Complete Poems and Plays (36 page)

[D
ENMAN
enters
to
draw
the
curtains
]

A
MY
.
Not yet! I will ring for you. It is still quite light.

I have nothing to do but watch the days draw out,

Now that I sit in the house from October to June,

And the swallow comes too soon and the spring will be over

And the cuckoo will be gone before I am out again.

O Sun, that was once so warm, O Light that was taken for granted

When I was young and strong, and sun and light unsought for

And the night unfeared and the day expected

And clocks could be trusted, tomorrow assured

And time would not stop in the dark!

Put on the lights. But leave the curtains undrawn.

Make up the fire. Will the spring never come? I am cold.

A
GATHA
.
Wishwood was always a cold place, Amy.

I
VY
.
I have always told Amy she should go south in the winter.

Were I in Amy’s position, I would go south in the winter.

I would follow the sun, not wait for the sun to come here.

I would go south in the winter, if I could afford it,

Not freeze, as I do, in Bayswater, by a gas-fire counting shillings.

V
IOLET
.
Go south! to the English circulating libraries,

To the military widows and the English chaplains,

To the chilly deck-chair and the strong cold tea —

The strong cold stewed bad Indian tea.

C
HARLES
.
That’s not Amy’s style at all. We are country-bred people.

Amy has been too long used to our ways

Living with horses and dogs and guns

Ever to want to leave England in the winter.

But a single man like me is better off in London:

A man can be very cosy at his club

Even in an English winter.

G
ERALD
.
                                  Well, as for me,

I’d just as soon be a subaltern again

To be back in the East. An incomparable climate

For a man who can exercise a little common prudence;

And your servants look after you very much better.

A
MY
.
My servants are perfectly competent, Gerald.

I can still see to that.

V
IOLET
.
                         Well, as for me,

I would never go south, no, definitely never,

Even could I do it as well as Amy:

England’s bad enough, I would never go south,

Simply to see the vulgarest people —

You can keep out of their way at home;

People with money from heaven knows where —

G
ERALD
.
                                              Dividends from aeroplane shares.

V
IOLET
.
They bathe all day and they dance all night

In the absolute
minimum
of clothes.

C
HARLES
.
It’s the cocktail-drinking does the harm:

There’s nothing on earth so bad for the young.

All that a civilised person needs

Is a glass of dry sherry or two before dinner.

The modern young people don’t know what they’re drinking,

Modern young people don’t care what they’re eating;

They’ve lost their sense of taste and smell

Because of their cocktails and cigarettes.

[
Enter
D
ENMAN
with
sherry
and
whisky.
C
HARLES
takes
sherry
and
G
ERALD
whisky
.]

That’s what it comes to.

[
Lights
a
cigarette
]

I
VY
.
                                      The younger generation

Are undoubtedly decadent.

C
HARLES
.
                                 The younger generation

Are not what we were. Haven’t the stamina,

Haven’t the sense of responsibility.

G
ERALD
.
You’re being very hard on the younger generation.

I don’t come across them very much now, myself;

But I must say I’ve met some very decent specimens

And some first-class shots — better than you were,

Charles, as I remember. Besides, you’ve got to make allowances:

We haven’t left them such an easy world to live in.

Let the younger generation speak for itself:

It’s Mary’s generation. What does she think about it?

M
ARY
.
Really, Cousin Gerald, if you want information

About the younger generation, you must ask someone else.

I’m afraid that I don’t deserve the compliment:

I don’t belong to any generation.

[
Exit
]

V
IOLET
.
Really, Gerald, I must say you’re very tactless,

And I think that Charles might have been more considerate.

G
ERALD
.
I’m very sorry: but why was she upset?

I only meant to draw her into the conversation.

C
HARLES
.
She’s a nice girl; but it’s a difficult age for her.

I suppose she must be getting on for thirty?

She ought to be married, that’s what it is.

A
MY
.
So she should have been, if things had gone as I intended.

Harry’s return does not make things easy for her

At the moment: but life may still go right.

Meanwhile, let us drop the subject. The less said the better.

G
ERALD
.
That reminds me, Amy,

When are the boys all due to arrive?

A
MY
.
I do not want the clock to stop in the dark.

If you want to know why I never leave Wishwood

That is the reason. I keep Wishwood alive

To keep the family alive, to keep them together,

To keep me alive, and I live to keep them.

You none of you understand how old you are

And death will come to you as a mild surprise,

A momentary shudder in a vacant room.

Only Agatha seems to discover some meaning in death

Which I cannot find.

— I am only certain of Arthur and John,

Arthur in
London, John in Leicestershire:

They should both be here in good time for dinner.

Harry telephoned to me from Marseilles,

He would come by air to Paris, and so to London,

And hoped to arrive in the course of the evening.

V
IOLET
.
Harry was always the most likely to be late.

A
MY
.
This time, it will not be his fault.

We are very lucky to have Harry at all.

I
VY
.
And when will you have your birthday cake, Amy,

And open your presents?

A
MY
.
                                   After dinner:

That is the best time.

I
VY
.
                                 It is the first time

You have not had your cake and your presents at tea.

A
MY
.
This is a very particular occasion

As you ought to know. It will be the first time

For eight years that we have all been together.

A
GATHA
.
It is going to be rather painful for Harry

After eight years and all that has happened

To come back to Wishwood.

G
ERALD
.
                                     Why, painful?

V
IOLET
.
Gerald! you know what Agatha means.

A
GATHA
.
I mean painful, because everything is irrevocable,

Because the past is irremediable,

Because the future can only be built

Upon the real past. Wandering in the tropics

Or against the painted scene of the Mediterranean,

Harry must often have remembered Wishwood —

The nursery tea, the school holiday,

The daring feats on the old pony,

And thought to creep back through the little door.

He will find a new Wishwood. Adaptation is hard.

A
MY
.
Nothing is changed, Agatha, at Wishwood.

Everything is kept as it was when he left it,

Except the old pony, and the mongrel setter

Which I had to have destroyed.

Nothing has been changed. I have seen to that.

A
GATHA
.
Yes. I mean that at Wishwood he will find another Harry.

The man who returns will have to meet

The boy who left. Round by the stables,

In the coach-house, in the orchard,

In the plantation, down the corridor

That led to the nursery, round the corner

Of the new wing, he will have to face him —

And it will not be a very
jolly
corner.

When the loop in time comes — and it does not come for everybody —

The hidden is revealed, and the spectres show themselves.

G
ERALD
.
I don’t in the least know what you’re talking about.

You seem to be wanting to give us all the hump.

I must say, this isn’t cheerful for Amy’s birthday

Or for Harry’s homecoming. Make him feel at home, I say!

Make him feel that what has happened doesn’t matter.

He’s taken his medicine, I’ve no doubt.

Let him marry again and carry on at Wishwood.

A
MY
.
Thank you, Gerald. Though Agatha means

As a rule, a good deal more than she cares to betray,

I am bound to say that I agree with you.

C
HARLES
.
I never wrote to him when he lost his wife —