by Laura Wade
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
The band stop. ALICE looks at the band, unsure what to do now.
ALICE: OK, could I have a translation, maybe?
One of the musicians comes towards ALICE with a clipboard.
WONDERBANDER: Sign here please.
ALICE: Why?
WONDERBANDER: To say you received the song.
ALICE signs the clipboard. The other band members start to move away.
ALICE: Hang on, you’re not – Aren’t you going to explain to me what it means?
WONDERBANDER: Not our job, love. We’re just paid to sing it. Need a poetic licence if you want it explained.
ALICE looks at the piece of paper in her hand.
ALICE: But what’s the point if you won’t say who it’s from and you won’t tell me what it means?
WONDERBANDER: We don’t write it, yeah, we just play it. Ask the Union.
The WONDERBAND leave.
ALICE: Is this supposed to distract me? Throw me off the path.
No, I was on a path, wasn’t I – I was – I was going to the Hatter and the Hare, following the signposts to the –
ALICE looks around.
Following the signposts which have gone.
Maybe that means I’m here already – you don’t have a sign pointing to Sheffield when you’re in Sheffield, do you?
Oh.
ALICE sees the tea party and approaches quietly, not wanting them to see her yet.
HATTER is standing on a chair, regaling the HARE and the sleeping DORMOUSE with a story.
HATTER: So there am I, standing on a chair in front of the queen, no less –
HARE: No less, no more.
HATTER: The queen! Demanding I sing her a song.
HARE: Dear me, whatever did you do?
HATTER: I opened my mouth – and out came this, the most dreadful thing:
(Sings)
Twinkle twinkle little bat!
How I wonder what you’re at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea tray in the sky –
ALICE moves closer, staying out of sight.
HARE: A dreadful thing!
DORMOUSE: Twinkle twinkle...
HATTER: A very dreadful thing – I mixed the head voice and the chest voice. Unforgivable! And how was I to know the queen can’t abide vibrato?
Stamped on my pocket watch in disgust, she did. I’m lucky to have escaped with my head.
DORMOUSE: Twinkle twinkle –
The HATTER holds up his watch to show the others.
HATTER: Six o’clock, always six o’clock and nothing to be done about it.
The HATTER looks at his watch.
Look at that – time for tea.
He climbs down off his chair. ALICE tries to duck out of sight, but it’s too late – he sees her.
Wait – who’s there –
HARE: Who is it, who’s there?
HATTER: A spy –
The HARE quickly takes a pot of jam from the table top and hides it underneath.
HARE: A spy – good gracious!
ALICE: I’m not a spy – I promise, I’m just looking for –
Are you the Hatter and the Hare?
HATTER: She’s an emissary from the queen.
ALICE: I’m not, I promise.
HARE: Prove it.
ALICE: I’m just looking for the middle, the centre. Of, um, Wonderland. Is there, like a door here somewhere?
HARE: A door? A door?
HATTER: When is a door not a door?
ALICE: Um, when it’s ajar. That’s really old.
DORMOUSE: A jar of jam.
HARE: No jam! No jam!
HATTER: Are you sure you’re not the queen’s spy? You do look awfully like her.
HARE: She does look awfully like her.
HATTER: Two arms, two legs, nose right in the middle of your face like that.
ALICE: I’ve never met the bloody queen!
HARE: Nasty, vicious temper she’s got.
HATTER: Don’t they teach you manners? At spy school?
The HATTER and HARE advance on ALICE and back her into a chair. The HARE arranges a lamp so that it’s shining directly into ALICE’s face.
ALICE: School’s not supposed to teach you manners, that’s for your parents – school’s for maths and stuff.
HATTER: Maths, you say – let’s see, shall we?
HARE: Can you do Addition?
HATTER: What’s one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one?
ALICE: I don’t know, I lost count.
HARE: She can’t do Addition.
HATTER: Can you do Subtraction? Take nine from eight.
ALICE: Minus one!
HATTER: Yours is one what?
HARE: She can’t do Substraction.
HATTER: Can you do Division? Divide a loaf by a knife – what’s the answer to that?
ALICE: Um,
HATTER: Bread-and-butter, of course.
HARE: She can’t do sums a bit.
HATTER: Do you know your ABC?
ALICE: Yeah, I’m not a baby.
HARE: I can read words of one letter. It’s true, I can.
HATTER: Do you know languages? What’s the French for ‘ecky thump’?
ALICE: Ecky thump isn’t even proper English. I don’t know what it means.
The HATTER moves away from ALICE, looking at her carefully.
HATTER: The queen’s spy would know what it means.
HARE: Meaning?
HATTER: She’s quite safe.
The HATTER looks at his watch.
Look at that – six o’clock. Time for tea.
The HATTER and the HARE move back towards the table.
Cup of tea, old chap?
ALICE: Am I right, though – is this the middle?
HARE: Tis the place where all roads meet. Have some wine, dear boy.
ALICE: Um. Thank you.
ALICE comes closer, looks at the table.
There isn’t any wine.
HARE: More’s the pity.
ALICE: If there isn’t a door, is there a chute or something, maybe –
Like a magic portal or –
HATTER: Have some more tea, dear boy.
ALICE: I haven’t had any yet. So I can’t have more, can I?
HATTER: You can’t have less, it’s very easy to have more than none.
ALICE: If I’m in the right place, then what do I do? Make a wish and touch the teapot?
HATTER: Talks to himself – mad, you see.
ALICE: I’m actually a girl, by the way.
HATTER: You see what I mean?
ALICE: Maybe I just sit and wait for a bit and then something turns into a door or –
ALICE sits down at the table. The HARE pulls a cup out of a large jelly and pours a cup of tea for ALICE.
HARE: Nice cup of tea and no need to worry about anything.
ALICE: Could I have a bit of bread and some jam?
HATTER: Jam?
HARE: Jam?
DORMOUSE: A jar of jam.
HATTER: There’s no jam here, dear boy.
HARE: All jam property of the queen!
HATTER: Anyone found with contraband jam will be beheaded!
HARE: With his own teaspoon!
HATTER: Have some bread and butter. WITHOUT jam.
HARE: It’s Wonderloaf.
ALICE: Is it all types of jam?
DORMOUSE: Strawberry jam, apricot jam...
HATTER: Are we sure she isn’t an emissary from the queen?
HARE: A what?
DORMOUSE: Blackcurrant jam...
HATTER: A spy, remember?
DORMOUSE: Gooseberry jam...
ALICE: What about traffic jam?
HATTER: See, this is a test.
DORMOUSE: Rhubarb jam...
ALICE: Or paper jam?
HARE: Paper jam?
ALICE: You know: ‘Warning: Paper Jam”.
HARE: We know of no such thing.
HATTER: All jam property of the queen and that’s all there is to it.
DORMOUSE: Damson, greengage...
ALICE: Why does the queen need all the jam?
HATTER: For the tarts, of course.
HARE: Only the queen can make tarts.
HATTER: By which we mean only the queen is clever enough to make tarts.
DORMOUSE: Loganberry...
ALICE: Jam tarts? Jam tarts are easy.
HATTER: She’s luring us. This is a trap, don’t fall into it.
I was a hatter, you know. Oh yes. They came from miles around for my hats.
One blow from the queen’s stiletto and goodbye to all that.
DORMOUSE: Ginger jam...
ALICE: She kicked you?
HATTER: She might as well have.
The HATTER shows ALICE his watch.
DORMOUSE: Victoria plum...
ALICE: She stamped on your watch?
HATTER: I made her very angry.
DORMOUSE: Quince...
The DORMOUSE falls asleep.
ALICE: She doesn’t sound very nice, the queen.
The HATTER and HARE gasp at her outspokenness.
When was this?
HATTER: Last March – just before he went mad.
The HATTER shakes his pocket watch, looking at it.
What day of the month is it?
ALICE: The seventeenth.
HATTER: Two weeks wrong. I told you butter wouldn’t suit the works.
ALICE: You put butter in it?
HARE: It was the best butter.
HATTER: Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well. You shouldn’t have put it in with the bread knife.
Oh look – six o’clock: time for tea!
HARE: Move round, move round!
ALICE: Haven’t you just had your tea?
The HATTER shows her the watch.
HATTER: If it’s six o’clock, it’s tea time.
ALICE: So this thing with the queen happened last March and you’ve been having tea ever since, you’ve been stuck.
HARE: My head hurts.
ALICE: You’ve probably had too much caffeine.
The HATTER gives the HARE his watch.
HATTER: Here –
The HARE holds the watch to his forehead.
Time’s a great healer.
What say we change the subject? I vote the young chap tells us a story.
ALICE: I’m actually a girl, I did say –
HARE: I’d love a story.
ALICE: I don’t know any.
HATTER: Then the Dormouse shall.
ALICE: Could really do with that magic portal right now...
HARE: Wake up, Dormouse!
The HATTER pours some tea onto the DORMOUSE’s nose and he wakes up, spluttering.
HATTER: We demand a story!
HARE: Oh please oh please.
DORMOUSE: Alright, but you’ll definitely not like it.
The DORMOUSE readies himself to tell the story, clearing his throat etc. ALICE uses the moment to reach for a piece of bread and butter.
Once upon a time there was a...
The DORMOUSE nearly dozes off, then wakes up again with a start.
Once upon a time there was a...
HATTER: Spit it out quickly, before you fall asleep again, there’s a good chap.
DORMOUSE: Once upon a time there was a little boy and his name was Joe –
ALICE stops, with the piece of bread half way to her mouth.
ALICE: Joe?
DORMOUSE: Joe.
ALICE: My brother Joe?
Is this what I’m here for? Are you going to tell me something important about Joe?
DORMOUSE: His name was Joe and he lived at the bottom of a well.
HARE: Well well here’s a story, eh?
ALICE: No, he lived in Broomhill, surely?
DORMOUSE: He lived at the bottom of a well.
ALICE puts the piece of bread and butter down.
ALICE: OK, is this some kind of code – like a whatsitcalled, like we did at school, um – If I solve the riddle, I get my door, yes?
HATTER: What did he live on?
ALICE: A metaphor.
DORMOUSE: He lived on treacle.
HARE: Metaphor. Met her for what?
ALICE: Treacle?
DORMOUSE: Treacle.
ALICE: You can’t live on treacle, you’d be sick.
DORMOUSE: So he was. Very sick.
ALICE: Why was he at the bottom of a well?
I don’t know any wells. Unless you mean like Forge Dam, or Abbeydale Hamlet or something –
DORMOUSE: It was a treacle-well.
HATTER: No such thing!
ALICE: OK, so is the well – is that a metaphor for the, um, car crash, or –
Not very good metaphor, is it? What does the treacle stand for? Is that me, or. Did Joe have a sister?
DORMOUSE: If you can’t listen properly, you’d better finish the story for yourself.
ALICE: No, please go on – please. Tell me about Joe.
DORMOUSE: He was learning to draw, you know –
ALICE: What did he draw?
The DORMOUSE pauses for a moment.
DORMOUSE: Treacle.
HATTER: You can’t draw treacle.
DORMOUSE: If you can draw water out of a water-well, you can draw treacle out of a treacle-well.
Stories are so tiring.
HATTER: I want a clean cup! Move round, move round!
ALICE: Wait – please finish the story.
HARE: Move round, move round!
ALICE: Please, this is really important.
ALICE has to collude with the moving-round, but during the movement, the DORMOUSE falls asleep again. ALICE pokes him.
Tell me what the treacle means, what the drawing means –
Hello? Hello? What about the story?
ALICE shakes the DORMOUSE by the shoulder, trying to rouse him.
He wakes up and looks at her.
DORMOUSE: I wasn’t asleep, you know.
ALICE: Please tell the rest of the story – about Joe?
The DORMOUSE shakes his head confused.
DORMOUSE: Joe...
ALICE: Who lived in a well?
DORMOUSE: Joe...
ALICE: A treacle well?
DORMOUSE: Treacle, strawberry jam –
ALICE: Right. This is just nonsense, isn’t it? You’re just spouting rubbish.
The DORMOUSE shakes his head, then falls asleep with the effort.
DORMOUSE: Twinkle twinkle twinkle twinkle...
HATTER: Look at that – six o’clock. Time for tea.
HARE: Move round, move round!
ALICE: You’re all broken, you’re stuck.
HATTER: You must have something to eat.
ALICE: I don’t want to eat anything I’m very upset.
The HATTER holds his watch towards ALICE.
HATTER: Time’s a great healer, you know.
ALICE: Stupid wild goose chase – like yeah, go find the middle and then it’s all full of mentals like you lot –
HATTER: Look: six o’clock – time for tea.
ALICE: For god’s sake.
HARE: It was the best butter – tea’s mashed!
HATTER: And then there I am, standing on a chair in front of the queen, no less –
HARE: The queen of Hearts!
HATTER: The very one...
ALICE: The queen of Hearts?
HATTER: Demanding I sing her a song.
The HATTER and the HARE continue their dialogue, having got back to the beginning of their eternal loop. ALICE moves away, thinking.
ALICE
: The queen is the queen of Hearts? Like on a pack of cards?
Oh my god – that’s what it means – the queen of Hearts. ‘Go right to the Heart’ means I have to go and see the queen, right, surely?
The queen of Hearts!
Queens live in castles, no palaces – did the duchess mention a palace?
There must be a palace, right? So where’s that?
Find the palace find the palace...
A teenage BOY (14 or 15.) appears, wearing chef whites and wheeling a strange contraption in front of him. A little like a hostess trolley, it has a fan and a conveyor belt, along which are passing a batch of strawberry jam tarts, and underneath this, a sort of cupboard.
ALICE goes over to him.
Excuse me?
BOY: Alright?
ALICE: Is there um, is there a palace here?
BOY: Well duh.
ALICE: Pardon?
BOY: Course there’s a palace, where d’you think I work?
ALICE: OK, can you tell me where it is?
BOY: God, d’you know nothing?
ALICE: You hum it and I’ll tell you.
BOY: What?
ALICE: Sorry, my dad says that.
Sorry, could you just basically tell me where the palace is and then I’ll go away.
BOY: It’s over there.
A GIRL around the same age as the boy appears. She has an armful of red and white roses. The BOY’s attention immediately switches away from ALICE.
ALICE: OK, thank you.
BOY: Whatever.
(To the girl.) Got enough flowers, haven’t you?
GIRL: That your best line? They’re roses.
BOY: Someone give them to you, did they?
GIRL: For the queen. Didn’t know if she wanted red or white.
Gardener just said ‘roses’.
BOY: She’ll want red ones.
GIRL: What, she’s your girlfriend, is she?
BOY: She always wants red ones. Ask anyone.
GIRL: What am I going to do with all the white ones, then?
BOY: Keep them for yourself. I’d let you, if I was gardener.
They move off a little, talking closely. Their conversation continues softly under the next:
Unseen by the BOY and GIRL, a man climbs out from the cupboard under the tart-cooling trolley. This is the KNAVE OF HEARTS. He’s dressed like a burglar, and has a bag slung over his shoulder. He takes a tart from the top of the trolley and puts it in his bag, then dashes out of sight.
The BOY comes back towards the trolley to wind up the fan.
ALICE: Excuse me –
BOY: And actually chef’s said my knife skills were pretty amazing, you know, for my age. He said if I carry on like this, he’ll put me on jam in a few years time, he can see me having a career in puddings, he said.
ALICE: Sorry, but –
BOY: (To Alice.) It’s over there, I told you.
