The Home Place
BRIAN FRIEL
The Home Place
To Gary McKeone
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
First Performance
Characters
Set
Act One
Act Two
Appendix
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
First Performance
The Home Place was first performed at the Gate Theatre, Dublin, on 1 February 2005, with the following cast:
Christopher Gore Tom Courtenay
Margaret O’Donnell Derbhle Crotty
Dr Richard Gore Nick Dunning
Con Doherty Adam Fergus
Johnny MacLoone Michael Judd
Perkins Pat Kinevane
Mary Sweeney Brenda Larby
Sally Cavanagh Laura Jane Laughlin
Clement O’Donnell Barry McGovern
David Gore Hugh O’Conor
Tommy Boyle Bill Ó Cléirigh / Kenneth McDonnell
Maisie McLaughlin Leanna Duke / Ciara Lyons
Director Adrian Noble
Set and Costume Designer Peter McKintosh
Lighting Designer Paul Pyant
Characters
Margaret O’Donnell
Con Doherty
Sally Cavanagh
Johnny MacLoone
Christopher Gore
David Gore
Dr Richard Gore
Perkins
Clement O’Donnell
Mary Sweeney
Tommy Boyle
Maisie McLaughlin
THE HOME PLACE
Set
Most of the action takes place on the unkempt lawn in front of The Lodge, the home of Christopher Gore and his son David. The only house interior we see is the breakfast room, at a right angle to stage right. The French windows in this room open onto the lawn. The house is approached by an (unseen) avenue off right. A crescent of trees encloses the entire house and lawn; it seems to press in on them. This meniscus is most dense downstage left (left and right from the point of view of the audience).
Time
Summer 1878
Place
Ballybeg, County Donegal, Ireland
Act One
An early afternoon in late August. The sun is shining. The countryside is still.
Margaret enters right. She is in her early thirties, a handsome woman of intelligence and quiet conviction.
She has been to the clothes ine off right and carries a large laundry basket. She empties the clothes onto the lawn and begins separating the garments.
Suddenly, in the far distance, a school choir begins singing Thomas Moore’s ‘Oft in the Stilly Night’. The music, at first scarcely audible, then slowly increasing in volume, is in opulent three-part harmony. The ethereal, sophisticated singing in this unlikely setting is wondrous.
The moment she becomes aware of the singing, Margaret stands motionless, enraptured. Then she is drawn as if mesmerised to the edge of the lawn, shields her eyes from the sun and looks down at the distant school stage right, the source of the music.
She stands there for two full verses, absorbing the music, listening with her whole being, now and then silently mouthing the words of the song.
At the end of the first verse, Con Doherty emerges suddenly and very briefly from the thicket left. He is in his mid-twenties: lean, keen features. He is soft-spoken and very controlled. Everything he says and does is considered. The moment he sees Margaret he melts back into the thicket.
Sally enters the breakfast room with her zinc bucket and shovel. She is in her early twenties: alert, saucy, astute. She goes to the French windows and for a few seconds observes Margaret in her enchantment.
Sally Will I clean out the grate now or …?
She tails off because Margaret is in a different world. She goes inside and begins lifting the ashes from the grate.
The second verse of the song comes to an end: Margaret is freed. She picks up her basket and goes towards the breakfast room. Just as she is about to go inside, she catches a glimpse of a bird flying above the thicket stage left. She stops and looks for it. But it has vanished.
She goes into the breakfast room and busies herself putting clean antimacassars on the couch and armchairs.
Must be on the batter again.
Margaret What’s that?
Sally Your da. He has the choir out in the playground. Do you not hear them?
Margaret (sniffing) Some of these aren’t properly aired.
Sally Showing off before the boss here; that’s why he takes them outside – so that the sound will carry up here to The Lodge. Wasting his time: Mr Gore pays no heed to him.
Margaret (antimacassars) Weren’t ironed properly either.
Sally All the same, no teacher ever made them sing as well as your aul fella does – especially when he’s on the batter. And the drunker he is, the better they sing for him. Strange that, isn’t it?
Margaret When you’re finished there, put the chickens back into the henhouse.
Sally You told me to let them out.
Margaret The falcon’s back. I’ll have to get someone up to shoot him. The sergeant will do it for me.
Sally Did I hear Mr Gore leave very early this morning?
Margaret Before breakfast. David and himself. The memorial service for Lord Lifford.
Sally Doesn’t seem all that long, does it?
Margaret This day four weeks exactly.
Sally That long? God, that was one dirty job. And no sign of the peelers lifting anybody either.
Margaret They will in time.
Sally I hope they do. Well, maybe I do … God knows they’ve questioned enough. Every man and boy in the parish must have been dragged in. All the same, he was a bad beast, Lifford. The Lecher Lifford – wasn’t he well named?
Margaret Put a newspaper under that bucket, Sally.
Sally I worked there for a whole year, you know. And I was only twelve at the time. Until my brother Manus came and took me away.
Margaret You’ve told me.
Sally If Lifford had been about that day, Manus would have given the bugger a hammering he wouldn’t have forgot. Listen! Stopped (music). Your da’s probably nipped across to the pub. In all the four years I was at school, he never let me into the choir – just because my name was Cavanagh. ‘Never met a Cavanagh who wasn’t a crow.’
Margaret Our visitors are leaving this evening. You can change the sheets in the guest room; and the towels.
Sally You must have been in his choir in your day?
Margaret I was.
Sally Course you were. Weren’t you his pet?
Pause.
Do you never go home now at all, Maggie?
Margaret You’ll need to dig some potatoes for the dinner. And take down the curtains in the sitting room and soak them in cold water. And clean the windows in the pantry.
Sally Anything else, Maggie?
Margaret Don’t forget to put the chickens inside.
Margaret goes into the house.
Sally finishes her job at the grate and goes out to the lawn to empty the ashes, offstage right.
Con emerges from the thicket, left.
Con (whispers) Sally!
Sally looks round, alarmed. She sees him. A second of unease: is Margaret watching? Now she dashes to the right and flings the bucket recklessly into the trees.
Then, brushing down her dress, she crosses quickly to Con. They talk in whispers.
Sally Are you off your head? You shouldn’t be jouking about up here!
Con That’s a great welcome.
Sally When did you get back from England?
Con At three this morning.
Sally God, it was the longest two weeks ever! What were you at over there?
Con Meeting people; travelling around; addressing small groups.
Sally That must have been rare fun.
Con Has to be done.
Sally Just you and that queer bucko from Dungannon – Stephen –?
Con puts a finger on her lips.
Con Shhh.
Sally And why are you dodging about up here?
Con To see you, Sally.
Sally I’m sure! You look exhausted, Con.
Con The two visitors are still here?
Sally Leaving today.
Con What time?
Sally This evening, I think. Why?
Con They’re going straight to the Aran Islands?
Sally How do you know that? What are you up to, Con?
Con Look at that anxious face.
Another figure emerges from the thicket and stands beside Con. Johnny MacLoone is a very large man in his sixties.
Sally Who’s he? Who are you?
Con He’s from Meendoran.
Sally What’s your name?
Con Johnny MacLoone.
Sally What are you doing up here?
Con He’s with me.
Sally Will you let the dummy speak!
Johnny Mind your mouth, girl.
Sally He’s not a dummy!
Johnny Watch yourself, woman.
Con He’s a friend of mine, Sally.
Sally What’s all this about?
Con Will you meet me tonight?
Margaret has returned to the breakfast room with fresh cushion covers.
Margaret Sally!
Sally Bitch. (Calls.) Coming! (to Con) Where?
Con Behind Roarty’s forge.
Sally When?
Con I have to meet somebody at eight. Ten o’clock?
Sally Jesus, Con, you’re not up to something stupid, are you?
Con If you’re not there at ten, I won’t wait.
She gives him a quick, flirtatious kiss on the cheek.
Sally Yes, you will. (to Johnny) Bye, chatterbox.
She runs back to the breakfast room. The two men merge into the thicket.
I left the bucket of ashes sitting here, didn’t I?
Margaret Were you talking to somebody?
Sally What’s that?
Margaret Who were you talking to, Sally?
Sally Con Doherty from Ballybeg.
Margaret I thought that wastrel had left the country?
Sally Comes and goes.
Margaret What’s he doing trespassing up here?
Sally Snaring rabbits maybe. How would I know?
Margaret He knows very well that’s not permitted on these lands.
Sally Cousin of yours, Maggie, isn’t he? Maybe he thinks that entitles him?
Margaret He’s very wrong, then.
Sally Or maybe like a lot of others about here he believes he’s entitled to walk these lands any time he wants.
Margaret And like a lot of others it would fit him better to do a decent day’s work instead of going around whispering defiance into the ears of stupid young fools. Whatever ugly activity he’s involved in, we want none of it here. And spread a tablecloth on the lawn. We’ll have afternoon tea outside today.
Sally Will ‘we’? You’d do anything to be one of the toffs, Maggie, wouldn’t you?
Margaret Any more cheek like that from you, miss, and you’ll be back down below herding your one cow.
Sally (as she exits) And Con Doherty’s no wastrel!
Sally goes out to the lawn again. She glances quickly at the thicket – no sign of the two men. She goes off right.
Christopher Gore enters from the house. He is in his late fifties: effusive, bumbling, obstinate. Unnoticed by Margaret, he moves up behind her and catches her by the shoulder.
Christopher What’s in that head of yours?
Margaret You’re back! I didn’t hear the car.
Christopher Tell me what’s in there.
She extricates herself deftly.
Margaret Not a thing, Christopher. Did you have lunch?
Christopher You’re so elegant in that dress. Everything you wear you adorn.
Margaret It’s sixteen years old at least.
Christopher Really beautiful.
Margaret For heaven’s sake I can scarcely squeeze into it. Is David with you?
Christopher Mooning about somewhere – I don’t know – in the stables maybe.
Margaret And how was the memorial service?
Christopher Subdued. No, it was awful, just awful.
Margaret A big turn-out?
Christopher Eleven of us.
Margaret Is that all?
Christopher Huddled together; talking in whispers.
Margaret There were no locals?
Christopher What am I, Margaret?
Margaret What I mean is –
Christopher No, only us. Frightened – terrified, for God’s sake: which of us is next on the list?
Margaret You know there is no list. It was an isolated crime, Christopher. How’s Penelope bearing up?
Christopher Valiantly, it would appear. Quite demented, I suspect. And alone now in that enormous barracks of a house. She’ll be seventy next week, Penny.
Margaret Do they know yet what happened?
Christopher He was going to oversee the eviction of one of his tenants.
Margaret Who?
Christopher Some welsher. Does it matter? The police car was in front and his car fell behind – they think his horses had been lamed deliberately.
Margaret Were they?
Christopher Probably. Roarty, the blacksmith, is under suspicion. Anyhow, they shot his driver and then they dragged poor old Lifford out of the car and battered in his skull with a granite rock.
Margaret God, Christopher …
Christopher Penny told the story, to each of us in turn with the same patient detail. The top mother-of-pearl button was ripped from his waistcoat. In his left hand he was clutching the fob of his watch – a violet amethyst he brought back years ago from his time in the Congo. And he must have put up a ferocious fight because in his right hand he had a clump of his attacker’s hair. Black hair. Curly.
Margaret Oh, my God.
Christopher She told the story to each of us in turn with the same patient detail and with such pride in his courage that the faded green eyes suddenly gleamed again. As if all the humiliations – damn it, the physical violence – the old bastard inflicted on her for over fifty years had never happened. And she was the pert and intrepid little Penny Pasco again who came over here from Devonshire all those years ago, full of joy and expectation. Such a gallant woman she is. There isn’t a list, Margaret, is there?
Margaret Of course there isn’t.
Christopher Of course there isn’t. Just an isolated, barbarous incident.
Margaret Lifford was a very ugly creature, Christopher. Even his own people hated him.
Christopher I didn’t. I never liked him, but I didn’t hate him. And I love this place so much, Margaret. This is the only home I’ve ever known.
Margaret I know that.
Christopher At this time of year Penny used to spend days on end here, picking fruit; herself and Lucy, rest in peace. Like sisters … before the walled garden went to seed. (suddenly brisk) Rise above, Father always said – rise above – rise above. Where are our guests?
Margaret Gone for a walk.
Christopher Yes?
Margaret Richard wanted to see the ruins of the old Cistercian monastery.
Christopher He’s entranced by you is cousin Richard.
Margaret Christopher!
Christopher Sat gazing at you all through dinner last night. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.
Again he holds her shoulders. Again she eludes him.
Margaret The man was drunk, Christopher.
Christopher He was a little, wasn’t he?
Margaret And I really got an earful of your boyhood escapades in Kent.
Christopher My God, you did, didn’t you! Sorry. So boring, I know. And the truth is I hated being shipped over to the home place every damned summer. Father thought it would make Richard and me close friends.
Margaret And did it?
Christopher D’you know what I discovered last night? All those memories of Kent – they almost made me homesick. What do you make of him?
Margaret A little pompous, maybe?
Christopher He is a bore and a snob and utterly graceless and I have a very soft spot for him. Must have something to do with India itself: everyone who does even a short service there comes home gross. Father was convinced the climate did it.
Margaret I didn’t think he was gross. Just so caught up in his own world. The confirmed bachelor, isn’t he?