Poppy + George Read online

  TOMMY (sings).

  I’ve got a little cat

  And I’m very fond of that…

  GEORGE. Did you mean it, about her kid?

  POPPY. I did. I really meant it. Loved him to bits, her little lad.

  TOMMY (sings).

  But I’d rather have a bow-wow

  Wow wow wow wow…

  GEORGE. Touched a nerve, did ya?

  POPPY. Stirred her right up… On and on she’s going ’bout Charlie being her ‘child of hope’, coming along after the master had gone missing in action and then being found.

  GEORGE. No harm done there, is there?

  POPPY. Then she draws me in. Asks if I know what it’s like to think you’ve lost everything then have it miraculously restored.

  GEORGE. And do you?

  POPPY. Should have stopped me mouth, but do I ever? And now I’m splurgin’ too, like a waterfall, ’bout me teacher, Miss Pembridge… How she got struck by pneumonia and was at death’s door. And how I’ll never forget the day she come back into us classroom and says, ‘I am so pleased to be with you all.’ I even told her how we clapped and cheered and I cried for joy.

  GEORGE. What you clapping for when she was just your teacher?

  SMITH. So you told all this to your mistress?

  POPPY. And got myself all tearful too… So we’re working each other up to a froth… and she’s suddenly blurting that she didn’t realise there’d never be another like the master, not until she thought she’d lost him… and when he came back something in the way inside just lifted. And the day they made little Charlie… all in a passion like she’d never felt before… she’d lain herself flat on the ground and given herself to him in the stables. And I goes and asks her why she wanted to lay down on the ground for anyone. And she says, ‘Because that’s what you do when you truly love a man.’ And I says… It sounds less like love and… I should have kept me trap shut…

  GEORGE. Less like love?

  POPPY.…and more like slavery.

  TOMMY, GEORGE and SMITH exchange glances.

  And the mistress goes stiff as an icicle. Then she walks out.

  Next day Mr Proctor, head butler, hands me the references coz my services are no longer required.

  TOMMY. Presumptious Poppy.

  POPPY. I was being honest and she was with me and what’s so very wrong, I ask you, with that? Are we not both women with feelings all the same?

  GEORGE. Never kid yourself you can be familiar with them up there.

  POPPY. I’m never going into service ever again. Wouldn’t have done it in the first place if me mam hadn’t gone on and on at us.

  TOMMY sits at the piano and starts to play around with some tunes.

  TOMMY. So, Poppy my peach, you’ve escaped the servant’s quarters and run off down to the Big Smoke to work in the sweatshops instead, have you?

  GEORGE. How long are you planning on staying?

  POPPY. I’m not going back. Why should I, to being nagged and nagged till I get wed? And I don’t care if she never writes to me again. She needn’t. And she doesn’t have to let me know about whether my little sister gets better, either. Why should I do the same as her and her mother before just because… just because…?

  SMITH. Because they did?

  POPPY. And I was told that you would appreciate a girl like me…

  TOMMY. Well, who on earth wouldn’t?

  POPPY.…with my skills and attitude.

  SMITH. Who told you this?

  POPPY. A friend of Miss Pembridge… who’s been letting me lodge with her for a bit… you know, helping her out… But she’s having her baby soon… and I told her I don’t want to nanny… And she said that you had lodgings here too… and you might need an assistant… See her letter… you know, Mrs Lloyd…

  SMITH looks at the papers again.

  SMITH. Ah yes… A lady of modest means and great style.

  GEORGE. Will you take her on?

  TOMMY starts trying out a tune on the piano.

  TOMMY. How about… something like…

  (Sings.)

  H-I am something to look at, a pleasure to ’ear

  ’Enrietta h-I’m called, h-understand?

  And all ’ousehold problems disperse when h-I’m near

  With me little feather duster in me ’and.

  GEORGE. You made that up quick.

  TOMMY. Funny, isn’t it. A bit of new blood… and what do you know… the old wheels crank into motion… Thank you, Poppy.

  POPPY. What have I done?

  TOMMY. Don’t mind being an old trouper’s muse, do you?

  POPPY. Pardon, but it’s not my intention to amuse anyone…

  TOMMY. Look, she speaks, and I can’t help myself…

  (Sings.)

  The master and mistress were right out of sort

  ’Is ’orses were far out to grass…

  Out it just pops…

  POPPY. But I’m not doing anything!

  TOMMY (sings).

  But ’e soon rediscovered the meaning of sport

  With me little feather duster up…

  POPPY. What’s this got to do with me!

  TOMMY (sings).

  The ’ead nursery governess, madam to you

  Could work out every difficult sum

  But h-I taught ’er new ways one and one can make two

  With me little feather duster up ’er…

  POPPY. Smith. Sir. Please can you…

  TOMMY (sings).

  H-old Proctor the butler was well past ’is prime

  What with ’is totters and falls

  So h-I got up behind ’im and lengthened ’is time…

  With me little…

  POPPY. Please tell me. Have I got the job, sir?

  SMITH. As long as you never call me sir ever again.

  POPPY. You’re on.

  They shake on it.

  TOMMY (sings).

  ’Oo says there’s a problem with servants these days?

  That we’ve all lost our place in these lands?

  We’ll sort out h-all manner of h-uppity ways

  With our little feather dusters

  Our fluffy feather dusters

  With our little feather dusters in our ’ands.

  Feather-duster motif becomes faster and faster.

  The basket of shirts that GEORGE had been sifting through is hurled into the air and white and black shirts pour out here, there and everywhere…

  Scene Two

  Wheels

  Rhythm of folding methodically.

  SMITH’s workshop theme in a major key.

  POPPY folds and piles each shirt, one by one, very carefully.

  SMITH is selecting a number of paper patterns from the shelf or chest of drawers where many more are also kept.

  He lays out the patterns on a large mat on the floor.

  SMITH. Fore body. Two pieces – right side and left…

  POPPY. Might I ask you something, Mist… I mean, Smith?

  SMITH. Side parts… Back… You might.

  POPPY. Were you born in China?

  SMITH. I was not… Shoulder heads…?

  POPPY. Did you grow up there then?

  SMITH. I grew up in Russia… the Pale part where they herded the Jews… Yes, shoulder heads…

  POPPY. So how comes…?

  SMITH. War, Poppy… It was the war with China that set me off… It’s a hungry beast, the Russian army, gobbling up young men to keep it on its feet.

  POPPY. Can’t imagine you a soldier.

  SMITH. Neither could I… which is why, like you… I escaped.

  POPPY. Deserted?

  SMITH. If that’s what they want to call it, they may… But, for my part, I was searching for the source of the Silk Road… which led me to the court of the Emperor Gu… where I found the master tailor who taught me his ancient craft… remarkable years… until he made the fatal error… of stepping out of line…

  POPPY. In what way?

  SMITH. A lady, my dear.<
br />
  POPPY. Oh.

  SMITH. One of the Emperor’s ladies. So he never saw light of day again.

  POPPY. Gosh.

  SMITH. There have been other masters of other crafts since… and many miles following my own feet… but he was the first… perhaps the finest…

  POPPY. You still miss him?

  SMITH. What a teacher writes on the blackboard of your life can never be erased… Now, Poppy, can you come here please.

  POPPY stops folding and joins him.

  SMITH holds up pieces of pattern around her to visualise the garment.

  Shoulder heads, yes… Straps… and fasten to the fore body… Side-waisted or short-waisted?… Short… Yes… Stomacher… To be open behind… How many eyelet holes?… Aha… Wood or whalebone?… No no… I think the metal…

  POPPY. What is this – a corset or a straitjacket?

  SMITH. The design is seventeenth century. French.

  POPPY. They were barbaric in them days.

  SMITH. Has much changed?

  POPPY. I should hope so. And if it hasn’t, it’s time it did.

  SMITH. Do times change because we make them or do we change because they make us?

  POPPY. Is it for Tommy?

  SMITH. A proper actress… in Molière.

  POPPY. Don’t actresses have to breathe?

  SMITH. How do you breathe in yours?

  POPPY. Well, there’s no metal or wood for starters. Anyhow, I loosen the stays to please myself, see.

  SMITH. Well, this is for a mistress of her craft who insists upon the authentic thing… I can loosen the shoulder straps a little, and some chamois will ease the rubbing on the armpits… But the shape, the shape must hold. In this its splendour lies.

  GEORGE enters looking spick and span. He carries a sack and a box.

  GEORGE. How is life treating you this merry morn?

  SMITH. Could be better…

  GEORGE/SMITH. Could be worse.

  GEORGE. Your ribbons and bows, milud.

  SMITH receives the sack and checks inside.

  And here’s a little something that’s looking for a home.

  He hands the box to SMITH.

  SMITH looks inside.

  Kodak black-box camera Brownie 2, Model E, that is… And the other’s a candlestick telephone… rotary dial and all…

  SMITH. You shouldn’t have.

  SMITH looks with interest and nods approvingly.

  George has come to collect his shirt, Poppy.

  SMITH carefully closes and puts away the box.

  POPPY searches the piles.

  GEORGE picks up a black shirt.

  POPPY. Those are for the Anarchists.

  GEORGE. What do you know about Anarchists?

  POPPY. Only what Smith said about how society is perfectly able to exist without any government at all.

  GEORGE. What else have you been telling her?

  SMITH. Those who are curious deserve a response.

  POPPY. What does liberty mean to you, George?

  GEORGE (putting it down). You want to watch it, Smith…

  SMITH. Oh, I watch…

  GEORGE. Watch out, putting yourself… and others… in any kind of peril…

  SMITH. And how colourful the peril is these days… Red peril, black peril, brown peril…

  GEORGE. Yellow Peril, they’re calling, down by the docks… now the demobs are back… D’you not hear the ruckus about look who’s got our jobs now? Have you seen the size of Mr Chan’s black eye?

  SMITH. Oh I hear. I heed. And even when… especially when… the old stiches now unstitch and the world comes apart at the seams… someone has to cut and tack and pick and unpick and keep the needle moving somehow, don’t they, to keep us all from falling apart.

  POPPY presents a folded white shirt.

  POPPY. This is yours.

  GEORGE looks it over.

  GEORGE. Very fine.

  POPPY sets to wrapping the shirt in brown paper.

  SMITH puts aside the corset and turns to sewing some Cossack trousers.

  D’you know what I did yesterday?

  POPPY. Went to church?

  GEORGE. After that.

  POPPY. Lunch.

  GEORGE. After that.

  POPPY. Perhaps you forgot something.

  GEORGE. Did I?

  POPPY. Smith said you said you’d pop by yesterday for this. I was up early adjusting it for you.

  GEORGE. Were you?

  POPPY. Some of us have a job to do, you know, and whole piles to get through and I would’ve put it off if I’d known.

  GEORGE. Well, I would’ve come yesterday, only I had to polish my autos.

  POPPY. Your autos?

  GEORGE. Nothing compares to a Silver Ghost. ‘Slipper Flywheel’ vibration damper. Twin-jet carburettor with governor to maintain road speed. Four-speed gearbox with direct-drive fourth. Footbrake with rear drums. Forty to fifty horsepower. And, the pièce de résistance, as his dear Lordship loves telling fellow passengers, electric starting and lighting.

  POPPY. You’re a lucky man to do a job you love so well.

  GEORGE. We’re all lucky men. Look at us, with our wits about us and all our parts intact.

  SMITH. Is it luck we have to thank?

  GEORGE. When Fortune holds out her hand, be the one to grab it.

  SMITH. No one is luckier than he who believes in his luck.

  POPPY. Luck never gives, it only lends.

  GEORGE. By the grace of God, there goes I.

  POPPY presents the wrapped shirt.

  POPPY. Your shirt is ready, Mr Sampson.

  GEORGE (taking the package). Good girl. (To SMITH.) Got your lace still in the car, Smith.

  SMITH. You had better go and get it then.

  GEORGE exits.

  POPPY. Pardon me for asking, but does Mr Sampson often have shirts made for him?

  SMITH. Now and then.

  Pause. Silence. They work.

  POPPY. What about other items for his wardrobe?

  SMITH. The occasional jacket. The odd pair of trousers. His uniforms.

  POPPY. How many does he have?

  SMITH. Two for normal wear. One for special.

  Pause. Silence. They work.

  POPPY. Does he regularly do chores for you?

  SMITH. Then and now.

  POPPY. And are there other occasions when he…?

  SMITH. Occasions do occur when he recurs, yes.

  POPPY. Oh?

  SMITH. And they might involve the odd dram or shuffle of the cards.

  POPPY. Ah.

  SMITH. Do you ever indulge?

  POPPY. I’m not a gambling woman.

  GEORGE enters. He is carrying a pile of packages.

  GEORGE. Where d’you want them?

  SMITH indicates. GEORGE has taken off his jacket and his sleeves are rolled up. He puts away the parcels.

  POPPY watches GEORGE. She stares at a large scar on one of his arms.

  POPPY (looking away). Pardon me.

  GEORGE. Ah, it’s nothing.

  POPPY. How d’you get it?

  GEORGE. Nabbed a villain and he slashed me.

  POPPY. Oooh.

  GEORGE. Tell a lie. Got into a fight with an escaped tiger at the zoo.

  POPPY. What really happened?

  GEORGE. Take your pick.

  POPPY. No. Really.

  GEORGE. Well, when you’re groping in the dark…

  POPPY. Go on.

  GEORGE.…trying to carry a stretcher and all… you can miss the odd barb of wire… or whatever’s got shattered and sharp… Lucky I’m nippy on me feet.

  POPPY. Must have hurt.

  GEORGE. Never feel it at the time, anyhow… Got off lightly.

  POPPY. Left its mark alright.

  GEORGE. Adds character though, eh?

  POPPY. You reckon?

  POPPY concentrates on the sewing. SMITH also sews. GEORGE comes and sits next to POPPY.

  GEORGE. Did your mum write to you then in the e
nd?

  POPPY. Got a letter beginning of the week.

  GEORGE. All straightened out between you now?

  POPPY. She reckons I’ll be back before the month’s out.

  GEORGE. Is she right?

  POPPY. Wishful thinking.

  GEORGE. And your little sister, is she better?

  POPPY. Gracie? A lot better, thanks. She sent me her kisses.

  GEORGE. Miss her, do you?

  POPPY. Goes both ways.

  GEORGE. Gets easier.

  POPPY. Our Katie can plait Gracie’s hair as well as I ever did. I daresay she’ll get over it.

  GEORGE. No brothers?

  POPPY. Only Danny.

  GEORGE. Older? Younger?

  POPPY. He’s the babby. Nearly ten now.

  GEORGE. Full of beans?

  POPPY. Bright as a button. He’s the one called me Poppy.

  GEORGE. How come?

  POPPY. I used to grow them in pots on our front ledge – red, orange, even yellow ones. Cheer the place up. When he was a tiddler, I’d show him how to do the planting and watering. And I’d tell him the secret of their seeds, how they lie, maybe even for years, sleeping in the soil, but always alive, waiting for the earth to be upset to wake them up and let them grow.

  GEORGE. Is that right?

  POPPY. It is. Yes. Anyhow, it was our thing together, our little Danny and me. And he’d pick some and plant them in my hair, like, for me to wear. I loved that.

  GEORGE. Poppy suits you.

  POPPY. You think so?

  GEORGE. I do.

  POPPY. What about your family?

  GEORGE. Four brothers, three sisters and only one bicycle between the lot of us… Oh hey, d’you know what I saw yesterday?

  POPPY. What d’you see?

  GEORGE. A tandem.

  POPPY. Oh?

  GEORGE. And I thought, ‘I could do with one of them.’

  POPPY. What d’you want with a tandem when you’ve got an auto?

  GEORGE. Four autos.

  POPPY. What does anyone need that many for?

  GEORGE. Each one’s entirely different.

  POPPY. Is it?

  GEORGE. Anyhow, autos do one thing, this tandem’d do another.

  POPPY. How?

  GEORGE. Good to get the legs going with someone behind you.

  POPPY. You always go at the front, do you?

  GEORGE. Back too, sometimes. For a laugh.

  POPPY. Which d’you prefer?

  GEORGE. Driving seat, of course.

  POPPY. You can’t do the brakes on the back.

  GEORGE. Always got to keep your hands on the brakes, have you?

  POPPY. Maybe.