OK, so it isn't often I publicize things on here that are separate entities to my little blogging world, and that are indeed another facet of my everyday life, but this is something I was rather proud of.
Long story short, I was asked to pen a short original "epilogue" script if you will, to the popular Morpurgo novel Private Peaceful, as part of an event held at Accrington Library, to celebrate the book and Lancashire day. The event was held last week, and it was a great success in my view. My short piece was performed by a very lovely and wonderfully talented lady by the name of Victoria - her performance was massively emotive and endearing; I was immensely proud of her. The script is below if you fancy giving it a look. The performance was filmed but the clip has such an amount of memory, it is apparently impossible to do anything with it on the internet!
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MRS. PEACEFUL
WRITTEN BY
SAMUEL JACKSON
BASED ON THE NOVEL PRIVATE PEACEFUL BY MICHAEL MORPURGO
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Fade in. MRS. PEACEFUL approaches from stage
left. She is light on her feet, with an air of casual cheer, yet facially she
is masking recent pain. As she enters, she is softly singing to herself - -
MRS.
PEACEFUL: Oranges and lemons...like the bells of St. Clements...
MRS.PEACEFUL
stops abruptly. For a long moment she stares at the envelope on the floor
before her. She slowly makes a gesture as if to pick it up then hesitates, her
hand testing the air in front of her as if it might burn. After pausing she
swiftly swoops on the letter and straightens up abruptly, unfolds it and begins
to read -
MRS
PEACEFUL: Dearest Mum...
With
a slight yet sharp intake of breath, MRS.PEACEFUL PAUSES momentarily, her eyes
glazing over as she stares at the page. The moment passes and she continues - -
MRS.
PEACEFUL: I don’t really know how to write to you this time. Me and Tommo wrote
so many letters home we lost count, but we never lost hope that they’d make it
back to you; just as we would.
I
suppose really this is me saying sorry. Sorry to you, sorry to Molly, sorry to
everyone. Sorry because I can’t come home.
And
sorry because I couldn’t do my duty; I couldn’t do what was asked of me in the
end.
You’ve
probably received the telegrams, all the official papers. At least those are
letters they definitely make sure make it home. They’d have told you I failed
to do my duty, that I was dishonoured in battle, that I didn’t follow direct
orders.
That
I was a coward. It’s true Mum I didn’t...I couldn’t.
They’d
shot Tommo. They’d shot him right beside me; cut him down like a scythe through
grass. It should have been me they got, I should have protected him. He went
down so fast, I couldn’t leave him there in the mud!
But
Hanley...We wrote you about him and how horrible he was in drills. He wouldn’t
have it; he just ran up to us and started prodding me forwards. At one point I
thought he was going to pull his revolver on Tommo; put him out of his misery.
He wouldn’t have any of it. Tommo was bleeding so badly but I knew he was still
breathing – I couldn’t leave him. Hanley wouldn’t have it. He just walked away
in the end. No one would help, no one could help. Tommo couldn’t move.
I
know now of course he made it and they say he’ll be sent home and he’ll be OK.
But I failed again – I didn’t protect him. I didn’t save him from that bullet.
He
blames himself for what’s going to happen to me. Try and put him at ease when
he gets home. He was the brave one really; he wasn’t the one who disobeyed
orders.
Damned
Hanley. Jumped up P.E. teacher really. He didn’t care about any of us, what was
happening, where we were going, who was getting shot at and who wasn’t. He just
cared about keeping us moving forward because that is what he’d been told to do
– keep us moving forward. We were probably moving forward all told for about
thirty seconds if that. Tragic really. In a way I’m glad I didn’t die out there
like those poor sods in the filth and the wet. If you’d have seen it
Mum...You’d know why I couldn’t leave Tommo lying there. Day after day more and
more bodies are brought back from the front; I watch them wheeling them
through. And that’s just who they can rush in and drag back. God knows how many
are rotting in No-Man’s Land.
Anyway.
I’m so sorry I couldn’t do right by you, and everyone back home. Most of the
lads who come over here – that’s what they say they fight for isn’t it? To do
right by their families and friends, but most of all their country. I’m sorry I
let England down, but really I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you and for
Molly, and for our little one. I managed to keep Tommo alive but that’s it. I
wasn’t able to fight. I hated being dragged into this war but I was sure I’d be
able to do more.
Not
for the army, not for Hanley, not for that jumped up Toff, not even for the
lads in the trenches. But for you, and for Joe, and for Molly, and for our
little one. I won’t be able to fight for you as much as I wanted. I truly
regret that, but I don’t regret protecting Tommo. It landed me where I am now
but at least I can hope you’d be proud of me for that. What I regret most of
all is that I won’t be coming home and I won’t be seeing you again. I won’t be
able to hold my boy.
Most
of the lads soon lost all sense of hope; all sense of who they are or why they
are where they are. But I hope at least, that sooner or later things will get
better, that the Hun will fall, and that what’s left of our lads will be able
to come home.
Tommo
will be with you soon, if not already. You take care of him; I’ve told him to
take care of you! And to take care of Molly, I think he will. And you’ll all
have to care for my boy, make sure he grows up strong; make sure he never has
to go to war.
I
really like the name of Little Tommo; see how Molly feels about that. Might
embarrass our Tommo but its only right I think. Just so long as he’s cared for.
I know he’ll be safe with you. We were after all weren’t we? It’s only when we
went away it’s all gone to pot! As long as I think of all of you I can go with
some pride and some happiness; I can remember all the good times; all the times
I’ve fought for.
Take
care Mum. All take care of each other.
All
my love, Charlie.
MRS.
PEACEFUL sniffs audibly as she folds the letter to her heart. Her eyes shut
painfully for a moment. The longest pause of all follows, then she looks up to
address the audience.
MRS.
PEACEFUL: Came two weeks ago to tell me about my Charlie. Some kid, younger
than Charlie or Tommo, came round on a bicycle. Uniform was too big for him;
hat kept falling down to his eyes. He smiled as he gave be the telegram. I
wonder if he knew what it said?
Telegram
talked about “dereliction of duty” and “dishonourable discharges” and “court
marshals”. Claptrap. All of it. Horrible what they say about my Charlie. I felt
like burning the bloody thing. But I keep it, so as if anyone wants to know
about how the army treats its soldiers – I can show them. I can show them
Charlie’s letter too...
MRS.
PEACEFUL indicates Charlie’s letter, still clutched in her hand. She stares at
it again.
Then...maybe
not no. Not Charlie’s letter.
My
Charlie is a good boy. They both are. Charlie and Tommo. Good, strong boys they
are. Never cheated, never ducked out of anything honest. All wanted to do right
by people and themselves. They’d never run away from the Germans. They would’ve
fought. Fought for their country, for their regiment, fought for their family
and fought for each other.
Charlie
did what he thought was right; what he knew to be right. I can ask no more than
that. It’s what I raised him to do. He was to do as he was told but in the end
he needed to be man enough to make up his own mind.
Tommo
will be shaken I know, but it will be good to get him home. He’ll want to fight
more too, he’ll want to be like Charlie, but I know he’ll want to come home
still. Me and Molly are going to pick him up from the station on Saturday.
Molly will help look after him. I always knew Tommo carried a torch for the
girl, but he’ll do right by her, and the little one; just like Charlie said. We
all will.
Whatever
anyone says, Charlie died with decency and with honour. Whatever anyone says
about any of those poor boys over there, dead and dying in the mud, they all
live and die with honour just for being there. For standing and fighting
together for all of us, and no one should ever forget that. Never ever for as
long as they live. Or for as long as their children and their children’s
children live.
MRS.
PEACEFUL pockets the letter swiftly and directly. Then gracefully she turns and
EXITS. As she goes she sings again to herself - -
MRS.
PEACEFUL: Here comes a candle to light you to bed.
And
here comes a chopper to chop off your head!
FADE
OUT
©
SAMUEL ROBERT JACKSON
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