JACKY: (cont.)   They’re fairly weak, it says how to use them on the side. (He takes the packet from her and pockets it quickly.  Slight pause.)   Right then. (She turns to pick up the pie.)   Oh. You’ve eaten it  (She turns to him.) Well, that’s really good, you’re very honoured you know. Me first Friday bake.

(She laughs and goes to him. Quite matter-of-factly she squeezes his hand.)

Thanks for tryin’ it out, hope it was nice.

(He is slightly confused by her attitude to him. She goes happily to pick up her dish.)

Right then, I’ll be off. We’re goin’ out.  Got to get ready.

EMMERSON: (loudly)   Erm… (She looks at him and stops.)   Something.

He goes to the shelter and for the first time goes inside.

She looks at her watch and waits.

He shuffles out backwards.  He holds out an ornate beadwork collar-piece in blue, black and gold beads. It is old but holding together quite well.

EMMERSON:  Something for you.

She smiles.

JACKY: For me? Look, you don’t have to… I didn’t expect…

EMMERSON: Something.

She takes it carefully.

JACKY: It’s really…  it’s so delicate.

He shuffles off into the shelter.

She grins to herself and carefully folds it so that she can manage to carry both it and the small pie dish.

PETER appears, breathless.

PETER: Oh you’re here. What the devil have you been doing? Eh? Are we going out or what?

JACKY: Yes, course. Come on, I’ll be ready in two ticks.

PETER: Honestly, I told mother we’d meet them at half seven. What’s that?

JACKY: (smiles) Something.

PETER: Something?

He tries to take the beadwork to look at it.

She dodges, gives him the pie dish instead.

PETER:  Oh God!  Look, I’m going to have a word with that bloody tramp. I’m not having him at my doorstep at every verse end.

JACKY: Peter don’t be so awful. Come on, he’ll hear us. He never asked me for anything you know.

PETER:  Huh! He will. I’ll have a word with him. Stop it before it starts.

EMMERSON appears at the shelter doorway.

JACKY: Peter!

PETER: Go on, go and get ready.

JACKY: Oh, this is really awful Peter.

PETER: Go on!

EMMERSON watches PETER as he goes to his lading can and starts to swill it at the well. JACKY groans and leaves.

PETER:  Now look here Mathers, Blathers, whatever your name is, you’re not staying here. We can’t have this. We can’t have tramps and tinkers living here. (Slight pause.)  It’s downright bloody unhealthy. Do they know at the mill you’re here? Eh? It’s their shelter you know. I bet they don’t.

(He sees the Guinness bottle on the steps.)

Good God folk don’t live like this. It’s ridiculous. An’ mucky!

(He picks up the bottle.)

Look here!  Right way o’ carrying on. Bloody boozin’. Where do you get your money from for beer eh? God, we’ll have every bloody down an out for miles here before we know what we‘re doing.

(He goes to the wall and throws the bottle into the rubbish.  EMMERSON watches.)

An’ this is railway property anyway under these arches. They’ll soon have you shifted. Do you hear me? Belongs to the railway. Are you listening?

(Slight pause.)

At any rate, I’m not having somebody like you living here while I’m living there and that’s that, an’ I don’t care how long you’ve been tolerated by other folk. There’s too much goes on these days. Bloody thievin’ and…  well, much worse. Folk livin’ rough like you. What sort of a bloody mentality is it? Eh?  That’s what I want to know.

(Pause.)

Now listen, and understand me. I’ll have you shifted you sulky bugger, I will that.

EMMERSON: (quiet) Did you know Frederick Hamshaw?

Slight pause.

PETER: Beg your pardon?

EMMERSON: Frederick Arthur Hamshaw. Did you know him?

PETER: Hamshaw? What’s he got to do with anything? I know who you’re talking about.

EMMERSON: He was a very, very important man, Frederick Arthur.

PETER: How do you mean?

EMMERSON: If you stood in certain places he owned everything and everyone to be seen. Frederick Arthur.

PETER is at a loss, he looks at his watch.

PETER: Well, I don’t know what this is about but I’m keeping people waiting and…

EMMERSON: Very, very important man.

PETER: Yes. Well…

EMMERSON: He’s dead now.

Slight pause.

PETER: I know that. (EMMERSON fills his lading can at the well.) (slightly deflated)   I’m going now. Just remember what I’ve said to you.....

EMMERSON: (quietly) Come look at this.

PETER: What?

EMMERSON: Come look ‘ere. In  this ladin’ can.

PETER moves a a step towards him.

PETER: What’s this in aid of?

EMMERSON: Just come an’ look.

EMMERSON is looking closely into the can  as if intrigued by something.

PETER looks into the can. He looks at EMMERSON, puzzled.

He looks at his watch again.

PETER: I must go now…

EMMERSON: (quietly) Put yer ‘and in.

PETER: Eh? In there?

EMMERSON: Put yer ‘and in the water.

With very bad grace, PETER dips his hand in the water, pulls it out and shakes it.

PETER: God, I must be daft.

EMMERSON: Look at the hole.

PETER: What?

He looks.

EMMERSON: Put yer ‘and in an’ stir it about. Much as you want.

PETER derisively puts his hand in the water and swabs it about, splashing some on EMMERSON who does not move, and then on himself.

PETER: God, this is so stupid!

EMMERSON: Look at the hole.

PETER:  (cross)   What?

EMMERSON: Look at the hole that you’ve left in the water. Where your hand was.

PETER: There isn’t a bloody hole.

EMMERSON pours away the rest of the water into the well, takes a piece of woollen waste from his pocket and disappears into the shelter.

PETER looks after him in exasperation.

PETER: Rubbish. That’s rubbish and you’re bloody rubbish. Hear me? (He looks at his watch.)   Mindless rubbish.

He leaves.

Pause.

EMMERSON backs out of his shelter. He pulls from his pocket a piece of farmer’s bailing twine which he ties round the waist of his coat to keep out the draughts of the night.

He moves to the bank beneath the arch and sits down. He rocks gently.

He takes a bottle of Guinness from his pocket and quickly and deftly removes the top of it on the step edge. He pockets the cap, takes a swig of Guinness.

He puts down the bottle and buries his face in his hands.

The light slowly changes until there is an unreal and fantastic look to it.

Suddenly another figure emerges from the shelter backwards.  A small, wiry figure enveloped in a raincoat not dissimilar to that worn by EMMERSON. He straightens up, back to the audience.

This is DICK DULLY. He is EMMERSON as a boy, existing only in EMMERSON’s head.

He is totally puckish, and has a natural grace and control. He is capable of extremely quick, agile movement and also stillness and calm.

EMMERSON looks up, troubled.  He turns his head slowly to look at DICK.

DICK: Piss bed ! (EMMERSON sighs.)   Piss bed !

EMMERSON looks away.

EMMERSON: Dick Dully! (EMMERSON looks back again.) Dick Dully.

DICK turns to EMMERSON. He is made up to resemble a white-face clown, with thin lips and eyebrows and a skull cap covers his hair.

DICK: Pies bed!  Dick Dully! Dick Dully pisses the bed! Dick Dully pisses the bed!

He discards the coat in front of the shelter doorway and faces EMMERSON. In the half light his faded costume resembles that of a Harlequin clown – elements of rich embroidery and sequins -  white stockings - black ballet flats. He is an extension of EMMERSON sometimes mirroring his mannerisms and movements.

DICK: (quietly) Why? Why piss the bed?  Why piss the pissing bed?

Occasionally DICK’s  movements are quick, sometimes balletic. When he  speaks it’s as part of EMMERSON’s thoughts.

The faded boldness of his  dress and manner should be undercut by the control and restraint in speech unless he is speaking as characters from EMMERSON’s past.

DICK: We’ll make a superior artist of you, young man. An’ no mistake about that. (EMMERSON buries his face in his hands.)   Yours is a talent that cannot be taught. A facility for movement, an eye for a good shape,  a fine sense of balance. And an unbounded enthusiasm for the success of our little tented show.

EMMERSON: Brinker!

DICK: (hard)            Doodles to you my young friend! (more gently)  Doodles to you. (Pause. They look at each other.) (sudden)            Let me see you!

DICK suddenly springs down to ground level in front of EMMERSON. After a moments pause, he goes into a series of tumble somersaults, backwards and forwards, perhaps a handstand.  He briefly shows great agility then sits cross-legged facing out.

EMMERSON: (quietly, to himself)  Good. Good. But only a hint. Same as a taste, a morsel. (EMMERSON stands and moves down the steps.) A nomadic sort’n a life. Harsh. Rich. If you can stand it.

DICK:            Nomadic.

EMMERSON: Rewarding. If you can stand it.

He moves towards the shelter doorway.

DICK: What sort of a mentality, that’s what I want to know?

EMMERSON makes as if to go into the shelter.  DICK swivels to face him.

DICK: Don’t creep away, piss bed!  Into your banking.  Into your tunnel. Up your arse. Piss bed!  What sort of mentality? Eh? To live like a badger. (Slight pause. EMMERSON moves to go inside again.) Why did you give her something?

They look at each other.

EMMERSON:  Brinker…

DICK: Doodles to you.

Slight pause.

EMMERSON:  Just something Brinker…

DICK: Doodles to you. (DICK springs on to his haunches.)   Can’t have a woman when you piss the bed. Can’t have a bed when you piss the bed!

DICK laughs, a sudden outburst that stops quickly.

EMMERSON sinks on to his haunches by the door of the shelter.

DICK: Belly bursting. Head bursting. Why did you give her something?

DICK bounds up the slope and sits beside EMMERSON, companiable, sympathetic.

DICK: Warm little hands, and a certain optimism. A particular vitality. A fleeting energy, that with determination and dedication can build the skill that I’m mentionin’ to you. (Slight pause, measured)   Why did he give you something? What sort of a present from a tatterdemalion to a white faced, sulky lad? From a man to a boy. What sort of mentality? Eh?

Slight pause.

EMMERSON:  Brinker…

DICK: Doodles to you.

DICK springs to his feet, bounds downstage.  He goes into a handstand.

EMMERSON: Dick Dully? How can that be?  You young wipper? Eh? You young snapper?

DICK laughs with real pleasure. He walks on his hands towards the steps. EMMERSON laughs, also with great pleasure.

EMMERSON: (cont.)  Dick Dully? What? A squib! A firefly!

(DICK, laughing, walks up the steps on his hands.)

(spiel) Here’s a sprite can work wonders, make mischief, create chaos. And keep… spellbound.

EMMERSON, smiling away, rocks gently backwards and forwards. DICK sits at the top of the steps, chuckling with pleasure, mirroring EMMERSON.

EMMERSON stops rocking and draws himself up.

EMMERSON (contd.)   Here’s a nimble harlequin to complement the ragged buffoon. (To DICK)    Together, young  Dick Dully, we shall become the stuff of legends. Here a tattered rogue; and here a white-faced artless artist of supreme artistry. Brinker the anarchic, Dick the Arcadian.

(announcing) Doodles the Clown and  Dick Dully.

Brinker, the showman, will show you how.

Slight pause.

DICK jumps to his feet, chuckling away, and produces three coloured balls, and starts to juggle them, quite slowly at first.

EMMERSON chuckles with delight.

EMMERSON: Aha, young wipper. Eh?  (They are both supremely happy, one entertaining the other being entertained, both in their own ‘bubble’.  The juggling gets faster.)   You young snapper. Eh?

The juggling is fast now.   EMMERSON, remembering this stage of his relation ship with Brinker,  is excited and. this shows as he voices his memories of what Brinker said.

EMMERSON:  (laughs)  You cheeky young wippersnapper. You’re getting clever, Dick Dully. Eh?  Too clever by the ‘alf, young clever Dick Dully.

The juggling becomes complicated with spectacular flourishes. EMMERSON laughs with delight.

EMMERSON:  (louder)   Oh, too clever by the ‘aif. I’ll… I’ll ‘ave to kick your bloody arse for you, young clever Dick.

They freeze. The spell is broken, the juggling has stopped, the balls bounce to a standstill.

EMMERSON is mortified by the memory.  DICK takes his trousers down and stands with his head bowed, his trousers round his ankles, his bare backside towards EMMERSON who is facing out front away from him.

Pause.

EMMERSON bows his head and starts to rock gently. As he dares to start remembering again, DICK quietly pulls up his trousers, retrieves the juggling balls and disposes of them.

He suddenly springs into action again, leaps down beside EMMERSON and they sit.

DICK: No distance at all from Richmond to Durham. (persuasive)   Richmond to Durham is no distance at all.

EMMERSON:  (trying to level) Brinker…

DICK: (cuts in) Doodles to you!

Slight pause.

EMMERSON: (quietly) No distance at all.

DICK sits quite still, his tone changes, taking on a hint of a mother’s admonitory expression. They are both pensive.

DICK: What sort of mentality that’s what I want to know. What sort of a lad are you? (Slight pause.)   Too much of your father in you. Quiet.  Secretive.  Thinkin’ to be off an’ away an’ by yourself. Like ‘e was. Wanderin’ off an’ disappearin’? Like ‘e did? (Slight pause.)   What manner of a young lad is it not to take note of his grandfather. A man respected by the whole of Richmond. Staunch and  steadfast.  Skilful at his craft. What more could a lad desire than to be educated and instructed by a stonemason like grandfather?

(Slight pause.)

DICK: (cont.) What sort of a lad is it would leave his mam? For what? A travelling show? A circus? Thinking to traipse hither and yon and who knows where. Trammel and trankellments with you and about you. What sort of a lad to leave his mam all alone?

(EMMERSON is troubled, shakes his head to stop the memories)

And what’s Brinker been filling your head with? What’s a Brinker been winkling at your senses with?  Brinker, who’s played the fool so long he’s addled his own senses. What concern of his is it to mesmerise you with fantastical nonsense, making a noodle of you? A simpleton.

(Slight pause.)

What’s Brinker been doing to you?

(Pause.   DICK changes his tone.)

No distance at all from Richmond to Durham.

EMMERSON: (quiet) Please.  Brinker.

DICK: (bright) Doodles to you. Why did you give her something? Mm? Why did you give her something?

EMMERSON moves towards his dry stone wall.  DICK suddenly gets up and springs down to the wall. He examines EMMERSON’s new work slowly and carefully.

DICK: The skill, the knowledge, the cunning, and the know-how must be preserved. My young wippersnapper.

 (They look up at the viaduct.)

 Mmm?  Must be preserved.  Yes. Spectacular. Grandiose. A culmination. A finish with a grand flourish.

They look at each other.  DICK springs into action again, perhaps dropping into a ‘crab’ position making an arch over the wall then springing upright.

DICK:  Grandfather. Now there was a fine figure of an example of a man. He didn’t go pinching parson’s bike and bringing shame on his mam, and her all alone.

EMMERSON suddenly bursts out laughing and, wincing, has to hold his belly. He rocks gently.

DICK struts and assumes poses as if presenting an act in the ring.

DICK:  He didn’t turn away from arguments. He didn’t stand there while his eyes were blacked for staying silent. And a more scrupulous man than grandfather would be impossible to imagine. (Slight pause.) (They look at each other)   Grandfather had a woman in a shed. Didn’t he, piss bed?   (DICK jumps nimbly on to the wall. ) Shagged  a woman in a shed. And thought nobody knew.

DICK deftly performs an acrobatic balancing feat perhaps utilising items from the mill rubble.

EMMERSON stands, looking up at the viaduct.

The balancing act gets more complicated and DICK finally finishes with an elaborate flourish and lands nimbly on the ground.

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