Left Hand Page

Reverse of ‘Bawdy’s Roman Holiday Scene 1’, on list of Alexandra Hospital staff.

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Right Hand Page

‘Bawdy’s Roman Holiday Scene 2’, script (unknown author)

BAWDY’S ROMAN HOLIDAY
SCENE 2

(Curtain rises – Bawdy crying).

H. Nar, it’s no use your blubbering!

B. (Thro’ tears) I don’ want to be sold.

H. What do you expect? Julius Caesar to come up and make you ‘is concubine? You’re a slave girl, ain’t you? Captured in a war.

B. Well?

H. Well, you ain’t got no right, see? Rome never signed the Convention.

B. (Pouting defiantly) I think you’re ‘orrid. (H laughs) I’ve given you everyfing a woman can.

H. You! You ain’t old enough to give anybody anyfink.

B. Well, you took it!

H. Aw – dry up! Gerrup on that box.

B. I shan’t.

H. (menacingly) Gerrup-on-that-box. (Bawdy obeys). And don’t stand like somefing ‘angin’ out to dry. Let’s ‘ave some passion.

B. (putting on the dignity) As far as I’m concerned – you’ve ‘ad it. (Enter ALFRED).

H. ‘Ello Alfred. Take a look at the Virgin Queen! (Laughts).

A. (kindly) What’s a matter child?

H. Nar don’t start yumourin’ ‘er! (Despairingly) Wot ‘ave I told you, Alfred?

(Encouraged, down rushes B and takes shelter in A’s arms).

H. There you see? Woman – the yuman barnacle!

B. You won’t let ‘im sell me, Mr. Alfred, will yer?

A. Well – I –

H. Go on! Go on! She’ll ‘ave your watch and chain art afore she’s finished.

A. Now, I can’t promise anything.

b. No, but you will try?

A. Yes, I’ll try. (H turns up palm of his hand in “You see” manner. B skipping around stage).

B. (singing) A ain’t goin’ to let me be sold!

A. Now, I never said –

B. (still running) A ain’t goin’ to let me be sold! (Harry clips her ear without ceremony as she passes. She stops.)

H. Your best plan, Alf, is to get the Emperor to buy ‘er and then drop ‘er in the Tiber wiv a brick rahnd ‘er neck.

B. Oo! Do you think the Emperor would buy me? (Considering) I wouldn’t mind being an Empress.

H. She wouldn’t mind being – (Aims swipe at her head) Gerrahrt! Old Brutie’s more likely to get you. ‘e likes ‘em young. He’s a pervert. ‘e likes smacking their bottoms!

A. (alarmed) Oh, no Brutie. Harry, we couldn’t let —

H. Alfred? Well, if I don’t think you’ve gone and fallen for the little chit! Bawdy, you’ve got a love!

A. (blushing) Aw! (RAZZ FANFARE heard off).

H. (all bustle) It’s the Emperor! (To B) Quick! Get up on that block. (Action by all). (On Emperor’s entrance all raise right arms in Fascist salute, crying sharply “Caesar (Kaiser) Immerator!”). (Emp accompanied by BRUTIE).

E. All right! All right! You’ve seen me before. No need for a lot of damned fuss. (To Brutie) What are you leering at? (He sees B) Oh. (He looks) Um. Well, I’m getting too old for that sort of thing. Anyhow, I can’t afford it. Alfred!

A. Sir?

E. How much is there left in the Treasury?

A. Well, the Wheat Tax has not realised as much as we had hoped, Caesar.

E. No. They never do. The next government that succeeds in wringing anything out of the
agricultural community will be the first. Why is it that farmers never make any profit? Alfred? And these Goths Brutie. If you’d spend more time with your troops and less time in the brothels we might win this war. How far is the enemy from the gates?

A. Thirty-two miles.

BR. You seem to be better informed that I am slave.

E. Alfred is the shrewdest man in Rme. If he gets any cleverer I shall have to hang him.

A. An officer told me thirty-two miles General Brutie.

BR. Well, he was wrong. The Goths are thirty-five miles from the city. If there were so near as you say they would be able to threaten our water supply.

A. They are in sight of the dam now General.

BR. You know too much to be loyal, slave.

E. Nonsense, Brutie. Alfred is an astrologer. He’s probably going to prophesy. hope it’s something pleasant for a change. (To Harry) Can’t you get that girl a chair to sit on? She looks rather silly standing up there. (H hastens to comply. He puts a chair on the dais. B sits). When are you going to engage the Goths, Brutie> You’ve not fought a battle for years.

BR. The business of a General is to avoid battle, Caesar.

E. Well, the Goths seem to have more aggressive ideas. They insist on advancing.

BR. The Goths do not understand the rules of war, Sir. They infiltrate.

E. Well, it’s time you got some new rules. (To Harry). Well, what are you waiting for? You know, I don’t quite know why we’re having a sale. It’s purely a formality as far as I’m concerned,

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Except that I get a commission on all slaves sold. Force up the bidding, Alfred. I shouldn’t like
Brutie to get the girl for nothing.

A. Two hundred pieces of gold!

BR. Dog!

E. Hold your tongue, Sir. Caution, Alfred! We don’t want to be left with the woman on our hands.

H. (Cracking his whip). Two hundred I’m bid. Two hundred! For this pearl from Peckham. One hundred and twelve pounds and thirty-five inches bust!

E. All right, all right! There’s no need to behave as tho’ you were in a five-ring circus. Go on, Brutie. Don’t tell me you’re not interested.

BR. May I inspect the wench, Caesar?

E. I thought that was coming. Proceed. No stripping, mind! (BR advances, rubbing his hands. Bawdy shrinks. BR takes her hand)

E. (to A) You know, we ought to charge him for his (BR action with B).

E. All right – all right! That will be enough, Brutie. Wait till you get her home. You’ve not got the figure for the Great Lover. (BR lets go).

BR. Two hundred and fifty pieces.

E. Thank Jupiter for that! Don’t you dare bid again, Alfred. (To Harry) Well, go on man – knock her down to Brutie.

A. Wait!

E. Oh, Janus. He’s going into one of his trances! This is going to cost me money, I can feel it coming.

A. (eyes closed) (right arm raised) Beware!

E. I knew it! He’s prophesying. Something horrible!

A. An Aryan maid is come (indicates B).

E. Aryan? Who are these Aryans? She’s not Aryan, is she? Touch of the Rachel about her I should think.
A. An Aryan maid is come! Gift of the Gods! They must be propitiated!

E. Propitiated already? Why is it that when the Gods give you anything they always want
something back?

BR. It’s a trick, Caesar. To rob me of the maid!

E. Quiet!

A. (booming out) She is the daughter of Vulcan, God of Fire! He has endowed her with all his
powers.