Rehearsal draft: September 2004

Act 1.

Scene 1.

Dublin, c. 1941. A restaurant/bar. People (the audience) at tables being served by waiters (members of the cast). At the top of the room the bar, Victorian mahogany, is a replica of the Palace Bar on Fleet street. At one end of the bar is a wireless set. The restaurant itself has a more Viennese appearance, fin de siecle with Weimar overtones. The tables vary in dimension; some are large enough to be used as small stages, some are at bar level. A corner of the room is curtained off; this conceals PAT, (see below). Beside the entrance is a Georgian streetlamp. To one side is a raised dais on which a sextet is playing music of the Tea Dance variety. The room is swept constantly by searchlights or followspots. As the show begins a wartime siren drowns out the music, segues into the Morse code airways interference of the intro, and the searchlights converge on;

TRISTRAM FARADAY, A BRITISH SPY, seated at the bar.

Tristram: Some of us were born to be spies
Taking easily to the shadow dance,
The ad hoc loyalties and the brutal romance,
Well versed in weaponry, wireless transmission,
Balkan intrigues, and the needs of women.
Some of us were born to be spies,
Not me, though, I sort of fell into it by chance.

Some of us were born to be spies,
Some of us have whatever it is it takes
To go in there undaunted by the stakes,
And seize the prize, and disappear on cue.
And not fall victim to the shakes,
Some of us don't sweat like I do.

Some of us were born to be spies, don't laugh.
I answered an ad in the telegraph.
Can you solve this crossword? Well, let's see,
Five letters, a romp through Germany.
Got it yet? The river - S-P-R-E-E.
Really, this was too easy by half
For a hotshot cruciverbalist like me.

Adept at the Gnostic hide and seek,
The tricks and traps of the chequered grid,
No clue too obscure, or too oblique
For yours truly.
Crosswords were what I did,
And this one didn't trouble me unduly.

A month on the edge is chaos, six letters.
March, April, May,
May - hem, hem, mayhem.

What's the prize? The advert didn't say.
I sent it off completed anyway,
And instead of the expected book token,
I'm summoned to an office in Fleet Street,
To meet a soft-spoken colonel.

THE COLONEL appears behind the bar.

Steel-rimmed eyes across the walnut table:

Col: Let's see you finish this one, if you're able.

Trist: Six minutes later, he shakes my hand
And pours some tea,
And asks if code-breaking would interest me.

Longed for precious, anagram, six letters, golden.

Training school in Bedford, ah, the days we had there!
Honing our decoding skills and bringing them to bear,
On poem codes and transposition keys.
We'd chart the mating habits of the alphabet with care,
And then we'd play at rounders in the balmy evening air
Thanking God we still had days like these.

The soft spoken Colonel took me aside:

Col: We’ve got a little mission that may keep you occupied.
Now, you have to understand, in these dark days,
It ... well, it pays to be meticulous,
We all have a part to play,
However small,
However - what shall I say? -
Ridiculous.

Have a look at this.

He passes TRISTRAM a loosely bound handful of papers.

A wireless announcer in the Irish Free State
Meehawl O’Dromedary,
Has come to our attention of late,
Primarily
By reading out requests
Which make mention of the Red Bank Restaurant,
Which we’ve long been aware
Is a well-known haunt
For Nazi sympathisers over there.

TRISTRAM is leafing through the pages.

Trist: Songs. These are titles of songs ...

Col: Correct.
They’re all from his programme, entitled, if you please,
Meehawl O’Dromedary’s Moonlight Melodies.

Trist: But why would you ... wait! Yes, I see.
Reference to the weather in the titles, could it be?

Col: Well done, you’re quick. Yes, quite a few.
A Fair Day In Dear Old Eireann,
You Make My Sky So Blue
The Mist Across The Bay,
The Moonlight On Her Hair,
I mean, he might as well just say,
The White cliffs of Dover,
Have minimal cloud cover
So Gerry, send some bombers over there.

Trist: And the titles really reflect
The weather conditions, I presume?

Col: What I’m now about to tell you
Mustn’t leave this room.
The blighter seems to be
A master meteorologist.
The songs on this list we’ve made
Describe the weather
Not on the nights they were played.
But on the nights following,
A trickier prospect altogether.

I want you to go there, Faraday,
Find out what’s going on.
None too glamorous, it’s true,
But it needs to be done.
We thought of you.

Trist: A field agent! Crikey! I flushed with pride,
Though I had assumed Eire was on our side.
Oh, I know they're independent, and neutral as such,
But really, aren't they British, pretty much?
The Colonel sighed.

Col: I’ll be in touch.

Scene 2

The searchlights swing around to the musician’s dais to reveal, behind an old-fashioned microphone;

MEEHAWL O’DROMEDARY, a radio announcer, making a broadcast from his studio at the national wireless station, 2RN, based in the GPO, Dublin.

O’Drom: Listeners, waiting, congregating,
(Recorded) In your homesteads everywhere,
Let my voice be permeating
The vibrating waves of air.
Let my words reach you safely
Through the gently crackling speaker,
And they not to be distorted
As they spread across the ether ...

To all the decent peasantry
Across our gentle nation
Gathered round your wireless sets
In rapt anticipation,
Whisht now, be quiet now,
A bit of silence please
For Meehawl O’ Dromedary’s
Moonlight Melodies

Parlour music begins to play.

Trist: O’Dromedary.
Soon to be my tormentor,
This endless wellspring of pomposity,
And pettiness, and flatulent verbosity,
This ... radio presenter.

Scene 3.

Lights follow TRISTRAM, drifting amongst the tables.

Trist: Dublin.
And a sense of unreality
At once swept over me
No, this can’t be right.
So close to home, so strange to see
A city all lit up at night
Lit up so flagrantly!

Could these people strolling by
Actually be unaware
That something rather untoward
Is happening over there?
The war ring any bells? I see,
Well, carry on then, don’t mind me.

My cover, by the way
Is that the Times sent me out
To write up some articles
On life in the Free State
That ought to justify my nosing about
Or that’s the plan at any rate.

A sudden commotion on the street,
Something nasty has occurred.
A young man sat in his car
And without a word,
Produced a penknife; began to slash
The instrument panel, every dial and gauge,
Till he’d hacked it to ribbons in apparent seething rage,
Passers-by asked him why
The sudden urge to gouge and gash?

A YOUNG MAN is revealed at the lamppost.

Young Man: Obviously, I wanted to cut a dash.

Trist: He seemed happy enough, if a bit confused;
I moved on, bemused, but it’s his car -
He’s made his choice, however bizarre.

Lights up on O’Dromedary

O’Drom: Keep those dedications coming,
Every night the pile grows higher,
Dearest wishes go to Peggy,
Busy at the deep fat frier,
Murt and Michael, hardy men,
Fighting fit and strong and able,
Soon to meet in town again
To drink each other under the table.

Lights fade on O’Dromedary’s smiling face.

Scene 4.

Lights up on the bar, on top of which are lined, in tableau the BRITISH OFFICE STAFF, cocktails in hand.

Staff: Ah, Mr Faraday!

- Faraday?

- The spy.

- We’re all spies.

- We’re diplomats!

- Yes ... (Laughter)

- Faraday. Hi.

- Welcome to Mount Street.

Trist: I called in to meet
Our diplomatic mission.
They cheerfully greeted me
With this admonition:

(Song: BE CAREFUL NOT TO PATRONISE THE IRISH)

During the song the staff and TRISTRAM perform a dance routine, along the length of the bar and on various tabletops around the room.

Staff: Be careful not to patronize the Irish
Good grief, you'll cry, that's hardly my intent,
Nevertheless, when he's inclined,
Paddy's mind is so designed,
He'll go and find offence where none was meant.

No matter how one tries to get along
Unselfishly proclaiming Eire's undisputed charms,
A simple mention en passant,
Of drinking, fighting and maudlin song,
Suddenly one is in the wrong
And Paddy's up in arms.

In Dublin, a young diplomat
Can realise all his wishes
Provided he's not overly ambitious.
They speak the language after a fashion,
Haven't even begun to ration,
Try the beef, it really is delicious.
A spy, well that must be a lark,
Cloak and dagger after dark,
Derring-do and gunplay, one suspects

Trist: Well, not in my particular line,
Cryptographers are more inclined
To leafing through impenetrable texts.

Staff: Well, be careful not to patronise the Irish,
They take umbrage at the kindliest advice,
Though it's clearly for his benefit
Dear old Paddy's having none of it,
When you tell him a little decorum might be nice
It's happened to me, just once or twice.

I suppose they've had their woes
But all the whining, what's the point?
They could be British if they chose,
There's still that option, Heaven knows,
But mention that and Paddy's nose
Is further out of joint

The searchlights converge on TRISTRAM, isolated on a tabletop.

Trist: Is further out of joint,
Is further out of joint,
Is further out of Paddy's nose,
Be careful not to heaven knows
Be careful not to parish woes
Is further for the far the for
The force the far the rout the rout.

The searchlights swing away from TRISTRAM, and the jollities resume.

Staff: I couldn't help but notice, did you mutter something there?
As though you disagreed with my analysis perhaps,

Trist: Not at all -

Staff: What was it then, a form of silent prayer?
Or symptoms of nervous collapse?

Trist: Sorry, it's an occupational hazard, I'm afraid,
An involuntary reflex, a tic of the trade,
I hear a phrase and have to chase it down the rabbit hole,
Lips flip relentlessly beyond my control,
Freewheeling dumbly through word associations,
Slurred enunciations, absurd approximations,
Hurdy gurdy slow rotations that spool and unwind
As the gears grip and grind in the treadmills of my mind,
Repetition, repetition, variation, repetition,
Patiently preparing for a spark of intuition,
Or hoping that a daisy chain of tenuous links
Will magically unravel the riddle of the Sphinx.
So yes, it's a prayer and a mental condition,
And a sign outside my brain that says: Gone Fishin'.
But while I'm on my mission here I need hardly say,
I won't be doing anything to give the game away,
I'll blend right in, like you've evidently done,
I'll be ever so diplomatic and polite to everyone,
And though I may be horrified at how the country's run,
I'll be careful not to patronize the Irish.

Staff : Yes, be careful not to patronize the Irish,
Though they don't object to patronizing you,
Is it smugness or insurgency,
That makes them say Emergency?
I feel it lacks the urgency
Of World War Two

Just remember dear old Blighty and the spirit of the Blitz
And when Paddy's claim to nationhood is getting on your tits
Just remember that we're Brits
And we're better than these shits,
But be careful not to patronize the -
Ah, bejapers and begorrah,
Careful not to patronise the -
Where the fuck is Glocca Maura?
Careful not to patronise
Or otherwise antagonise,
Be careful not to patronise
I’m doing it again, surprise, surprise!
Be careful not to patronize
The bloody Irish!

The staff gather around TRISTRAM.

Staff: - Does he know about the other one?

- Ah, the other one, now there’s a thing!

- We have another agent here, you see.

- Splendid fellow, very bright,

- Although he isn’t really quite
The type you’d visualise a spy to be.

Trist: Of course, the colonel filled me in.
You mean the poet Betjeman
Your press attaché here, is that the case?

Staff: That’s the one, you’re spot on there,
You also ought to be aware
He drags a teddy bear about the place.

From behind the red tabs, weilding a bowler hat and a cane, appears SPECIAL AGENT BETJEMAN. The Staff go into a music hall routine.

Staff: MI5 said fetch a man,
But not some wretched tetchy man
For espionage can stretch a man,
But Betjeman - he just might do!
Betjeman - he just might do!

Betj: Evening, Willis, evening Lucy,
Welcome, Mr. Faraday!
Just received a rather juicy
Letter from the IRA
Letter from the IRA

They wanted to assassinate me
Till they read my lovely verse.
Now it seems they venerate me,
Tell me, Willis, which is worse?
Tell me, Willis, which is worse?

Staff: He's Betjeman, John Betjeman,
He's everybody's friend,
Most theatrical of agents
This side of the West End

Betj: Life's alarms and death's reverses
Seem immeasurably sweeter
Rendered into silly verses
In a silly, bouncy metre!

So with spies the same applies
An operative is less alarming
If, despite his stealth and lies,
He's silly, bouncy, big and charming

Staff: Betjeman, John Betjeman,
The natives think he's great,
Betjeman, John Betjeman,
Our man in the Free State,
Could Mother Nature etch a man
Or Leonardo sketch a man
More affable than Betjeman,
His drinks are on the slate!

Betj: Waft of Woodbine, pints of porter,
Pubs fill up and come alive,
Could I? Would I? Should I ought to
Send some names to MI5?

Far from flak, ack-ack, and klaxons,
How I love these Georgian squares,
Soft the rain, and softer accents
Spill the beans all unawares

All: To Betjeman, John Betjeman,
Who else would have the guile?
Not some Turk or Chechnyan,
No, they'd stand out a mile
But Betjeman, you bet'cha can
Rely on good old Betjeman
Special agent Betjeman can do the job in style!
Can do the job in style.

Willis has been tinkering with a military radio set. Now he’s getting a signal. We hear a stream of Morse code. The searchlights creep around the room.
Behind the bar, the mirror becomes a backboard and the space takes on the appearance of a lecture theatre.

Willis: Our friends again!

Betj: - Oh, Faraday -

Willis: Transcribe it shall I?

Betj: - Yes, please do.
Been intercepting this stuff lately,
Should be meat and drink to you.

If you’ve time, off course. It’s not
Your first concern, I know,
Even so -

Trist: - yes, alright,
I’ll give the thing a go.

Who’s the sender?

Willis: - No idea;
But it’s coming from close by.

Betj: Gobbledegook as usual.
Think you can crack it?

Trist: - Well, I’ll try.

D, a, a, p, g, e, t, u, t, h, n, r, a, d, e,
I, I, n, y, o, b, s, t, s, e, u, f, m, e, g, c ...

Good, we’ve lots of vowels here,

Betj: You’re pleased by that?

Trist: - Well, yes I am.
Likelihood is, all this is,
Is one enormous anagram.

Betj: So we simply shuffle round
The characters presumably -

Trist: Not with one as long as this:
There has to be a key.

Our agents use a poem code -

Betj: Oh, is it one of those?
Well, you can do those bastards
With your eyes shut, I suppose?

Trist: If I knew what piece of verse
They’re using as a key.
Otherwise it’s hours
Of trial and error basically.

Betj: Well, who knows? I’ll leave it with you.
Now I’ve been told you want
To mingle with the worthies
In the Red Bank Restaurant.

So I’ve taken the liberty
Of setting up an interview.
Chap called Myles na gCopaleen,
A colourful cove,
He knows the scene,
He’s a civil servant, and Irish Times columnist,
As for political affiliations,
He’d find the very concept ridiculous,
We’ve had no reason to suspect him
Of anything till recently,
When he’s started to haunt
Red Bank Restaurant.
So meet him there,
Go gently, sound him out.
The landlord's name is Schubert.
I can recommend the trout.

As he speaks a waitress (AGENT GREEN) in Berlin cabaret costume is singing at the microphone on the dais.

Scene 5.

(Song: THE RED BANK RESTAURANT)

There's a place where the barman will smile
If you drink yellow beer and you whisper Sieg Heil
Not that we're Nazis, we just like the style,
Down at the Red Bank Restaurant
Come on inside, find a corner and nestle
You don't have to be blue eyed or blonde,
Provided you sing a few bars of Horst Wessel
Down at the Red Bank Restaurant

Down at the Red Bank Restaurant,
Sing ho! For the schnapps and the linden tree
Down at the Red Bank Restaurant
And Ireland's opportunity
Although we're not Nazis,
We're not bloody patsies
For Churchill and Roosevelt to tease and to taunt
So we'll stick to our guns
And we'll drink to the Huns
At the Red Bank Restaurant

There's a place you're sure to hear songs to
Let you know just who tomorrow belongs to
Down at the Red Bank Restaurant,
Down at the Red Bank Restaurant,
So come down to d'Olier Street and park up your bike
And whisper your dreams of a Thousand Year Reich
Down at the Red Bank Restaurant.
Down at the Red Bank Restaurant

Down at the Red Bank Restaurant,
If England's invaded should we really care?
Down at the Red Bank Restaurant,
These foreign disputes aren't our affair,
You may say the Aryans
Are only barbarians,
And you can shed tears for the Brits all you want,
But if that's how you see it,
Then you shouldn't be at
The Red Bank Restaurant.

Down at the Red Bank Restaurant,
Sing ho! For the schnapps and the linden tree
Down at the Red Bank Restaurant
And Ireland's opportunity
Although we're not Nazis,
We're not bloody patsies
For Churchill and Roosevelt to tease and to taunt
So we'll stick to our guns
And we'll drink to the Huns
At the Red Bank Restaurant


(Humming)

Then the Red Bank music starts up again, and the waitress approaches
TRISTRAM.

Green: Good evening, will sir have a beer?

Trist: What ... Good god! What are you doing here?
Irene, is it you? -

Green: - No, I’m sorry my dear,
Keep quiet or we’re dead, is that reasonably clear?
Yes, the bratwurst is heavenly, try some of that,
Tristram, I’ll meet you before very long
There’s an alley outside, we’ll be able to chat,
For now, just be quiet or sing along.

There is general shushing and the bar radio is turned up. We hear
O’Dromedary.

O’DROM: Now here’s a dedication from the gang at the Red Bank,
Somewhat oracular, it’s possibly a prank:
God speed, Philomena, you shall lie beside our foreign friend
That night when our long wait comes to an end
Graceful, trim and ready for that special rendezvous
Philomena, all our prayers go with you.
And we know that should our fortunes somehow be reversed,
Philomena will be ready for the worst.
Philomena will be ready for the worst.

Applause, toasts, “to Philomena”

MYLES NA GOPALEEN at the bar.

(Song: MYLES' SONG)

Myles: Barbed wire geansai'd Nietsches
Making speeches
Into their jars
It's all my arse,
And furthermore
Whatever whore
Pulled this pint
Is behind
The wrong kind of bars,

Can't a man have a drink and think
Of perplexing conundrums and bicycles stolen
And swollen footnotes in various styles
Just file it all under “too clever by Myles”
Can't a man have a drink in this town
But some clown of the voluble sort
Starts to talk about "ort"
And how the words of At Swim Two Birds
Are rather like Joyce's
Myriad voices
Oh, God can't a man have drink?

Can’t a man have a drink without hearing them say
This isn’t his first or his last one today,
Failing that can’t a man have a drink anyway?
Oh, God can’t a man have a drink?

Sweet mother of God can’t a man have a drink?
And not have to think
Of weeping cows,
Murderous rows
Priestly vows
And the tiny, tiny screams
Of eternity trapped in a book?
And atoms colliding and running amok,
And bastard ventriloquists working in teams
Can't a man have a drink though it certainly seems
Diversions have been taken to extremes

Trist: That’s na gCopalee! I know I’m right!
I think the fellow might be slightly tight.
All right then, let the interview begin,
Chin up, chest out, hold your noses men,
We’re going in.

(He makes toward Myles, then stops in his tracks as he sees Philomena
enter)
Whoa, back up, back up!
Who’s this I see?
Standing in the doorway awkwardly -
Rather sweet and rather out of place,
Question marks and exclamations race across her face.
Is she really sweet and naïve
As clearly, she’d have us believe?
Wait, now, wait, she’s looking at me, Enigmatically,
And now she’s going to na gCoplaeen!
Better keep my head down,
See what I can glean.

Myles: Philomena! What are you doing here?
Why are you out at this hour, for that matter?

Phil: Em ... I just thought I’d sample the German culture,
And you? You’re on the batter?

Myles: I’m here to see a fella
If you want to tag along.
Throw in some earnest chatter,
You might look like you belong.

Together, Myles and PHILOMENA approach TRISTRAM.

(Song: WE’RE ALL IN THE GUTTER)

Myles: So you’re the smart boy from the paper?

Trist: Faraday.
I was hoping you’d give me your views
A general impression of life around here
You can be as oblique as you choose

Phil: Hello, pleased to meet you, I work with himself,
My name’s Philomena O’Shea,
I just thought I’d say “hi”, and I’ll try not to get in your way.

Myles: Well life in the Free State is rosy,

Phil: - That’s right.

Myles: Surprisingly so, you might think;
When the rest of the planet is pushed to perdition,
And teetering there on the brink.
There’s a simple enough explanation,
That doesn’t take long to expound,
We’re all in the gutter,
But some of us have an ear to the ground.

Chorus: We’re all in the gutter,
We’re all in the gutter,
We’re all in the gutter,
But some of us have an ear to the ground.

It’s a formula for all occasions,
But lately it’s come to the fore,
There’s not many folk can pull off the bold stroke
Of ignoring the second world war.
So let’s give ourselves a firm pat on the back
And keep passing the bottle around
Cos we’re all in the gutter
But some of us have an ear to the ground.

(Chorus)

Should we be supporting your forces,
As they struggle to keep us all free?
Well, horses for courses,
We’ve knwn the same forces
A little too intimately.
They taught us some valuable lessons
What goes around has to come round,
Now we’re all in the gutter
But some of us have an ear to the ground.

(Chorus)

Phil: Is this all a bit confusing
I hope you won’t take it amiss
Let me just simplify
Really, it all boils down to this

(Song: BETTER OFF OUT OF THE WAR)

Phil: Whatever impression you’ve got here tonight
There’s plenty of Irish have signed up to fight,
In British battalions they march by the score,
Still Ireland is better off out of the war.
We’re better off out of the war.

Trist (aside): Perplexing at best,
That wireless request,
For a girl with the name Philomena.
A few minutes pass,
Then here, bold as brass,
Could she be the same Philomena?

Phil: I know you could argue
All day and all night,
This war is a just one,
You’re probably right,
And your eyes are a shade I go shivery for,
But really, we’re better off out of the war,
We’re better off out of the war.

Trist: And meeting Irene,
What can that mean?
Is she on a similar mission?
There she goes now,
If I can somehow
Get out without causing suspicion -

TRISTRAM leaves the table, to follow GREEN, during this verse:

Phil: And there are ideals
At stake, I agree,
And principles, oh,
You don’t have to tell me,
But the principle that’s most compelling by far,
Is that Ireland is better off out of the war,
And how long are you visiting for?

RED BANK TUNE AGAIN, AS GREEN STEPS UP TO MAKE AN
INTRODUCTION. Above the heads of the musicians on the dais a tricolour
slowly unfurls.

Green: We’ve somebody special among us tonight
An IRA hero who’s fought the good fight,
His methods may gall you
And even appal you,
So all the more reason to keep him at ease
His name is Muldoon
And he might sing a tune
So give us some cuanas please ...

(Song: TOORAL-AYE-AY FOR THE IRA )

Muldoon: I'm a wild Irish boy; I'm the pride of my town,
In song and in story I'm widely renowned
And if my roguish grin doesn't win you around
Then I'll bury you where you won't ever be found

Chorus : With a song and a smile and a Sieg and a Heil,
And a tooral aye ay for the IRA
The Brits are at war so we'll give them what for
While they're looking the opposite way, boys,
While they're looking the opposite way.

You remember that peeler who gave me that look
That I just couldn't brook, so by way of rebuke,
I brought him to book with me trusty slash-hook
That I took from me copious trousers,
That I took from me copious trousers.

Chorus. With a song and a smile and a Seig and a Heil
And a tooral aye ay for the IRA,
To Hell with the Jews, just light up a fuse
While the British are looking away, boys,
While the British are looking away.

Can anyone tell me, cause I don't know why it is,
Nowadays our intellectual diet is
Solely comprised of the cosiest pieties,
Hitler is evil? Oh change the record
We've heard it before, it's a boring cliché,
And we need to be bold in our thinking today
But most of all we need to make hay
While the British are looking the opposite way.

It’s time that we made the Brits understand
That we’re taking a stand in our own native land
They’ll be feeling a swipe of the back of my hand
And some Nazi torpedoes will do the job grand

Chorus: With a song and a smile and a sieg and a heil
And a Tooral-eye-ay for the IRA
The Brits are at war so we’ll give them what for
While they’re looking the opposite way, boys,
While they’re looking the opposite way.

Applause.

TRISTRAM follows GREEN out to the alley, the area by the lampost. As
TRISTRAM Leaves, MYLES picks up a plate with intent.

Scene 6.

Lights up on TRISTRAM and GREEN in the alley outside. A FRANCISCAN
FRIAR runs past, clutching his smoking behind (this will be explained later).

Trist: She waited outside for me,
Coolly amused at my amazement;
Led me to a shadowy recess
Where we began to reminisce.

(Song: THE CROSSWORD SOLVER’S LUNCH)

Green: Remember where we met?

Trist: How could I forget? Lunch at the Savoy in ‘38
An annual affair -

Green: It was my first time there -

Trist: The crossword solvers’ lunch was always great.

Green: The crossword solvers’ lunch -

Trist: The crossword solvers’ lunch -

Green: We were such a clever bunch
At that crossword solvers' lunch.

Tristram: The cream of cruciverbalists all gathered at one venue.

Green: We had no trouble working out the menu.

Trist: At the crossword solvers lunch
In the Savoy in London town

Green: You were the one across from me.

Trist: So I was not too down.
We argued over imps and asps and ampersand and assegais,
And I wondered what the casual observer might surmise
As we toasted all the deities whose names are daily grist
To the cruciverbalist.

Green: We toasted A, then A, Athena,
And old reliable Isis.
You said have we toasted pan?

Trist: So the waiter brought some slices
But you were my Venus,
Not a cross word between us.
I allowed myself another glass of punch.

Green: At the crossword solvers’ lunch
In the Savoy, in London town.
You were the one across from me -

Trist: So I was not too down.

Green: And after lunch, I strolled with you,
The Strand, and Picadilly too,

Trist: And each place name became a clue,
A powerful and magic clue,

Green: Trembling on the brink of resolution as they sometimes do.
It may have been the punch of course,

Trist: My heart says it was something more

Both: As we walked together after lunch,
And just before the war.

As the music segues into AGENT GREEN’S SONG.

Green: So what are you doing here? No, that’s plain enough,
We’re both at the Red Bank, why try to bluff?
You’re a spy, so am I, so let’s skip the guff,
We ought to join forces and pool our resources.

Trist: This chap O’Dromedary -

Green: - Moonlight Melodies?
They’ve sent you to investigate him? Oh, please!
He’s a loudmouth, an armchair rebel, it’s true,
But couldn’t they find anything more challenging for you?

Trist: That request he played tonight?

Green: That was odd, I agree,
“Philomena”, that’s a new one on me.
Could be some IRA floozy, I suppose,
I’ll ask around, see if anybody knows.

Trist: How long have you been here?

Green: - Just over a year,
Building up trust and serving up beer
Biding my time and minding my rear,
Hiding my fear beneath this veneer.

Now I’m Agent Green, I play mean and hard,
No gloves, no quarter, no holds barred,
When I mark your card, in the words of the bard,
You’re gonna be hoist on the joist of your own petard.

Well, that’s the idea, though I have to confess,
I’m in fear of my life all the time more or less.
You’ll have to tell Betjeman about me, I guess?

Trist: You’d prefer if I didn ‘t?

Green: - Well, frankly, yes.

Not just for the moment at any rate,
The risk is too great, I’ll tell you this straight,
I’ve been getting quite close to Muldoon of late,
And I’m pleased to relate, he’s taking the bait.

I’ve played that sucker like a Steinway grand,
Now he’s eating right out of the palm of my hand,
And suddenly he’s boasting that he’s got something planned,
And talking about taking a stand.

Trist: Irene - you’re so - I mean - Agent Green!
This transformation, it’s so unforeseen,

Green: Tristram, believe me, it’s just a smokescreen,

Trist: How magnificent!

Green: - just a routine.

I'm a Home Counties gal turned femme fatale,
I'm an English rose in exploding clothes,
I'm the bomb out of the blue; I'm the siren too,
I'm the heel of the oppressor in a Ferragamo shoe.

I’m Agent Green, impertinent flirt,
Alert to the dirt that they furtively blurt,
While exerting my power to subvert.
And a certain tightness of skirt doesn’t hurt.

But it’s so good to meet a dependable friend,
Someone I’d gladly defend to the end,
I can bend your ear and you’ll comprehend,
Someone to whom I don’t have to pretend -

Trist: I don’t have to tell Betjeman, not right away,

Green: Oh, Tristram, my sweetheart, what can I say?
Whenever you need me, just call me, my dear.

Trist: Irene, it’s so good to know that you’re here.

GREEN slides into the shadows, as PHILOMENA comes out into the alley,
distraught, followed by an apologetic Myles.

SONG: READY FOR THE WURST.

Myles: Forgive me, Philomena, I just don’t know what came over me,
Please tell me what to do to make it right.

Phil: Keep away, you bowsie, that behaviour was uncalled for,
And it’s obviously time I said goodnight.

Myles: I swear to you, believe me, there was some mysterious
influence,
Took hold of me and made me act that way.
As though some outside agency had set up shop inside of me,
And told me “throw the food at Miss O’Shea”.

Green (aside): So Irish! So free -
Unencumbered, that’s it,
Unsullied by fussy decorum,
But take it from me,
They’re not without wit,
No wonder we British adore ‘em.

Phil: He pegged a schnitzel at me, and some sauerkraut as well,
And strudels with a force you should have seen,

Myles: I’m sorry about the schinken and that heavy pumpernickel.

Phil: The Germans make some dangerous cuisine.

PHILOMENA produces a large German sausage.

Phil: Next, he started swinging this, and aiming for my head
But luckily I lunged and grabbed it first.
‘Cause if I’d got a belt of it I’d probably be dead -

Myles: As it happens, she was ready for the wurst.

Green (aside): Ah, the Irish! So free -
Unencumbered, that’s it,
We British, we just can’t resist ‘em.
Oh, they’ve flown the coop
And they’re all grown up now
But we can’t get them out of our system

Myles: Philomena was ready for the worst!

My God! Did you hear that?

Philomena was ready for the wurst!

It’s strange, but suddenly I know,
That for the last half-hour or so
Every single thing I’ve done,
Has been a build up to that pun!
I heard a voice inside me,
A tiny whisper first,
But soon it was a bellow,
And my head was fit to burst,
Telling me to do it,
So I took the food and threw it,
As though I had been hypnotised or cursed,
As though my body wasn’t mine,
Until I’d said the line,
Philomena was ready for the worst.

There’s something creepy happening here
I feel it in the atmosphere -
Could it be? I think I understand!
Well what confection does that swipe?
What ensemble does it strike?
It takes the biscuit and it beats the band.
All that effort for a pun.
Excuse me, now, I have to run.

BYE FOR NOW

Trist: I should go

Phil: Yes, I know

Trist: Unless -

Phil: Oh, yes?

Trist: Was there something else?

Phil: ... No

Trist: Then I’ll go,

Phil: Right so.

Trist: Cheerio.

Phil: Cheerio.

Phil: Bye for now,
Or, Ta-ra, should I say?
Though maybe we’ll meet again someday,

Trist: Bye for now,
Or Slan, I suppose,
Though maybe we’ll meet again -

Both: Who knows?

Who can say when,
Or where
Or how?
So let’s just say bye
Bye for now

Bye for now,
It’s been nice, I must say,
And maybe we’ll meet again some day.

Trist: Bye for now
I should go -

Phil: - I suppose.

Trist: Though maybe we’ll meet again -

Both: Who knows?

Who can say when,
Or where
Or how?
So let’s just say bye
Bye for now

They go their separate ways, leaving TRISTRAM alone in the lamplight.

Scene 7.

Trist: The Red Bank was emptying out,
So plenty here to think about
Myles was precious little use,
But Philomena, Philomena -
Strange that she was there at all,
She had no real excuse.
And then that wireless dedication,
Tomorrow I visit the station.

TRISTRAM walks amongst the tables.

Philomena, Philomena,
Another thought won’t leave my head:
“Lie beside our foreign friend.”
Foreign as in me? Lie beside ... in ... bed?
But that would mean I’d been expected,
And my cover had been blown.
Could she be a femme fatale?
Looking sweet and virginal,
But biding time to kill me off as soon as we’re alone?
Or perhaps more likely,
Or at any rate no less,
An Irish Mata Hari,
Inciting men to treason
In exchange for a caress ...

First night ... foreign city
Well, not foreign, but ... well, yes, foreign.
I’m bound to be off balance just a bit.
Going to take a little time to get the hang of it.
And how strange to meet Irene ... Agent Green.
I used to be quite keen on her, you know.
She was up in London training at RADA,
Her favourite crossword puzzle?
The Observer. Torquemada.
We flirted for a while in a cryptic sort of way,
Then she drifted away.

He sits at the bar, orders a pint.

How much should I let Betjeman in on?
Mum on Green, that’s clear.
I’ll mention Philomena, yes,
Give him a general idea.
From the shadows, MYLES emerges, and regards TRISTRAM

Myles: Observe how the eyelids narrow,
In that puzzled, agonised
And deeply self-important squint,
As though he’s almost cracked the thing,
You know, just need a teensy hint.

What’s he after?
What does he know?
Has he executed that obscure fibrous attachment -
That is, has he cottoned on?
No, look at him -
In the battle of wits he’s an unarmed man.
I’ll have to watch him though.

Scene 8.

O’DROMEDARY ‘S voice on the air.

O’Drom: Good Morning listeners,
Meehawl O’Dromedary here,
Summoned at short notice
To replace Prionsias de Paor
Indisposed again, God love him,
Not the first time, to be fair,
But we all have our crosses to bear.

My evening programme
Will be ably manned tonight
By Jerome J Kelly
So make your plans accordingly.
But now, gentle listeners,
Are ye ready? Are ye right?
We’ll start the morning off
With ‘Neath The Sunny Sky So Bright.

We hear the beginning of a tune.


Scene 9.

Lights up on BETJEMAN at a table. TRISTRAM enters.

Betj: Top of the morning, Faraday,
I trust your evening went OK?
You met with Myles?

Trist: - the man was plastered.
How’s the crossword?

Betj: - It’s a bastard.
Any progress with your mission?

Trist: Bit too early to decide.
Na gCopalleen was ossified.
He had a woman at his side,

Betj: Look at this one! Fourteen down.
Dishonest means to fix a town,
Nine letters, well now, let me see,
To fix a town -

Trist: - mendacity.

Betj: Mend a city! Obviously!
Mendacity, well deary me!
He brought a woman, goodness me.

Trist: She wasn’t with him in that way.
They met by chance, I heard them say.

Trist: You know a fellow called Muldoon?

Betj: Isn’t he the most delightful!,
They say he’s planning something soon,
Something big and rather frightful.

I’m sure I’ll crack this presently
Meet anyone else?

Trist: Not really, no.

Betj: Lyre! Lyre!

Trist: Pardon me?

Betj: Rely about old strings, you see?

Irish women, aren’t they charming?
So beguiling, so disarming
And as is oh, so often said,
They’re bloody hard to get to bed.

One fellow seems to have the knack
Of herding them into the sack
Schrodinger, the physicist
Has charms the ladies can’t resist.

Accordion music strikes up. We see SCHRODINGER appear from behind the
red curtain. He’s half dressed, with a woman’s stocking draped about his
neck. He goes to the wireless set.

Schro: Scheisse!

Woman: (From behind the curtain) Erwin, What is it?

Schro: I’ve missed O’Dromedary’s programme. I must go over there.

Back to Betjeman.

Betj: The Irish leader, deValera,
Brought the bleeder here to Eire,
To set up an Institute
Of Advanced Studies - what a hoot.

Dev, the prim and strait laced prude
Paragon of rectitude,
Seeks intellectual comfort from
The horniest man in Christendom.

Betjeman exits.

Trist: Almost time now,
Not long to go.
Meet this fellow,
In his studio.
Almost time now,
Not long to go
Yes, I’m nervous
Though it mustn’t show.

TRISTRAM is about to leave, when the other British Office staff appear and
make beckoning movements .

Staff: - Faraday!

Trist: What?

Staff: - Faraday!

Trist: Willis! Lucy!

Staff: - If we may ...

Making a great show of secrecy, they take him aside.

(Song: CERTAIN THINGS)

Staff: There is something that you really ought to hear
Certain things
Are occurring.
Unlovely
Forces
Are stirring here.

It’s essential that we don’t create a fuss
Not a word,
Mustn’t query
These things;
But it’s eerie,
And serious.

A young man sat
In his car and
He began to slash
At the dials
Said he wanted
To cut a dash

A portly
Franciscan
Almost went on fire
Reading Hegel
On the cooker
Said he’s a deep fat friar

Every incident revolves around a pun.
What madness
Have we here?
What solace
Do they find?
What kind of fun?

Trist: You must think I’m even greener than I seem.
What a story!

Staff: Please believe me!
This is real,
Though it feels like
Some fevered dream

That case where
Two men went
On a ghastly spree
Drank each other
Under the table
Quite literally.

With a last, significant look, the staff disperse and exit.

Scene 10

Trist: Now, that didn’t make any sense!
And yet ... and yet ...
I’d seen some incidents.
Last night’s debacle with the wurst -
And let’s not forget that first
Encounter with the chap who slashed his car.
Still, this unexpected turn
Was hardly my concern
Far more important I should go,
To the fabled GPO,
The home of Irish radio
O’Dromedary’s studio.
(Rather impressive portico)

Well, well!
I’d stood there at the door
And there, before me,
Philomena.
It seems we meet once more.

Lights up on O’DROMEDARY, in conversation with PHILOMENA in the
studio, as TRISTRAM enters.

Scene 11.

Phil: Play this tomorrow night, Meehawl?
“How Clear The Sky Above”?
I hate to bother you at all
But that’s a song I love.

O’Drom: You have me pestered, Miss O’Shea,
Last week you asked for Bright As Day,
Before that, it was, what was it?
Oh, yes, The Mist Across The Bay -

They notice TRISTRAM. PHILOMENA looks flustered.

Phil: Tristram! Thanks, Meehawl, that’s great.
Fancy meeting you!

Trist: Yes, I’m calling round to do
Another interview

(Song: I’M ANTI-BRITISH, IT’S JUST MY WAY)

O’Drom: Mr Faraday? Begob!
I trust our country’s to your liking?
Then, it’s always been a draw,
To Anglo-Saxon, Norman, Viking.

No hard feelings now of course,
A journalist? I see, I see,
Excused from active service
Through some disability?

Trist: Well, no, that is -

O’Drom: - Ah, don’t mind me,
I’m anti-British, that’s my way.
You have to make allowances,
And be careful what you say.

Trist: I see. That’s very forthright,
Could you say, at any rate,
Is the war a tricky subject
Here in the Free state

O’Drom: Oho! Don’t start me! Censorship!
It’s dismal altogether.
D’you know, I’m not allowed broadcast
A word about the weather?

De Valera doesn’t want
The Brits upset you see
So we Kow-tow as usual
Is that neutrality?

Chorus

Hm, they’re not too bad today,
Hardly palpable at all,
Normally by now they’d have me
Flattened to the wall.

Trist: I’m sorry?

O’Drom: - Radio waves,
They gather here, you see.
Before they go outside
To work their tricky ministry

(Song: THE WAVES O THE WAVES)

As he sings, the room is suffused with ripples of light, an aurora borealis of
radio frequencies. Philomena and two of O’Dromedary’s little helpers become
a chorus of crooners.

O’Drom: The waves, o the waves
Vibrating everywhere
Around the Earth
They leap invisibly
And as I speak,
Their motion fills the air
And every molecule of you and me
And every molecule of you and me.

Crystals and wires
Inanimate and senseless,
Obey the waves
And sing beneath their spell
If copper and stone
Are rendered so defenseless
Can human flesh be less susceptible
Can human flesh be less susceptible?

(Spoken, over the same tune)

I was talking about it only the other day
To Erwin Schrodinger, the world class physicist.
He said he'd never encountered a brain like mine.
Says he always listens to my programme
When he's pondering the inscrutable quirks
Of probability.

You mark my words
Their power is daily growing
And soon the waves
Will hold us in their thrall.
We humble slaves,
Will do their will unknowing,
Will do their will, and answer to their call,
Will do their will, and answer to their call.

O’DROMEDARY’S assistant comes in.

(Song: PARTICLES INTRO)

Assistant: Sir, I’ve Doktor Schrodinger outside,
I couldn’t put him off no matter how I tried,
He wants to pick your brains again,

O’Drom: Suppose I’d better see him then

Phil: Oh, God, now there’s a specimen
I really can’t abide.

(Song: DOn’t YOU WAVE YOUR PARTICLES AT ME)

The cast, at the bar, are drinking lager and yodelling, as a Tyrolean chorus.

Schro: I’m Erwin Schrodinger, that’s right.
The Irish state extended me a kind invite
To work here at the Institute,
Sehr gut, the frauleins here are cute
And I was hoping I might shoot
My load tonight.

I won the Nobel prize in thirty three
For my work on sub-atomic theory
Philomena, how are you?
You know what I want to do?

Phil: If you know what’s good for you
You’ll keep away from me.

Schro: Philomena please!
I need the sweet release!
In my minds eye all I see
Is particle and wave duality.

Phil: Well don’t you wave your particles at me.
Don’t you have a shred of human decency?

Schro: Heisenberg’s uncertainty
Need not apply to you and me
You find the right position
And I’ll give it some velocity.

Phil: Don’t you wave your particles at me!
Erwin, must you keep this up so constantly?

Schro: Planck’s constant, not like me,
Just give me some duality
You ought to meet my secretaries,
Who knows, there might be chemistry!

All The pleasures of the mind
Are subtle and refined

Schro: But come the evening all I want to do
Is be buried up to my back wheels in you.

Phil: Don’t you wave your particles at me!
There’s certain things a lady really shouldn’t see,
And you might think it’s smart to kill
A cat you dirty article
But don’t you wave your filthy particles at me!

Philomena please,
I need the sweet release
I like the pleasures of the mind,
But equally I treasure your behind

Equally he treasures -

Equally I treasure -

Equally I treasure your behind.

O’Drom: Herr Schrodinger, you’re here again!
Begob, I’m in demand today.
Me man is from the London Times.
A Mr Faraday.

Schro: A pleasure sir, and Philomena
I already know.

Phil: Yes. Excuse me gentlemen,
I really ought to go.

PHILOMENA exits.

Schro: Meehawl, I missed your show this morning.
Let me ask you if I may,
Can you recall which rousing
Compositions did you play?

O’Drom: Well, now, let me see,
Oh, you don’t really want to know -

Schro: Please, if you would be so kind -

O’Drom: A Parting Glass Afore Ye Go,
The Little Darkey’s Prayer,
Jaunty Jarveys Car
The Maid Of Shalimar,
Ad break,
Oft in Darkling Groves Entwined,

Schro: Thank you, what a mind -

O’Drom: Mother Can You Hear Me Still?
The Pot Upon The Hob,
The Moon Upon The Hill,
The Face Upon The Shroud,
The Day The Cow Went Mad,
And A Grand Oul’ Day For Digging The Peat

Schro: Clearly I missed quite a treat.

O’Drom: So your boys are the horse to back
Right now, I’d have to say?

Schro: Meehawl, I’m not a German

O’Drom: Oh, right, Austrian.Fair play.

(to TRISTRAM) Oh! Are you still here?
I thought I’d said my bit?

Trist: Ah. Very well, and thank you.

O’Drom: (to Schrodinger) Don’t mind him, he’s a Brit.

Trist: Thank you for your precious time,
Perhaps we’ll meet again -
Bye for now. Herr Schroedinger -

Schro: Ah, ja, auf wiedersein.

Scene 12.

TRISTRAM wanders out of the GPO

Trist: As I left the GPO
This dowdy grey
Wet blanket cloudy day,
Peeled away
To reveal - I say!
Lazy amber sunbeams,
Bumble-bee golden haze,
And cheeky postcard cobalt blue sky.
The Irish weather, it seems,
Is having one of its days.
Let’s face it, so am I.
Clearly the best place by far
To spend a sun-kissed afternoon like this,
Is in the dark recesses
Of the Palace Bar.

Scene 13.

The Palace Bar again.

(Song: A HYMN TO DRINK)

The Palace Chorus:

Slainte ‘gus saol,
May your powers never fail,
May you smile at the troubles you once cursed.
Leave your cares at the door,
We have gargle galore,
And the last drop as gentle as the first.

And when closing time is called may you be favoured with a
wink
A sound and valued customer, you’ll stay for one more drink.

When it’s dark and it’s damp,
And the chill gives you cramp
And the rain has found a channel down your back
Sit down here and wait
While you anticipate
A great dirty draught of creamy black.

And if the weather’s balmy sure you’ll stay to celebrate,
You can always tell the wife a shower of bowsies made you
late.

Slainte ‘gus saol.
Slainte ‘gus saol,
Slainte, slainte ‘gus saol.

Trist: O’Dromedary seemed insane,
That much was plain;
But then again,
Why had Schrodinger appeared?
Now that was weird.
Why had he wanted to know
What songs O’Dromedary had played
That morning on his show?
Obviously
Philomena’s deep in this,
Whatever this might be.
She turns up everywhere I go,
She knows O’Dromedary,
And it seems she’s requested
Several songs alluding to the weather.
So taken all together -

PHILOMENA now appears in the Palace Bar.

Trist. Hello again, fancy meeting you
Small world -

Phil. Yes, isn’t that true?

Trist. Strange we should meet so frequently

Phil. Somehow it feels like destiny.

Trist; A drink perhaps?

Phil; I haven’t a clue
If you know what I suspect you know -
Even so, no, I should go.
My address - now I have to trot,
Maybe we’ll talk some time,
Maybe not.

PHILOMENA disappears.

Trist: Clearly she was rattled by my presence.
Even ready to do a deal, perhaps.
Anyway, time check in at Betjeman’s office.
Time I took a shot
At these poem coded messages
See what we’ve got.
An interesting day so far.
And that’s before I’d even heard
Me Jaunty Jarvey’s Car.

Scene 14.

We’re back in the British Office.

(Song: ME JAUNTY JARVEY’S CAR)

Betj: In me jaunty jarvey’s car
I chase the praties near and far;
Drink shillelaghs at the bar,
Shenanigans me Blarney-o

That’s how leprechaun I’ve been!
Some begorrahs I have seen,
Mary is me own crubeen,
In me Jarvey’s car I mean!

Trist: As I tried to read the messages
Betjeman sang some utterly cretinous
Doggerel that went on and on
How long how long how long how long -

Betj: La-la-la-la, lah lah,
La-la, praties, la-la-lah,
La-la-la-la, lah lah,
Top o’ the evenin’, Faraday!
La-la-la-la, lah lah,
La-la-la-la, lah lah lah,

Trist: Hard as I tried to con-cen-trate
The relevant landscape filled with praties

Betj: La-la-la-la, lah lah,
La-la-la-la, lah lah,
La-la-la-la, lah lah lah,

Shamrocks leprechauns diddly dye-dly
Why is he there just wittering idly
Block it all out just read the document
Read the leprechaun, and again shenanigan -

Betj: In me jaunty jarvey’s car,
La-la-la-la, lah lah lah,
Drink shillelaghs at the bar
La-la-la-la, lah lah lah,

Trist: Shocument, la,la, doprecaun, crubeen,
Jigging in my head, diddle di eye, Philomena,
Word associating in me old cawbogue,
And shillelaghs at the bar? Shillelaghs at the bar!

I’ve been looking for a poem but a song comes along,
And it could be the key; I don’t know I could be wrong,
Work it out work it out work it out!

Number all the letters that we find in the phrase
Drink shillelaghs at the bar, so we start with the A’s,
So the A in shillelagh’s number one, there we are,
Number two is in at, number three is in bar,

On to the B that’s in bar, that’s four,
Then the Ds, and the Es, moving on once more.
Now these jumbled numbers are the anagram key
Apply them to your letters and reorder them numerically

By George the sixth, I’ve got it!

Yes! This message reads:

“Pat getting out of hand. Probability bad.

Pat. Any idea who that could be?

Betj: The name scarcely narrows the field.

Trist: Me Jaunty Jarvey’s Car, where have I heard ... ?
Then suddenly, all was revealed.
Transcripts! Transcripts of all the messages we’ve got!
O’Dromedary’s list of songs,
I’ll need to see the lot.

TRISTRAM takes out his song list. What follows is an insane medley of the
songs O’Dromedary listed earlier.

Trist/Betj: And hallowed those who gaze upon
The face upon the -

- Cow jumped up, and she capered like a maniac-

- In darkling groves ere slumbers come -

- Now if the “a” in “capered” is one -

- Across a pale lagoon beneath a veil -

- Could be something here, oh, hang on, I missed a “b” -

- O’Grady said bejapers they’ll report it in the papers and -

- A bonnie lass came through the heather -

- God bless de liddle chillun and God bless de Massah too -

- How is “bejapers” usually spelt? -

- In bygone days of yore -

- With rebel pikes we’ll rise once more -

- She kicked the bucket over, said there’s something in the
clover -

- God bless de ole Mississippi -

- Face upon the -

- And now that bonnie lassie is me darlin’ -

- Dancing like a lunatic -

- The crescent moon, the ancient fountain -

- Ah! Yes! Pat. Someone called Pat keeps getting mentioned -

- De cotton -

- Played the fiddle and -

- Face upon the -

- And rebel hearts are blazing -

- Afore ye go -

- I think that’s it -

- Shroud.

Trist: Right, there’s a lot of technical jargon of some kind.
(Reads) “New pipes have somewhat eased pressure in the
adjustment chamber ... plentiful supply of feed water ...
constant vigilance still necessary or probability deeply
unstable. Pat extremely temperamental, and I fear, dangerous,
but our work, I am now convinced, is vital. Any suggestions
more than welcome.”

Trist: Pat?

Betj: No idea.

Trist (Reads another message): “Suggest damping down the
backup valves, they’re the lads could cost lives in the long run.
Need hardly stress the importance of lubricant. Motor oil if you
must, but there’s nothing wrong with 3-in-1 at all at all. Without
a doubt our work is vital, and Pat provides us with a small
glimmer of hope in these dark times.”

Trist: Who are these people? And who is Pat?

(Reads another message): “Bad day today. Tank desperately
unstable. Narrowly avoided the spiral we’ve long feared. Hope
we haven’t pushed this whole business too far. ”

(Reads another message): “The British may be onto us.
Someone called Faraday arrived today, more than likely a
spy. Must never find out about Pat.”

Trist: How ingenious!
Two people want to send each other coded messages
And or some reason they must never meet.
But for security they need to change their code keys every day.
So they agree on - yes, it looks like the third song played
Each evening on O’Dromedary’s show.

Schrodinger!
He wanted to know what songs O’Dromedary had played!
That’s because the announcer was moved to a morning show,
Which Schrodinger missed.
What’s Schrodinger up to though?
We need to go and see him.

Betj: No, we need to wait till we know more.

Diplomacy, diplomacy,
Mustn’t go in in a rush,
We’ll put the knife in presently
Till then we’ll smile incessantly
And keep the whole thing tactfully
And pleasantly hush hush!

Schrodinger’s here at deValera’s invitation.
If Schrodinger’s up to something,
With the Irish government’s complicity,
It could have consequences for Ireland’s neutrality,
A neutrality which Churchill might denounce,
But which rather suits us nonetheless.
Ireland’s military resources are paltry,
And if they were to side with us,
We’d need to commit
Some of our overstretched forces over here.
So let’s wait till we find out more.

Betj: Faraday, you ought to know,
Recently, the rumours go,
The IRA have someone new,
Energetic, cunning too.

Trist: Any clue who he might be?

Betj: No, except that he’s a she.
Just a warning, to prepare you,
Should this floozie try to snare you.

She’s popularly known
As Molly Mayhem I believe,
Her real name’s a mystery so far.
We don’t know what she looks like,
We suspect that she’s insane,
As Britain’s enemies so often are.

Molly Mayhem,
Whisper that name,
An informer’s remains
Were found blocking a drain.
Molly Mayhem,
Does she exist?
Is it true she can kill
With a flick of her wrist?

A stifled shriek, frantic scrambling down a country lane,
And soon a thud, and everybody knows
Molly Mayhem’s just lopped off some dead wood.
Beguiling, ruthless, and relentless;
Her eyes are everywhere,
Unblinking in the flickering dark,
Knows our every move,
And waits, and waits.

Molly Mayhem,
A beauty they say,
And a new figurehead
In the IRA
Molly Mayhem,
A mad harridan
When she smells the blood
Of an Englishman.

Scene 15.

The searchlights blaze on and converge on TRISTRAM.

Trist: There’s no time for hesitation,
Now I know her bloody game,
First the wireless dedication,
Mentioned Philomena’s name.
Then the Red Bank Restaurant
She was there on some pretence,
The Palace Bar, the wireless station,
Now it all makes sense!

Now the way ahead is clear,
Fire in the belly here,
Go to Philomena’s place,
Meet the viper face to face.

PHILOMENA appears deshabille.

So I make my way to her
Digs on the North Circular,
I see she can’t conceal her fright,
When I burst in there, late at night,
- Surprised myself, I have to say,
Taking things in hand this way -
Throwing off all self-restraint
I overturn a plaster saint.

Scene 16.

(Song: INTERROGATION BOLERO)

(Note: the melody of this song allows space for PHILOMENA to throw in
protestations between the lines - “Tristram”, “what do you mean?” etc)

Trist: Thought you’d get away with it,
Thought I was an idiot,
Thought you’d play your games with me,
Thought I’d be too blind to see -

Phil: Can’t just burst into my room -

Trist: Molly Mayhem, I presume?

Tell me when did you begin
Planning how to do me in?

Tell me, Philomena,
Won’t you tell me, Philomena?

Trist: The sky was overcast today,
Tell me, will it stay that way?

Or will it clear up suddenly?
What would your prediction be?

Phil: Oh, my God, you’ve found me out!

Trist: How Clear The Sky Above, no doubt?

Phil: You heard me asking for that song!

Trist: Well then, tell me am I wrong?

Tell me, Philomena,
Won’t you tell me, Philomena?

You use O’Dromedary’s show
To let the German bombers know
When the weather’s suitable
For bombing us to bloody hell.

How do you predict it though?
How the blazes do you know
What the weather’s going to be
That’s the thing that puzzles me

Tell me, Philomena,
Won’t you tell me, Philomena?

Phil: I don’t predict the weather here,
The truth is even scarier,
How did you catch on to me?
You only got here recently.

Jesus, you’re a British spy!

Trist: Why I’m here is by the by.
Tell me what you have to say.

Phil: You won’t believe me anyway,

Trist: Tell me, Philomena,
Won’t you tell me, Philomena?

Phil: You’re a spy, can that be true?
And so full of passion, too.

Trist: Watch it now, I won’t be tricked

Phil: For a start, I don’t predict,

The weather doesn’t influence,
My choice of music in that sense,
Crazy as I’m bound to sound
It’s the other way around.

Trist: What?

Phil: The songs influence the weather.

A shift in the rhythm, then -

(Song: THE BEDTIME JIG)

(When TRISTRAM is speaking, the “oh!”s are PHILOMENA’S, and vice versa)

Trist: (Oh!) And suddenly, how shall I put it?
A rather astonishing turn of events.
Hard to believe but it just sort of happened,
And really it (Oh!) doesn't make any sense.
Let's say that I didn't go home as intended,
Not till the (Oh!) till the morning at least,
She overcame her religious convictions
And (Ah!) I'm afraid I was rather a beast.
But while I was with her my - God Almighty!
My thoughts were (Oh!) were racing about,
As I tried to make sense of my mission so far
And the (Oh!) the stuff I had yet to work out.

Phil: I’m not looking forward to going to confession;
God bless us, I wouldn’t know where to begin.
Infiltrated by British intelligence,
- Oxymoronic as well as a sin.

Trist: Have I walked into a honey trap here?
(Oh!) I ought to be watching my back,
Why is this chaste, religious girl
So incredibly good in the sack?

Phil: This is so personal! What am I doing?
(Oh!) Sure I won’t call a halt to it yet,
But how will I feel about this in the morning?
A sin to remember? A shame to forget?

Trist: And I’m pounding away, and I’m pounding away
At this bloody delectable body of hers,

Phil: (Oh!) Steady now, steady now, (Oh!)
Got to stay in the saddle to earn your spurs.

Trist: Honey trap, honey trap, honey trap, oh!

Phil: In bed with a spy, in bed with a spy -

Both: Oh, the guilt, the guilt, the guilt -

Phil: In bed with a spy, how intriguing am I?

Trist: I’ll have to tell Green about breaking the code,
Quite an achievement to break it.
I pictured Green and how happy she’d be
Then I (Oh!) I pictured her naked.
Whoah, batten the (Oh!) the hatches,
I can’t disappoint Philomena!
Let’s face it, this (Oh!) this espionage
Is a tricky and deadly arena.
Schrodinger’s messages, (Oh!) come on!
Try to work out what they (Oh!) what they meant,
(Oh!) And to whom they (Oh!) to whom they (Oh!
Oh! Oh!) To whom they were sent.
(Oh!) The messages
(Oh!) The messages
Think of the messages
(Oh!) Think of England!

Both: Oh, the guilt, the guilt, the guilt,
Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!

Trist: Oh, the messages, Oh, the messages!

Phil: I feel so mysterious! Oh! Oh!

Trist: I feel imperious! Oh! Oh!

Both: Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh!
Ohhhhhhh!

BLACKOUT. INTERVAL.

Act 2.

Scene 1.

It’s morning. TRISTRAM and PHILOMENA are perched on the bar. Behind
them the mirror has become a giant window, with a vast romantic cloudscape
scudding across it. It suggests the view of Dublin Bay from Howth Head.

Phil: Myles had been acting strangely for a while. He brought a
wireless set in to work and was always bent over it, listening to
O’Dromedary’s programme and furiously taking notes. So then
I started listening to it too. And I noticed, I suppose, the same
thing MI5 did. That the songs seemed to forecast the weather.
This was the most appalling thing I’d ever heard!

Trist: Giving help to the Nazis.

Phil: Oh, that too, of course, but compromising Ireland’s neutrality!
Neutrality is an ethos poor Mr de Valera has worked so hard to
uphold. But giving help to the Nazis, yes, that’s definitely bad
too, when you think about it.

Trist: So why were you requesting songs that mentioned the
weather?

Phil: Well, obviously to confuse whoever was listening! I’d pick a
song on purpose that mentioned weather the exact opposite to
the prevailing conditions. But gradually, I began to realise the
most extraordinary thing. As soon as a song was played, the
weather would change to match it.

Trist: That’s impossible.

Phil: That’s what I thought. I refused to believe it for ages, but every
request confirmed it. So far the weather has matched the
songs every time.

Trist: But ... how do you think O’Dromedary does it?

Phil: It’s not O’Dromedary. I don’t think he’s even aware of it. If he
was, surely he’d want to choose what songs were played?

Trist: Hm. So who -?

Phil: I don’t know. But obviously Myles knows something about it.
That’s why I followed him to the Red Bank that night. And that’s
where I saw you ...

Trist: You didn’t think I might have some involvement?

Phil: Oh, Tristram, of course not!

Trist: My darling.

Phil: Whoever’s behind this is fiendishly clever.

Trist: Ah.

Phil: Oh, no offence.

Trist: None taken. Now, that night -

Phil: I mean, I know you’re very fast at the crosswords.

Trist: Yes, all right. That night in the Red Bank , before you arrived,
O’Dromedary played a request for a Philomena.

Phil: Really?

Trist: Said she’d “lie beside our foreign friend.”

Phil: Oh. Wonder what that’s about?

Trist: So then you appeared, and ...

Phil: That’s what happened, isn’t it?

Trist: What?

Phil: Last night. “Lie beside our foreign friend”

Trist: Well, yes.

BEAT

Phil: So, when I turned up, you thought I was some mysterious
conspirator?

Trist: And then I kept running into you.

Phil: Because we were obviously on the same trail. And I followed
you into the Palace Bar yesterday. I thought maybe you were
about to break the story in your newspaper, and I wanted to
persuade you not to, for neutrality’s sake. I chickened out
though.

Trist: Maybe ... maybe we could meet in the Palace again tonight?
And you could stay for a drink this time?

Phil: I ... I don’t know. Would you like to?

Trist: More than anything else.

They kiss

(Song: ALL IN VAIN)

Phil: You came ashore on a winter's day,
Black hair curling in the salt sea spray,
You came ashore just before the storm
In your bright red British army uniform
They told me I shouldn't go to you
That you were thoughtless and cruel too
They said you'd bring only grief and pain
But the song they sang was All In Vain

All in vain,
I kissed you in the rain,
How can I be freed
How can I be freed
While I need these chains?

The precious hours you lay with me
Remember how I kissed you greedily,
And in the darkness you held me close
Remember when I was your Irish rose.
The ship sailed out on a gentle breeze.
I cried out to heaven on my knees,
Please let me hold him just once again
But the song I sang was All In Vain

All in vain.
I kissed you in the rain
How can I be freed
How can I be freed
While I need these chains

I watch the waves break upon the pier.
Three more weeks and it’ll be a year.
I watch the waves, but all I see.
Is a cruel probability.

Behind them the clouds darken. A distant boom of thunder. Rain begins to
fall. They open umberellas.

Trist: Probability ... probability. My God. Probability. That word ... it
occurred in the messages so many times! What am I doing
here? Cold coils up my spine. How could I have been so blind?
Are we all in mortal danger? What am I doing here, wasting
time? Must find Agent Green. Pray God this isn’t so.

Phil: Tristram, are you all right?

Trist: I really have to go.

Phil: Oh. Say, five o’clock, so?

Trist: What?

Phil: The Palace Bar?

Trist: Oh, yes, yes.

Phil: Tristram!

Trist: Yes, five o’clock.

Phil: I’ve just thought of something! The Philomena he mentioned in
that request -

Trist: Yes?

Phil: A few days ago I had to process a compensation claim. A
trawler, the Philomena, had been stolen. Of course everyone
had a pretty good idea it was the IRA took it.

Trist: A trawler?

Phil: Lie beside our foreign friend? A rendezvous of some kind?
Maybe with the Germans?

Trist: (distracted) Yes, a trawler ... Germans ... hm, I suppose that’s
possible. Now, really, I must go.

Phil: Tristram!

Trist: Yes, what is it?

Phil: Meet me in the Palace Bar
At five o’clock, then we can talk,

Trist: Well, yes, all right, I’ll do my best,
It might be nice for us to meet,
Though obviously in my position,
Mustn’t jeopardise my mission,
Got to keep this quite discreet,
But yes, why not? Let’s meet.

Phil: Are you sure you want to meet me?
If you don ‘t, well then we won ‘t.

Trist: No, it’s fine; you’re lovely, really.
I’ll be there, be sure of that.
But now I’ve got to go and find ...
Well, let’s call him Pat.

He leaves.

(Song: LIKE LOVERS DO THESE DAYS)

Phil : Meet me in the Palace Bar
At five o’clock, then we can talk,
Only tell me what you want to,
Nowadays that’s how things are
We’ll drink, and skirt around our secrets
In the Palace Bar.

We can get to know each other,
Whispering in the smoky haze,
At least that much is in our power,
Living for the next half hour,
Like lovers do these days,

I know you’re only new in town,
And I’m an ingénue in town,
Still I swear that I’ll be with you
No matter what I have to do,
When the chips are down,
When the chips are down.

So meet me in the Palace Bar,
We’ll whisper and we’ll look both ways,
Alert to every tiny change,
Alert to anything that’s strange
Like lovers are these days
Like lovers are these days.

PHILOMENA wanders off into darkness.

Scene 2.

(Song: AN IRISH ATOM BOMB)

Trist: Who sent the messages?
Schrodinger, I’m sure of that.
Why else would he want to know
What songs O’Dromedary had played?
But who he’s been corresponding with,
Regarding Pat,
I’ve no idea, I’m afraid.

Probability.
His work relates to probability.
Sub-atomic particles - or waves -
And their trajectory.
Sub-atomic.

Never mind who Pat might be,
Something had occurred to me:
And wouldn’t go away.
An atomic scientist
In a neutral country, Ireland, say -
Mightn’t he be free to work
Unhindered, secretly,
Conveniently distant
From proper scrutiny;
And what might he be working on
So far from prying eyes?
Maybe an atomic device!

Do the Irish have an atom bomb?
The genocidal grail?
A licence for unruliness
On an exponential scale?
Think about the consequences
If that should be right
And I wondered if I’d been
A little indiscreet last night.

Do the Irish have an atom bomb?
What consequences loom?
I’ll have to try and find a way
Of staving off our doom,
Not a word to Philomena,
I can’t quite trust her yet,
And I’m wondering if last night
Is something I might soon regret.

O’Dromedary: does he wield
Some monstrous influence?
It seems absurd despite
The circumstantial evidence.
Radio waves, that was what
He more than hinted at,
But Christ, an Irish atom bomb,
And who the hell is Pat?

Betjeman would hesitate
And do things by the book.
Prevaricate and vacillate
And let them off the hook.
I’ll have to let him know, of course,
But now is not the time.
Show the man an atom bomb,
He’ll want to find a rhyme.

No, I’ve got to go to Green
Tell her my suspicions.
She’ll know how to handle this
Most tricky of positions.
She and I might have a chance
Of putting this thing right,
No time now to think about
The fun I had last night.

TRISTRAM is joined by GREEN

Green: Do the Irish have an atom bomb?
Hold me, I feel queasy.

Trist: I know, it’s just a nightmare -

Green: No, Tristram, take it easy!
This is more than we could hope for,
No ifs or buts:
If Ireland have an atom bomb,
We’ve got them by the nuts.

And the trawler Philomena -
Yes, that’s plausible, all right.
Explains that radio request
We heard the other night.
They’re running guns I reckon,
And we’ll deal with that in time
But Christ, an Irish atom bomb!
Now isn’t that sublime?

We’ll go and capture Schrodinger,
I’ll make him sing I swear.

She produces a pistol.

Trist: Jesus!

Green: - There’s a war on, Tristram,
Weren’t you aware?
Come with me to the Institute,
We’ll show them who’s in charge.
God there’s nothing beats the bloody
Thrill of espionage

Scene 3.

(Song: TWENTIETH CENTURY ESPIONAGE)

As GREEN sings, the cast can be seen furtively snaking around the space,
from under tables, absailing from the gantry, sliding out from beneath the bar.

Green: Twentieth Century espionage!
Is the latest craze, it’s the cleverest thing!
The guns, the kit, the twilight trysts
With doomed and wild-eyed anarchists.
Twentieth Century espionage
The future is now, and you know it’s a thrill;
Nobody’s truly alive until
They got a licence to kill and a suicide pill.

Meet the new elite,
Our man Faraday, fast on his feet,
A few days ago
You were clutching at straws,
Now all you’re missing
Is blood on your claws.

Beneath the lamplight’s glow,
Trench-coat collar turned up just so,
A wide-brimmed fedora
Will lend you an aura,
We’re hampered by no laws,
Hey, light me a gaulloise.

They encounter A LAB ASSISTANT. GREEN viciously pistol-whips him.

Twentieth Century espionage,
It’s a new career; it’s a new frontier,
Nothing comes near to the zest that you get,
And a nuclear threat well that’s the best yet.

Trist : Is this the Institute here ?

Green : Stay by my side, and we’ll go round the rear.
Espionage is the mode of the day,
It’s the Twentieth Century way.

Scene 4.

The spotlights blaze on to reveal Schrodinger playing a theramon.

Schro: Who ...?

Green: Herr Schrodinger. We meet at last.

Schro: Good evening ... Fraulein -?

Green: Where’s the bomb?

Schro: I’ve no idea what you mean -
Where on earth did you come from?

Green: The atom bomb! We know it’s here!
We know what you’ve been at.

Trist: The project you’ve been working on,
And somebody called Pat.

Schro: Pat? How do you know that name?

Trist: I figured out your code.

Green: Come on! The bomb! Just lead the way,
And show us where it’s stowed.

Trist: Take it easy!

Green: - Where’s the bomb?

Schro: There is no bomb, I swear.
And PAT is not somebody,
PAT is ... some thing, over there.

It seems I have no choice
But to reveal our little scheme,
By the way, your body
Is a filthy schoolboy’s dream -

Green: Shut up! So if it’s not a bomb
What is it? What is that?

Schro: Very well, let me tell you
Let me show you ... PAT.

As Schrodinger turns a wheel the backdrop of the GPO rotates to reveal a
huge fantasical machine, with winking lights and pulsating tanks. As
Schrodinger performs the song it hums with electronic activity.

(Song: AN INGENIOUS DEVICE)

Schro: The Probability Adjustment Tank, P-A-T.
Presumably this is what you came to see?

Trist/Green: Good God!
- What is it?
- What does it do?

Schro: An ingenious device, wait, I’ll tell you.

De Valera knew my work on sub-atomic theory
Which led him to develop an intriguing strategy
Namely, to adjust the laws of probability
In order to preserve neutrality.

You just turn the dials this way or that,
Ireland’s neutral for one more day, thanks to PAT.

An amateur enthusiast had started on the thing
But now they needed expertise that only I could bring.
You wonder who this genius dilettante could have been?
Obviously Myles na gCopalleen

Straightaway the three of us began the preparations
Cups of tea and jotters and some ugly altercations
As we passionately argued over every nail and plank
Of the probability adjustment tank.

The Probability Adjustment Tank, P-A-T.
What else could PAT conceivably be?
An ingenious device, and, just like that,
Ireland’s neutral for one more day, thanks to PAT

Our Altered Probabilities would nightly emanate,
Pervading near as dammit every inch of the Free State,
By wireless transmission, simultaneously
With O’Dromedary’s programme, on the same frequency.

The Probability Adjustment Tank: P-A-T.
It needs constant adjustment unfortunately,
So Myles and I keep in touch secretly,
You decoded our messages obviously.

Trist: A Probability Adjustment Tank! Of course! O’Dromedary’s
programme is inextricably tangled with the very fabric of
probability. That’s why the songs have been affecting the
weather. And not just the weather! Philomena was ready for
the wurst!
The young man who wanted to cut a dash!
The deep fat friar!
The men drinking each other under the table!
Those were side effects!
O’Dromedary’s ramblings made reality!

Schro: Ah! That’s possible, I suppose.

Trist: And that’s why Myles was always in the Red Bank
It’s the only pub in town where you know
You’ll hear O’Dromedary’s show on the radio!

Green: Never mind that now, something bigger’s at stake.
I think it’s pretty clear what action we ought to take,
Whenever there’s a crisis, everyone has a role,
And we Brits have a duty to take control.

TRISTRAM and GREEN tie SCHRODINGER up, and start to investigate the
machine.

(Song: IMPERIAL TANGO)

Green: In situations such as these,
In any crisis small or large,
It’s vital everyone agrees -

Green&Trist: The British ought to be in charge.

Trist: When there’s division anywhere
The thing you have to understand,
Is that it’s simply right and fair

Green&Trist: To let the British take command.

Trist: We really ought to utilise
This rather wonderful device,
It seems our sneaky Irish hosts
Were using it to shift the posts

Green: A thing we British can’t condone
At least until we’ve got one of our own

Trist&Green: Grant us patience when these nations’
Notions so exceed their stations,
And their crafty machinations
Sour all hope of good relations
Shame on you for what you’ve done,
You’ve only gone and lowered the bloody tone.

Trist: Don’t run about like headless chickens

Green: You’re sitting ducks, accept your fate

Green:&Trist: Oh, how the British heartbeat quickens,
When we have foreigners to berate

Over an instrumental break, they hoist Schrodingeraloft and begin to adjust
the various dials, levers and pedals of the tank.

Schro: Mein Gott!

Now probability’s upended,
Please won’t you let me get my tools,
I must attend the tank and mend it,
Before it stalls between two fools.

Green: No time to put things to the test now,

Trist: No time to diagnose the sickness,

Green: The quick solution is the best now,

Trist&Green: It always is, in terms of quickness.
Trist&Green: Don’t fret; the Brits are in control now,
We’re rather good in a disaster,
So just admit you’re in a hole now,
And we can help you dig much faster.

TRISTRAM and GREEN get quite playful while adjusting the tank. By the end
of the song, she has backed him into a chair. Suddenly MULDOON appears
from behind, and handcuffs TRISTRAM to the chair.

(Song: BETRAYAL)

Trist: What are you doing?

Green: You poor fool,
Our plot has reached fruition.
A German u-boat’s on its way
With guns and ammunition.

Muldoon: She’ll meet the Philomena
In Lough Foyle tonight
And then we’ll strike the Sassenach
With all our might.

Green: Our boys await the signal.
They’ll be sailing very soon,
But not till O’Dromedary plays
The Rising Of The Moon.

Trist: It’s you! The mystery woman
Who’s been causing such a stir.
The mastermind we heard about -
You’re her!

Green: Betrayal ...
Isn’t it divine?
To step across the line
Unforgiveably -

Betrayal ...
It’s not so good for you
But what are we to do?
It’s fabulous for me!

Schro: The British tolerate
The neutral Free State,
But try to mount a coup
And they’ll be all over you!

Muldoon: Let them come, we’re ready,
And to hell with de Valera,
With a little German help we’ll
Build a better Eire.

Green: Betrayal ...
Isn’t it divine?
To step across that line
Unforgiveably -

Betrayal ...
It’s not so good for you
But what are we to do?
It’s fabulous for me!

(To Muldoon) Darling, break it to him
Why he oughtn’t interfere?

Muldoon: (Approaching TRISTRAM)
Nothing will be broken
Gently here.

MULDOON begins to torture TRISTRAM

(Song: WE HAVE TO DO THESE THINGS RIGHT)

Muldoon: So you cottoned on to our game.
Smart boy wanted, fair do’s.
A worthy foe,
But even so,
I wouldn’t be in your shoes.

Settle down now, sit tight.
It’s going to be a long, long night.
I’ll need to choose
Which tools to use
We have to do these things right.

Softly, softly.
Destiny calls us tonight,
Gently, gently
We two must do this right

Lights up on PHILOMENA in the Palace Bar. She sings, to the same (or
similar) tune:

Phil: It’s late now, I really should go.
Tristram, why didn’t you show?
Why’d you leave me
High and dry?
I don’t suppose I’ll ever know.

Back to GREEN.

Green: You were too easy by far
I’d click my fingers and there you’d be
A pawn, a dupe
But now you see,
You’ve jumped through your last hoop for me.

Phil/Green:
Tristram, Tristram,
Time’s run out, finally
No hard feelings;
Soon you’ll be a memory.

Muldoon: The trawler Philomena sails out
She’ll meet with a u-boat my friend
And bring back guns
For Ireland’s sons
But that won’t concern you by then.

Hacksaw, razors
Maybe I’ll heat up a pan
Knives or scissors,
A night of pain is your only man.

(Song: GOD’S BICYCLE SLIPPED A GEAR)

Trist: Muldoon worked at a careful pace,
The word painstaking seems to fit,
Measuring each dig and jab
And probing bit by bloody bit.

We see Muldoon make some sudden, ominously invasive movement.

Then something happened: a tiny jolt,
And everything was altered here,
Subtly, fundamentally,
As though God’s bike had slipped a gear.
Chorus

And now it’s all what might have been,
I feel myself succumb,
Little by little, but faster and faster,
A rolling stone gathers momentum.
Chorus

God’s bicycle slipped a gear,
Pain will do funny things, it’s true,
Except in this particular case,
I knew the others felt it too.

Muldoon: Did it just get cold in here?

Green: No, I’d say it got cold, if anything.

Muldoon: I thought you knew how to work the tank,
But look, it’s quivering.

Schro: Ah! I see what’s happening!
There’s not much we can do,
It should be rather interesting
If looming extinction interests you.

Soon a spiral should ensue,
A sequence of events occurs,
The sequence then repeats itself,
Each repetition getting worse.

Chorus God’s bicycle slipped a gear,
Slipped a gear, slipped....

(Song: BETRAYAL)

Muldoon: As one might expect I’veI’ve got little respect
For the treacly voice of the British elect,
The sound of those languidly hectoring tones
Is an aural affront to my forefathers’ bones,
But it makes me spring madly erect.
An effect that in fairness, you wouldn’t expect.

Green: Oh my love, what could possibly stand in our way,
Well, besides what I’m now going to say -

Muldoon: Eh?

GREEN shoots Muldoon.

Muldoon: No!

Green: Very soon I’m gonna be a heroine, you’ll see,
My superiors will hear you’re getting help from germany
And when that trawler puts ashore, you won’t be neutral
anymore
And the Brits will be in charge here, just like we were before

Muldoon: (clearly dying) What about us? And all the plans we had?
To strike a blow against your class, your country and your dad?
You’re not going to tell me that that was all a lie

Green: Maybe not quite all, but please, shut up and die.

Tristram, should I free you? You see my position
I’m very fond of you but you know you lack ambition.
And I don’t need you now my plot has reached fruition
So bringing war to Ireland ought to stay a solo mission.

Betrayal!
Isn’t it divine,
To step across the line
Unforgivably
Betrayal!
It’s not so good for you
But what are we to do?
It’s fabulous for me!

Scene 5.

Myles meets Betjeman outside the Palace Bar, by the lampost. They perform
a gladiatorial routine, posturing on tabletops.

(Song: YOU’LL WRITE SOMETHING BLOODY GOOD ONE DAY)

Betj: Myles, how’s your funny column?
So amusing, never solemn,
Quite a rapier wit you’ve got,
Parochial, yes, but gosh, why not?
Keep at it, you keep beavering away.
I’m going to stick my neck out here and say,
That you’ll write something bloody good one day.

Myles: Thank you, I’d be very flattered,
If I thought your judgement mattered,
Still and all, congratulations,
Bear in mind, not just your patience
But your awesome limitations,
I’d be churlish if I didn’t say
That you’ll write something bloody good one day.

Betj: Satire wielded with precision,
Erudite and wicked vision
Shame it’s always undercut
With feeble puns and schoolboy smut,
But for your sake one has to hope and pray
That you won’t fritter all your gifts away
And you’ll write something bloody good one day.

Myles: Oh, how winsome, oh, how wistful,
Oh, the clichés by the fistful,
Oh the simpering vignettes
Of life in leafy Middlesex!
Still, I think it’s fair enough to say
The law of averages will have its way,
And you’ll write something readable one day.

Myles: Going to the Palace?

Betj: Why not?

Betjeman and Myles spot PHILOMENA.

Betj: A comely maiden, on her own!
May I treat you to a sherry?

Phil: Thanks, I’m happy here alone.

Betj: Happy? Are you really?

Phil: - Very.

Betj: Was some farmboy cruel and callous?
Or a boorish clerk perhaps?
Now you’re stranded in the Palace,
With a bunch of drunken chaps?

Myles: Was it Faraday? The lout.

Betj: Faraday? Ah, you’re his gel!

Phil: Never mind, I’m going out.
And Faraday can go to Hell.

(Song: THE INNER SPECIALNESS OF ME)

Phil: Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m going nowhere
Just doing the same old rounds
The department of Local Government
Isn’t nearly as exciting as it sounds
Not for a girl who loves continental novels.
Black coffee. Any new experience.
And longs to be borne aloft on fiery wings of passion
Though of course not in a smutty sense.

Then I saw him in a restaurant and looked into his eyes,
I knew straight away he wasn’t like the other guys;
He’s got a soul that’s sensitive enough to recognise
The inner specialness of me.

It’s a pity that he’s English but you can’t have everything
And though it may be early to be thinking of a ring
Who knows what may happen if I can only make him see
The inner specialness of me.

The Palace Bar was empty, when I walked in,
My footsteps echoed out across the floor,
Sitting there, my spirits soared and fell again,
As each new face appeared around the door.
I’ve got a life that’s rich with who knows what potential
Why should I be loitering out here?
If I pay attention to the things that really count:
I may go up a grade within the year ...

Then I think about last night, and oh, the way we kissed,
Sadly, it seems I have to cross him off my list,
I had hopes for better but he clearly missed
The inner specialness of me.

As she turns to go, PHILOMENA spots a man taking feathers from a
newspaper wrapping, and trying to eat them.

Phil: What? Oh, no! But how -
I have to find him now.

Lights up on O’Dromedary on the dais.

O’Drom: The kettle’s on, so settle down,
And let the music soothe you now,
We’ve lots of songs to play for you,
And dedications too -

The music and lights suggest simultaneous power surges in the Institute and
the studio. Around the walls of the space, cables begin to glow, and wires
crackle. The waves of light increase their oscillations.

O’Drom: The waves! The waves!
The waves are in full flow!
I feel them coursing through me now,
I feel them come and go.

Lights up on PAT

GREEN is dumping MULDOON’S body out a window. TRISTRAM is still tied
up, and in agony.

Trist: God’s bicycle slipped a gear,
And will the whirring cog teeth meet?
Will the pedals not respond
To those almighty sandaled feet?

The institute begins to swirl,
The pain is reaching new extremes
You know you’ve gone with the wrong girl
When you’re reduced to screams

God’s bicycle slipped a gear,
Breakages accumulate too far, no that’s not the - fast too fast
for me to ... what ... the words, meaning, weird moaning sounds
spinning round wound wound (woond) weeds mourning wake
wake wake up, take stock, breaking up ... massive interference,
Through it only one clear signal ... Philomena. I want ... I want
... Philomena here. I want Philomena.

Lights up on O’DROMEDARY on the dais.

O’Drom: Surely all can feel it now,
The stirring in the atmosphere,
The waves are taking over now,
Or so it would appear.
I feel the waves are full of rage,
Some dark immense vexation,
But few can see the gravity
Of the situation.

Lights up on the bar. PHILOMENA re-enters.

Myles: Philomena -

Phil: We’ve got to find Tristram!
We were supposed to meet - I think. But first he had to see
someone called Pat.

Myles: He’s gone to see Pat? I see. I knew he was a spy.

Phil: Is he in some kind of danger?

Myles: If he has a run-in with Pat we all are.

Betj: Are you going to tell us what’s going on?

Myles: You’d better come with me. To the Institute for Advanced
Studies. This could be serious. I’ll explain on the way.

Betj: The Institute isn’t far. If we levitate we can get there by air in no
time.

Phil: What?

Betj: Why are you looking at me like that? Is there some law against
unaided human flight?

Phil: Is this some kind of joke?

Myles: Obviously he doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation ...
It’s happening again. We’re acting out these phrases.

Phil: Tristram reckons they’re O’Dromedary’s.

Myles: Of course! We’ve been broadcasting the waves over his show!

Betj: What?

Myles: Quickly! The Institute!

Lights up on the PAT. GREEN is adjusting one of the dials.

(Song/sequence: WAHRSCHEINLICHKEITSSPIRALE)

Trist: Then, a curious thing happened. As I was trying to figure out a
way to prevent the trawler Philomena from picking up a small
consignment of arms from a German u-boat, there was a
strange noise.

The PAT makes an ominous noise.

Green: What’s that?

Schro: Oh, dear. It’s a probability spiral.

Lights up on O’DROMEDARY .

O’Drom: A certain lady wants to hear
A very special tune.

Lights up on the PAT.

Green: This is it! He’s going to play
The Rising Of The Moon!

Schro: Never mind that! What's the reading on that dial?

Green: This one? Four.

Schro: That's bad. Turn it to five.

Green: Done.

Schro: No, I mean three!

BANG

Green: No!

Trist: Then, a curious thing happened. As I was trying to figure out a
way to prevent the trawler Philomena from picking up enough
arms from a German u-boat to equip the entire IRA Northern
command, there was a strange noise.

Ominous noise.

Green: What’s that?

Schro: Oh, dear. It’s a probability spiral.

Lights up on O’Dromedary.

O’Drom: A certain lady wants to hear
A very special tune.

Lights up on the PAT.

Green: This is it! He’s going to play
The Rising Of The Moon!

Schro: Never mind that! What's the reading on that dial?

Green: This one? Five.

Schro: Scheisse. Quickly, turn it to six.

Green: Done.

Schro: No, I mean four!

BANG

Green: No!

Trist: Then, a curious thing happened. As I was trying to figure out a
way to prevent the trawler Philomena from leading a flotilla of
German gunboats into Lough Foyle, there was a strange noise.

Ominous noise.

Green: What’s that?

Schro: Oh, dear. It’s a probability spiral.

Lights up on O’Dromedary.

O’Drom: A certain lady wants to hear
A very special tune.

Lights up on the PAT.

Green: This is it! He’s going to play
The Rising Of The Moon!

Schro: Never mind that! What's the reading on that dial?

Green: This one? Six.

Schro: What? That's impossible! This could change probabilities
retrospectively, and rupture the whole course of history.
Tell you what, try turning it to seven.

Green: Done.

Schro: No, I mean five!

BANG

Green: No!

Trist: Then, a curious thing happened. As I was reflecting on how
much things had changed around here, there was a strange
noise.

Ominous noise.

Green: Was war den das?

Schro: Ach, du meine Gute. Eine Wahrscheinlichkeitsspirale.

Lights up on O’Dromedary.

O’Drom: Eine bestimmte Dame mochte gern.
Eine ganz besondere Melodie horen

Lights up on the PAT.

Green: Es ist soweit! Er spielt jetz “The Rising Of The Moon”!

Schro: Lass das jetzt! Was steht auf dem Anzeiger??

Green: Dem hier? Sieben.

Schro: Sieben? Naja. Sheep as a lamb. Setz‘ ihn auf zehn.

MYLES, PHILOMENA, and BETJEMAN ENTER, surprising GREEN. There is
a tussle. GREEN loses her gun, and makes an escape bid, into a chamber of
the tank.

Schro: You’ve broken the spiral!

Myles: Yes, but the valves are going to blow!

Schro: The tank itself has ceased to be probable!

There is a loud bang. Pandemonium...

Lights up on O’Dromedary. His control desk, microphone, record player, etc,
have all blown. He runs about trying to fix things.

O’Drom: A certain lady wants to hear -
A very special ... what?
No the waves have grown too strong!
The valves have blown! The system’s down!
Now the lads won’t hear the song!
The u-boat leaves before too long,
Our perfect plan has all gone wrong,
And I’m a laughing stock in town!

O’DROMEDARY flops down in despair.

Lights up on the PAT. More noise.

Myles: Quick! you regulate the electron sorters, I’ll grab hold of the
likelihood wheel.

Huge noise, lights.

Schro: Vast waves of improbability ... surging outwards, saturating
every brick in Dublin,

Myles: Charging every atom with pure, unrefined unlikelihood,

Schro: This could render the whole city dangerously improbable for
years to come.

Myles: We can live with that.

The noise subsides. Blackout.

Lights up. Myles makes a show of listening.

Myles: Hear that? Pure improbability.

Schro: Look at the plausiblity levels! I reckon Ireland could remain
neutral for a good ten years.

Tristram: Where’s Green?

Schro: Hard to say. Sucked into a different set of probabilities.
Perhaps she was just too unlikely. Or not unlikely enough.

PHILOMENA has untied TRISTRAM.

Trist: Thanks.

Phil: Are you okay?

Trist: Not too bad. So what made you decide to look for me?

Phil: I almost didn ‘t. I was on the point of going home, when I saw a
man, eating feathers from a sheet of newspaper.

Trist: So you deduced probabilities were running riot?

Phil: Yes. And I’d promised I’d be with you when the chips were
down.

Trist: And do you still feel that way?

Myles: (To Betjeman) So I suppose you’ll have to report all this to your
superiors?

Betj: This is Faraday’s mission. His decision.

Phil: (To TRISTRAM) Sunder love unfinished.

Trist: What?

Phil: It’s a clue for you. Ten letters.

Scene 7.

TRISTRAM is isolated in a searchlight.

Trist: Sunder love unfinished.
I soon worked it out,
Then realised I shouldn’t even
Have needed a clue.

When I got back to London,
I rested up a day or two.
My report, meanwhile,
Was sending quiet shockwaves through HQ.
Of course I’d mentioned PAT.
I could scarcely have avoided that.
And Eire’s neutrality, I knew,
Would soon be a memory,
An improbability too far.

Debriefing time. The Colonel motioned me
Along a corridor,
Quite the celebrity now.
Heads turning, gauging my present status,
And expected trajectory,
Recalibrating my usefulness,
And nodding shrewdly, yes,
Nobody’s mentioned knighthood yet,
It’s in the air nonetheless.

The soft-spoken Colonel steps into the light.

(Song: WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?)

Col: Bit crocked up? Hard luck, old sport,
But, scorching stuff in this report,
And now you’re on your feet perhaps
You’d help me fill in certain gaps

Aide Poor Green - ah, we had hopes for her
Rose through the ranks in a dizzy blur
A shame, but how were we to know
That Ireland would coffupt her so?

Aide O’Dromedary - what a prat.
Quit his post, thank God for that,
So, yes, I’ve got the gist of it
Until we hit the science bit.

Chorus: (to be worked out)
What does it mean?
Did some pages blow away?
I feel I’ve almost got it
Then my thoughts begin to stray
Whenever we get to this devilish machine
This brainchild of Schroedinger
And na gCopaleen -
What does it mean?

Trist: The tank? Yes, what I wrote is true,
I’ve witnessed what that thing can do -

Col Fire away, then, I’m all ears -
Does this confirm our darkest fears?

Trist: Gosh, well, Colonel, where to start?
No mistake, their plan was smart
But then again we must take heart,
The thing was flawed and fell apart

Col It says so here - cause for cheer,
Although I fear I’m still unclear
What the gadget did, you see -
To alter probability?
What does it mean?

Please help me out, I’m stuck.
Is it decent British physics
Or the slippy foreign muck?

Tell me about this infernal machine?
You found it, it broke, but what happened in between?
And what does it mean?

Trist The principles are quite arcane
But let me try to make it plain:
It had the capability
For making a whiskey instantly.

Col What?
What?
You mean to say this dread machine
Was just a way to make poitin?

Trist Exactly sir - yes, I suppose
Its name was slightly grandiose
It altered probability
Quite locally, admittedly.

Col Agh! What do you mean?
You had talent, you had flair!
What on earth happened to you over there?
Wiinston was thrilled when he heard about you -
What’ll I tell him? What’ll I do?
What does it mean?

Scene 8.

TRISTRAM is again isolated in the spot.

Trist: Elf snatch talent, slim chance, thirteen letters.
Imp, rob, ability.
I was quietly discharged, pensioned off.
A tactfully unspecified infirmity.
I’m not sure why I told the lie.
Perhaps I was afraid someone would try
To build the thing again.
Perhaps this was just another large improbability
Part of the tank’s lasting legacy.
Or perhaps I’d had enough of spying,
And didn’t want to see Green’s dream
Of a reoccupied Ireland
Coming true because of me.
One thing I was certain of,
I’d go back to Ireland as soon as I could.
The answer to Philomena’s clue held out
Just enough encouragement for that.
And maybe this was also
A reason I’d lied about PAT.
Maybe I’d come to realise
It’s sometimes best for things to be ...
To be ...

Scene 9.

Lights up again on the Institute. This scene is a continuation of Scene 6.

Trist: Ah. Got it. Unresolved.

Betj: What?

Myles: The answer to her clue.

Phil: Yes.

Trist: I see.

Phil: Maybe that’s what it always has to be.

Myles: Unresolved isn’t the worst. At least it leaves you in that state of
raucous domesticity, “in with a shout”.

Trist: Unresolved. I can live with that.

Betj: We all do. That’s what living is.

(Song: UNRESOLVED)

Trist & Phil: Probabilities hang in the air,
Unresolved,
If I reach out, will you still be there -
Unresolved?
Do we wind up our song on a minor chord?
The lyrics in search of that final word -
Unresolved?

Schro/Myles: So many questions remain
Unresolved,
Recurring again and again
Unresolved,
Like wave-particle duality,
And the future of Irish neutrality
Unresolved.

Betj/Myles: Our neighbourly rancour goes on,
Unresolved,
Much like it’s been all along,
Unresolved,
We see in each other our own baser traits,
And the mutual awkwardness escalates
Unresolved.

Trist/Phil: I want you, whatever may be
Unresolved
I’ll stay with you happily
Unresolved
So let’s take a gamble on you and me,
Unlikely bedfellows eternally
Unresolved.

(Song: WE’RE ALL IN THE GUTTER (REPRISE))

All: Well things haven’t worked out too badly,
Amazingly well, you might say.
A cynic might hint
That we’re winning by dint
Of duplicitous, underhand play,
Well here’s what we say to the cynics,
As the vultures are circling round
We’re all in the gutter
But some of us have an ear to the ground.

You’ll find ample verification
In any half-decent book.
There’s a verse in the Bible
That bears me right out
Or I’m certain there is if you look,
Just remember this small piece of wisdom
As simple as it is profound,
We’re all in the gutter,
But some of us have an ear to the ground.

We’re all in the gutter etc.

So we’ll leave while the odds are still with us,
No wiser than when we began.
This wave of unlikelyhood’s all for the best,
So lets ride on the crest while we can.
But remember this lesson in physics,
Improbable as it may sound.
We’re all in the gutter
But some of us have an ear to the ground.

We’re all in the gutter etc.


BLACKOUT.

THE END.