An Inspector Calls and Other Plays Read online

  J. B. Priestley

  AN INSPECTOR CALLS AND OTHER PLAYS

  Contents

  Time and the Conways

  I Have Been Here Before

  An Inspector Calls

  The Linden Tree

  Follow Penguin

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  An Inspector Calls and Other Plays

  J. B. Priestley was born in Bradford in 1894. After leaving school, he spent some time as a junior clerk in a wool office and a lively account of his life at this period may be found in his volume of reminiscences, Margin Released (1962). He joined the army in 1914, and in 1919, on receiving an ex-officers’ grant, went to Trinity Hall, Cambridge. He settled in London in 1922, where he soon earned a reputation as an essayist and critic. His third and fourth novels, The Good Companions (1929) and Angel Pavement (1930), were a great success and established an international reputation. This was increased by the plays he wrote in the 1930s and 1940s, notably Dangerous Corner (1932), Time and the Conways (1937) and An Inspector Calls (1947). During the Second World War he was exceedingly popular as a broadcaster and published collections of his broadcasts in the volumes Britain Speaks (1940) and All England Listened (1968). His most important novels during the post-war period include Bright Day (1946), Festival at Farbridge (1951), Lost Empires (1965) and The Image Men (1968). His more ambitious literary and social criticism can be found in The Art of the Dramatist (1957) and Literature and the Western Man (1960). With his third wife, Jacquetta Hawkes, a distinguished archeologist and a well-established writer herself, he collaborated on Journey Down a Rainbow (1955) and a play, Dragon’s Mouth (1952). His other books include English Journey (1934), The Edwardians (1970), The English (1973), Particular Pleasures (1975) and Lost and Found (1976). J. B. Priestley was awarded the Order of Merit in 1977. He died in 1984.

  Time and the Conways

  A PLAY IN THREE ACTS

  FOR IRENE AND IVOR BROWN WITH AFFECTION

  Characters

  Conways

  MRS CONWAY

  ALAN

  MADGE

  ROBIN

  HAZEL

  KAY

  CAROL

  Others

  JOAN HELFORD

  ERNEST BEEVERS

  GERALD THORNTON

  Act One

  That Night. Kay’s Twenty-first Birthday

  Act Two

  Another Night. And Another Birthday

  Act Three

  That Night Again. Her Twenty-first Birthday

  Act Three is continuous with Act One

  The Scene throughout is a sitting-room in MRS CONWAY’s house, a detached villa in a prosperous suburb of a manufacturing town, Newlingham. Acts One and Three take place on an autumn night in 1919. Act Two on an autumn night at the present time (1937).

  ‘Time and the Conways’ was first produced in London on 26 August 1937, at the Duchess Theatre, with the following cast:

  HAZEL

  Rosemary Scott

  CAROL

  Eileen Erskine

  ALAN

  Raymond Huntley

  MADGE

  Molly Rankin

  KAY

  Jean Forbes-Robertson

  MRS CONWAY

  Barbara Everest

  JOAN HELFORD

  Helen Horsey

  GERALD THORNTON

  Wilfred Babbage

  ERNEST BEEVERS

  Mervyn Johns

  ROBIN

  Alexander Archdale

  Produced by Irene Hentschel

  Act One

  There is a party at the Conways, this autumn evening of 1919, but we cannot see it, only hear it. All we can see at first is the light from the hall coming through the curtained archway on the right of the room, and a little red firelight on the other side. But we can hear young voices chattering and laughing and singing, the sharp little explosion of a cracker or two, and a piano playing popular music of that period. After a moment or two, a number of voices begin to sing the tune we hear on the piano. It is all very jolly indeed.

  Then we hear a girl’s voice (it is HAZEL CONWAY’s) calling, loud and clear: ‘Mother, where shall we put them?’ The voice that replies, farther off, can only be MRS CONWAY’s , and she says: ‘In the back room. Then we’ll act out here.’ To this, HAZEL, who is obviously very excited, screams: ‘Yes, marvellous!’ and then calls to somebody still farther away, probably upstairs: ‘Carol – in the back room.’

  And now HAZEL dashes in, switching on the light. We see at once that she is a tall, golden young creature, dressed in her very best for this party. She is carrying an armful of old clothes, hats, and odds and ends, all the things that happy people used to dress up in for charades. The room looks very cosy, although it has no doorway, only the large curtained archway on the right. At the back is a window with a step up to it, and a cushioned seat. The curtains are drawn. On the left is a fireplace or an anthracite stove, glowing red. There are several small bookcases against or in the walls, some pieces of fairly good furniture, including a round table and a small bureau, and some passable pictures. It is obviously one of those nondescript rooms, used by the family far more than the drawing-room is, and variously called the Back Room, the Morning Room, the School-room, the Nursery, the Blue, Brown or Red Room. This might easily have been called the Red Room, for in this light it seems to range from pink to plum colour, and it makes a fine cosy setting for the girls in their party dress.

  Another one has arrived, while HAZEL is dumping her charade things on a round settee in the middle of the room. This is CAROL, the youngest of the Conways – perhaps sixteen – and now terrifically excited, breathless, and almost tottering beneath a load of charade stuff, including a cigar-box gloriously filled with old false whiskers and noses, spectacles, and what not. With all the reckless haste of a child she bangs down all this stuff, and starts to talk, although she has no breath left. And now – after adding that CAROL is an enchanting young person – we can leave them to explain themselves.

  CAROL [gasping but triumphant]: I’ve found – the box – with all the false whiskers and things in –

  HAZEL [triumphantly]: I knew it hadn’t been thrown away.

  CAROL: Nobody’d dare to throw it away. [Holds it out, with lid open.] Look! [HAZEL makes a grab at it.] Don’t snatch!

  HAZEL [not angrily]: Well, I must look, mustn’t I, idiot? [They both, like children, eagerly explore the contents of the box.] Bags I this one. [She fishes out a large drooping moustache.] Oo – and this! [Fishes out very bulbous false nose.]

  CAROL [an unselfish creature]: All right, but don’t take all the good ones, Hazel. Kay and Madge will want some. I think Kay ought to have first choice. After all, it’s her birthday – and you know how she adores charades. Mother won’t want any of these because she’d rather look grand, wouldn’t she? Spanish or Russian or something. What are you doing?

  [HAZEL has turned aside to fasten on the nose and moustache, and now has managed it, though they are not very secure. She now turns round.]

  HAZEL [in deep voice]: Good morning, good morning.

  CAROL [with a scream of delight]: Mr Pennyman! You know, Hazel, at the paper shop? The one who hates Lloyd George and wags his head very slowly all the time he tells you Lloyd George is no good. Do Mr Pennyman, Hazel. Go on.

  HAZEL [in her ordinary voice, incongruous]: I couldn’t, Carol. I’ve only seen him about twice. I never go to the paper shop.

  [ALAN looks in, grinning when he sees HAZEL. He is a shy, quiet, young man, in his earlier twenties, who can have a slight stammer. He is dressed, rather carelessly, in ordinary clothes. CAROL turns and sees him.]

  CAROL: Alan, come in, and don’t let the others see.
[As he does.] Isn’t she exactly like Mr Pennyman at the paper shop, the one who hates Lloyd George?

  ALAN [grinning shyly]: She is – a bit.

  HAZEL [in a fantastic deep voice]: ‘I hate Lloyd George.’

  ALAN: No, he doesn’t talk like that, Hazel.

  CAROL: Not the least little bit. He says [with a rather good imitation of a thick, semi-educated man’s voice]: ‘I’ll tell you what it is – Mish Conway – that there Lloyd George – they’re going to be shorry they ever put ’im where they did – shee?’

  ALAN [grinning]: Yes, that’s him. Very good, Carol.

  CAROL [excitedly]: I think I ought to be an actress. They said at school I was the best Shylock they’d ever had.

  HAZEL [taking off the nose and moustache]: You can have these if you like Carol.

  CAROL [taking them]: Are you sure you don’t want them? I don’t think you ought to dress up as a silly man because you’re so pretty. Perhaps I could wear these and do Mr Pennyman. Couldn’t we bring him into the third syllable somehow? Instead of a general. I think we’ve had enough generals.

  ALAN: We have. Ask Kay to work in Mr Pennyman instead.

  HAZEL: Kay ought to be here now, planning everything.

  ALAN: She’s coming in. Mother told me to tell you not to make too much of a mess in here.

  CAROL: You must have a mess with charades. It’s part of it.

  HAZEL: And just wait till mother starts dressing up. She makes more mess than anybody. [To ALAN] I hope some of the old ones are going now. Are they?

  ALAN: Yes.

  HAZEL: It’s much more fun without them. And mother daren’t let herself go while they’re still here. Tell Kay and Madge to come in, Alan.

  ALAN: Right.

  [Goes out. The two girls begin turning the clothes over. HAZEL picks out some old-fashioned women’s things and holds them up or against herself.]

  HAZEL: Look at these! Could you believe people ever wore such ridiculous things?

  CAROL: I can just remember mother in that, can’t you?

  HAZEL: Of course I can, infant!

  CAROL [more soberly, looking at a man’s old-fashioned shooting or Norfolk coat]: That was Daddy’s, wasn’t it?

  HAZEL: Yes. I believe he wore it – that very holiday.

  CAROL: Perhaps we ought to put it away.

  HAZEL: I don’t think mother would mind – now.

  CAROL: Yes she would. And I know I would. I don’t want anybody to dress up and be funny in the coat father wore just before he was drowned. [She has now folded the coat, and puts it on the window-seat. Then, as she returns] I wonder if it’s very horrible being drowned.

  HAZEL [impatiently]: Oh, don’t start that all over again, Carol. Don’t you remember how you used to go on asking that – until mother was furious?

  CAROL: Yes – but I was only a kid then.

  HAZEL: Well, now that you think you aren’t a kid any longer, just stop it.

  CAROL: It was the coat that made me remember. You see, Hazel, to be talking and laughing and all jolly, just the same as usual – and then, only half an hour afterwards – to be drowned – it’s so horrible. It seemed awfully quick to us – but perhaps to him, there in the water, it may have seemed to take ages –

  HAZEL: Oh, stop it, Carol. Just when we’re having some fun. Why do you?

  CAROL: I don’t know. But don’t you often feel like that? Just when everything is very jolly and exciting, I suddenly think of something awfully serious, sometimes horrible – like Dad drowning – or that little mad boy I once saw with the huge head – or that old man who walks in the Park with that great lump growing out of his face –

  HAZEL [stopping her ears]: No, I’m not listening. I’m not listening.

  CAROL: They pop up right in the middle of the jolly stuff, you know, Hazel. It happens to Kay, too. So it must be in the family – a bit.

  [Enter MADGE. She is a year or two older than HAZEL, not so pretty, and a far more serious and responsible person. She has been to Girton, and already done a little teaching, and you feel all this in her brisk, decided, self-confident manner. She is, too, an earnest enthusiast.]

  MADGE: You found them? Good. [Looks over the things.] I didn’t think we’d have so many old things left. Mother ought to have given them away.

  HAZEL: I’m glad she didn’t. Besides, who’d have had them?

  MADGE: Lots of people would have been glad of them. You never realize, Hazel, how wretchedly poor most people are. It just doesn’t occur to you, does it?

  HAZEL [not crossly]: Don’t be schoolmistressy, Madge.

  CAROL [who is trying things on, turning to point at MADGE impishly]: Has Gerald Thornton arrived?

  MADGE: As a matter of fact, he has – a few minutes ago.

  CAROL [triumphantly]: I knew it. I could see it in your eye, Madge.

  MADGE: Don’t be absurd. He’s brought another man with him, a new client of his, who’s desperately anxious to know this family.

  HAZEL: So he ought to be. Nice?

  MADGE: Oh – a funny little man.

  CAROL [dancing about]: That’s just what we want – a funny little man. Perfect for charades.

  MADGE: No, not that kind. In fact, he probably hasn’t any sense of humour. Very shy, so far, and terrified of mother. Very much the little business man, I should think.

  CAROL: Is he a profiteer – like the ones in Punch?

  MADGE: He looks as if he might be, some day. His name’s Ernest Beevers.

  HAZEL [giggling]: What a silly name! I’m sorry for his wife, if he has one.

  MADGE: I gather he hasn’t. Look here, we ought to be starting.

  [Enter KAY, whose twenty-first birthday party this is. An intelligent, sensitive girl, who need not be as pretty as HAZEL. She has a sheet of paper.] Kay, we ought to be starting.

  KAY: I know. The others are coming. [Begins rooting among the things.] Some good costumes here, ladies. Oo – look! [She has fished out some absurd old-fashioned woman’s cape, cloak or coat, and hat, and throws them on ridiculously, then stands apart and strikes absurd melodramatic attitude and speaks in false stilted tone.] One moment, Lord What’s-your-name. If I am discovered here, who will believe that my purpose in coming here tonight – visiting your – er – rooms – er unaccompanied – was solely to obtain the – er papers – that will enable me to clear – er – my husband’s name, the name of a man who – er – has asked nothing better than the – er privilege of serving his country – and ours too, Lord Thingumtibob – one who – that is – to whom – [In ordinary tone] No, I’m getting all tied up. You know, we ought to have had a scene like that, all grand and dramatic and full of papers.

  MADGE: Well, what are we to have?

  HAZEL [coolly]: I’ve forgotten the word.

  CAROL [indignantly]: Hazel, you’re the limit! And we spent hours working it out!

  HAZEL: I didn’t. Only you and Kay, just because you fancy yourselves as budding authoresses and actresses.

  KAY [severely]: The word – idiot! – is Pussyfoot. Puss. See. Foot. Then the whole word.

  MADGE: I think four scenes are too many. And they’ll easily guess it.

  KAY: That doesn’t matter. It makes them happy if they guess it.

  CAROL [rather solemnly]: The great thing is – to dress up.

  [Enter MRS CONWAY. She is a charming woman in her middle forties, very nicely dressed, with an easy, vivacious manner.]

  MRS C: Now I’m ready – if you are. What a mess you’re making. I knew you would. Let me see. [Dives into the clothes, and scatters them far more wildly than the others have done. She finally fishes out a Spanish shawl and mantilla.] Ah – here they are. Now I shall be a Spanish beauty. I know a song for it, too. [Begins putting the Spanish things on.]

  HAZEL [to KAY]: What did I tell you?

  MRS C [who is specially fond of HAZEL]: What did you tell her, darling?

  HAZEL: I told Kay, whatever she arranged, you’d insist on doing your Spanish turn.

  MRS
C: Well, why not?

  KAY: It doesn’t come into the scenes I’d thought of, that’s all.

  MRS C [busy with her costume]: Oh – you can easily arrange that, dear – you’re so clever. I’ve just been telling Dr Halliday and his niece how clever you are. They seemed surprised, I can’t imagine why.

  HAZEL: It’s the first time I’ve seen Monica Halliday out of her land girl costume. I’m surprised she didn’t turn up tonight in her trousers and leggings.

  KAY: She looks quite queer out of them, doesn’t she? Rather like a female impersonator.

  MADGE: Oh, come on, Kay. What do we do?

  KAY: The first scene, Puss, is an old lady who’s lost her cat. She’s really a kind of witch.

  CAROL [happily]: I’m to be the old lady.

  [CAROL begins finding suitable clothes – an old shawl, etc. – and some white hair – for the old lady. And during following dialogue, converts herself into a very creditable imitation.]

  KAY: Mother, you and Hazel are her two daughters who are visiting her –

  HAZEL: I know my bit. I keep saying ‘I always hated that terrible cat of yours, Mother.’ What can I wear? [Pokes about.]

  MRS C [now Spanish]: Well, that’s all right, dear. I’ll be the Spanish daughter, you see.

  KAY [resignedly]: She didn’t have a Spanish daughter, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.

  MRS C: Not in the least. Nobody cares. And then I think I’d better not appear in the others, because I suppose you’ll be wanting me to sing afterwards.

  KAY: Of course. But I’d put you down for two more. Madge and Joan Helford will have to do those.

  MRS C: What a pity Robin isn’t here! You know, Madge, he wrote and said he might be demobbed any day now, and it seems such a shame just to miss Kay’s party. Robin loves parties. He’s like me. Your father never cared for them much. Suddenly, right in the middle, just when everything was getting along, he’d want to be quiet – and take me into a corner and ask me how much longer people were staying – just when they were beginning to enjoy themselves. I never could understand that.