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• The Watchdog : Start of the One Act Play

The Watchdog, translated by Oxford University Playwriting and Dramaturgy Soc.

Start of the One Act Play

Sample text

SOLDIER:

Following me around like a lost soul, what are you, my shadow?

SEXTON:

I’m no shadow, but I’m here in the flesh.

SOLDIER:

Well, sir, the bad luck I have had in the past forces me to conjure you to tell me who you are, and what business you have in this street.

SEXTON:

I have the good luck to inform you that I am Gordon Gherkin, the assistant warden of this parish, and I seek what I shall find in this street, though you may seek all day without finding anything.

SOLDIER:

Stop talking in riddles man! Are you seeking, peradventure, Cristina, the kitchen-maid of this house?

SEXTON:

Tu dixisti.

SOLDIER:

Put ‘em up, Satan’s bell-ringer!

SEXTON:

Come and get it, heathen joker!

SOLDIER:

If I’m the joker, I’m the joker who holds her heart. I’ll club you till you fold! Don’t you know, Mr. uh … Gherkin, that the girl’s hand is mine?

SEXTON:

What would you know, a lecherous old card like you? I’ve already won that little queen of the kitchen.

SOLDIER:

Damn you, you trumped-up upstart! I’ve said I’ll club your head into a pulp and I swear by the King I will!

SEXTON:

I’m trumped up! I’ll deal you what you deserve!

SOLDIER:

Have you spoken to Cristina?

SEXTON:

I speak to her … Whenever I want.

SOLDIER:

Have you given her anything?

SEXTON:

Lots.

SOLDIER:

What? When?

SEXTON:

I gave her a jam jar full of the purest, whitest hosts left over from the Mass and also a few of our leftover candles, white as ermine.

SOLDIER:

What else have you given her?

SEXTON:

I gave her one of these prayer cards, with my thousand desires to serve her written on the back.

SOLDIER:

And how the devil did she respond to that?

SEXTON:

I feel she’s led me to believe she will do me the honour of becoming my wife.

SOLDIER:

(Lifting the sexton’s habit with his rifle butt.) What? You’ve not taken your vows of celibacy yet?

SEXTON:

I haven’t completely lost the habit. I can marry when and whom I please. You’ll find out soon.

SOLDIER:

Come here, you balding under-sexton. Answer me this: How can this girl have answered you so favourably, which I really don’t believe she has, given how piddling your gifts are? Especially when you consider how large my gifts will be in comparison. Why, just the other day I sent her a love letter written on the back of a communiqué that I had sent directly to the King himself, reminding His Majesty of my past services and my present needs. I care not how I’ve served my country, but how now my country can serve me!

I’m not above admitting that I’m a little financially embarrassed at the moment. My petition has recently been returned to me stamped ‘pending’ by the Department of ‘InDueCourse’. So, you can see how highly I rank my love, if I’m prepared to extol her virtues on the back of such an important document.

SEXTON:

That’s it?

SOLDIER:

Well, and she’s experienced my sighs. (Shocked look from sexton) HEARD my sighs, my tears, and all the paroxysms of love.

SEXTON:

Have you made any sweet music?

SOLDIER:

Only the sweet harmony of my whines and wails.

SEXTON:

Ha! Well, I’ve often kept the whole neighbourhood awake banging my clapper. All my efforts are exhausted for her pleasure. She is the mistress of my belltower. Even when I have to ring my bell for a corpse being lugged down the street, even then, I do it to the best of my ability to put a smile on her face. Every evening at 11 o’clock, I bang my bells for her and quickly fall asleep.

SOLDIER:

In this you’re a better man than I, for I’m a bit clapped out.

SEXTON:

How has she responded to the services you have managed to render her?

SOLDIER:

By refusing to see me, refusing to speak to me, abusing me in the street, throwing the dishwater on my head, and because I am constantly, attentively at her door and in her service, I suffer these insults daily. I’m her watchdog. No one shall lie in her manger if I cannot! So, Mr Under-Church-Warden-Twice-Removed, you’re lucky, if you weren’t a man of the cloth I’d tear you to shreds.

SEXTON:

Well, I couldn’t look any worse than your shreds do already.

SOLDIER:

A habit doesn’t make a monk! I may look ragged, but I wear this uniform with pride as it proves my dedication to my country. Now get out of my way, retreat, surrender before I lose my temper.

SEXTON:

So you assume because of my habit that I’m no swordsman! Well, just you wait here Mr Watchdog, and you’ll soon feel the might of my steel.

SOLDIER:

Ooo I’m so scared, little gherkin!

SEXTON:

Bring it on, old man.

Exit SEXTON.

SOLDIER:

Oh fickle womanhood; blind to the exemplar of soldierly manhood and favouring a Mr Gherkin. At the very least you could have accommodated a Mr Cucumber or Mr Watermelon. Well, I’ll spoil your pleasure. I’ll chase away any suitors who come near your door. I’ll earn the name of Watchdog.

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation The Watchdog by Oxford University Playwriting and Dramaturgy Soc. is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Entry written by Kathleen Jeffs. Last updated on 4 October 2010.

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