Once We Were Mothers Read online

  Lisa Evans

  ONCE WE WERE MOTHERS

  OBERON BOOKS

  LONDON

  First published in 2004 by Oberon Books Ltd

  Electronic edition published in 2013

  Oberon Books Ltd

  521 Caledonian Road, London N7 9RH

  Tel: +44 (0) 20 7607 3637 / Fax: +44 (0) 20 7607 3629

  e-mail: [email protected]

  www.oberonbooks.com

  Copyright © Lisa Evans 2004

  Lisa Evans is hereby identified as author of this work in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. The author has asserted her moral rights.

  All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before commencement of rehearsal to MBA Ltd, 62 Grafton Way, London W1P 5LD ([email protected]). No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained, and no alterations may be made in the title or the text of the play without the author’s prior written consent.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or binding or by any means (print, electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  PB ISBN: 978-1-84002-499-9

  E ISBN: 978-1-7831-9352-3

  Cover image by Candida Kelsall

  eBook conversion by Replika Press PVT Ltd, India.

  Visit www.oberonbooks.com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.

  Contents

  Characters

  Act One

  Scene One

  Scene Two

  Scene Three

  Scene Four

  Scene Five

  Scene Six

  Scene Seven

  Scene Eight

  Scene Nine

  Scene Ten

  Scene Eleven

  Scene Twelve

  Scene Thirteen

  Act Two

  Scene One

  Scene Two

  Scene Three

  Scene Four

  Scene Five

  Scene Six

  Scene Seven

  Scene Eight

  Scene Nine

  Scene Ten

  Scene Eleven

  Scene Twelve

  Scene Thirteen

  Scene Fourteen

  Scene Fifteen

  Scene Sixteen

  Scene Seventeen

  Scene Eighteen

  Scene Nineteen

  Once We Were Mothers was first performed on 3 September 2004 at the New Vic Theatre, Newcastle-under-Lyme with the following cast:

  Alison Darling Jeanette

  Sarah Gordy Flora

  Tina Gray Gwen

  Tess Mawle Nevenka

  Hazel Maycock Kitty

  Janice McKenzie Ali

  Dominic Meir Doctor / Teacher / Tajib

  Paula Stockbridge Milena

  Creatives

  Director Gwenda Hughes

  Designer Jess Curtis

  Lighting Designer Daniella Beattie

  Sound Designer James Earls-Davis

  Company Stage Manager Andy Billington

  Deputy Stage Manager David Sunnuck

  Assistant Stage Manager Anna Creed

  Characters

  ALI

  GWEN

  her mother

  FLORA

  her daughter who has Downs Syndrome

  DOCTOR

  MILENA

  NEVENKA

  her friend

  TAJIB

  her husband

  TEACHER

  KITTY

  JEANETTE

  her daughter

  TAJIB, DOCTOR and TEACHER can be

  played by the same performer,

  ALI and MILENA’s stories are contemporary,

  KITTY’s is set in the mid-1950s

  To Leo and Owen

  Thank you

  Act One

  Scene One

  Ali’s Story (1)

  Lights up on ALI – a woman in her 40’s – doing dance limbering exercises. She addresses the audience.

  ALI: I was dancing the night I gave birth. The night Flora arrived. Only I didn’t know that’s who it was at the time. All I knew was fear and –

  ALI shrieks with surprise at the sudden pain.

  DOCTOR: That’s it Mum, you’re nearly there.

  ALI: How many more fucking times do I have to tell you? My name’s Ali!

  DOCTOR: Okay Mum, just rest and then one big push.

  ALI: No, that’s it. I’ve had enough now. I’m going home. Aah! It hurts! I want my mum!

  FLORA: Don’t be scared. It’s only me.

  DOCTOR: And – push!

  ALI: I am fucking pushing!

  DOCTOR: Again.

  Straining and groaning from ALI followed by a scream and then silence.

  FLORA: It’s only me.

  ALI is being wheeled in a chair by her mother – GWEN.

  ALI: (Pointing.) Neo natal intensive care.

  GWEN: I know dear. I’d already seen it. Don’t wave your arms about, they might get knocked off.

  ALI: She was probably right. For a dancer I was horribly clumsy. I was terrified of holding the baby. I was bound to drop her.

  GWEN: I’ll show you how.

  ALI: Truth be told, I was actively dreading being a mother. I had such a lot to live up to. Still, something that was half Jim couldn’t be all bad.

  DOCTOR approaches.

  DOCTOR: Mrs Plunket?

  GWEN: Yes, I’m her mother. We’ve come to see my granddaughter. Little Gwen.

  ALI: Can I see my baby?

  DOCTOR: I’ve talked to your husband.

  ALI: Yes. He went home for a rest.

  GWEN: Poor man.

  ALI: He’ll be back soon.

  DOCTOR: You had a difficult delivery.

  FLORA’s face is obscured by a large white hospital board with a list of patients in black felt pen. One of them reads, ‘Gerpett. Down’s’.

  GWEN: It runs in the family. I was in labour for 28 hours with our Michael, and this one was 24 and forceps. I’ve never been the same since.

  DOCTOR: I’m afraid the baby has a few problems.

  ALI sees the sign.

  ALI: (To audience.) He wasn’t kidding.

  DOCTOR: Her blood sugar’s a bit low, she has a hole in her heart – we don’t know how serious that is. Oh, and she’s Down’s Syndrome.

  Gasp from GWEN.

  GWEN: Oh no. Oh my God.

  ALI: But she’s still our baby isn’t she?

  FLORA takes the sign down so it no longer hides her solemn face. She leaves the stage.

  FLORA: (Sadly.) It’s only me.

  GWEN takes the DOCTOR aside.

  GWEN: I know my daughter. She’s not going to be able to cope with this. My husband was in the airforce you see.

  The DOCTOR looks blank.

  You don’t get this sort of thing there. Everyone’s certified A1 – you have to be, to do the job. The whole family. If the children are sick then the wife has to stay behind and take care of them. It just doesn’t work. Airforce personnel need the support of their wives by their side. There’s never been anything like this on our side of the family. No wonder poor Jim couldn’t cope.

  ALI: He shoul
d tell that to me!

  GWEN: He wouldn’t want to upset you. Nobody does.

  DOCTOR: No one’s blaming you. It just happens.

  GWEN: He’s in shock poor man.

  ALI: But she’s still my baby, isn’t she?

  DOCTOR: She’s never going to amount to much. Quite probably ineducable, incontinent, certainly dependent. It won’t be easy. And she’s very poorly. If she makes it through infancy she certainly won’t live beyond sixteen.

  ALI: And the good news?

  GWEN: She’s never going to be able to deal with this.

  DOCTOR: You don’t have to make any decisions yet – the baby can’t leave the incubator for quite some time. You go home and think about it. Talk it over with your husband.

  GWEN: Poor man. Defective gene pool. There was that aunt at the wedding. A poor creature. Looked like a brick. I had a name for her, do you remember?

  ALI: I don’t know.

  GWEN: It’s on the tip of my… I’ve got it! Brick Face. She was most definitely not A1. Where are you going? Alison?

  ALI: I don’t know.

  GWEN: I’ll drive you. Don’t worry, you’ll have others. I had two perfect babies. I’m sure you’ll be able to cope with a normal child just fine.

  Scene Two

  Kitty’s Story (1)

  KITTY enters carrying a shawled bundle of baby.

  KITTY: I remember the day I brought the baby home like it was yesterday. The house was so quiet, just the tick of the cuckoo clock on the kitchen wall, a bluebottle banging itself against the window, ice cream van wheezing out ‘Greensleeves’ a couple of streets away. But I knew she was there somewhere. Hiding.

  Now then baby, where can your big sister Susannah be? Is she in the larder? No. Is she under the sink? No. Maybe your big sister’s been doing magic tricks and she’s just disappeared. Now wouldn’t that be a shame when you’ve been so looking forward to seeing her eh? Hold on, what’s that noise? Did you hear it? That’s a giggle that belongs to somebody I know. Nobody else laughs like that except my Susannah. Now if we can find the giggle we can find the girl. Oh there you are, under the table all the time! How’s my big girl? You do look smart. Daddy’s string vest. And wellingtons. Oh what a lovely hug.

  SUSANNAH’S VOICE: What’s that?

  KITTY: This is your new sister.

  SUSANNAH’S VOICE: You didn’t say she’d be red.

  KITTY: I think I know what she’s doing.

  SUSANNAH’S VOICE: In her nappy? Huh. I go toilet.

  KITTY: That’s cos you’re a big girl. You can teach her later on how to do everything.

  The cuckoo clock chimes. The baby wails.

  KITTY: Oh look what a fright it gave her.

  SUSANNAH’S VOICE: It’s only the cuckoo clock silly.

  KITTY: Why don’t you sing her one of your nursery rhymes, send her off to sleep again.

  SUSANNAH’S VOICE: (Loud.) Bimbo, bimbo, what you going to do-y-oh? Bimbo bimbo where you going to go-y-oh? Bimbo bimbo does your mummy know, you’re going down the road to see a little girly-oh?

  During the rousing song, KITTY tries unsuccessfully to ssh SUSANNAH. The baby stops crying.

  KITTY: Well, that worked.

  SUSANNAH’S VOICE: More?

  KITTY: Maybe later.

  SUSANNAH’S VOICE: What’s her name?

  KITTY: I was hoping you’d have some ideas.

  SUSANNAH’S VOICE: Bimbo?

  KITTY: Possibly.

  SUSANNAH’S VOICE: Mum, Mum, I know. Noddy.

  KITTY laughs happily.

  KITTY: You are a funny bunny, Susannah.

  Baby starts to cry again.

  SUSANNAH’S VOICE: Don’t cry Noddy I’m dancing. Look. Look at Susannah dancing. (Singing.) Bimbo bimbo what you going to do-y-oh?

  KITTY: (Singing softly.) Bimbo bimbo, where you going to go-y-oh. Look at your big sister. Isn’t she a one. That’s our Susannah. She’ll have her name in lights one day, shouldn’t wonder.

  Dolly next door said, ‘You’ll have to watch her. They can be funny when the second one comes along.’ Not my Susannah. Soon as the baby cried she’d be in there with whatever Uncle Mac was playing on the wireless that week. ‘I’m a pink toothbrush’, ‘Old Macdonald’, ‘Thumbelina’. Ah. Happy days.

  We eventually settled on Jeanette, with Nellie as a second name. Happy days.

  She exits happily humming ‘Nellie the Elephant’.

  Scene Three

  Milena’s Story (1)

  MILENA: How did this happen, to us, to this town? I used to think I did something wrong and I was paying for it. I look back for that wrong thing. There are reasons, but none good enough. It is just war. War means killing people but it is more than that. In my country it is about erasing the past and murdering the future. When Nevenka and I talked of the future, there was only one thing we were certain about. That in it we would be together. Always. Like the gym display for Tito’s birthday parade. All the schools took part, and somehow we always got chosen – Nevenka was cute, and I was obedient – and this year we had both been selected to go on the grand parade in Belgrade. Tomorrow we would sit together on the bus to the capital, and sleep next to each other in the dormitories overnight. The day after, marching alongside the nurses and the soldiers, accompanied by bands while above our heads fireworks cracked the sky, we’d be on national TV celebrating our great leader’s birthday.

  NEVENKA enters.

  NEVENKA: Quick Milena, under the table, he’ll never find us here.

  The two girls hide under a school table.

  MILENA: Did the teacher see us?

  NEVENKA: What if he did. It was only teasing. Stupid farm boy. I’m never going to get married. Ever.

  MILENA: Why not?

  NEVENKA: Boys are so unromantic.

  MILENA: Even when they get to be men?

  NEVENKA: Especially then. Can you imagine my little brothers as men?

  MILENA: Dusan with his gun and Simo still in a dress?

  NEVENKA: Probably. My sister says they’re only after one thing.

  MILENA: What?

  NEVENKA: Sweets I expect.

  MILENA: I wish I had a sister.

  NEVENKA: You’ve got me. It’s better that way.

  MILENA: Why?

  NEVENKA: It just is. You can trust friends.

  TEACHER enters.

  Ssh.

  TEACHER: Children. No, young people. That’s the right note. You are the future of Yugoslavia. What you learn today, will inform your society tomorrow. How you behave today is a signal to your teachers and families of the adult they can expect in their community tomorrow.

  NEVENKA: He’s practising his speech!

  TEACHER: And calling a child who comes from the country names – singling him out for abuse – does not bode well for the future. Does it Milena?

  Silence.

  Unless my knowledge of anatomy is sadly awry, feet are usually attached to legs and then torsos followed by heads. In this case those of two students hoping to go to Belgrade tomorrow. Come out please.

  The girls scramble out.

  Nevenka, Milena, why did you call Goran names?

  Silence.

  If you don’t answer neither of you will be taking part in the birthday parade tomorrow.

  NEVENKA: She didn’t do anything. It was just me. And it wasn’t a rude name.

  TEACHER: What was it then?

  NEVENKA: ‘Two Digits’.

  TEACHER: You called him ‘Two Digits’. Because?

  NEVENKA: City buses only have one.

  TEACHER: And?

  NEVENKA: Country buses have two.

  TEACHER: I see.

  NEVENKA: Yeah. It just means I know where he comes from.

  MILENA: He gave her a letter to take home to her parents and the following day I climbed onto the coach alone.

  MILENA waves goodbye to NEVENKA.

  And I had to sit next to Goran all the way to Belgrade. It was no fun without Nevenka. Not even when the favou
red girl taking the Baton of Youth on the last lap of its journey round the country, tripped going up the steps and dropped the torch at Tito’s feet – something we’d always prayed would happen. No joy laughing on your own.

  Scene Four

  Ali’s Story (2)

  ALI: Shut the door. Shut out the voice. Run upstairs. Shut the door. Alone. In the nursery. I’d made this room for the baby. Decorated it, sewed frills round a crib. Now I’d been told that this baby had an incurable heart condition and wouldn’t live beyond sixteen. And I thought if I bring this baby home, she’s going to die here in this nice house. That wasn’t who I made this room for. All I knew of Down’s people were adults in institutions in awful cardigans and now one of them was mine. Ours. Jim couldn’t talk to me for weeks beyond ‘Pass the cornflakes’. He couldn’t stop eating. Constantly like some desperate baby bird. He told me later all he could think was ‘That is not coming home’. I fell apart then, shaking, gibbering, pacing the house and the hospital corridors. My mother was right. I certainly couldn’t cope. And all the time, even when I stroked her finger through the hole in the incubator, the baby kept her eyes resolutely shut. Then one day they said:

  DOCTOR: There’s nothing more we can do except stabilise her, give her drugs to keep her going for a while.

  GWEN: You don’t have to take her home. Does she?

  DOCTOR: No.

  GWEN: You won’t cope, your dancing, your work, your marriage? What happens when you’re old, you’ll still be looking after her. A grown up. It’s all wrong. Children are supposed to take care of their parents in later years, not the other way about.

  ALI: And images of middle aged women with awful haircuts in gathered skirts and short socks flooded my mind. And Jim and me, grey and worn, leading one of these about by the hand, trying to get her on and off buses. Our house full of terrible baskets she’d made, our evenings full of worried discussions about what would happen to her when we died.

  GWEN: Better you just tell everyone she’s died and they’ll get her adopted.

  ALI: The nurse handed the baby to me, and for the first time I held her without tubes and drips and monitors.

  But, she’s just a baby!

  And that’s when she opened her eyes for the first time and looked at me, beaming the full force of her personality directly into my eyes.