Read No Laughing Matter Online
Authors: Angus Wilson
No Laughing Matter (43 page)
The article, in fact, was inevitably conjectural, and its effect was not helped by editorial disagreement with its pessimistic forecasts. But when, later, the full scale news of the purge broke his reputation was considerably enhanced. True, he was unable to report any of the subsequent trials first hand, and even his most anti-Fascist speeches were coolly received by party members in the audiences, but he was among the first to receive a top assignment from the
News
Chronicle
when the Spanish war broke out. Above all, this double row with authority, first, like everyone else with Germany, then on his own with Russia, gave him a greatly renewed vigour, an increased energy which seemed to him to be reflected in sexual potency – but that was probably just superstition.
*
At about the time when Quentin and Sally Sloman, art student and declared supporter of the CP (she never actually got round to asking for a card) were resting after their second orgasm, Regan was knocked down by a taxi in Victoria Street, up towards the Westminster Abbey end. She said later that it come at her sudden from behind out of the darkness like a blow from the Heavens; but the taxi driver
said the old girl swerved off the pavement like she’d been knocked off with a hammer, and he couldn’t brake in time. Whether, as the doctor thought possible, she might have swerved as a result of a slight stroke remained uncertain, for her injuries called for prior attention – she had suffered concussion, a broken wrist, multiple bruising and a wound in the thigh that required five stitches; she was also very drunk. She was taken to Westminster Hospital. Her absence from 52 provoked an immediate crisis that was only settled temporarily when Marcus arranged a three months ‘cruise for his parents to the Canary Islands and to the Cape; and when all six of the Matthews children combined to send Regan for convalescence to Hastings after her discharge from hospital. As her sister Em said, thinking of the monstrous series of Regan’s Saturday visits that had before the accident seemed only likely to end with life itself,’ that taxi was a Dispensation, really, for she’d got too old to be so lively.’
An
English
play
Scene:
the
back
garden
of
No.
52,
the
house
of
Mr
and
Mrs
William
Matthews,
a
warm
late
September
morning
in
1935.
CLARA MATTHEWS,
a
smartly
dressed
woman
of
about
sixty,
is
seated
in
a
deck
chair
under
a
plane
tree
whose
leaves
are
turning
yellow.
A
rickety
garden
shed
is
weighed
down
by
a
vast
overgrown
Russian
vine
which
has
clambered
over
the
wall
into
the
next
garden.
For
the
rest,
the
garden
consists
of
weeds
which
throughout
the
act
periodically
shed
their
seeds
in
the
breeze
(this
may
be
effected
by
means
of
bellows
blown
off
stage)
and two
or
three
cane
gar
den
chairs
and
a
garden
table
in
the
last
stages
of
desuetude.
The
back-cloth
represents
the
back
facade
of
the
house,
from
which
a
central
door
opens
out
into
the
garden
down
a
small
flight
of
steps.
Intermittently
the
scene
is
punctuated
with
whistles
of
trains,
screeching
of
brakes,
hooting
of
motor
buses
and
the
noise
of
cats
fighting.
MRS MATTHEWS
is
writing
a
letter
with
her
back
to
the
audience.
Although
her
figure
is
young,
when
she
turns
to
face
the
audience
we
see
that
a p
air
of
youthful,
glowing
dark
eyes
look
out
from
athin ravaged face
almost
clownishly
disguised
with
makeup.
CLARA MATTHEWS
[
calling
]:
Billy! Billy! [
No
answer
comes
from
the
house
and
Clara
Matthews
gets
up,
when we see that h
er
movements
are
agile
and
young.
She
is
fashionably
dressed,
only
h
er
greying
shingle
stamps
her
with
the
previous
decade.
She
calls
again
]:
Billy! Billy! [
A
middle
aged,
rather
beery
looking
woman
puts
her
head
out
of
the
door
.]
WOMAN
: Ees barthin isself.
CLARA MATTHEWS
: Bless his heart! He loves his long morning baths! He gets inspiration in them, you know, Mrs Hannapin.
MRS HANNAPIN
[
uncomprehendingly
but
darkly
]:
Ah! [
after
a
pause
] Lady Alice Montague Douglas-Scott. That’s her name. Ah, well, it’s better than foreigners, isn’t it, mum?
CLARA MATTHEWS
: Oh, nonsense, Mrs Hannapin. Princess Marina has wonderful style. [
She
sits
down
and
MRS HANNAPIN
comes
down
into
the
garden
to
gossip.
On
further
appearance
she
proves
to
be
a
slummocky,
heavily
breathing
fat
woman
in
a
dirty
old
apron
and
a
woollen
hat
that
seems
like
a
dead
cat.
]
If they had their way the poor boy would have to queue in the mornings for his bath. And my
dear little garden! Where would we get that again in London? Has that Miss Whatshername gone?
MRS HANNAPIN
: Oh, yes, mum. And the taxi man didn’t arf grumble, carryin all that luggage down.
CLARA MATTHEWS:
‘Do we dress for dinner?’ I ask you! I expect they sat down in full evening dress to half a cutlet each at the bishop’s palace. Bishop’s daughter indeed! Miss Gladys must be off her head! I can just imagine the sort of cheeseparing we’d have suffered. As well as the airs and graces! She’d only been here one afternoon when she said that we didn’t need cut flowers as well as chrysanthemums in pots. I didn’t say anything, Mrs Hannapin, I couldn’t. For my own daughter to send me someone who doesn’t love flowers!
MRS HANNAPIN
: She took those chrysanths you done in Miss Stoker’s room and throwed em away. She said the water wasn’t ealthy. ‘Don’t worry, love,’ Regan told er, ‘I never drinks water.’
CLARA MATTHEWS
[
laughing
down
the
scale
]:
Of course! silly fool! She would get as good as she gave from Regan.
MRS HANNAPIN
: Well, mum, she didn’t understand er. Or
pretended
not to. I don’t know which. Not that I understand Miss Stoker too well these days. Not now er mouth’s all gone crooked.
CLARA MATTHEWS
: Oh, nonsense! I understand every word dear Regan says. The same dear old clown, she is! And they imagine we could live in this house without her! But you’re all the same. You all exaggerate that accident. If it hadn’t been for Mr Matthews and me the poor old thing would be buried by now.
MRS HANNAPIN
: It’s not the accident, mum, it’s the stroke she ad at Astings that done it.
CLARA MATTHEWS
: Hastings! How any children of mine could have been so mad as to choose Hastings. I knew before I opened the letter. There’s something very psychic about the atmosphere of Cape Town. We were staying at the Mount Nelson. It’s so charmingly situated under the Mountain. And the view over Table Bay! The native boy always put fresh chicherinchees on my dressing table. Oh, I wish you could have seen those
chicherinchees
, Mrs Hannapin! Though they’re not as beautiful as my dear old Russian Vine. Miss Margaret used to call it the snow vine when she was a little girl. She’d already inherited her father’s pen, you know. As if I could live without my Russian Vine! [
She
pauses
and
sighs.
As
she
seems
to
have
the
lost
the
thread
of
her
dis
course,
MRS HANNAPIN
feels
it
necessary
to
comment.
]
MRS HANNAPIN
: Ah! Dear old 52. I said to my usband the other day, for all that I’ve only been goin in daily for two years come March at Mrs Matthews, I feel as though I’ve known that ouse a undred years.
CLARA MATTHEWS
: You’ve been very loyal to us in all our
tiresome
upsets. Of course August was far from the month for Cape Town. Quite cold winds at times.
I
’
d
never have arranged to go there at that time. But Mr Marcus would have it. He’s in the smart set now, but that is not the same as being travelled. I know because my dear old Aunt Mouse was a
real
traveller! Do you know that ridiculous woman would have it that the piece of rock from Sinai came from Ararat! And there it is labelled in my dear aunt’s own hand. Just because her father confirmed a lot of little boys with sticky heads in Jordan water or something. But I’m not going to get angry about her. She’s gone. And, where was I? Oh yes, such charming people – Sir George Latham who’d been Governor of St Vincent and Mrs Harcourt-Wemyss who was quite an old friend of the Duchess of Buccleuch. And – so amusing – Renée Lamont – you remember she starred in
Going
Up
and all those pretty shows – she lives permanently at the Mount Nelson now. But when I saw that letter on the breakfast table something told me. I said to Billy, ‘The children have done something silly.’ I couldn’t eat my paw-paw. There was always paw-paw for
breakfast
. And there it was – a letter from Mister Quentin to say they’d all got together and sent Regan to Hastings! To Hastings! I was nearly frantic. With that buoyant air and the cliffs! Of course I wasn’t a bit surprised when we got the news at Las Palmas that she’d had this stroke. How is she getting on with luncheon?
MRS HANNAPIN
: Well er legs drag somethin terrible and then all them grunts and groans. It’s ard to know whether she’s in pain or not.
CLARA MATTHEWS
: Good Heavens! no. All those grunts and groans as you call them are just Regan. Oh, dear, I don’t know what I’d do without them. Those and Mr Matthews humming round the house. Heavens! There’s eleven striking. Do pop down to the kitchen Mrs H. and make some coffee, there’s a dear. I’ve got my three daughters coming. Quite an occasion! Although
I’m afraid Miss Sukey and I are going to have words. Interfering with Regan’s family life like that. But there you are – a
schoolmaster’s
wife. I don’t see her often, but she’s got very bossy. [
As
MRS HANNAPIN
moves
indoors,
MRS MATTHEWS
calls
her
back.
] Oh, just before you go. What do you think of Mrs Sankey’s work? Is she thorough?
MRS HANNAPIN
: Oh, I wouldn’t like to tell stories out of school, mum.
CLARA MATTHEWS
[
grandly
]:
And I shouldn’t want you to. But you and she are working as a team now and it’s only right that I should know how you find her work.
MRS HANNAPIN
: Well, she does er best. But of course I appen to know er ome circumstances. It’s not only that Mr S. is in one job today and out the next. But there’s the son …
CLARA MATTHEWS
[
delightedly
preparing
herself
to
hear
gossip
]: Ah, now, what about that famous son of hers?
MRS HANNAPIN
: Well, if you arsk me, ees a nasty piece of work. My usband … [
But
a
ring
on
the
bell
interrupts
them.
]
CLARA MATTHEWS
: Oh dear! That must be one of the girls! And I was so interested. But another time. Go and answer the bell, will you? And hurry the coffee up.
[
After
MRS HANNAPIN
goes
out
MRS MATTHEWS
gets
up,
picks
up
a
handful
of
gravel
from
the
path
and
with
surprisingly
youthful
agility
throws
it
against
one
of
the
first
floor
windows.
The
sash
window
goes
up
slowly
and
the
still
handsome
and
boyish
but
now
very
lined
and
red
face
of
her
husband
WILLIAM MATTHEWS
appears
,
his
grey
curly
hair
dripping.
]
WILLIAM
MATTHEWS
[
singing
loudly
]:
And we’ve fought the bear before and we’ve fought the bare behind, and the Russians shall not take Constantinople. We don’t wan’t to fight…
CLARA MATTHEWS
: Billy! Billy! What will the neighbours say? [
But
at
the
idea
of
the
neighbours
he
pulls
a
solemn
parsonical
face,
and
they
both
burst
out
laughing
.]
Oh Billy! You’re impossible. One of the girls has arrived already. What will they think? You don’t want to appear lazier than you are. Still in the bath and the morning half over. And, oh, Billy, it’s so beautiful out here in our dear garden. The Russian vine’s still a mass of flower and the plane tree …
[
As
she
speaks
her
eldest
daughter
GLADYS MATTHEWS
,
a
fortyish
woman,
handsome,
well
proportioned,
in
a
black
suit
with
a
silver
fox
fur
over
one
shoulder,
appears
at
the
back
door
.]
GLADYS MATTHEWS
: Who on earth’s that terrible old creature who answered the bell, Mother? All the faces seem to be changed these days. Where’s Miss Agnew?
CLARA MATTHEWS
: Oh, my dear Gladys, she didn’t do at all. I dare say she’s very good at harvest festival and that sort of thing. But neither your father nor I have ever been churchgoers. No, I should take her off your books, dear, if I were you. Just look at our old plane tree, Gladys. Do you remember how Rags used to chase the leaves at this time of the year? Some people think autumn a sad time, but I’ve never felt that. To me it’s always been a coming home time. All those holidays with old Granny M. at Cromer, everything so stiff and formal, all you children hushed at the least thing – how glad we all were to get back. I used to have a phrase for it – we’ll loosen our stays. That was in the days of stays. [
She
calls
up
to
the
window.
]
Do you remember, Billy? Loosen our stays? Billy! Billy! [
But
Mr
Matthews
has
shut
the
window
again
.]
GLADYS MATTHEWS
: No, I can’t say I do. I always enjoyed myself at Grannie’s. Anyway what are you sitting in the yard for? And what do you mean you’ve sent Miss Agnew away?
CLARA MATTHEWS
: Just that, dear. Sent her away. Oh quite politely. Anyway I think she saw as well as I did that it would never do. She’s a semi-evening, dear. And I could never fit in with that class. For me it’s either real evening dress or any old thing that’s comfortable.
GLADYS MATTHEWS
: Really Mother, this is not a question of clothes. I was trying to get you a first rate housekeeper to take everything off your hands now that Regan’s no longer with you.
CLARA MATTHEWS
: Oh, but she is, darling. Your father and I went down to Clapham two days ago and fetched her back in a taxi.
GLADYS MATTHEWS
: You’ve brought her back here?
CLARA MATTHEWS
: Where else, dear? This is her home.
[
While
they
are
talking,
MRS ROOTHAM
–
MARGARET
MATTHEWS
–
has
appeared
in
the
doorway.
Tall
and
thin,
she
has
already
developed
her
own
individual,
eccentric
manner
of
dressing
at
thirty-five.
Her
high
black
turban,
shaped
like
a
chefs
hat,
has
magenta
tulle
hanging
from,
it
–
forerunner
of
the
snoods
to
come
–
Her
long
black
Indian
lamb
coat
has
a
military
cut.
She
wears
magenta
gloves
.]