

That you would turn my world to wonderland.

I did not know, I did not know

Dame Hilda: Well, Miss Primley, what do you think? Miss Primley? Miss Primley?

Miss Primley: What? What? Oh, dear.

Dame Hilda: You’d dropped off, hadn't you, dear?

Miss Primley: No, of course not, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: Come on, admit it.

Miss Primley:  Oh, no, no, I was in one of my heliotrope moods, your voice always lulls me into a heliotrope mood.

Dame Hilda: But you were snoring, dear.

Dr. Hinge:  Probably your voice has that effect on her as well, dear.

Dame Hilda: Thank you, Evadne.

Miss Primley: Whenever I hear your voice, Hilda, I find myself drifting into an empty chasm of cacophony.

Dame Hilda: Really?

Miss Primley: I think the best way to describe it is to liken it to being inside a goldfish bowl.

Dame Hilda: Full or empty?

Miss Primley:  Half full of tepid tea.

Dame Hilda: One lump or two?

Miss Primley: The sound echoes round me as I gaze out through the concave glass into a convex world of elongated depravity.

Dame Hilda: Yes, that's probably when you start to snore.

Dr. Hinge:  Anyway, Miss Primley, how did our song sound inside your goldfish bowl?

Miss Primley:  Beautiful, it reminded me of pickled herring in autumn, most suitable for the school concert.

Dame Hilda: Oh, we're having a fish supper, are we?

Miss Primley: I beg your pardon, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: I said we're having a fish supper, you said the song reminded you of pickled herring, you see, so I said, we're having a fish supper, it was a joke, you see, dear.

Miss Primley: Very good, yes, very funny, Hilda, you know, you ought to be on the stage.

Dame Hilda: I was, dear.

Maud: Sorry to interrupt, but are yer ready for a cup o’ tea?

Dame Hilda: Not quite, dear.

Maud: Oh good, because I ‘aven’t made one.

Dame Hilda: Perhaps you could interrupt us again in about, oh say, five minutes, Maud.

Maud:  It'll take me longer than that t’ fix the electric kettle, it blew up, you see.

Dr. Hinge: Oh Maud, you're impossible.

Maud: It weren't my fault, it boiled dry.

Dame Hilda: How did you let it boil dry, Maud, didn't you see all the steam?

Maud: Well, there weren't no steam, I forgot t’ put the water in it.

Dame Hilda: Oh Maud, it is just a little bit careless, dear.

Dr. Hinge: A little bit careless, Hilda, that's like saying Hitler was a naughty boy.

Maud: Well, I don't do these things a purpose, you know.

Dame Hilda: I know, Maud. I never said you did.

Maud: No, it's not you, Dame ‘ilda, it's the Doctor always gettin’ at me, I don't suppose you ever play any wrong notes, do yer?

Dr. Hinge: No, as a matter of fact, I don't.

Dame Hilda: Oh, come now, dear, what about the Christmas concert?

Dr. Hinge:  Hilda, I do not wish to discuss that, you know very well my fingers were cold.

Miss Primley: I believe there's an epidemic of chickenpox in New Zealand.

Dame Hilda:  I beg your pardon?

Miss Primley: I said I believe there's an epidemic of chickenpox in New Zealand.

Dame Hilda: Yes, yes, how interesting, isn't it? isn't that interesting, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: I'm trembling with excitement.

Miss Primley: Yes, I thought you'd be interested, I received a letter from my sister Edwina this morning.

Dame Hilda:  Oh, she's in New Zealand, is she?

Miss Primley: No, Bournemouth.

Dame Hilda: Ah, yes, well that explains it.

Miss Primley: Apparently she's received a letter from her sister-in-law whose cousin emigrated there last year.

Dame Hilda: Oh, how interesting, isn't that interesting, Evadne? Miss Primley's sisters sister-in-law's cousin has emigrated to Bournemouth.

Miss Primley: No, no, Hilda, New Zealand.

Dame Hilda: Oh, sorry dear, I see, and she's got the chickenpox, has she?

Miss Primley: No, I don't think she has, Hilda, but I'll write and ask her for you, if you like.

Dame Hilda: I wish you would, dear, because I'd like to know.

Miss Primley: I'm sure you've met her, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: Have I?

Miss Primley: Yes, Gloria Armstrong.

Dame Hilda:  No, no, I don't think so.

Miss Primley: Yes, you have, she was engaged to be married to Ralph Smallwood, who eventually married Alice Botham.

Dame Hilda:  No, no, I don't think I know her.

Miss Primley:  Oh, you do, Hilda, we used to call her Botty Bombs.

Dame Hilda: I don't think I did, dear.

Miss Primley: Her father was in cosmetics.

Dame Hilda: Was he? All the time or just at weekends?

Miss Primley: Well, anyway, she's coming over for a holiday so you must meet her.

Dame Hilda: Yes, well, providing she's got rid of the chickenpox, I'd be delighted.

Maud: I've always wanted t’ go t’ New Zealand.

Dr. Hinge:  I'll help you pack after tea.

Maud: Oh, my Arthur wouldn't let me go, ‘e'd be frightened o’ them cannibals gettin’ me and cookin’ me in a pot.

Dr. Hinge: Knowing you, you'd probably break it.

Dame Hilda: Well, are we agreed?

Dr. Hinge:  Upon what, dear?

Dame Hilda: The song for the speech day.

Miss Primley: Oh, yes, it's eminently suitable.

Dame Hilda: Right, that's settled then, we'll sing the chickenpox cha-cha-cha.

Maud: Dame ‘ilda?

Dame Hilda: Yes?

Maud: What am I going to do about the electric kettle, should I try and mend it?

Dame Hilda:  No, no, no, don't start meddling with electricity, dear, it could be very dangerous.

Dr. Hinge: You'll find a screwdriver in the kitchen drawer, Maud.

Maud: I'd better boil some water in a pan.

Dame Hilda: You've got the recipe, have you, dear?

Maud: Shan't be long.

Miss Primley: The salt of the earth, Maud, isn't she?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, she should be shaken regularly.

Miss Primley: She has an aura of indefatigable solidity in a sea of imponderable oblivion.

Dame Hilda: Are we talking about Maud or Moby Dick?

Miss Primley: I once toyed with the idea of writing a poem about her.

Dame Hilda: And I think I know the first line. There was an old lady of Stackton…

Miss Primley:  I was going to call it Reflections in a Threepenny Bit.

Dame Hilda: Then we went decimal and scuppered your couplets.

Miss Primley: However, I have written a special offering for our speech day.

Dame Hilda: Yes, I thought you might have.

Miss Primley: And I thought you, Hilda, would render it with your usual metaphysical aplomb.

Dame Hilda: Of course, dear. I'd be delighted.

Miss Primley:  And if Evadne could contribute on the pianoforte some of her well loved ethereal twiddly bits.

Dr. Hinge: I do not twiddle, Miss Primley, I capture by extemporisation and translate into musical form the mood and mysticism of your poetry.

Dame Hilda: Yes, dear, well, that's what she means, she wants you to do your twiddly bits.

Miss Primley: I look forward to seeing you both tomorrow, I must go, time to wend my way back to my little windmill home.

Dame Hilda: Back to the grind, eh? Ha, ha, ha!

Miss Primley: Oh, very amusing, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: I bet you wish you thought of that, don't you?

Miss Primley:  No, Hilda, I don't understand jokes.

Dr. Hinge:  We have the same problem with your poems.

Dame Hilda: We can't persuade you to stay for a cup of tea and cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off.

Miss Primley: Thank you, Hilda, but I mustn't, you know what my tummy is like.

Dame Hilda: Oh, well, no, dear, not really.

Dr. Hinge: You're still on the health foods, are you, Miss Primley?

Miss Primley: Oh, indeed I am, Evadne, do you know, I've just discovered something awfully exciting to do with acorns.

Dame Hilda:  Yes, well, I'm sure we're both very pleased for you, dear.

Miss Primley: Nature is such a wonderful provider, I must bring you a pot of my chickweed jam.

Dame Hilda: Well, it's very kind of you, dear, but actually we still haven't finished that jar of your conker marmalade.

Dr. Hinge:  And if we ever do, it'll probably finish us.

Miss Primley: Oh, well, bye-bye, my dears, till tomorrow.

Dame Hilda: Bye-bye, dear.

Dr. Hinge: Bye, Miss Primley.

Miss Primley: I'll see myself out.

Dr. Hinge: Chickweed jam, indeed, if she wants to get rid of it she ought to ship it off to her friends in New Zealand.

Dame Hilda: She probably has done, dear, that's why there's an epidemic of chickenpox.

{Next day.}

Dame Hilda:  Well, dear, the prize giving went very well.

Dr. Hinge:  Oh, yes, which is more than can be said for this buffet, have you tried Miss Primley's seaweed surprise?

Dame Hilda: No, dear, I never was a good sailor.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, no, no, no, look over there, it's Maud, what's she doing here?

Dame Hilda: I don't know, dear, but we can soon find out. Hello, dear!

Maud:  Oh, ‘ello, Dame ‘ilda, Doctor.

Dr. Hinge:  We didn't expect you to be here.

Maud:  Miss Primley asked me to ‘elp with the buffitt.

Dame Hilda: Oh, very commendable, dear.

Maud: That's why I've bin selling raffle tickets.

Dame Hilda: Now, I'm confused, I thought you were asked to help with the, um... buffitt.

Maud: I was till I knocked the tea urn over.

Dame Hilda: Yes, I suppose they are easy to knock over, those things.

Dr. Hinge:  Nelson's Column would be easy for Maud to knock over.

Maud: So they put me on raffle tickets.

Dame Hilda: Well, come on, dear, how much are they?

Maud:  10p each, or five for a pound, you see, they're cheaper if you buy more.

Dame Hilda: Yes, but Maud, five for a pound is twice as much as 10p each.

Maud: Oh, Lor! I've been doing it wrong, I can't get used to this decimal system, anyway, I've only got a few left.

Dame Hilda: Well, I think we ought to indulge, I'll buy ten, dear.

Maud: Oh, I can't sell yer ten.

Dr. Hinge: Why not, Maud?

Maud: Well, I only ‘ave four and a ‘alf left.

Dr. Hinge: How can you possibly have half a raffle ticket?

Maud: Well, I'm not very good at tearin’ ‘em out.

Dr. Hinge: Hilda, she's broken a raffle ticket.

Dame Hilda:  And what's the prize, dear?

Maud: A budgie in a cage.

Dr. Hinge:  In that case, I'm not interested.

Dame Hilda:  Oh, I am, it will be company for little Milton, now, how much are four and a half tickets?

Maud:  Yes, well, now let's see, that’s four tens are... four tens carry two, and the ‘alf is, well… oh, just give me a pound, Dame ‘ilda.

Dame Hilda:  Rightio, oh, dear, oh, dear, I've left my handbag on the platform, can you lend me a pound note, Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: Oh, Hilda, really?

Dame Hilda:  Yes, dear, really.

Dr. Hinge:  Well, I only have a five pound note.

Dame Hilda: That will do, thank you, there you are, Maud, now, when is the draw?

Maud: Oh, we ‘ad it ‘alf ‘our ago, it was won by the vicar's wife.

Dr. Hinge: You can't sell tickets for a raffle that's been drawn already.

Dame Hilda: She just has done, dear.

Maud:  Ah, I knew you wouldn't mind, it's for a good cause.

Dame Hilda: Oh, look, Miss Primley’s on the platform, I think it's our turn now.

Miss Primley: Ladies and gentlemen, girls of the school, it is now my pleasant duty to call on our good friends, Dame Hilda and the Doctor to provide the entertainment in the second half of our speech day celebration.

Dame Hilda: Come on Evadne. Thank you, thank you very much, excuse me, thank you, excuse me, mind your shopping, excuse me, thank you, thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, and girls of Stackton Girls High, once again, we are here in this great hall of academic accomplishment, and may I say I enjoyed watching the prize-giving tremendously.

Dr. Hinge: I enjoyed it enormously.

Dame Hilda: Yes, I know, yes, indeed, yes, yes, the Doctor enjoyed it too, so we both enjoyed it. And may we take this opportunity of congratulating Millicent Bennett on winning a place at Cambridge, Alison Scrivener on winning a place at Oxford, and the vicar's wife on winning the budgie in a cage.

Dr. Hinge:  Hear, hear.

Dame Hilda:  And congratulations must go to Peggy Bunting, the hockey team's goalkeeper, for not letting a goal in all season, well done, Peggy, big girl.

Dr. Hinge:  And may I take this opportunity.

Dame Hilda: Of course, dear, feel free.

Dr. Hinge:  To congratulate Myrtle Prendergast on gaining a place at the Royal College of Music. She was an ex pupil of mine.

Dame Hilda: Yes, yes, of course, Myrtle Prendergast, those three months in 1972 must have done her a power of good, yes. However, on with the show, as we say in the business, and we have had a request from your worthy head mistress, Miss Daphne Primley, personal friend of ours, to perform one of her poetical works, especially written for this occasion.

{Introduction}

Dame Hilda: Just a minute, just a minute, dear. I haven't told them what it's called.

Dr. Hinge: Does it matter?

Dame Hilda:  The poem is entitled Echoes from a Scholastic Quadrangle. Thank you, now, dear.

{Introduction}

Up the school, up the school, up the school

{Jolly boating weather}

Edifying edifice of education

Where swotters swot, and rotters rot

In crowded classroom concentration

Desks that show the marks of years

Names carved in wild array

Mavis Brown has got big ears

Big Doreen rules, okay

Girlish prattles, girlish bickers

Navy gym slips, navy knickers

Teacher's pets in adulation

School! School! School!

Up the school! Up the school! Up the school!

{Twiddley tune}

Dame Hilda: That's a nice twiddley bit dear

Pedagogic point of preparation

Assembly hall scholars bawl

The churches one foundation

Dr. Hinge:  I know that one.

Dame Hilda: Nobody knows more than you do about foundations.

Dr. Hinge: What do you mean by...

Geography, Miss Harcourt cries.

Now, Joan, where is Gibraltar?

But Joan is lost, she simply sighs

And dreams of John Travolta.

Dr. Hinge: Who?

Dame Hilda: John Travolta, he was in Grease.

Dr. Hinge: I've always wanted to go there.

Dame Hilda: There are other places you... never mind, no, no.

Domestic science, cook and bake

Fish and chips and angel cake

Let us shout in jubilation

School! School! School!

Up the school! Up the school! Up the school!

{Twiddley tune!}

Dame Hilda: Lovely, yes, yes, I don't know where you get them from, I really don't.

Academic art of application

Bids dusty chalk that teaches

Talk of work assimilation.

Biology by poor Miss Patts

Who quivers at the knees

To hear the giggles as she chats

About the birds and bees.

Dr. Hinge: I didn't know modern schools discussed the birds and bees?

Dame Hilda: Oh, poetic licence, dear, I understand the subject is much more fun these days. Get ready for the finish.

Tennis rackets, hockey sticks

Painful shims from vicious kicks

And though they cause some irritation

Laceration inflammation

Dislocation indignation

Agitation invocation

We all sing in exultation