The Bedsitting Room Read online

  Brigadier:

  Put me down, put me down, man. Haven’t you read the Highway Code?

  Diplomat:

  No, I’m waiting till they make the film.

  A tent flies down. NB – This is only a mock-up. Just need the front of a tent, with an in-and-out flap to come through. The tent falls in front of the BRIGADIER. He pops his head through tent flap.

  Brigadier:

  What a lovely day for a war – and Sergeant?

  Sergeant:

  Sah?

  Brigadier:

  Hurry up, damn you.

  Sergeant:

  (salutes) Just callin’ I’m sah. (Walks to KAK. Does impression of a bugle call) Compliments of the season, sir, Brigadier Fumbling Grope would like very much to see you, sir. Sah.

  KAK leaps up.

  Captain Kak:

  Gad, duty calls. (He feels under pillow, puts on a steel helmet painted to match his striped pyjamas. Next scene very Noel Coward) Goodbye Dolly, I must leave you.

  Penelope:

  We don’t want to lose you but we think you ought to go.

  Captain Kak:

  Let me like a soldier fall.

  Penelope:

  Land of Hope and Glory, mother to the free.

  Captain Kak:

  Keep the home fires burning. And, darling, if I shouldn’t come back, I want you to give this to your mother. (Hands her something)

  Penelope:

  Your cheque book.

  Captain Kak:

  She always wanted it.

  Penelope:

  Darling, I’ll get it to her if I have to cash every cheque myself.

  KAK quick march. Sound effect: Cheers of crowd as soldiers march by to a brass band playing some patriotic march. KAK and SERGEANT march madly to BRIGADIER’S tent. SERGEANT turns to show BRIGADIER face.

  Brigadier:

  Pontius.

  Captain Kak:

  Philip.

  Brigadier:

  Terence.

  Captain Kak:

  Rupert.

  Brigadier:

  Bourne.

  Captain Kak:

  Hollingworth.

  Brigadier:

  Fortnum.

  Captain Kak:

  And Mason.

  Brigadier:

  Deny and…

  Captain Kak:

  Dick.

  During the above KAK and BRIGADIER go through insane handshaking that eventually gets them tangled like all-in wrestlers.

  Brigadier:

  Now then, who the hell are you?

  Captain Kak:

  Captain Kak, Third Foot, Seventh Teeth and the Ninth Symphony.

  Brigadier:

  What proof? KAK: Jeeves!

  Enter DUSTMAN with a wheelbarrow loaded with old tins, forks and any lightweight resonant rubbish.

  Captain Kak:

  Show the Brigadier my credentials.

  DUSTMAN tips rubbish on stage.

  Brigadier:

  That’s good enough for me. Now, you know why I’ve called you here.

  Captain Kak:

  No.

  Brigadier:

  Oh, never mind, I’ll think of something. Ah, War Office have had numerous requests for a return visit of World War One.

  Captain Kak:

  (beaming) Sir, I knew we hadn’t heard the last of that old favourite. I remember the number of times my father used to sing me to sleep with it.

  Black out. Spot on OLD SOLDIER in long trench coat, World War One overcoat, smothered in mud, ragged, on OP side. OLD SOLDIER takes what looks like a stick grenade from his belt. It is in fact a hand mike.

  Old soldier:

  (sings) Bang bang boom. (Does impression of machine guns, etc etc) Let me like a soldier fall.

  BRIGADIER draws his revolver and shoots him. KAK holds up a Juke Box Jury hit disc.

  Captain Kak:

  Oh, they don’t write wars like that any more. I vote it a hit.

  BRIGADIER holds up his disc with ‘Hit’. A MAN leaps on from prompt side dressed as a housewife with a disc ‘Mrs’. Exits embarrassed.

  Brigadier:

  Good, then you’ll help bring it all back. We’ll have no difficulty finding backers for it, Krupps, Vickers Armstrongs, Skoda, all reliable people – where would wars be without them?

  Captain Kak:

  (points to floor) Over there.

  Both step rapidly to the spot.

  Brigadier:

  Correct. Now, there’s a difficulty. Since World War One, travelling expenses have rocketed. Neither side can afford a war any more.

  Captain Kak:

  Tsu Oh.

  Brigadier:

  Ah, but – a compromise. Rather than lose this golden opportunity, both sides have agreed to kill, maim and wound their own soldiers.

  During the conversation, BRIGADIER takes out a leather cheroot case, opens it, hands it to KAK. From it KAK takes a white plastic clothes peg (large size) which he clips to his steel helmet. As does the BRIGADIER:

  Brigadier:

  Just think, you can be killed in the privacy of your own home, free of charge. Picture the scene: Saturday afternoon, Private Tommy Atkins, his wife and his kids gathered round the telly watching Emergency Ward Ten eleven and twelve. Suddenly a friendly knock on the door, enter RSM Warrington, with a ‘Hello, Tommy, it’s your turn’, bang bang, down he goes, happily clutching his sword, and before he’s even cold, Mrs Atkins is getting the pension and living happily with the RSM.

  Captain Kak:

  It sounds too good to be true. How much happier World War One could have been. When, sir, where, how?

  Brigadier:

  Now where do you want to serve?

  Captain Kak:

  Front line, sir.

  Brigadier:

  (looking at his Kst) That’ll be the Oliver Messel Suite at the Dorchester.

  Captain Kak:

  Oh, that means Peter Sellers will have to move.

  Brigadier:

  (calls) Orderly!

  ORDERLY comes carrying stretcher out of tent.

  Orderly:

  Kitchener needs you! (He has Kitchener moustache, is wearing long woollen combs, Army hat, Red Cross armband, and has an over-sized rubber finger over his own)

  Orderly / Field-marshal:

  Well, he certainly doesn’t need you. Five-four-three-two-one.

  Tent flies out at speed. Sound of rocket.

  Brigadier:

  Yes. Now where’s me catalogue of wounds?

  He refers to a small book.

  Brigadier:

  Ah, Front Row. Ah here, you’re lucky – there’s only three vacant wounds on that row. How do you fancy this…Orderly! (ORDERLY attention) Bullet in tibia, steel fragment in lung. (The ORDERLY clutches the two parts)’Well?

  Captain Kak:

  No, no, I don’t like that – not heroic enough for an officer.

  Brigadier:

  Orderly! Bayonet wound in buttock, sword hack at throat, shrapnel in the colonic.

  ORDERLY takes on aspect of wounds. Eyes crossed, tongue out.

  Captain Kak:

  Noooo, no, looks too funny.

  Brigadier:

  I know what you want. Dignity, simplicity, eh? Orderly! Bullet wound in temple. Mind you, it’s fatal, but with a posthumous VC.

  Captain Kak:

  (excited) May I try?

  He takes up the pose.

  Captain Kak:

  (calls) Penelope! Wait till she sees that…

  Penelope:

  Oh, darling…is it…

  Captain Kak:

  Fatal. It was the Rage of Flanders.

  Penelope:

  Then it’s you, Pontius.

  She dons a widow’s black veil. KAK lies in state on the stretcher.

  There is a stage trick I want to try here. It means cutting the stage floor into a length the size of a man lying down. The piece is then fitted with an axle at each end and put back into the stage in its origina
l level, except now it can be revolved. If we fix the underside with bolts so that should anyone stand on it, from above, it will not move. But if KAK lies down on that piece, he can be screened from the audience by a blanket being prepared to coven him, then the bolts underneath can be undone. The piece of wood can be revolved so that KAK slides into the floor then put upright, leaving the space clear, KAK having miraculously vanished. I should like the Props Depart-ment to approach me about this as soon as possible. From the wings a MOURNER with black crêpe top hat and wreath appears. As does the traffic warden (MATE) with] black band on his arm. The lid of coffin shoots up. Green light from within. Stage black out.

  Corpse:

  It’s a bloody awful life being dead.

  Omnes:

  Screwed down inside a coffin lined with lead.

  Song ‘Being Dead’, Milligan, Edgington.

  Interval Sketches (1)

  House tabs taken up about three feet. Legs seen running about as though tabs had jammed. Some effort made to raise tabs by hand. ACTOR in dressing-gown eventually ducks underneath tabs.

  Actor:

  Good evening. I’ve just come here to tell you that this is the self-same interval that they used in Treasure Island which has been brought back by popular request. I should also like to take the opportunity to thank Mrs Herbert J. Quirk of Battersea; it’s not that we have anything to thank her for, it’s just that she’s never been thanked for anything in her life and we thought she might like it.

  Now the next part of this show is unfit for the ears of children. If you have any children’s ears on you, would you please put them in a box and hand them in to the attendant.

  And now, for a certain kind of entertainment. (Off: Loud agonised female screams) Coming, dear!

  He exits through tabs, revealing the back of his immaculate silk dressing-gown in rags revealing even tattier and ragged underwear, long underpants with low seat.

  Interval Sketches (2)

  KAK and SWANEE WHISTLE PLAYER come in front of tabs. KAK sets up music stand for WHISTLER. WHISTLER hands KAK copy of music which turns out to be ‘Private Eye’. KAK places ‘Private Eye’ on music stand and sings ‘My Blue Heaven’ (can be any music really), with WHISTLER following him. Yellow pole appears with parcel on end borne by MATE and DELIVERY MAN. (This towards end of song.)

  Mate:

  Put it down there, where the parcel is.

  Delivery man:

  You are the officer wot was in charge of the British deterrent in the last atomic war?

  Captain Kak:

  Yes, I was responsible for the delivery off it. I’d like to have seen those Ruskies’ faces when it arrived.

  Delivery man:

  Bad news, it has been re-turned to sender. (Exit WHISTLER in panic)

  Mate:

  And there’s ninepence to pay on it, mate.

  Captain Kak:

  What! I had that bomb dispatched to Moscow the moment we got imminent warning red. Ah, those Ruskies didn’t think we had the means of delivering the bomb…they overlooked the fact that we have the finest postal system in the world.

  Delivery man:

  To think, sir, that bomb cost us five hundred million pounds.

  Mate:

  And still ninepence to pay, sir. Insufficient stamps.

  Captain Kak:

  We had to economise somewhere…Put it in the fridge…(Tabs open to disclose Act II) Keep it fresh…There’s always the Chinese.

  Mate:

  There’s seven hundred million of them.

  Captain Kak:

  They’ve only got themselves to blame. (As DELIVERY MAN and MATE exit)

  Act Three

  The time:

  Christmas Eve, 1979.

  NB:

  In this scene everyone is thinner, whiter and raggeder.

  Set on stage as follows:

  Piano rostrum is moved centre up stage.

  Set large iron roller mangle upstage left.

  Baby’s cot (rocking type Moses basket or old-fashioned wooden rocker). Wicker washing basket downstage left. Rose in flower pot, inside birdcage, is set anywhere on small round single-stem support, three-legged Georgian table. A small long-nozzle white watering can.

  Flown from above is a long washing line, all babies’ nappies save THREE babies’ socks. Brass double bedstead in same position as before, Table and two chairs centre stage.

  In drawer of table are carving knife, two ordinary knives, two forks, two white enamel tea mugs. An ordinary rubber deck quoit. One rubber-topped xylophone mallet. A large metal xylophone note (middle C), mounted in a small cradle, so that when struck it can vibrate.

  One green van guard’s flag.

  A round portable oil stove with a light inside to simulate it is on.

  CAPTAIN KAK is reading a newspaper that appears to be ‘The Times’ save its title: ‘The Times Daily Worker’. PENELOPE is fussing about, improvising housework. She is wearing black, with a black woollen jumper. KAK is wearing a thick scarf and woollen gloves. KAK bangs his hands to get warm.

  Captain Kak:

  Good heavens, it’s nearly three years since the war. Times flies…Investigations are still going on as to find out who won. At the United Nations the British delegate suggested they draw lots for it. (Turns the page) Darling, listen to this. “A barbeque. On Sunday the Mayor of Hampstead will set fire to the last mound of war corpses on the Heath. This will conclude the Government’s two-year burial plan.” You see, things are getting back to normal.

  Lord Fortnum:

  They’re not back to normal. What about me? (KAK tries to shhh him down) Three years I’ve been like this. You haven’t paid any rent, you haven’t even had me redecorated, and on top of that you and your wife have had two children.

  Captain Kak:

  Well, we ate one, didn’t we?

  Lord Fortnum:

  Yes, you bloody cannibal! (KAK leaps up)

  Captain Kak:

  How dare you call nourishment cannibalism? We’ve got to eat, haven’t we? We’ve got to survive. We can’t go on living on grass and rats. -They’re all eating their children, there’s nothing else. We’re unlucky, we only had two. Most women are having litters of ten and twelve – the more kids we have the better fed we are. We’ve got to survive, haven’t we? In early days if we hadn’t eaten our dead we’d have all died. In any case the Minister of Food has legalised it. Do you know what they had for the Lord Mayor’s Banquet this year?

  Lord Fortnum:

  What?

  Captain Kak:

  Lord Boothby. Fricassee of Boothby. They said he was lovely. No, we’ve got to carry on as though nothing happened, decently, back to our more normal standards.

  Enter PENELOPE carrying silver salver with domed cover.

  Penelope:

  Dinner’s ready, darling.

  Captain Kak:

  And what have we got today, rats?

  Penelope:

  No. Surprise!

  KAK lifts lid off, sees a slip of paper on dish, reads it.

  Captain Kak:

  Face north. (He does so) Take five paces forward. (He does so) Look under bed?????

  PENELOPE nods her head. KAK gropes under bed. Voice under bed: “Owwwww.”

  Captain Kak:

  Sorry. Ah. (He takes out a whole roast chicken) Oh, din dins, mmmmmmm. (Sharpens knife) What is it, chicken?

  Penelope:

  No, it’s Daddy.

  Captain Kak:

  Never mind, dear, we can let his perch to another bird.

  He goes to carve.

  Penelope:

  Be gentle, Pontius.

  Captain Kak:

  Don’t worry, darling. I’ll cut him on his right wing. Ha, ha, ha, ha. (Sees PENELOPE staring at him) Tell me, how did this terrible thing happen?

  Penelope:

  He was asked to resign as Prime Minister, so he threw himself off his perch. He left this note on the piano.

  The xylophone note mounted on a cradle
is swung from the wings on thin black thread into the waiting hand of PENELOPE. She hands it to KAK, who places it on the table and hits it with the rubber-topped xylophone mallet.

  Captain Kak:

  A Flat? God, he must have suffered.

  Enter MATE the traffic warden, carrying a red danger lamp. He has a balaclava on and an extra scarf.

  MATE: Look what some idiot left on top of a pile of rocks, right in the middle of the road–

  He is interrupted by the scream of car brakes, then a great crash as a car goes through a shop window.

  Mate:

  Good job I brought this in, it would have broken to bits. (Bangs his hands. Sees chicken) GOT, food. What have we got here, then?

  Captain Kak:

  (aside so as to shield PENELOPE) It’s Mr Wilson.

  Mate:

  Oh, this will mean an election (or by-election).

  Both KAK and MATE laugh and take a leg each. As they go to eat PENELOPE prays.

  Penelope:

  Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive through Jesus Christ our Lord.

  Captain Kak:

  (falsely) Amen, (Nudges MATE)

  Mate:

  Yer. Amen. Doesn’t she know God’s dead?

  Captain Kak:

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her.

  Mate:

  Harold, this is your finest hour, mate. (Eats the leg) Minister of Daz and Statistics says the population of England now stands at 950.

  Captain Kak:

  Soon have enough for another war.

  Mate:

  War? That’s all you bloody upper class ever think of. You all love war. You haven’t got the guts to say so, ‘cause you know it’s wrong, so what does the Warrior Class do to hide its conscience? It invents a thing called Preservation of Peace. To have that Preservation, you got to have an army, and when you got an army you got to have a war, and what’s the war for? The Preservation of Peace. And not only that, you worship heroes. It’s thanks to heroes we got wars. Sod the heroes! Let’s all be lovely kind cowards and live in peace.

  Captain Kak:

  Look, you working-class Daz Area people don’t understand. War brings out the best in people.

  Mate:

  Look, you saying we got to start killing each other to say how much we love each other? Wallop. I think you’re a nice chap. Wallop. I like you too. Ahh, your class loves war. And all the glory. One minute you’re a bank manager, next you’re a captain with a batman, staff car, Officers’ Mess…You love it.