SAKAH ORMEHOD, An old woman
EMMA BRIERLEY, A young woman
THE REV. FRANK ALLEYNE, A curate
SAM HORROCKS, A young man
THE SCENE _represents the interior of a cottage in a Lancashire
village. Through the window at the back the gray row of cottages
opposite is just visible. The outside door is next to the window.
Door left. As regards furniture the room is very bare. The
suggestion is not of an empty room, but a stripped room. For
example, there are several square patches where the distemper of
the walls is of a darker shade than the rest, indicating the
places once occupied by pictures. There is an uncovered deal
the left wall is a dresser and a plate-rack above it containing a
few pots. The dresser has also one or two utensils upon it. A
blackened kettle rests on the top of the cooking-range, but the
room contains only the barest necessities. The floor is
uncarpeted. There are no window curtains, but a yard of cheap
muslin is fastened across the window, not coming, however, high
enough to prevent a passer-by from looking in, should he wish to
do so. On the floor, near the fire, is a battered black tin
trunk, the lid of which is raised. On a peg behind the door left
is a black silk skirt and bodice and an old-fashioned beaded
bonnet. The time is afternoon. As the curtain rises the room is
empty. Immediately, however, the door left opens and SARAH
ORMEROD, an old woman, enters, carrying clumsily in her arms a
couple of pink flannelette nightdresses, folded neatly. Her black
stuff dress is well worn, and her wedding-ring is her only
ornament. She wears elastic-sided boots, and her rather short
skirt shows a pair of gray worsted stockings. A small plaid shawl
covers her shoulders. SARAH crosses and puts the nightdresses on
the table, surveying the trunk ruefully. There is a knock at the
outside door and she looks up._
SARAH. Who's theer?
EMMA (_without_). It's me, Mrs. Ormerod, Emma Brierley.
SARAH. Eh, coom in, Emma, lass.
(_Enter_ EMMA BRIERLEY. _She is a young weaver, and, having just
left her work, she wears a dark skirt, a blouse of some
indeterminate blue-gray shade made of cotton, and a large shawl
over her head and shoulders in place of a jacket and hat. A
colored cotton apron covers her skirt below the waist, and the
short skirt displays stout stockings similar to Sarah's. She
wears clogs, and the clothes--except the shawl--are covered with
ends of cotton and cotton-wool fluff. Even her hair has not
escaped. A pair of scissors hangs by a cord from her waist._)
SARAH. Tha's kindly welcoom. It's good o' thee to think o'
coomin' to see an ould woman like me.
EMMA (_by door_). Nought o' th' sort, Mrs. Ormerod. Th' mill's just
loosed and A thowt A'd step in as A were passin' and see 'ow tha
was feeling like.
SARAH (_crossing to box_). Oh, nicely, nicely, thankee. It's
only my 'ands as is gone paralytic, tha knaws, an' a weaver's no
manner o' good to nobody without th' use o' 'er'ands. A'm all
reeght in masel'. That's worst of it.
EMMA. Well, while A'm 'ere, Mrs. Ormerod, is theer nought as A
can do for thee?
SARAH. A dunno as theer is, thankee, Emma.
EMMA (_taking her shawl off, looking round and hanging it on a
peg in the door_). Well, A knaws better. What wert doin' when
A coom in? Packin' yon box?
SARAH. Aye. Tha sees theer's a two three things as A canna bear
thowt o' parting from. A don't reeghtly knaw if they'll let me
tak' 'em into workus wi' me, but A canna have 'em sold wi' rest
of stuff.
EMMA (_crosses below SARAH to box, going on her knees_). Let me
help yo'.
SARAH. Tha's a good lass, Emma. A'd tak' it kindly of thee.
EMMA. They'd do wi' packin' a bit closer. A dunno as they'd carry
safe that road.
SARAH. A know. It's my 'ands, tha sees, as mak's it difficult for
me.
(_Sits on chair._)
EMMA. Aye. A'll soon settle 'em a bit tighter.
(_Lifts all out, buries her arms in the box, and rearranges its
contents._)
SARAH. But what's 'appened to thy looms, lass? They'll not weave
by 'emselves while thee's 'ere, tha knows.
EMMA (_looking round_). Eh, looms is all reeght. Factory's stopped.
It's Saturday afternoon.
SARAH. So 't is. A'd clean forgot. A do forget time o' th' week
sittin' 'ere day arter day wi' nought to do.
EMMA. So that's all reeght. Tha's no need to worry about me.
Tha's got trouble enough of thy own.
(_Resuming at the box_)
SARAH. Aye, th' art reeght theer, lass. Theer's none on us likes
to think o' goin' to workus when we're ould.
EMMA. 'Appen it'll be all reeght after all. Parson's coomin' to
see thee.
SARAH. Aye, A knaw 'e is. A dunno, but A'm in 'opes 'e'll do
summat for me. Tha can't never tell what them folks can do.
EMMA (_kneeling up_). Tha keep thy pecker oop, Mrs. Ormerod. That's
what my moother says to me when A tould 'er A were coomin' in to
thee. Keep 'er pecker oop, she says. It's not as if she'd been
lazy or a wastrel, she says; Sal Ormerod's bin a 'ard worker in
'er day, she says. It's not as if it were thy fault. Tha can't
'elp tha 'ands goin' paralytic.
(_She continues rummaging in the trunk while speaking._)
SARAH. Naw. It's not my fault. God knaws A'm game enough for
work, ould as A am. A allays knawed as A'd 'ave to work for my
living all th' days o' my life. A never was a savin' sort.
EMMA. Theer's nowt against thee for that. Theer's soom as can be
careful o' theer brass an' soom as can't. It's not a virtue, it's
a gift. That's what my moother allays says.
(_Resumes packing._)
SARAH. She's reeght an' all. We never 'ad the gift o' savin', my
man and me. An' when Tom Ormerod took an' died, the club money as
A drew all went on 'is funeral an' 'is gravestone. A warn't goin'
to 'ave it said as 'e warn't buried proper.
EMMA. It were a beautiful funeral, Mrs. Ormerod.
SARAH. Aye.
EMMA. A will say that, beautiful it were. A never seen a better,
an' A goes to all as A can. (_Rises._) A dotes on buryin's. Are
these the next?
(_Crosses before table for nightdresses, takes the nightdresses
and resumes packing._)