A Bad Day At Blilders Barn. Dame Hilda: Considering the fact that Stackton Tressel is such a small place it seems to have more than its fair share of clever dicks, it has more than its fair share of stupid dicks as well, but that's another story. Evadne is one of the cleverest dicks, another is a comparative newcomer called Roland Quartermaine, one time music come drama critic of the Snitterton Bugle and prominent South Humberside intellectual. He and Evadne like nothing better than huddling together in corners, earnestly discussing consecutive fifths and the fingering of the flugelhorn or sitting giggling over the jokes in some ancient Greek comedy, I can't think why because Evadne must have heard them all the first time round. Now, last autumn, these two inveigled me into joining them in a little artistic enterprise. The staging of a play written in the 1860s by a long forgotten local author called James Potts. And what an experience that turned out to be. It was full of surprises, for instance, one afternoon I walked into our drawing room to find Evadne sitting by the telephone. {Drawing room} Dame Hilda: What are you doing inside, Evadne? It's quite a lovely day out in the garden. Dr. Hinge: Yes, it looks nice, now the winds dropped. Dame Hilda: Maud and I have picked pounds of plums, you should have come out. Dr. Hinge: I was going to, but Roland phoned from Ipswich. Dame Hilda: What's so clever about that? Dr. Hinge: Well, there's nothing particularly clever about it, he's been with the county archivist all day. Dame Hilda: That sounds fun. Dr. Hinge: They've been looking into James Potts and you'll never guess. They've finally discovered where his house is. Dame Hilda: Well, they've left it a bit late to pop round he's been dead over a hundred years. Dr. Hinge: Why must you always be so flippant? One just can't win with you, you get angry if I don't tell you these things and you get narky if I do. Dame Hilda: Narky? Dr. Hinge: Well, you know what I mean, spiky? Dame Hilda: Spiky? Dr. Hinge: Hilda, every time I mention Roland's name you get narky or spiky or flippant, and usually all three. Dame Hilda: Well, there's a simple solution. Dr. Hinge: What's that? Dame Hilda: Never mention his name again. Dr. Hinge: Oh, don't be ridiculous. Dame Hilda: In fact, I think that's a rather good idea, let's both swear never to mention his name again. Dr. Hinge: Isn't that going to make rehearsals even more difficult for us all? seeing that he's directing the play, I'm arranging the music and you're acting in it. Dame Hilda: I don't see why it should. Dr. Hinge: Well, you can do what you like, but you'll not catch me behaving like a bad tempered primadonna. Dame Hilda: Oh, no, with you it's all, yes Roland, no Roland, three bags full Roland. Dr. Hinge: That’ll do Hilda! Dame Hilda: I heard you during the lunch break yesterday, sitting on your camp stools, sharing your Greek yogurt. You were giggling about the turkey that fell on Aristotle's head and killed him! Dr. Hinge: Giggling about what? Dame Hilda: It was, Aristotle, wasn't it? Dr. Hinge: It was Aeschylus, actually, and it wasn't a turkey. Dame Hilda: Well, what was it then? Dr. Hinge: It was a tortoise. Dame Hilda: Tortoise? Didn't know tortoise's could fly? Dr. Hinge: Legend has it Hilda, that an eagle carrying a tortoise in his claws mistook Aeschylus’s bald head for a stone and dropped the tortoise on to it to break its shell. Dame Hilda: Oh. Well, it killed him, didn't it? Dr. Hinge: So they say. Dame Hilda: There you are then, I wasn't far wrong. You see, you two aren't the only ones who know anything. {Door knocks!} Maud: It's all right, Dame ‘ilda I’ll get it! Dame Hilda: Thank you, Maud. Are you expecting anyone Evadne? Dr. Hinge: No, I'm not. Dame Hilda: Neither am I. Who can it be then? Well, at least it can't be him, he's in Ipswich. Maud: Look, Dame ‘ilda, what's just come for you? Dame Hilda: Flowers, for me, dear, don't say I've forgotten my own birthday. Dr. Hinge: Well, that wouldn't be easy, the date’s ringed in red in every calendar in the house. Maud: Aren't they gorgeous, Dame ‘ilda? Dame Hilda: They're lovely dear, carnations, roses and tiger lilies and chrysanthemums. Oh, they must have cost a fortune. Who brought them dear? Maud: It were the florist's boy, Dame ‘ilda, there's a card with ‘em, look. Dr. Hinge: I assume you've read it, Maud? Maud: And what if I ‘ave the envelope weren't stuck down? Anyhow, Dame ‘ilda don't ‘ave no secrets from me. Dr. Hinge: Dame Hilda doesn't get the chance, does she? Maud: I'll take ‘em and put ‘em in a vase shall I, Dame ‘ilda? Dame Hilda: Oh, thank you, dear. The big earthenware one would look nice, I think. Maud: Well, it would, only I'm pickling me onions in the earthenware, so I'll pop ‘em in the big copper one. Dame Hilda: Well, I'll leave it to you, dear, all my vases are nice. Maud: My Arthur don't like ‘is onions, done in copper ‘cos it turns ‘em blue, ooh, ‘es that faddy. I best get these flowers in water afore they wilt. Dame Hilda: Yes, right, thank you, Maud. Dr. Hinge: Well, Hilda, who are the flowers from? Dame Hilda: Let's see, shall we? Oh! Dr. Hinge: Well, who are they from? Dame Hilda: Quite honestly it’s rather difficult to tell you. Dr. Hinge: Why? Dame Hilda: Because I've sworn never to mention his name again. Dr. Hinge: From Roland? Dame Hilda: Yes. Dr. Hinge: What on earths he sending you flowers for? Dame Hilda: Just listen to this. To my favourite leading lady with apologies for yesterday, how could I have been brute enough to ask you to enclose such pretty feet in wooden shoes? Love, Rollie. Dr. Hinge: Rollie? Dame Hilda: That's what it says. Isn't that sweet of him? Sweet and so very gracious. Dr. Hinge: I suppose he couldn't very well do anything else. Not after you'd thrown a tantrum like that. Dame Hilda: I did not throw a tantrum, dear, I simply put my pretty foot down. Dr. Hinge: If I'd been directing you’d not have got away with it. Dame Hilda: Evadne, I have never in my life appeared on stage wearing clogs and I do not intend to start now. That's why I never appeared in Miss Hook of Holland. Dr. Hinge: No one was asking you to wear clogs, they were pattens, wooden overshoes, all country women wore them in the old days to keep their shoes out of the mud. Dame Hilda: Yes, and if I'd gone clattering over the stage in those things everybody would have thought I was wearing orthopaedic sandals. Dr. Hinge: So what? Dame Hilda: Evadne, I am not having the whole of Stackton thinking there’s something wrong with my feet. Dr. Hinge: If the part calls for pattens you should wear pattens and if you won't you should be sacked on the spot. Dame Hilda: Mercifully, not all directors are as pedantic and dictatorial as you are. But, you know, I think I'm beginning to warm to Rollie. Dr. Hinge: Well, that's a relief, it should make rehearsals a good deal less tiresome. Dame Hilda: Incidentally, when Rollie phoned, did the dear man tell you where James Potts is supposed to have lived? Dr. Hinge: Yes, he did, why? Dame Hilda; Where was it? Dr. Hinge: Right down the other end of the village. Dame Hilda: Whereabouts? Dr. Hinge: One of those old cottages in Magpie row, why? Dame Hilda: I thought I might pop down after tea and take a teeny little look. Dr. Hinge: It's amazing how a few flowers have suddenly kindled your interest in James Potts. Dame Hilda: It’s nothing whatever to do with the flowers dear. I just feel I may have been a little remiss in that direction, shown a little more interest. Isn't it called researching one's part? Dr. Hinge: I don't know, you've never done it before. Dame Hilda: Would you like to come with me? Dr. Hinge: I intended going anyway. Dame Hilda: Good. To tell the truth, I haven’t the foggiest idea where Magpie row is. Dr. Hinge: All right, then, we'll go together. Dame Hilda: That will be nice. I don't suppose Magpie row will have seen so many people since Mafeking night. {Magpie row.} Dr. Hinge: Oh, that's Magpie row, Hilda, at the top of the track there. Dame Hilda: My goodness, I never even knew this path existed. Dr. Hinge: Yes, you did. When we first came to Stackton somebody told us there were hazel trees in the coppice up here, and we decided to come nutting. Dame Hilda: And what did we get? nutting. Ha, ha, ha! Sorry. Dr. Hinge: I got a bag full of nuts. Dame Hilda: Lucky old you! Dr. Hinge: It was very muddy, I remember, so you stayed down at the bottom and I walked up here on my own. Dame Hilda: You were wearing your pattens, were you? I wonder why they called it Magpie row? Dr. Hinge: Because at one time all these trees were full of magpies. Dame Hilda: Is that right? Dr. Hinge: Well, can you think of a better reason? Dame Hilda: One should never build wear magpies nest, you know. Dr. Hinge: You and your old wives tales. Dame Hilda: Magpies aren't awfully lucky, you know, when I was a child our gardener's wife used to spit every time she saw magpie, her kitchen floor was a mess! Dr. Hinge: There you are, Hilda, that's Magpie row. Dame Hilda: What number is James Potts supposed to have lived at? Dr. Hinge: Number seven. Dame Hilda: But there are only three cottages. Dr. Hinge: One of them can still be number seven, can't it? Dame Hilda: Well, not unless they were numbered by an idiot. Dr. Hinge: Hilda. Those three derelict cottages will be all the remains of an entire row. Dame Hilda: What happened to the rest? Dr. Hinge: I suppose they fell down. Dame Hilda: I told you Magpies were unlucky. {Car horn!} Dr. Hinge: It’s Roland! Hello Roland. Dame Hilda: Hello darling, thank you so much for the lovely flowers. Kiss, kiss! Dr. Hinge: Oh, don't be so theatrical Hilda, you'll embarrass the poor man. Dame Hilda: Nonsense, he loves it, you know he does. Roland: Now wait there, I'm coming up. I have wonderful news. Dr. Hinge: Well, I wonder what that can be? Dame Hilda: Perhaps he's decided not to do the play after all. Roland: Well, have you found number seven? Dr. Hinge: Yes, I think I have Roland. Roland: Well, which one is it then? Dr. Hinge: Well, those three are four, five and six. So number seven must be that pile of rubble on the end there. Roland: Oh, no, oh, no, oh, what a shame. Dame Hilda: Isn't it? That's just what I was thinking. Roland: Still, the cottages that remain show us the sort of humble abode in which our Jemmy lived Dame Hilda: And now it's all down. Roland: It's amazing how small those old agricultural cottages were, isn't it? And yet, do you know Hilda? Jemmy and his wife somehow contrived to bring up seventeen children in that tiny cottage. Dame Hilda: My goodness me, if they all stood up together it must have been wall to wall feet. Ha, ha, ha! Roland: To think, to think that from dawn to dusk, summer and winter, seven days a week and in all weathers, Jemmy laboured in this land. Yet he still found time to write. Dame Hilda: No wonder it's a short play. Roland: Oh, but there are the poems, over five hundred poems. The night was dark and clouds were scudding As she sat down to eat her pudding Gazing through the lattice at the watery moon Licking at the custard on her simple pewter spoon Dr. Hinge: Wonderful, Roland! Quite wonderful! Dame Hilda: If I’d written that you'd have said it was rubbish! Dr. Hinge: If you'd written it, it would have been rubbish. Roland: I rather think you're missing the point, Hilda, dear.Dame Hilda: Oh, am I? Roland: You see, one has to remember that Jemmy Potts was completely self educated. Dame Hilda: Oh, does one? Roland: He taught himself to read and write by etching out the letters of the alphabet with his winnowing stick in the dust on the threshing room floor. Dame Hilda: And every time he sneezed he wiped his blackboard clean. Ha, ha, ha! Dr. Hinge: Hilda! Don't be flippant. Dame Hilda: Sorry. Dr. Hinge: So, what's your wonderful news then, Roland? Roland: Oh, my wonderful news is wonderful news indeed. Dame Hilda: Well, that's wonderful news, isn't it? Dr. Hinge: Hilda!! Roland: Oh, I know I'm being somewhat over enthusiastic, Hilda, but it really is such wonderful news. Dame Hilda: Oh, don't apologise, dear, it sounds wonderful. Roland: Now, ladies, you see that old barn over there? behind the cottages, beside the mound of sugar beet? Dr. Hinge: Yes, Roland. Dame Hilda: Yes, Roland. Roland: Well, per se it doesn't look very much, does it? Dr. Hinge: No, Roland Dame Hilda: No, Roland. Roland: But what would you say if I told you that that is the actual, the original, Blilder's barn? Dame Hilda: Well, I very nearly said three bags full, Roland, but I managed to bite my tongue in time. Ooh, that was my shin Evadne! Dr. Hinge: Sorry, dear. Roland: That is the actual barn that features in our play. Dr. Hinge: Oh, Roland, that really is very exciting. How clever of you to have discovered it. Roland: Well, I had help, I admit it, I had help. That archivist at Ipswich is a gem. But the really exciting thing is that I have seen the farmer and he has given his permission for me to use it, it is there in the real Blilder's barn that our play shall be staged. Dr. Hinge: Oh, how wonderful, it gives us such authenticity. Dame Hilda: It gives me the pip. Roland: The pip? Dame Hilda: The pip, dear, the willies, the wiffle-waffles. Roland: The wiffle-waffles? My dear Hilda, I don't understand. Dame Hilda: Well, I never expected to hear you say that. What I mean, dear, is that I am not acting in any barn. Dr. Hinge: It doesn't matter, Roland, if she's going to be tiresome, we can always recast. Roland: Oh, no, no, no, Evadne, let's not be too hasty. Dame Hilda: Roland, dear, I do not mean to be tiresome. I have in my time, as you know, performed on many stages, from La Scala, Milan and the Royal Opera house, Covent garden to the turret of a Sherman tank in Cyprus. Roland: Exactly, Hilda, you're such an out and out professional, we need you! Dame Hilda: No, dear. I'm sorry, but if you insist on staging your play in a tumble down barn in the middle of a muddy field it's not me you need, it's Wurzel Gummidge!! {Blilders barn.} Dame Hilda: Well, I suppose I'm soft. But eventually I let Roland talk me into it. For one thing, I ran out of big vases for the flowers he kept sending. For another, I discovered that Evadne really was looking for someone to replace me. So we postponed rehearsals and spent the next six weeks working on Blilders Barn. Evadne cut down the nettles with her penknife so that we could get into the place, Peter Moore chopped down a huge elder bush that was growing through the roof. Mandy Moore and I dealt with the chickens, she kept chasing them out and I kept collecting the egg. Maud cleaned the place up and put her broom through the only window that wasn't broken. And Roland stood about with his hands in his pockets, rhapsodising and getting in everybody's way. Then one Monday morning, with the place almost habitable we began assembling ready to resume our rehearsals. Dame Hilda: Maud, what are you hammering at now, dear? Maud: Just this plank in the middle o’ the stage, Dame ‘ilder, every time I ammer that end down, this end comes up, and when I ammer this end down that end comes up. Dame Hilda: Is it all right to stand on? Maud: Oh, if you stand on it both ends’ll come up. Dame Hilda: Well, I'd leave it for Mr. Quartermaine, dear, he's awfully clever with his hands, so he tells me. Maud: Right, Dame ‘ilder, and as I also seem to be doing sound effects I'll go and ‘ave a look at me wind machine. Dame Hilda: Good idea, and watch you don't blow yourself away. Dr. Hinge: I wonder where Roland is? Dame Hilda: Oh, so he doesn't tell you everything then? Dr. Hinge: It's very unlike him to be late. Dame Hilda: He's not late, dear, we’re early, you were in such a rush to get here before he did. {Door opens.} Peter: Hello, morning, all! Mandy: Good morning, everybody! Dame Hilda: Hello, my dears! Dr. Hinge: Morning Peter. Good morning, Mandy. Maud: Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Moore! P&D: Morning, Maud! Dr. Hinge: What is this, the dawn chorus? Mandy: I'm sorry, we’re a teensy, weensy bit late, Dame Hilda. Dame Hilda: You're not dear, in fact, if anything, you're a teensy, weensy, bit early. Peter: There we are, D, what did I tell you? I did have time to go home and change, but no, you insisted I come in wet trousers. Dame Hilda: I say they are wet, what on earth have you been up too? Mandy: Well, I suggested we take a shortcut, Dame Hilda. Peter: And some shortcut that turned out to be. Mandy: I admit it would have been easier if the river hadn't been in the way or if someone had had the sense to build a bridge over it. Peter: There is a bridge over it, D, there's been a bridge over it since 1485, but it's almost a mile from where you wanted to cross. Mandy: Which proves that my way was a shortcut, it's almost a mile shorter than going over the bridge. Peter: Yes, but one still has to cross the river and that water was not ankle deep as you insisted. Mandy: No, fairs fair P, it was. Peter: It was, but only at the edge, in the middle it was up to my tummy button. Dr. Hinge: And how did you manage to keep so dry, then, Mandy? Mandy: Well, P very sweetly gave me a piggyback. Peter: I had no choice, I was hijacked. Dame Hilda: Hijacked, dear? Peter: As soon as Mandy saw it was getting deep, she leapt on my back, threw her arms round my neck and threatened to throttle me if I didn't keep going, so it's her fault I've got wet trousers. Mandy: Well, you can take them off now you're here, can't you? Dame Hilda: Not in front of Evadne, he can't, she's led a very sheltered life. Dr. Hinge: I bet I've seen more men without trousers than you have, Hilda! Dame Hilda: What did you say, dear? Dr. Hinge: You seem to forget that I was brought up in Scotland where the men wear kilts. Dame Hilda: Oh, is that all? You had me quite worried for a moment. Peter: It's all right, Dame Hilda. I have no intention whatever is spending the entire rehearsal in my underpants, even though they are brand new and rather jolly. Mandy: No one's suggesting you should silly, you can slip out of those wet ones and into your bell bottoms. Maud! Maud: Yes, Mrs. Moore. Mandy: Have you got my husband's trousers? Maud: Yer ‘usband's what? Mandy: My husband's trousers! Maud: Well, I've been asked some funny things in my time. Mandy: His costume, dear, his sailors trousers. Maud: What? No one told me this were going to be a dress rehearsal! Dame Hilda: It's not, dear, it's just a little emergency. Maud: Well, ‘is trousers will be in ‘is dressing room. Peter: Oh, I say. I didn't know I had a dressing room. Where's that then, Maud? Maud: Same place as everyone else's. Behind that bit o’ sacking in the corner. Dr. Hinge: Don't worry, Peter, Roland’s in the process of organising porta-cabins for that sort of thing. Dame Hilda: I do hope he remembers to organise a porta star for my door. Mandy: Well, run along drippy, you're puddling the floor. Peter: Oh, righty ho. I'll not be too shakes of a ducks rudder. Dame Hilda: Men! Don't they make such a fuss over nothing? Roland: Greetings people, your directors here! Dame Hilda: Oh, good morning, Roland. Roland: Dead on the stroke of ten, how's that for punctuality? Dame Hilda: How long have you been standing outside waiting for the clock to chime? Roland: Oh, sharp as ever I see, Hilda, darling. Good morning, Evadne. Dr. Hinge: Good morning, Roland. Roland: And how's my favourite musical director this morning? Dr. Hinge: Ready to start when you are Roland. Dame Hilda: And so's your favourite leading lady, Roland. Roland: That's what I like to hear. Where's Peter? Mandy: Changing his trousers. Roland: He does know it's not a dress rehearsal, it's just a dry run. Dame Hilda: Wouldn't have been very dry if he hadn't changed his trousers! Peter: Belay there Captain, jolly Jack Tar, coming aboard. Roland: Oh, good morning, Peter. Peter: Damme, I'll snap your grappling iron short as a biscuit and unship every head rail from Larboard to Starboard. Roland: Oh, save it for later, Peter, let's not waste vital energy. Mandy: Oh, he's got energy to spare today, Roland. He took three iron tablets with his muesli. Roland: Right, everybody, I'd like to start with the opening of Scene 3, the arrival at Blilders barn. Dr. Hinge: Do you want to run the song, Roland? Roland: Oh, yes, please. Maud: And where do you want me, Mr. Quartermaine? Roland: In your proper place, Maud. Maud: Oh, that's at ‘ome with Arthur, I was meaning for now. Dr. Hinge: Maud, we’re doing the opening of Scene 3? You're up on that platform with your weather effects. Maud: I've just come down from there. Dr. Hinge: Then you'd better just go up again. Dame Hilda: We all have our ups and downs in show business. Maud. Maud: Oh, very well, then. Mandy: Roland, aren’t the audience going to wonder what she's doing crouching up there above the stage? Peter: I must say, she does look a bit like Quasimodo trying to find a rope to shin down. Roland: Don't worry, she'll be boxed in on the night. Peter: Oh! Dame Hilda: Well, I do hope she'll be able to see what she's doing, I’d hate to think of her directly above my head with six buckets of water and a wind machine. Maud: Right, I’m up, ‘ere, the weather's ready when you are. Roland: All right, then. So in the opening of our little play, we have seen the poor old widow Acton and her pretty young daughter, Polly, being evicted from the simple cottage home by the bailiffs. Now, homeless and penniless, they tramp the streets, looking for somewhere to rest their weary heads. Dr. Hinge: Right, everybody. I'll give you a count of three. One, two, three.
The day is cold and dark and dreary It rains and wind is never weary The vine still clings to the mouldering wall But at every gust the dead leaves fall And the day is dark and dreary And the day is dark and dreary And the day is dark and dreary 
Maud: Wot? Roland: Where were the falling leaves, dear, where was the rain, where was the wind? Maud: For one thing, I've only got one pair of ‘ands and for another, the andle of me wind machines stuck. Roland: Well, do try to unstick it, dear, we want the lot during that song, after all the widow and her daughter are walking along a wind swept muddy lane. Dr. Hinge: Wearing their pattens, of course. Dame Hilda: You keep your nose out, Evadne, if you've got nothing to do practice your arpeggios. Roland: Now, they arrive here at Blilders barn, they enter and fall exhausted into a pile of straw. Dame Hilda: Right, dear. But I won’t fall exhausted into a pile of straw until I'm wearing something a little less expensive than my hand knitted cashmere two-piece. Roland: Oh, fine, Hilda, if we could just have the line, please. Dame Hilda: Right. Oh, daughter, how the wind howls and moans about our poor humble refuge and how heavily the rain is falling. Maud: Yer want me to chuck a bit o’ rain down, Dame ‘ilda? Dame Hilda: No, I do not! Maud: As though it were coming through the ‘oles in the roof like? Dame Hilda: No, dear, not while I'm wearing my hand knitted cashmere two-piece. Roland: Hold your water for later, Maud, now, let's get on. Dame Hilda: Oh, how appalling the wild terrors of the night? Mandy: Oh, mother, mother, harken? Dame Hilda: Harken to what, my child? Mandy: Why, 15 miles from the sea though we are, I can hear the wild foam dashing on the rocks. Peter: She must have jolly good hearing. Roland: Oh, quiet. Dr. Hinge: It's all in the mind Peter, you see, Polly is thinking of her long lost sweetheart and he's been press ganged into the Navy. Peter: Oh, has he now? Dr. Hinge: Well, you should know you're playing him. Roland: Oh, can we get on please? Mandy: Right, my line. Oh, what a dread night this is for the homeless and the friendless mother. Dame Hilda: Yes, my daughter and heaven help a sailor on a night like this. Mandy: Oh, mother, mother, how it tortures me to think of my little Willie perched on the main top gallant at midnight in a terrible storm like this. {Wind howls!} Roland: Ah, now that’s what I call a wind, well done, Maud. Maud: I ain’t doing nothing, me ‘andle won’t go round! Dame Hilda: That wind is the real thing, Roland, and it's getting stronger by the minute unless I'm very much mistaken. Maud: I'm coming down, I don't like the sound of it up ‘ere. Dr. Hinge: There's no call for panic, Maud, after all this barn has been up for over a hundred years. Roland: Oh, well, not exactly, Evadne? Dame Hilda: What do you mean, not exactly, I thought this was the real Blilders barn? Roland: Oh, it is Hilda, it is, but various farmers down the years have rebuilt it from time to time. Dame Hilda: Why? Roland: Well, if you must know, it kept blowing down. Mandy: Just as it does at the end of our play. Peter: I really must read this play more carefully, I think I've missed all the interesting bits. Maud: I knew we was in for trouble ‘ere, soon as I seed that magpie. Dame Hilda: What, magpie, Maud? Maud: Well, when I come in first thing this morning, Dame ‘ilda, there were a magpie sitting right in the middle o’ that stage, just where you're stood now. Dame Hilda: Oh, did you spit at it? Maud: I did not! I scrubbed that stage last evening. Dame Hilda: That's it! I'm off, and I advise the rest of you to come with me. Maud: Wait for me I’m coming with you! Roland: No, no, wait, people, please. Dr. Hinge: Come along Roland, better safe than sorry! Roland: Oh, no, no, we must finish the rehearsal, the show must go on. Dr. Hinge: Roland, do come on! Roland: Oh, where is the spirit of the old barnstormers? If you don't come back, I'll recast, I'll replace the whole lot of you, the show must go on, to the memory of James Potts the show must go on. {Crash!} Dame Hilda: Oh, my goodness, I can't look. Maud: It's all right, Dame ‘ilda, there ‘e is, over there, look. Mandy: Rising phoenix like from the rubble. Dr. Hinge: Bloody but unbowed, trust Roland not to leave the bridge. Peter: I hope my trousers are all right. Dr. Hinge: How can you think of trousers at a time like this? Dame Hilda: Yes. Well, I don't know how that clever little play would have done, but I think we can safely say that Blilders barn went down very well indeed.
Transcribed by Lorraine Taylor |
