What's New OR: 'Yo, ladies ... What's happenin ?
Whatever Next ? [ Downs Lord Triptych / The Two Confessions / Amy-Faith & the Stronghold]
A
script by
( see dispatch dated 14th October 2003 )
IMPORTANT
- PRIOR TO PERUSAL.
This script contains salty, even saucy, 18th century style plain speaking, wherein a spade is unlikely to be termed a manually operated excavation implement. Or in other words and in 21st century speak, BEWARE: ADULT CONTENT.
******
******
'The
past is a foreign country:
they do things differently there.
L.
P. Hartley
( 1895 - 1972 )
'The
Go-Between',
Prologue
******
'Give
me a grain of truth
and
I will mix it up with a great mass of falsehood,
so
that no chemist shall ever be able to separate them !'
(
1727 - 1797 )
******
John Wilkes ( 1727 - 1797 ): eponymous subject of the popular London street cry 'Wilkes and Liberty !'. English Radical politician and profligate, born in Clerkenwell, son of a distiller father and pious mother. A Rake and member of the infamous 'Hellfire Club', colonel of the Buckinghamshire militia. Founder and editor of the scurrilous 'North Briton' newspaper, translator of the classics and persecuted author of the shocking 'Essay on Woman'. Four times elected and three times excluded Member of Parliament for Middlesex, Wilkes survived three government sponsored duels and assassination attempts, was made prisoner in the Tower and declared 'outlaw'. In exile, he toured Italy with Boswell and an courtesan called Gertrude, finally returning to tempestuous triumph and a serene old age. As Lord Mayor of London, MP, duellist, lover, pioneer tourist to the Isle of Wight, early sponsor of animal rights, and darling of the London 'mob' and 'middling and inferior sets of people', Wilkes dominated the political scene of his day. By his fearless efforts John Wilkes established the freedom of the press, the rights of electors to chose their candidates for Parliament and the illegality of general arrest warrants. A staunch defender of the American Revolution and tireless thorn in the side of George III's autocratic and Scots dominated government, he was the last English nationalist politician.
Far away and long ago,
in a country which no longer exists,
a single man arose,
erect.
A Member of Parliament
willing to give his all in the pursuit of
women
Liberty.
JOHN
WILKES
bestrode Eighteenth century England,
amongst other things.
The common people called
for 'Wilkes and
Liberty!'
But to the evil Emperor
GEORGE III
and his Scotch Prime
Minister,
BUTE,
he
would always be
'THAT
DEVIL WILKES!'
[
Actual Historic Personages denoted in bold ]
JOHN
WILKES. A rascal and
politician. 1727 - 1797
THE
REVEREND CHARLES CHURCHILL. Famous
poet and Anglican cleric. A huge
bear-like roisterer and talented, ferocious, versifier, notoriously caricatured
by Hogarth. Rector of Raynham in
Essex. 1731 - 1764
POUTING COMPANION. Mistress Betsy Carr of Struddleduck Hall, daughter of Sir Ogram Carr, Knight. A flighty, feisty piece, and wealthy heiress.
THE CHEVALIER D'EON aka. MADAME D'EON. A Frenchman, soldier, noted duellist and transvestite. WILKES's self-appointed fiery bodyguard.
LORD COBHAM or 'LORD GOBB'EM'. A tall, foppish, irresolute, MP, statesman and famous expectorant.
LORD HERVEY. An elderly and respectable MP.
INN-KEEPER.
PRIM
GENTLEMAN
SCOTS
READER. An outraged Highlander
in traditional dress.
KING'S MESSENGERS 1 & 2.
THE GAOLER of the Tower of London.
THE
GAOLER'S LIVELY DAUGHTER
PLUS:
VARIOUS SPEECHLESS SCOTCH WOMENFOLK, FOPS & DANDIES
******
******
THAT
DEVIL WILKES !
Tall MP ( Lord Cobham or 'LORD GOBB'EM' ): 'Excuse me, sir.
Do I have the honour of addressing Lord Hervey ?'
Elderly respectable MP [ LORD HERVEY ] amiably addressing him:
'You do indeed, sir."
LORD GOBB'EM: "An honour, sir.
Lord Cobham - at your service. And
is this your hat, sir ?"
LORD HERVEY turns to note fawn top hat beside him on bench:
"It is, sir. And how
may I assist you ?"
LORD GOBB'EM: "No, sir, how may I assist you ...."
LORD GOBB'EM takes up hat, and to LORD HERVEY's aghast - but rapidly controlled - horror spits mightily and repeatedly into it. He then hands it back. LORD HERVEY - now entirely calm and as before - briefly studies the contents.
In background, LORD GOBB'EM's gang are giggling, clutching kerchiefs to their mouths in barely suppressed amusement. LORD HERVEY gravely leans forward in his seat to note them. They continue unabashed.
LORD HERVEY readdresses LORD GOBB'EM: "Do you have further
occasion for my hat, sir ?"
LORD GOBB'EM bows. "No,
sir; my mouth is adequately voided and refreshed - but I am obliged to
you, sir."
LORD HERVEY arises and gravely bows.
LORD HERVEY: "Then I am your obedient servant, sir ..." - and departs, holding hat carefully upright.
LORD GOBB'EM returns to gaggle and they collapse together in laughter.
SCENE 2
An aristocratic 'morning room'. Amidst the wreckage of an opulent breakfast, the same gaggle are sprawled - somewhat hangdog and hungover but in good humour. LORD GOBB'EM is amongst them, at the head of the table. He is sheepishly pleased with himself. One of the party is reading aloud to them from a newspaper.
Man quoting: "'Intelligence is received that Lord Cobham has been christened anew amongst the wags and jolly-dogs and rakes of the town. With most delicate consideration for his fellow members and the floor of the august Parliament which he adorns, he yesterday relieved himself of an inopportune excess of salivary material into the hat of Lord Hervey. Said Lord, one of the nation's adornments for his glittering service to it in both war and peace, expressed unalloyed pleasure at his hat proving of more use than the mere covering of his own snowy locks. His sweet nature proved just as equal to accepting a monstrous pavement oyster in that which would shortly grace his head.
Therefore and henceforth, so we hear, Lord Cobham shall go by a new and
more fitting name: Lord Gobb'em .....'
All around the table laugh fit to burst. LORD GOBB'EM smirkingly acknowledges their tribute.
A footman enters with accompanied by a aristocratic dandy. He 'announces' him.
Footman: "My Lord, a messenger from Lord Hervey." He discreetly leaves as the newcomer bows deeply. The room is abruptly silenced.
Dandy [ DANDY ]: "My dear friend, Lord Hervey, desires that I
present his compliments to Lord Cobham, and thanks him for his kind gift
yesterday. He wishes to reply in
kind and asks that you graciously accept his sword stuck in your guts and then
waggled around a bit. He proposes
tomorrow morning: Hyde Park at dawn."
Gasps of horror from around the table. LORD GOBB'EM is shocked rigid.
DANDY: "And, pending presentation of his steely gift, Lord
Hervey desires that you accept this little cadeaux, as a foretaste of his
generosity."
The DANDY draws a slim decanter from one of his own deep pockets, advances, uncorks and upends it over LORD GOBB'EM's head. A sluggish, viscous liquid descends.
DANDY: "A small
thing, you many say, but I assure you sir, it took the combined and lengthy
hawking of the entire Hervey family, babes to grand-dames, all last night to
secure such a liberal supply of phlegm. Happily,
Almighty God saw fit to afflict the dowager Lady Hervey with a chesty cough at
just the right time ...."
The DANDY steps back.
DANDY: "Lord
Cobham - or should I say: Gobb'em - I bid you adieu and leave you.
Doubtless you have much to do."
Cut to close view of LORD GOBB'EM's horrified face. He turns, eyes widened.
The DANDY explains, airily: "Prayers:
Bible perusing, coffin selection: that sort of thing ...."
Same shot of LORD GOBB'EM as before. His eyes widen even more.
DANDY: "Prepare
yourself, I implore you sir, for your imminent encounter with the next life.
'Tis awfully bad form to greet God without some decent excuses ready
...." He bows again and sees
himself out, unnoticed in the general shock.
At the door he leans back in for a last word: "Oh - and have a nice
- last - day !"
The gaggle [ GAGGLE ] look silently at LORD GOBB'EM. LORD GOBB'EM is turned to stone with fright.
One - more composed - member of the gaggle turns to his likewise neighbour.
GAGGLE 1: "There's
only one thing for it ...."
GAGGLE 2: sadly agrees and nods.
They simultaneously turn to LORD GOBB'EM and say:
"You know what you need, don't you ?"
LORD GOBB'EM - still in shock - slowly nods.
He says - grimly and with great reluctance: "I need Wilkes !"
Scene 3
A prim Gentleman-traveller is dining alone, somewhat dejectedly, with a newspaper propped up before him, in an otherwise deserted inn. From time to time he looks around in bored contemplation. The door then opens and the Inn-keeper [ INN-KEEPER ] enters.
INN-KEEPER: "Is
all to your satisfaction, milord ?"
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "Tolerably.
The breakfast is acceptable but the lack of conversation less so.
At home I am accustomed to a degree of liberal intercourse around the
table."
INN-KEEPER: "Ah well, I could sit and chat with yer
..."
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "Alas no.
What I know of bear-baiting could be inscribed - in illuminated script
even - on a fly's backside."
INN-KEEPER: - visibly disappointed - his face falls: "Oh,
shame ...."
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "Is there no one of more appropriate station
presently residing ? Someone with
whom a gentleman might profitably conversely ?"
INN-KEEPER screws up his unshaven face and considers.
"Well .... there's a reverend gentleman ...."
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "Ah,
good .... a man of the cloth ...."
INN-KEEPER: "Aye - only he didn't return to his room last
night ...."
The door bursts open with some violence. Into the room, with noise and violence, falls a huge bear of a man, tricorne askew, his arm around a lively-looking young woman. The huge man is in clerical dress.
INN-KEEPER: "Now, there's lucky.
He's back ...."
Huge Cleric ( the poet Charles Churchill ) [ CHURCHILL ]: rights himself and espies INN-KEEPER. He pins INN-KEEPER with a pointed finger.
CHURCHILL, shouting: "Beer !
Monstrous beers ! And pork
sausages. Buckets of pork sausages
!"
Moving like a man under water, he traverses to consult his pouting companion [ POUTING COMPANION ].
CHURCHILL: "Do you like sausage ? Or have you had enough sausage for one night ?" He thrusts his hips forward and the two double up with laughter.
CHURCHILL abruptly recovers and readdresses the INN-KEEPER - finger-pinning him again.
CHURCHILL: "All
right. Put a few in the pan for her
too."
The INN-KEEPER - never taking his eyes off CHURCHILL - edges round the wall and out. The door closes. CHURCHILL and POUTING COMPANION weave unsteadily to a bench opposite the PRIM GENTLEMAN and sprawl at ease. CHURCHILL realises for the first time that they have company.
CHURCHILL: "What
are you staring at, crow-bait ?"
PRIM GENTLEMAN pushes his platter aside and rises and bows.
"Sir Roderick Souter, at your service, sir - and miss.
And whom do I have the honour of addressing ?"
CHURCHILL goes to speak but pauses, puzzled. Face creased, he consults in mutters with POUTING COMPANION. Eventually it is resolved and he replies.
CHURCHILL: "The
Reverend Charles Churchill, poet and Rector of Raynham in the County of Essex -
God blast it to eternal damnation ! And
at your service, sir."
A pregnant pause. PRIM GENTLEMAN is poised between bow and re-seating himself - still expecting something.
CHURCHILL: What's the
matter ? Are you struck comical
?"
PRIM GENTLEMAN - prompting: "The
lady, sir, the lady ...."
CHURCHILL - suddenly recalls.
"Oh, her .... Um ....
Mistress Betsy Carr. Sweet sixteen
and thighs like satin. Mistress of
the Mattress - and very much at your service, sir."
She half rises to mockingly bow and then yelps, not all that outraged, as CHURCHILL pinches her bum.
PRIM GENTLEMAN - already shocked - recognises the name.
"Not the heiress Miss Carr ? The
young Miss Carr, heiress to broad lands in Middlesex, whose abduction is
the talk of the Town and outrage of every decent person ?"
CHURCHILL: "The
very same, sir - though she owns more than one sort of broad acres for which to
love her. Eh, Betsy ?"
She giggles. CHURCHILL
continues: "And is it abduction when the minx provides the ladder
and drives the coach ? I was not
capable at the time, sir, for I'd composed two poems that day and refreshed
myself in celebration. Kidnapping
and seduction were alike beyond me. It
were all I could do to raise a smile ! Eh,
is that not so, Betsy ?"
POUTING COMPANION feistily confirms it with a dig to his ribs. She winks at the PRIM GENTLEMAN - who parentally frowns back at her.
CHURCHILL: "And besides, the wench is old enough to decide. As I replied to her initial - whispered - protests - a verse of mine covers the case .....
CHURCHILL declaims:
"'When
roses are red
they're ready for plucking.
When
maids are sixteen
they're
ready for-'"
PRIM GENTLEMAN - interrupting in haste, as he sits down.
"I protest, sir ! Remember
your position ...."
CHURCHILL & POUTING COMPANION look to one another and then snigger like schoolchildren at the double entendre.
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "You should be more upright, sir !"
CHURCHILL & POUTING COMPANION are even more amused.
PRIM GENTLEMAN - red-faced and flustered.
"You are not being straight with me, sir!"
CHURCHILL & POUTING COMPANION are in hysterics: tearful and slapping the table.
PRIM GENTLEMAN - tight-lipped and angry now. "You would not laugh, sir, if you had perused the news-sheets instead of debauching the morn away !" He waves his paper at the couple.
CHURCHILL - gradually recovering composure.
"I wipe my posterior upon your canting news-sheet, sir.
I condemn it to the devil's privy. Of
what interest are such hypocrisy sheets to me ?
I live ! I compose !
I quaff ! I joust in the
field of Venus five times a night ...."
POUTING COMPANION: "Six !"
CHURCHILL pauses to consider and counts upon stubby fingers. The PRIM GENTLEMAN is outraged.
CHURCHILL: "No,
up against the wall don't count. Five
times I say, sir. And I thoroughly
recommend it to you. Take some of
the starch out of your spine and place it in your britches, sir.
Then you might not look like you're sucking a lemon !"
PRIM GENTLEMAN gapes.
CHURCHILL: "No, sir, but me no buts.
I have given you my sermon on the best path to take us through our
pilgrimage on earth. Say Amen to it
and leave your blessed news-sheets to the poor-in-spirit and dry-as-dust
book-keepers. To dust we all
return, sir, as I've said over many the grave-side, but - God puke on me
if I lie - surely there's no need to imitate it beforehand !"
PRIM GENTLEMAN disapproves, tight-lipped, but says nothing. He glowers at the two.
CHURCHILL thinks he's won and lolls back, victorious.
CHURCHILL: "There
you are then. I enter the citadel of your argument, sir; I trample on your
banner and ravish your wives. My
pennant swings from your flagpole. And
so I ask you, sir: of what possible use are your news-sheets to me
?"
CHURCHILL proclaims, mockingly, in a dreary voice: "'Intelligence
is received that his Majesty yesterday attended a levee of Scottish nobility -
many of them house-trained. 'Martinique'
was last week recaptured from the French for the seventh occasion.
Owing to installation of a pox-ridden and mad governor, its loss is
expected for Wednesday fortnight ....'"
In answer the PRIM GENTLEMAN places pince-nez on his nose and finding his
place in the newspaper, reads aloud:
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "'Item: Urgently required: Charles
Churchill: false priest and seducer, drunkard and debaucher.
And likewise, Lady Elisabeth Carr of Struddleduck Hall, his innocent
abductee. Any intelligence
regarding the location of either or both should be speedily communicated to Sir
Ogram Carr, Knight, care of 'The Gazette'.
A sum of £500 of good, unclipped, English coin is offered to any man who
shall serve Heaven, the nation and the blameless Carr family by bringing this
contemptible eunuch to justice - either by his apprehension or else
shooting down like unto a mad dog. In
the latter case, Sir Ogram shall require proof of demise by production of a
corpse or suitable identifying parts thereof.'"
PRIM GENTLEMAN lowers the newspaper and regards the now silenced couple with satisfaction. He then turns to another page.
PRIM GENTLEMAN, sarcastically: "No, no: cease your chatter.
I have still more gifts to present you.
Item number two:" PRIM
GENTLEMAN clears throat. "'
..... Nor are a tribe of lawyers and court beadles, clutching a recently granted
writ of 'Scandalum Magnatum Ex-Parte Quantum est Canis in Fenestra' alone in
their search for the two lovers. Intelligence
is received that Sir Ogram Carr and his five manly sons and the stouter members
of his tenantry are adjusting their daily constitutionals to take in those
places most likely to harbour one Charles Churchill, poet, cleric and general
loveable rascal. For some reason,
the noble Knight ( and noted duellist ) Sir Ogram and his band takes these to be
the lower sort of brothels and drinking dens that London town has, alas, to
offer in all too great a number. And
it is doubtless for this reason that they go heavily armed with a brace of horse
pistols and a cutlass apiece - for the innocent reason of their own protection.
However, this writer cannot account for why a set of bull castrating
shears should likewise accompany their perambulations .....'"
PRIM GENTLEMAN set the paper down and smiles maliciously at the much chastened couple. CHURCHILL's hands have disappeared out of sight to clutch his groin.
PRIM GENTLEMAN cups his ear:
"Oh, Lord have mercy on me, but I seem to have been struck deaf !
Can it be ? Ah, praise be - no,
it's merely that your gay banter has ceased.
Are you well, sir ? Have the
exertions of the night taken revenge on you ?
You'll permit me to observe, Mr Churchill, that your face is a whitened
as an esquimeaux's bottom. Since it seems I alone retain the power of
speech, shall I oblige you, sir, by calling the Inn-keeper ?
Some brandy, sir ? Do you
require fortifying spirits to restore your manhood ?"
PRIM GENTLEMAN playfully mimics the action of a large pair of shears and
CHURCHILL winces. PRIM GENTLEMAN
rapidly corrects himself. "I'm
sorry. I meant restore you to
manhood ?"
CHURCHILL resumes his former blustering self. He glowers at the PRIM GENTLEMAN.
CHURCHILL: "No, sir. I
stand in no need of Dutch courage, though I thank you from the bottom of my
heart - or is it the other way round ? No,
dear sir, I know precisely what I need."
CHURCHILL turns to camera, a confident smile dawning over his entirely
unclerical face. "I need
Wilkes ..."
Scene 4
A Scotsman, plainly identifiable as such in Highland dress and bonnet, sits beside a peat fire, fuming over a newspaper. Beside him are various womenfolk, all heavily wrapped in blankets and immobile, smoking clay pipes. The camera zooms in to reveal the title of the paper: 'The North Briton - Editor & Proprietor: J Wilkes Esq.'.
The Scots Reader's [ SCOTS READER ] voice is raised in anger and the camera recedes to show him reading angrily from the paper to the womenfolk. They remain statue-like - save from flashing eyes - and silent throughout.
SCOTS READER - in heavy brogue: 'And will ye listen to this ? 'Now that we rejoice under the utopian rule of a King who bids us dispense with ancient titles and no longer be Scots or English but 'North' or 'South Britons', and further now that a true Scotch gent, Prime Minister Bute, is so very close to the reins of the British Nation - and closer still, we hear, to the Dowager Queen ( to whose good name we are desperately devoted ), it behoves all patriots to familiarise themselves with the tokens of those who they may no longer plainly name. Is that Cabinet Minister, that government place-man, that monopoly holder a North or a South Briton ?. To what nation belongs that flood of richly accented - and soon enough rich in everything else - men swarming to our Capital to bless us with the blessings of their talents ? Whence comes that stranger who taxes and conscripts us and bids us be good and obedient - and passive - subjects of a ever- strengthening crown ? All these are vital questions and ones requiring swift answer before slavery descends.
Therefore, THIS ORGAN rises to meet the need.
The perplexed need fear no more. Since
we may no more straightway ask, THIS WRITER has the privilege of
imparting useful signs whereby to distinguish the breeds.
This writer INFORMS you thus: the true Scots ye shall know by these
infallible signs:
Item: does he talk and talk and talk again of the beauty and superior qualities of his nation - and yet does he live in Surrey ? And does he never ever ever go home, instead choosing to spend his life and rest his bones amongst a people he despises ?
Item: In conversation can he go no more than three minutes without
mention of BANNOCKBURN and yet does he fall deaf as stone and silent as a dead
mute upon mention of Flodden, Pinkie, Solway Moss, Falkirk and any other of the
myriad and glorious and more usual ENGLISH victories ?'"
Beside himself with exasperation, the SCOTS READER reaches beside himself for a huge bottle of whisky. He drinks generously and then noisily wipes his mouth. The silent womenfolk look hungrily upon the bottle, which he noticing, the SCOTS READER hugs protectively to himself. With many a wary glance at the female watchers he leans forward, neither hand now free, to read on.
SCOTS READER: "'And does the noble Northern Briton display
this unmistakable token of his lineage: to whit does he charge like a bull with
its balls on fire down the sweet road from Scotland to England
- and then does he creep like a boy-snail en route to snail school when
entering a tavern - for corpse-white fear he should be first and have a round to
pay ?'"
Cut to close up of SCOTS READER's face wrestling against a sore point scratched. He recovers and continues to quote.
SCOTS READER: "'And would he find the ensuing japery
true or to his amusement ? To whit:
a Scotsman was high upon a ladder a-cleaning of his upper windows - to save a
wasteful groat paid to the window-cleaner's trade ....'"
The womenfolk all mutter and nod their muffled heads approvingly.
SCOTS READER shrugs - not seeing the point and continues:
SCOTS READER: "'when - shock !
Dismay ! A farthing falls
from his sporran - implausible, I grant you, given that device's secure,
unbeaten, fastening, but bear with the jest.
'Horrors !' thinks he, 'for one of my clansmen may be round to
harvest my coin, so I shall desist from this humble task and retrieve it.'
And so he does, and descends the ladder to stand upon mother earth and
casts his eye around the ground - whereupon the coin falls atop his head .....'"
SCOTS READER: to the womenfolk - who giggle but do not otherwise
respond. "I dinnae get it !
Do you get it ?"
One mummy-like women hurriedly rises and heads for the door. SCOTS READER tears out the relevant page and hands it to her.
SCOTS READER: "Here, Morag.
And make good use of it !"
She accepts the page and disappears through the door into the night. The outside tempest of foul weather and rain is temporarily admitted.
SCOTS READER - obviously against his better judgement but unable to stop himself, surveys the pages left to him. Forgetful, his grip on the bottle loosens and every eye is fastened upon it. Almost imperceptibly, the shrouded womenfolk edge nearer. Then the SCOTS READER explodes in fury at something he's read and they freeze and retreat.
SCOTS READER: "Dear God ! Has the Sassenach no shame ? Will you look here - 'The Superiority of the Scottish School System Explained, its Curriculum exemplified and the Pressing Need for its English Adoption Outlined.
Item: Mathematics: If you should have five Bannockburns and add to them
seven Bannockburns and then divide the result by three Bannockburns, then how
many Bannockburns would you have ?
Item: Geography: The word
Burn or stream often appears in place-names: can you think of an example ?
Point to it on a map and then smile'."
SCOTS READER looks wild-eyed around, almost beyond himself, before steeling to continue.
Item: Science:
Enumerate the principle soil types and animal species adjacent to the
Burn running through Bannock ....'"
SCOTS READER arises in fury, scattering the paper everywhere. He sets the bottle aside and crosses the room to where a treadle whetstone is situated. From the wall he takes down a huge claymore. He sits at the whetstone and begins to furiously sharpen the sword, causing sparks to fly. The camera closes to his face but before it fully occupies the view we see the womenfolk behind the SCOTS READER ( unbeknownst to him ) silently descend on the bottle and fight over it - although still silently - like a pack of wolves.
SCOTS READER looks direct to camera - but indirectly addressing the inaudibly wrestling womenfolk - as sparks surround him and the grinding sound dominates.
SCOTS READER: "'Need'
is it ? 'Need', ah ?
Well, I'll tell you whit I need, shall I ?"
He raises the claymore and tests its edge with one finger. He hurts himself.
SCOTS READER: "Bugger.
Bloody urgent, bloody Onglish blade !"
He frowns and sucks the wounded digit.
SCOTS READER: "Aye
...., I'll tell ye whit I need is yon clever-dick Onglish editor with
this," - he surveys the tip of the claymore, wild-eyed - ,"shoved up
his silken arse: that's what I need, so I do.
Aye, what I need is ...."
He picks up the front sheet of the paper and, in a incongruously gentle gesture, puts on a pair of delicate spectacles to quiz it.
Close up of maniacal face. Over-the-top
'Private Fraser' style accent
SCOTS READER: "I
need Wilkes !"
************
Scene 5
Exterior shot of the tower of London.
From - just - behind the camera comes the raucous baying of a huge and
ugly-sounding mob. They are
chanting 'Wilkes and Liber-ty !'
'Wilkes and Liber-ty !'
A fusillade of rotten fruit and blue paint-bombs assault the wall. The camera rocket-pans in, 'Hawaii 5-O'-style, to one particular window and a face therein - a world-weary looking middle-aged man, the GAOLER, surveying the crowd. He takes a voluptuous tomato full in the face and withdraws.
We are now in the room beyond - an austere reception chamber. The mob's chant can still be heard, albeit more softly, beyond. Inside we find Wilkes [ WILKES ] a dapper man of middle-age and average everything, save for his exceptional ugliness. He has a pronounced squint and sardonic, amused, expression. He wears a long scarlet military coat, a very jazzy embroidered waistcoat and a powdered wig, with a horizontal line of curves on either side, somewhat resembling devil's horns. He looks with sympathy on the GAOLER as, without rancour, he cleans his face of tomato-aftermath. The GAOLER is non-descript, and harmless seeming, save for a set of huge antique keys round his waist. Two uniformed 'King's Messengers [ KING'S MESSENGERS ] stand custodially behind Wilkes, but not laying hands on him. Thuggish upper-class types, and none too bright, they look pompous and shifty throughout and, when not drawn into the dialogue, remain part of the furniture.
Speaking of which, the room is dominated by a large table behind which the GAOLER seats himself. The only other furnishings are various tatty and 'olde-worldly' tapestries, suits of armour and obsolete weapons lining the walls.
The GAOLER, pointedly in the only seat, shuffles his papers and takes up his quill.
GAOLER [ not unfriendly, somewhat resigned ]:
"So we meet again, Mr Wilkes. Mr
John 'Wilkes and Liberty' Wilkes, MP, as I live and breathe."
He is suddenly worried and looks nervously to the window and crowd noise.
"And I shall live and breathe, shan't I ?'
WILKES, reassuringly: "Rest
easy, my dear man. You will not be
the star of 'Bastille II', if
it is in my poor powers to prevent it !
WILKES crosses to the window, nimbly dodges a cauliflower, and then is recognised and acclaimed by the mob. They go wild. Like a two-centuries early rock-star working the unseen crowd, he briefly eggs them on until the 'Wilkes and Liberty's are almost deafening. Then, with a crashing motion of the arms, he guillotines them off. An uncanny silences ensues.
He returns, as though nothing has happened to resume his place meekly before the GAOLER.
GAOLER: 'I am obliged
to you, sir."
WILKES bows gracefully and graciously:
"At your service, sir."
GAOLER: "So,
what is it this time ?
WILKES cups his sharp chin in one hand and ponders, studying the ceiling. He cannot seem to recall, although his expression is mischievous. One of the KING'S MESSENGERS frowns impatiently.
KING'S MESSENGER 1; 'He said, in his accursed 'North Briton', that his majesty's revered mother, the Dowager Queen, was a 'much-loved figure'.
GAOLER screws up his face, incredulous:
'And you get the Tower for that ?
What then if he went really wild and alleged she was 'quite nice,
really'. The noose ?
Have we really come to this ? Have
you got my house surrounded by a pack of foaming-at-the-mouth shaven-headed
cockneys just because someone hinted the royal family's 'not all that bad'
? You ..... stupid
bloody pubic-school-educated powder-bonced eunuch bum-strokers, you ...."
KING'S MESSENGER 2 - unfazed by the abuse:
"It was the way he said it."
GAOLER buries his head in his arms. Outside, starting softly, the 'Wilkes and Liber-ty' call starts up again.
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "He said she was 'much-loved' by
Prime Minister Bute"
GAOLER raises his face: "Ah ...."
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "And many other Scotsmen."
KING'S MESSENGER 2: "Five times a night."
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "Up against the mantelpiece."
KING'S MESSENGER 2: "In sedan chairs."
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "In St. James's Park."
KING'S MESSENGER 2: "And of a recent performance of the 'Scottish
Play', our amateur Theatre critic
here, reviewed that Lady Macbeth's screams and moans were much augmented from
the Royal Box ...."
WILKES: interrupting, suggestively: "If you'll pardon the
expression, sir ...."
The GAOLER sees a way out and brightens:
"Aha ! So you admit it,
sir ?"
WILKES, affronted: "I
admit nothing, sir. These outrages
may be lifted from that estimable journal of affairs, 'The North Briton',
but that is none of my concern - probably ...."
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "Oh no, you just fund, write and
produce it, that's all, Mr Wilkes - you and your bloody bear of a friend,
Churchill !"
KING'S MESSENGER 2: You're
up to your radical, atheistic, inky hands in it, sir !"
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "When
not up to your elbows in a silk dress !"
WILKES bridles facetiously. "Do
you allege I wear dresses, sir ?"
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "Nothing would surprise me, about you,
Wilkes. But you know full well I
referred to your worship at the shrine of the goddess Quim.
You're notorious for it, sir. No
woman in Christendom is safe from your groping, questing, probing, licking
appendages ...."
WILKES bows, mock-modest: "I
have the divine and invigorating gift of unquenchable lust, I confess.
If such be a crime, then I belong here - "
GAOLER: "If so, The Tower'd need to be a sight bigger
...."
KING'S MESSENGER 1 to KING'S MESSENGER 2, reluctantly, honestly conceding the point