We hope that you are enjoying this new adventure we are taking as a Museum in collaboration with Time and Again Theatre Company. Here is Episode 2, ready for you to stream online via your favourite channel

EPISODE 2 
THE WOODEN O 


INT. SHUTTLEFIELD VILLAGE HALL – DAY

Sunday afternoon, 9th March, 1941 – Ruby crosses the empty stage of the village hall, her heels echoing on the wooden floor, and bangs the dust from a pair of old red curtains. It fans out in a thick cloud. 

RUBY

And here we are. This stage hasn’t seen a duster in years. (Calling) Katherine, are you starting the tea?

Cuts to:

INT. KITCHEN OF SHUTTLEFIELD VILLAGE HALL

Tea leaves being spooned into a large red tea pot. Water shooting into a tin kettle. Drip, drip from the tap. Katherine’s hands striking a match and lighting the gas of an old stove. Whoosh of the gas.  

Cuts to:

INT. SHUTTLEFIELD VILLAGE HALL

A semi-circle of expectant, empty chairs. Ruby seated opposite, alone, facing the others. A position of authority. Silence. 

RUBY

Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Thirteen? We can’t possibly have that. The last thing I need is bad luck. Fourteen. Fourteen will be enough. Will it?

She tentatively opens an old copy of Henry V as though it may bite her and flicks through the pages. She begins to read, muttering to herself, practising.

RUBY
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention. 

She turns to the notes at the back of the script.

“The ending of the word is delivered with two syllables.” Two… invent-ion. The brightest heaven of invent-ion,

A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, 

And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself –

Ruby turns to the notes again.

RUBY (CONT’D)
Like himself? Oh. “In his own manner.” As himself. 

Assume the port of Mars;
Can this cockpit hold 
The vasty fields of France? 

Ruby pauses doubtfully. 

Or may we cram
Within this wooden O, the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt? – well, we all wonder that, my dear. 

Katherine walks in from the kitchen and starts adjusting the chairs that Ruby has already laid out so they are at perfectly straight angles to one another.

RUBY (CONT’D)

Did you find the cups?

KATHERINE

Yes, the kettle’s boiling now. 

RUBY

 Note it down in the book. I’ll bring my own leaves next time – theirs are ghastly. A good cup of tea always brightens things up. You could try looking a little more cheerful yourself, Kate.

KATHERINE

What about?

RUBY

That we’re doing our bit! Supporting our boys! Showing that we’re all pulling together!

KATHERINE 

Cost of fuselage, two thousand five hundred pounds; cost of engine, two thousand pounds; wings, one thousand eight hundred; undercarriage, eight hundred; guns, eight hundred; tail, five hundred –  

The majority of the cast – Edward, Nancy, Mrs Holt, Mr Jones – quietly pile in through the door whilst Katherine’s making this little pronouncement. Ruby tries to stall her with increasingly frantic gestures and whispers.

KATHERINE (CONT’D)

Propeller, three hundred and fifty; petrol tank (top), forty pounds; petrol tank (bottom), twenty five pounds; oil tank, twenty five pounds; compass, five pounds; clock, two pounds, ten shillings; thermometer, one pound, one shilling; sparking plug, eight shillings.

She is oblivious.

KATHERINE (CONT’D)
So even if we raise the grand total of, what was it – one hundred pounds? We can donate just under one third of a propeller. 

Edward smiles in a faux cheerful manner and makes an effort to break the ice.

EDWARD

I’ll pretend I didn’t hear such talk, Miss Winters! 

RUBY

Do come in everyone! Gas masks and coats onto the hooks by the door please. That’s it! Yes, thank you!

Katherine disappears back into the kitchen.

EDWARD

It’s stopped raining out there but it isn’t half cold; I could do with a good pair of gloves.

NANCY

The rain we had last week! I’ve not seen it like that – pouring down the streets in a river – not since the Autumn of, ’38 I think. 

Their conversation is instantly light and friendly, not at all forced.

EDWARD

It was ’39. ’38 was remarkably dry and then, of course, there was the snow on Christmas day.

NANCY

Was that ’38? I could’ve sworn it was ’37 because I was visiting my cousin up in the Peak District that year and the trains were a complete nightmare.

Mr Jones has been listening to them and jumps in. He is in his early sixties, ruffled grey hair, friendly but with an air of eccentricity.

MR JONES

I remember that Christmas. The entire village ran out of coal. Mr Eccles lost his big toe because he wouldn’t take his boots off for two weeks. Or was it his thumb? Though why would he have his boots on his hands? Don’t be silly. We had to burn all sorts of things. My late mother’s poetry annuals did the trick. Awful stuff. Dreadful! But it went up like kindling. Should’ve done it years ago! Made the place nice and cosy.

He takes off his coat. Edward and Nancy exchange a slightly awkward giggle at this unusual festive tale. Mrs Holt bustles over to Mr Jones.

MRS HOLT

Afternoon Pip. Horrible weather. I left an extra blanket out for Percy because the twins will take the best baskets by the fire.

Ruby tries to regain control of the group. Her authority is questionable from the outset.

 
RUBY

Are we all here? How lovely. If everyone could take a seat, we’ll get started. I have a few notices to begin with – 

Edward approaches her brandishing a pile of scripts in his non-injured arm.

EDWARD

Where do you want these books? We won’t be getting very far without them. 

RUBY

No, of course. So kind of you to bring those extra copies. Perhaps if you could hand them out, my dear? Right –

Katherine brings out the teapot and chipped enamel mugs on a wooden tray and places it on a table in the corner. 

KATHERINE

I’ve made the tea.

Ruby tries to forestall her by hissing:

RUBY (CONT’D)

No, that isn’t for now, Katherine. We’re just starting to –

There is a mass exodus to the tea with appreciative comments about ‘a nice cuppa’. The cast completely ignore Ruby’s protests.

RUBY (CONT’D)

No, no! We’ll have our tea later – when we have a break. Later on. Perhaps if you just take it back into the… right. No. Of course.

MR JONES
Are there any biscuits?

EDWARD

Have a script instead Mr Jones. Here you go.

Edward hands out the scripts as best he can with his injured arm. He drops one and Nancy picks it up for him.

EDWARD (CONT’D)
Thank you.

MRS HOLT

(Coming over to Ruby)

Miss Winters, I’ve been thinking about the part of the play where King Henry’s old friend is executed for theft. I’m rather good at playing dead so I don’t mind if you want to hang me.

RUBY

Well, that’s certainly something to consider –

MR JONES

Are we starting? I can’t bear time wasting. Straight to it, that’s how things should be.

As though Ruby has been holding them up! Deep breaths…

RUBY

Yes! If you all take a seat. 

MR JONES

Did you hear that van go past this morning? Rattled the windows, it did.

MRS HOLT

Yes, we wondered what was going on. Was it the army?

MR JONES

Home Guard. Though god knows what they want a truck that size for. 

They file into the awaiting chairs. Katherine sits at the end of the row, slightly apart. 

RUBY

 Perhaps not quite the turnout we were expecting. But I know there was a bus to Biggleswade this afternoon – First Aiders meeting in the Town Hall – bicarbonate of soda and its practical applications. 

EDWARD

Yes, they’re practicing on Mrs Henderson’s youngest. Bought him with an extra ration of hundreds and thousands.

RUBY

Now, the telephone is not to be used in any circumstances, unless by previous arrangement with Mr Martin. As you know, the ARP usually occupy this hall but have kindly allowed us the time. I have eight hundred ‘Fire Precautions in Wartime’ pamphlets to assemble in return so any helpers – just say the word… 

No one is forthcoming. Katherine has picked up a script and is flicking through it, ignoring Ruby entirely.

RUBY (CONT’D)

I thought we’d start with a few simple introductions; perhaps if you would my dear? 

NANCY

Me? Nancy Wilde, pleased to meet you I’m sure. 

EDWARD

We’ve not seen you in this neck of the woods before. New to town? 

NANCY

I’ve been in London –

EDWARD

That’s rather spirited of you.

NANCY

Is it? I was at the Vaudeville – just in the chorus – but they’re closing up now. Regulations. Too many bodies in one place, apparently. 

MRS HOLT

An actress? A real actress, from the West End? Do you know Noel Coward?

NANCY
That was the plan. But for now I’m holed up with my aunt, Mrs Palmer on Bedford Road. 

EDWARD

So you’re the niece? Edward Holmes. Everyone here shops at Palmer’s. Finest grocers in the village. 

They shake hands.

KATHERINE

It’s the only grocers in the village.

This cuts the murmur of friendly introductions dead. Nancy continues encouragingly, determined to be friendly. 

NANCY

What about you, love? Got a name?

KATHERINE

Yes, I do.

Nancy looks at Katherine expectantly but she remains silent. To Katherine’s mind she has answered the question asked of her. There is nothing at all sarcastic about Katherine’s responses. She is entirely literal. Innocently rude. 

Mrs Holt leans forward as Ruby continues to talk.

MRS HOLT
Oh, don’t mind her, Miss Wilde – Nancy. Can I call you Nancy? It’s so much nicer I think, to use first names. That’s Miss Ruby’s sister. She’s always like that. It’s just her way. There’s one in every litter.

RUBY
As I was saying, the Council for the Encouragement of Music and the Arts –

Ruby double checks her notebook as she says this, to make sure she’s saying the correct name.

RUBY (CONT’D)

– are very excited about the revival of amateur dramatics in Shuttlefield. There used to be quite a thriving society before the war and they hope that this performance will once again bring out –

NANCY 

(Cutting across, looking at Edward)

What happened to your arm? Or is it all hush hush? 

EDWARD

Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid. The usual sort of story, unexpected landing – very unexpected. 

There is a bitterness in his voice momentarily. We grasp very quickly that the injury and what caused it are a touchy subject.

EDWARD (CONT’D)

Thing’s good as useless for the time being. 

NANCY

Nah, I know when someone’s being modest. It’s all in the eyes. You were up to heroics! So, I assume you’ll be our Henry?

RUBY

Well actually, dear Edward won’t be entirely compatible with the role. Can’t have our King going into battle already in bandages, can we? 

Will enters as she’s speaking. 

RUBY (CONT’D)

No, Mr Croft had expressed an interest in – ah speak of the devil.

She is immensely relieved to see another person join the group.

WILL

And he doth appear! Evening folks. Sorry I’m late. 

RUBY

If you take a book and sit down.

He picks up a script and crosses to sit in the chair next to Katherine.

WILL

We’ve been ploughing and planting the fields at old Matlock’s place. Potatoes. There’s only four of us and he’s got about 50 acres. It’ll take us years at this rate.

KATHERINE

Three and a half days, if you account for the seeds being planted the recommended 12 inches apart and the working day being ten hours. 

WILL
(Amused)

Well versed in agriculture?

RUBY

Well versed in useless trivia. Now, where was I? Yes, Mr Croft – Will, isn’t it? – you shall be our King Henry.

EDWARD

Well done, old man. 

RUBY

The rest of us will have to do a spot of doubling up, get our teeth into lots of different characters… fifty-two characters to be precise, nearly all of them men. But… doesn’t that make things more fun? 

Her voice reveals plainly that this is far from the case.

MR JONES
Will we get to wear chain mail? I’ve always fancied chain mail, though I can’t have anything too heavy, because of my knees.

MRS HOLT
Perhaps you could have tights, like Errol Flynn. He looked ever so good in them.

Ruby ploughs on, pretending not to have heard.

RUBY

I shall be reading for the Chorus as well as steering the ship, so to speak. Right, let’s push these chairs aside and get on our feet.

NANCY

What about me? 

RUBY

Our beautiful French princess of course! 

Ruby checks the others aren’t listening and adds quietly:

RUBY
(CONT’D)

Though I hope you’re not averse to wielding a sword every now and then! I find it preferable to keep Mrs Holt away from all weaponry. 

Edward, what do you say to being our noble Earl of Westmorland? 

Katherine has slunk over and eavesdropped on Ruby’s hushed conversation. She will often do this; listen in unobserved or pay attention without people noticing.

KATHERINE

Why can’t I play the French Princess? She’s hardly in it.

RUBY

Don’t be ridiculous. You haven’t got at all the right sort of nose.

KATHERINE

I thought this was acting. What’s the shape of my nose got to do with it?

The cast get to their feet, faff with the chairs, flick through their scripts. Edward has gravitated to Nancy.

NANCY

I can only say one thing in French: les bas sont merveilleux!

EDWARD

The stockings are… wonderful.

NANCY

(Speaking at the same time)

Wonderful. We used to have a lovely free French airman bring them to stage door.

Will hovers near Katherine and attempts to make conversation.

WILL 

So what about you?

KATHERINE

Third spear-carrier from the left I should imagine, though in this case I suppose it’s ‘third archer’. 

Again, she isn’t trying to be funny. Just completely literal.

WILL

That’s not the Agincourt spirit. I’m Will. 

KATHERINE

Are you? I see. 

WILL

That’s usually when you say your name.

She doesn’t.

WILL (CONT’D)

 Well, go on then.

She’s a little taken aback. No one usually perseveres.

KATHERINE

Oh. I’m Katherine.

RUBY

The script starts on page sixteen! 

She spies Mr Jones bending back the spine of his book in a vicious manner.

RUBY (CONT’D)

If you could be careful of that copy my dear. It was donated by Mr Nelson and he does get rather – well, we don’t want a repeat of Harvest Festival, do we? A messy situation all round. 

EDWARD

Did you hear what he did at the Hare and Hounds on Friday? Smashed his old pocket watch with the coal scuttle after a couple of rounds. 

RUBY

He’s had that watch years. Was there something wrong with it?

EDWARD

You could say that; it was German. 

This doesn’t get quite the response Edward was hoping for. No murmurs of approval or jingoistic remarks. 

EDWARD (CONT’D)

Can’t knock the old chap’s spirit though. 

He turns to Will.

EDWARD (CONT’D)

How have you landed up in the fields, Croft? Your eyes?

WILL

I suppose.

EDWARD

A damn shame. Still, don’t let it get you down; you’re still doing your bit. 

RUBY

We’ll read through to start. No movement, just getting to grips with the language. It is Shakespeare after all, and tricky in places, but we’ll push through together. The second line, for example, “invent-ion” the ending is pronounced with two syllables, because, because it sounds… better.

Nancy makes as if to ask Ruby a question, but Ruby ignores her.

RUBY (CONT’D)

Find a space and let the words fill you up. I’ll begin…
O for a Muse of fire –

NANCY

Do you want me to make my accent all posh? It’s what I do when I’ve got a nice audition up west.

RUBY

We can explore creative decisions later, for now if we just enjoy the text. 

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invent-ion 

An air raid siren begins to sound, gaining in volume. They freeze as one and look up, ritualistic. 

RUBY (CONT’D)

Oh bloody hell! Leave your things. We can come back for them later. Quickly please.

WILL

Once more unto the breach, dear friends!

The cast leave. Footsteps hurrying.

INT. MRS HOLT’S LIVING ROOM – DAY

A small, modest room. 

(Visual description left in to give you an idea of Mrs Holt’s character) [One or two nice things, heirlooms from a deceased parent or grandparent, mix with a few pottery figurines of dogs, and a book or two; one on British Prime Ministers and one on Greek Mythology. There are signs of poverty mixed with great love. The armchair is old and frayed but the bare patches are covered with a hand-knitted blanket. Make shift dog beds – an old drawer, an empty vegetable crate – line the wall in front of the window. Each has a neat name painted on the front in big red letters: Duke of Wellington, Viscount Melbourne, Zeus, Apollo, Hermes, Archibald, and Percy. A dog brush and red ball sit on the mantelpiece.] Barking is heard.

MRS HOLT
It’s alright my dears. I’m home. Into the cupboard under the stairs, come on now. 

The dogs duly appear; two Dachshunds, three Alsatians, and a Greyhound. They know the routine. They greet her and head into the cupboard. The pattering of little feet, claws on the floorboards. One of the Dachshunds – Wellington – circles her feet.

MRS HOLT (CONT’D)

Do hurry along Your Grace. There now. But watch the china! That was my Grandmother’s. Where’s Percy? Percy?

Percy is still in his basket and yawns very sleepy. She has to divvy him along into the cupboard.

MRS HOLT (CONT’D)
Come along now. I managed to pick up a nice wooden crate from Palmers this morning. We’ll be able to get rid of that nasty cardboard box. Make a much nicer bed. Fit for a King. Or at least a Duke, eh Wellington?

Wellington barks. They close the cupboard door and the yapping fades.

INT. CELLAR OF THE HARE AND HOUNDS – DAY

The rest of the cast are sat on benches and upturned crates in a dank, grey pub cellar, along with a few other residents of the village. Sounds of the pub moved downstairs:

– Ambient chatter.

– Glasses clinking.

– Someone is playing an accordion or ukulele. 

Arthur Nelson, mid-fifties but fully adoptive of the ‘grumpy old man’ persona, nurses a pipe in the corner. Sound of newspaper pages turning.

MR NELSON

(Mutters)

Rubbish. Absolute rubbish. Don’t they know how to report real facts anymore? (Out loud) Anybody got a light?

Two young girls – around 11 years old – bored of the raid, are nudging each other and giggling at Katherine, who is absentmindedly scribbling numbers onto the crate she’s sitting on and muttering them under her breath. Katherine taps the fingertips of her other hand on her knee, increasingly quickly. 

YOUNG GIRL
My Mum says she wears slacks all the time because she’s so subnormal she actually thinks she’s a boy!

Her friend laughs. Katherine looks up, directly at them.

KATHERINE
To be subnormal is to possess below level intelligence, rather like yourselves. I’m abnormal.

The girls giggle again and move to another part of the shelter. Will has listened to this exchange.

WILL

Everything alright?

KATHERINE

During an air raid? Whilst I’m sitting in the cellar of a pub that smells like stale beer and sweat, with cigarette smoke so thick I can hardly see the other side of the room, full of lots and lots of people who keep interrupting my calculations.

WILL

Yes. Sorry. Stupid question. Of course.

Katherine focuses on the drip, drip of a tap in the corner. The noise echoes louder and louder inside her head. The wave of inane chatter crescendos. She continues to tap her fingers subconsciously on her knee. Suddenly she shoots up on an impulse and goes to turn the tap off fully. The ambient noise drops back down to a normal level. 

A man in his thirties crosses over to Mr Nelson. He has small eyes and dark hair. Billy Sherringham. The two men know each other.

BILLY SHERRINGHAM

Anything interesting Arthur?

MR NELSON

Complete nonsense. That’s all they write these days.

BILLY SHERRINGHAM

Well, what do you expect from the Chronicle? You on for Friday?

MR NELSON

Charlie Ainsworth’s dropped out. ARP duties. What kind of man puts telling people to turn their lights off, over a game of cards.

BILLY SHERRINGHAM

Shame. It was building into a tasty little pot.

Will is sat nearby and joins in the conversation.

WILL

I could step in. What are you playing?

BILLY SHERRINGHAM

Who are you?

MR NELSON

He works up at Matlock’s. I’ve seen him going off every morning.

WILL

You must wake up pretty early.

Mr Nelson considers him.

MR NELSON

You’ll have to pay to sit in.

WILL

Of course. I’m good for it.

A small, greedy smile tone creeps into Billy Sherringham’s voice.

BILLY SHERRINGHAM

Why not? In the bar, Friday night, round about 8?

WILL

Alright.

Ruby has been listening to this. She waits until Will moves away and then pulls him to one side.

RUBY

I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you ought to watch playing cards with that pair. Arthur Nelson is an incredibly good player and Billy Sherringham cheats.

Will is a little surprised but covers it. He’s trying to read her. Why is she telling him this?

WILL

Oh I see. Duly noted. I’d better brush up on my game then. These are good.

RUBY

Sorry?

WILL

The drawings. Armour and swords and horses – are they for the show? You’ll be busy.

RUBY

A little help will be required naturally. I’ve heard Mrs Holt is a whizz with the knitting needles.

A siren sounds and a voice shouts ‘all clear!’. People begin standing up, gathering up their coats and gas masks, and shuffling towards the exit.

INT. KITCHEN OF MRS PALMER’S HOUSE – NIGHT

It is a clean but modest room, full of well cared for items that are nevertheless rather old. It is unanimous with the village’s ‘make do and mend’ attitude – one which pre-dates the war. Don’t throw anything away that’s useful, make the most of everything. Mrs Palmer is a bright, lively woman in her fifties. Shrewd but kind. Nancy enters through the back door.

MRS PALMER

You’re back late.

NANCY

I got caught up in the raid, didn’t I? I thought I’d be avoiding all that out here.

MRS PALMER

We don’t get many. It was probably just one of ours going the wrong way.

Nancy takes off her coat and sits down at the table next to her aunt. Sounds of her kicking off her shoes. We can tell that they get on well and are at ease with one another.

NANCY

It was definitely a Heinkel. That girl said so.

MRS PALMER

What girl?

NANCY

Miss Winters’ sister. Seemed to know all about it. Engine noise apparently.

Mrs Palmer has no time for ‘engine noise’.

MRS PALMER

Have you eaten?

NANCY

Not for hours.

MRS PALMER

Shall I heat you up some stew?

NANCY

Only if it’s no bother.

MRS PALMER

‘Course it isn’t. 

Mrs Palmer gets to her feet and begins preparations for the meal, taking out a large pan and setting it on the stove. 

MRS PALMER

How was it?

NANCY
I don’t think Vivien Leigh has anything to worry about.

Mrs Palmer laughs.

MRS PALMER

I’m sure she doesn’t! I don’t know how we’re going to manage tomorrow. I’ve been fretting all afternoon. We’re just about through everything, the shelves are empty, and Treadwell’s have delayed their delivery again.

NANCY

We’ll manage. We can scrape something together. There’s still quite a few carrots. I saw a box out the back.

MRS PALMER

While I remember, a telegram arrived for you.

NANCY

On a Sunday? Who’s shelling out for that?

MRS PALMER

Here you go.

Nancy breathes sharply. She throws down her bag and gets up.

MRS PALMER

Where are you going? This’ll be ready in a minute.

NANCY

I’m – I’m not hungry. I think I’ll go to bed.

Nancy storms up the stairs. The wind knocks a branch into the window, tap, tap tap. It sounds like someone knocking. Mrs Palmer pauses uneasily before turning up the wireless.

Sometimes, things are just meant to happen. Greyhounds and our new Podcast is perhaps one of those things.

As we are all thrust into these changing times, we’ve brought forward some plans for launching our Museum podcast. Had our VE Day Celebration Weekend gone ahead, our friends at Time and Again Theatre had planned to be with us, performing their play Greyhounds.

With no event to perform to, they reached out to us with a fascinating idea. Why not re-write the play for audio?

So here it is. Greyhounds.

The year is 1941. Preparations have begun for a production of Shakespeare’s Henry V. The objective? To fund a Spitfire….

The full story will be appearing right here on our website for you to listen through your favourite podcast or audio service over a period of several weeks, twice each week.

Each episode is split into segments of around 20 minutes each, making it an easy way for you to enjoy.

GREYHOUNDS
 


WRITTEN BY LAURA CROW
 


EPISODE ONE – A FLYING START


Copyright © Laura Crow 2020
 


Please note that this script is fully protected by copyright. The
script is available only for private, personal use and not for any
other form of wider distribution. Any enquiries concerning the
rights for professional or amateur stage production, broadcasting,
readings etc should be made to the author, Laura Crow, via Time &
Again Theatre Company at www.timeandagaintheatre.com

EXT. LONDON STREET - NIGHT

High heeled feet running along a pavement. Nancy Wilde.
 Sounds of backstreet London post air raid:


– Ragged children pick over a bomb site. They argue over their share in the spoils. 

– Faint sounds of sirens and fire.




Nancy ignores them all – she’s used to it. 


High heeled feet walking. Sounds of crowds, theatres, all keeping calm and carrying on despite the traces of carnage – “two tickets left!”, “taxi!” etc.




Nancy walks along an alleyway towards the actor’s entrance of a
West End Theatre. A young actress, Maggie, is smoking by the stage
door. Long, dignified drags just like she’s seen them smoking in
the movies. She breaks off at the sight of Nancy.

MAGGIE

Nancy? Look at the state of you! That’s a nasty cut! You’re lucky you didn’t have your eye out. Was it Beckworth Road? Stan said

it’s been hit pretty badly. 
 


NANCY

Must have been.


MAGGIE

Get yourself into the theatre. We’ll have you cleaned up before Act II.




NANCY 

Not tonight, Maggie. I’ve got a train to catch. 



 MAGGIE


A train? 
 


NANCY

I just needed to drop this letter off. My notice.

There’s a pause. The penny drops for Maggie. Nancy has obviously
turned up looking like this before.



MAGGIE
(Cautiously)

That cut… it was no bomb, was it? Where will you go?



NANCY

My aunt married a greengrocer. Funny little chap, with a shop in the country. Middle of nowhere. Just fields and cows and a bit of peace and quiet. He died just before the war so she could use the help.



MAGGIE

What do you need peace and quiet for when you can spend the night down Piccadilly Circus and sleep like a queen?



NANCY
I’ve heard enough choruses of We’re Going to Hang out the Washing on the Siegfried Line to last a life time.

MAGGIE

What will you do?



NANCY

Sell vegetables, I suppose.



MAGGIE

Sounds rather dull if you ask me.



NANCY

I can’t stay here. I can’t. Not anymore.

 Nancy spits out the words. Maggie doesn’t know what to say so she
continues to play the role of happy-go-lucky actress. But it
doesn’t reach her voice. She’s concerned.



MAGGIE

Just when old Hutchinson’s given you a line. You’re almost main cast.



NANCY

You can have it. I’ve asked for you. Will you make sure he gets the letter?

MAGGIE

You know I will. Take care of yourself girl.

The stage door opens and the opening strains of Henry V wafts out from the stage of the theatre: 

“O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend

The brightest heaven of invention…”

MAGGIE

I’d better get back in. His nibs has just started. Good luck in – where is it – this greengrocer’s shop?



NANCY

Shuttlefield.

Maggie laughs.

                              MAGGIE
             Shuttlefield? What kind of name is that?

Maggie disappears inside, shutting the stage door and deadening
the sounds of the performance inside.

INT. LONDON CAFE - DAY

A drab utilitarian sort of place: 

– Wooden chairs scrape across the floor. 

– Coffee clinks in chipped mugs. 



The room is crowded and busy but we draw in on a young woman who is alone and quiet. A focal point. Katherine Winters. Early twenties. Neat lipstick, neat yet masculine clothes. Close up on her thin, restless hands as she cooly arranges the utensils, menu and anything else on the table into precise, particular rows. A waitress materialises from the throng and starts instantly on her pre-rehearsed patter.


                             WAITRESS
  Welcome to Davenport’s Cafe. One slice of bread per customer, 2
       potatoes per customer, free milk for the under fives.

KATHERINE
I’m not under five. I’m an adult.



WAITRESS

Would you like the fish pie or the corned beef fritters?



The waitress looks down, pencil poised. A strand of greasy hair protrudes from her cap. A look passes across Katherine’s face as

though she’s resisting the urge to jump up and stuff it back in
place. Her own hair is neatly rolled and pinned; quite compliant.


 KATHERINE

No.

WAITRESS
 Right.



Sounds of her feet starting to move to the next table where a young woman is prattling away quite happily to her crying baby.

                             KATHERINE
                       Where are you going?

                             WAITRESS
       To take the orders. I haven’t got all day, you know.



Sound of the waitresses pencil tapping on the pad.

KATHERINE
You haven’t written down my order yet.

WAITRESS
(Letting out a snort of exasperation) You said you didn’t want anything.


KATHERINE
No, I didn’t.

                             WAITRESS
           You did. I said ‘fish pie or corned beef - ’

KATHERINE
You asked if I would like them, and I’m not very fond of either, so I said no. Was that wrong?



Katherine isn’t trying to be funny. It’s a genuine, innocently poised question.

A pause stretches on uncomfortably. The chairs scrape. The tap,
tap, tap of the pencil pounds in her head.

                             WAITRESS
                  Do you want lunch or don’t you?

                             KATHERINE
    Of course I want lunch. I wouldn’t have sat down at a table
                            otherwise.



The baby continues to scream. Tap, tap, tap. Snort.

WAITRESS
Heaven’s save me. Would you like –


KATHERINE
No, you’re doing it again. If you asked ‘Do you want to order fish pie or corned beef?’ it would make things much easier.

WAITRESS
 (Sarcastically) Would it?

KATHERINE
 Oh yes.

With a final tap, the lead gives way, leaving a smudgy grey mark
on the pad. By this point, the waitress would like to snap
Katherine in a similar fashion. Behind them, a clock chimes two.

                             WAITRESS
                  Fish pie or corned bloody beef?

Katherine stands up.

                             KATHERINE
 I’m sorry, I’ve just been reminded that I have an appointment at
   half past two. This order took three minutes and twenty seven
 seconds longer to place than I expected so I no longer have time
                            for lunch.

She gathers up her bag and adjusts the collar of her shirt.

                        KATHERINE (CONT’D)
Goodbye. And I thought it best to let you know - your lipstick has
smeared, just near your right nostril. Yes, that’s it. And really,
you shouldn’t wear a pink-based red. It only brings out your ruddy
                            complexion.



With the feeling that she’s really been quite kind, Katherine turns on her heel and pushes the cafe door open, breathing in the smutty air of the city street.

INT. OFFICE FOR CEMA (COUNCIL FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT OF MUSIC AND THE ARTS) – DAY – SATURDAY 22ND FEBRUARY 1941



A large, airy room. Official looking but rather empty. Seated at a table in the middle, three well-dressed, well-fed individuals. They are confident. Kings presiding over their kingdom. They look as though the war is something merely happening around them, not to them.



Seated opposite: a woman in her early thirties. Tired and a little worn down by life, but vivid. Beads, bangles, scarves – the trappings of a thwarted artist, a would-be bohemian. Ruby Winters – Katherine’s older sister.

CLERK

Miss Ruby Winters for you Mr Clarke.



MR CLARKE

Come in Miss Winters, come in. The panel are looking forward to your proposal. Each candidate has fifteen minutes.

Sounds of chairs pushing back. Ruby accidentally kicks over her
handbag as she settles nervously in her chair. Several boiled
sweets and tubes of paint spill out.

RUBY
So sorry. Always knocking things over. Humbug? Not that, it’s a tube of oil paint. There we go. Humbug?



MR CLARKE

No thank you, Miss Winters. Perhaps we should press on? There’s rather a lot of candidates to get through. Are you taking notes Mrs Leyton?



MRS LEYTON

Quite ready.



MR CLARKE

Now, we’re looking for thoughtful, considered pieces. Here at CEMA our aim is far greater than to simply distract war-weary audiences with any old nonsense. This war doesn’t need another dose of cheery musical hall hun-bashing. Now is the time for Britain to fight for its cultural heritage. We must defend the values of our civilised nation by any possible means. Wouldn’t you agree Miss

Winters? 
 Now, your theatre -




RUBY
It’s not exactly a theatre, sir, more of a village hall.
 

MR CLARKE
I see. And where is this village hall?

                               RUBY
                           Shuttlefield.

                             MR CLARKE
                        And that’s a... town?

                               RUBY
                   A village. Near Biggleswade.

                             MR CLARKE
                    Oh I see. Near Biggleswade.

Mr Clarke’s tone is not encouraging.

                        MR CLARKE (CONT’D)
Well, the panel is ready to hear your request. The floor is yours,
                           Miss Winters.

                               RUBY
                           (Uncertainly)
                 Yes, well... I... umm... I wanted to -

The handbag nearly goes again.

                             MR CLARKE
    It’s says here you wish to raise money for the Biggleswade
                          Spitfire Fund?

                               RUBY
                       Yes, that’s correct.

                             MR CLARKE
        You have prepared a project to bring to the panel?

                               RUBY
                          Yes, of course.

                            MRS LEYTON
              One of educational and national merit?

Mr Clarke leans forward, dramatic pause – time to impress his visitor.


                             MR CLARKE
  Only last week, we had the exciting opportunity to collaborate
                     with the Ballet Rambert.

Ruby remains blank. She makes a nondescript murmur of recognition. 


                        MR CLARKE (CONT’D)
    They will be touring to factories and garrisons across the
            country! You like the ballet, Miss Winters?

                               RUBY
           Oh yes. All those swans. Terribly beautiful.

                            MRS LEYTON
                Perhaps we should break for lunch?

There is a general feeling from the panel, shifting and murmuring,
that they are wasting their time. Ruby senses this.

                               RUBY
   No! I’m sorry, I’ve travelled rather a long way. I’m getting
               myself terribly flustered, aren’t I?

She loses her bluster and speaks earnestly, with true feeling.

RUBY (CONT’D)

We don’t have a ballet or an opera or anything like that. Shuttlefield’s a small village, it’s – nowhere – really. We work in the fields or in shops. We do our best to get by. The village hall always used to bring everyone together for a song or a dance, before the committee disbanded at the start of the war. It was only old favourites round the piano, or perhaps one of the lads would juggle, which is why…

She realises she has lost the committee. They are already filing her application into a pile marked ‘rejected’. Their thoughts are firmly with lunch. 




Ruby gets a glint in her eye and changes tack:

                           RUBY (CONT’D)
...which is why I want to do something rather more important. A true
rallying cry to rural Britain! A stirring interpretation that will
            bring out the best in the entire community!

The panel lean forward as one.

                             MR CLARKE
                              Yes..?

INT. RECEPTION OF THE OFFICE FOR CEMA (COUNCIL FOR THE
ENCOURAGEMENT OF MUSIC AND THE ARTS) - DAY

Large, high-ceiling. Marbled floors. An ageing clerk sits behind a
wooden reception desk. He picks up the phone:

CLERK

Hello, you’re through to the Council for the Encouragement of Music and the Arts.

A large clock is ticking loudly from the wall; tick, tick, tick.
Katherine is seated on a wooden bench opposite. Ruby comes through
a door into the reception area and crosses to Katherine.


 RUBY


I thought you were having lunch.



KATHERINE

You said you’d be finished at two thirty.
 


RUBY 

I said, about two thirty. Have you really been waiting here –



KATHERINE

43 minutes and 20 seconds. Yes.

There was a dead body in the street. Well, parts of one anyway.
 

RUBY

Oh really, Katherine.



KATHERINE

It was just lying there with bits of plaster and wood. And hair, tufts of hair. I think they’d tried to sweep it up.

Ruby is not shocked by this pronouncement. She is used to
Katherine’s abrupt leaps of topic.



RUBY
Aren’t you going to ask how it went?



KATHERINE

There’s no need. You’re clearly going to tell me.

Sounds of the clerk working at his desk fade as they cross towards
the door.



RUBY

They said yes! Not to a full grant – they’re very rare, of course they are – but they’ll provide timber, extra material for the costumes and enough to get the posters printed. Isn’t that simply marvellous?



KATHERINE

I’m surprised they considered The Daisy Left Out in the Storm uplifting, educational, and national. It says in this pamphlet that’s what they’re looking for.

It is obvious that she has memorised it in the said 43 minutes, 20
seconds, for want of something to do.

KATHERINE 


(Quoting)
“In a war which is being increasingly fought on the Home Front, the COUNCIL FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT OF MUSIC AND THE ARTS have become a vital weapon to remind people what the country is fighting for.”




RUBY

Yes, well, I didn’t actually show them my script in the end. I thought perhaps, on reflection, that it was a project for a happier time, one when artistic merit can sing out for itself –

As they exit through the front door and out onto the street...

EXT. ON THE STREET OUTSIDE THE OFFICE FOR CEMA (COUNCIL FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT OF MUSIC AND THE ARTS) – DAY



Sounds of feet walking, car horns tooting.



KATHERINE

So what did they issue their support for? If you’re not doing your play.

Ruby was clearly hoping this question would take a little longer
to arise.



RUBY
Yes, well, I ummm, I said we were staging Henry V. Shakespeare’s Henry V.



KATHERINE
In the village hall?



RUBY
Yes.



KATHERINE

With three actors?



RUBY

Well, naturally, the society is going to have to grow slightly in the wake of our good news. But I think, with a positive outlook, and plenty of enthusiasm, we can certainly be ready in time.

A red double-decker bus rumbles past. The street is busy and full
of people.



KATHERINE

When do they want you to perform the play?
 

RUBY

St George’s Day. For the morale, you see. 
 


KATHERINE
 That’s in 7 weeks.
 

RUBY

Ruby reaches her limit.

Yes.


 KATHERINE
 49 days.



RUBY
 Yes.


 KATHERINE
 1,176 hours.



RUBY
And I thought it would be rather lovely if you played the Archbishop of Canterbury. Shall we go home?

EXT. TRAIN TRACKS - DAY
A deep crimson London, Midland and Scottish Railway steam train
steams through the war-torn outskirts of London and into lush,
unspoiled countryside.

INT - LMS TRAIN CARRIAGE - DAY

Katherine reads a newspaper. She sighs audibly and corrects parts
with a little pencil.

KATHERINE

‘Raid On Port In Northern Town. Some Deaths: Champion Rescue Parties Prevail’. No. (Scratch, scratch of pencil) 40 deaths. Raid on port in Hull.



Ruby, oblivious, is scribbling down ideas in a red notepad. She mutters lines from Henry V to herself as she draws.




An old lady shuffles in front of Katherine and stops.

OLD LADY
 Excuse me.

After a pause, the old lady coughs politely.

                               RUBY
                       Katherine, your seat.

                             KATHERINE
                          What about it?

Katherine continues to busily correct the newspaper without
breaking concentration.

                               RUBY
                            Vacate it.

                             KATHERINE
                               Why?

                             OLD LADY
                     I’ll find somewhere else.

Ruby flushes, clearly embarrassed.

                               RUBY
               So that this nice lady can sit down.

                             KATHERINE
               She said she’ll find somewhere else.

OLD LADY
 Really!

The lady glares and shuffles off, mumbling about the youth of
today.

                               RUBY
         No, wait! Please, take my seat! It’s no trouble.

The lady ignores her. Ruby glares down at her sister, who is quite
uninterested.

                               RUBY
           Sometimes you’re really too much, Katherine!

                             KATHERINE
                          Too much what?

Ruby sits down with a purposeful thud and takes up her notebook
once more.

EXT. TRAIN TRACKS - DAY
The train shoots into a tunnel with a huge puff of billowing steam
as a guard calls ‘Next station, Shuttlefield. Five minutes, you
have five minutes!’.

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY

The room of a military hospital. There are medical sounds in the background:

– A tannoy calls a doctor into theatre.
– A trolley or wheelchair squeaks down the corridor.


- Nurses chatter.

It is sterile and sparsely furnished. A man sits alone on a neatly
made bed. Edward Holmes. RAF moustache, military stance. He has a
cast and sling on his left arm.

A nurse opens the doors and enters the room holding a clipboard.

                               NURSE
  Everything appears to be in order, Mr Holmes. You need to keep
wearing the sling as per doctor’s instructions, but you’re free to
                                go.

                              EDWARD
                            Thank you.

He speaks politely but without any emotion.

                               NURSE
 Is it back to the base for you? Or would that be ‘careless talk’?

                              EDWARD
 No, it’s desk work I’m afraid. Seems the forces at be think I’ve
               had enough action for the time being.

                               NURSE
     Quite right too. Give that arm a chance to heal properly.
 You’ll find your coat in the cloakroom. Your suitcase is waiting
                           in the hall.

Edward stands up slowly.

                              EDWARD
                 Of course. I can see myself out.

He pauses. There’s something else. He tries to make his voice
lighter, more casual:

                          EDWARD (CONT’D)
How’s Stapleton? I heard they had to take the leg off, in the end.
                     Is he bearing up alright?

A strange tone creeps into the nurse’s voice.

                               NURSE
Mr Stapleton died. It was all rather sudden. Matron didn’t want to
                upset the ward. He’s at peace now.

Edward doesn’t respond. He hardly reacts at all. The nurse
continues a little nervously.

                          NURSE (CONT’D)
  No one coming out to meet you? You could place a call. I’m sure
                       Doctor wouldn’t mind.

Edward remains silent. It’s all terribly stiff-upper-lip.

                          NURSE (CONT’D)
  Well, you take care of yourself now. Where is it you’re going?

EDWARD
Home.



NURSE
That’ll be nice, won’t it? Plenty happening to keep your mind off things.

Edward pauses.

EDWARD
Nothing happens in Shuttlefield.
 


EXT. SHUTTLEFIELD HIGH STREET - DAY

A damp spring morning. Sounds of every day village life:
- Villagers compare coupons and rations as they queue for the
shops.
- A horse-drawn cart plods past.
- Birds sing quietly.

The Hare and Hounds public house sits at the end of the street. A
pretty sign with painted greyhounds hangs in front of it. Red post
box, red phone box outside.

A young farm hand is perched on the back of the cart as it heads
out of the village towards the farm, reading. Will Croft. The book
in his hands, bound in red leather, is a small copy of A Farewell
To Arms.

A middle-aged woman passes the other way, walking an enormous array of dogs: two Dachshunds, three Alsatians, a Greyhound, and a Fox Terrier. Mrs Holt.


                             MRS HOLT
                      Good morning, Mr Croft!

WILL

Morning, Mrs Holt. How’s Percy today?

                             MRS HOLT
                Much better, aren’t you, young sir?

Sounds of a terrier barking.

                         MRS HOLT (CONT’D)
    He just needed a few days in his basket. What’s that you’re
                             reading?

WILL

Just an old favourite.

                             MRS HOLT
   I could never get on with Hemingway. All those fish. Far too
         slippery. Why’s the cart down here at this time?

Will calls out as the cart rattles on:

                               WILL
                       Delivery for Palmers!

A shop bell rings as the door opens. Nancy Wilde comes out of
Palmers the greengrocers carrying a large crate of tomatoes. Mrs
Holt and her canine entourage continue towards her.

                             MRS HOLT
                     Any onions this morning?

                               NANCY
 You should be so lucky! There’s a choice of tomatoes or tomatoes.

Mrs Holt laughs and passes on. Ruby crosses over to Nancy as she
struggles to arrange the crate.

                               RUBY
   Can I interest you my dear? We’re having our first meeting on
 Sunday. 2pm in the village hall. Here, I’ll just give you a flyer
 to read over. What lovely apples. They’re such wonderful colours
                            this year.

                               NANCY
       Yes, thank you. (Pause) Sorry, a meeting about what?

INT. THE STUDY AT THE HOLMES RESIDENCE - DAY

Edward sits in his father’s study. A clock ticks. A plush,
comfortable room. A large desk; red lamp, blotting pad. A decanter
of port sits on a table in the corner.



Sounds of glass hitting glass as Mr Holmes pours himself a drink. Edward’s father. Stern, neat, wealthy.

                             MR HOLMES
                         Care for a glass?

                              EDWARD
                           No thank you.

                             MR HOLMES
                 Suit yourself. What do you think?

                              EDWARD
Henry V. I didn’t know Shuttlefield had a Dramatics Society. Where
                 on earth did you hear about this?

                             MR HOLMES
Elizabeth White. Good woman. Her mother used to be the housekeeper
                 up at the Grange. Before the war.

                              EDWARD
                      You mean the Great War.

Mr Holmes clearly saw distinguished service in the First lot and
resents being too old for this war. There’s a picture of him in
uniform on the desk, probably wearing medals, probably wearing a
high rank that was bought rather than earned.

                             MR HOLMES
                            Of course.

                              EDWARD
Well, I - I need to spend some time getting ready for the Court of
        Inquiry. And there’s the new position to think of.

                             MR HOLMES
    There’s nothing to get ready, if you’re telling the truth.

He says this pointedly.

                        MR HOLMES (CONT’D)
It’d do you good to put your name to something like this. A proper
  welcome back into village life - raising money for the Spitfire
                      Fund - doing your bit.

                              EDWARD
                             (Angrily)
                     I have been doing my bit.

MR HOLMES

 And what are you doing now, eh? Pen pushing. Filing like a pretty
  little secretary. You really think you’ve landed on your feet.
 Injured arm, roped into some nonsense for GC&CS, safely behind a

desk. 
 


                              EDWARD
                    How do you know about that?

                             MR HOLMES
I know about everything. You wouldn’t have caught Jack hiding away
                    like that. He had backbone.

Edward rises to his feet sharply but manages to catch himself
before he shouts back.

                              EDWARD
                    Is that everything, Father?

                             MR HOLMES
            Just see to it that you’re there on Sunday.

                              EDWARD
                             Yes, sir.

Edward crosses to the door and exits. Sounds of the door opening
and closing.
Cuts to:

INT. CORRIDOR OF THE HOLMES RESIDENCE - DAY

Edward leans back against the wall next to the closed door and
breaths deeply. He mutters to himself shakily:

                              EDWARD
  It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault.

EXT. MATLOCK’S FARM - DAY

Out in the fields. Sounds of the farm land:
- Spades dig into the soft ground.
- Birds call faintly.
- Sheep bleat in the distance.

- Boots squelch in the mud.

Will stands apart from two other farm hands, Bert and Tom, as they
take a short break from digging the fields. He leans against the
trunk of a tree to shelter from the spitting rain. His book is
open in his hands but he’s not reading it. The others chat as they
wipe dirt from their hands.

BERT

We had a letter from our Sam this morning.

                                TOM
                       How’s he getting on?

BERT
Training somewhere up north. They’ve got them doing all sorts. He says they’ve been running along the beaches without their shoes or socks on.


TOM
Hardens the feet.

BERT
Wish I was with him.



TOM
The doctor knows what he’s talking about.

                               BERT
 But I manage alright, don’t I? Don’t I? What do you think, Will?
                  I’m fit for service, aren’t I?



Sounds of feet running.


Will watches with interest as Katherine Winters runs up the hill of the top field opposite, to the highest point in the village. She’s out of earshot and unaware that she’s being watched.

                               WILL
                    What’s she doing up there?

BERT Who?

                               WILL
                      That girl. On the hill.

BERT
Oh, her! (He snorts) That’s Katherine Winters. You know the one who –

                                TOM
 It gives you the best view of the flight path, that does. You can

see our boys going in and out of Duxford. 
 


                               WILL
                         But it’s raining!

                                TOM
                    She don’t notice the rain.

                               BERT
 She makes note of the planes in that book of hers. And the German
  ones too. Tries to guess where they’re going. And she’s always
                    right. It makes me shiver.

Bert and Tom turn away but Will continues to watch.

                                TOM
   Nah, there’s no harm in her. Lucky guesses, that’s all. She’s
           always been that way, simple like. Up there.

                               BERT
  I still don’t like her. She looks through you, like you’re not
               there. Like she’s not even listening.

We can tell from the way they talk that Tom is the friendlier of
the two.

                               WILL
   Perhaps she’s just not interested in what you’ve got to say.

                               BERT
 We can’t all be going about quoting poetry and the like. Some of
                     us is plain talking folk.

                                TOM
The Winters are alright. Miss Ruby’s always very kind. Used to sit
        and read to my mother, every night ’til she passed.

                               WILL
She’s the one running this play, isn’t she? In the village hall. I
                     thought I might drop in.

They break off at the sound of engines. There’s a plane in the
distance. They take a moment to subconsciously check that it’s
friendly; one of ours.

                               BERT
 That’s just like you, that is. Well, you won’t catch me prancing
 about on stage in a pair of tights, Spitfire Fund or not. My old
                    man would never let it die.

                                TOM
 Come on. There’s some ale waiting back at the house. Let’s get in
 and warm up for a bit. I think we’ve earned it. (Calls out) Down
                      spades lads. Home time!

They pick up their spades and head off towards the distant farm.
As the leave, Will glances back at Katherine.

Cut to:

EXT. UPPER FIELD - DAY

Katherine stops running and looks upwards as a large Spitfire
passes low over head. Sound of the engine, whoosh of the trees and
grass. She breaths deeply.

                             KATHERINE
 K9942, fitted with a Merlin II, liquid cooled, 27 litre capacity.
   Named after the bird of prey known colloquially as the pigeon
                hawk. Swift flier. Skilled hunter.

EXT. SHUTTLEFIELD HIGH STREET - DAY

MR NELSON
Morning Pip.



MR JONES

Alright, Arthur. How’s the crossword coming along?

He sits down on the bench next to Mr Nelson. 


MR NELSON

Twelve down is giving me a run for my money. A preservative of teeth. 6 letters.



MR JONES

A preservative of teeth… Teeth… I’ve had terrible trouble with my upper set. Mrs Henderson’s Bath Buns. Now, if we were firing them at the Germans instead of messing about with bullets then we might be in with a chance. (Pause) How are things looking out here? All quiet on the western front?

MR NELSON
There was a terrible fuss outside Carraway’s. The old girl from number 25 tried to make off with three mackerel fillets instead of two, greedy so and so. Said her son was back on leave and needed feeding up. Only trouble is, he’s been in the ground since the Somme. Mrs White soon put her foot down.



MR JONES

Already? It’s only quarter past eleven. She’s normally still limbering her ankles up.

MR NELSON

I can’t stand that sort of thing.
 


MR JONES

Mrs White’s ankles?

                             MR NELSON
  Cheats. Liars. Rationing’s there to make things fair. I have to
  weigh my bit of cheddar and scrape my butter thin, same as the
 next person. Fair’s fair, a war’s a war. But then people like her
   come along, a little extra here, a little more there. Rotten.

That’s what they are. 
 


MR JONES

Mackerel… now that can be tricky on the chompers too. All those bones. My Aunty swallowed a fish bone once. It was lodged in her throat for three years before it came unstuck. But she could do a marvellous impression of a sinking ship. It helped to create the most marvellous whistling sound. It was quite the party piece until the Titanic sank. Seemed rather crass after that.



MR NELSON

Edward Holmes is back.



MR JONES

Is he? Nice boy. Or was that the brother?



MR NELSON
I’ve seen that look before. Used to get it in the First lot. Too many times, far too many times.

Billy Sherringham paces over and cuts into the conversation
without ceremony.



BILLY SHERRINGHAM


Got any tobacco, Arthur? I’m all out. 
 


MR NELSON

Yes I have. And I’ll be smoking it at half past the hour, as I do every other morning. You need to learn how to pace yourself.

MR JONES

Not at the garage this morning, Billy?

BILLY SHERRINGHAM

Not today. I’ve been helping old Butler at the Hare and Hounds. He can’t order any more glasses until August so from now on, all lunchtime orders will be served in enamel mugs!



MR NELSON

Enamel! That’s it! Got the blighter!



BILLY SHERRINGHAM
You feeling alright?

MR NELSON

Twelve down, a preservative of teeth. Thank you kindly.



BILLY SHERRINGHAM

Happy to be of service. (Pause) I’m keeping a low profile. Ruby Winters is on the prowl. Trying to organise some to-do in the village hall, floating around like the second coming.



MR JONES

I thought it sounded rather fun.



BILLY SHERRINGHAM
That’s the trouble with these un-married types. Nowhere to expel their energy. What they need is a good – oh bloody hell! She’s coming over. Catch you later, gentlemen!

Sound of quickly retreating footsteps. Mr Nelson also rises.

                             MR JONES
           I thought you were going to smoke your pipe.

                             MR NELSON
   Extenuating circumstances I’m afraid Pip. It’s every man for
                        himself. Good luck.

EXT. BY THE FRONT DOOR OF SHUTTLEFIELD VILLAGE HALL - DAY

Ruby pins one of her flyers, written in neat red letters,
announcing the first rehearsal of Henry V, onto the noticeboard
outside the village hall. Elizabeth White, fifties, bossy, suited,
pounces as if from nowhere like a tiger cornering its prey.

MRS WHITE

Miss Winters, there you are. I was trying to wave you over earlier but you must have missed me.

                               RUBY
Oh, did I? I’m so sorry, Mrs White, I must have... ummm... not quite -

Mrs White ploughs on without thought of an answer. She is used to
domineering; the village committee, the village itself, Churchill
- if she could lay her hands on him. She manages every side of a
conversation.

                             MRS WHITE
 Have you received permission from the Vicar to be pinning posters
                   onto the parish noticeboard?

RUBY Yes, I –

                             MRS WHITE
       Who are these CEMA people? I’ve never heard of them.

                               RUBY
 They set up at the start of the war. To help the arts. To keep it
 all going and keep spirits up - that sort of thing. Local groups
              mainly, though I believe they’re now -

                             MRS WHITE
  Are you quite sure you can manage? It wouldn’t be too late, you
   know, for me to step in. Remember all that business with the
         Stevens at Moorhanger, with the pigeons and the -

She makes a flapping gesture and whispers conspiratorially

                        MRS WHITE (CONT’D)
                     - yes, well you remember.

RUBY

I’m sure everything will be perfectly –


MRS WHITE

You have to understand, that this Council of yours, they’ll be looking for a leader. They’ll want people who can take control and get the job done.

Ruby walks from the noticeboard to the door of the village hall,
where she pins another flyer. Mrs White follows at her heels.



RUBY

Yes, I think I’ve got a good idea of –

                             MRS WHITE
Now, about the refreshments. You understand that everything in the
            kitchen goes through the Village Committee?

                               RUBY
                  Yes, I think you did mention -

                             MRS WHITE
 You can make tea on Mondays and Wednesdays; so long as you don’t
 touch the sugar, coffee on Tuesdays and Fridays. No biscuits are
      to be eaten on Saturdays. Have you spoken to Mr Martin?

RUBY Yes.

MRS WHITE

About the telephone?

                               RUBY
           I understand it’s his vein of communication.

They are interrupted as Mrs Henderson bustles over. There is a
rustle of shopping bags and brown paper parcels. Mrs Henderson is
in her forties, rather drab, but she comes alive at a chance to
gossip.

                           MRS HENDERSON
 There’s a new girl in Palmers! Served me just now. Four tomatoes
                         as bold as brass.

                             MRS WHITE
                   Good morning, Mrs Henderson.

                               RUBY
                 I thought she seemed rather nice.

MRS HENDERSON
She had red lacquer on her nails. In a grocers! I’m just thankful my mother isn’t still with us – because what she would have thought!


RUBY

She seemed rather keen to join our merry troupe.

Mrs Henderson brandishes one of Ruby’s flyers. 


                           MRS HENDERSON
    Yes, I found one of your little pamphlets pushed through my
           letterbox. Shakespeare, in the village hall?

She is incredulous. Ruby’s voice becomes more and more fixed.

                               RUBY
  It’s officially endorsed. To boost morale. And help raise money
                      for the Spitfire Fund.

MRS HENDERSON
Well, it’s not a very popular one, is it? Why not do A Midsummer Night’s Dream? Now, that’s funny.



RUBY
Might I count on your presence on Sunday?

Mrs Henderson rustles her bags indignantly.

                           MRS HENDERSON
     Certainly not! My work for the VAD keeps me far too busy.

                               RUBY
      I thought you rolled a few bandages from time to time.

Mrs White decides it’s time to step in and cuts over them
imperiously.

                             MRS WHITE
 No one should be working on a Sunday. It’s the Lord’s day. A day
                             of rest.

                               RUBY
  Well, it’s the only time I could get the hall, so him upstairs
   will just have to turn a blind eye. And there is a war on you
                               know.

Ruby gathers up the rest of her flyers; spilling out of her bag,
upside down, some folded. There is always a slight air of chaos
around Ruby.

                           RUBY (CONT’D)
              Do let me know if you change your mind.

She walks away.


                           MRS HENDERSON
          I didn’t know there was a local Spitfire Fund.

                             MRS WHITE
 I believe Miss Winters has just started it. No doubt she means to
                   have it in the air by summer.

EXT. BACK GARDEN OF THE WINTERS’ HOUSE - NIGHT

Katherine, lying back on a bench, looking up at the sky. Sounds of
the night:
- An owl hoots.
- The drone of engines fills the air, getting louder.

Katherine has no paper to hand so she scribbles a time down on the
bench. If we could see the bench, we would notice that the whole
thing is covered in times, dates and equations, written down and
weathered over the years.



Suddenly a fleet of German Bombers appears, humming loudly. 
 Ruby bursts out of the house.

RUBY

What are you doing? Get inside at once! For heaven’s sake!

                             KATHERINE
                     They’re not coming here.

                               RUBY
 Maybe not, but you hear of stray bombs - accidents - all sorts of
                              things!

Ruby is drawn and flustered. Katherine is not.

                             KATHERINE
 Then being in the house wouldn’t make any difference. We’d still
                 be blown apart into tiny pieces.

                               RUBY
                   It’s the middle of the night.

KATHERINE

You weren’t sleeping either. I could smell the charcoal. You were drawing.

                               RUBY
It distracts me. (Pause) How can you sit there like that... so calm?
                               So -

                             KATHERINE
                Will getting upset make them stop?

                               RUBY
                          Of course not.

                             KATHERINE
               Then there isn’t any point. Is there?

Ruby seems to accept the logic of this and find it almost calming.
She takes a deep breath.

                               RUBY
                   I wonder where they’re going?

Katherine doesn’t stop to think.

                             KATHERINE
                             Glasgow.

                               RUBY
                        Oh. The poor souls.

                             KATHERINE
    At least we won’t be able to see the sky burning this time.

Ruby perches on the bench next to her.

                               RUBY
 I always find it strangely comforting to see that great red glow
      go up above London. I know it means there’s been awful
destruction, but it really makes one feel - just for a moment - as
 though they really are living in the real world. The world in the
  newspapers and on the wireless. It makes me feel as though I’m
                     almost a part of things.

Katherine hardly reacts.

                             KATHERINE
                    Are you going back to bed?

                               RUBY
              I thought I might sit here for a while.

                             KATHERINE
                             Alright.

They sit in silence as the drone of engines fades.