The Ploughman's Lunch Page #17

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He pauses, relaxes into professional indifference.

EDITOR:

Still. With the party conferences

coming up in the autumn there's

bound to be some action on that

front and we'd be doing something

anyway. It won't all be Falklands

business. James, is there something

in there for us, if we could tie

it in with something else?

JAMES:

Well, it's all a bit cranky and

small scale. Vegetarians, hippies,

disturbed housewives. Local radio

story, I'd say, if that. They're

mad.

EDITOR:

Oh well. Just an idea. Now. Can

we talk about this radio-car cock-

up yesterday. Chris?

INT. NEWSROOM STUDIO - LATE MORNING.

Two hours later. The studio. James and Charles sit at

the table, as in Scene Three. Charles reads. He is

obviously distressed but his voice remains under control.

James watches anxiously.

CHARLES:

It was an emotional occasion.

Hundreds of small craft led by six

fire tugs making fountains of water

formed an escort flotilla, and

four Wasp helicopters flew past in

salute. In the City the Financial

Times Ordinary Shares Index was

down ten points an hour ago at

529.8. BBC Radio News.

In the Control Room, the minute hand of the clock reaches

five past the hour; the sweep hand reaches the twelve on

Charles's last word. The Controller pushes a button.

Charles slumps forward.

JAMES:

My God that was close! Well done,

Charles. I knew you wouldn't let

me down. But God! We almost didn't

make it.

James is standing, gathering papers. He bustles out,

indifferent. We CLOSE IN on Charles. Unseen by anyone,

he is just beginning to cry.

INT. JAMES'S FLAT - EVENING

James is typing rapidly. There is a growing pile of

typewritten sheets to one side. We go over his shoulder

and look closely at the map, Egypt, the desert . . .

EXT. THE BARRINGTON HOUSE, NORFOLK - LATE MORNING

A few days later. James has just arrived and switched his

engine off. But for the wind and birdsong, silence. There

is no reply when he tries the front door. A note pinned

to the door reads: 'Gone for a walk. Follow footpath.

Susan.'

EXT. DYKE - DAY

James walks along the dyke, across the marshes. Below

him, on the sand, in the distance, are two figures. James

stops to watch them. Matthew and Susan are deep in

conversation — evidently a serious matter. They seem to

be making an agreement. Matthew puts his head on Susan's

shoulder, and they walk on, unaware of James.

INT. DINING-ROOM - NIGHT

A burst of laughter. It is dinner. Seated are Ann,

Matthew, Tom, Susan, James and JACEK, a professor from

Central Europe, mid-sixties, an old friend of Ann's. Betty,

the housemaid, serves.

JACEK:

(heavy accent)

The second is less pleasant. A

Pole is confronted by a German and

a Russian soldier. Which should

he shoot first? The German first,

the Russian second. Duty before

pleasure.

A more subdued response.

TOM:

I've heard that one at school.

JACEK:

Then you are a well-educated young

man.

(to Ann)

Tom has been reciting his English

kings and queens to me.

JAMES:

And to me.

JACEK:

Haven't you socialist historians

in the West made kings and queens

out of date in schools?

ANN:

We keep trying.

MATTHEW:

I can tell you that the history of

the monarchy is alive and well in

the national memory. I shot a

commercial - a series of vignettes

of kings and queens — Henry VIII,

Mary —

TOM:

Elizabeth I.

MATTHEW:

Elizabeth I, and so on - and we

had a fantastic response.

SUSAN:

What were you advertising?

MATTHEW:

Oh, some new lager.

JACEK:

I'm pleased to hear that there is

at least some national memory. I

agree with Ann that the British

forget too quickly. Here you have

enviable freedoms, and yet no

monuments to those who struggled

to win them for you. Now that is

why I think there is hope for the

Poles, whoever occupies their

country. They remember their dates,

and they keep adding to them.

December 1981, Gdansk 1980, 1976,

1970. Katyn 1940, 1922 and so on.

It's a subversive list. Say it

out loud on the streets of Warsaw

and you might get arrested.

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