SMITH. You’re going to cut whatever I may have been making to shreds…?
POPPY. To stop all your fabrication… and pretence causing any more upset!
SMITH. Such a thing was never my intention…
POPPY. Why didn’t you save me…?
SMITH.… from what… your own longing?
POPPY. Who can I trust now?
SMITH. There’s only one person you ever need to trust…
POPPY. Oh, how could I fall for… Why did I fall…? Such a fool… Stupid stupid… And still stupid… still wanting to run as fast as my legs can carry me after him… her… Stupid!… wanting just as much to run twice as fast in the opposite direction!
She suddenly hands SMITH the shears.
Cut me in two… so one half can find him and never let him go… his way, all the way… wherever it takes me… I don’t care…
SMITH. And the other half of you?
POPPY.… Just… please… set me… free!
SMITH. Only half of you wants to be free?
POPPY. All of me does! But what use is it… freedom… what does it matter… if if if you’re all on your own.
POPPY slumps onto the floor, giving up.
SMITH. You know… I started to sketch… to shape… to work… with such fire… such hope… such a sense of possibility… But… peh… nothing hung right… even though it almost did… even though it promised to… nothing quite measured up… Agh… and such fine cloth!
POPPY. I tried… I really did try…
SMITH. Sometimes you’ve done all you can.
POPPY. Why wasn’t it enough?… There must be… some other way…
SMITH. Why keep trying and trying and trying…?
POPPY. If only George wasn’t…
SMITH. If George wasn’t…?
POPPY. George.
SMITH. And you?
POPPY. If only I weren’t…
SMITH. If you weren’t…?
POPPY. If I weren’t… me.
SMITH. But you are.
POPPY. How can it all lead nowhere?
SMITH. In ergets nit… Ah, that moment when you reach the impossible place… when you realise that… it simply doesn’t hold… the dream and the substance… are never going to match. There you have it… And out come the shears… All that work… All that material… All the care…
He snips the shears.
POPPY. Such a waste.
SMITH. And once the cloth is cut, there’s no putting it back into one whole piece.
POPPY. If only I’d seen in the first place.
SMITH. What did you expect?
POPPY. What anyone would expect…
SMITH. Precisely… you saw what you expected and you expected what you saw… and then it turned out that what you expected to expect wasn’t what you expected…
POPPY. What was I meant to expect?
SMITH. If you hadn’t expected anything then maybe you would have seen what was right in front of your nose.
POPPY. How does anyone see anything for what it is?
SMITH. Open your eyes.
POPPY. Is that all?
SMITH. Look… Really look… as if you’ve never seen anything ever before, because, you know what… You never know.
POPPY. Were you born knowing this?
SMITH. If I was, believe me, I keep forgetting… until it comes, the rude reminder, to shake me out of my daydreams. Why don’t you take a look behind the curtain?
POPPY. What’s there?
SMITH. Go on.
POPPY goes behind the curtain.
POPPY. Oh.
SMITH. Yes?
POPPY (off). It’s not…
SMITH.…what you were expecting?
POPPY (off). How do you…?
SMITH. Try it on.
SMITH gets his hat, coat and a small suitcase.
Not what I was expecting either. But then that seems to be what happens when we realise that we’re making it up as we go along… isn’t it?
POPPY (off). What on earth is this…?
SMITH. It’s called a ‘separable fastener’… from military uniforms… easier than buttons… Pull and it slides… zippety zip… See?
POPPY (off). Ah… Oh… You mean… Is it meant to be like this…?
POPPY emerges from behind the curtain.
She is half-dressed, wearing and adjusting a pair of flowing silk pants in dark green – ahead of their time, in a style that will become fashionable in the 1930s – a black camisole inlaid with many little black beads.
She holds a red-velvet jacket, lined with red silk.
SMITH. How does it feel?
POPPY. Different.
SMITH. Created for you, only you.
POPPY. Like a second skin…
SMITH. Oytentish, huh?
POPPY. Like my… birthday suit.
SMITH. Zhen Zhen De.
POPPY touches her black-beaded camisole.
POPPY. Did you sew all these little black beads on yourself?
SMITH. By daylight, by gaslight.
POPPY notices SMITH’s coat, hat and case.
POPPY. Where are you going?
SMITH. Away now.
POPPY. Anywhere in particular.
SMITH. Probably Paris.
POPPY. Why there?
SMITH. For what else…?
POPPY.…a lady?
SMITH. She calls herself Coco. And she’s making her mark. New patterns galore.
POPPY. What’ll happen to me?
SMITH. Stay here as long as you like.
POPPY. Hidden away… all on my own?
SMITH. Don’t you like it here?
POPPY. Oh I do… having this to come back to… down the alleyways and passages… through that doorway that you could so easily miss… leaving the hustle and bustle behind… To be able to escape… and be tucked away… with all the… wonders… the possibilities… here… But I’m not sure I could stay… or would even want to… without the ones that breathe life into everything… without the very person… Smith… without you… and all you’ve… all you…
SMITH takes her hand and they hold each other, hand and gaze, for a real moment.
No I don’t think I can stay here anyhow… because I can’t let myself be left behind, can I?
SMITH. It’s up to you.
POPPY. Looks like I am going to have to step up and step out… Forwards.
SMITH. As you wish.
POPPY. I know I can get by…
SMITH. Of course…
POPPY.…doing jobs like sewing, running errands, typing letters…
SMITH. And…?
POPPY. Maybe one day I’ll even make some kind of living… not sure how… I mean is there ever a wage for speaking out… or taking action… for going against the grain?… You just have to give of yourself… if things are to be set right… And I always will, gladly.
SMITH. And…?
POPPY. Oh, there’s so much more too… isn’t there… that calls… like… it’s stirring up… I don’t know how to tell you or even tell myself… I mean, how do you follow… how can you trust this… whatever’s in here… tucked away… down… in my own… deep down in here… my cares… beliefs… my dreams… even my mistakes… and… and… my… love… how can I keep all of it stored safely away any more?… Why would I even want to?… you know, like your precious red silks and velvets rolled up neatly on the shelves… or your sketches stashed away in hidey-holes… when it could be set free… to… to dance… to fly… even become something you can touch and hold and… and share… And so much that matters… all the wonders… in here… so many hidden wonders… they’re what’s calling to come together somehow… to find shape… their own form… Yes to come out… and show themselves… and be seen and heard and… loved… really truly loved… for who they are.
POPPY puts on the red jacket.
SMITH. Shleymesdik.
POPPY. Bless you.
SMITH. Thank you… Thank you.
POPPY. It�
��s all very well, but how do I dare step out looking like this? What would people think? Where on earth would I fit in?
SMITH. Gezegenung. Zai Jian Le. Good luck.
SMITH bows and goes.
POPPY’s music starts to play.
Voices echo.
VOICES (sing).
Of all that stirs in verdant field…
Of all from fertile soil that springs…
POPPY pulls herself up tall.
POPPY. Right… Oh hell…
VOICES (sing).
Of all the blooms that sunshine brings…
POPPY. How about… How about…?
VOICES (sing).
Of all that summer offers brightly…
Of all that flowers daily… nightly…
POPPY. My name is Poppy.
POPPY holds out her hand.
What’s yours?
End.
Glossary
Zhongshan suit: tunic with straight jacket and close-fitting, stand-up collar, along with loose trousers.
Der ergster sholem… iz beser vi di beste milkhome: The worst peace is better than the best war.
Bing dong san chi… (fei yi ri zhi han): Three feet of ice does not form in a single day (as in ‘Rome wasn’t built in a single day’ – be patient.)
Nit dos iz sheyn, vos iz sheyn, nor dos, vos es gefelt: Beautiful is not what is beautiful… beautiful is what you like.
Shleymesdik: Perfect.
Mishegas: Craziness, nonsense.
Luftmensch: airhead, impractical person with no definite business or income.
Wan shi kai tou nan: All things are difficult before they are easy.
Chutzpah: Nerve, cheek, daring.
In ergets nit: Nowhere.
Oytentish: Authentic.
Zhen Zhen de: Really real.
Gezegenung: Farewell.
Zai Jian Le: Farewell.
DIANE SAMUELS
Diane Samuels was born and raised in Liverpool. She currently lives in London where she has been working as a playwright and author since the early 1990s. She enjoys collaborating across art forms, with composers, musicians, visual artists, dance specialists, and draws on relationships with scientists, historians, psychotherapists, medical practitioners, healers to expand the scope of her practice and work. She also works as a teacher/facilitator of creative writing to all ages.
Kindertransport won the Verity Bargate and Meyer-Whitworth Awards, and was first produced by Soho Theatre Company in 1993. It has been translated into many languages, performed in the West End, Off Broadway and all over the world, revived in 2007 in the UK by Shared Experience Theatre Company. Now studied for A and A/S Level and a set text for English Literature GCSE. Other plays include The True-Life Fiction of Mata Hari, Watford Palace Theatre, 2002; Cinderella’s Daughter, Trestle Theatre tour, 2005; and 3 Sisters on Hope Street (with actress Tracy-Ann Oberman), after Chekhov, co-produced by Liverpool Everyman/Playhouse and Hampstead Theatres, 2008. The Arrest of Rosa Gold, readings at National Theatre Studio, 2010, and Jewish Museum, 2012. End of Romance, performed reading as part of the Mary Shelley Festival, Bournemouth, 2011.
For younger audiences, plays include One Hundred Million Footsteps for Quicksilver Theatre Company; Chalk Circle, Frankie’s Monster and How to Beat a Giant at the Unicorn Theatre.
For BBC radio, plays include Swine, Doctor Y, Watch Out for Mister Stork, Hen Party, Tiger Wings, five part serial for Woman’s Hour, and Psyche.
She has wide experience of teaching creative writing, lecturing at the universities of Birmingham, Reading, Oxford, Goldsmiths’ and running workshops for Institute for Arts in Therapy and Education, Alternatives, Theatre Royal Haymarket and the National Gallery. She was Royal Literary Fund Fellow at the University of Westminster, 2008 to 2011, and has been visiting lecturer at Regent’s College, London, from 2013. She runs a regular writers’ group and is writer-in-residence at Grafton Primary School, Islington, North London.
Diane was one of a creative team awarded a Science on Stage and Screen Award by the Wellcome Trust in 2001 leading to PUSH, The People Show Studios, 2003. Her short story, Rope, broadcast as one of the 2002 winners of BBC Radio 4’s online short story competition. Writer and presenter Inter-Rail Postcards, BBC Radio 3. Interactive writing installation, In Your Own Words for Battersea Arts Centre’s One on One Festival, 2011. As Pearson Creative Research Fellow 2004/5 at the British Library, completed research into magic, booklet A Writer’s Magic Notebook, pub. 2006.
Recently, Diane has written Persephone (A Love Story), with composer Maurice Chernick, Arts Council England funding for staged readings at Rosemary Branch theatre, 2013; and The A-Z of Mrs P, music/lyrics by Gwyneth Herbert, world premiere Southwark Playhouse, 2014.
Diane is also writing, with Maurice Chernick, a new oratorio with spoken word, Song of Dina that gives voice to the invisibled daughter of biblical patriarch Jacob to be given a public presentation of work in progress at JW3 in April 2016.
Also, in development are: The Rhythm Method with Gwyneth Herbert, probing the ins and outs of contraception, recipient of a Wellcome Trust award; and A Waltz & a Prayer exploring marriage, faith, miracles and the possible sainthood of Mother Cornelia Connelly.
A Nick Hern Book
Poppy + George first published in Great Britain in 2016 as a paperback original by Nick Hern Books Limited, The Glasshouse, 49a Goldhawk Road, London W12 8QP, in association with Watford Palace Theatre
This ebook first published in 2016
Poppy + George copyright © 2016 Diane Samuels
Diane Samuels has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Cover design by Josie Richardson Photography
Designed and typeset by Nick Hern Books, London
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 84842 545 3 (print edition)
ISBN 978 1 78001 717 4 (ebook edition)
CAUTION This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Amateur Performing Rights Applications for performance, including readings and excerpts, by amateurs in the English language throughout the world should be addressed to the Performing Rights Manager, Nick Hern Books, The Glasshouse, 49a Goldhawk Road, London W12 8QP, tel +44 (0)20 8749 4953, email [email protected], except as follows:
Australia: Dominie Drama, 8 Cross Street, Brookvale 2100, tel (2) 9938 8686 fax (2) 9938 8695, email [email protected]
New Zealand: Play Bureau, PO Box 9013, St Clair, Dunedin 9047, tel (3) 455 9959, email [email protected]
South Africa: DALRO (pty) Ltd, PO Box 31627, 2017 Braamfontein, tel (11) 712 8000, fax (11) 403 9094, email [email protected]
United States and Canada: Alan Brodie Representation Ltd, see details below
Professional Performing Rights Applications for performance by professionals in any medium and in any language throughout the world should be addressed to Alan Brodie Representation Ltd, Paddock Suite, The Courtyard, 55 Charterhouse Street, London EC1M 6HA, tel +44 (0) 20 7253 6226, fax +44 (0)20 7183 7999, email [email protected], web www.alanbrodie.com
No performance of any kind may be given unless a licence has been obtained. Applications should be made before rehearsals begin. Publication of this play does not necessarily indicate its availability for amateur performance.
Music Lyrics by Diane Samuels, with music composed specially for the original production by Gwyneth Herbert.
For more information about accessing scores and recordings, please contact Nick Hern Books in the first instance
(details above).
Poppy + George Page 8
