So Well Remembered Page #2

borrow Dr. Whiteside's car.

I'll be right back.

Now don't you take any

nonsense from Annie.

Good-bye.

It was very kind of you.

Don't bother to get out.

Excuse me, sir.

That frequently happens

when Whiteside brings

the car up the hill.

It's something to do with

the climb, whatever it is.

Watson will have it right in a moment.

I'm John Channing, Olivia's father.

I'll make some tea while

you're waiting on watson.

Olivia should have

asked you in, of course.

She's a strange girl sometimes.

Whiteside visits me occasionally.

Not professionally, of course,

since he's been medical officer,

though he's promised to find me someone.

Whiteside's about the extent of it.

You probably know I haven't been

overwhelmed with visitors

since I came home from prison.

Aye, I know that.

I suppose he's really a good doctor.

I suppose so.

Who, Whiteside?

Yes, he's a good doctor, all right.

You have something to do

with the town yourself?

I'm on the council.

And I manage to meddle into

affairs by way of "the guardian."

Then you're Boswell,

a friend of Whiteside's.

Aye, more or less.

I've been grateful for

Whiteside's company.

After nearly 20 years of

one kind of loneliness,

it's difficult getting

used to a new kind.

Won't you sit down?

Thanks.

Not that Olivia doesn't

take good care of me.

We go for long walks together.

One day, a piece of paper

blew across the path.

I thought at first it was a white dog.

I discovered it wasn't

when it hit against my leg.

But Olivia bought me a white dog.

Quite a nice one.

She calls him Becky.

He's about somewhere.

20 years ago,

I used to enjoy the view from here,

Stoneclough towering above the town,

and the mill stacks looking

like spires in the haze.

I used to think sometimes

that they looked like the

cathedrals in amiens and cologne.

I told Olivia about that

the other day, and she said,

"perhaps they are cathedrals

if you believe in them enough."

She thinks I'm still resting,

that I'll get back to work soon

and reopen the mills.

No. The hardest thing

in the world, I suppose,

is to understand how that you

were once so vitally interested

in something that no

longer interests you at all.

Well, if the car's ready,

I'd best be on my way.

Must you?

I have some work to

do. I'm very grateful.

Good-bye, Mr. Channing.

Mr. Boswell.

The people of Browdley

hate me, I know...

for some reason.

Tell me honestly, do you hate me?

I hate the misery you caused.

I hate all the poverty and unhappiness,

the rows on rows of

filthy sordid houses.

Rows of houses.

I sometimes thought

that if I'd been sent

to prison for the houses,

it would have been a just sentence.

You'll come back again, won't you?

You'll visit us as often as you can?

Aye, if you like.

Good-bye, sir.

Good-bye.

It was Olivia's very strangeness

that fascinated George at first.

The sudden shifts of mood,

the swift darting from

girl-child to woman,

the ease with which she moved

in and out of present reality,

slipping quickly into the past,

leaving him briefly for

some world of her own.

On the clean, lovely moors,

he fell in love with her

as naturally as he had come to hate

the ugly poverty of the town below.

Twist that dragon's tail, Georgie.

Twist his tail.

Hello, Dick.

Or could I be wrong?

Is that a blistering

editorial you're composing?

Or a tender argument of love?

No, I was-

come, come, Georgie,

you can't be that blind.

You're a good reporter.

You have your ear on the town's heart.

You must know you're a local scandal.

With her dying breath,

Mrs. Phelsby asked me how

the romance was coming.

Mrs. Phelsby?

Mrs. Phelsby, god rest her soul.

One less unfortunate for you

to rescue from these slums.

Oh, well, if she hadn't

died of filthy food,

you'd have run her over on your bicycle.

How's your protege doing at the library?

Hmm?

I only ask you to consider

the people's defender

amorously linked with a

female sign of oppression.

It's a curious alliance.

Aye, I suppose it is that.

Well, i...

you didn't tell me you were

so friendly with John Channing.

I didn't think that you'd approve

of my trying to keep him alive.

I'm not sure I approve myself.

Well, run along now,

don't keep her waiting.

Bye, Dick.

This corrupt, this unscrupulous man,

this swindler,

snatched it all from me

in less than 30 seconds!

Aye, and I'm not the only one!

Mr. Horncastle, what's happened?

I voted for you the last time.

Aye, and I voted for

you the time before that,

but you'll get no more of my votes.

Mr. Teesdale, what's happened?

I'm afraid we shall have to do

something about miss Channing.

Miss Channing? What's she done?

I can't go through

another row of this sort.

My heart won't stand it.

For heaven's sake, what sort of a row?

Well? What is it?

I don't know how it started,

but she was at the

handing-out desk as usual.

By the time I got there,

old Horncastle was calling her names!

And shouting about her

father having ruined him!

She said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Horncastle,

"but perhaps you'd best

write your filthy sentiments

in the book the way the others do."

What book?

The account of the Channing trial.

I didn't know it had been marked.

That's against the rules, of course.

At any rate, what she

said set him off again.

And the first thing I knew,

she had picked up quite a large book

and squashed it squarely in his face.

She hit him?

She squashed him!

I'm afraid she'll have to go.

Where is she now?

I can't say,

and I can't say that I care.

She fled into the shelves, weeping.

Oh, Livia.

Livia.

Come along, now.

You can't let Horncastle upset you.

He's an old man and he's

always been unreasonable.

Besides, he's got very bad indigestion.

You know, I did tell you

you've got to expect things like this.

Did you really push a book in his face?

Well, it is a bit upsetting

close to, isn't it, eh?

Anyway, it's not worth crying about.

I'm not crying about that.

What?

I'm not crying about that.

Then what on earth are you crying about?

Stoneclough.

Stoneclough?

What's there about

Stoneclough to make you cry?

We're losing it.

We haven't any money

left. The bank's taking it.

I just found out this morning.

I thought I could do this

job and pay them something.

Out of 15 shillings a week?

Come along now. Come and

have a cup of Annie's tea, eh?

I'll grab Dick's car and take you home.

Come on.

He must be out on a call.

You're getting soaked.

Why don't we go back

to my place and dry off?

I want to go home.

But don't you think-

let's walk.

It's letting up a bit anyway.

Well, it's a pity there

aren't more houses up here,

I might persuade the town to run a bus.

After all, I am chairman

of the transport committee, you know.

This bridge is really mine.

My grandfather gave it to

me one day as my castle.

He said he'd give me Stoneclough, too,

but he never did.

He said it would be mine and I

could live in it with 100 servants.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes