A PLAY ON (S)WORDS FROM TRADITIONAL SAUCES by THE JOCKEY MUMMERS

 

Act 1

 

Enter room

                            In comes I, that's never been yet,
With my big head and little wit.
But though my head be big and my wit be small,
I can act my part as well as you all.
So room, room, good people, make room for St. George.
Walk in, Saint George!              (Flourish)                      (Land of Hope and

 Glory - softly - music)

 

Enter St. George

St. George:           Here am I, St. George, a knight.
The most neglected saint I'm quite.
I can't slay dragons any more -
They only smoke from nine till four.
Aprils come and Aprils go
That wretched Shakespeare hogs my show.
In Birmingham the Welsh abound
The Scots have named the football ground.
But with the Irish it's a joke -
Their patron saint's an English bloke.
The reason why I'm up the creek
Is that my ancestor was Greek.

 

Enter St. Patrick                                                                                                        Music:  St. Patrick was a gentleman . . .

                            Ah!  My worthy friend St. Patrick
And how are you tonight?
Have you paid me a call at the Central Hall
To side with me in a fight?

Saint Patrick:       My worthy knight, I'm glad to see you here.
Many's the scrap that I've been at, and I've travelled far and near.
I'm fighting mad - but I'll tell you, Dad,
That there's a right rum lot up there.                          (Pointing to some dignitary

  in the audience.)

St. George:           I'm here for a four-cornered contest, son.
So sharpen your sword - here comes number one.

Enter Captain Pugwash                                                                                          Music:  Pugwash theme.

Captain Pug.:       My name is Captain Pugwash,
Across the seas I come.
Now I'm come to old England
To fight Saint George again.

 

St. George:          Charming!  Let you and I the battle try.

Captain Pug.:      If thou dost conquer, I must die                      (They fight.  Music:  waltz.)

(Captain Pugwash dies.  St. Patrick chalks   one up.  St. George wipes sword.)

Enter Chinese warlord

Chinese warlord: I am a Chinese warlord; 
From the Kam Ling I've come.
Crispy noodles, sweet and sour,
My name is Mao Tse Tung.
And when I've seen this Saint George slain,
I'll take my slow boat home again.

St. Patrick:          That sounds like a load of old junk to me!

(Looks at St. George enquiringly, and  on receipt of St. George's thumbs-up,  continues:)

                            Let thou and I the battle try.

Chinese warlord: If thou dost conquer, I must die.

They fight - Chinese warlord dies in position.  St George congratulates St. Patrick, who wipes his sword.)

Enter Major Disaster and General Strike from opposite side doors.

Major Disaster:     I am a major:  Disaster is my name

General Strike:     And I am General Strike:  our purpose is the same.

Both (unison):      We've come to polish off Saint George and then go home by train.

St. George:          Stand by your beds!
The odds are greater now they're two to one.
But leave them both to me, my lad;  I'll give 'em both a run.
Come:  let you and I the battle try.

Both (unison):     If thou dost conquer, we must die.

They fight . .  roll of drums . .  both retire a few paces and charge St. George.  St. P. drops a coin.  St. George stoops to pick it up, and Major Disaster and General Strike kill one another.  Stagger and die in position.

St. Patrick:                (contemplating the four slain and shaking his head sorrowfully:)

I feel for the wives and families of these that we have slain.

St. George:          So am I sorry.

And would freely give 30 000 pounds a year to a Doctor who could put these men on the rails again.

St. Patrick (brightly):   There is such a doctor.

Shall I give him a ring?

Come on, come on, come on, come on                                 (Ape the song)

Doctor Beeching!

Enter Doctor waving flag and blowing whistle.

Doctor:               This further loss of passengers

Fills me with consternation.
If you kill any more, St. George,
I'll have to close your station.
With all this blood that here I see                                              (Examines corpses)
It looks as though I'll earn my fee.

St. George:         What is your fee?

Doctor:                Nineteen pounds nineteen shillings and eleven pence three-farthings return.

And for this I can cure the young, the old, the living and the dead.
I can make the deaf to hear, the dumb to speak and the lame to walk and fly.

St. George:          A general practitioner, eh!

Cure these dead ones, then, and I'll write you out a cheque in the morning.

Doctor goes through rigmarole of curing.  St. George and St. Patrick look on.  Fails with each and goes on to the next until all are seen.

St. Patrick:           You're nothing but a quack.

Is there no-one who can cure these men

And send them on their way again?

Cries of "Yes", and six dancers approach the centre.

 

ACT 2

 

Enter Betty, knitting etc.

Bet:                      In comes I, dirty Bet

I'm nearly sixty, but I've lots of life yet.

I've got a stall in the Market Hall

Selling potions and lotions to cure your ills

And Carter's Little Liver Pills.

If anyone wants to try my ware

Meet me tonight in Chamberlain Square.

Enter Jan riding horse, with difficulty.

Ah!  Here comes Jan  -  Jan, Jan, a flirty old man . . .

(To Jan):                What did you give for that?  (pointing at nag)

Jan  (pre-occupied with controlling horse):         For what?

Bet:                     For that old bag of bones!

Jan:                     Ten bob down, and the rest over three years.

Bet:                     Bring it here then, let me drive.

Jan fetches horse and quietens it while Bet mounts, assisted by Jan.
Horse gallops off, swerving wildly from side to side . . .

Jan:                     Careful now, I'm only insured third party . . .  Oh, these women drivers . . .  watch your clutch . . .  let it in gently . . .

Finally, horse rears up, emits terrible shriek and collapses, sending Bet sprawling flat.  Jan rushes to the horse, which makes its dying convulsions.

Oh!  m' poor old horse, m'old pony;  he's dead.  He's knackered!

Jan turns savagely on Bet, who has slightly recovered and is sitting up dazed.  As Jan storms down on her, she rapidly scrambles up and flees, Jan giving chase with his stick lashing at her.

You clumsy oaf . . .  road hog . . .  you've murdered m' mare . . .   etc.

Bet trips over horse and Jan lands her a heavy blow.  Bet crawls away and finally collapses, dead.  Jan, having immediately returned to his poor old horse, does not notice her final demise.

Jan (weeping):       Oh! m'pony . . . . . . .  etc.

 

Enter St. Patrick

St. Patrick:          Hullo . . .  hullo . . .  HULLO!  What have we here?  More bodies?

Jan (viciously):      She's killed m'mule, the silly old fool.

St. Patrick:          But what happened to her?                                                (Pointing to Bet's still body,

  laid out some distance away)

Jan  (glancing across for the first time to where his wife is lying):

Oh!  The wind blew her over.                                         (Bet belches)

St. Patrick  (approaching, stooping and examining Bet):

Some wind, that!  She's dead too!

Jan:                      What?  Oh, m'wife, m'wife, the love of my life.

What shall I do without my spouse.

(Shouts)  Is there a doctor in the house?

Enter doctor

Doctor:                I can cure the young, the old, the hot, the cold . . .  etc. etc. etc.

Jan:                      Doctor, can you restore them to their former self?

We're all paid-up members of the National Health.

Doctor approaches Bet, but Jan firmly leads him to the horse.

First things first.

Doctor busy with alarm clock, funnel, pills, medicine, stethoscope etc.
St. Patrick soothes Jan.
After a time:

St. Patrick:           You're still no good.

You can't give us any answers.  Clear off quack, bring on the dancers.

Enter dancers to music.