A play in one act
Richard Homer
© Richard Homer 2008
Cast of charactersGWEN c 40, a worker in a butcher’s shop
GWYN c 19, her son, just finishing secondary school
IEUAN c 17, her second son, finishing lower secondary school
GERAINT c 50-55, the father and husband, a worker in a factory warehouse
The play takes place in the present time.
Opening music:
Closing music:
At rise: The afternoon in the sitting room in Gwen and Geraint’s house, with coffee table, three arm chairs, sofa, book, trophy cupboard, painting, bookcase; on the table, newspaper, magazine, mug or two. Gwen is in one armchair, with a mug of tea, looking at a magazine. Quiet pop music on the stereo, Gwyn enters.
GWEN: Hi there, how are you? You finished school early this afternoon.
GWYN: No, usual time, but I was in the library reading, doing a bit of research. You’re early, though. Why aren’t you at work?
GWEN: Because I got the afternoon off. I got a bit of the morning off too, there wasn’t much happening, so the manager said I could go home, and I did just that. I didn’t want to hang around waiting for someone to suggest work for me, the manager might change his mind, so out I came, quick. I worked overtime last weekend, didn’t I?
GWYN: Come again? Oh, yes, that’s right, Mum, I’d forgotten.
GWEN: Turn the music off, there’s good boy. That’s better.
GWYN: I can hear you now. What are you reading?
GWEN: Woman’s Own; I don’t buy it every week, but I enjoy it now and then. It says here Shirley Bassey’s releasing another single. That’ll be good, must get that. It’s a bit expensive, but I’ll try to find the money. It’ll be worth it with her, I can tell you. What’s wrong with you now?
GWYN: Nothing’s wrong; it just that it depresses me when I see how little money there is to go round, especially at the end of the month.
GWEN: Right, next time, I won’t mention anything. But as we’re on the subject of money, welcome to the real world; we’re no different from many of the people around here, they’re all tight for money. At least we got this place, even if the mortgage has another twenty years to run. Keep your fingers crossed that your Dad doesn’t lose his job. Then we’d be in a right pickle.
GWYN: I know. Well, I don’t know, but I get the idea. What’s for dinner tonight?
GWEN: Our regular – fish and chips from Jones’, the same as we always get on a Friday evening. What’s the time, by the way?
GWYN: Four forty.
GWEN: It’s later than I thought; I lose track of the time when I’m reading.
GWYN: You want me to go and get them? I’ll pop out if you want. You can keep on with your magazine in here.
GWEN: No, you fool, it’s too early. Wait another hour or so. No point in getting fish and chips and then eating them cold, they’re horrible then.
GWYN: I wasn’t going to get the now, Mum; I was offering to get them for you, you know like run an errand for you, that sort of thing. I’m not daft enough to get them an hour before dinner when both Dad and Ieuan aren’t here. What do you take me for, a complete idiot?
GWEN: I’m sorry, my love, I didn’t mean it that way. No, you’re a bright boy, and I’m proud of you. That’s interesting; there’s this woman who became captain of one of these big planes, carrying passengers. I expect she got connections, though. You can’t be a captain of a plane without connections, that what I think.
GWYN: Maybe she was well qualified; plenty of women fly these days.
GWEN: In that case, how come I don’t see them on the box? Every pilot I have seen is a man. The man who crashed the plane at Heathrow a few months ago was a bloke and the captain was too.
GWYN: Well, if he was a bloke, he must be a man, and he didn’t crash it, he stopped it from crashing.
GWEN: Well, in the photograph I saw in the newspaper and the film on the box, it didn’t look like a complete plane to me; one of the wheels came off.
Gwen drinks tea, keeps on reading. Gwyn looks around, doesn’t know what to think.
GWEN: Right; how was your day, did you have a good time.
GWYN: The same as usual; of course I had a good time there. You know I like going to school. I’m one of the few that seem to enjoy work. To me, study is interesting. I don’t think of homework as work. It’s like a hobby.
GWEN: Yeah, we know that. But just studying isn’t going to get you a well paid job.
GWYN: You keep reminding me, Mum. Oh, we got our examination timetable today; we begin on the 20 May, and finish on 2 July. The papers I’m taking are quite nicely spread out, and I get the three tough ones early on, too. I’m pretty pleased with it. The Science practicals are first. They’re the ones to get out of the way. You make a mistake there, and you’re finished. You can’t erase anything, as you can in an essay, or change the answer. You mix in the wrong things, or heat them too much, and bang goes your result. If you’re not careful, it might go bang in real life colour, too.
GWEN: That’s good, then, isn’t it? Oh, I must read that later; it’s to do with getting a second bank account. Right, I suppose you’re still thinking about going to university, are you? I know your dad’s not to keen on that. He, like me, doesn’t see the need for it. You want to get a job round here, find a nice girl and settle down. Going to university now is expensive, and you’ll be saddled with a debt hanging round your neck like a concrete block for the next four or five years, that’s what I heard from people and what I read in the newspapers. Years ago they gave you a grant or something; now, you get the cash yourself; borrow from the bank or something. It was different years ago; it was different then. That’s what I think.
GWYN: Yes, I know what you and he think, but I think different. I want to go to university to study science; what, I’m not sure yet. I really want to see where my strength is before I commit myself. I think it’ll be life sciences, though. That’s my main area of interest.
GWEN: I can’t help you there, I don’t know enough about it, or going to university. I didn’t have the chance, and if I had, I wouldn’t have gone. University people are such bloody snobs too. You see them round here, strutting round as if they own the place. You try to talk to them and they don’t want to know you. It doesn’t bother me because I don’t want to know them.
GWYN: That’s a bit of a general comment to make. How many university people do you know? When do you mix with them? You don’t go to the union or any of the places the students go.
GWEN: Watch it, boy; don’t mock me.
GWYN: Come on, Mum, I’m not. I’m just asking how many university people you know to give you that idea that they’re snobs and don’t talk to you..
GWEN: Try walking round the city centre in the evening; you’ll hear plenty of snobbery then. I’m doing this course, I’m doing that course. They think they are high and mighty because they got a university scarf or something like that. They got enough free time too to hang round the bars and the pubs too. Bloody bone idle most of them are.
GWYN: That’s nonsense. Most of the people I know aren’t like that every night; maybe the weekend they go out. If they were like you said, most of the academics in this country would be alcoholics by now. Most of the ones I know, and others I have heard about, spend their time reading, writing, in the lab, the library; that’s exciting, and that’s what I want to be doing this October.
GWEN: You want to talk to your brother; he can give you some good advice.
GWYN: Is that all you can think about? Asking Ieuan’s advice on education is like asking the butcher about baking, or vice versa. He couldn’t care less about school, you know that.
GWEN: No one likes school, that's a fact. But he’s a sensible lad with a good brain between his ears; he’s not that interested in study, that’s all. He will do well for himself, make no mistake. he can get a good trade, and be earning a bigger wage than you in some white coat in a lab somewhere, getting poisoned or irradiated or whatever happens in those places; bloody dangerous line of work. Going back to your point though about school; you ask most of the youngsters round here, they’d drop out in a jiffy if they could. School’s a waste of time for most of them; I read about the teaching these days; there's no discipline, and half the things you learn are useless. What’s the point of French or… or… or…
GWYN: Or what? You can argue anything can be a waste of time if you look at things that way. You can get by in life with about two years of secondary education; you can manage, but you’re limited in what you can do. I’m ambitious, I want to –
GWEN: You’re a big head and a daydreamer, boy. You get back down to earth, see the sense in getting a job this July or August, and begin to earn money. That’s the most important thing for you, get that straight. In the old days, you’d be going down the mine with your father and the rest.
GWYN: One, the old days are gone; that’s why they’re called the old days, something that seems to be lost of many people. Two, I can’t imagine Dad going down a coal mine. The work would be too dirty and hard for him. He’s not exactly nature’s gift to exercise, is he?
GWEN: You be careful what you utter to me about your father, boy. He’s a good man, solid, reliable, and moral.
GWYN: Yeah, I have noticed his reliability in the morning after a few jugs down the pub. I heard they buy him a beer for lunch if he clocks in on time.
GWEN: That’s enough. You’re a horrible boy sometimes to talk like that. Your father’s the gentlest, most caring man I have met.
GWYN: How many have you met then?
GWEN: Don’t be funny with me.
GWYN: Talk of being gentle; he’s about as gentle as a bull in the proverbial china shop. That’s when he’s had a few beers, of course; any other time he’s too timid to take on anyone the same size, or bigger.
GWEN: What are you trying to imply about your father?
GWYN: I’m not trying to imply about anything; I’m implying that he’s good at being angry with people smaller and weaker than he is. That, he can handle. Put him up against someone bigger, and he doesn’t want to know.
GWEN: Are you suggesting he’s a coward? He’s a bigger man than you’ll ever be. He’s done something with his life too. He’s the assistant manager in the work area, and that don’t come easy, get that. You’ve got to be good at your job to get that.
GWYN: That I would agree with you; he’s done quite well in that way. Mind you, it’s taken him thirty years to get there, but better late than…
GWEN: Watch it, you little parrot. I’ll tell him when he gets in and he can take it from there.
GWYN: It’s hopeless trying to talk to you lot. You just don’t understand my position. I just don’t want to be in a fu…factory here in the valleys for the next forty years, that’s it.
GWEN: You’re ignorant, and ignorant because of fancy educational ideas getting you above your place, and your place is here, not where some ponce teacher thinks you can go because getting to university makes him look a good teacher, so he can get extra money.
GWYN: That’s not true; you can’t see it my way, or don’t want too.
GWEN: I see it the way I always seen it, boy, and for me and all the others around here, money is number one; you need a job to get money. You go to university and you’ll end up with, what is it, fifteen thousand pounds in debt? You need your brain looked at. No one in their right mind would do that.
GWYN: In that case, I’m not in my right mind, am I?
GWEN: You take my advice, well, our advice. Forget about studying, get a job and get some money under your belt. I better go and lay the table. You want another cup of tea, boy?
GWYN: No thanks, Mum.
GWEN: Right…oh, that must be Ieuan. Is that you, my love?
Ieuan enters, carrying school bag
IEUAN: No, it’s me, Mum! Hiya, how are you?
Ieuan kisses Gwen
GWEN: That’s what I mean; the three of you are ‘my love’ to me. How was your day in school? Your brother here has his timetable, he’s happy about that.
IEUAN: Yeah, well he would be. That’s what these so called brain boxes think about – study, exams, going to school, the library. What a bore. You want to get a real life, Gwyn, get yourself a decent girl, not that skinny creature you talk to in –
GWYN: You watch it, boyo. I’ll bloody talk to whom I want to. I like Kerin, she likes me, we work well together, we get good marks, what’s wrong with that?
IEUAN: What’s right with it? You look like a pair of weirdoes, going round together, holding a book, making notes; why don’t you behave like a normal bloke? Get out and enjoy life.
GWYN: I am enjoying life; I’ll mix with who I want to, not who you think is a suitable partner, right?
IEUAN: Oh, touchy, aren’t we?
GWYN: No, we don’t like interfering little brothers with nothing better to do than complain about and criticise others, that’s what we are. You mix with your type of people, I’ll mix with mine. She’s a good girl, very nice, and I like her, that’s it. We have the same kind of interests too. Maybe we’ll try for the same university too.
GWEN: Gwyn, Ieuan’s just joking, you’re too sensitive, don’t take things serious like. Who’s the girl, not that it’s my business…it is my business; she might be having my grandchildren who knows what might happen.
GWYN: Come on; we’re pals in school, we enjoy each other’s company, and we work together in science practicals. What wrong with that? I’m not interested in a family yet. I’m only nineteen, for goodness sake.
IEUAN: Have you gone to bed with her yet?
GWEN: Ieuan! Don’t be rude. That is none of your concern, boy. Well, have you?
GWYN: Brother, piss off, mind your own business; mother, that’s my business, but the answer’s ‘no’, okay.
IEUAN: I knew it. You haven’t got the guts to ask her.
GWEN: That’s enough, Ieuan. I think your brother, whatever his many useless attributes, if that’s the right word, is quite able to go to bed with some young woman. I mean, you’re not gay, are you, Gwyn? I hope you’re not. I don’t know what they’d think in the pub and the fish and chip shop if you were gay. It would be embarrassing for your Dad and me; we’d be laughed at every time we went out. You’re not gay, are you?
GWYN: No, mother, I’m not. If I were, I wouldn’t hang out with Kerin, would I?
GWEN: Right, I’m off to lay the table. Ieuan, you can go with your brother and pick up the fish and chips later, when your Dad’s back home.
Gwen exit
IEUAN: What kind of name is Kerin, anyway? It sounds like a disease.
GWYN: Yeah, well listen good, little mutton brain brother; Ieuan in English sounds like urine, doesn’t it?
IEUAN: Who told you that?
GWYN: No one, just try listening to it.
IEUAN: I’m going to tell Mum about you. Mum, he just insulted me; he said my name is …yeah, what are you looking at?
GWYN: Nothing, I was just thinking that if word gets around that people begin to think your name sounds like…then you are going to be pretty embarrassed, n’est-ce pas?
IEUAN: What’s ‘nessy pah’ mean?
GWYN: It means you’re a fool, that’s what. It’s Spanish for idiot, Swahili for moron, get it?
IEUAN: Bugger you; you think you’re such an ear wig.
GWYN: You want to wash your mouth, little boy. You should pay attention to your schoolwork, not what other people are doing in their free time. You might get into trouble.
IEUAN: Oh yeah, with who?
GWYN: With whom.
IEUAN: Yeah, I’d like to see it. You couldn’t take on one of the form three, wimpy.
GWYN: Wimpy, oh, what imagination. I don’t want to ‘take on’ anyone. I want to study, to get good marks, and clear off out of this place to university where I can continue my education, enjoy myself and get a job that pays a decent salary, but is a job I enjoy; I like using my brain. You don’t have one to use. That’s the difference between you and me. Get it in there, in the mess or mass between your ears, they’re the things there and there, good boy, he’s got manual dexterity too, register it on the Internet, click ‘don’t erase’, and then I don’t have to repeat myself again ad infinitum. What fun you are to be with, Ieuan.
IEUAN: Are you making fun of me? I’ll take you on.
GWYN: One, of course not, Ieuan. Who would want to waste a nice few minutes trying to make fun of you, and two, you don’t have the brains to take me on.
IEUAN: You annoy me, and I’ll get some of my mates; they play rugby. They can take you, or anyone else, apart. Some of them were going to be called up for an international trial; these boys are tough, you better get it. They’re tough, not like some little prick like you, a science boy with a scraggy girl thinking about going to university. They can rip you apart. I seen what they did to the form two’s a couple of weeks ago.
GYWN: They take on form two, and they are form four and five; bloody heroes, picking on little kids. Why don’t they try someone their own size? Going for a Wales trial? Get lost, you little jerk; they couldn’t find their way to the Arms Park, let alone play the game. The only international trial they might come up against would be in a law court. You and your mates, bloody pathos in living colour, full stereo, and as yet able to move without the aid of compute programmed input. Way hey, what a fucking bunch of grade one, zero intellect, useless pillocks you hang around with..
IEUAN: You watch your bloody mouth, I’m warning you. You’ll get your comfort…your com…your comimgupp…
GWYN: Comeuppance.
IEUAN: Right, you’ll get it one day, soon, in the near future, near now, not far away, like near now, know what I mean, right?
GWYN: Grow up, you little prick. Most of your mates can’t be bothered to get out and do any exercise; when they do, they kick a rugby ball and throw it to each other. That is not playing rugby. That is playing around with a ball. Ask anyone in kindergarten; they do it all the time, and at least they can catch the bloody thing most of the time. Your crowd couldn’t differentiate between the two teams playing. Oh, the white team is, um, er, what’s its name, oh, yeah, England, and the other one, um, er, isn’t, oh, that’s right, they’re our team, what’s the name of this country, I forget, what’s the first letter, can you give me a clue…Bloody cretins. Tell them to use their brain, they think you’re talking about the beer.
IEUAN: You…you…you…I’m going upstairs, and I’ll have something to tell when I come back. You wait.
GWYN: Check the dictionary.
IEUAN: What for, why do I need a dictionary?
GWYN: You might find ten words in it you can use. Try the monosyllables first; they’re not so tough to learn, okay? Bye.
IEUAN: Ha, funny boy.
Ieuan exit, doorbell buzzing
GWYN: Oh, Gwyn, you can be a heartless bastard, you can. Poor old Ieuan, I’m not angry with you; I feel sorry for you, pal. You get led astray by the others; you won’t listen to good advice. You’re going nowhere, boy, I see it coming. You’ll end up spending the rest of your life here doing nothing, wandering around, half unemployed, unable to hold down a decent job… Oh, hi, Dad, how are you?
Geraint enters, with Gwen
GERAINT: Hi, how was your day, okay?
GWYN: Fine, I got my timetable. We have the science practicals in the first week.
GERAINT: The sooner the exams are out of the way the better; then you can begin to look for a job, get some money. You can’t expect your mother and me to keep paying for everything. We’re on a limited budget here; you know the mortgage takes up a huge chunk of our wage. There’s not a lot to go round, you got to know that.
GWYN: I do; I hear it everyday. But you have enough to go to the pub every night of the week, then Sunday lunchtime too.
GERAINT: Watch it, boy, don’t give me any lip, okay?
GWEN: I don’t think he’s trying to rude, Geraint; I think he knows the situation, the money and all that.
GERAINT: Just as well, otherwise you’ll be getting the rough end of my fist, you got that?
GWYN: Thanks, Dad; I’m so proud to have father like you. You get this straight too; you lay one finger on me, and I’m down to the police making a report. You know the law; you lay a finger on me, and you’re off to the Bridgend hotel for three years, and bang goes your mortgage, and bang goes this house. Don’t forget that.
GERAINT: You cocky little bugger. Where did you find that out? Who told you?
GWYN: It’s called education; that’s what I learn, that’s what happens when people know their rights. Fifty years ago you could have beaten the living daylights out of me, and I couldn’t have done a thing, because people in those days didn’t know the law, and even if they did, the law didn’t help them that much. Things are different now, very different.
GERAINT: If I could thump you one, I would, right now.
GWEN: Cool down, love; cool down, both of you.
GWYN: Well you would; it’s the kind of man you are. Get in an argument, lash out. I would have thought you’d have learned your lesson a few years ago; the little bloke in the pub, the one you thought was a pushover, someone you could bully, but it turned out he was ex Army, combat veteran or something, made a mess of your eye, didn’t he? You forgot about that?
GERAINT: You shut up. This is my house, and you’ll do what I tell you to do, get that?
Ieuan enters
IEUAN: What’s going on? What’s up with the shouting?
GWEN: Nothing.
IEUAN: It must be something because Dad’s right worked up –
GERAINT: Your mother said nothing, so there’s nothing, get it?
IEUAN: There’s no need to be –
Geraint grabs Ieuan by the collar
GERAINT: I said nothing, get it? Nothing.
GWEN: Put him down, love and come and have a cup of tea. Your father’s had a hard day, boys, he’s a bit stressed, I think.
GERAINT: I’m not bloody stressed, get it? I’m just pissed off with bloody la-di-dah boyo here, who thinks he can push me around, that’s the problem. You don’t like it here, you bugger off and find your own place, okay. It’s my place; you follow what I want to do, when I want to do things, right? I SAID IS THAT RIGHT, ANSWER ME, YOU LITTLE BUGGER.
GWYN: No problem, I’ll give my notice now. I’ll move out tomorrow.
GWEN: Your father doesn’t mean that, Gwyn.
GERAINT: You shut up, you bloody interfering woman. I make the rules here, right.
GWEN: I’ll make a nice pot of tea.
GERAINT: I don’t want any bloody tea; bring my beer, now
GWEN: Um, alright, love, you sit down and I’ll get your drink.
Gwen exit
GERAINT: What are you looking at, you little moron?
IEUAN: Nothing.
GERAINT: Get out and bring the fish and chips.
IEUAN: They don’t open for another fifteen –
GERAINT: I couldn’t care less when they open, I didn’t ask you when they open, I told you to get out and get the dinner, that’s what you do, get it?
IEUAN: Yeah, okay. Gwyn, are you coming?
GWYN: Right, I could do with some fresh air. It stinks around here.
GERAINT: Get out, you little horror. Make sure you put a decent splash of vinegar on my chips, make that a double chips for me, I’m hungry, bloody hard day in the factory. You don’t know what work is like, you two. Go on, get out and get my bloody fish and chips, and don’t be all day getting them. You hear?
IEUAN: Yeah, I hear.
GWYN: We’re going. Come, Ieuan.
Gwyn and Ieuan exeunt
.
GERAINT: Bloody people. I don’t know why people want to upset me. I get it at work, I get it at home, I get it at the rugby, I get it in the pub. Bugger the lot of them. I hate this bloody place. I hate the bloody people, well, not everyone, but about fifty percent. Horrible little –
Gwen enters
GWEN: Here you are, love. There, a nice, cold lager from the fridge; you drink that, you’ll feel a bit better, my love, okay?
GERAINT: I asked you to get a beer; that’s lager, isn’t it? Now go and get me a beer, I don’t want lager; if I wanted lager, I would have bloody asked for it, wouldn’t I? You think I’m an idiot, that I don’t know the difference? Why is it when I ask for something, I get the bloody opposite, or something different; why I it a problem to follow simple instructions? I don’t get it. Oh, leave it, it’s too much trouble, Give it here.
GWEN: There you are. You’ll feel better with one of those in you, love. You’ll see.
GERAINT: I’ll feel better when I got a dozen of these in me. That’s better, yeah. Bring me another.
GWEN: You want the same or shall I get a beer –
GERAINT: Just get something, it doesn’t matter, get the same, no, wait, that’ll do for now.
GWEN: Right you are. How was your day, love?
GERAINT: Horrible, and then to come home to that big head and his talk of education makes me sick.
GWEN: You were proud of him in the early years, weren’t you?
GERAINT: Aye, that was before he got high and mighty, and began to look down on us. One of the managers today had a go at my group, told us our work wasn’t up to scratch like, said we’d have to restack the whole row again.
GWEN: What happened?
GERAINT: I dunno; something to do with the numbering on the boxes, the low numbers got to be at one end, the high numbers the other so they can keep track of stock, something like that. It’s bloody complicated; anyway he had a mouthful from us, I can tell you.
GWEN: What? You were shouting at the management, I hope not.
GERAINT: No, it was behind his back, after he’d gone; one of these bloody foreigners that are over here now, a Pole or Bulgarian I think. Why they want to employ people like that when there are loads of Welsh without work. It makes me sick. This bloody country’s going to the dogs, no, it’s gone to the dogs; they let anyone who wants to come in, come in. Half the native population here are out of work, and they employ foreigners, because they’re cheaper. They’ll pay one day, mark my words, they’ll pay.
GWEN: Who’ll pay? Are you talking about the foreigners or the people who let them in?
GERAINT: The people who let them in, of course. You can’t, in all honesty, blame the foreigners, they’re looking for work, the same as we are; it’s the government I blame. They’re loaded, they are; big salary, big expense account, free transport, huge pension, inflation linked, what ever that means; they make me puke.
GWEN: It means their pensions increase with the cost of living; prices go up, pensions go up…for them, of course. They do okay, don’t they? You read about the Speaker in the paper? I don’t know what the Speaker is, or what he does, but he’s important, and he wears real old clothing, like from a couple of hundred years ago.
GERAINT: Yeah, I read that, and I saw the picture; what a bloody joke, He is using taxpayers money…well, they all are, aren’t they? They use the taxpayers money so they can get free transport and stuff like that, that’s what they do, don’t they?
GWEN: You’re right there, Geraint. They’re horrible, most of them; there may be a couple that work hard, but I think most of them are in it for what they can get.
GERAINT: What a bloody shambles, this place. Hey love, get that beer. You want one too?
GWEN: Yeah, I think so; see, you’re a bit cooler now, aren’t you?
GERAINT: I always am when you’re around, you know that. You’re good for me, love, and good to me, too.
GWEN: Yes, I know, and I feel the same about you too, sweetheart. I’ll go and get another beer for you, and try to keep your temper in check with the boys; they’re a nice pair, be gentle with them. Well, Gwyn’s going off the rails a bit with the talk of university, but –
GERAINT: You don’t mention that, love. That gets me going again.
GWEN: Right, I’ll get another one for you.
Gwen exit
GERAINT: Go gentle on them, some bloody chance. They look down on me, and maybe on you too; we’re not high class enough for the big one with his bloody books. Where did going to university and borrowing books get teachers? They’re not that well paid. Most of them want to leave teaching; I mean, it must be a bloody daft job to go into if half of them want to leave it; you think a new person thinking about teaching would look around and think that, well, if so many are getting out of the profession…ha, a right word to use for that shower, too…if they thought about why so many are getting out, if they had any gumption, they’d give the work a miss, get something better with bigger money; that’s what I would be thinking. I don’t know anyone with a degree with any real money. What about doctors or dentists? I suppose they’re okay, but they’re quite useful in the community like, they do something, like take care of you and pull your teeth out and give you an injection now and then. What use are politicians? If you closed the Parliament down, most people wouldn’t notice a thing. You might find that the place worked better. You could make the Houses of Parliament a tourist attraction; then the building would do something useful, rather than being a bloody talking shop for the rich.
Gwen enter
GWEN: Here you are.
GERAINT: Thanks, love, cheers. Ah, that’s better.
GWEN: What were you moaning about just then? I didn’t get all of it. What are you closing, or what is closing?
GERAINT: I was just remarking that if you got rid of politicians, most people wouldn’t notice and the place might run better.
GWEN: You’re right; useless bunch of wasters, wasting taxpayers’ money, most of the time.
GERAINT: That’s my point. I think it would be better to make it a tourist attraction. Get some tourist money in the country. What are you thinking about?
GWEN: I’m thinking that I care about you.
GERAINT: I know you do, you’re a wonder, you are. I’m happy you’re with me, and not with some other bloke.
GWEN: Me, too.
GERAINT: How was your day then? You got a day off work, isn’t it? You told me something last night, but I forgot about it.
GWEN: That’s right. A nice break from being in the shop from nine thirty to four thirty, trying to be polite to the customers, trying to pretend that I’m interested if they want a pasty or a chicken pie or a couple of slices of cheese, whatever. The way they talk you’d think that’s their main interest in life, what they had for their dinner. They ask you if the stuff is local, is it genuine meat, are they made at home etc. Who cares? Well, I suppose they do, because they ask these bloody fool questions; maybe that’s the main thing in their life, their food and where it comes from. Bloody peculiar people they are; they are like modern hippies, that’s how I think of them. They got their little bags, baskets, looked like they were made in India or on a Eskimo national park or somewhere, they got trendy clothes in a way, but I wouldn’t want to wear them. They look a bit out of the ordinary. You recall when we went to Hay on Wye those years ago, just for the afternoon, one summer?
GERAINT: No, where’s Hay on Wye?
GWEN: The book town, full of bookshops and cafés, and odd ball people.
GERAINT: Oh, that place, yeah, bookshops isn’t it? Near Brecon, that’s where it is, near there; bloody miles from anywhere.
GWEN: Right, the people who come in the shop, well, a few of them, quite a few of them, maybe half of them, are like the people we saw in Hay on Wye. They’re nice enough, but not like the people you and I mix with; I think they go to the theatre and things like that. I can’t picture them sitting in a pub for the night; they’d have nothing to talk about, at least, nothing interesting.
GERAINT: You may be right, but what’s boring to us might be interesting to them and vice versa. You can’t criticise them for what they like, can you, love? They’ve got a right to do what they what to do, the same as us; what I object to, and most of the people I know object to, is subsidising their expensive hobbies, like opera and ballet. Now, I like watching dance on the box, ballet’s a bit too formal for me, but if they like it, that’s okay with me, but don’t expect me to pay for it; they want it, they pay.
GWEN: That’s okay with me too. I didn’t mean to sound too harsh on them, as I said, they’re nice enough and polite, it’s just they talk funny, you know what I mean? But I agree, why should they, the government, whatever, use our tax money to support minority interests like opera and stuff like that. They don’t support pubs or sports centres, do they?
GERAINT: You’re right there. The upper echelons, if I can put it that way, get what they want; we get nothing, bugger them. You know there are special licensing laws for clubs, different to a pub? That’s not playing right.
GWEN: One rule for the rich, one for the poor. When was the last time you read about a footballer or pop singer getting taken to court, and when they are, they’re let off. They can pay for a good lawyer, you see; we can’t. If you or I were up in court, we’d be put away. That’s what happens to the poor, the ordinary people. I hate this place, this country.
GERAINT: The country’s okay, I like it here, it’s the rules and regulations, the government, the interfering in our life that I object to.
GWEN: That’s what I meant; I don’t hate this place itself, it the situation we’re in, that’s what I object to. The place is pretty; you look over there towards the west in the evening, and see the setting sun on the hills, and the houses glinting, or in the winter when there’s a layer of snow or frost, it’s picture postcard imagery. I like the place, yes, I like the place. It’s our home, isn’t it?
GERAINT: Yeah, you’re right there, girl, you’re right there. It is a pretty part of Britain, or the UK or whatever the name of the country is now.
GWEN: I saw a programme on the box this morning after I got up, about an orchestra. The conductor stopped conducting or whatever they do, and walked away.
GERAINT: What for? I thought that’s what they get paid for.
GWEN: No, it was an experiment. He walked off, but the orchestra continued playing, they were good, didn’t need the conductor, you see, well, not for a short time.
GERAINT: Yet another useless job, another waste of money. I don’t see why we, the taxpayer, should subsidise the pleasure of the rich. If they want to go and see a concert with classical stuff in it, fair enough, but don’t use my tax money to pay for it.
GWEN: They’re expensive to run, these orchestras. You think about it; there are a hundred odd players –
GERAINT: As many as that?
GWEN: Yes, about that, the one down the road, what is it, the NoW it’s called, the National Orchestra, are about a hundred, about that. Well, work it out. If they get just a thousand a month, they need one hundred thousand a month just to pay the wage bill; that’s excluding the other expenses they got. It takes a lot of money to keep one of these outfits going; taxpayers’ money, of course. We seem to get nothing for it; the street lights don’t work, crime is out of control, the health facilities here are like the third world, that’s what a couple of nurses have told me, the horse’s mouth and so on. But rest happy, the opera will be on during the winter; the OAPs don’t have enough money to heat their place, but who cares, who cares now in this country?
GERAINT: Yeah, I suppose so. I’m sure, is what I mean. That’s another example of how the rich get richer; they don’t have to pay the real price because the ordinary person gets hammered for tax, gets nothing in return, and the rich get what they want. I’m not surprised there’s such a strong republican movement in this country.
GWEN: You think there is, you think many people think like that?
GERAINT: I’m bloody sure of it. You read the newspapers; you think that everyone in the country is pro monarchy, apart from a tiny minority. That’s the story you get, the impression. But you talk to anyone around here, and being honest about it, how many people do you or I know that want it to continue? I don’t think it’s just around here, either. I haven’t met one person that likes the way things are at the moment. Well, okay, maybe one or two, but the overwhelming majority would vote for a republican kind of thing. I bet that’s what’ll happen the next time in Australia.
GWEN: Yeah, I think you’re right. I know people who have relatives there, and they think it’s ridiculous that the head of the country doesn’t live in the country. They’ll get a change, though. I imagine it will happen in time in New Zealand and Canada, too. You know, most countries in Europe don’t have king or queen. I think that’s right, that’s the case now. I know some of them got kicked out years ago.
GERAINT: The French did it a couple of hundred years back. I think it’ll happen here. Enough of intellectual argument at the moment; my brain’s getting tired, and I’m getting peckish; where are the fish and chips? Those two have got lost on the way back. The big one might have cleared off to the library or something. He’s the type that would, just to let the fish and chips get cold and yucky.
GWEN: Come on, they’re not that bad, or that dumb! How would he take fish and chips into the library? They wouldn’t let him in with them.
GERAINT: I know; I just wish they’d think about getting a job, and getting some money, getting a girl and getting a place of their own.
GWEN: Come on, they’re teenagers, Geraint. It’s too soon for that!
GERAINT: Yeah, I know. Not about getting a job, though, they both need that.
GWEN: Why don’t we talk about it some other time, okay?
GERAINT: Right you are. I’m tired, well, a bit. What’s on the box tonight, anything interesting? Oh, there’s the rugby. What have we got this evening, let me have a look? Are you in tonight, or pubbing?
GWEN: I might pop out with the girls from work, Sue and Bridget, and pick up Maria on the way.
GERAINT: Maria? Who… oh, from the beauty centre? Ah, right. She’s pretty.
GWEN: You make that comment about all the girls.
GERAINT: Do I? It must be force of habit. Where are you going, the ‘White Hart’ or ‘The Bridgend’?
GWEN: There’s some live group on at the ‘White Hart’, so we’ll try that. A group from Hereford, or Worcester, I think, somewhere over there.
GERAINT: Okay.
GWEN: How about you, where are you going tonight?
GERAINT: I don’t know at the moment. I might watch the rugby on the box; yes, here it is, Gloucester and Wasps, that’ll be a good game, they’ll get a full house for that.
GWEN: Who’ll win?
GERAINT: I imagine Gloucester will, they’ve got home advantage, and that counts a lot for them, but it’s going to be a close game. Yeah, I think I’ll do that. How many beers in the fridge?
GWEN: Three or four; why don’t you pop out and get a couple of packs?
GERAINT: That’s a good idea; I’ll pick up some after dinner.
GWEN: Right, I’ll go and lay the table… No, you idiot, you done that already. I forgot. You want another beer?
GERAINT: No, not for now; make a pot of tea, will you?
GWEN: Right you are; one pot of tea coming up.
GERAINT: No, leave it, I’ll have another beer. No point sobering up this time of the evening.
GWEN: Right you are; I’ll have one myself; time to be a bit warm.
GERAINT: You’re a lovely girl, Gwen; I do love you very much, you know that.
GWEN: Yeah.
Gwen kisses Geraint, hold hands for a moment. Gwen exit, Geraint reads paper, finishing the beer
GWEN: out Here are the boys with the fish and chips. Where do you want to eat, in here or in there?
GERAINT: I’ll have mine here.
Puts paper away, Gwyn and Ieuan enter with a plate each, Ieuan with a can of beer, Gwyn with
two.
GWYN: They look nice. I’m hungry. Here’s your beer, Dad. This one’s for me.
GERAINT: Ta, boy.
IEUAN: Me too. I mean I’m hungry, and this beer’s for me.
GWYN: You use too much salt; it's not good for you. You get high blood pressure with too much salt.
IEUAN: That’s rubbish, who told you that?
GWYN: I read about it in Biology. It’s called Nutrition; means what we eat, to you.
GERAINT: You can’t believe everything you read in a book. The way to learn is through life, practical things, useful things. Books by themselves are useless, no good to anyone.
IEUAN: That’s right, Dad’s right.
GWYN: You are incredibly narrow minded; you need to get out and read things, get away from you own little world of joking, hanging around on the corner, smoking, talking about football.
IEUAN: What do you mean, my ‘own little world’? Don’t be so bloody rude. I have my interests; you have yours. I have no interest in books, you likewise have little interest in what I get up to.
GWYN: That’s not true. I care about you; I can see where you’re going wrong
IEUAN: That’s rubbish; you couldn’t care less what I get up to.
GWYN: Suit yourself.
GERAINT: When did you become an expert on caring about people?
GWYN: I didn’t mention being an expert. He’s my brother; I keep an eye open.
GERAINT: You’re a fine one to talk. You can’t take care of yourself yet.
GWYN: Please yourself.
GERAINT: Yeah, I will; it’s my house and I’ll do as I please in the place, and if I tell you something, you’d better do it.
GWYN: Right.
Gwen enters with two plates.
GWEN: There you are; they look good. Mr Jones does a good job with them.
GERAINT: Ta; yes, he does. He’s got a good little business there, makes decent living too. Ieuan, you could ask him if he needs someone to help out. You’d get a bit of money. If I had the capital, I wouldn’t mind opening a fish and chip place. Gwyn, how about you? You’re through with school in a couple of weeks time; go and ask him if he can give you a job.
GWYN: No thanks; I have other plans for the summer.
GERAINT: Oh, not good enough for you, is it? Mr High and Mighty doesn’t like to mix with them sort of people.
GWYN: I don’t want to work in a fish and chip shop. I’d find the work boring. I want some mental stimulation.
GERAINT: Bloody pathetic you are. You take a job for the money; that’s the number one thing you think about.
GWEN: Your father’s right, Gwyn. You can walk to work there, no transport problem, no expense. Mr Jones would give you lunch, too. It would be a good place to work; he’s a nice man, too.
GERAINT: That’s a good point, love. I hadn’t thought of that. Yeah, free fish and chips, that’s not bad. I wouldn’t mind a free lunch everyday.
GWEN: Me, neither; we have to pay for ours. I don’t get much off when I buy meat there, either. They knock off ten percent, I think. Generosity, that’s them.
GERAINT: Yeah, bugger the workers; we make money for them, they turn around and give us two fingers.
IEUAN: That’s right. These companies screw the workers; that’s what Mr Preece told us in Citizenship class the other week. He said that the capitalists take everything, and the workers get nothing.
GWEN: Well, he’s right there.
GERAINT: Good man, that’s my type of teacher; tells the students the truth.
GWYN: He’s an idiot. It’s people like him in a school that push people away.
IEUAN: No, he’s not. He’s brilliant. Our class like him, so he must be okay.
GWYN: If your class like him, that means there’s something wrong.
GERAINT: Cocky little bugger, aren’t you? Who are you to tell us who’s a good teacher and who isn’t?
GWYN: Ieuan just told you he’s brilliant. I disagree; I don’t like the man. He’s a hypocrite.
IEUAN: What’s hypocrite mean?
GWYN: A person that does the opposite of what they tell people they do, like politicians round here.
GWEN: How do you know that?
GWYN: Know what, the politicians or that Mr Preece is a hypocrite?
GWEN: Yeah, that one, the second one.
GWYN: He goes on about workers’ rights, exploitation, and hardship etc, talking as if he knows some thing about being a worker, but he comes from a rich family. he went to a public school, Oxford or Cambridge, has a nice place in the suburbs, bought a better car than anyone round here has, goes to Europe on holiday twice a year; you want to give over. He knows nothing, not the first thing about hardship.
GWEN: That’s not important. He can have an opinion, like anyone else.
GERAINT: You’re right there, love.
IEUAN: Yeah, she’s right there.
GERAINT: ‘She’ is your mother, boy.
IEUAN: Yeah, sorry.
GWYN: How many people you know have an apartment bought for them when they go off to college? Yes, I thought so, zero. Well, Mr Preece got one from his father, who works in the Stock Exchange. Not what one would call a working class family, is it?
IEUAN: He’s a good bloke, though. He’s the most popular teacher in the school, by a long way.
GWEN: Why’s that?
IEUAN: He doesn’t give homework; he jokes in class, and we get good marks.
GWYN: You’re an idiot.
GERAINT: You don’t talk to your brother like that, boy. I won’t have it in my house, is that clear?
IEUAN: Yeah, I have my own opinion.
GWEN: He put forward a good argument.
GWYN: I don’t think so.
GERAINT: You wouldn’t. You’re too cocky by half, boy.
GWYN: I’m entitled to my opinion, the same as the rest of you.
GWEN: That’s true.
GERAINT: What makes you think you’re opinion is better than anyone else?
GWYN: I don’t.
IEUAN: Yes, you do; you got that reputation in the school. You’re a bookworm, like that girl you hang out with.
GWYN: That girl doesn’t belong to me. We get on well together. We might try for the same university too.
GERAINT: That’s all we need, talk of university. Why don’t you get it into your brain that getting a job and getting money is better? Why waste three years of your life pissing around in a university?
GWEN: Your father’s got a point there, Gwyn. You’ll end up in debt, too. I read somewhere that new graduate are fifteen thousand pounds behind when they finish. That’s what I read that somewhere, Geraint, I read it somewhere, but I forget where, Fifteen thousand pounds in debt, think of it, I read about it in the newspaper I did, I read about it, fifteen thousand pounds, oh, it makes me ill just to think of it. I feel sick; I need a gin and tonic.
GERAINT: Your mother’s right. I know a couple of people where I work who went to university and said they regretted it. They don’t earn any higher wage than the rest of us. It’s a complete waste of time. One bloke studied French or something, and said his ‘uneducated’ pals…I think he was joking like, like painters, decorators, electricians etc were getting better money than him. You want to take good advice.
IEUAN: I might try to become an electrician. You don’t get dirty and they get good money. Get the wiring in place, screw in a few sockets, things like that. It’s a piece of cake; I seen them at work. You got a few tools, a roll of wiring, and some overalls; then you get to work.
GWEN: Go for it boy. You’d make a fine electrician; I can see it on your little van, your name and phone number. You’d be famous round these parts then; one genuine home-grown electrician. You’d have to do this place free of charge though, coz I’m your Mum, and you got to give me a special rate. Then when you’re working, I’ll cook you lunch.
IEUAN: That’s brilliant. I think I’ll try that. Yeah, Ieuan the Electrical Man, that’s me.
GERAINT: That’s brilliant, a good idea. You could set up your own business, get a small van, and a bag to carry your tools etc. That’s what you could do, a good idea, boy.
GWYN: You must be joking; to become an electrician, you need a licence. You get that by passing an exam. There are loads of things you have to study and unlike schoolwork, you can’t make a mistake. Well, you can make a mistake, and then you’re either injured, and with electricity, you can get a bad injury, or you’re out of business, out of a job.
IEUAN: Why I’m out of a job?
GWYN: Because you make a mistake in someone’s house, they might get electrocuted, and that means you’re in court; you might, if you make a mistake, set fire to the bloody house, too. You also end up in court. An electrician is a responsible and tough job. You seem to think you write ‘electrician’ on a van, pull on your overalls, pick up the nearest bit of wire, away you go, and that’s it. It’s quite a tricky job to do, there’s the danger too. You’d end up electrocuting yourself, Ieuan.
IEUAN: That’s it; put me down again. You do it all the time. You think I can’t do it, I can’t do anything. Well, gum brain, I can if I want to.
GWYN: The person that puts you down is you; you expect people to think you can do something when you do nothing in reality apart from hang around wherever you can find space, and chat and laugh with your mates who are on the same intellectual band as you i.e. a very narrow one.
IEUAN: I don’t get you.
GWYN: If you don’t get that, how on earth are you going to read the plan for electrical work in a property, read the technical manual, work out the Mathematics of the job etc? You need to wake up.
GERAINT: Keep off him; he’s not a fool, like you. You’re no brilliant mind either.
GWYN: You think Ieuan isn’t a brilliant mind then, Dad? You’re suggesting that, aren’t you?
GERAINT: What are you going on about? What do you mean?
GWYN: You just told me I’m not brilliant, too. Too means also, therefore, as you were referring to Ieuan first, and then me, you mean that he’s the same as me, i.e. thick. Therefore, you are implying Ieuan’s not too bright. You get it?
GERAINT: No, I don’t. I think you’re trying to make fun of me, and that, in my house, I don’t like, you get it clear.
GWEN: I think they’re both bright, in their own way. They just have different interests, things they like.
GWYN: That’s the understatement of the year.
GWEN: What do you mean?
GERAINT: I know what he means; you don’t mock your mother, boy. I won’t tolerate that.
GWYN: You don’t tolerate much; oh, beer is an exception. You have a certain tolerance for that.
GERAINT: Watch it, boy.
GWEN: I think he’s joking, love.
GERAINT: No, he’s not.
IEUAN: I’m not thick. None of my mates think I’m thick, either.
GWYN: No, they wouldn’t be aware of its presence.
GWEN: What do you mean?
GWYN: Nothing, Mum. It’s too tiring to explain.
GERAINT: You’re pushing the limits of my patience, boy. Take care.
GWYN: We’re talking about simple intelligence. He bought a stereo, when, a few months ago, plugged it in, and the thing blew up.
GERAINT: I didn’t know that.
GWEN: That’s news to me.
IEUAN: Thanks very much.
GWYN: You mentioned electrical work, not me. He spilt water or tea on it, and thought he try to dry the thing out by getting it warm, using the electricity. That’s the way his brain works, or in this case, didn’t work. Bang went to stereo, bang went fifty quid or whatever it cost you.
IEUAN: Twenty quid; I got it second hand from someone I know. You be careful; I’m not an idiot.
GWYN: Try to prove me wrong then. You think you can walk into a trade just like that. The days are gone when you didn’t need a bit of paper.
IEUAN: What paper?
GWEN: He means a certificate, love.
IEUAN: Oh. I can get one of them.
GERAINT: You can, my boy, if you put your mind to it.
GWYN: How are you going to pass an exam when you don’t study?
GERAINT: You read a couple of books, memorise the facts, toss them out in the exam. Anyone can do it.
GWYN: I didn’t know that. I thought you had to work to get it.
GERAINT: You don’t try to be smarty boy with me, boyo. I’m not in the mood.
GWYN: That’s nothing new.
GWEN: What do you mean by that?
GWYN: He’s not in the mood for most things most of the time.
GERAINT: Rubbish. What are you going on about?
IEUAN: Yeah, you lay off Dad, okay.
GWYN: You don’t like most things. You watch the rugby, read the paper, eat, drink beer, go to the pub where you drink beer again, and sleep when you come home.
GERAINT: That’s my business what I do. I got my interests the same as you, except mine are interesting. I mean, ask yourself, what you do most of the time.
GWYN: I go to school most of the time, that’s because I’m a student. I read books there, because I’m a student. I take examinations there, because I’m a student. I want to go to university, because I enjoy being a student. That’s why I go to school, okay.
GERAINT: You don’t push me, boy. You’re not funny, boyo, not a funny boy.
IEUAN: Yeah, you go to school and read books, and books and books.
GWYN: Well done, Ieuan; ‘books’ three times in one sentence, well done, Ieuan.
GWEN: You don’t make fun of little Ieuan here; come here, love, give Mum a kiss. There we are.
GERAINT: You’ll do nothing with your life with books, boy, take it from me. Making books a major part of your life will make you a lonely, inward looking creature; look at the characters you see in the local library. They look as if they’re museum pieces, stuffed and left there for the next generation to look at and wonder about.
GWEN: He’s right, Gwyn. You need a job and proper money, not getting loaded down with a fifteen thousand necklace by the time you're twenty two. Think about it; it’s good thinking.
GWYN: If I were to take everything from you, I’d have left school at fifteen with no qualifications, and be working in some supermarket, or running a petrol kiosk, or frying chips in some grease bar, pouring out coke into paper cups and wiping down the worktop where people have left their left over bits and drink spillage. You think I want to do that with my life? There’s the world out there; it’s big and there’s plenty to do, see and enjoy. That is what I’m going to do with my life, not stuck here watching fu…rugby and drinking warm beer down the pub every night for the next fifty years, so get used to it. Me, I want something else in life.
GWEN: There’s nothing wrong with frying chips. Don’t be so snooty. Mr Jones began frying chips when he as fourteen years old and he’s now near retirement age. He enjoys his work; he’s got a good business, and people like him and appreciate what he has done for the community here. His shop is well-known by everyone in the lower valleys. There was a photograph of him in the South Wales Echo a few years ago when he won the district ‘Top Fish and Chip Bar of the Year’ award; you’re eating quality fish and chips, boy.
GWYN: I’m not being snobbish; I said it wouldn’t suit me. I like Mr Jones and the family. They’re nice people and he’s got a good business and name as you said just now. It’s just that that type of work, lifestyle isn’t me.
IEUAN: Too low class for big brother, is it?
GWYN: No, it’s nothing to do with that, birdbrain. It’s just not interesting enough for me. I want to get out and enjoy life. I won’t be able to accomplish that if I’m behind the counter cooking fish and chips until I’m eighty. I want to enjoy life.
GWEN: Who doesn’t? We all want to enjoy life. Mr Jones goes to Spain or France once a year and they’ve got a holiday chalet in some caravan park in Yorkshire.
GERAINT: Yeah, he got onto a good thing there, did Rhodri Jones. He went into his father’s business, expanded it and brought back the rewards. I admire him; I wish I could have had a business for you two fellows to take over, but my father left my mother when I was three, and she had a struggle to bring me up; the same as many people, I’m not trying to pretend it’s just me, there are many men like me who had to struggle just to get by, and that’s why I want you two to get a proper job and get earning some money so you can get married and settle down with a wife and children, and be happy.
GWEN: Your father's one hundred percent correct there, Gwyn. He’s talking from his own hard experience. We know what hardship was; we don’t have it marvellous now, but at least we got the house and we’re both working. You must look at it from our point of view, and then you’d see that we’re right. We want both of you to be happy, with your own family, not go through what we had to go through. I’m like your father, from a single parent family. It’s no fun. I can tell you.
IEUAN: You tell him, Mum. You tell him what suffering is, then he might change his way of thinking.
GWYN: Why don’t you do the world a favour and belt up, you idiot. What do you know about suffering? You don’t know the first thing about it; the nearest thing to suffering you experience is when you, or one of the cretins you hang around with, can’t get a cigarette.
IEUAN: You watch it, big brother.
GWYN: I have nothing against people working here in whatever capacity they want to; I’m just making it clear that much of the work that one can find here just doesn’t interest me, nor suit me. I want to study science; I want to work in a lab, testing things, finding new things, experimenting, and when I am doing that, I’ll be enjoying it, too.
GERAINT: You listen to him; he talks about enjoying life, and he’s thinking of going to read books in some bloody library for the next three years. Then you’ve got to listen to some boring teacher in a lecture. You must be nuts; I have listened to some of these so called academics on the box when they talk or give you their ‘expert’ opinion. You expect me to think they know very much? Half of them can’t string a couple of sentences together, and they use words most people don’t know.
GERAINT: I don’t think they know what they’re talking about half the time. My goodness, boy, where do you get such bloody pitiful ideas, you got warped thinking, that’s what you got.
GWYN: Maybe.
IEUAN: Not maybe, it’s certain. You want to think about money.
GWEN: Money’s important. I know that from hard experience. We’re not destitute, but we got to watch the money, isn’t that right, Geraint?
GERAINT: Right on, Gwen my love, that’s why we keep on a bit about it, you see, our own experience, not much to spare and all that. That’s why we emphasise money, not that we’re greedy, but we want a better life for you than we got, that’s why.
GWEN: That’s right; we want you to be happy, and being happy means having money.
IEUAN: I agree, I agree with that.
GWYN: That’s your opinion; you’re entitled to it.
GERAINT: That’s generous of you.
GWYN: No, it’s called being polite, something you don’t know much about.
GERAINT: You be careful, don’t play games with me.
GWYN: Right, that’s just what I mean. I argue with you, and then you begin to threaten. That’s typical of people like you here; you argue against them in a rational manner, and then because they can’t argue back with any conviction, they get aggressive.
GERAINT: That’s bloody rubbish. We’re open minded here.
GWEN: Come on, you two. Why don’t we cool down a bit? It’ll be time for the rugby soon, and I’m going out with a couple of the girls from work, and another one from the beauty centre, Your Dad likes her, don’t you? Oh, he’s shy, blushing a bit, are you?
GWYN: I don’t think most people here are open minded; in fact, I’d argue the opposite is true. You’re very conservative in many things. You think about –
GERAINT: You be careful talking about the Conservatives here, boy. No one likes them. They’re the party of the rich and business.
GWYN: I meant conservative with a small ‘c’. Mr Jones is in business.
GWEN: Not that kind of business, your Dad means big business with lots of money.
GWYN: You just told me that Mr Jones has a lot of money, two houses, Europe every year etc. Now what is it? Is he rich or not?
GERAINT: You’re just trying to be awkward. You know what your mother and I mean. Try to be a bit mature for once.
GWEN: Mr Jones is quite rich, but not very rich, and he supports the Labour Party, like us.
GWYN: You mean like you two.
IEUAN: I support the Labour Party too. They’re the party of the working people around here. That’s what Mr Preece told us in school the other day, last week, I forget now. I think the Labour Party is the party for the people here. Most Welsh MPs come from the Labour Party. I know that for a fact; you can read about it. I got a map once of the country and the Labour bits were –
GWYN: The ‘bit’ is a constituency. Please note the fact that you said ‘the working people’. That excludes you then, doesn’t it?
GERAINT: You keep quiet when your brother’s talking politics. That’s typical of you to butt in.
GWEN: Yes, let him finish, love. I like it when he talks politics; local politics here are important to the people here.
GWYN: That’s why it’s called local politics.
GERAINT: You bloody pest; will you give over and stop being so bloody rude to your mother.
GWYN: I’m not being rude to Mum. I was just pointing out that politics that are important to local people is known as local politics, you have the repetition of the word ‘local’, that’s the clue, you get it?
GERAINT: That’s enough, you little monkey. Now keep your mouth shut, from now. Year hear me? Well…I said did you hear me? You hear me? Bloody fool doesn’t answer now.
GWYN: You just told me to keep my mouth shut, so I did just that. Now you complain I don’t answer you. There’s your logical thought in action. Get into an argument, and you get angry and fight back.
GERAINT: I –
GWEN: It’s okay, love. Gwyn, you try to stop provoking your father, okay? He’s had a hard day in the factory, and need to relax a bit in the evening, and the weekend’s here, and we should be enjoying our time, is that right?
IEUAN: Yeah, it’s time to relax after a hard week at school, I can tell you.
GWEN: You got any homework to do tonight?
IEUAN: No, nothing. That’s why I can relax a bit. If I can be an electrician, I’m going to relax at the weekend, too. I don’t mind doing a few hours in the daytime, but in the evening I want to relax with my mates, or go down the pub or play bingo; that’s the way.
GWEN: You forget the bingo for a bit, my pet. You can loose money there; it’s happened to me on many occasions, but I’m cunning; I win it back.
GWYN: How came you be cunning in bingo?
GWEN: I don’t know to be honest, but I try to play with a certain strategy, if you know what I mean.
GERAINT: Well done, my love. That’s the way to play a game. You, I told you to keep your mouth shut. The one thing you can do to get me in a good mood is, when you finish the examinations, you go down into the town and begin to look for work. That’ll make me a happy man. Think about getting some money in your pocket, boy.
GWYN: You think money’s the be all and the end all; I don’t. I think enjoyment is important, very important. You spend a lot of your life at work, so you must enjoy going, otherwise there’s no point. You’re working for nothing except the money, and that isn’t good, not for me.
IEUAN: That’s rubbish; loads of people hate going to work.
GWYN: Why don’t you listen? That’s just what I said. Open your ears instead of your mouth, and you’d do better.
IEUAN: I’m doing okay.
GWYN: That’s it; okay, you’re happy with okay. I’m not. I want to be good, better than just okay. Okay is for losers, like you.
IEUAN: I’m not a frigging loser.
GWEN: Mind your language, my love.
GERAINT: You can’t blame Ieuan for getting a bit uptight. No one wants to be called a loser. But at the same time, it’s better if you try not to swear in front of your Mum, at least in the house; in the pub it’s not so bad, I think. You hear it again and again there. You, don’t be rude to your brother; you began the argument.
GWYN: Me?
GERAINT: Yes, you.
IEUAN: Yeah, you begin the arguments every time. You don’t think about other people and how they feel, how they think. You’re okay so long as you’re with Skinny trying to blow up the Chemistry lab or writing notes together in one of the empty classrooms, or walking in the playground whispering in each other’s ear; people wonder what you see in her, and what you get up to when you’re in the classroom. You know, just the two of you.
GWEN: It’s harmless fun, dear, don’t worry about that. Right, if everyone’s finished, I’ll take the plates out. Here, give me.
GERAINT: Ta, love. Very nice they were, too. I enjoyed them.
IEUAN: Thanks, Mum. They were nice. You’re a good cook.
GWEN: You bought them from Mr Jones’ fish bar, half an hour ago.
IEUAN: Yeah, I forgot. Yeah, we bought them from Mr Jones’ fish bar.
GWEN: You’re a bright boy, Ieuan.
GWYN: I’ll give you a hand, with them, Mum. Come.
Gwen and Gwyn exit
GERAINT: He’s a difficult so and so to be with. I don’t know what went wrong with him. I hate it when he makes fun of you like that; it must be humiliating. I know about that because people used to try to humiliate me, but you got to fight back. I did that, by being a bit aggressive, and it works for me. You must try to do the same thing. You’re a good boy, and I’m very fond of you. You can go a long way, but your brother…who gave him the idea of going to university? I think it’s a bloody waste of three years. Think how much you could earn in that time; let’s think, you put away a hundred and twenty a month, now a young person should be able to do that if they’re living at home, is that about right?
IEUAN: Yeah, I think so; you get five quid an hour, eight ours a day, that makes…how much? Forty pounds a week, is that right? No, that’s wrong, a day, isn’t it.
GERAINT: That’s right, so in a week that’s ...two hundred, times four gives you eight hundred a month. Now, you got to deduct National Insurance and Tax; the tax isn’t too high because you’re on a modest wage; I reckon you’d take home five fifty. You give your Mum a little, and the rest is yours to do as you please.
IEUAN: Yeah.
GERAINT: Right, so you put one hundred and twenty in the bank, after a year that’s…one thousand and something, is that right?
IEUAN: Yeah, I think so, yeah, one hundred and twenty times twelve… that’s right. You can get overtime, too.
GERAINT: Good boy, now you’re thinking like a man. Right, one thousand times three –
IEUAN: Why?
GERAINT: Three years, isn’t it.
IEUAN: Why?
GERAINT: Three is what they take in university.
IEUAN: Right, I get it.
GERAINT: Therefore, you got…three thousand, at least. It’s better than being fifteen thousand or so in debt. That’s my way of thinking.
IEUAN: I agree with you. I’m sick of studying, too.
GERAINT: I don’t blame you, Ieuan. When I was young, I hated going to school, learning loads of rubbish you don’t use again. It’s pointless, a lot of study. You need some of course, reading writing, numbers etc, they’re essential, but what’s the point of doing French or Chemistry unless you want to teach those. I got better things to do with my time.
IEUAN: Yeah, that’s a good way of looking at it.
Gwen and Gwyn enter, with four small plates of apple pie
GWEN: That’s that, all done, out of the way; that’s the advantage of getting fish and chips and eating them on the paper; no cooking, and a tiny amount of washing up.
GERAINT: You hear that, you two. Take your Mum’s advice. That’s intelligent thinking for you.
IEUAN: That’s clever, Mum.
GWEN: Thank you.
GWYN: Yes, a brilliant way of working something out.
GERAINT: I don’t like the tone of that, Gwyn. You're not mocking your mother, are you?
GWYN: Me, no way.
GERAINT: That’s good, or else you’ll get it from me, I can tell you.
GWYN: I warned you.
GERAINT: I don’t like being warned in my house; get that into your brain, boy.
GWEN: Cool it, Geraint. He doesn’t mean it.
GERAINT: I bet he does; he’d put his old man in the jail if he could; I bet you’d do that.
GWYN: I may, if you pushed me.
GERAINT: There, I told you. You little –
GWEN: Come on, that’s enough.
GWYN: One good thing about going away is I don’t have to put up with you all the time. Plus, of course, I get intelligent talk and argument, too.
GWEN: Oh, Gwyn.
GERAINT: There’s gratitude for you. Work like a slave and get kicked in the teeth for my trouble; thank you, boy.
GWYN: I’m not the one who’s threatening physical assault, or practising mental abuse. You are, not me.
GERAINT: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
IEUAN: Nor me. You insult dad, you expect to get hammered; I’ll do the same if I have children. They would learn quick from me. No nonsense, I can tell you. They misbehave, it’s wallop, right there. Children learn that way, from firm discipline, then they know wrong and right, just like me.
GWYN: Yeah, you’re the perfect example. Teach them by thumping them? That, I can imagine. They’ll grow up loving you, too.
GWEN: I think Ieuan would make a good husband and father; I’m sure he would, wouldn’t you? I could look after the babies too…except at the weekend, or a couple of nights in the week when I go out with the girls, but we could work out an arrangement…but we don’t need to worry yet, do we love, because you’re still a teenager…I mean, we don’t have to worry, do we, you haven’t got a girl into anything, have you?
GWYN: quiet He wouldn’t know how to.
GERAINT: What was that?
GWYN: Nothing. I just was thinking I wish I knew how to…go about…I don’t know; just a jumble of things, nothing in particular.
IEUAN: Oh, yeah. Well, I’d be a good father; you’d be too glued to your books to notice you had any children. No, Mum, I haven’t; I want to wait a couple of years before I settle down. I’m not ready for that just yet.
GWEN: You’re right, Ieuan, but Mum’s here to take care of them, when they come. You’ll be a good family man, my boy.
GWYN: Oh, Mum, come on; you’re the most intelligent here, and you think that a man, or in this case a boy, thinks he’d belt his children even before he begins to have a family. That tells you a lot about his personality; people who talk like that…well, the hospital should sterilise them. Why do you think there are so many problems with young people everywhere? They’re not bad, the vast majority, but they are bored in this environment, created by the government, and further neglected by their parents who have no time for them. That’s why they run wild, get uptight. How many of them come from the kind of home this bloody moron is thinking about beginning? They step out of line, and they get thumped. No wonder they have no emotion in them by the time their in their teens, and after that too, if they live long enough. Then you of all people go and rabbit on about what a good parent he would be. That tells me a lot about you and your intelligence.
GWEN: What do you mean? I didn’t mean anything, I meant that he’s a good boy and would take care of a family, his wife etc.
GERAINT: You be careful, boy; that’s your mother you’re talking to.
GWYN: Oh, I though she was one of the neighbours; oh, you’re my Mum, are you? I’m happy to meet you; my name’s Gwyn. How funny, we have spent a number of years being in the house together, and I wondered who you were. Oh, nice to meet you.
Geraint wallops Gwyn.
GERAINT: You little bugger.
GWEN: It’s alright, Geraint.
GWYN: I warned you about that; don’t you lay a finger on me, you get it? I don’t have to put up with you. Here, take that.
Gwyn thumps Geraint, who half falls in surprise.
You push me, you frigging bully, pig thick bloody useless excuse of a father, that’s you.
Gwyn throws apple pie at Geraint, then whacks him with the beer can.
There, take that too, that’s the rest of your beer, a pity about the couch.
Gwyn kicks Geraint, now on the floor, in the back. Gwyn grabs Ieuan by the throat.
GWYN: You, little brother, be careful, I have had enough of stupid bloody thick-as-two-short-plank comments from you too, right. Next time you mention Kerin in some insulting way, I’ll thump you too, right.
IEUAN: You let me go. Put me down, you’re hurting me, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, you’re hurting me. Mum! Mum, do something, he’s hurting me. Mum.
GWEN: Gwyn, um…
GWYN: Keep yourbloody house, I’m off. I’m sick of the lot of you.
Gwyn exit.
IEUAN: Bugger! Mum, he hurt my throat. He’s a madman. I’ll get him for at next time. I’m not afraid of him. You wait till next time, you it, you bugger, just you wait. Mum, I think my neck’s broken.
GWEN: What…? No, you wouldn’t be able to turn it like that; you might get a bit of bruising. Are you alright, my love? Oh, you can’t get up…oh. Come on, take it slow…come, get into the armchair. Just try to relax a bit. Oh, there’s blood running down your shirt from your eye.
GERAINT: I’ll make him pay for that. He’s out, for good, out of here. No one threw the pie at me, and hit me with the beer can; look at that, I got cut. I need to get to the hospital; I might have to have an operation or something. I need to see a doctor.
GWEN: No, I don’t think it’s that bad, it looks worse than it is. I’ll clean up the mess; you go and wash.
Geraint, Ieuan and Gwen pick up the mess, then Geraint and Gwen exit. Phone rings.
IEUAN: I’ll get it. Yeah, it’s Ieuan…Yeah, I’m okay…Yeah, I’ll come over later on…Where’s Kate?...I dunno…I dunno…Yeah…I dunno…Yeah, okay…okay…I’m not sure if he can…maybe…I can…I dunno…brilliant…okay…Right…I dunno…yeah…maybe, I dunno…guess what happened here…my brother swore at my Dad, then thumped him, and Dad fell over ...what a fucking mess…because my Dad hit him…he thought Gwyn was being rude to my Mum…yeah, Dad’s furious…no, Gwyn’s left the house…no, I’m okay, you don’t think he can take me on, do you? I told him to keep away from me, and he ran off like a wounded deer. Yeah…I’m pretty tough…no one messes with me…I dunno…yeah, could be, he likes her, why, I dunno, she’s a creep, bloody bookworm creep, skinny bitchy, too…yeah…maybe…I dunno…Right, see you then…Bye.
Gwen enters
GWEN: Who was that?
IEUAN: Grunny.
GWEN: Who’s he, or she?
IEUAN: Grunny Price; his mother works in the bakery place.
GWEN: Oh, yeah, I know him; bit of a gut on him, isn’t it?
IEUAN: Yeah. You okay?
GWEN: Yeah, fine. Your Dad’s really pissed off, I can tell you. Oh, look at the couch.
IEUAN: It’ll come off later, I think.
GWEN: Yeah, I hope so. Where’s Gwyn going to go?
IEUAN: I think he might pop in to see a girl he knows from school, maybe. I dunno.
GWEN: It’s ‘I don’t know’, not ‘I dunno’. Try to talk proper, like.
IEUAN: Yeah, okay, Mum.
GWEN: Where’s Gwyn going to go?
IEUAN: To see Kerin, I suppose. He hangs out with her at school.
GWEN: He didn’t mention her to me.
IEUAN: Nor me; he likes to keep things quiet. But I have seen them around in school all the time.
Geraint enters
GERAINT: I’ll get him for this, you wait.
GWEN: Are you okay, love?
GERAINT: Yeah.
IEUAN: I didn’t think he would try to hit you.
GWEN: Yeah, he surprised me, too.
GERAINT: What a coward, attacking me without warning. That’s typical of book people, that’s the kind of thing they learn in a book. Hit someone without warning; what a disgrace, and I’m the father. I don’t know what the world is coming to. He can keep away from this place too; he can find somewhere else to live now.
IEUAN: If he goes to university he’s going to be going anyway –
GERAINT: I know that, you idiot. Keep your mouth shut; and you too, Gwen, I’m not in the mood for any cretin comment.
GWEN: Ieuan thinks he’s going to see Kerin, the –
GERAINT: I couldn’t care less where he’s going, or who he’s going with. Little bugger; I’ll get him back, I’ll get him back. I haven’t heard him swear before, either. He must have flipped up top. That’s no excuse, though. I…I…I…I won’t …forget this…in my… entire life. You…wait.
GWEN: I think the thing to do is to –
GERAINT: The thing to do is keep your mouth shut, right?
GWEN: I was just trying –
GERAINT: Just don’t try.
IEUAN: Dad, I think –
GERAINT: Try not to at the moment, boy. I’m trying to think. I’m thinking of what I can do, that’s what I’m trying to think… what do you think we can do now? What do you think?
GWEN: I think you’d better go out down the pub, see your pals there, and try to forget about what happened just now.
GERAINT: Yeah, that’s a good idea, love, I’ll do that.
IEUAN: What are you doing tonight, Mum?
GWEN: I’m supposed to be going out with a couple of the girls, three of us, Bridget, Maria and Sue, then go down ‘The White Hart’ to listen to a live group. What are going to do?
IEUAN: I’ll go out with my mates; maybe we’ll go to a party. I’m not sure yet.
GWEN: Well, you take care then. Be careful what you drink, don’t accept things from people you don’t know.
IEUAN: I know about spiking drinks, Mum. You don’t worry, okay?
GERAINT: Take care, okay?
IEUAN: Right.
GWEN: When are you going out?
IEUAN: I just need to brush my teeth, get changed, about ten minutes.
GWEN: Right, you pop up first, and then I’ll use the bathroom.
IEUAN: Right.
Ieuan exit Gwen relaxes in armchair, Geraint pacing the room, phone rings
GWEN: What a beginning to the evening. It can’t get any worse. Yes, hi there, this is Gwen…Hi, Bridget…oh, he’s here, a bit emotional at the moment…yeah…he had an argument with Gwyn, things got a bit out of hand…no, nothing that serious…he’s disappeared, maybe gone to see his girl…yeah, maybe…he’s upstairs in the bathroom…he’s going to a party…I don’t know where… no…that’s disappointing…okay…I was looking forward to listening to the group, have a dance etc…yeah, well if they can’t, they can’t…no…yeah…okay, we’ll meet in the Bridgend then, just the two of us…right you are, see you…bye.
Gwen puts down phone
GWEN: Oh, it can get worse. Sue’s got a sore throat; Maria has to work late tonight, so it’s just Bridget and me….
GERAINT: Why don’t you cancel it, and the two of us go out, or better, we have an evening together here?
GWEN: You said you wanted to go out and meet with your mates just now.
GERAINT: It doesn’t matter; I’m happy to be with you.
GWEN: What’s up? You’re looking morose.
GERAINT: What’s ‘morose’ mean?
GWEN: Miserable, unhappy, something like that.
GERAINT: How do you know a word like that?
GWEN: It’s in ‘Woman’s Own’ magazine; I learned it today, this afternoon when I was reading in here.
GERAINT: You’re a bright girl, Gwen, you know that?
GWEN: Yeah, I know. What’s the answer, then?
GERAINT: The answer to what?
GWEN: Why you’re morose.
GERAINT: Nothing, just thinking about Gwyn. I wonder if I’m too unkind to him, shouting at him, making him out to be an idiot. Maybe it’s me that’s the problem. I don’t know.
GWEN: It’s no good worrying about it now; try to put it out of your mind for the evening, then we can sit down with him and try to work something out.
Ieuan enter
IEUAN: I’m off. Have a nice evening. Bye.
GWEN: You too, my love. Take care.
GERAINT: You take care now, okay?
IEUAN: Right, okay, bye.
Ieuan exit
GWEN: I hope he’s sensible. Youngsters get into so much trouble these days, don’t they?
GERAINT: They do, but I think we can trust him to keep out of trouble; he’s a bright enough boy.
GWEN: I hope that’s the case. Phew. I think I worry too much.
GERAINT: Me too. I mean, I think you worry too much; maybe I worry too much.
I wish I hadn’t thumped him though. I think I was in the wrong. Gwyn’s not a bad boy, although I can’t see why he’s interested in higher education.
GWEN: I wouldn’t worry too much about that; he gave as good as he got, maybe he got the better of you.
GERAINT: I hope so, in a way. I won’t do it again, though. Why don’t we go upstairs, have a shower, then go out to the pub?
GWEN: Yes, we can try to have a decent evening out; no music, two of the girls can’t make it, and you and Gwyn had a punch up. I suppose it can’t get much worse…oh, I said that a few minutes ago. Better not repeat it!
GERAINT: Come, let’s go upstairs now.
They get up and begin to exit. The phone rings. Gwen picks up.
GWEN: That’ll be Bridget. Hi, Bridget, Geraint and I are going down our local in half an hour; why don’t you come…Who? Yes…Yes, I am…oh, no…oh no, oh no, oh no…
Where? ...When? ... How is he? …Right… We’re on our way. Oh no…
Gwen puts phone down, then turns to Geraint
GERAINT: What is it, love? What’s wrong? Are you okay?
GWEN: It was the police…it’s Gwyn…he was in an accident; a car hit him as he was crossing the road, near Market Street…
GERAINT: What? Oh, no…oh, no…how is he?
GWEN: He’s in the hospital now. They didn’t…they couldn’t tell me anything else.
GERAINT: Where are they…he…them? Where’s Gwyn?
GWEN: I just told you; they’ve taken him to the hospital…come on, man, get a move on, we need to get there quick.
GERAINT: What are we going to do? I don’t know…I’m not thinking straight, am I?
GWEN: You don’t much of the time. We’re going to the hospital now, right? I’ll get my coat and your jacket. Hurry, let’s go.
GERAINT: Oh, please no, please no…I didn’t mean to get angry with the boy…I hope he’s okay…oh no…
The phone rings again; they both look, lights out, curtain.
The End
