Under Milk Wood ( cont )

Mother

This little piggy went to market

This little piggy stayed at home

This little piggy had roast beef

This little piggy had none

And this little piggy went

 

Little boy

wee wee wee wee wee

 

Mother

all the way home to

 

Wife [Screaming]

 

Waldo! Wal-do!

 

Mr Waldo

Yes, Blodwen love?

 

Wife

Oh, what’ll the neighbours say, what’ll the neighbours . . .

 

First neighbour

Poor Mrs Waldo

 

Second neighbour

What she puts up with

 

First neighbour

Never should of married

 

Second neighbour

If she didn’t had to

 

First neighbour

Same as her mother

 

Second neighbour

There’s a husband for you

 

First neighbour

Bad as his father

 

Second neighbour

And you know where he ended

 

First neighbour

Up in the asylum

 

Second neighbour

Crying for his ma

 

First neighbour

Every Saturday

 

Second neighbour

He hasn’t got a log

 

First neighbour

And carrying on

 

Second neighbour

With that Mrs Beattie Morris

 

First neighbour

Up in the quarry

 

Second neighbour

And seen her baby

 

First neighbour

It’s got his nose

 

Second neighbour

Oh it makes my heart bleed

 

First neighbour

What he’ll do for drink

 

Second neighbour

He sold the pianola to

 

First neighbour

And her sewing machine

 

Second neighbour

Falling in the gutter

 

First neighbour

Talking to the lamp-post

 

Second neighbour

Using language

 

First neighbour

Singing in the w

 

Second neighbour

Poor Mrs Waldo

 

Wife [Tearfully]

 

. . . Oh, Waldo, Waldo!

 

Mr Waldo

Hush, love, hush. I’m widower Waldo now.

 

Mother [Screaming]

 

Waldo, Wal-do!

 

Little boy

Yes, our mum?

 

Mother

Oh, what’ll the neighbours say, what’ll the neighbours . . .

 

Third neighbour

Black as a chimbley

 

Fourth neighbour

Ringing doorbells

 

Third neighbour

Breaking windows

 

Fourth neighbour

Making mudpies

 

Third neighbour

Stealing currants

 

Fourth neighbour

Chalking words

 

Third neighbour

Saw him in the bushes

 

Fourth neighbour

Playing mwchins

 

Third neighbour

Send him to bed without any supper

 

Fourth neighbour

Give him sennapods and lock him in the dark

 

Third neighbour

Off to the reformatory

 

Fourth neighbour

Off to the reformatory

 

Together

Learn him with a slipper on his b.t.m.

 

Another mother [Screaming]

 

Waldo, Wal-do! what you doing with our Matti?

 

Little boy

Give us a kiss, Matti Richards.

 

Little girl

Give us a penny then.

 

Mr Waldo

I only got a halfpenny.

 

First woman

Lips is a penny.

 

Preacher

Will you take this woman Matti Richards

 

Second woman

Dulcie Prothero

 

Third woman

Effie Bevan

 

Fourth woman

Lil the Gluepot

 

Fifth woman

Mrs Flusher

 

Wife

Blodwen Bowen

 

Preacher

To be your awful wedded wife

 

Little boy [Screaming]

 

No, no, no!

 

First voice

Now, in her iceberg-white, holily laundered crinoline nightgown, under virtuous polar sheets, in her spruced and scoured dust-defying bedroom in trig and trim Bay View, a house for paying guests, at the top of the town, Mrs Ogmore–Pritchard widow, twice, of Mr Ogmore, linoleum, retired, and Mr Pritchard, failed bookmaker, who maddened by besoming, swabbing and scrubbing, the voice of the vacuum-cleaner and the fume of polish, ironically swallowed disinfectant, fidgets in her rinsed sleep, wakes in a dream, and nudges in the ribs dead Mr Ogmore, dead Mr Pritchard, ghostly on either side.

 

Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard

Mr Ogmore!

 

Mr Pritchard!

 

It is time to inhale your balsam.

 

Mr Ogmore

Oh, Mrs Ogmore!

 

Mr Pritchard

Oh, Mrs Pritchard!

 

Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard

Soon it will be time to get up.

 

Tell me your tasks, in order.

 

Mr Ogmore

I must put my pyjamas in the drawer marked pyjamas.

 

Mr Pritchard

I must take my cold bath which is good for me.

 

Mr Ogmore

I must wear my flannel band to ward off sciatica.

 

Mr Pritchard

I must dress behind the curtain and put on my apron.

 

Mr Ogmore

I must blow my nose.

 

Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard

In the garden, if you please.

 

Mr Ogmore

In a piece of tissue-paper which I afterwards burn.

 

Mr Pritchard

I must take my salts which are nature’s friend.

 

Mr Ogmore

I must boil the drinking water because of germs.

 

Mr Pritchard

I must make my herb tea which is free from tannin.

 

Mr Ogmore

And have a charcoal biscuit which is good for me.

 

Mr Pritchard

I may smoke one pipe of asthma mixture.

 

Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard

In the woodshed, if you please.

 

Mr Pritchard

And dust the parlour and spray the canary.

 

Mr Ogmore

I must put on rubber gloves and search the peke for fleas.

 

Mr Pritchard

I must dust the blinds and then I must raise them.

 

Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard

And before you let the sun in, mind it wipes its shoes.

 

First voice

 

In Butcher Beynon’s, Gossamer Beynon, daughter, schoolteacher, dreaming deep, daintily ferrets under a fluttering hummock of chicken’s feathers in a slaughterhouse that has chintz curtains and a three-pieced suite, and finds, with no surprise, a small rough ready man with a bushy tail winking in a paper carrier.

Gossamer Beynon

At last, my love,

 

First voice

sighs Gossamer Beynon. And the bushy tail wags rude and ginger.

 

Organ Morgan

Help,

 

Second voice

cries Organ Morgan, the organist, in his dream,

 

Organ Morgan

There is perturbation and music in Coronation Street! All the spouses are honking like geese and the babies singing opera. P.C. Attila Rees has got his truncheon out and is playing cadenzas by the pump, the cows from Sunday Meadow ring like reindeer, and on the roof of Handel Villa see the Women’s Welfare hoofing, bloomered, in the moon.

 

First voice

At the sea-end of town, Mr and Mrs Floyd, the cocklers, are sleeping as quiet as death, side by wrinkled side, toothless, salt and brown, like two old kippers In a box.

 

And high above, in Salt Lake Farm, Mr Utah Watkins counts, all night, the wife-faced sheep as they leap the knees on the hill, smiling and knitting and bleating just like Mrs Utah Watkins.

 

Utah Watkins [Yawning]

 

Thirty — four, thirty — five, thirty — six, forty — eight, eighty-nine . . .

 

Mrs Utah Watkins [Bleating]

 

Knit one slip one Knit two together Pass the slipstitch over . . .

 

First voice

Ocky Milkman, drowned asleep in Cockle Street, is emptying his churns into the Dewi River,

 

Ocky Milkman [Whispering]

 

regardless of expense,

 

First voice

and weeping like a funeral.

 

Second voice

Cherry Owen, next door, lifts a tankard to his but nothing flows out of it. He shakes the tankar ‘ It turns into a fish. He drinks the fish.

 

First voice

P.C. Attila Rees lumps out of bed, dead to the dar and still foghorning, and drags out his helmet from under the bed; but deep in the backyard lock-up of his slee a mean voice murmurs

 

A voice [Murmuring]

 

You’ll be sorry for this in the morning,

 

First voice

and he heave-ho’s back to bed. His helmet swashes in the dark.

 

Second voice

Willy Nilly, postman, asleep up street, walks fourteen miles to deliver the post as he does every day of the night, and rat-a-tats hard and sharp on Mrs Willy Nilly.

 

Mrs Willy Nilly

Don’t spank me, please, teacher,

 

Second voice

whimpers his wife at his side, but every night of her married life she has been late for school.

 

First voice

Sinbad Sailors, over the taproom of the Sailors Arms, hugs his damp pillow whose secret name is Gossamer Beynon.

 

A mogul catches Lily Smalls in the wash-house.

 

Lily Smalls

 

Ooh, you old mogul!

Second voice

 

Mrs Rose Cottage’s eldest, Mae, peals off her pink-and-white skin in a furnace in a tower in a cave in a waterfall in a wood and waits there raw as an onion for Mister Right to leap up the burning tall hollow splashes of leaves like a brilliantined trout.

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