The Lady They Call The Gypsy.
Dame Hilda: I am a great believer in the old adage that one is never too old to learn, unless of course one is Evadne, and then one is really too old for anything. You know I was trying to teach her how to make gingerbread men the other day, but she couldn't get the hang of it. She would keep on giving them too many buttons and not enough eyes. So of course we ended up with a tray full of things that look like cyclopean page boys. But I'm a very quick learner. What's more, I'm always discovering hidden talents about myself. As a matter of fact, I discovered another one just the other day. I had been to a buffet luncheon, thrown by the ladies leisure club, and I returned to the old manse about the middle of the afternoon. {Drawing room} Dame Hilda: Cooee! Evadne, I'm back. Dr. Hinge: Was it very boring? Dame Hilda: It wasn't boring at all. Dr. Hinge: I bet I'd have found it boring if I'd been there. Dame Hilda: We'd all have found it boring if you'd been there. That's why they always looked so relieved when I turn up on my own. You are the kiss of death to social gatherings, except possibly funerals. And with those, of course, your face serves as a constant reminder to everyone not to get too frivolous. Anyway, what sort of a morning have you had? Dr. Hinge: Awful. Dame Hilda: I might have guessed. Dr. Hinge: You didn't tell me that Maud had that terrible sister of hers staying with her again. Dame Hilda: I didn't think you'd be interested. Dr. Hinge: Well, I wouldn't have been if she'd stayed down at Maud's place. But Maud brought her up here. If you'd warned me she was in the vicinity. I could have arranged to be out, I might even have come with you. Dame Hilda: Oh, well, there's your answer then, isn't it? Dr. Hinge: The noise has been quite excruciating. No matter how many times I tell them to be quiet. It was like being locked in the same cage as a couple of very clumsy and garrulous old cockatoos. Dr. Hinge: You really are an old misery, Evadne, And what have you done with them sent them home? Dr. Hinge: No. I've locked them in the cellar. Dame Hilda: You've what? Dr. Hinge: Well, not locked them in exactly. They're whitewashing it. Dame Hilda: Maud and Gudrun are whitewashing the cellar. Dr. Hinge: Mm-hmm. Dame Hilda: But, Evadne, dear, we don't employ Maud to do that sort of work. Dr. Hinge: No, but at least you can't hear them, can you? It was the only place I could think of. Dame Hilda: But how on earth did you manage to persuade those two to whitewash the cellar? Dr. Hinge: I told them it was for you. And of course Maud will do anything for you. I told her you wanted to move in there. Dame Hilda: Well, she’ll never believe that for a start. That's more your style, sleeping in cellars. I can just see you, there you are on the top bunk in your duffel coat and reading Jane's fighting ships. Dr. Hinge: I didn't say you were going to sleep in there, Hilda. I just said you were planning to use it. Dame Hilda: I say, Evadne. Do you think a crystal ball would work in a cellar? Dr. Hinge: A what? Dame Hilda: A crystal ball, dear. You know for seeing the future in. Do you think it would work in a cellar? Or would the reception be bad below ground? Dr. Hinge: No, I think it would probably be all right. If one has an outside aerial? Dame Hilda: I'm not joking, dear. Now look, look at what I've got in my carrier bag. Hey presto! a crystal ball. Dr. Hinge: Well, I've heard of them giving away balloons at parties, but really, this... Dame Hilda: It wasn't given to me, dear. I bought it at that funny little shop in the Parva, you know the one where they sell the false noses and the revolving bow ties. Dr. Hinge: Oh, the joke shop. And you're already wearing your funny nose. Dame Hilda: I wouldn't mention funny noses if I were you, dear, not with that beak of yours. And anyway, it's not just a joke shop. That funny little man who runs it has hidden depths, he's a wizard, you know. Dr. Hinge: Oh, yes? And who told you that? Dame Hilda: The gypsy did. Dr. Hinge: What gypsy? Where did you meet a gypsy? Dame Hilda: At the ladies' leisure club luncheon, of course. Dr. Hinge: And what on earth was a gypsy doing there. Dame Hilda: The gypsy from the Stackton bugle. You know, the one who does the horoscopes. Her real names Cynthia Bainbridge. Dr. Hinge: Bainbridge? That sounds a real old Romany name. Dame Hilda: Oh, she doesn't profess to be a Romany, dear. her parents come from Ilfracombe. But she has met Romanies. She had breakfast in a gypsy encampment once at Kempton park when she was 15, she was playing Truant from Roedean at the time. Dr. Hinge: The credentials sound impeccable. Dame Hilda: Anyway, it's nothing to do with that, is it? Astrology and that sort of thing is a gift. One either has it or one doesn't, and she seems to think that I may have it. Dr. Hinge: Does she now? And how many of her books did you have to buy to find out whether you have or not? Dame Hilda: Only the one dear? She's only written the one. It's a compendium, I’ve got it here in my bag, just a minute. You know it covers everything, the crystal ball, cards, tea leaves, palmistry, phrenology, astrology, hand writing, dreams, lucky, unlucky days. What day did I meet you on, I wonder? Dr. Hinge: It must have been a Friday the 13th. Dame Hilda: Yes, yes, that sounds like your lucky day. Now, give me your hand. Dr. Hinge: What for? Dame Hilda: I'll read it for you. Dr. Hinge: Well, shouldn't you at least read the appropriate chapter in that book before you start tinkering about with people's hands? Dame Hilda: I'm only going to read it, dear, I'm not going to amputate it. Now, would you just give it to me, please? Dr. Hinge: Very well. Dame Hilda: What time did you have, lunch, dear? Dr. Hinge: And doesn't my hand tell you? Dame Hilda: No it doesn't. Why did you eat with your fingers? The point is, Evadne, that a hand should never be examined within two hours of the subject having eaten. Furthermore, the hand should be neither too warm or too cold. It's important, you see, that the lines are clearly visible. Mind, yours certainly are, but I think that's just age. Ooh, yes. Ooh, goodness me. Tut, tut! What does that say? Ooh, just look at that lifeline, roll your sleeve back. dear, let's see how far up your arm it goes. Dr. Hinge: Let go of my hand, will you, Hilda? Dame Hilda: Very well. You're welcome to it. We'll look at mine instead. Do you know? The gypsy said that my heart line was one of the longest and clearest she'd ever seen. And it's all branched and forked, you see? Which is even better. Now, that, that indicates many, many abiding friendships made over the years, and an even deeper faithfulness and a specially warm loving nature. Dr. Hinge: Does it? And how much had you told the woman about yourself before she decided to read your hand? Dame Hilda: Oh, no more than I tell anyone else in casual conversation. Dr. Hinge: Oh, I see. The story of your life, in other words. Anyway, what was she doing reading your palm at a buffet luncheon? Dame Hilda: The gypsy and I didn't stay there long. We decided to pop out and have lunch and a real chat. And afterwards she took me to see the wizard. Dr. Hinge: She obviously realised you were a soft touch. Dame Hilda: Oh, I think you'd like her if you met her. She doesn't look a bit like that picture of her they use in the paper. Well, at least she didn't today. Of course, she wasn't wearing the bandana round her head for one thing, nor the brass earrings. And she didn't have the owl on her shoulder. Dr. Hinge: The woman's obviously a charlatan. Most of them are, of course. Do you know that not one single astrologer predicted the outbreak of the Second World War? Dame Hilda: Evadne, there's a good deal more to astrology than just the Second World War, you know. What about Nostradamus? What about old mother Shipton? Yes, yes. Dr. Hinge: Old mother Shipton is supposed to have sold her soul to the devil. Dame Hilda: That's beside the point. Dr. Hinge: No, it isn't. That's how she acquired the gift of prophecy. Dame Hilda: Well, however she acquired it, she made jolly good use of it, didn't she? I mean, she foresaw iron ships, steam engines, horseless carriages. Dr. Hinge: She also said the world would end in 1881. Dame Hilda: Well, I mean, we can all make mistakes. I say, Evadne, do you dream much, dear? Dr. Hinge: What's that got to do with it? Dame Hilda: Well, according to the gypsy... Dr. Hinge: Hilda, if you say according to the gypsy one more time, I shall take your crystal ball down to the offices of the Stackton bugle and ram it down that woman's throat! Dame Hilda: Anyway, she said it was very important to discover which particular method of foretelling the future I have the greatest gift for, and I fancy it might be reading dreams. Did you dream last night, for instance? Dr. Hinge: Yes, I did. Dame Hilda: What about? Dr. Hinge: I'm not going to tell you. Dame Hilda: Why? Why, was It wasn't something funny? Something you don't want anyone to know about. Dr. Hinge: No, it was not. If you must know, I dreamt that I was unblocking the kitchen drain. Dame Hilda: Sounds interesting. And I bet it means something funny, too. We'll see what the book says, shall we? Now, where are we? Ah, yes, dreams, dreams, let me see. Dogs, doves, drowning, drunkenness. No it doesn't mention drains. Did dirt come into it anywhere? Dr. Hinge: Well, of course dirt came into it. It was a filthy job. Dame Hilda: Ah, well, it mentions dirt. Now, were you playing in it or rolling in it? Dr. Hinge: Don’t be ridiculous, Hilda. I was simply trying to clear the drain in a perfectly normal manner. Dame Hilda: Oh, that’s a relief, You see, if you dream you're playing or rolling in dirt, it signifies poverty, you know. Was anyone throwing dirt at you? Dr. Hinge: No, they were not! Dame Hilda: lucky again, because that signifies slander and illness. Mind, we've only dealt with the dirt so far. Heaven alone knows what the drain itself means. I think I'll give the gypsy a ring, she'll know. Dr. Hinge: You'll do no such thing. I'm not having my dreams bandied about the offices of the Stackton bugle. Dame Hilda: Evadne, your dreams are hardly the sort to be bandied about anywhere. { Door slams.} Maud: Be quiet, Guddy. Gudrun: I am being quiet. It's the door ‘as ain't. Dr. Hinge: Uh-oh. Sounds like the terrible twins are coming up for air. Maud: ‘ey, follow me on tiptoe. Dame Hilda: What on earth are they up to, dear, do you suppose? Dr. Hinge: I haven't the foggiest idea, and I really don't much care, just as long as they're quiet about it. {Door knocks.} Dame Hilda: That must be them. Dr. Hinge: Why can't they ever behave normally? One minute they're thumping and bawling, the next they're creeping and crawling. I'm sure their mother must have dropped them on their heads when they were babies. Dame Hilda: Perhaps they think I'm still out, And they've come to wreak their revenge on you for locking them in the cellar. They're probably all covered in whitewash and playing ghosties and ghoulies. You know, just to frighten you. Dr. Hinge: To frighten me? They terrify me. {Door knocks.} Oh, do stop playing about! If you want to come in, come in. Maud: It's only us Dame ‘ilda. {Whispers.} Gudrun: Ah, it’s only us. {Whispers.} Dame Hilda: Well, come along in then. {Whispers.} Dr. Hinge: Now, don't encourage them, Hilda. Maud: We've brought you a nice pot of tea. Gudrun: An’ a biscuit. Maud: An’ a biscuit. Dame Hilda: I say, how jolly nice. You know, Evadne, all this whispering and talk of biscuits reminds me of midnight feasts in the dorm at school. Dr. Hinge: Oh, does it? It reminds me of tea break in the lunatic asylum. Gudrun: We've been down the cellar, Dame ‘ilda, paintin.’ Then we come up again, didn't we, Maudie? Maud: Ah, about ten minutes ago. We come creeping up, quiet as mice. I bet you never ‘eard us, we ‘ad our shoes off, you see? Dame Hilda: Oh, I see, I wondered why there were all those shoes on the tea tray. Dr. Hinge: All right, Maud, all right, you’ve made your point, the jokes gone quite far enough. Just because I had the temerity to ask for a little peace and quiet. Now, kindly take your muddy boots off the biscuits and put them back in your feet. And you'd better throw those biscuits in the bin. Maud: There ain't nothing wrong with them biscuits, Doctor, there's a doily betwixt them and them shoes. Dame Hilda: So thoughtful, a doily. How very elegant. Put the tray down on the little side table there, will you, Maud? Oh, but my dear, do take the shoes off at first. It’s terribly unlucky to stand shoes on a table, you know. Dr. Hinge: And terribly unhygienic as well, if those shoes are already standing on the biscuits, doily or no doily. Maud; ‘ey, Guddy, grab your boots back. And give them biscuits a flick over with yer pinny just to be on the safe side. Gudrun: Best give them a flick with your pinny, Maudie. It ain't quite so covered in whitewash. Dame Hilda: Well, don't worry about the biscuits, dears. Just pour the tea, would you? Oh, and Maud, dear, don't use the strainer. I want plenty of tea leaves in the cups. Maud: Very well, Dame ‘ilda. Dr. Hinge: I don't want a lot of tea leaves in my cup. Dame Hilda: But you got to have tea leaves, dear, or I won't be able to read them for you, will I? Dr. Hinge: I don't want them read. Gudrun: Oh, I’d like mine read, Dame ‘ilda, If she don't want ‘er cup, can I ‘ave it? Maud: Guddy, mind your manners. You're going to land yourself in trouble one of these fine days through doing something you didn’t ought, before you've even been asked. Dr. Hinge: Maud. Hand me my tea, would you? Tea leaves or no tea leaves? I would like just one sip before it's passed around the bear garden. Dame Hilda: There's no shortage of cups, Evadne, nor of tea, I'm sure. Now, I tell you what, Maud. Why don't you and Gudrun fetch yourself a couple of cups from the kitchen? And as soon as I've read the Doctor's leaves, I'll read yours for you. Maud: Oh, I don't know, Dame ‘ilda. I ain't sure I want to know what's going to ‘appen before it ‘appens. More often than not it’s bad enough finding out when it ‘appens. Gudrun: Don't be so superstitious, Maudie, there can't be any ‘arm in it. It's only tea leaves and ‘ot water when alls said and done. Come on, let's go and get our cups. If we ain't quick, it might ‘appen before we ‘ear about it. Maud: What might? Gudrun: Well, what ever’s written in them there leaves, you great daft lummox. The future ain't going to wait to ‘appen till you grab yourself a cup of tea, is it? Come on! Dr. Hinge: I do wish you wouldn't encourage those two, Hilda. I spent a good deal of time getting them tucked out of the way in that cellar. Then you return and within minutes they're on the loose again, and the place is a bear garden. Dame Hilda: Oh, do stop going on about bear gardens, dear. There's only one bear in this garden and she's obviously suffering from a sore head, now drink your tea. Dr. Hinge: I can't, it's too hot. Dame Hilda: Well, blow on it. Dr. Hinge: I will not. Dame Hilda: Then give it to me and I'll blow on it. Dr. Hinge: Hilda, really. I do hope fortune telling isn't going to make you coarse. Dame Hilda: I tell what, I'll pour some more cold milk into it for you. Dr. Hinge: No, you will not. I can't abide milky tea. Dame Hilda: Very well, how about cold water then? Dr. Hinge: No! Just leave my tea alone. I intend to allow it to cool of its own free will. Dame Hilda: Please yourself, but you know what they say about ignoring the gypsy’s warning. Dr. Hinge: What warning? You haven't warned me of anything yet. Dame Hilda: Well, you can hardly expect me to divine the future if I can't even get my hands on your teacup now can you? Dr. Hinge: The great seers of antiquities seem to have managed without tea leaves. I don't think the Delphic oracle relied on such things. Personally, I have very little faith in slop bucket soothsayers. Gudrun: Here we are, Dame ‘ilda, I got me cup. Shall I pour meself some tea? Maud: Give it ere I’ll pour it, taint lucky for two people to ‘andle the same pot. Ain't that right, Dame ‘ilda? Dame Hilda: That is quite right, dear. How's your tea, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: Still too hot. Dame Hilda: Misery! It's not too hot for Gudrun though, is it? Gudrun: {Slurp!} Oh, Gordon ‘ighlanders. Oh, that tea weren’t ‘alf ‘ot. Maud: Serves you jolly well right my girl. Gulpin' it down like a whale in a fish tank. This ‘ere ‘ouse is a genteel ‘ouse whenever you aren't ‘ere. Dr. Hinge: How very true. Why, we even hold our teacups by the handles and remove the spoons from them prior to drinking. Gudrun: Well, that's all very well in an ideal world. But where I come from most of the cups don't have ‘andles, and anyone who lays their spoon down loses it. Dr. Hinge: Hilda, do for heaven's sake get this over quickly. So you can send them back to their cellar. Dame Hilda: Very well, Gudrun, give me your cup, now. Thank you, I take it in my left hand so, and I describe a circle with it three times and always to the left, it's always to the left, anti-clockwise as we say in the business. Then I turn it upside down onto the saucer, very gently so that the leaves fall naturally into their predestined places, and I leave it a moment or two to drain. Then I take it up, and I carefully, and look inside it. Now, the leaves nearest the rim indicate what is going to happen most immediately, those half way down denote what will happen in the near future and those right at the bottom concern the distant future. So we'll start at the top, shall we? And we'll have a look and see what's going to be happening to you Gudrun very very shortly. Gudrun: Ooh. Dr. Hinge: I only hope you'll see her in the cellar with a paint brush in her hand. Dame Hilda: Shh. Evadne, this requires great concentration, dear. Now, what's the first thing we see? Oh look, there you see, It's a frog. Gudrun: What is? Dame Hilda: That is! Gudrun: Don't look like a frog to me. Maud: Don't look like a frog to me neither. Dr. Hinge: Well, let me have a look. Dame Hilda: You keep out of it, Evadne, you don't even believe in it. Dr. Hinge: You're talking about that? Well, that's not a frog. If anything, it's a horse's head. Gudrun: It's a cat. Maud: Looks like an old boot to me. Dame Hilda: Oh, I give up. I really do. You'd better leave it with me Gudrun. I'll get the gypsy to have a look at it for you. Dr. Hinge: Right, the show's over, back to the cellar girls, we want that finished today, don't we, Hilda? Dame Hilda: Do we dear? Oh yes, yes we do, yes we do. Maud: Don't you worry, Dame ‘ilda. We'll ‘ave that done in two shakes of a duck's whisker. And bags me up the ladder this time, Gud. It ain't safe down below the way you sploshes it. Gudrun: Bags me the big brush then, first one as grabs it, ‘as it. Maud: Oh no, you don't. It's my turn for the big un now. It's your turn for the tiddler. Dr. Hinge: Oh, what a shame those two weren't born earlier. They would have been wonderful scaring pterodactyls off the crops. Dame Hilda: You used to have trouble with pterodactyls then, did you? Evadne, dear, what time do you make it? Dr. Hinge: It's ten minutes to four. Dame Hilda: Well, we've just got time for a song, then. And I just feel like a song, you know. Do you feel like a song? Ten to four. Dr. Hinge: Well, I'm game for anything that will stop you sticking your spoke in the wheel of fortune. What song would you like? Dame Hilda: Well, seeing as you've let yours get cold, how about a nice cup of tea? Have we got it handy? Dr. Hinge: Well, it's here somewhere, I know, just a moment. Yes, here we are. A nice cup of tea. How would you like it? Hot and sweet? Dame Hilda: No, I think I'd prefer it, agitato sforzando moderato, which is exactly how Binnie Hale used to have it.
Some folks put much reliance On politics and science There's only one hero for me It’s praise we should be roaring The man who thought of pouring The first boiling water onto tea. I like a nice cup of tea in the morning, For to start the day you see And at half past eleven Well my idea of heaven is a nice cup of tea I like a nice cup of tea with my dinner And a nice cup of tea with my tea And when it's time for bed There's a lot to be said for a nice cup of tea. You can talk about your science And your airships in the sky. I can do without the wireless And you'll never see me fly, And anyone can have my vote and chuck it in the sea. But by golly there'd be trouble if they tried to touch my tea. I like a nice cup of tea in the morning, For to start the day you see And at half past eleven Well my idea of heaven is a nice cup of tea I like a nice cup of tea with my dinner And a nice cup of tea with my tea And when it's time for bed There's a lot to be said for a nice cup of tea.
Dame Hilda: Well, I must say that was most refreshing. Oh, I say, Evadne, look, it's almost four o'clock. Dr. Hinge: Why this sudden obsession with time. Dame Hilda: Oh, yes, well, there are propitious times and unpropitious times. Four o'clock is apparently propitious, so I'm going to have a first little peep into my crystal ball. If you intend to remain in the room, dear, I must insist on absolute silence. Dr. Hinge: Very well. This I must see. Dame Hilda: Now, I'm peering into the mists of time. The mists are clearing, the mists are clearing. Dr. Hinge: You sound more like a weather forecaster than a clairvoyant. Dame Hilda: Be quiet, Evadne. Yes, yes, yes. The mists are clearing, I can see the gypsy she's sitting in her office and she's typing, oh no, now she's stopped typing. Dr. Hinge: This is momentous stuff. Dame Hilda: Now, she's reaching for the telephone and she's lifting the receiver. She's dialling a number. {Phone rings!} Dame Hilda: Ooh, I wonder who that is. Dr. Hinge: I wonder. Dame Hilda: Shall I take it or will you? Dr. Hinge: Oh, you may as well. It's bound to be for you. Dame Hilda: Very well. Hello, Stackton 295. Oh, hello, Cynthia. Dr. Hinge: Ah. Dame Hilda: It's Cynthia, Evadne. Dr. Hinge: Good old, Cynthia, right on time. Dame Hilda: Do you know Cynthia not a moment ago I saw you in my crystal ball…. Yes, you were sitting in your office... Oh, aren't you? Well, you said you would be…. Oh, did it? Oh, when? Oh, well, you might have rang me earlier. I've just made a bit of a fool of myself. Dr. Hinge: Don’t worry, Hilda. It's not the first time and I dare say it won't be the last. Dame Hilda: Oh, do be quiet, Evadne. What, Cynthia? Oh, well, don't worry, dear. I know just the place…. Yes, yes, that's a good idea…. We'll expect you when we see you, then. Oh, and by the way, Cynthia, does the owl eat anything special?... Well, all right, dear, we'll see you then. Bye-bye. That was Cynthia. Dr. Hinge: Fancy that. And what exactly are you two up to now? Dame Hilda: Do you know, Evadne? I think you must have prophetic powers as well. Dr. Hinge: What do you mean? Dame Hilda: Well, when you asked Maud and Gudrun to whitewash that cellar out, you must have had a premonition. Dr. Hinge: Of what? Dame Hilda: You must have known, in some curious way, that the gypsy’s office was going to be gutted by fire. And that she and her owl were going to be looking for somewhere suitable to work. For a week or two. I mean, that cellar is ideal. Dr. Hinge: And you think I had a premonition that this was going to happen? Dame Hilda: Well, it certainly looks like it, doesn't it? Dr. Hinge: Hilda, if I had had a premonition that the gypsy was going to need somewhere to work, and that you were going to offer her our cellar, I wouldn't have asked Maud and Gudrun to whitewash it out. Dame Hilda: Oh, No? Dr. Hinge: I'd have asked her to do something quite different. Dame Hilda: Such as? Dr. Hinge: I'd have asked them to fill it in.
Transcribed by Lorraine Taylor |
