An Inspector Calls and Other Plays

by J. B. Priestley

  KAY: Well, now he’ll be able to raise his little hat.

  HAZEL [vehemently]: And that’s all he’ll jolly well get out of this, I’ll tell you. And I think Gerald Thornton had the cheek of the devil to bring him here. Just because he’s a new client.

  JOAN [still giggly]: You don’t think you’ll marry him then, Hazel?

  HAZEL: Ugh! I’d just as soon marry a – a ferret.

  KAY [rather loftily]: I don’t believe you two ever think or talk about anything but clothes and going to London and young men and marriage.

  HAZEL [not too rudely]: Oh, don’t you start being so grand! [Quotes dramatically]The Garden of Stars.

  KAY [hastily]: Now, shut up, Hazel!

  HAZEL [to JOAN]: That’s what she called the last novel she started. The Garden of Stars. And there were so many bits of paper with the opening words on that I know them off by heart.

  [Quotes dramatically. As soon as she begins KAY makes a rush at her, but she dodges, still quoting.] ‘Marion went out into the still smooth night. There was no moon but already – already – the sky was silver-dusted with stars. She passed through the rose garden, the dying scent of the roses meeting the grey moths –’

  KAY [shouting her down]: I know it’s all wrong, but I tore it up, didn’t I?

  HAZEL [mildly]: Yes, my duck. And then you cried.

  KAY [fiercely]: I’ve just begun a real one. With some guts in it. You’ll see.

  HAZEL: I’ll bet it’s about a girl who lives in a town just like Newlingham.

  KAY [still fierce]: Well, why shouldn’t it be? You wait, that’s all.

  [GERALD, plus false moustache, ALAN and ERNEST in their absurd get-up come in slowly and solemnly.]

  GERALD: That’s true, Alan.

  ERNEST [seriously]: But they can’t expect people to behave differently when they’ve still got their war restrictions on everything. They can’t have it both ways.

  GERALD: Well, there’s still a lot of profiteering.

  ERNEST: You’ve got to let business find its own level. The more interference the worse it is.

  ALAN: The worse for everybody?

  ERNEST [decidedly]: Yes.

  ALAN [stoutly, for him]: I doubt it.

  ERNEST [not too unpleasantly]: You’re working in the Town Hall, aren’t you? Well, you can’t learn much about these things there, y’know.

  KAY [with tremendous irony]: I say! You three must have been terribly good in the charade, weren’t you?

  ALAN: No, we weren’t very amusing.

  CAROL [who has just entered]: Oh – they were awful. No, you weren’t too bad, Mr Beevers, especially for a man who was doing a charade in a strange house.

  ERNEST: Now I call that handsome, Miss Carol.

  KAY [briskly]: The whole word now. Pussyfoot. It’s supposed to be a party in America, and we can’t have anything to drink. We won’t bother dressing up for this. Just some good acting. I’ll say the word. Joan, tell Madge, she’s in this. Just the girls, for the grand finale.

  [JOAN goes.]

  GERALD [now normal again]: So we’re sacked?

  KAY: Yes. No good.

  GERALD: Then we can give ourselves a drink. We’ve earned a drink. Any dancing afterwards?

  KAY: There might be, after mother’s done her singing.

  GERALD: Do you dance, Beevers?

  ERNEST: No, never had time for it.

  HAZEL [significantly, in loud clear tone]: Yes, we must have some dancing, Gerald.

  [ERNEST looks hard at her. She gives him a wide innocent stare of complete indifference. He nods, turns and goes. GERALD, after distributing a smile or two, follows him. CAROL is busy getting out of her Mr Pennyman disguise.]

  CAROL [excitedly]: Kay, we could have done the Prince of Wales in America for this last scene. Why didn’t we think of it? You could be the Prince of Wales, and you could fall in love with Hazel, who could turn out to be Pussyfoot’s daughter.

  KAY [laughing]: Mother’d be shocked. And so would some of the others.

  CAROL: I’d hate to be a Prince of Wales, wouldn’t you?

  HAZEL [with decision]: I’d love it.

  CAROL: Old Mrs Ferguson – you know, the one with the queer eye – the rather frightening one – told me there was an old prophecy that when King David came to the throne of Britain everything would be wonderful.

  [Sound off of a loud shout, then confused voices and laughter.]

  KAY: What’s that?

  HAZEL [excitedly]: It’s Robin.

  [They all look up with eager interest. HAZEL moves, but before she gets very far, ROBIN dashes in. He is twenty-three, and a rather dashing, good-looking young man in the uniform of an RAF officer. He is in tremendous spirits. He carries a small package.]

  ROBIN [loudly]: Hello, kids! Hazel! [Kisses her.] Kay, many happies! [Kisses her.] Carol, my old hearty! [Kisses her.] Gosh! I’ve had a dash to get here in time. Did half the journey on one of our lorries. And I didn’t forget the occasion, Kay. What about that? [Throws her the parcel, which she opens and finds is a silk scarf.] All right, isn’t it?

  KAY [gratefully]: It’s lovely, Robin. Lovely, lovely!

  ROBIN: That’s the stuff to give ’em. And I’ve finished. Out! Demobbed at last!

  HAZEL: Oo – grand! Have you seen mother?

  ROBIN: Of course I have, you chump. You ought to have seen her face when I told her I was now a civilian again. Golly! we’ll have some fun now, won’t we?

  KAY: Lots and lots.

  CAROL: Have you seen Alan?

  ROBIN: Just for a second. Still the solemn old bird, isn’t he?

  CAROL [very young and solemn]: In my opinion, Alan is a very wonderful person.

  ROBIN [rattling on]: I know. You always thought that, didn’t you? Can’t quite see it myself, but I’m very fond of the old crawler. How’s the writing, Kay?

  KAY: I’m still trying – and learning.

  ROBIN: That’s the stuff. We’ll show ’em. This is where the Conways really begin. How many young men, Hazel?

  HAZEL [calmly]: Nobody to speak of.

  CAROL: She’d worked her way up to Colonels, hadn’t you, Haze?

  KAY [affectionately]: Now that it’s civilians, she’s having to change her technique – and she’s a bit uncertain yet.

  ROBIN: All jealousy that, isn’t it, Hazel? [MRS C appears, carrying a tray laden with sandwiches, cake, etc., and some beer.] A-ha, here we are! [Rushes to take the tray from her. MRS C is very happy now.]

  MRS C [beaming]: Isn’t this nice! Now we’re all here. I knew somehow you were on your way, Robin, even though you didn’t tell us – you naughty boy.

  ROBIN: Couldn’t, Mother, honestly. Only wangled it at the last minute.

  MRS C [to KAY]: Finish your charade now, dear.

  ROBIN: Charade! Can I be in this? I used to be an ace at charades.

  MRS C: No, dear, they’re just finishing. We can have as many charades as we want now you’re home for good. Have something to eat and talk to me while they’re doing the last bit.

  KAY [to HAZEL and CAROL]: Come on, you two. We can collect Madge out there. Remember, it’s an American party, and we can’t have anything to drink, and then, after kicking up a row, you ask who’s giving the party, and then I’ll say Pussyfoot.

  [She is going off and the others following her as she is saying this. MRS C hastily puts some of the old clothes together, while ROBIN settles down to the tray. MRS C then comes and watches him eat and drink with maternal delight. Both are happy and relaxed, at ease with each other.]

  MRS C: Is there anything you want there, Robin?

  ROBIN [mouth full]: Yes thanks, Mother. Gosh, you don’t know what it feels like to be out at last!

  MRS C: I do, you silly boy. What do you think I feel, to have you back at last – for good?

  ROBIN: I must get some clothes.

  MRS C: Yes, some really nice ones. Though it’s a pity you can’t keep on wearing that uniform. You look so smart in it. Poor Alan – he was only a corp
oral or something, y’know, and had the most hideous uniform, nothing seemed to fit him – Alan never looked right in the Army.

  ROBIN: He’s got a piffling sort of job at the Town Hall, hasn’t he?

  MRS C: Yes. He seems to like it, though. And perhaps he’ll find something better later on.

  ROBIN [eagerly]: I’ve got all sorts of plans, y’know, Mother. We’ve all been talking things over in the mess. One of our chaps knows Jimmy White – you know, the Jimmy White – you’ve heard of him – and he thinks he can wangle me an introduction to him. My idea is something in the car and motor-bike line. I understand ’em, and I’ve heard people are buying like mad. And I have my gratuity, you know.

  MRS C: Yes, dear, we’ll have to talk about all that. There’s plenty of time now, thank goodness! Don’t you think all the girls are looking well?

  ROBIN [eating and drinking away]: Yes, first-rate, especially Hazel.

  MRS C: Oh – of course Hazel’s the one everybody notices. You ought to have seen the young men. And Kay – twenty-one – I can hardly believe it – but she’s very grown-up and serious now – I don’t know whether she’ll make anything out of this writing of hers – but she is trying very hard – don’t tease her too much, dear, she doesn’t like it –

  ROBIN: I haven’t been teasing her.

  MRS C: No, but Hazel does sometimes – and I know what you children are. Madge has been teaching, you know, but she’s trying for a much better school.

  ROBIN [indifferently]: Good old Madge. [With far more interest] I think I ought to go up to town for my clothes, Mother. You can’t get anything really decent in Newlingham, and if I’m going to start selling cars I’ve got to look like somebody who knows a good suit when he sees one. Lord! – it’s grand to be back again, and not just on a filthy little leave. [Breaks off, as he looks at her, standing quite close to him.] Here, Mother – steady! – nothing to cry about now.

  MRS C [through her tears, smiling]: I know. That’s why. You see, Robin – losing your father, then the war coming – taking you – I’m not used to happiness. I’ve forgotten about it. It’s upsetting! And Robin, now you are back – don’t go rushing off again, please! Don’t leave us – not for years and years. Let’s all be cosy together and happy again, shall we?

  [JOAN enters, then stands awkwardly as she sees them together. MRS C turns and sees her. So does ROBIN, and his face lights up. MRS C sees ROBIN’s face, then looks again at JOAN. This should be played for as long as it will stand.]

  JOAN [rather nervously]: Oh – Mrs Conway – they’ve finished the charade – and some people are going – and Madge asked me to tell you they’re expecting you to sing something.

  MRS C: Why didn’t she come herself?

  JOAN [rather faltering]: She and Kay and Carol began handing people sandwiches and things as soon as they finished the charade.

  ROBIN [rising]: Hello, Joan!

  JOAN [coming forward, thrilled]: Hello, Robin! Is it – nice to be back again?

  ROBIN [smiling, rather significantly]: Yes, of course.

  MRS C [rather irritably]: Really this room’s a dreadful mess. I knew it would be. Hazel and Carol brought all these things down here. Joan, go and tell them they must take these things upstairs at once. I can’t have this room looking like an old clothes’ place. Perhaps you’d like to help them, dear.

  JOAN: Yes – rather.

  [Smiles at ROBIN and goes. MRS C turns and looks at him. He smiles at her. She has to smile back.]

  ROBIN: You’re looking very artful, Mother.

  MRS C: Am I? I’m not feeling very artful. [Carefully just.] Joan’s grown up to be a very nice-looking girl, hasn’t she?

  ROBIN [smiling]: Quite.

  MRS C [same careful tone]: And I think she’s got a pleasant easy disposition. Not very clever or go-ahead or anything like that. But a thoroughly nice girl.

  ROBIN [not eagerly]: Yes, I’ll bet she is.

  [HAZEL sails in, to begin packing up the things. This should be done as quickly as possible.]

  HAZEL: They’re all panting for a song, Mother. They don’t even mind if it’s German.

  MRS C: Thank goodness, I was never so stupid as to stop singing German songs. What have Schubert and Schumann to do with Hindenburg and the Kaiser?

  [CAROL comes in, followed by JOAN. HAZEL goes with her armful. ROBIN helps JOAN to collect her lot. MRS C stands rather withdrawn from them.]

  CAROL [loudly and cheerfully as she collects her stuff]: Everybody guessed the charade, just because it was Pussyfoot – though they hadn’t guessed any of the syllables. All except Mr James, who thought it was Kinema. [Hard ‘k’.] When they say ‘Kinema’ I can’t believe I’ve ever been to one. It sounds like some other kind of place. Robin, have you seen William S. Hart?

  ROBIN: Yes.

  CAROL [pausing with her armful, very solemnly]: I love William S. Hart. I wonder what ‘S.’stands for.

  ROBIN: Sidney.

  CAROL [turning in horror]: Robin, it doesn’t! [Goes out.]

  [JOAN now has the remainder of the things.]

  MRS C: Come along, Robin, I may want you and Alan to move the piano for me.

  ROBIN: Righto.

  [They all go out. Nearly all the things have been cleared now. Sounds of the party – vague applause and laughter – off. Then KAY enters quickly and eagerly, and finds a bit of paper and pencil in some convenient drawer or cupboard. She frowns and thinks, then makes some rapid notes, not sitting down but standing against table or bookshelf. A few chords and runs can be heard from the piano. CAROL looks in, to remove the last of the charade things.]

  CAROL [with awe, very charming]: Kay, have you suddenly been inspired?

  KAY [looking up, very serious]: No, not really. But I’m bursting with all kinds of feelings and thoughts and impressions – you know –

  CAROL [coming close to her favourite sister]: Oh – yes – so am I. Millions and millions. I couldn’t possibly begin to write them.

  KAY [that eager young author]: No, but in my novel, a girl goes to a party – you see – and there are some things – I’ve been feeling – very subtle things – that I know she’d feel – and I want my novel to be very real this time – so I had to scribble them down –

  CAROL: Will you tell me them afterwards?

  KAY: Yes.

  CAROL: Bedroom?

  KAY: Yes, if you’re not too sleepy.

  CAROL: I couldn’t be. [She pauses happily, one earnest young creature staring at the other. And now we can just hear MRS CONWAY in the drawing-room beginning to sing Schumann’s ‘Der Nussbaum’. CAROL is now very solemn, a little awed.] Kay, I think you’re wonderful.

  KAY [awed herself]: I think life’s wonderful.

  CAROL: Both of you are.

  [CAROL goes out, and now we can hear the lovely rippling Schumann better than before. KAY writes for another moment, then moved by both the music and the sudden ecstasy of creation, she puts down pencil and paper, drifts over to the switch and turns out the lights. The room is not in darkness because light is coming in from the hall. KAY goes to the window and opens the curtains, so that when she sits on the window-seat, her head is silvered in moonlight. Very still, she listens to the music, and seems to stare not at but into something, and as the song goes soaring away, the curtain creeps down.]

  END OF ACT ONE

  Act Two

  When the curtain rises, for a moment we think nothing has happened since it came down, for there is the light coming in from the hall, and there is KAY sitting on the window-seat. But then ALAN comes in and switches on the central light, and we see that a great deal must have happened. It is the same room, but it has a different wallpaper, the furniture has been changed round, the pictures and books are not altogether the same as before. We notice a wireless set. The general effect is harder and rather brighter than it was during the party in 1919, and we guess at once that this is present day [1937]. KAY and ALAN are not quite the same, after nearly twenty years. KAY has a rather hard, e
fficient, well-groomed look, that of a woman of forty who has earned her own living for years. ALAN, in his middle forties, is shabbier than he was before – his coat does not match the rest of his suit and really will not do – but he is still the rather shy, awkward, lovable fellow, only now there is about him a certain poise, an inward certainty and serenity, missing from all the others we shall see now.

  ALAN [quietly]: Well – Kay.

  KAY [happily]: Alan!

  [She jumps up and kisses him. Then they look at one another, smiling a little. He rubs his hands in embarrassment, as he always did.]

  ALAN: I’m glad you could come. It was the only thing about this business that didn’t make me hate the thought of it – the chance you might be able to come. But mother says you’re not staying the night.

  KAY: I can’t, Alan. I must get back to London tonight.

  ALAN: Work?

  KAY: Yes. I have to go to Southampton in the morning – to write a nice little piece about the newest little film star.

  ALAN: Do you often have to do that?

  KAY: Yes, Alan, quite often. There are an awful lot of film stars and they’re always arriving at Southampton, except when they arrive at Plymouth – damn their eyes! And all the women readers of the Daily Courier like to read a bright half-column about their glamorous favourites.

  ALAN [thoughtfully]: They look very nice – but all rather alike.

  KAY [decidedly]: They are all rather alike – and so are my bright interviews with ’em. In fact, sometimes I feel we’re all just going round and round, like poor old circus ponies.

  ALAN [after a pause]: Are you writing another novel?

  KAY [very quietly]: No, my dear, I’m not. [Pauses, then gives short laugh.] I tell myself too many people are writing novels.

  ALAN: Well, it does look like that – sometimes.

  KAY: Yes. But that’s not the real reason. I still feel mine wouldn’t be like theirs – anyhow, not the next, even if the last was. But – as things are – I just can’t …

  ALAN [after a pause]: The last time you wrote, Kay – I mean to me – you sounded rather unhappy, I thought.

  KAY [with self-reproach]: I was. I suppose that’s why I suddenly remembered you – and wrote. Not very flattering – to you – is it?