by Brian Friel
CANON: Wait.
S.B.: Is it –
CANON: It’s music – is it?
S.B.: Music?
CANON: Aye. It’s music.
S.B.: That’ll be Gar then.
CANON: Oh.
S.B.: Playing them records of his.
CANON: Thought I heard something.
S.B.: All he asks is to sit in there and play them records all day.
CANON: It makes him happy.
S.B.: Terrible man for the records.
CANON: Just so, now. It’ll be getting near his time, he tells me.
S.B.: Tomorrow morning.
CANON: Tomorrow morning.
S.B.: Aye, tomorrow morning. Powerful the way time passes, too.
CANON: You wait, says she, till the rosary’s over and the kettle’s on.
S.B.: A sharp one, Madge.
CANON: Ah-hah. There’s hope for you yet.
S.B.: I don’t know is there.
CANON: No. You’re not too late yet.
S.B.: Maybe … maybe …
CANON: No, I wouldn’t say die yet – not yet I wouldn’t.
Slow Curtain
PART II
The small hours of the morning. The kitchen is dimly lit. In the kitchen, just outside the bedroom door, are Gar’s cases, and lying across them are his coat, his cap, and a large envelope containing his X-ray and visa. The bedroom is in darkness: just enough light to see PUBLIC on the bed and PRIVATE in the chair. S.B. comes in from the scullery carrying a cup of tea in his hand. He is dressed in long trousers, a vest, a hat, socks. He moves slowly towards the table, sees the cases, goes over to them, touches the coat, goes back towards the table, and sits there, staring at the bedroom door. He coughs. Immediately PRIVATE is awake and PUBLIC sits up sleepily in bed.
PRIVATE: What – what – what’s that? (Relaxing.) Madge probably. Looking to see is the door bolted.
(PUBLIC gets out of bed and switches on the light. Looks at his watch.)
You’ll not sleep again tonight, laddo.
PUBLIC: Bugger.
(PUBLIC looks at himself in the mirror and then sits on edge of bed.)
PRIVATE: Four more hours. This is the last time you’ll lie in this bed, the last time you’ll look at that pattern on the wallpaper, the last time you’ll listen to the silence of Ballybeg, the last time you’ll –
PUBLIC: Agh, shut up!
PRIVATE: It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France. Go into the shop, man, and get yourself a packet of aspirin; that’ll do the trick. (Looking up at ceiling.) Mind if I take a packet of aspirin, Screwballs? Send the bill to the USA, okay? Out you go, boy, and get a clatter of pills!
(They both go into the kitchen. PUBLIC stops dead when he sees S.B. staring at him.)
PUBLIC: My God! Lady Godiva!
PRIVATE: Is this where you are?
S.B.: Aye – I – I – I – I wasn’t sleeping. What has you up?
(PUBLIC goes to where the key of the shop is hung up.)
PUBLIC: I – I wasn’t sleeping either. I’ll get some aspirins inside.
S.B.: It’s hard to sleep sometimes …
PUBLIC: It is, aye … sometimes …
S.B.: There’s tea in the pot.
PUBLIC: Aye?
S.B.: If it’s a headache you have.
PUBLIC: It’ll make me no worse anyway.
(PUBLIC goes into the scullery. PRIVATE stands at the door and talks into him.)
PRIVATE: Now’s your time, boy. The small hours of the morning. Put your head on his shoulder and say, ‘How’s my wee darling Daddy?’
(PUBLIC puts his head round the door.)
PUBLIC: You take some?
S.B.: Sure you know I never take a second cup.
PRIVATE: Playing hard to get. Come on, bucko; it’s your place to make the move – the younger man. Say – say – say – say, ‘Screwballs, with two magnificent legs like that, how is it you were never in show biz?’ Say, ‘It is now sixteen or seventeen – Say – oh, my God – say – say something.
(PUBLIC enters with a cup of tea.)
PUBLIC: You’ll need a new tyre for the van.
S.B.: What one’s that?
PUBLIC: The back left-hand one. I told you. It’s done.
S.B.: Aye. So you did.
PUBLIC: And – and –
PRIVATE: What else?
PUBLIC: – and don’t forget the fencing posts for McGuire next Wednesday.
S.B.: Fencing posts.
PUBLIC: Twelve dozen. The milk lorry’ll take them. I spoke to Packey.
S.B.: Aye … right …
PRIVATE: Go on! Keep talking!
PUBLIC: And if you’re looking for the pliers, I threw them into the tea chest under the counter.
S.B.: Which tea chest?
PUBLIC: The one near the window.
S.B.: Oh, I see – I see …
PRIVATE: You’re doing grand. Keep at it. It’s the silence that’s the enemy.
PUBLIC: You’ll be wanting more plug tobacco. The traveller’ll be here this week.
S.B.: More plug.
PUBLIC: It’s finished. The last of it went up to Curran’s wake.
S.B.: I’ll – I’ll see about that.
PUBLIC: And you’ll need to put a new clasp on the lower window – the tinkers are about again.
S.B.: Aye?
PUBLIC: They were in at dinner time. I got some cans off them.
S.B.: I just thought I noticed something shining from the ceiling.
PUBLIC: It’s the cans then.
S.B.: Aye.
PUBLIC: That’s what it is. I bought six off them.
S.B.: They’ll not go to loss.
PUBLIC: They wanted me to take a dozen but I said six would do us.
S.B.: Six is plenty. They don’t go as quick as they used to – them cans.
PUBLIC: They’ve all got cookers and ranges and things.
S.B.: What’s that?
PUBLIC: I say they don’t buy them now because the open fires are nearly all gone.
S.B.: That’s it. All cookers and ranges and things these times.
PUBLIC: That’s why I wouldn’t take the dozen.
S.B.: You were right, too. Although I mind the time when I got through a couple of dozen a week.
PUBLIC: Aye?
S.B.: All cans it was then. Maybe you’d sell a kettle at turf-cutting or if there’d be a Yank coming home …
(Pause.)
PUBLIC: Better get these pills and then try to get a couple of hours sleep –
S.B.: You’re getting the mail-van to Strabane?
(PUBLIC gives him a quick, watchful look.)
PUBLIC: At a quarter past seven.
S.B.: (Awkwardly) I was listening to the weather forecast there … moderate westerly winds and occasional showers, it said.
PUBLIC: Aye?
S.B.: I was thinking it – it – it – it would be a fair enough day for going up in thon plane.
PUBLIC: It should be, then.
S.B.: Showers – just like the Canon said … And I was meaning to tell you that you should sit at the back …
PRIVATE: It is now sixteen or seventeen years – the longest way round’s the shortest way home –
S.B.: So he was saying, too … you know there – if there was an accident or anything – it’s the front gets it hardest –
PUBLIC: I suppose that’s true enough.
S.B.: So he was saying … not that I would know – just that he was saying it there …
PRIVATE: (Urgently, rapidly) Now! Now! He might remember – he might. But if he does, my God, laddo – what if he does?
PUBLIC: (With pretended carelessness) D’you know what kept coming into my mind the day?
S.B.: Eh?
PUBLIC: The fishing we used to do on Lough na Cloc Cor.
S.B.: (Confused, an guard) Oh, aye, Lough na Cloc Cor – aye – aye –
PUBLIC: We had a throw on it every Sunday during the season.
&n
bsp; S.B.: That’s not the day nor yesterday.
PUBLIC: (More quickly) There used to be a blue boat on it – d’you remember it?
S.B.: Many’s the fish we took off that same lake.
PUBLIC: D’you remember the blue boat?
S.B.: A blue one, eh?
PUBLIC: I don’t know who owned it. But it was blue. And the paint was peeling.
S.B.: (Remembering) I mind a brown one the doctor brought from somewhere up in the –
PUBLIC: (Quickly) It doesn’t matter who owned it. It doesn’t even matter that it was blue. But d’you remember one afternoon in May – we were up there – the two of us – and it must have rained because you put your jacket round my shoulders and gave me your hat –
S.B.: Aye?
PUBLIC: – and it wasn’t that we were talking or anything – but suddenly – suddenly you sang ‘All Round My Hat I’ll Wear a Green Coloured Ribbono’ –
S.B.: Me?
PUBLIC: – for no reason at all except that we – that you were happy. D’you remember? D’you remember?
(There is a pause while S.B. tries to recall.)
S.B.: No … no, then, I don’t …
(PRIVATE claps his hands in nervous mockery.)
PRIVATE: (Quickly) There! There! There!
S.B.: ‘All Round My Hat’? No, I don’t think I ever knew that one. It wasn’t ‘The Flower of Sweet Strabane’, was it? That was my song.
PUBLIC: It could have been. It doesn’t matter.
PRIVATE: So now you know: it never happened! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.
S.B.: ‘All Round My Hat’? – that was never one of mine. What does it go like?
PUBLIC: I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know it either.
PRIVATE: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.
S.B.: And you say the boat was blue?
PUBLIC: It doesn’t matter. Forget it.
S.B.: (Justly, reasonably) There was a brown one belonging to the doctor, and before that there was a wee flat-bottom – but it was green – or was it white? I’ll tell you, you wouldn’t be thinking of a punt – it could have been blue – one that the curate had down at the pier last summer –
(PRIVATE’s mocking laughter increases. PUBLIC rushes quickly into the shop. PRIVATE, still mocking, follows.)
– a fine sturdy wee punt it was, too, and it could well have been the …
(He sees that he is alone and tails off. Slowly he gets to his feet and goes towards the scullery door. He meets MADGE entering. She is dressed in outside clothes. She is very weary.)
MADGE: What has you up?
S.B.: Me? Aw, I took medicine and the cramps wouldn’t let me sleep. I thought you were in bed?
MADGE: I was over at Nelly’s. The place was upside down.
S.B.: There’s nothing wrong, is there?
MADGE: Not a thing.
S.B.: The baby’s strong and healthy?
MADGE: Grand – grand.
S.B.: That’s all that matters.
MADGE: They’re going to call it Brigid.
S.B.: Brigid – that’s a grand name … Patrick, Brigid, and Colmcille …
(She takes off her hat and coat.)
Madge …
MADGE: You’ll get a cold padding about in yon rig.
S.B.: Madge, I’ll manage rightly, Madge, eh?
MADGE: Surely you will.
S.B.: I’ll get one of Charley Bonner’s boys to do the van on Tuesdays and Thursdays and I’ll manage rightly?
MADGE: This place is cold. Away off to bed.
S.B.: It’s not like in the old days when the whole countryside did with me; I needed the help then. But it’s different now. I’ll manage by myself now. Eh? I’ll manage fine, eh?
MADGE: Fine.
S.B.: D’you mind the trouble we had keeping him at school just after he turned ten. D’you mind nothing would do him but he’d get behind the counter. And he had this wee sailor suit on him this morning –
MADGE: A sailor suit? He never had a sailor suit.
S.B.: Oh, he had, Madge. Oh, Madge, he had. I can see him, with his shoulders back, and the wee head up straight, and the mouth, aw, man, as set, and says he this morning, I can hear him saying it, says he, ‘I’m not going to school. I’m going into my daddy’s business’ – you know – all important – and, d’you mind, you tried to coax him to go to school, and not a move you could get out of him, and him as manly looking, and this wee sailor suit as smart looking on him, and – and – and at the heel of the hunt I had to go with him myself, the two of us, hand in hand, as happy as larks – we were that happy, Madge – and him dancing and chatting beside me – mind? – you couldn’t get a word in edge-ways with all the chatting he used to go through … Maybe, Madge, maybe it’s because I could have been his grandfather, eh?
MADGE: I don’t know.
S.B.: I was too old for her, Madge, eh?
MADGE: I don’t know. They’re a new race – a new world.
S.B.: (Leaving) In the wee sailor suit – all the chatting he used to go through … I don’t know either …
MADGE: (Looking at case) Tomorrow’ll be sore on him (GAR): his heart’ll break tomorrow, and all next week, and the week after maybe … Brigid – aye, it’s all right – (Trying out the sound of the name) Brigid – Biddy – Biddy Mulhern – Brigid Mulhern – aye – like Madge Mulhern doesn’t sound right – (Trying it out) – Madge Mulhern – Madge Mulhern – I don’t know – It’s too aul’-fashioned or something … Has he his cap? (Finds it in the pocket of the coat. Also finds an apple.) … Aye, he has. And an apple, if you don’t mind – for all his grief. He’ll be all right. That Lizzy one’ll look after him well, I suppose, if she can take time off from blatherin’. Garden front and back, and a TV in the house of lords – I’ll believe them things when I see them! Never had much time for blatherin’ women … (Remembering) An envelope … (She takes two notes from her pocket, goes to the dresser, and finds an envelope. She puts the money into the envelope‚ and slips the envelope into the coat pocket.) That’ll get him a cup of tea on the plane. I had put them two pounds by me to get my feet done on the fair day. But I can wait till next month. From what I hear, there’s no big dances between now and then … (She stands looking at the bedroom door.) So. I think that’s everything … (She raises her hand in a sort of vague benediction, then shuffles towards the scullery.) When the boss was his (GAR’s) age, he was the very same as him: leppin, and eejitin’ about and actin’ the clown; as like as two peas. And when he’s (GAR) the age the boss is now, he’ll turn out just the same. And although I won’t be here to see it, you’ll find that he’s learned nothin’ in-between times. That’s people for you – they’d put you astray in the head if you thought long enough about them.
(PUBLIC and PRIVATE enter from the shop.)
PUBLIC: You down too? Turning into a night club, this place.
MADGE: I’m only getting back.
PUBLIC: Well, how’s the new Madge?
MADGE: Strong and healthy – and that’s all that matters. Were you and the boss chatting there?
PUBLIC: When’s the christening?
MADGE: Sunday. After last Mass.
PUBLIC: Madge Mulhern. Are you proud?
MADGE: I’m just tired, son. Very tired.
PUBLIC: You’re sure there’s nothing wrong, Madge?
MADGE: If there was something wrong, wouldn’t I tell you?
PRIVATE: Of course she would. Who else has she?
PUBLIC: Did you tell her she’s getting an elephant out of my first wages?
MADGE: Aye, so. The jars are up?
PUBLIC: They are.
MADGE: And the dishes washed?
PUBLIC: All done.
MADGE: I’ll give you a call at half-six, then.
PUBLIC: Madge – Madge, you’d let me know if – if he got sick or anything?
MADGE: Who else would there be?
PUBLIC: Just in case … not that it’s likely – he’ll outlive the whole of us …
MADGE: Good night.
PUBLIC: Sleep well, Madge.
MADGE: Sleep well yourself.
(MADGE goes off. PUBLIC and PRIVATE watch her shuffle off.)
PRIVATE: Watch her carefully, every movement, every gesture, every little peculiarity: keep the camera whirring; for this is a film you’ll run over and over again – Madge Going to Bed On My Last Night At Home … Madge … (PUBLIC and PRIVATE go into bedroom.) God, Boy, why do you have to leave? Why? Why?
PUBLIC: I don’t know. I – I – I don’t know.
Quick Curtain
THE FREEDOM OF THE CITY
for Dan Herr
CHARACTERS
PRESS PHOTOGRAPHER
PRIEST
THREE SOLDIERS
JUDGE
POLICE CONSTABLE
DR DODDS Sociologist
MICHAEL
LILY
SKINNER (Adrian Casimir Fitzgerald)
BALLADEER AND FRIENDS
BRIGADIER JOHNSON-HANSBURY
ARMY PRESS OFFICER
DR WINBOURNE Forensic Expert
PROFESSOR CUPPLEY Pathologist
RTE COMMENTATOR
The Freedom of the City was first performed in Dublin at the Abbey Theatre on 20 February 1973. The cast was as follows:
PRIEST Ronnie Walsh
SOLDIERS Niall O’Brien
Dermot Crowley
Colm Meaney
JUDGE John Kavanagh
POLICE CONSTABLE Geoffrey Golden
DR DODDS – Sociologist Pat Laffan
MICHAEL Raymond Hardie
LILY Angela Newman
SKINNER Eamon Morrissey
BALLADEER Michael O’hAonghusa
BRIGADIER JOHNSON-HANSBURY Clive Geraghty
ARMY PRESS OFFICER Emmet Bergin
DR WINBOURNE – Forensic Expert Edward Golden
PROFESSOR CUPPLEY – Pathologist Derek Young
RTE COMMENTATOR Bob Carlile
ACCORDIONIST Dinny O’Brien
Direction Tomas MacAnna
Setting and costumes Alan Barlow
Set
The Mayor’s parlour takes up almost the entire stage, with the exception of the apron and a small area stage left (left and right throughout are from the point of view of the audience).
The parlour is on the first floor of a neo-gothic building. One arched doorway upstage leads to a dressing-room off. Another arched doorway left opens on to a corridor. A stained-glass window right looks out on Guildhall Square.
