WAR PLAYS

By Peter Oswald

 Note. Short plays about war. Absurdist?

General Death

Accrington

Greenviolet

Rosewater

The Glorious Dead

Mirror

GENERAL DEATH

PARADE GROUND. SEARGENT-MAJOR, PRIVATES BRYCE, PRINCE AND SCALP, STANDING TO ATTENTION.

SEARGENT-MAJOR: At ease. Now listen close. That’s it. End of training. You are now haha soldiers or fit to begin to become such, at the pleasure and leisure of her Majesty, according as she requires your services at home or abroad. For the training is merely gestation, it is by action the man is formed. Till now upside down in the womb of the army you have sucked your thumbs. And it may be you shall continue to do so for the remainder of your natural, if by their sacrifice your forebears have secured peace everlasting. If, however, as so often before, their blood proves too low a price for absolute tranquillity, as indeed what man whose veins did not run diamonds could procure such a treasure, if peace cracks and treaties burn, and you are called upon to cast your shadows in tumultuous zones, well then in time soldiers indeed you will become not just in name. A name is important, though, a name is something, the very minimum necessary for a specific memorial. So men, today at last soldiers you shall be named, at your Final Inspection. And the rumour, I am well aware, has been fluttering around that your Final Inspection is to be carried out by General Death.

BRYCE: Is it true, Seargent-Major?

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Quiet, Bryce. Do not usurp. Contrary accounts abound and it falls to me to scotch the false ones. General Edward Death has in fact already entered the compound and will, before the aggregation of many more instants, carry out your Final Inspection.

PRINCE: Christ!

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Where? No, Prince, not Christ nor the Holy Ghost nor God, nor all three of them at once, just General Death. But yes, you are permitted to gasp, his reputation is based upon fact. His eye is sharp, his mind fire, his expectations are a glass mountain. You had better look bloody good my son.

SCALP: Otherwise what, Seargent-Major?

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Otherwise, Scalp, if the worst and the worst come together in miserable union, you will be reverted.

SCALP: But I’m already only a Private.

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Where you born a Private? Did you march out of your mum equipped with that rank? What were you before you were a Private, man?

SCALP: Nothing.

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Quite right. And to nothing you will return if General Death finds you unsuited. Understand?

BRYCE: My God.

SEARGENT-MAJOR: But he will not. Because you will shine. From deep within you will shine. My God, you will bull your souls, because General Death is coming! Not any other casual glancer-at-buttons. The one whose eyes invade. The legendary sharpshooter, who in his youth – well you have heard the stories. I want you to shine your boots, young men, till I can see not just my face but truth itself reflected in them! Understand? You have got to blaze like constellations, like the fixed stars of old hope you have got to shine! Then he will pass through you like a breeze. Like gentle weather passing through a garden. Fanned by agreeable bees, you will be perfect roses. And then – and then – and then – you will pass out and pass on. Into experience! Into action! I am sorry for you blokes but I am glad for you too, proud for you, because you have got a chance not many other troops ever have! It will not go unnoticed if you are passed out by General Death! It will not be forgot!

BRYCE: Why us, Seargent-Major?

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Shut up. You have got two minutes to polish and rub!

PRINCE: We have polished!

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Polish again! You are about to stare Death in the face, man!

EXIT. THE OTHERS SIT DOWN ON THE GROUND, POLISHING.

PRINCE: Who is this General Death?

BRYCE: Oh God almighty. Oldest General in the whole buggering army.

SCALP: Thousands of years old, he is.

BRYCE: Death can’t touch him.

SCALP: That’s what they say! He can’t touch himself!

PRINCE: Can’t touch his toes?

SCALP:  Or anything else. Unnecessary for priests to forbid him.

PRINCE: Old soldiers never die, they say.

BRYCE: They just fade away.

SCALP: You know why that is?

PRINCE: No.

SCALP: Because there aren’t any old soldiers!

PRINCE: Yes there are!

SCALP: Old men, but not old soldiers.

BRYCE: Except for General Death.

PRINCE: How old is he, really?

BRYCE: He was at Agincourt, they say. And Hastings. When Gideon was fighting the Phillistines, he was one of the three hundred. I heard he took part in the battle of Arbela, fighting on both sides, with the Greeks and the Persians. Troy he was certainly involved in the siege of. And he was at Trafalgar, I suppose as a marine. Also at the Somme. He has been everywhere, he helped us win and lose our empire, running around in the mountains. Afghanistan. He loves that place, and goes back whenever he can. He is equally at home, I have heard, in desert or in fertile country, in jungle, on the sea or in the air. He is a master of all types of warfare, and in peacetime so obsessed with discipline they say when he looks at you the hairs on your head stand to attention! Oh he is the heart of the army, all the men look up to him. And his fellow officers, though some think him grim, my God they respect him. Yes, General Edward Death, they would follow him to hell and back. Or even just to hell, if he asked them. They say he is a great dancer, but there has never fallen on him the slightest suspicion. Your wife at home is safe with him, if he is ever there. For the most part the front line is his home. What they call the Death Zone.

PRINCE: Can’t wait to say I have seen him!

SCALP: I don’t know. I feel a bit strange about this inspection, all of a sudden. Gone cold.

BRYCE: Come on, Scalpie!

SCALP: I feel a bit scared.

BRYCE: It’s only a parade, mate!

SCALP: I don’t wanna be kicked out of the army.

BRYCE: You won’t be! You’re sparkling! All of us are! Like the bleeding angel of Mons!

SCALP: Feel like I won’t be coming through.

PRINCE: Bollocks!       

SCALP: Feel like all this bloody polishing, all this blasted drill, is all for nothing! Feel like a stupid bloody Christmas tree, or a shop window dummy! I’m no good, I’m no good! He’s going to see straight through me!

BRYCE: Alright, I’ll stand behind you, Scalpie, so if he sees through you he’ll see me!

PRINCE: He won’t turn you down, Brycie!

SCALP: Sorry mates, don’t know what came over me.

PRINCE: It’s only a bloody parade!

BRYCE: Scalps hates parades.

PRINCE: Yeah!

BRYCE: Minefield? No problem. Night patrol? Fine. Parade? No way!

PRINCE: Never been near either of those things.

BRYCE: No I’m just saying I bet that’s how he’ll be. Terrified of Top Brass – no fear of the enemy!

PRINCE: I love parades.

BRYCE: Ha!

PRINCE: What?

BRYCE: Well – we’ll see, we’ll see.

SCALP: Getting more and more freaked out. Where the hell is he? Can’t get any brighter than this!

BRYCE: I see something stirring in my peripheral vision.

ENTER SEARGENT-MAJOR.

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Attention! Shine boys, shine! Here he comes!

ENTER GENERAL DEATH.

GENERAL DEATH: Fine body of men. Fine body of men. You keen, Private?

BRYCE: Yes, sir!

GENERAL DEATH: Good man, good man.

HE LAYS HIS HAND ON BRYCE’S SHOULDER. BRYCE FALLS DEAD.

PRINCE: Seargent-Major!

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Stand firm, man, stand firm!

PRINCE: Jesus!

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Choke it down, Prince, choke it down!

GENERAL DEATH: All very bright and shiny, standing up straight in the English sunlight! Bravo! Bravo!

SCALP: Fuck off! Fuck off! Seargent-Major, get us out of here for Christ’s sake, Brycie’s fucking dead!

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Stand firm I said, stand firm!

SCALP: Fuck off! Mum! Mum!

TURNS AND RUNS.

GENERAL DEATH: Halt!

SCALP SCREAMS A ND FALLS DEAD. PRINCE IS SOBBING.

GENERAL DEATH: Crying real tears my God, standing up straight in the English sunlight! Stiff to attention while the tears run down! My God, my God! Fine, fine body of men! Well done, well done.

EXIT GENERAL DEATH. PRINCE FALLS TO HIS KNEES, SOBBING.

SEARGENT-MAJOR: Stand up! Stand to attention!

PRINCE: What the fuck? What the fucking? What the fuck?

SEARGENT-MAJOR: (CRYING.) Stand to attention! Stand to attention!

END.

ACCRINGTON

(this play is about the Accrington Pals, a regiment recruited from the Lancashire town of Accrington, in the First World War, which was almost entirely wiped out.)

YOUNG MAN, JOHN, SITS ALONE. ENTER MOTHER, RUNNING.

MOTHER: You’re alive!

JOHN: What?

MOTHER: Thank God!

JOHN: Of course I’m alive! What did you think? I’m not ill. Did somebody tell you I’d fallen off a roof? Did you have a daydream? What’s the matter, mother?

MOTHER: Horrible – horrible – oh my God -

JOHN: You’ve had a hysterical daydream. Ah, for God’s sake. Listen, sit down, sit down, poor dear thing. Look – hello! It’s me, John, perfectly healthy – sound, as they say, in wind and limb, sitting at the table drinking tea, getting ready for the next thing. My head has not exploded, I have not drunk poison, or fallen down the well, I am breathing softly and steadily out and in.

MOTHER: John, John –

JOHN: The sun is in the sky – look, it actually is – his Majesty the Sun has not been dethroned, the earth is turning around him, taking a turn around the park as it were, this is England, the sea is by the shore and the ships are on the sea and everything is calm and fine.

MOTHER: Perhaps I have gone mad. No, I am not prone to visions – why should I suddenly go mad for no reason?

JOHN: Tell me exactly what you think has happened –

MOTHER: I can’t, John – I do not have the words, it is beyond description –

JOHN: Try anyway. Give me a rough sketch.

MOTHER: I went down into the town. I was still three quarters of a mile away and I heard the most extraordinary sound – I could not understand it, it sounded like the sea – if the sea had lost its child and begun to scream – I walked down the hill towards the buildings – my mind working hard to analyse the sound – but still I could not, and then I reached the first house and I realised that a portion of the sound was coming from inside it and I looked in and I saw a young woman screaming and on the floor at her feet, on the carpet, a young man stretched out obviously dead – his face was chalk and she was screaming and I realised I realised that – I carried on into the town and now I saw a group of young women, old women and girls clinging together screaming and in the middle of the road, three more young men, dead, and then I understood that every house  every shop was screaming, there was a bus several carriages and a car stopped and the screaming coming out of them and an old man shouting, waving his stick and banging it on the ground and on the bonnet of a car and the rump of a horse, the horse merely kicked slightly – there were more old men, they were roaring, and boys, little boys running blocking their ears – out of the hotel a stream of women came running, some of them were fighting, the top windows were open, a woman was screaming at the open window – I caught a boy by the hair I was half mad from the sound, I shouted at him what has happened what has happened, at last he answered me, ‘Oh madam, oh madam!’ then I slapped him and he cried ‘All the men are dead!’ and then I let him go and he ran. I walked all the way through the town, I do not know why, I should have turned straight round and come home, God knows I was fearful for you, but I was drawn, I was forced to walk right through the whole town with my eyes and my ears and my mouth wide open – every house was screaming, all the windows thrown open – in the park dead young men on the benches and in the flowerbeds and one hung up in a rosebush, not the old men or the boys as I said, or even the middle-aged – only the young men – I even saw one portly greybeard in a pub still drinking, helping himself – till the barmaid punched him – I walked on, until I came to the limits of the sound and then I took my way around through the fields home to find you John –

JOHN: What you have described is impossible.

MOTHER: No.

JOHN: Improbable then.

MOTHER: Maybe. Like the Virgin Birth.

JOHN: You say that all the young men in Accrington have suddenly, at the stroke of not particularly noon, fallen down dead where they sit or stand!

MOTHER: No it is impossible, John, it could never happen – why should it happen? It is madness, there is no reason – if it had not happened I would certainly say without the slightest doubt that it could not happen.

JOHN: They are not dead – it is some kind of mass hysteria –

MOTHER: The hysteria is not theirs, John, they are ash, they are paper-white, John – and still as mushrooms –

JOHN: I will go down myself, to see –

MOTHER: Do not go down there, John. Perhaps it is a contagion particular to the town –

JOHN: There is no such illness!

MOTHER: I forbid you to go down to the town!

JOHN: Forbid me? Forbid me to do down and find my dead friends – if what you say is true! Perhaps it is some grotesque pantomime or practical joke put on by – put on by the young men – out of high spirits – to pretend to be dead and see what happens! But I would have heard of it beforehand – I don’t know – you are not mad, mother, I am pretty sure of that, something terrible has actually happened in Accrington and therefore – therefore I must go there, no doubt not everyone is dead, if anyone – it just looks like that – I will – I will – supposing this is true – or something like it is something like true – I will I will – rally the best of the survivors to do what we can – send for help – find out what has happened as swiftly as possible, to prevent a reoccurrence – get some facts – witnesses – one or two doctors, with luck – get a grip of the situation –

MOTHER: Do not go there – John! John!

JOHN: Do you take me for a coward, mother?

MOTHER: If it has happened here, why not in every town? Perhaps you alone are left! Do not go down, John!

JOHN: Well I will not be precipitous. You are right. This is something very new, if it is true. This is the hand of God, if it has indeed happened as you describe. There is no real heroism in rushing madly into the jaws of what one thoroughly does not understand!

MOTHER: Breathe – breathe – let the mind find its calm – then we will know what to do –

JOHN: Mother – I want you to go out – you are safe, by your own account, not being a young man – go out to the field gate – from there you can see all the neighbouring towns – look to see if from this distance you can detect any sign that they have suffered a similar calamity to Accrington’s –

MOTHER: I will go – sit safe, John –

EXIT MOTHER.

JOHN: Yes it is true, I feel it – they have gone. Farewell, my friends, all the boys of my youth, the ridiculous children! Farewell Cowboys and Indians, rivals, drinkers, you have gone you have gone, God knows why or how but then God knows why or how you came here in the first place, we came here, walked, ran, shouted, fell worn to a seed into the soil of dreams to grow back each morning! Farewell to you, my friends, you by whom I recognised myself, by whom I sank or swam, climbed or fell, my fellow clouds, colts jostling in the blue heaven! Farewell, we sat in rows at desks, we raced in the playground, like shooting stars, we ran through imaginary space towards real women – oh my God, you have gone, you have gone.

RE-ENTER MOTHER.

MOTHER: John – John –

JOHN: Now, the worst is said, everything is passed, nothing now is difficult to say or strange – simply speak now –

MOTHER: Over Huncoat – a black flag –

JOHN: They fly black flags for hangings –

MOTHER: And the same over Clayton Le-Moors –

JOHN: Eh?

MOTHER: And the same over Baxenden – black flags every one –

JOHN: There cannot be hangings in all of them!

MOTHER: It is their means of expression –

JOHN: Yes you are right. What has happened in Accrington has happened to them. Well I am going then.

MOTHER: No! Why? What can you do?

JOHN: Stay here alone? No! No! They have gone for a reason! A great, deep, resounding reason – I do not know what it is but it is – earthquake, hurricane! It is the voice of God that has called them!

MOTHER: Stay here, stay here!

JOHN: Tell a dead leaf to sit still in the wind! I am going down, I am going down to Accrington!

HE FALLS DEAD. SHE SCREAMS. END.

GREENVIOLET

ENTER BRACE AND McGINNIS, McGINNIS CARRYING A BOX.

BRACE: Put it down here. Here, where we can see it.

McGINNIS PUTS DOWN THE BOX.

BRACE: So we can rest for a bit. It’s best, I think.

McGINNIS: Yes.

BRACE: Do you feel strong, still?

McGINNIS: I still feel strong.

BRACE: We’ll get it there, in the end!

McGINNIS: We will.

BRACE: We have just got to keep our wits about us.

McGINNIS: Yes and we’ve got to keep up our strength.

BRACE: The best thing is to ignore almost everything.

McGINNIS: Yes.

BRACE: Except each other. Everything else is pure confusion.

McGINNIS: You know the ropes, Brace.

BRACE: But you’re just so incredibly strong, McGinnis. Do you still feel strong?

McGIINNIS: Yes I still do.

BRACE: Thank God.

McGINNIS: I just wish I had your brain. I just wish.

BRACE: Well I just happen to know the route.

McGINNIS: Do you still know it?

BRACE: Yes. I’ve still got it in my head.

McGINNIS: Thank God.

BRACE: We haven’t gone astray yet.

McGINNIS: God help us if we do!

BRACE: Yes, God help us. But we won’t, if we can just concentrate.

McGINNIS: Concentrate?

BRACE: Yes, that’s all we need to do. There’s every reason, every excuse to panic and flap about. But we simply must not do that.

McGINNIS: I would never panic and flap.

BRACE: No.

McGINNIS: I would just sit tight. I would sit right down and sit tight. Incredibly tight. Say you were killed, or we were separated.

BRACE: If we are separated, yes, sit tight. But if I am killed –

McGINNIS: Yes?

BRACE: Run for it.

McGINNIS: Run for it?

BRACE: Yes run for it.

McGINNIS: Run for what?

BRACE: Just run. No point in sitting down and getting killed yourself. Run for your life!

McGINNIS: And should I take it with me? Should I carry it?

BRACE: I think you should. You are strong. Do you still feel strong?

McGINNIS: Yes I do.

BRACE: Well as long as you have the strength, carry it.

McGINNIS: Even if I am just running for my life –

BRACE: You might make it. Who knows? You might. There’s a tiny chance.

McGINNIS: I wish I knew what you know. I wish I could keep it in my head. Just in case.

BRACE: But you can’t. Don’t think about it. You might grow weak, like me.

McGINNIS: I might. I might.

BRACE: You keep hold of your strength, every scrap of it. And I’ll keep hold of the rest. Of the route. Keep it in my head. Well, we have had a bit of a rest, and we have had a bit of a talk. Both those are good. Everything around us is alien and confusing, but we know each other very well, we have come a long way together, and when we listen to the sound of each other’s voices, it calms us down. It doesn’t exactly matter what we say to each other, it is just the sound of our voices, reviving memories of past times, and blotting out some of the confusion, the other voices, and the colours of this country that are all bled together and blurred as if the whole place had been drawn on wet blotting paper. It’s important for us to stop every now and then, to talk like this, even if we’re not tired.

McGINNIS: It does me the world of good.

BRACE: Good. Well I think we might just as well press on, now.

McGINNIS: Still a way to go?

BRACE: Still a fair distance. Feeling strong?

McGINNIS: As English Mustard.

BRACE: Got a firm grip on it?

McGINNIS: Certainly have.

BRACE: Let’s go!

McGINNIS: What?

BRACE: I said Let’s go!

McGINNIS: I’m sorry I just didn’t quite –

BRACE: What? You what? Speak up!

McGINNIS: Still can’t hear you!

BRACE: Think something’s happened to my ears – or your voice – come closer!

McGINNIS WAVES HIS ARMS ABOUT.

McGINNIS; Help! Help!

BRACE: Now now, don’t flap! You said you didn’t flap! There! Got you!

HOLDS HIM TIGHT. SHOUTS IN HIS EAR.

BRACE: Something’s happened to us but we’re not going to panic! Ok?

McGINNIS: Help! Help!

BRACE: Don’t flail about, for God’s sake! We’ll just have to communicate by sign language! Alright? And keep a hold of each other, just in case! Got me? Got that? This way, this way, easy does it!

STARTS TO GUIDE McGINNIS OFF.

McGINNIS: I can’t see you! You’re fading away!

BRACE: Jesus! Now something’s happening to my eyesight! Is it the same with you? Dear God, man, you’re fading away! Cling on tight, it’s our last chance!

THEY CLING TIGHT TO EACH OTHER.

McGINNIS: You’re vanishing completely! Just a faint shadow! Brace, Brace! Oh Christ!

BRACE: Gone! You’ve gone, old boy! Can’t see you to save my life!

McGINNIS: Help! (SHOUTS DURING ABOVE LINE – SINCE THEY CAN’T HEAR EACH OTHER THEY SOMETIMES SPEAK AT THE SAME TIME.)

BRACE: Or anything else. Just don’t let go of me, for God’s sake! I know you can’t hear me. Useless to keep shouting at him, Brace, can’t hear yourself either, just keep a tight hold, and then try again from time to time. This could just be a passing indisposition. Something we ate, or didn’t eat. Or maybe we didn’t talk enough, rest enough. Did not maintain sufficient contact. Then the blasted place soaked into us, did for our heads. Well anyway, McGinnis, I’m glad you’ve got a strong grip! But – if you’re holding onto me with both hands, you must have let go of the box! You haven’t let go of the box have you, McGinnis? Oh bloody – oh God! When you were panicking and flapping about! I’m going to have to look for it. I’m just going to let go of you with one of my hands.

HE LETS GO WITH ONE HAND.

McGINNIS: No! No! Help! Help!

McGINNIS FLAILS ABOUT AND THEY LOSE CONTACT.

BRACE: You bloody fool, McGinnis!

ENTER GREENVIOLET, WHO STEALS THE BOX. BRACE CRAWLS AROUND TRYING TO FIND IT.

BRACE: Oh damn! Where the hell is it? Oh sweet Mother of God. Oh mother.

HE STARTS TO WEEP.

McGINNIS: (SITTING TIGHT.) I’m going to sit tight! Help! Help! Brace! Brace!

BRACE: McGinnis! Dammit! McGinnis!

BRACE WANDERS OFF. McGINNIS SITS TIGHT. END.

ROSEWATER.

WOMAN, TWO MEN – ONE OF THEM TAKING NOTES.

ONE: Alright then Rosewater, relax. How’s it going?

ROSEWATER: It is going well, sir, I have made contact.

ONE: How many times?

ROSEWATER: Seven times, sir.

ONE: With increasing levels of intimacy?

ROSEWATER: Increasing.

ONE: Excellent. Please describe the seven gradations.

ROSEWATER: First eye contact, second speech, third accidental meeting, fourth accidental meeting, fifth accidental meeting, sixth planned meeting by river, seventh planned meeting in room.

ONE: Where intimacy increased.

ROSEWATER: Yes intimacy increased in room.

ONE: And by river?

ROSEWATER: In seven stages.

ONE: Describe the seven stages of increased intimacy by river.

ROSEWATER: First conversation, second revelation, third silence, fourth silence, fifth silence, sixth sighing, seventh separation.

ONE: All this while walking?

ROSEWATER: All this while walking on path by river.

TWO: Describe the scene.

ONE: It is unnecessary to describe the scene.

TWO: Beg to differ. Not possible to know in advance of conclusion, what details will or will not appertain thereunto.

ONE: Alright then. Rosewater – describe scene.

ROSEWATER: Two miles of slow-moving river varying between twenty-five and thirty feet in width, patches of reeds, bank fringed with alder and willow. Geese, morehens, coots, one crested grebe.

TWO: With young?

ROSEWATER: Without. Sky clouded but without precipitation. Temperature mild.

ONE: Alright then?

TWO: Yes.

ONE: Describe the revelation.

ROSEWATER: Revelation unfolded in seven stages. First hesitation, second mumbling, third rapid but coherent speech, fourth silence, fifth withdrawal, sixth silence, seventh repetition of revelation.

TWO: Of what?

ONE: At this point content is irrelevant.

TWO: How can content be irrelevant?

ONE: It is him we want, not what he knows! Understand that? Just take down, can’t you? Take down!

TWO: Alright.

ONE: Now room.

ROSEWATER: Yes, room.

TWO: Room.

ONE: Where intimacy increased.

ROSEWATER: It increased.

ONE: Describe increase of intimacy in room.

ROSEWATER: Intimacy in room increased in seven stages. First observation, second silence, third reminiscence, fourth praise, fifth trembling, sixth undressing, seventh passion.

TWO: Observation?

ROSEWATER: What horrible curtains.

TWO: Irrelevant!

ROSEWATER: I agree.

ONE: (TO TWO.) Are you getting the hang of it?

TWO: I think so.

ONE: Describe the praise.

TWO: Why?

ROSEWATER: Praise proceeded in seven stages. First I like your shoes, second I feel so calm, third you are brave, fourth you know everything, fifth you are kind, sixth you are a cave painting, seventh you are the tomb of Tutankhamun.

ONE: Describe the trembling.

ROSEWATER: The trembling increased in seven stages. First the trembling of the intestines, second the trembling of the fat, third the trembling of the small bones of the ears, fourth the trembling of the skull, fifth the trembling of the air, sixth the trembling of the hairs of the ears, seventh the trembling of the veins of the hands.

TWO: Describe the undressing –

ONE: Forget the undressing! Describe the passion!

ROSEWATER: The passion progressed in seven stages. First the passion of heat, then the passion of cold, third the passion of remembering, fourth the passion of inventing, fifth the passion of leaping, sixth the passion of collision, seventh the passion of boiling.

TWO: I don’t see what that tells us!

ONE: It is necessary information. But the last stage is everything. Rosewater, what was the outcome?

ROSEWATER: The outcome revealed itself in seven types of terrain. First jungle, second tundra, third desert by night, fourth desert by day, fifth mediaeval city, sixth future city, seventh the surface of the sun.

ONE: So was trust established?

ROSEWATER: No.

ONE: Never mind. It was a beginning. We have learned something, thankyou, Rosewater, and I am confident that in time we will learn everything. Alright, Rosewater, we have got to go through procedure 2DZ, haven’t we?

ROSEWATER: Naturally.

ONE: She knows the ropes, this one! Rosewater, the subject to whom you have been assigned, is not a pleasant human being.

ROSEWATER: No.

ONE: Married, violent to wife and children, bigamist, traitor. In sixty-five days from this date, to be arrested, tortured and executed. Finish. Alright? Just keep that in mind.

ROSEWATER: At all times.

ONE: And carry on doing what you’re doing! With all your heart! The more you put into it, the more we get out! You’re our best, Rosewater. Isn’t she great? Incredibly highly trained, a procedural encyclopaedia!

TWO: She’s wonderful. A challenge to live up to her.

ONE: Yes – if anyone’s likely to blunder, it’s us, not her, but we’ll keep on doing our very very best, and if you feel we’re slipping, you’ll tell us, won’t you, Rosewater?

ROSEWATER: I certainly will.

ONE: Right. Mustn’t keep you any longer in the presence of irrelevance. Your time is precious, you are a jewel, a jewel in the mud of the world, Rosewater!

EXEUNT. 

THE GLORIOUS DEAD

characters

Seargent Briggs 

Corporal Hobbes 

Captain Stacey-Longthorpe

Private Robbins

A WAR MEMORIAL IN A WAR CEMETERY IN FRANCE. NIGHT  SIX SOLDIERS LIE IN THE GROUND. HOBBES STARTS TRYING TO BLOW A BUGLE. HE IS ONLY ABLE TO MAKE PATHETIC BREATHY NOISES OR FARTS.

CAPTAIN: For Christ's sake, man, hold your wind!

HOBBES BLOWS AGAIN.

CAPTAIN: I said hold your wind, man, for Christ's sake!

HOBBES: I'm trying to blow the Reveille, sir!

CAPTAIN: Well if you want to blow it, blow it!

HOBBES: I'm a bit short of breath, sir!

CAPTAIN: Why is that?

HOBBES: No lungs, sir.

CAPTAIN: Oh for heaven's sake! Seargent Briggs!

BRIGGS LEAPS OUT FROM UNDER HIS SHEET AND STANDS TO ATTENTION. HE HAS NO ARMS.

BRIGGS: Apologies for not saluting, sir!

CAPTAIN: Never mind that, Briggs! Get the men on parade!

BRIGGS: Yes sir!

BRIGGS KICKS OUT HOBBES AND ROBBINS. HOBBES' CHEST IS RIPPED TO BITS AND HE IS MISSING HIS HEAD. ROBBINS' EYES ARE BANDAGED.

BRIGGS: Your head, Hobbes, your head!

HOBBES GOES BACK UNDER THE GROUND AND EMERGES WITH HIS HEAD ON.

HOBBES: Sorry, sarge!

BRIGGS: Never leave home without it, Hobbesy!

HOBBES: Yes, sarge!

BRIGGS: Attention! My God, what's happened to Robbins?

HOBBES: He's reverted to childhood, seargent. Again.

BRIGGS: (TO ROBBINS.) You horrible little man! Hobbes -

BRIGGS STANDS IN FRONT OF HOBBES SO THAT HE CAN BE HIS ARMS.

BRIGGS: Salute!

HOBBES SLAPS BRIGGS IN THE FACE.

BRIGGS: Watch it – watch it!

HOBBES: Sorry sarge!

BRIGGS: Sa – lute!

HOBBES SALUTES.

BRIGGS: Bugle -raise!

HOBBES RAISES BUGLE TO BRIGGS'  LIPS. BRIGGS BLOWS REVEILLE, OR SOMETHING LIKE IT.

BRIGGS: Nothing wrong with my lungs!

HOBBES: Where's the Captain, sarge?

BRIGGS: He's dead, Hobbes!

HOBBES: Eh?

BRIGGS: Hahahahaha! Captain, are you alright?

CAPTAIN: I need a little help, Briggs.

BRIGGS: Hobbes, help the Captain!

HOBBES: Yes sir!

HOBBES GOES UNDER THE GROUND (TARPAULIN?) GROPES ABOUT, PULLS OUT A LEG.

BRIGGS: That's not good enough, Hobbes!

HOBBES: That's all I can find, Sarge!

BRIGGS: Have another look!

HOBBES GROPES UNDERNEATH, FETCHES OUT SOME TRIPE.

BRIGGS: Oh put it back, Hobbes, put it back!

HOBBES: I can't do it, Sarge!

BRIGGS: What's the matter with the Captain? Captain, are you alright?

CAPTAIN: I can't seem to pull myself together, Briggs.

BRIGGS: Never mind, we have a fair part of you, we must satisfy ourselves with that.

HOBBES PUTS THE CAPTAIN'S LEG DOWN IN FRONT OF THE OTHERS.

BRIGGS: Salute!

ROBBINS AND HOBBES SALUTE.

BRIGGS: Men, today is Memorial Sunday. The remembrancers turned out, this afternoon, old and young, to show their respect. Now night falls and it's our turn. It would be atrocious if we failed to play our part, and carry out our own parade, in memory of ourselves, here in this hallowed spot. We are amongst those few, those very very few, those quite few, those pretty few. Those rather many. So we must do our very very best, though everything's a bit of an effort, when you're dead.

HOBBES HAS WANDERED OVER TO THE MEMORIAL.

HOBBES: Look Sarge, my name's on this!

BRIGGS: Yes Hobbes, still there, same as last year!

HOBBES: Look – it says, 'To the Glorious Dead.' That's me, that is!

BRIGGS: Hobbes, not even death could make you glorious. Get back in line you filthy scrap of rotting flesh, before I have you cremated!

HOBBES: Yes, sarge!

HOBBES GETS BACK IN LINE.

BRIGGS: Quiet! Now, since the Captain is somewhat indisposed -

CAPTAIN: Hush!

STACEY-LONGTHORPE LEAPS OUT FROM HIS GRAVE. HE IS BADLY PUT TOGETHER, MISSING HIS LEG AND ONE ARM, AN EYE, GUTS HANGING OUT, SHIRT BACK TO FRONT AND SO ON.

ROBBINS: Sir, sir, sir!

CAPTAIN: What is it, Robbins?

ROBBINS: Please can I have an ice cream?

CAPTAIN: You forget yourself, Private Robbins! And that is the reason for this Memorial Parade! Yes! A year is too long! We must drill more frequently. Otherwise we just –

BRIGGS: Glad to see you on your foot, sir!

CAPTAIN: Give me that!

BRIGGS HANDS HIM THE LEG. HE GOES UNDER THE GROUND, FUMBLES ABOUT, AND EMERGES WITH BOTH LEGS, TUCKING IN HIS GUTS AS BEST HE CAN. THE OTHERS SHOUT HURRAH AND CLAP.

CAPTAIN: Attention! Now I want you to remember yourselves, men!

 ROBBINS: Will there be swingboats?

CAPTAIN: Stand to attention!

EVERYONE STANDS TO ATTENTION EXCEPT HOBBES, WHO IS LOOKING AT THE MEMORIAL.

HOBBES: What was my name again?

CAPTAIN: Attention, Hobbes!

HOBBESS: I am paying attention.

CAPTAIN: You may be dead, Hobbes, but you're still a British soldier! Stand to attention!

HOBBES: British what?

CAPTAIN: I can have you Court Martialled for this! You could face a firing squad!

HOBBES: Let them shoot.

CAPTAIN: Things are falling apart, Briggs!

BRIGGS GROWLS AND BARKS AT THE MEN, WHO GET BACK INTO LINE.

CAPTAIN: I want you to remember yourselves, men! That is the meaning of this! Think things over – recall – that you gave your lives – yes, that’s the phrase. In this grassy patch of France in which we – of Italy – where – this African field shall we say in which we - they were not taken, but given – ‘here you are, have my life, take all of me, you need me more than I do!’ Remember yourselves, my boys! Because in a moment we are going back into the ground, but we will return, won’t we, next year and every year, to recall – that we were given – that we gave – that – never did we turn a blind ear to our country’s call, never, though the shades grow long, and the darkness quickens, and they shall grow old who only stand and wait, but in the very thicket of – remembrance – neither shall they sicken – but – youth – everlasting – we shall carry on the fight against – forgetting – because, if we do not remember ourselves, how can we blame the generations, the generations – who never knew us very well, at all – and so at the going down of the soon, and in the grievening, we shall never –

BRIGGS: Three cheers for the Captain! Hip hip -

MEN: Hooray!

BRIGGS: Hip hip –

MEN: Hooray!

BRIGGS: Hip hip –

MEN: Hooray!

BRIGGS: Hip hip –

MEN: Hooray!

BRIGGS: Hip hip –

MEN: Hooray!

BRIGGS: Hip hip –

MEN: Hooray!

BRIGGS: Hip hip –

MEN: Hooray!

BRIGGS: Hip hip –

CAPTAIN: That will do – that will do – Briggs – amen, amen, as it was in the

beginning, so shall it be in the end, and there shall be no - end – er – as it was in the beginning. Good stuff, chaps! Good men! That’s my boys! Now play the last –

BRIGGS: Post –

HOBBES AND BRIGGS PLAY THE LAST POST.

CAPTAIN: Never in the history – and so – to bed. Never forget!

HOBBES WANDERS OFF.

CAPTAIN: Hobbes! Hobbes! Get back into the – get back into the ground, man! Take cover! The day is dawning!

BRIGGS: I’ll get him back sir!

EXIT BRIGGS.

CAPTAIN: No, Briggs! Let him go! Hobbes is running away – Briggs is prancing after him – over the skyline they go!

ROBBINS: Twinkle twinkle little star,

                     How I wonder what you are!

HE WANDERS OFF, SINGING.

CAPTAIN: Robbins! This is worse than – Dunkirk – Hastings! What shall I do? Abandon my post to go after them?! Come back you men! I can’t – I can’t do it – I have got to stand my ground here in the ground, we bled for this ground! Come back, Robbins! Oh hell, I’ll have to hobble after them! Higgs! Bobs! Ribbons! Ah, what were their names? Twigs! Babes! Baboons! Come back, you – come -

EXIT SHOUTING.

MIRROR

ENTER PRIVATE ROBSON TO OLD GENERAL HARRIS.

HARRIS: At ease, Smith, at ease. Alright?

ROBSON: Yes thankyou sir.

HARRIS: Good man, good man. Well, well, well. What a war, what a war! Frightful! What do you think?

ROBSON: Yes, sir.

HARRIS: Do you really think so, Robson?

ROBSON: Yes I do, sir.

HARRIS: I greatly admire you, Robson.

ROBSON: Thankyou, sir.

HARRIS: Quite extraordinary what you – quite extraordinary. No doubt you are aware.

ROBSON: Yes, sir.

HARRIS: Things have not gone well at all. They could hardly have gone worse. Except that – things have gone just as badly for them.

ROBSON: Good, sir!

HARRIS: Thank God for you, Robson.

ROBSON: Thankyou, sir.

HARRIS: It really is. It really is a privilege for me actually, this.

ROBSON: And for me, sir.

HARRIS: Living proof. Final, actual historical living proof of the spirit of our Armed Forces. You are it. You are it. 

ROBSON: And you, sir.

HARRIS: I don’t know about that. I do know that if it was not for tradition, you could not possibly be standing up like this. It simply would not be possible. All of that – all of that, that is now vindicated. Do you see? The mascots, the parades, the medals and the pips, the so-called trimmings. You could  not possibly. Because you do not feel alone, do you, Robson?

ROBSON: Not at all, sir.

HARRIS: You still feel part of something!

ROBSON: Totally. I know what I am here for, sir! For the Regiment! For the men, sir!

HARRIS: Total vindication. If they could only see! Well I am sure they are aware! There is a great big parade going on up there.

ROBSON: I’m sure of it, sir!

HARRIS: In your honour!

ROBSON: Sir, I just happen to be here.

HARRIS: And will therefore. Do your utmost. Without questioning. Good, Robson, very good. Basically you are the ultimate soldier. You are indeed. You are the last soldier.

ROBSON: Yes, sir.

HARRIS: But the enemy has suffered just as badly! They have sustained, in fact, precisely the same casualties, proportionately. And there is a very good reason for that. They have followed us in everything. You know some of this but not all. After our initial victories, they sought to learn from us – and copied us exactly. We carried on doing what we had always been doing. We did it better and better but we did basically the same thing. They followed every step, like shadows. Mirrored every tactic. Learned our language. Even adopted our uniform and our flag and our constitution. Gave their towns the names of our towns. It worked for awhile, they stopped losing, and slowly drew level. But then, this absolute parity, Robson, this milligram balance, told on both of us. Neither could gain any advantage, each side was slowly worn down. It is now necessary for me to tell you everything, Robson. This is the final piece of information. It’s all out in the open. Christ, I have to tell you, don’t I, I’d be a fool not to. Both they and we are down to our very last man.

ROBSON: It’s me and him then.

HARRIS: That’s right, Robson. But there’s something else. Something perhaps quite difficult to comprehend. Something pretty frightening. Are you ready, man?

ROBSON: Yes, sir!

HARRIS: Their copying, their mimicking of us has been taken to a ludicrous extreme. They have left out no scrap of detail. And the result is this. The enemy soldier you are up against, whom you must strive to kill, or to capture, in order to secure victory – he is in every way identical to you, Robson. Robson is his name, Private his rank. He is your height, he speaks like you and looks like you. Do you understand? They admire you, the survivor, so much, and they are so uninventive they can think of no other way to beat you than to be you. Do you understand?

ROBSON: Totally, sir. We’ve got to get used to this kind of thing. One thing, sir.

HARRIS: Yes, Robson?

ROBSON: When you use the word capture, I question that, sir. I would ask you to exclude the option of capture, sir. I do not want to capture the bastard, I want to kill him. To kill him, sir. You understand. I have lost a lot of friends.

HARRIS: I do understand, Robson, I do understand. I just mean if you sort of capture him by accident. He’ll be shot anyway.

ROBSON: Of course, sir.

HARRIS: Now Robson, I have thought very carefully about this final mission, which after all will bring all warfare finally to its absolute end. This is a mirror.

HE UNVEILS A FULL-LENGTH MIRROR.

HARRIS: The great advantage that they have is similarity. They are banking, of course, on confusion. A man faced with himself might not shoot. Might instinctively hesitate. The enemy might say something like, ‘Hello mate, alright?’ before he shoots you in the guts. But there is no such thing, Robson, as total exactness in these matters. No fake, however brilliant, is the same as the original. He is not you, Robson. Now what I want you to do, before you set out, is to sit in front of this mirror for twenty-four hours. Alright? We do not know ourselves as well as we think. We do not know the back of our hand like the back of our hand. Even the most narcissistic only glimpse at themselves, relatively speaking. Not you now, Robson. You have got to study yourself. Learn your face. Get such a powerful grip of your difference that when you see him you think – No, not me at all, other, entirely other, strange, foreign! That flicker of the eyelid, that angle of the cheek -  not me, not me, not me, not at all! Kill it! Kill it!  Can you do that, Robson, can you do that?

ROBSON: Yes, sir!

HARRIS: Then sit. The entire history of the army rests on you, Robson. Sit. Look. Look well. Look deep. They are up there, every one of them, watching. Not just the Regiment you knew, every generation of the Regiment right back to its first fight. Alright? Vindicate them, Robson. Win this victory. Look hard. Look deep.

END.