Lawrence Husbands and Sons

Main
ISBN: 978-0-571-32968-7
Verlag: Faber & Faber
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 96 Seiten

It's risky work, handlin' men, my lass. For when a woman builds her life on men, either husbands or sons, she builds on summat as sooner or later brings the house down crash on her head - yi, she does. In Husbands and Sons, Ben Power has interwoven three of D. H. Lawrence's greatest dramas, The Daughter-in-Law, A Collier's Friday Night and The Widowing of Mrs Holroyd. Together, they describe the community Lawrence came from with fierce tenderness, evoking a now-vanished world of manual labour and working-class pride. On the cracked border of Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire stands the village of Eastwood. The women of the village, wives and mothers, struggle to hold their families and their own souls together in the shadow of the great Brinsley pit. Husband and Sons by D. H. Lawrence, adapted by Ben Power, premiered at the National Theatre, London, in October 2015 in a co-production with Royal Exchange Theatre.

David Herbert Lawrence was born in Nottinghamshire in 1885. Predominantly remembered as a novelist, he also wrote poetry, essays and drama. His father was a coalminer and his plays A Collier's Friday Night, The Daughter-in-Law and The Widowing of Mrs Holroyd drew on his childhood in the mining community of Eastwood, Nottinghamshire. Mostly unperformed in his lifetime, they are now recognised as some of his greatest early work. D. H. Lawrence died of tuberculosis in Vence, France, in 1930.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Lawrence, D H

Leseproben

Act One

THIS VERY MORTAL NIGH

Friday, towards five o’clock. It is growing dark. The women of the village appear in their houses.

Mrs Gascoigne sits at a table. She is a large, matronly woman in her sixties. With her, standing at the stove, is her daughter-in-law, Minnie. Although this is her house, there is no doubt that the higher status is held by the older woman.

Lydia Lambert is laying the table for her family’s supper. She is in her early fifties, still attractive, although tired now and sad, somehow. She wears a black dress and spectacles. She polishes the cutlery as she lays it out.

Lizzie Holroyd is a woman in her late thirties. She too looks tired, although there is a quiet searching behind her eyes, as if hope had not yet quite left her. She is going back and forth between the scullery and the yard outside her cottage, hanging washing.

She picks a shirt from the line and looks at the sky.

Lizzie (aloud, to herself) Ah, but these clouds. Always on a washday. How are you to get anything dry? Great heavy clouds. (Quiet.) It’ll rain and wash us all away … (Shaking her head.) A foolish thought in an idle brain.

She moves into her kitchen, carrying the shirt.

Minnie Gascoigne suddenly gasps and goes to pick up her coat and hat.

Mrs Gascoigne Minnie. Wheer are ter goin?

Minnie I’ve forgotten the treacle. Luther’ll want some treacle with his pudding.

Mrs Gascoigne Goin’ out now? Ee. So when he gets a back from pit, he’ll find s’wife gone and absent? A fine state of affairs for a newly married man t’ come whoam to.

Minnie If they get here before I’m back, give them the stew. I’ll not be long.

Mrs Gascoigne Yi. I’ll mek sure they’re fed.

And Minnie goes.

A fine state of affairs.

She stands, moves to the stove and stirs the stew.

Lizzie spreads the shirt out in front of the fire.

Lizzie (aloud, to herself) You know they’re not dry even now.

She continues bringing clothes in.

Mrs Gascoigne serves her stew into a china bowl as her youngest son, Joe, enters. He takes off his cap. His arm is in a sling.

Joe Where’s Minnie?

Mrs Gascoigne Off gettin’ treacle for our Luther. We’ll not wait for her. Tha’s niver bin a’ this while at th’ office.

Joe They kep’ me ower an hour, an’ then gen me nowt.

Mrs Gascoigne Gen thee nowt! Why, how do they ma’e that out? It’s a wik sin’ tha go hurt, an’ if a man wi’ a broken arm canna ha’ his fourteen shillin’ a week accident pay, who can, I s’d like to know?

Joe They reckon I niver got it while I wor at work.

Mrs Gascoigne Then where did ter get it, might I ax?

Joe I wor foolin’ wi’ a wringer an’ a pick-heft.

Mrs Gascoigne An’ tha reported it as a accident?

Joe It wor accident, worn’t it? I niver did it a’purpose.

Mrs Gascoigne But tha didna tell ’em how it happened.

Joe I said some stuff fell on my arm, broke it, an now I canna work. An’ worna that trew?

Mrs Gascoigne It wor very likely trew enough, lad, if on’y they’d ha’ believed it. Tha’s done thysen one i’ th’ eye this time. When dost think tha’ll iver get ter be a butty, at this rate?

Joe I’d as rather be a day man as a butty i’ pits that rat-gnawed there’s hardly a stall worth havin’; an’ a company as ’ud like yer ter scrape yer tabs afore you went home, for fear you took a grain o’ coal.

Mrs Gascoigne Maybe – but tha’s got ter get thy livin’ by ’em.

Joe I hanna. I s’ll go to Australia.

Mrs Gascoigne Tha’lt do no such thing, while I’m o’ this earth.

Joe Ah, but though, I shall – else get married, like our Luther.

Mrs Gascoigne A fat sight better off tha’lt be for that.

Joe You niver know, Mother, dun yer?

Mrs Gascoigne You dunna, me lad – not till yer find yerself let in. Marriage is like a mousetrap, for either man or woman. You’ve soon come to th’ end o’ th’ cheese.

Joe Well, ha’ef a loaf’s better nor no bread. Besides, we s’ll be out on strike afore we know wheer we are.

Mrs Gascoigne I’m sure. You’ve on’y bin in –

Joe Now, Mother, spit on thy hands an’ ta’e fresh hold. We s’ll be out on strike in a wik or a fortnit –

Mrs Gascoigne Strike’s a’ they’re fit for – a pack o’ slutherers!

She moves out to the scullery and leaves Joe sitting.

Lydia Lambert looks up at the noise of her outer door opening and closing. A moment later, her daughter Nellie enters the kitchen. After glancing at the table, she crosses the room, drops her two exercise books on the wooden chair by the bookcase.

Nellie Oh! I am weary.

Lydia You are late.

Nellie I know I am.

She takes off her hat and hangs it on a peg by the door.

Work was murder. I’m sure the youngsters have been regular demons.

Lydia I’ve no doubt they felt the same towards you, poor little wretches.

Nellie (with a short laugh) I’ll bet they did, for I spanked one or two of ’em well.

Lydia Trust you, trust you! You’ll be getting the mothers if you’re not careful.

Nellie comes towards the table, pushing up her hair with her fingers.

Nellie Is there only potted meat? You know I can’t bear it.

Lydia (conciliatorily) Why, I thought you’d like it, a raw day like this – and with toast.

Nellie You know I don’t. Why didn’t you get some fruit? – a little tin of apricots –

Lydia I thought you’d be sick of apricots – I know Ernest is.

Nellie Well, I’m not – you know I’m not. Pappy potted meat!

She sits down on the sofa wearily.

Mrs Gascoigne has cut up Joe’s meat.

Mrs Gascoigne It’s a rum un as I should start ha’in’ babies again, an’ feedin’ ’em wi’ spoon-meat.

She gives him a spoon.

Lizzie Holroyd is looking off into the distance.

Lizzie (calling) Jack? I don’t want you playing down by the tracks again.

Lydia pours out two cups of tea, and replaces the pot on the hob.

Lydia Won’t you have some, then?

Nellie (petulantly) No, I don’t want it.

Lydia stands a moment, then she goes out. Nellie reaches over to the bookshelves and takes a novel which she opens on the table and reads, sipping her tea but not eating.

Lizzie Jack?

Receiving no reply, she leaves to find him.

In the Lambert kitchen, Nellie glances up at the sound of the opening of a tin.

Nellie Have you fetched some? Apricots? Oh, you are a sweetling!

Lydia enters, with a little glass dish of small tinned apricots. They begin tea.

Lydia Polly Goddard says her young man got hurt in the pit this morning.

Nellie Oh – is it much? (She looks up from her book.)

Lydia One of his feet crushed. Poor Polly’s very sad. What made her tell me was Ben Goddard going by. I didn’t know he was at work again, but he was just coming home, and I asked her about him, and then she went on to tell me of her young man. I expect your Father won’t be long.

They both begin to read as they eat.

Gertie Coomber goes across the village towards the Lambert cottage.

After a moment she enters the kitchen, moves immediately to the sofa and sits down.

Gertie Hello, my duck, and how are you?

Nellie (looking up) Oh, alright, my bird.

Lydia Evening, Gertie.

Gertie Hello, missus. Friday tonight … Ooh, are those apricots?

Nellie holds out the dish as Gertie sits and tucks in. Lydia continues to read.

Later on, can we go jinking off up town and wink at the boys? I like market night.

Nellie You can wink! I’ll bet you’ll not catch me! You can go making a spectacle of yourself.

Gertie Oh, you’ll be looking out for your Eddie. Anyway, I don’t like to make a spectacle. I go like this: ’Oh, good evening, how are you? I’m sure I’m very pleased –’

Gertie breaks down in a fit of giggles. Lydia, with her cup in her hand, leans back and laughs.

Nellie You are a daft object! What about last week, when David...