Authors: Brian Friel

Brian Friel Plays 1 (18 page)

Into the private parlour of His Worship, the Lord Mayor of
Derry. (
He
flings
a
cushion
at
the
wall
.) Yipeeeeeeeee! (
LILY
stands
up.
MICHAEL
stands
up.
They
stare
in
awe
at
their
surroundings.
As
they
gaze
:
A
SOLDIER
crouches
at
the
very
edge
of
stage
right
and
speaks
into
his
portable
radio.
His
message
is
received
by
a
SOLDIER
at
the
very
edge
of
stage
left.
)

SOLDIER
1:
Blue Star to Eagle. Blue Star to Eagle.

SOLDIER
2:
Eagle receiving. Come in, Blue Star.

SOLDIER
1:
The fucking yobbos are inside the fucking Guildhall!

SOLDIER
2:
Jesus!

SOLDIER
1:
What the fuck am I supposed to do?

SOLDIER
2:
How did they get in?

SOLDIER
1:
On fucking roller skates – how would I know!

SOLDIER
2:
How many of them?

SOLDIER
1:
No idea. The side door’s wide open.

SOLDIER
2:
What’s your position, Blue Star?

SOLDIER
1:
Guildhall Street. At the junction of the quay. What am I to do?

SOLDIER
2:
Hold that position.

SOLDIER
1:
Fucking great! For how long?

SOLDIER
2:
Until you’re reinforced.

SOLDIER
1:
Thanks, mate!

SOLDIER
2:
Do not attempt to enter or engage.

SOLDIER
1:
Okay.

SOLDIER
2:
I’ll get back to you in a few minutes.

(
They
go
off.
A
television
newsman,
LIAM O’KELLY
,
appears
on
one
of
the
battlements.
Into
a
microphone:
)

O’KELLY:
I am standing on the walls overlooking Guildhall Square in Derry where only a short time ago a civil rights meeting, estimated at about three thousand strong, was broken up by a large contingent of police and troops. There are no reports of serious casualties but unconfirmed reports are coming in that a group of about fifty armed gunmen have taken possession of the Guildhall here below me and have barricaded themselves in. If the reports are accurate, and if the Guildhall, regarded by the minority as a symbol of Unionist domination, has fallen into the hands of the terrorists, both the security forces and the Stormont
government will be acutely embarrassed. Brigadier Johnson-Hansbury who was in charge of today’s elaborate security operation has, so far, refused to confirm or deny the report. No comment either from the Chief Superintendent of Derry’s Royal Ulster Constabulary. But usually reliable spokesmen from the Bogside insist that the story is accurate, and already small groups are gathering at street corners within the ghetto area to celebrate, as one of them put it to me, ‘the fall of the Bastille’. This is Liam O’Kelly returning you to our studios in Dublin.

(
As
he
finishes,
a
man
enters
left – the
BALLADEER
.
A
glass
in
one
hand,
a
bottle
in
the
other.
He
is
unsteady
on
his
feet
but
his
aggressive
jubilance
makes
him
articulate.
Dressed
in
shirt
and
trousers;
the
shirt
dirty
and
hanging
over
the
trousers.
As
he
swaggers
across
the
stage
he
is
followed
by
an
ACCORDIONIST
and
a
group
of
dancing
CHILDREN
.
He
sings,
to
the
air
of
‘John
Brown’s
Body’.
)

BALLADEER
:
A hundred Irish heroes one February day

Took over Derry’s Guildhall, beside old Derry’s quay.

They defied the British army, they defied the RUC.

They showed the crumbling empire what good Irishmen could be.

(
The
CHILDREN
join
in
the
chorus:
)

CHILDREN
:
Three cheers and then three cheers again for Ireland one and free,

For civil rights and unity, Tone, Pearce and Connolly.

The Mayor of Derry City is an Irishman once more.

So let’s celebrate our victory and let Irish whiskey pour.

BALLADEER
:
The British Army leader was a gentle English lad; If he beat those dirty Paddys they might make him a lord.

So he whispered to his Tommies: ‘Fix them, chaps; I’ll see you right!’

But the lads inside the Guildhall shouted back ‘Come on and fight!’

TOGETHER
:
Three cheers and then three cheers again for Ireland one and free,

For civil rights and unity, Tone, Pearce and Connolly.

The Mayor of Derry City is an Irishman once more.
So let’s celebrate our victory and let Irish whiskey pour. (
They
go
off
right.
MICHAEL
begins
to
move
around
the
parlour,
silently,
deferentially.
LILY
stands
very
still;
only
her
eyes
move.
SKINNER
watches
her
closely.
Pause.
)

MICHAEL
:
Christ Almighty – the Mayor’s parlour!

(
Silence.
)

MICHAEL
:
I was here once before. I don’t mean in here – in his public office – the one down the corridor. Three years ago – that bad winter – they were taking on extra men to clear away the snow, and my father said maybe if I went straight to the top and asked himself … That public office, it’s nice enough. But my God this …

(
Silence.
)

LILY
:
We shouldn’t be here.

MICHAEL
:
God, it’s very impressive.

LILY
:
No place for us.

MICHAEL
:
God, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?

SKINNER
:
(
To
LILY
) Isn’t it beautiful?

(
LILY
still
has
not
moved.
She
points.
)

LILY
:
What’s that?

SKINNER
:
Record player and radio.

LILY
:
And that?

SKINNER
:
Cocktail cabinet. What’ll you have, Missus?

LILY
:
What’s in that yoke?

(
SKINNER
tries
to
open
the
top
of
the
display
cabinet.
)

SKINNER
:
Locked. But we’ll soon fix that.

(
He
produces
a
penknife
and
deftly
forces
the
lock.
)

MICHAEL
:
Feel the walls. And the doorhandles. Real oak. And brass. The very best of stuff.

(
SKINNER
takes
out
a
ceremonial
sword
and
an
ancient
musket,
each
with
a
descriptive
label
attached.
)

SKINNER
:
This is a ‘Fourteenth-century ceremonial sword with jewelled handle and silver tip’. How are you off for swords, Missus?

MICHAEL
:
Feel the carpet. Like a mattress.

SKINNER
:
And this is a ‘Musket used by Williamite garrison besieged by Jacobite army. 1691’.

LILY
:
Who’s that?

SKINNER
:
(
Reads
) Sir Joshua Hetherington MBE, VMH, SHIT. Is he a mate of yours?

LILY
:
I was thinking it wasn’t the Sacred Heart.

(
MICHAEL
reverently
examines
the
desk
set
on
the
table.
)

MICHAEL
:
Feel the weight of that – pure silver. And look – look – real leather – run your hand over it (
desk
top
)
.

SKINNER
:
We’ll have to sign the Distinguished Visitors’ Book, Missus. Are you distinguished?

LILY
:
What’s in there?

(
MICHAEL
opens
the
dressing-room
door
and
looks
in.
)

MICHAEL
:
Wardrobes – toilet – wash-hand basin – shower. Pink and black tiles all round. And the taps are gold and made like fishes’ heads. (
Closes
door
.) God, it’s very impressive. Isn’t it impressive, Missus?

SKINNER
:
Isn’t it, Missus?

LILY
:
It’s all right.

SKINNER
:
Two pounds deposit against breakages and it’s yours for ten bob a week. Or maybe you don’t like the locality, Missus?

LILY
:
Mrs Doherty’s the name, young fella, Mrs Lily Doherty.

SKINNER
:
Are you not impressed, Lily?

(
MICHAEL
reads
the
inscription
below
the
stained-glass
window.
)

MICHAEL
:
‘Presented to the citizens of Londonderry by the Hon. The Irish Society to commemorate the visit of King Edward VII July 1903.’

SKINNER
:
That’s our window, Lily. How would it look in your parlour?

MICHAEL
:
I read about the Hon. The Irish Society. They’re big London businessmen and big bankers and they own most of the ground in the city.

LILY
:
This room’s bigger than my whole place.

SKINNER
:
Have you no gold taps and tiled walls?

LILY
:
There’s one tap and one toilet below in the yard – and they’re for eight families.

SKINNER
:
By God, you’ll sign no Distinguished Visitors’ Book, Lily.

LILY
:
And I’ll tell you something, glib boy: if this place was
mine, I’d soon cover them ugly bare boards (
the
oak
walls
) with nice pink gloss paint that you could wash the dirt off, and I’d put decent glass you could see through into them gloomy windows, and I’d shift Joe Stalin there (
Sir Joshua
), and I’d put a nice flight of them brass ducks up along that wall.

(
SKINNER
and
MICHAEL
both
laugh.
)

SKINNER
:
You’re a woman of taste, Lily Doherty.

LILY
:
And since this is my first time here and since you (
SKINNER
) seem to be the caretaker, the least you might do is offer a drink to a ratepayer.

(
She
sits
–
taking
possession.
MICHAEL
laughs.
)

MICHAEL
:
The Mayor’s parlour – God Almighty!

LILY
:
(
To
MICHAEL
) And will you quit creeping about on your toes, young fella, as if you were doing the Stations of the Cross.

MICHAEL
:
I never thought I’d be in here.

LILY
:
Well now you are. Sit down and stop trembling like Gavigan’s greyhound.

SKINNER
:
What’ll you have, Lily?

LILY
:
What have you got?

SKINNER
:
Whiskey – gin – rum – sherry – brandy – vodka –

MICHAEL
:
Ah now, hold on.

SKINNER
:
What?

MICHAEL
:
Do you think you should?

SKINNER
:
What?