Ring Round the Chateau

A Charade with Music, Sometimes

Preface by Peter Brook

When I asked Christopher Fry to translate this play for me he told me to piss off. So I got this other idiot to do it. Believe me, it’s an enchanting game.

ACT ONE

Scene 1

(A winter garden in Spring. Morning.

(Ideally, a large light framework structure, representing a conservatory, occupies most of the stage, but failing that, some bits of branch and a couple of flats will do. When the curtain rises HUGE/FREDERIC, a young man-about town, is discovered playing with a yo-yo. JOSHUA, a decaying manservant, fiddles with some cushions scattered on the most uncomfortable wire-frame couch in the Western hemisphere)

H/F:            And how about last night, Joshua? Did the same thing happen?

JOSH:         No, Mr Huge/Frederic.

H/F:            Well, that fucks the plot then. Still, have you ever been in love, Joshua?

JOSH:         No sir, I’m too old.

H/F:            But before that?

JOSH:         I was too young.

H/F:            What about in between?

JOSH:         I played with myself.

H/F:            Mine’s the age for it, Joshua. I play with mys—, I fall in love as a matter of routine. But not ludicrously like my brother.

JOSH:         And yet you’ve both got the same name, sir.

H/F:            Yes I know. It’s odd isn’t it?

JOSH:         I thought it was Huge/Frederic, like you, Mr Huge/Frederic, sir?

H/F:            Never mind, Joshua. What’s the time?

JOSH:         My watch has stopped.

H/F:            Call it twelve o’clock. By 12.30, Joshua, I shall begin to loom big on the horizon. (Tries to do a flashy trick with the yo-yo. It nearly knocks his teeth out. Exits DSR)

JOSH:         Oh, and Mr Huge/Frederic, sir?

                  (HUGE/FREDERIC re-enters DSR)

H/F:            Yes?

JOSH:         Nothing. I just wanted to bugger up your entrance the other side.

                  (HUGE/FREDERIC gives him a testy look and dashes off again)

                  Oh by the way sir, I took the liberty of clearing all the—

                  (A terrible crash and howl of pain comes from behind the back curtain as HUGE/FREDERIC falls over something)

                  —lamps and gubbins the stage crew left behind the back curtain, sir. Your passage from wing to wing should now be as smooth as that of a swan gliding across a moonlit lake. Thank you, sir.

                  (Very long pause. JOSHUA gets fed up waiting and exits. Eventually H/F limps onto the rostrum streaming blood from a gashed leg)

H/F:            Joshua, has Miss Diana – ? (Realises he is alone. Struggles to the couch where he collapses groaning in agony. Lies there groaning in even greater agony)

                  (Enter DIANA in sunglasses and carrying – rather ostentatiously – a Saudi Airlines tote bag)

                  Diana, how good it is to see you again. I’ve felt a moron talking into thin air these last two weeks.

DI:              Did I tell you I’ve just been to Jedda? I’m sure I must have told everybody who couldn’t afford to go.

H/F:            Oh Diana, that’s not a very nice thing to say to me.

DI:              It was lovely. Very hot, Jedda.

H/F:            Er, if you prefer him to me I shall go away and die?

DI:              Imagine me alone on the beach one evening. Two arms go around me, a mouth kisses me, and suddenly this disgustingly rich Bedouin whisks me off for a night of uncontrollable passion in his tent.

H/F:            Diana, it’s an Arab you love. Goodbye.

DI:              Don’t be a fool, that was just the in-flight gin talking. Kiss me, you mad dog. (They kiss. After a bit, she pushes him away with a sigh) Yes, you must be Huge/Frederic. You’re not capable of anything at all.

                  (They exit. Enter PATRICE and LADY INDIA)

PAT:           At all at all, he’s not capable of anything at all.

IND:           Patrice darling, I didn’t know you were Irish.

PAT:           I’m not, but I can’t speak for that fellow Huge/Frederic. Yesterday he giggled at me.

IND:           Why?

PAT:           I tickled him with a feather. That’s not the point. I have eight brothers—

IND:           And they all go round tickling people with feathers?

PAT:           Not at all.

IND:           Then that doesn’t help to convince me this boy isn’t Irish.

PAT:           Never mind the Irish, what about this Memmerscha— Messermansch— Merres— What about this rich Pole you’re bonking? Don’t forget we’re both utterly dependent on the vagaries of your panjandrum’s munificence.

IND:           Dearest heart, you use the most curious words.

PAT:           Munificence?

IND:           No.

PAT:           Panjamdrum?

IND:           No. Bonking.

PAT:           Oh. It means sex.

IND:           Sex! Oh that’s wonderful, I love it! I adore being sexed more than anything! Did I ever tell you about that evening in San Francisco when the croupier used to give me a secret bonk between sessions?

PAT:           In San Francisco?

IND:           I was wearing a trouser suit. Come, let’s go and drive Memmerschatz off with a lash of contempt. Money isn’t everything.

                  (They exit. Enter MME DESMORTES pushed by CAPULET, and HUGE/FREDERIC)

MME D:      Everything, everything? Whatever do you mean, Huge/Frederic, that Mr Mummerschwartz has everything?

H/F:            He’s hung like a stud bull.

MME D:      How very spectacular. And you say that Lady Dorothy India is screwing him blind?

H/F:            She would if anyone could be, but there’s too much of it even for her.

MME D:      You’re a scandalmonger, Huge/Frederic, and I won’t listen to you. You forget I’m a crusty old crone with a heart of gold really that only gets revealed in the final scene. Capulet, where’s my handkerchief?

CAP:           (plucking on from MME DESMORTES’s sleeve) Here it is, madam.

MME D:      (Snatching it) Oh thanks very much. Now trundle me into the sun, clever-dick!

                  (Enter ROMAINVILLE and MESSERSCHMANN)

ROM:         My dear friend.

                  (MME DESMORTES spins in the chair, sending CAPULET flying into the orchestra pit)

MME D:      Ah, Romainville. And Mr Messerschmitt. My butler tells me you’ve got an enormous dong. Have you?

MESS:        I am told so, madam

MME D:      How nice. We must have an assignation together some time, that will amuse me very much. Now where’s Capulet?

CAP:           (clambering awkwardly back onstage) Here I am, madam.

MME D:      I told you I wanted to be in the Sun. (To MESSERSCHMANN) Still, if any reporters catch us at it maybe we could even make the front page, ey Mr Massiveschwanz?

                  (She digs him painfully in the ribs and wheels briskly off, crushing CAPULET’s fingers. She and MESSERSCHMANN hobble limply off in her wake. ROMAINVILLE hovers until HUGE/FREDERIC wakes up and remembers his cue)

H/F:            Oh, sorry. Her train gets in at twelve.

ROM:         I thought it was twelve-thirty?

H/F:            I bottled it. I’ve never known how to stress that line.

ROM:         I’m convinced it’s all a great mistake. What if my real niece arrives on the same train?

H/F:            That’s all right. We could have a foursome.

ROM:         You’re the devil! And kinky with it… Would you mind telling me just what you’re up to?

H/F:            Well, I’m up to page thirteen, I don’t know about you.

ROM:         I’m not sure at all. Suppose I don’t co-operate?

H/F:            A fiasco, Romainville.

ROM:         (with increasing agitation) But she isn’t my mistress, for God’s sake, it was purely a question of common decency and orangeade, I assure you.

H/F:            (getting worried) Where the hell are you now?

ROM:         Is it my fault I’m a patron of the arts? I’m into butterflies and buttonholes! It’s true! Catastrophe! Stop! Oh stop!

                  (HUGE/FREDERIC starts hastily bundling him off)

H/F:            Into luncheon, Romainville. You shall know everything before you’re very much older or Chester’s going to have a fit.

                  (He drags him off by the tie. Enter MOTHER and ISABELLE)

MOTH:       Isn’t it luxurious, Isabelle? Such taste! Such grandeur!

ISAB:         Such grotty cushions!

MOTH:       Always remember, Isabelle, when I was your age I used to go out riding every morning.

ISAB:         Yes, mother.

MOTH:       And a maid used to follow three steps behind me. Three steps!

ISAB:         Yes, mother.

MOTH:       With a bucket, picking up the shit. That’s the dream I have for you, you dear unfortunate child.

ISAB:         Yes, mother.

MOTH:       You’re artistic, you’re pretty. Bigger bobs than I had perhaps, but that’s owing to your father putting you on the pill when you were fourteen.

ISAB:         (running out of ways to say it) Yes, mother?

MOTH:       But I’m sure they’ll please someone. I wonder what that young man—

                  (Enter HUGE/FREDERIC)

H/F:            Thank you for being so punctual. Charming, charming. Ball in this house tonight, be there, enjoy, dress from Roeseda soeurs, swans, moonlight, here’s Joshua, see you. (exits)

MOTH:       — wants you for? Bit quick off the mark tonight isn’t he?

ISAB:         Was that the one they call Huge/Frederic?

MOTH:       Sounded more like a singing telegram to me. Now come along dear, we’re keeping the butler waiting.

ISAB:         Yes, mother.

                  (They stand there looking around for JOSHUA. He doesn’t come, not tonight. Eventually they bend and wearily start to pick up their cases. JOSHUA suddenly staggers on panting just as the curtain starts to fall)

JOSH:         Sorry, I forgot. If you ladies would be so good as to—

                  (They chuck the cases at him and stamp off. He collapses heavily under the weight)

                  (Curtain)

Scene 2

                  (The decorations for the ball are partly completed. MME DESMORTES sits stranded by the ladder, jiggling her chair)

MME D:      Oh, I’m stuck fast! Capulet? Capu—

                  (The chair rolls down the rake and falls off the edge into the stalls)

                  (Curtain)

ACT TWO

                  (Half an hour later)

(CAPULET, her arm in a sling, wheels on MME DESMORTES whose broken leg, now swathed in plaster, is sticking out horizontally in front of her)

CAP:           Well madam, the ball has really got going now hasn’t it?

MME D:      Don’t talk balls to me, Capulet. I’ve had more balls than you’ve had hot dinners. I remember an evening at the Baroness Grave Toureau’s when the Countess Funela had a stroke at one of the Baron Wasteland’s balls. He quite liked it, so he married her and they have a Jacuzzi. That’s what living used to me.

CAP:           Oh madam, I hope there aren’t going to be too many more testicle jokes in the script.

MME D:      Why not, mon amie?

CAP:           (rubbing herself against the proscenium arch) They are like a fierce cordial to me. I am apt to lose all reason and run barking mad!

MME D:      Capulet, you’ve been my wrinkled retainer for twenty years—

CAP:           (in raptures) Oh, madam!

MME D:      —and in all that time you’ve never shown the slightest interest in jokes, testicular or otherwise. Either you loosen up or I’ll give you the scrotal sac.

CAP:           (in ecstasies) Oh madam, you’re so crude! There is nothing you cannot drag down to groin level.

MME D:      Just trundle me off and explain the plot again, or I’ll never keep up.

                  (They exit. Enter HUGE/FREDERIC backwards, followed by ISABELLE)

H/F:            All right, now walk towards me. Turn. Walk away again. Sit! Good dog. Walk on. Not that way!

                  (ISABELLE disappears over the edge of the stage with a despairing cry. HUGE/FREDERIC helps her up again)

                  Sorry about that. What are you trembling for?

ISAB:         It’s you, you daft bugger, I nearly broke my neck. Will you excuse me for a little while?

H/F:            I can’t, we’re running late. Now are you sure you’ve got it straight?

ISAB:         I think so. I pretend I’m in love with your twin brother Huge/Frederic to make Diana jealous, although she isn’t really in love with him at all, she’s really in love with you and you know that, but I’m not – really – in love with your brother Huge/Frederic I mean – though he isn’t meant to know that either, while you pretend to be in love with me, only you’re not really, but the irony is, although I’m pretending to be in love with your brother Huge/Frederic, it’s really his brother, Huge/Frederic – that is, you – I’m actually in love with, only you’re not supposed to know that yet, though I suspect you already suspect it don’t you – er – right?

                  (Pause)

H/F:            Whoever died of love?

                  (Enter ROMAINVILLE)

ROM:         Huge/Frederic, oh stop, stop, catastrophe, they’re both talking at once, I’ve got an imagination too, not a minute to lose, manoeuvres on the Stock Exchange, I’m going to slap Capulet, well, go up and change.

                  (Pause)

H/G:           Have you met Noel? He’s working from his own translation of the text in the Swahili version.

                  (Enter MOTHER)

MOTH:       Coo-ee! I just had to come and see the dress. She looks charming, charming.

ISAB:         Haven’t we done that bit?

MOTH:       You missed it out and it’s my favourite line. (To HUGE/FREDERIC) We’re a couple of coddled Bohemians really, in the country we just couldn’t wait to be eaten by natives. Boom boom!

H/F:            I must find Capulet. I must tell her we’ve got the scenes out of order.

                  (Tries to exit but MME DESMORTES wheels on briskly. Her plaster cast thuds squarely in to H/F’s groin. He doubles over with an oath)

MME D:      Stop behaving like a sack of coal, Huge/Frederic, or something like that. Ah, my dear Countess Funela!

H/F:            Countess Funela!?!

ROM:         She knows everything!

H/F:            Except the script.

MME D:      (to ISABELLE) Where are your relatives, my dear?

ROM:         They’re all dead.

MOTH:       (simultaneously) They’re all natives.

ROM:         They’re all dead natives.

MME D:      What, all of them?

ROM:         All of them.

MOTH:       Except my dear little Isabelle. She’s as white as a moon gliding across a swanlit lake.

MME D:      Have you had a dance yet, my dear?

ISAB:         Not yet.

MME D:      My nephew will give you one, won’t you Huge/Frederic?

H/F:            (Rubbing his injured groin) With difficulty, aunt.

                  (He tries to lead ISABELLE off but they bump into CAPULET coming on)

CAP:           I told them I had lost my boa.

ROM:         Oh Christ, now there’s a snake loose in the theatre!

H/F:            For God’s sake, pull yourself together, man.

MME D:      Let’s all go in and make a sensation.

                  (She exits with CAPULET, MOTHER and ROMAINVILLE. Awkward pause)

ISAB:         (aside) Where the hell are we?

H/F:            (aside) God knows. Let’s just do the highlights from Act Two, then maybe we can sort it out in the interval.

ISAB:         (aside) Right.

H/F:            Ah, mademoiselle.

ISAB:         Hello.

H/F:            Sad isn’t it?

ISAB:         Pathetic.

                  (Exit HUGE/FREDERIC)

                  Goodbye.

                  (He rushes round behind the backdrop and emerges on the rostrum)

H/F:            Wrong!

(ISABELLE weeps)

Right!

(He kisses her, goes off, and thunders back to enter the other side)

Why are you crying?

ISAB:         I love you.               

H/F:            Oh! (Exits. Re-enters immediately) Very good. Now go and jump in the lake.

                  (ISABELLE exits. Enter DIANA)

DI:              Huge/Frederic!

H/F:            Er, yes – I mean, no – um –

DI:              Did you kiss me in the shrubbery last night?

H/F:            Not me, I was playing bombelles with Patrice Billiards. I mean, I was bombelling Patrice with a play – I mean – shall we dance?

DI:              I hate you! (she slaps him. He drops like a stone.) Oh father!

                  (Enter MESSERSCHMANN)

MESS:        Well, dear?

DI:              I’ve just killed Huge/Frederic!

MESS:        I’m rich. I’ll get you off.

DI:              That’s all right then.

                  (They exit. Enter PATRICE)

PAT:           Sir!

H/F:            (groggily reviving) Sir?

PAT:           Do you know my dentist?

H/F:            No. Do you know mine?

PAT:           I’ll come back.

                  (He exits. Enter ROMAINVILLE)

ROM:         Oh stop, stop, oh stop— (He trips over HUGE/FREDERIC and falls headlong) Oh I’m so sorry. (He shakes HUGE/FREDERIC violently) This time we’ve really fallen into an avalanche, it’s a calamity! Isabelle must be ruined in the boardroom of my pig-iron company at once or your aunt can go to a little cakeshop in St Fleur! It’s a scandal! Huge/Frederic?

H/F:            (still dazed) ‘What birdwings rocked her cradle, what swift grace / Caught her, and taught her limbs to move…’

ROM:         Cut the crap, Huge/Frederic, this is serious.

                  (Enter MME DESMORTES, CAPULET and MOTHER)

MME D:      Nephew, this is my old friend the Countess Funela.

MOTH:       I’m so charmed to meet you.

H/F:            ‘Gravely as shadows in a sunlit place, / Or branches in a grove.’ Who wrote this tripe?

                  (Pause)

MME D:      (improvising brilliantly) Let’s all go back and make an even bigger sensation. (She starts to wheel herself off and mows down JOSHUA as he comes staggering on)

JOSH:         (prostrate under the wheels) Mr Huge/Frederic! Help me, Mr Huge/Frederic, sir!

ROM:         Catastrophe! We must all flee!

MME D:      Oh shut up, you paralysed pratt.

MOTH:       (Peering through the crush of bodies) To see you, to think that I really see you!

                  (She rushes to embrace CAPULET, unceremoniously shoving ROMAINVILLE out of the way. He topples backwards behind the rostrum)

MME D:      This place is turning into a morgue.

ROM:         (Weakly, nose above the rostrum) A charnel house.

                  (A loud waltz starts up)

MOTH:       Hark! La belle Hélène!

CAP:           La belle Hélène!

                  (They start swaying to the music. Enter PATRICE and LADY INDIA dancing a tango)

PAT:           They’ve put me in a room overlooking the what the bloody hell’s going on here?

IND:           Ignore them, Patrice.

PAT:           But Dorothy, we’re in the middle of a disaster, everyone can see us!

IND:           Creatures such as ourselves have no truck with the lukewarm, Patrice. We flash!

PAT:           We what?

IND:           Flash, you fool, flash!

PAT:           Yes, Dorothy.

                  (He drops his trousers. MME DESMORTES faints at the sight and the wheelchair falls sideways onto JOSHUA, pinning him back under the wheels just as he was about to struggle free. Enter MESSERSCHMANN. He surveys the shambles disdainfully for a moment, then spots JOSHUA and picks his way through the crowd towards him)

MESS:        Ah, my friend.

JOSH:         Would you care to give me your order for supper, sir?

MESS:        Never mind that now. If I go down those steps and turn left, will I be able to get out of this production with at least some shred of dignity left?

JOSH:         I wouldn’t bank on it, sir.

MESS:        Still, worth a try.

                  (He fights his way downstage and is within an ace of making good his escape when the GENERAL swirls violently on from the wings, dancing with DIANA and simultaneously performing unheard-of prodigies with his yo-yo. They collide squarely with MESSERSCHMANN, hurling him into the ladder which disintegrates. Meanwhile they trip over someone’s foot and plunge howling into the throng, bringing down MOTHER and CAPULET with them. Enter ISABELLE on the rostrum. She stares at the carnage for moment.)

ISAB:         Well, I’ve heard of balls up at the chateau, but this is ridiculous.

OMNES:     (Weakly) Boom boom…

                  (The curtain, stuck for the last ten minutes, finally and mercifully falls)

ACT THREE

Scene 1

                  (After supper. When the curtain rises, ISABELLE is seated at a table holding an ice pack to her head. HUGE/FREDERIC stands on the rostrum, his neck in a brace and one ankle strapped up, supporting himself on a flat)

ISAB:         And so?

H/F:            And so the girl married the handsome prince and they all lived happily ever after. However, getting back to the plot, that moronic mother of yours is going to drop every brink in the hod any moment now.

                  (The sound of a half ton of bricks hitting the ground booms out from the wings. HUGE/FREDERIC sighs but continues manfully)

                  Look at her, cooing and clucking and crowing. All our feathered friends rolled into one.

                  (A cacophony of farmyard noises bursts forth, hens and geese predominating)

                  I’m going to kill that sound man.

                  (He stalks off into the wings. Sounds of a huge fight start up. Enter DIANA)

DI:              It’s quite true. Your mother is an amazingly ornithological hod carrier.

ISAB:         Thank you.

DI:              Tell me, do you wear a deodorant?

ISAB:         Yes.

DI:              One couldn’t tell.

ISAB:         Have you done a lot of acting before?

DI:              Yes.

ISAB:         It doesn’t show.

DI:              Do you mind very much not having a suntan like mine?

ISAB:         As a compensation I haven’t got little piggy eyes and big ears.

DI:              Bitch!

ISAB:         Cow!

                  (They fight. Enter JOSHUA, slowly, with a walking frame and teeth missing)

JOSH:         Mr Huge/Frederic, Mr Huge/Frederic!

                  (Enter HUGE/FREDERIC, dabbing blood from his nose. The girls continue fighting. He tries to break it up but gets embroiled in the fracas as well. Eventually he manages to get DIANA in a half-nelson and drags her screeching towards the wings)

H/F:            (over his shoulder to ISABELLE) Will you excuse me a minute? I’ll just get rid of her then we can do our poignant bit.

ISAB:         There’s no need.

                  (HUGE/FREDERIC makes a hopeless gesture and struggles off with DIANA, still biting and scratching. Enter MESSERSCHMANN)

MESS:        Ah, young lady. Now I’m going to be rather brutal with you.

ISAB:         You lay one finger on me and I’ll scream. I’ve been hurt and humiliated enough this evening.

MESS:        How about dressing up as a traffic warden then? I’ll give you a thousand francs.

ISAB:         No.

MESS:        Oh go on. I’m a poor little tailor from Cracow and my only pleasure in life is buying perverted sexual favours.

ISAB:         Tough.

MESS:        Ah well. So much for money. (He starts eating a rolls of newsprint. ISABELLE exits in disgust. MESSERSCHMANN notices JOSHUA) Ah, my friend.

JOSH:         Sir?

MESS:        Did you ever read de Sade when you were a little boy?

JOSH:         No sir, I only used to look at the pictures.

MESS:        Then you’ll remember this one. (He picks JOSHUA up and shakes him violently, then throws him across the stage and jumps up and down on him a couple of times. He retires with a contented sigh) There!

JOSH:         (feebly) Thank you, sir. Would you care to give me your order for breakfast now?

MESS:        All that exercise has made me rather peckish. I think I’ll have scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, fruit juice, cereal, three grapefruits, two yogurts and a roll of wallpaper.

JOSH:         And noodles, sir?

MESS:        Certainly not. Can’t stand the things.

                  (He exits. JOSHUA tries to rise but can’t. He is still struggling at it as the curtain falls)

Scene 2

                  (MME DESMORTES wheels herself on, looking intently off stage right. She can’t see properly so she gets out a pair of opera glasses. Still can’t see. She draws a telescope out of the plaster on her leg and tries that. Her leg, now unsupported, begins to sag painfully to the ground. Enter CAPULET)

CAP:           Oh madam, madam, everyone is out of their minds! In order to avoid further mishap, Patrice has eloped with Lady India, Romainville has run off with Mother, and worst of all that ungrateful little minx Isabelle has disappeared leaving a note in the dressing room saying she’s never been in such a shambolic production. What are we to do?

MME D:      Well, the first thing you can do is hold my leg up before it snaps right off. (CAPULET squats down supporting the plaster cast like Atlas) As for Isabelle, she’s down there trying to escape out of the fire exit.

CAP:           Oh madam she’ll ruin the ending, really she will.

MME D:      With half the cast missing that could hardly be less difficult. Besides, Huge/Frederic’s got her. He’s bringing her back now.

CAP:           (Looking off) Oh you’re quite right, madam. He’s picking her up with a block and tackle, really he is, and they’re coming glittering over the lawn like a pair of lights mooning across a lakelit swan, as you might say, madam.

MME D:      Stop talking rubbish, you stupid woman. There isn’t room in those wings for a window box, let alone a lawn.

CAP:           I’ll go and fetch some blankets.

MME D:      Stay here and hold my leg when you’re told!

                  (Enter HUGE/FREDERIC carrying ISABELLE across his shoulders like a dead pig. He dumps her at MME DESMORTES’ feet)

MME D:      Why did you want to run away, my dear?

ISAB:         Run? After tonight I doubt if I’ll ever be able to walk again.

MME D:      ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, / Shit is brown and smelly too.’ You know you’re a shit, don’t you, Huge/Frederic?

H/F:            Yes, aunt.

MME D:      (to ISABELLE) You see, he admits it. Now why don’t you two kiss and make up?

ISAB:         Why should I?

MME D:      The sooner you do, the sooner we can all get out of here. Or they’ll start renovating the theatre round our ears.

ISAB:         Oh all right.

                  (She reluctantly kisses HUGE/FREDERIC. Enter DIANA)

DI:              What about me, you unfeeling swine? I’m going to sue you for breach of promise.

MME D:      Dammit, I forgot about her. Say something, Huge/Frederic, everything has to end happily, it’s in the script.

H/F:            (muttering) Since when has that been a consideration? (aloud) But I didn’t promise to marry you, Diana, that was my brother.

MME D:      Nice one.

CAP:           And here he comes now.

                  (They all look towards the downstage entrance. MESSERSCHMANN enters pushing JOSHUA in an iron lung. He weakly waves a note in his palsied hand)

JOSH:         The other Mr Huge/Frederic has given me this note for you, madam.

MME D:      A million francs! I’ll take that.

CAP:           No, I will.

H/F:            It’s mine!

ISAB:         I want it!

DI:              Hands off, fishface!

                  (They all squabble over the note and disappear into the wings in a brawling, snarling mass)

JOSH:         There they go. They’ve started.

MESS:        (reflectively, looking after them) How funny it all is.

JOSH:         Speak for yourself, you Polish git.

MESS:        Ah yes, my friend. As a special celebration this morning I think I shall indulge myself with two traffic wardens. Without butter.

JOSH:         All right for some isn’t it? I’m stuck here like a spider in a bottle, you’re gallivanting round town taking your disgusting pleasures like there was no tomorrow, they’re all off fighting over that fake banknote, and no one’s even said how nice my flowers look up that trellis. Ages they took me—

                  (As he rambles on, the curtain falls, knocking MESSERSCHMANN cold and neatly chopping JOSHUA’s head off. It rolls to the front of the stage but, ham to the last, manages to snatch a quick final bow before dropping out of sight. The three people left in the auditorium applaud feebly then go off home, in no doubt as to why the Little Theatre is closing down indefinitely)

The party’s over at the chateau – the final act of Ring Round the Moon proper.

l to r: Mandy Langston, RAS, Barbie Davies, Brian Harding, Daphne Ashton, Beryl Phillpotts, Marlene Whyment, Cassy Walkling, Noel Thompson

A piece on the production of Anouilh’s Ring Round the Moon which inspired this spoof can be found here.