UNDER MILK WOODb colebc3552009-07-14T04:42:00Z2009-07-14T05:37:00Z111791672095601577884311.5604UNDER MILK WOODDylan Thomas[Silence]FIRST VOICE (Very softly)To begin at the beginning:It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starlessand bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched,courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible down to thesloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboatbobbing sea.The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine to-nightin the snouting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Catthere in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock,the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows' weeds.And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town aresleeping now.Hush, the babies are sleeping, the farmers, the fishers,the tradesmen and pensioners, cobbler, schoolteacher,postman and publican, the undertaker and the fancy woman,drunkard, dressmaker, preacher, policeman, the webfootcocklewomen and the tidy wives. Young girls lie bedded softor glide in their dreams, with rings and trousseaux,bridesmaided by glowworms down the aisles of theorganplaying wood. The boys are dreaming wicked or of thebucking ranches of the night and the jollyrodgered sea. Andthe anthracite statues of the horses sleep in the fields,and the cows in the byres, and the dogs in the wetnosedyards; and the cats nap in the slant corners or lope sly,streaking and needling, on the one cloud of the roofs.You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing.Only your eyes are unclosed to see the black and foldedtown fast, and slow, asleep. And you alone can hear theinvisible starfall, the darkest-beforedawn minutely dewgrazedstir of the black, dab-filled sea where the Arethusa, theCurlew and the Skylark, Zanzibar, Rhiannon, the Rover,the Cormorant, and the Star of Wales tilt and ride.Listen. It is night moving in the streets, the processionalsalt slow musical wind in Coronation Street and Cockle Row,it is the grass growing on Llareggub Hill, dewfall, starfall,the sleep of birds in Milk Wood.Listen. It is night in the chill, squat chapel, hymning inbonnet and brooch and bombazine black, butterfly choker andbootlace bow, coughing like nannygoats, sucking mintoes,fortywinking hallelujah; night in the four-ale, quiet as adomino; in Ocky Milkman's lofts like a mouse with gloves;in Dai Bread's bakery flying like black flour. It is to-nightin Donkey Street, trotting silent, With seaweed on itshooves, along the cockled cobbles, past curtained fernpot,text and trinket, harmonium, holy dresser, watercoloursdone by hand, china dog and rosy tin teacaddy. It is nightneddying among the snuggeries of babies.Look. It is night, dumbly, royally winding through theCoronation cherry trees; going through the graveyard ofBethesda with winds gloved and folded, and dew doffed;tumbling by the Sailors Arms.Time passes. Listen. Time passes.Come closer now.Only you can hear the houses sleeping in the streets in theslow deep salt and silent black, bandaged night. Only youcan see, in the blinded bedrooms, the coms. and petticoatsover the chairs, the jugs and basins, the glasses of teeth,Thou Shalt Not on the wall, and the yellowing dickybird-watchingpictures of the dead. Only you can hear and see, behind theeyes of the sleepers, the movements and countries and mazesand colours and dismays and rainbows and tunes and wishesand flight and fall and despairs and big seas of their dreams.From where you are, you can hear their dreams.Captain Cat, the retired blind sea-captain, asleep in hisbunk in the seashelled, ship-in-bottled, shipshape bestcabin of Schooner House dreams ofSECOND VOICEnever such seas as any that swamped the decks of his S.S.Kidwelly bellying over the bedclothes and jellyfish-slipperysucking him down salt deep into the Davy dark where the fishcome biting out and nibble him down to his wishbone, andthe long drowned nuzzle up to him.FIRST DROWNEDRemember me, Captain?CAPTAIN CATYou're Dancing Williams!FIRST DROWNEDI lost my step in Nantucket.SECOND DROWNEDDo you see me, Captain? the white bone talking? I'm Tom-Fredthe donkeyman...we shared the same girl once...her name wasMrs Probert...WOMAN’S VOICERosie Probert, thirty three Duck Lane. Come on up, boys,I'm dead.THIRD DROWNEDHold me, Captain, I'm Jonah Jarvis, come to a bad end, veryenjoyable.FOURTH DROWNEDAlfred Pomeroy Jones, sea-lawyer, born in Mumbles, sunglike a linnet, crowned you with a flagon, tattooed withmermaids, thirst like a dredger, died of blisters.FIRST DROWNEDThis skull at your earhole isFIFTH DROWNEDCurly Bevan. Tell my auntie it was me that pawned the ormoluclock.CAPTAIN CATAye, aye, Curly.SECOND DROWNEDTell my missus no I neverTHIRD DROWNEDI never done what she said I never.FOURTH DROWNEDYes they did.FIFTH DROWNEDAnd who brings coconuts and shawls and parrots to myGwen now?FIRST DROWNEDHow's it above?SECOND DROWNEDIs there rum and laverbread?THIRD DROWNEDBosoms and robins?FOURTH DROWNEDConcertinas?FIFTH DROWNEDEbenezer's bell?FIRST DROWNEDFighting and onions?SECOND DROWNEDAnd sparrows and daisies?THIRD DROWNEDTiddlers in a jamjar?FOURTH DROWNEDButtermilk and whippets?FIFTH DROWNEDRock-a-bye baby?FIRST DROWNEDWashing on the line?SECOND DROWNEDAnd old girls in the snug?THIRD DROWNEDHow's the tenors in Dowlais?FOURTH DROWNEDWho milks the cows in Maesgwyn?FIFTH DROWNEDWhen she smiles, is there dimples?FIRST DROWNEDWhat's the smell of parsley?CAPTAIN CATOh, my dead dears!FIRST VOICE From where you are you can hear in Cockle Row in the spring,moonless night, Miss Price, dressmaker and sweetshop-keeper,dream ofSECOND VOICEher lover, tall as the town clock tower, Samsonsyrup-gold-maned,whacking thighed and piping hot, thunderbolt-bass'd andbarnacle-breasted, flailing up the cockles with his eyeslike blowlamps and scooping low over her lonely lovinghotwaterbottled body.MR EDWARDSMyfanwy Price!MISS PRICEMr Mog Edwards!MR EDWARDSI am a draper mad with love. I love you more than all theflannelette and calico, candlewick, dimity, crash and merino,tussore, cretonne, crepon, muslin, poplin, ticking and twillin the whole Cloth Hall of the world. I have come to takeyou away to my Emporium on the hill, where the change humson wires. Throw away your little bedsocks and your Welshwool knitted jacket, I will warm the sheets like an electrictoaster, I will lie by your side like the Sunday roast.MISS PRICEI will knit you a wallet of forget-me-not blue, for themoney, to be comfy. I will warm your heart by the fire sothat you can slip it in under your vest when the shop isclosed.MR EDWARDSMyfanwy, Myfanwy, before the mice gnaw at your bottom drawerwill you sayMISS PRICEYes, Mog, yes, Mog, yes, yes, yes.MR EDWARDSAnd all the bells of the tills of the town shall ring forour wedding. [Noise of money-tills and chapel bellsFIRST VOICE Come now, drift up the dark, come up the drifting sea-darkstreet now in the dark night seesawing like the sea, to thebible-black airless attic over Jack Black the cobbler'sshop where alone and savagely Jack Black sleeps in anightshirt tied to his ankles with elastic and dreams ofSECOND VOICEchasing the naughty couples down the grassgreen gooseberrieddouble bed of the wood, flogging the tosspots in thespit-and-sawdust, driving out the bare bold girls from thesixpenny hops of his nightmares.JACK BLACK (Loudly)Ach y fi!Ach y fi!FIRST VOICE Evans the Death, the undertaker,SECOND VOICElaughs high and aloud in his sleep and curls up his toes ashe sees, upon waking fifty years ago, snow lie deep on thegoosefield behind the sleeping house ; and he runs out intothe field where his mother is making welsh-cakes in thesnow, and steals a fistful of snowflakes and currants andclimbs back to bed to eat them cold and sweet under thewarm, white clothes while his mother dances in the snowkitchen crying out for her lost currants.FIRST VOICEAnd in the little pink-eyed cottage next to the undertaker's,lie, alone, the seventeen snoring gentle stone of MisterWaldo, rabbitcatcher, barber, herbalist, catdoctor, quack,his fat pink hands, palms up, over the edge of the patchworkquilt, his black boots neat and tidy in the washing-basin,his bowler on a nail above the bed, a milk stout and a sliceof cold bread pudding under the pillow; and, dripping inthe dark, he dreams ofMOTHER This little piggy went to market This little piggy stayed at home This little piggy had roast beef This little piggy had none And this little piggy wentLITTLE BOYwee wee wee wee weeMOTHERall the way home toWIFE (Screaming)Waldo! Wal-do!MR WALDOYes, Blodwen love?WIFEOh, what'll the neighbours say, what'll the neighbours...FIRST NEIGHBOURPoor Mrs WaldoSECOND NEIGHBOURWhat she puts up withFIRST NEIGHBOURNever should of marriedSECOND NEIGHBOURIf she didn't had toFIRST NEIGHBOURSame as her motherSECOND NEIGHBOURThere's a husband for youFIRST NEIGHBOURBad as his fatherSECOND NEIGHBOURAnd you know where he endedFIRST NEIGHBOURUp in the asylumSECOND NEIGHBOURCrying for his maFIRST NEIGHBOUREvery SaturdaySECOND NEIGHBOURHe hasn't got a logFIRST NEIGHBOURAnd carrying onSECOND NEIGHBOURWith that Mrs Beattie MorrisFIRST NEIGHBOURUp in the quarrySECOND NEIGHBOURAnd seen her babyFIRST NEIGHBOURIt's got his noseSECOND NEIGHBOUROh it makes my heart bleedFIRST NEIGHBOURWhat he'll do for drinkSECOND NEIGHBOURHe sold the pianola toFIRST NEIGHBOURAnd her sewing machineSECOND NEIGHBOURFalling in the gutterFIRST NEIGHBOURTalking to the lamp-postSECOND NEIGHBOURUsing languageFIRST NEIGHBOURSinging in the wSECOND NEIGHBOURPoor Mrs WaldoWIFE (Tearfully)...Oh, Waldo, Waldo!MR WALDOHush, love, hush. I'm widower Waldo now.MOTHER (Screaming)Waldo, Wal-do!LITTLE BOYYes, our mum?MOTHEROh, what'll the neighbours say, what'll the neighbours...THIRD NEIGHBOURBlack as a chimbleyFOURTH NEIGHBOURRinging doorbellsTHIRD NEIGHBOURBreaking windowsFOURTH NEIGHBOURMaking mudpiesTHIRD NEIGHBOURStealing currantsFOURTH NEIGHBOURChalking wordsTHIRD NEIGHBOURSaw him in the bushesFOURTH NEIGHBOURPlaying mwchinsTHIRD NEIGHBOURSend him to bed without any supperFOURTH NEIGHBOURGive him sennapods and lock him in the darkTHIRD NEIGHBOUROff to the reformatoryFOURTH NEIGHBOUROff to the reformatoryTOGETHERLearn him with a slipper on his b.t.m.ANOTHER MOTHER (Screaming)Waldo, Wal-do! what you doing with our Matti?LITTLE BOYGive us a kiss, Matti Richards.LITTLE GIRLGive us a penny then.MR WALDOI only got a halfpenny.FIRST WOMANLips is a penny.PREACHERWill you take this woman Matti RichardsSECOND WOMANDulcie ProtheroTHIRD WOMANEffie BevanFOURTH WOMANLil the GluepotFIFTH WOMANMrs FlusherWIFEBlodwen BowenPREACHERTo be your awful wedded wifeLITTLE BOY (Screaming)No, no, no!FIRST VOICENow, in her iceberg-white, holily laundered crinolinenightgown, under virtuous polar sheets, in her spruced andscoured dust-defying bedroom in trig and trim Bay View, ahouse for paying guests, at the top of the town, MrsOgmore-Pritchard widow, twice, of Mr Ogmore, linoleum,retired, and Mr Pritchard, failed bookmaker, who maddenedby besoming, swabbing and scrubbing, the voice of thevacuum-cleaner and the fume of polish, ironically swalloweddisinfectant, fidgets in her rinsed sleep, wakes in adream, and nudges in the ribs dead Mr Ogmore, dead MrPritchard, ghostly on either side.MRS OGMORE-PRITCHARDMr Ogmore!Mr Pritchard!It is time to inhale your balsam. MR OGMOREOh, Mrs Ogmore!MR PRITCHARDOh, Mrs Pritchard!MRS OGMORE-PRITCHARDSoon it will be time to get up.Tell me your tasks, in order. MR OGMOREI must put my pyjamas in the drawer marked pyjamas.MR PRITCHARDI must take my cold bath which is good for me. MR OGMOREI must wear my flannel band to ward off sciatica.MR PRITCHARDI must dress behind the curtain and put on my apron. MR OGMOREI must blow my nose.MRS OGMORE-PRITCHARDIn the garden, if you please. MR OGMOREIn a piece of tissue-paper which I afterwards burn.MR PRITCHARDI must take my salts which are nature's friend. MR OGMOREI must boil the drinking water because of germs.MR PRITCHARDI must make my herb tea which is free from tannin. MR OGMOREAnd have a charcoal biscuit which is good for me.MR PRITCHARDI may smoke one pipe of asthma mixture.MRS OGMORE-PRITCHARDIn the woodshed, if you please.MR PRITCHARDAnd dust the parlour and spray the canary. MR OGMOREI must put on rubber gloves and search the peke for fleas.MR PRITCHARDI must dust the blinds and then I must raise them.MRS OGMORE-PRITCHARDAnd before you let the sun in, mind it wipes its shoes.FIRST VOICEIn Butcher Beynon's, Gossamer Beynon, daughter, schoolteacher,dreaming deep, daintily ferrets under a fluttering hummockof chicken's feathers in a slaughterhouse that has chintzcurtains and a three-pieced suite, and finds, with no surprise,a small rough ready man with a bushy tail winking in a papercarrier.GOSSAMER BEYNONAt last, my love,FIRST VOICEsighs Gossamer Beynon. And the bushy tail wags rude and ginger.ORGAN MORGANHelp,SECOND VOICEcries Organ Morgan, the organist, in his dream,ORGAN MORGANThere is perturbation and music in Coronation Street! Allthe spouses are honking like geese and the babies singingopera. P.C. Attila Rees has got his truncheon out and isplaying cadenzas by the pump, the cows from Sunday Meadowring like reindeer, and on the roof of Handel Villa see theWomen's Welfare hoofing, bloomered, in the moon.FIRST VOICEAt the sea-end of town, Mr and Mrs Floyd, the cocklers, aresleeping as quiet as death, side by wrinkled side, toothless,salt and brown, like two old kippers In a box.And high above, in Salt Lake Farm, Mr Utah Watkins counts,all night, the wife-faced sheep as they leap the knees onthe hill, smiling and knitting and bleating just like MrsUtah Watkins.UTAH WATKINS (Yawning)Thirty - four, thirty - five, thirty - six, forty - eight,eighty-nine...MRS UTAH WATKINS (Bleating)Knit one slip oneKnit two togetherPass the slipstitch over...FIRST VOICEOcky Milkman, drowned asleep in Cockle Street, is emptyinghis churns into the Dewi River,OCKY MILKMAN (Whispering)regardless of expense, FIRST VOICEand weeping like a funeral.SECOND VOICECherry Owen, next door, lifts a tankard to his but nothingflows out of it. He shakes the tankard. It turns into afish. He drinks the fish.FIRST VOICEP.C. Attila Rees lumps out of bed, dead to the dark and stillfoghorning, and drags out his helmet from under the bed;but deep in the backyard lock-up of his slee a mean voicemurmursA VOICE (Murmuring)You'll be sorry for this in the morning,FIRST VOICEand he heave-ho's back to bed. His helmet swashes in the dark.SECOND VOICEWilly Nilly, postman, asleep up street, walks fourteen milesto deliver the post as he does every day of the night, andrat-a-tats hard and sharp on Mrs Willy Nilly.MRS WILLY NILLYDon't spank me, please, teacher,SECOND VOICEwhimpers his wife at his side, but every night of her marriedlife she has been late for school.FIRST VOICESinbad Sailors, over the taproom of the Sailors Arms, hugshis damp pillow whose secret name is Gossamer Beynon.A mogul catches Lily Smalls in the wash-house.LILY SMALLSOoh, you old mogul!SECOND VOICEMrs Rose Cottage's eldest, Mae, peals off her pink-and-whiteskin in a furnace in a tower in a cave in a waterfall in awood and waits there raw as an onion for Mister Right toleap up the burning tall hollow splashes of leaves like abrilliantined trout.MAE ROSE COTTAGE (Very close and softly, drawing out the words)Call me DoloresLike they do in the stories.FIRST VOICEAlone until she dies, Bessie Bighead, hired help, born inthe workhouse, smelling of the cowshed, snores bass andgruff on a couch of straw in a loft in Salt Lake Farm andpicks a posy of daisies in Sunday Meadow to put on the graveof Gomer Owen who kissed her once by the pig-sty when shewasn't looking and never kissed her again although she waslooking all the time.And the Inspectors of Cruelty fly down into Mrs ButcherBrynon's dream to persecute Mr Beynon for sellingBUTCHER BEYNONowlmeat, dogs' eyes, manchop.SECOND VOICEMr Beynon, in butcher's bloodied apron, spring-heels downCoronation Street, a finger, not his own, in his mouth.Straightfaced in his cunning sleep he pulls the legs ofhis dreams andBUTCHER BEYNONhunting on pigback shoots down the wild giblets.ORGAN MORGAN (High and softly)Help!GOSSAMER BEYNON (Softly)My foxy darling.FIRST VOICENow behind the eyes and secrets of the dreamers in thestreets rocked to sleep by the sea, see theSECOND VOICEtitbits and topsyturvies, bobs and buttontops, bags andbones, ash and rind and dandruff and nailparings, salivaand snowflakes and moulted feathers of dreams, the wrecksand sprats and shells and fishbones, whale-juice and moonshineand small salt fry dished up by the hidden sea.FIRST VOICEThe owls are hunting. Look, over Bethesda gravestones onehoots and swoops and catches a mouse by Hannah Rees, BelovedWife. And in Coronation Street, which you alone can see itis so dark under the chapel in the skies, the Reverend EliJenkins, poet, preacher, turns in his deep towards-dawnsleep and dreams ofREV. ELI JENKINSEisteddfodau.SECOND VOICEHe intricately rhymes, to the music of crwth and pibgorn,all night long in his druid's seedy nightie in a beer-tentblack with parchs.FIRST VOICEMr Pugh, schoolmaster, fathoms asleep, pretends to be sleeping,spies foxy round the droop of his nightcap and pssst! whistles upMR PUGHMurder.FIRST VOICEMrs Organ Morgan, groceress, coiled grey like a dormouse,her paws to her ears, conjuresMRS ORGAN MORGANSilence.SECOND VOICEShe sleeps very dulcet in a cove of wool, and trumpetingOrgan Morgan at her side snores no louder than aspider.FIRST VOICEMary Ann Sailors dreams ofMARY ANN SAILORSThe Garden of Eden.FIRST VOICEShe comes in her smock-frock and clogsMARY ANN SAILORSaway from the cool scrubbed cobbled kitchen with theSunday-school pictures on the whitewashed wall and thefarmers' almanac hung above the settle and the sides ofbacon on the ceiling hooks, and goes down the cockleshelledpaths of that applepie kitchen garden, ducking under thegippo's clothespegs, catching her apron on the blackcurrantbushes, past beanrows and onion-bed and tomatoes ripeningon the wall towards the old man playing the harmonium inthe orchard, and sits down on the grass at his side andshells the green peas that grow up through the lap of herfrock that brushes the dew.FIRST VOICEIn Donkey Street, so furred with sleep, Dai Bread, PollyGarter, Nogood Boyo, and Lord Cut-Glass sigh before thedawn that is about to be and dream ofDAI BREADHarems.POLLY GARTERBabies.NOGOOD BOYONothing.LORD CUT-GLASSTick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock.FIRST VOICETime passes. Listen. Time passes. An owl flies home pastBethesda, to a chapel in an oak. And the dawn inches up. [One distant bell-note, faintly reverberatingFIRST VOICEStand on this hill. This is Llareggub Hill, old as the hills,high, cool, and green, and from this small circle, of stones,made not by druids but by Mrs Beynon's Billy, you can see allthe town below you sleeping in the first of the dawn.You can hear the love-sick woodpigeons mooning in bed. A dogbarks in his sleep, farmyards away. The town ripples like alake in the waking haze.VOICE OF A GUIDE-BOOKLess than five hundred souls inhabit the three quaint streetsand the few narrow by-lanes and scattered farmsteads thatconstitute this small, decaying watering-place which may,indeed, be called a 'backwater of life' without disrespectto its natives who possess, to this day, a salty individualityof their own. The main street, Coronation Street, consists,for the most part, of humble, two-storied houses many of whichattempt to achieve some measure of gaiety by prinkingthemselves out in crude colours and by the liberal use ofpinkwash, though there are remaining a few eighteenth-centuryhouses of more pretension, if, on the whole, in a sad stateof disrepair. Though there is little to attract the hillclimber,the healthseeker, the sportsman, or the weekending motorist,the contemplative may, if sufficiently attracted to spareit some leisurely hours, find, in its cobbled streets andits little fishing harbour, in its several curious customs,and in the conversation of its local 'characters,' some ofthat picturesque sense of the past so frequently lacking intowns and villages which have kept more abreast of the times.The River Dewi is said to abound in trout, but is much poached.The one place of worship, with its neglected graveyard, is ofno architectural interest. [A cock crowsFIRST VOICEThe principality of the sky lightens now, over our greenhill, into spring morning larked and crowed and belling. [Slow bell notesFIRST VOICEWho pulls the townhall bellrope but blind Captain Cat? Oneby one, the sleepers are rung out of sleep this one morningas every morning. And soon you shall see the chimneys' slowupflying snow as Captain Cat, in sailor's cap and seaboots,announces to-day with his loud get-out-of-bed bell.SECOND VOICEThe Reverend Eli Jenkins, in Bethesda House, gropes out ofbed into his preacher's black, combs back his bard's whitehair, forgets to wash, pads barefoot downstairs, opens thefront door, stands in the doorway and, looking out at theday and up at the eternal hill, and hearing the sea breakand the gab of birds, remembers his own verses and tellsthem softly to empty Coronation Street that is rising andraising its blinds.REV. ELI JENKINSDear Gwalia! I know there areTowns lovelier than ours,And fairer hills and loftier far,And groves more full of flowers,And boskier woods more blithe with springAnd bright with birds' adorning,And sweeter bards than I to singTheir praise this beauteous morning.By Cader Idris, tempest-torn,Or Moel yr Wyddfa's glory,Carnedd Llewelyn beauty born,Plinlimmon old in story,By mountains where King Arthur dreams,By Penmaenmawr defiant,Llareggub Hill a molehill seems,A pygmy to a giant.By Sawdde, Senny, Dovey, Dee,Edw, Eden, Aled, all,Taff and Towy broad and free,Llyfnant with its waterfall,Claerwen, Cleddau, Dulais, Daw,Ely, Gwili, Ogwr, Nedd,Small is our River Dewi, Lord,A baby on a rushy bed.By Carreg Cennen, King of time,Our Heron Head is onlyA bit of stone with seaweed spreadWhere gulls come to be lonely.A tiny dingle is Milk WoodBy Golden Grove 'neath Grongar,But let me choose and oh! I shouldLove all my life and longerTo stroll among our trees and strayIn Goosegog Lane, on Donkey Down,And hear the Dewi sing all day,And never, never leave the town.SECOND VOICEThe Reverend Jenkins closes the front door. His morningservice is over. [Slow bell notesFIRST VOICENow, woken at last by the out-of-bed-sleepy-head-Polly-put-the-kettle-on townhall bell, Lily Smalls, Mrs Beynon'streasure, comes downstairs from a dream of royalty who allnight long went larking with her full of sauce in the MilkWood dark, and puts the kettle on the primus ring in MrsBeynon's kitchen, and looks at herself in Mr Beynon'sshaving-glass over the sink, and sees:LILY SMALLSOh there's a face!Where you get that hair from?Got it from a old tom cat.Give it back then, love.Oh there's a perm!Where you get that nose from, Lily?Got it from my father, silly.You've got it on upside down!Oh there's a conk!Look at your complexion!Oh no, you look.Needs a bit of make-up.Needs a veil.Oh there's glamour!Where you get that smile,Lil? Never you mind, girl.Nobody loves you.That's what you think.Who is it loves you?Shan't tell.Come on, Lily.Cross your heart then?Cross my heart.FIRST VOICEAnd very softly, her lips almost touching her reflection,she breathes the name and clouds the shaving-glass.MRS BEYNON (Loudly, from above)Lily!LILY SMALLS (Loudly)Yes, mum.MRS BEYNONWhere's my tea, girl?LILY SMALLS(Softly) Where d'you think? In the cat-box?(Loudly) Coming up, mum.FIRST VOICEMr Pugh, in the School House opposite, takes up the morningtea to Mrs Pugh, and whispers on the stairsMR. PUGHHere's your arsenic, dear.And your weedkiller biscuit.I've throttled your parakeet.I've spat in the vases.I've put cheese in the mouseholes.Here's your... (Door creaks open)...nice tea, dear.MRS PUGHToo much sugar.MR PUGHYou haven't tasted it yet, dear.MRS PUGHToo much milk, then. Has Mr Jenkins said his poetry?MR PUGHYes, dear.MRS PUGHThen it's time to get up. Give me my glasses.No, not my reading glasses, I want to look out.I want to seeSECOND VOICELily Smalls the treasure down on her red knees washing theront step.MRS PUGHShe's tucked her dress in her bloomers--oh, the baggage!SECOND VOICEP.C. Attila Rees, ox-broad, barge-booted, stamping out ofHandcuff House in a heavy beef-red huff, black browed underhis damp helmet...MRS PUGHHe's going to arrest Polly Garter, mark my words,MR PUGHWhat for, dear?MRS PUGHFor having babies.SECOND VOICE...and lumbering down towards the strand to see that thesea is still there.FIRST VOICEMary Ann Sailors, opening her bedroom window above thetaproom and calling out to the heavensMARY ANN SAILORSI'm eighty-five years three months and a day!MRS PUGHI will say this for her, she never makes a mistake.FIRST VOICEOrgan Morgan at his bedroom window playing chords on thesill to the morning fishwife gulls who, heckling over DonkeyStreet, observeDAI BREADMe, Dai Bread, hurrying to the bakery, pushing in myshirt-tails, buttoning my waistcoat, ping goes a button,why can't they sew them, no time for breakfast, nothing forbreakfast, there's wives for you.MRS DAI BREAD ONEMe, Mrs Dai Bread One, capped and shawled and no old corset,nice to be comfy, nice to be nice, clogging on the cobblesto stir up a neighbour. Oh, Mrs Sarah, can you spare a loaf,love? Dai Bread forgot the bread. There's a lovely morning!How's your boils this morning? Isn't that good news now,it's a change to sit down. Ta, Mrs Sarah.MRS DAI BREAD TWOMe, Mrs Dai Bread Two, gypsied to kill in a silky scarletpetticoat above my knees, dirty pretty knees, see my bodythrough my petticoat brown as a berry, high-heel shoes withone heel missing, tortoiseshell comb in my bright blackslinky hair, nothing else at all but a dab of scent, lollinggaudy at the doorway, tell your fortune in the tea-leaves,scowling at the sunshine, lighting up my pipe.LORD CUT-GLASSMe, Lord Cut-Glass, in an old frock-coat belonged to EliJenkins and a pair of postman's trousers from BethesdaJumble, running out of doors to empty slops--mind there,Rover!--and then running in again, tick tock.NOGOOD BOYOMe, Nogood Boyo, up to no good in the wash-houseMISS PRICEMe, Miss Price, in my pretty print housecoat, deft at theclothesline, natty as a jenny-wren, then pit-pat back to myegg in its cosy, my crisp toast-fingers, my home-made plumand butterpat.POLLY GARTERMe, Polly Garter, under the washing line, giving the breastin the garden to my bonny new baby. Nothing grows in ourgarden, only washing. And babies. And where's their fatherslive, my love? Over the hills and far away. You're lookingup at me now. I know what you're thinking, you poor littlemilky creature. You're thinking, you're no better than youshould be, Polly, and that's good enough for me. Oh, isn'tlife a terrible thing, thank God? [Single long high chord on stringsFIRST VOICENow frying-pans spit, kettles and cats purr in the kitchen.The town smells of seaweed and breakfast all the way downfrom Bay View, where Mrs OgmorePritchard, in smock and turban,big-besomed to engage the dust, picks at her starchless breadand sips lemon-rind tea, to Bottom Cottage, where Mr Waldo,in bowler and bib, gobbles his bubble-and-squeak and kippersand swigs from the saucebottle. Mary Ann SailorsMARY ANN SAILORSpraises the Lord who made porridge.FIRST VOICEMr PughMR PUGHremembers ground glass as he juggles his omelet.FIRST VOICEMrs PughMRS PUGHnags the salt-cellar.FIRST VOICEWilly Nilly postmanWILLY NILLYdowns his last bucket of black brackish tea and rumbles outbandy to the clucking back where the hens twitch and grievefor their tea-soaked sops.FIRST VOICEMrs Willy NillyMRS WILLY NILLYfull of tea to her double-chinned brim broods and bubblesover her coven of kettles on the hissing hot range alwaysready to steam open the mail.FIRST VOICEThe Reverend Eli JenkinsREV. ELI JENKINSfinds a rhyme and dips his pen in his cocoa.FIRST VOICELord Cut-Glass in his ticking kitchenLORD CUT-GLASSscampers from clock to clock, a bunch of clock-keys in onehand, a fish-head in the other.FIRST VOICECaptain Cat in his galleyCAPTAIN CATblind and fine-fingered savours his sea-fry.FIRST VOICEMr and Mrs Cherry Owen, in their Donkey Street room that isbedroom, parlour, kitchen, and scullery, sit down to lastnight's supper of onions boiled in their overcoats and brothof spuds and baconrind and leeks and bones.MRS CHERRY OWENSee that smudge on the wall by the picture of Auntie Blossom?That's where you threw the sago. [Cherry Owen laughs with delightMRS CHERRY OWENYou only missed me by a inch.CHERRY OWENI always miss Auntie Blossom too.MRS CHERRY OWENRemember last night? In you reeled, my boy, as drunk as adeacon with a big wet bucket and a fish-frail full of stoutand you looked at me and you said, 'God has come home!' yousaid, and then over the bucket you went, sprawling andbawling, and the floor was all flagons and eels.CHERRY OWENWas I wounded?MRS CHERRY OWENAnd then you took off your trousers and you said, 'Doesanybody want a fight!' Oh, you old baboon.CHERRY OWENGive me a kiss. MRS CHERRY OWENAnd then you sang 'Bread of Heaven,' tenor and bass.CHERRY OWENI always sing 'Bread of Heaven.'MRS CHERRY OWENAnd then you did a little dance on the table.CHERRY OWENI did?MRS CHERRY OWENDrop dead!CHERRY OWENAnd then what did I do?MRS CHERRY OWENThen you cried like a baby and said you were a poor drunkorphan with nowhere to go but the grave.CHERRY OWENAnd what did I do next, my dear?MRS CHERRY OWENThen you danced on the table all over again and said youwere King Solomon Owen and I was your Mrs Sheba.CHERRY OWEN (Softy)And then?MRS CHERRY OWENAnd then I got you into bed and you snored all night likea brewery. [Mr and Mrs Cherry Owen laugh delightedly togetherFIRST VOICEFrom Beynon Butchers in Coronation Street, the smell offried liver sidles out with onions on its breath. And listen!In the dark breakfast-room behind the shop, Mr and Mrs Beynon,waited upon by their treasure, enjoy, between bites, theireverymorning hullabaloo, and Mrs Beynon slips the gristlybits under the tasselled tablecloth to her fat cat. [Cat purrsMRS BEYNONShe likes the liver, Ben.MR BEYNONShe ought to do, Bess. It's her brother's.MRS BEYNON (Screaming)Oh, d'you hear that, Lily?LILY SMALLSYes, mum.MRS BEYNONWe're eating pusscat.LILY SMALLSYes, mum.MRS BEYNONOh, you cat-butcher!MR BEYNONIt was doctored, mind.MRS BEYNON (Hysterical)What's that got to do with it?MR BEYNONYesterday we had mole.MRS BEYNONOh, Lily, Lily!MR BEYNONMonday, otter. Tuesday, shrews.[Mrs Beynon screamsLILY SMALLSGo on, Mrs Beynon. He's the biggest liar in town.MRS BEYNONDon't you dare say that about Mr Beynon.LILY SMALLSEverybody knows it, mum.MRS BEYNONMr Beynon never tells a lie. Do you, Ben?MR BEYNONNo, Bess. And now I am going out after the corgies, with mylittle cleaver.MRS BEYNONOh, Lily, Lily!FIRST VOICEUp the street, in the Sailors Arms, Sinbad Sailors, grandsonof Mary Ann Sailors, draws a pint in the sunlit bar. Theship's clock in the bar says half past eleven. Half pasteleven is opening time. The hands of the clock have stayedstill at half past eleven for fifty years. It is alwaysopening time in the Sailors Arms.SINBADHere's to me, Sinbad.FIRST VOICEAll over the town, babies and old men are cleaned and put intotheir broken prams and wheeled on to the sunlit cockled cobblesor out into the backyards under the dancing underclothes, andleft. A baby cries.OLD MANI want my pipe and he wants his bottle. [School bell ringsFIRST VOICENoses are wiped, heads picked, hair combed, paws scrubbed,ears boxed, and the children shrilled off to school.SECOND VOICEFishermen grumble to their nets. Nogood Boyo goes out inthe dinghy Zanzibar, ships the oars, drifts slowly in thedab-filled bay, and, lying on his back in the unbaled water,among crabs' legs and tangled lines, looks up at thespring sky.NOGOOD BOYO (Softly, lazily)I don't know who's up there and I don't care.FIRST VOICEHe turns his head and looks up at Llareggub Hill, and sees,among green lathered trees, the white houses of the strewnaway farms, where farmboys whistle, dogs shout, cows low,but all too far away for him, or you, to hear. And in thetown, the shops squeak open. Mr Edwards, in butterfly-collarand straw-hat at the doorway of Manchester House, measureswith his eye the dawdlers-by for striped flannel shirts andshrouds and flowery blouses, and bellows to himself in thedarkness behind his eyeMR EDWARDS (Whispers)I love Miss Price.FIRST VOICESyrup is sold in the post-office. A car drives to market,full of fowls and a farmer. Milk-churns stand at CoronationCorner like short silver policemen. And, sitting at theopen window of Schooner House, blind Captain Cat hears allthe morning of the town. [School bell in background. Children's voices. The noise of children's feet on the cobblesCAPTAIN CAT (Softly, to himself)Maggie Richards, Ricky Rhys, Tommy Powell, our Sal, littleGerwain, Billy Swansea with the dog's voice, one of MrWaldo's, nasty Humphrey, Jackie with the sniff....Where'sDicky's Albie? and the boys from Ty-pant? Perhaps they gotthe rash again. [A sudden cry among the children's voicesCAPTAIN CATSomebody's hit Maggie Richards. Two to one it's Billy Swansea.Never trust a boy who barks.[A burst of yelping cryingRight again! It's Billy.FIRST VOICEAnd the children's voices cry away. [Postman's rat-a-tat on door, distantCAPTAIN CAT (Softly, to himself)That's Willy Nilly knocking at Bay View. Rat-a-tat, verysoft. The knocker's got a kid glove on. Who's sent a letterto Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard? [Rat-a-tat, distant againCAPTAIN CATCareful now, she swabs the front glassy. Every step's likea bar of soap. Mind your size twelveses. That old Bessiewould beeswax the lawn to make the birds slip.WILLY NILLYMorning, Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard.MRS OGMORE -PRITCHARDGood morning, postman.WILLY NILLYHere's a letter for you with stamped and addressed envelopeenclosed, all the way from Builth Wells. A gentleman wantsto study birds and can he have accommodation for two weeksand a bath vegetarian.MRS OGMORE-PRITCHARDNo.WILLY NILLY (Persuasively)You wouldn't know he was in the house, Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard.He'd be out in the mornings at the bang of dawn with his bagof breadcrumbs and his little telescope...MRS OGMORE-PRITCHARDAnd come home at all hours covered with feathers. I don'twant persons in my nice clean rooms breathing all over thechairs...WILLY NILLYCross my heart, he won't breathe.MRS OGMORE-PRITCHARD...and putting their feet on my carpets and sneezing on mychina and sleeping in my sheets...WILLY NILLYHe only wants a single bed, Mrs Ogmore. Pritchard.[Door slamsCAPTAIN CAT (Softly)And back she goes to the kitchen to polish the potatoes.FIRST VOICECaptain Cat hears Willy Nilly's feet heavy on the distantcobbles.CAPTAIN CATOne, two, three, four, five...That's Mrs Rose Cottage.What's to-day? To-day she gets the letter from her sisterin Gorslas. How's the twins' teeth?He's stopping at School House.WILLY NILLYMorning, Mrs Pugh. Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard won't have agentleman in from Builth Wells because he'll sleep in hersheets, Mrs Rose Cottage's sister in Gorslas's twins havegot to have them out...MRS PUGHGive me the parcel.WILLY NILLYIt's for Mr Pugh, Mrs Pugh.MRS PUGHNever you mind. What's inside it?WILLY NILLYA book called Lives of the Great Poisoners.CAPTAIN CATThat's Manchester House.WILLY NILLYMorning, Mr Edwards. Very small news. Mrs Ogmore-Pritchardwon't have birds in the house, and Mr Pugh's bought a booknow on how to do in Mrs Pugh.MR EDWARDSHave you got a letter from her?WILLY NILLYMiss Price loves you with all her heart. Smelling of lavenderto-day. She's down to the last of the elderflower wine butthe quince jam's bearing up and she's knitting roses on thedoilies. Last week she sold three jars of boiled sweets,pound of humbugs, half a box of jellybabies and six colouredphotos of Llareggub. Yours for ever. Then twenty-one X's.MR EDWARDSOh, Willy Nilly, she's a ruby! Here's my letter. Put itinto her hands now. [Slow feet on cobbles, quicker feet approachingCAPTAIN CATMr Waldo hurrying to the Sailors Arms. Pint of stout witha egg in it. [Footsteps stop(Softly) There's a letter for him.WILLY NILLYIt's another paternity summons, Mr Waldo.FIRST VOICEThe quick footsteps hurry on along the cobbles and upthree steps to the Sailors Arms.MR WALDO (Calling out)Quick, Sinbad. Pint of stout. And no egg in.FIRST VOICEPeople are moving now up and down the cobbled street.CAPTAIN CATAll the women are out this morning, in the sun. You cantell it's Spring. There goes Mrs Cherry, you can tell herby her trotters, off she trots new as a daisy. Who's thattalking by the pump? Mrs Floyd and Boyo, talking flatfish.What can you talk about flatfish? That's Mrs Dai BreadOne, waltzing up the street like a jelly, every time sheshakes it's slap slap slap. Who's that? Mrs Butcher Beynonwith her pet black cat, it follows her everywhere, miaowand all. There goes Mrs Twenty-Three, important, the sungets up and goes down in her dewlap, when she shuts hereyes, it's night. High heels now, in the morning too, MrsRose Cottage's eldest Mae, seventeen and never been kissedho ho, going young and milking under my window to thefield with the nannygoats, she reminds me all the way.Can't hear what the women are gabbing round the pump. Sameas ever. Who's having a baby, who blacked whose eye, seenPolly Garter giving her belly an airing, there should bea law, seen Mrs Beynon's new mauve jumper, it's her oldgrey jumper dyed, who's dead, who's dying, there's alovely day, oh the cost of soapflakes! [Organ music, distantCAPTAIN CATOrgan Morgan's at it early. You can tell it's Spring.FIRST VOICEAnd he hears the noise of milk-cans.CAPTAIN CATOcky Milkman on his round. I will say this, his milk's asfresh as the dew. Half dew it is. Snuffle on, Ocky,watering the town...Somebody's coming. Now the voicesround the pump can see somebody coming. Hush, there's ahush! You can tell by the noise of the hush, it's PollyGarter. (Louder) Hullo, Polly, who's there?POLLY GARTER (Off)Me, love.CAPTAIN CATThat's Polly Garter. (Softly) Hullo, Polly my love, canyou hear the dumb goose-hiss of the wives as they huddleand peck or flounce at a waddle away? Who cuddled youwhen? Which of their pandering hubbies moaned in Milk Woodfor your naughty mothering arms and body like a wardrobe,love? Scrub the floors of the Welfare Hall for theMothers' Union Social Dance, you're one mother won'twriggle her roly poly bum or pat her fat little butteryfeet in that wedding-ringed holy to-night though thewaltzing breadwinners snatched from the cosy smoke of theSailors Arms will grizzle and mope. [A cock crowsCAPTAIN CATToo late, cock, too lateSECOND VOICEfor the town's half over with its morning. The morning'sbusy as bees. [Organ music fades into silenceFIRST VOICEThere's the clip clop of horses on the sunhoneyed cobblesof the humming streets, hammering of horse- shoes, gobblequack and cackle, tomtit twitter from the bird-ouncedboughs, braying on Donkey Down. Bread is baking, pigs aregrunting, chop goes the butcher, milk-churns bell, tillsring, sheep cough, dogs shout, saws sing. Oh, the Springwhinny and morning moo from the clog dancing farms, thegulls' gab and rabble on the boat-bobbing river and seaand the cockles bubbling in the sand, scamper ofsanderlings, curlew cry, crow caw, pigeon coo, clockstrike, bull bellow, and the ragged gabble of thebeargarden school as the women scratch and babble in MrsOrgan Morgan's general shop where everything is sold:custard, buckets, henna, rat-traps, shrimp-nets, sugar,stamps, confetti, paraffin, hatchets, whistles.FIRST WOMANMrs Ogmore-PritchardSECOND WOMANla di daFIRST WOMANgot a man in Builth WellsTHIRD WOMANand he got a little telescope to look at birdsSECOND WOMANWilly Nilly saidTHIRD WOMANRemember her first husband? He didn't need a telescopeFIRST WOMANhe looked at them undressing through the keyholeTHIRD WOMANand he used to shout TallyhoSECOND WOMANbut Mr Ogmore was a proper gentlemanFIRST WOMANeven though he hanged his collie.THIRD WOMANSeen Mrs Butcher Beynon?SECOND WOMANshe said Butcher Beynon put dogs in the mincerFIRST WOMANgo on, he's pulling her legTHIRD WOMANnow don't you dare tell her that, there's a dearSECOND WOMANor she'll think he's trying to pull it off and eat it,FOURTH WOMANThere's a nasty lot live here when you come to think.FIRST WOMANLook at that Nogood Boyo nowSECOND WOMANtoo lazy to wipe his snoutTHIRD WOMANand going out fishing every day and all he ever broughtback was a Mrs SamuelsFIRST WOMANbeen in the water a week.SECOND WOMANAnd look at Ocky Milkman's wife that nobody's ever seenFIRST WOMANhe keeps her in the cupboard with the emptiesTHIRD WOMANand think of Dai Bread with two wivesSECOND WOMANone for the daytime one for the night.FOURTH WOMANMen are brutes on the quiet.THIRD WOMANAnd how's Organ Morgan, Mrs Morgan?FIRST WOMANyou look dead beatSECOND WOMANit's organ organ all the time with himTHIRD WOMANup every night until midnight playing the organ.MRS ORGAN MORGANOh, I'm a martyr to music.FIRST VOICEOutside, the sun springs down on the rough and tumblingtown. It runs through the hedges of Goosegog Lane, cuffingthe birds to sing. Spring whips green down Cockle Row, andthe shells ring out. Llareggub this snip of a morning iswildfruit and warm, the streets, fields, sands and watersspringing in the young sun.SECOND VOICEEvans the Death presses hard with black gloves on thecoffin of his breast in case his hearts jumps out,EVANS THE DEATH (Harshly)Where's your dignity. Lie down.SECOND VOICESpring stirs Gossamer Beynon schoolmistress like spoon.GOSSAMER BEYNON (Tearfully)Oh, what can I do? I'll never be refined if I twitch.SECOND VOICESpring this strong morning foams in a flame in Jack Blackas he cobbles a high-heeled shoe for Mrs Dai Bread Two thegypsy, but he hammers it sternly out.JACK BLACK (To a hammer rhythm)There is no leg belonging to the foot that belongs to thisshoe.SECOND VOICEThe sun and the green breeze ship Captain Cat sea-memoryagain.CAPTAIN CATNo, I'll take the mulatto, by God, who's captain here?Parlez-vous jig jig, Madam?SECOND VOICEMary Ann Sailors says very softly to herself as she looksout at Llareggub Hill from the bedroom where she was bornMARY ANN SAILORS (Loudly)It is Spring in Llareggub in the sun in my old age, andthis is the Chosen Land. [A choir of children's voices suddenly cries out on one, high, glad, long, sighing noteFIRST VOICEAnd in Willy Nilly the Postman's dark and sizzling damptea-coated misty pygmy kitchen where the spittingcatkettles throb and hop on the range, Mrs Willy Nilly steamsopen Mr Mog Edwards' letter to Miss Myfanwy Price andreads it aloud to Willy Nilly by the squint of the Springsun through the one sealed window running with tears,while the drugged, bedraggled hens at the back doorwhimper and snivel for the lickerish bog-black tea.MRS WILLY NILLYFrom Manchester House, Llareggub. Sole Prop: Mr Mog Edwards(late of Twll), Linendraper, Haberdasher, Master Tailor,Costumier. For West End Negligee, Lingerie, Teagowns,Evening Dress, Trousseaux, Layettes. Also Ready to Wearfor All Occasions. Economical Outfitting for AgriculturalEmployment Our Speciality, Wardrobes Bought. Among OurSatisfied Customers Ministers of Religion and J .P 's.Fittings by Appointment. Advertising Weekly in the TwllBugle. Beloved Myfanwy Price my Bride in Heaven,MOG EDWARDSI love you until Death do us part and then we shall betogether for ever and ever. A new parcel of ribbons hascome from Carmarthen to-day, all the colours in therainbow. I wish I could tie a ribbon in your hair a whiteone but it cannot be. I dreamed last night you were alldripping wet and you sat on my lap as the Reverend Jenkinswent down the street. I see you got a mermaid in your laphe said and he lifted his hat. He is a proper Christian.Not like Cherry Owen who said you should have thrown herback he said. Business is very poorly. Polly Garter boughttwo garters with roses but she never got stockings so whatis the use I say. Mr Waldo tried to sell me a woman'snightie outsize he said he found it and we know where. Isold a packet of pins to Tom the Sailors to pick histeeth. If this goes on I shall be in the workhouse. Myheart is in your bosom and yours is in mine. God be withyou always Myfanwy Price and keep you lovely for me in HisHeavenly Mansion. I must stop now and remain, Your Eternal,Mog Edwards.MRS WILLY NILLYAnd then a little message with a rubber stamp. Shop atMog's!!!FIRST VOICE.And Willy Nilly, rumbling, jockeys out again to thethree-seated shack called the House of Commons in the backwhere the hens weep, and sees, in sudden Springshine,SECOND VOICEherring gulls heckling down to the harbour where thefishermen spit and prop the morning up and eye the fishysea smooth to the sea's end as it lulls in blue. Green andgold money, tobacco, tinned salmon, hats with feathers,pots of fish-paste, warmth for the winter-to-be, weave andleap in it rich and slippery in the flash and shapes offishes through the cold sea-streets. But with blue lazyeyes the fishermen gaze at that milkmaid whispering waterwith no nick or ripple as though it blew great guns andserpents and typhooned the town.FISHERMANToo rough for fishing to-day.SECOND VOICEAnd they thank God, and gob at a gull for luck, andmoss-slow and silent make their way uphill, from the stillstill sea, towards the Sailors Arms as the children [School bellFIRST VOICEspank and scamper rough and singing out of school into thedraggletail yard. And Captain Cat at his window says softto himself the words of their song.CAPTAIN CAT (To the beat of the singing)Johnnie Crack and Flossie SnailKept their baby in amilking pail FlossieSnail and Johnnie CrackOne would pull it out and one would put it backO it's my turn now said Flossie SnailTo take the baby from the milking pailAnd it's my turn now said Johnnie CrackTo smack it on the head and put it backJohnnie Crack and Flossie SnailKept their baby in a milking pailOne would put it back and one would pull it outAnd all it had to drink was ale and stoutFor Johnnie Crack and Flossie SnailAlways used to say that stout and aleWas good for a baby in a milking pail.[Long pauseFIRST VOICEThe music of the spheres is heard distinctly over MilkWood. It is 'The Rustle of Spring.'SECOND VOICEA glee-party sings in Bethesda Graveyard, gay but muffled.FIRST VOICEVegetables make love above the tenorsSECOND VOICEand dogs bark blue in the face.FIRST VOICEMrs Ogmore-Pritchard belches in a teeny hanky and chasesthe sunlight with a flywhisk, but even she cannot driveout the Spring: from one of the finger-bowls a primrosegrows.SECOND VOICEMrs Dai Bread One and Mrs Dai Bread Two are sittingoutside their house in Donkey Lane, one darkly one plumplyblooming in the quick, dewy sun. Mrs Dai Bread Two islooking into a crystal ball which she holds in the lap ofher dirty yellow petticoat, hard against her hard darkthighs.MRS DAI BREAD TWOCross my palm with silver. Out of our housekeeping money.Aah!MRS DAI BREAD ONEWhat d'you see, lovie?MRS DAI BREAD TWOI see a featherbed. With three pillows on it. And a textabove the bed. I can't read what it says, there's greatclouds blowing. Now they have blown away. God is Love, thetext says.MRS DAI BREAD ONE (Delighted)That's our bed.MRS DAI BREAD TWOAnd now it's vanished. The sun's spinning like a top.Who's this coming out of the sun? It's a hairy little manwith big pink lips. He got a wall eye.MRS DAI BREAD ONEIt's Dai, it's Dai Bread!MRS DAI BREAD TWOSsh! The featherbed's floating back. The little man'staking his boots off. He's pulling his shirt over hishead. He's beating his chest with his fists. He'sclimbing into bed.MRS DAI BREAD ONEGo on, go on.MRS DAI BREAD TWOThere's two women in bed. He looks at them both, with hishead cocked on one side. He's whistling through his teeth.Now he grips his little arms round one of the women.MRS DAI BREAD ONEWhich one, which one?MRS DAI BREAD TWOI can't see any more. There's great clouds blowing again.MRS DAI BREAD ONEAch, the mean old clouds! [Pause. The children's singing fadesFIRST VOICEThe morning is all singing. The Reverend Eli Jenkins, busyon his morning calls, stops outside the Welfare Hall tohear Polly Garter as she scrubs the floors for theMothers' Union Dance to-night.POLLY GARTER (Singing)I loved a man whose name was TomHe was strong as a bear and two yards longI loved a man whose name was DickHe was big as a barrel and three feet thickAnd I loved a man whose name was HarrySix feet tall and sweet as a cherryBut the one I loved best awake or asleepWas little Willy Wee and he's six feet deep.O Tom Dick and Harry were three fine menAnd I'll never have such loving againBut little Willy Wee who took me on his kneeLittle Willy Wee was the man for me.Now men from every parish roundRun after me and roll me on the groundBut whenever I love another man backJohnnie from the Hill or Sailing JackI always think as they do what they pleaseOf Tom Dick and Harry who were tall as treesAnd most I think when I'm by their sideOf little Willy Wee who downed and died.O Tom Dick and Harry were three fine menAnd I'll never have such loving againBut little Willy Wee who took me on his kneeLittle Willy Weazel is, the man for me.REV. ELI JENKINSPraise the Lord! We are a musical nation.SECOND VOICEAnd the Reverend Jenkins hurries on through the town tovisit the sick with jelly and poems.FIRST VOICEThe town's as full as a lovebird's egg.MR WALDOThere goes the Reverend,FIRST VOICEsays Mr Waldo at the smoked herring brown window of theunwashed Sailors Arms,MR WALDOwith his brolly and his odes. Fill 'em up, Sinbad, I'm onthe treacle to-day.SECOND VOICEThe silent fishermen flush down their pints.SINBADOh, Mr Waldo,FIRST VOICEsighs Sinbad Sailors,SINBADI dote on that Gossamer Beynon. She's a lady all over.FIRST VOICEAnd Mr Waldo, who is thinking of a woman soft as Eve andsharp as sciatica to share his bread-pudding bed, answersMR WALDONo lady that I know isSINBADAnd if only grandma'd die, cross my heart I'd go down onmy knees Mr Waldo and I'd say Miss Gossamer I'd sayCHILDREN'S VOICESWhen birds do sing hey ding a ding a dingSweet lovers love the Spring...SECOND VOICEPolly Garter sings, still on her knees,POLLY GARTERTom Dick and Harry were three fine menAnd I'll never have suchCHILDRENding a dingPOLLY GARTERagain.FIRST VOICEAnd the morning school is over, and Captain Cat at hiscurtained schooner's porthole open to the Spring sun tideshears the naughty forfeiting children tumble and rhyme onthe cobbles.GIRLS’ VOICESGwennie call the boysThey make such a noise.GIRLBoys boys boysCome along to me'.GIRLS’ VOICESBoys boys boysKiss Gwennie where she saysOr give her a penny.Go on, Gwennie.GIRLKiss me in Goosegog LaneOr give me a penny.What's your name?FIRST BOYBilly.GIRLKiss me in Goosegog Lane BillyOr give me a penny silly.FIRST BOYGwennie GwennieI kiss you in Goosegog Lane.Now I haven't got to give you a penny.GIRLS’ VOICESBoys boys boysKiss Gwennie where she saysOr give her a penny.Go on, Gwennie.GIRLKiss me on Llareggub HillOr give me a penny.What's your name?SECOND BOYJohnnie Cristo.GIRLKiss me on Llareggub Hill Johnnie CristoOr give me a penny mister.SECOND BOYGwennie GwennieI kiss you on Llareggub Hill.Now I haven't got to give you a penny.GIRLS’ VOICESBoys boys boysKiss Gwennie where she saysOr give her a penny.Go on, Gwennie.GIRLKiss me in Milk WoodOr give me a penny.What's your name?THIRD BOYDicky.GIRLKiss me in Milk Wood DickyOr give me a penny quickly.THIRD BOYGwennie GwennieI can't kiss you in Milk Wood.GIRLS’ VOICESGwennie ask him why.GIRLWhy?THIRD BOYBecause my mother says I mustn't.GIRLS’ VOICESCowardy cowardy custardGive Gwennie a penny.GIRLGive me a penny.THIRD BOYI haven't got any.GIRLS’ VOICESPut him in the riverUp to his liverQuick quick Dirty DickBeat him on the bumWith a rhubarb stick.Aiee!Hush!FIRST VOICEAnd the shrill girls giggle and master around him andsqueal as they clutch and thrash, and he blubbers awaydownhill with his patched pants falling, and histear-splashed blush burns all the way as the triumphantbird-like sisters scream with buttons in their claws andthe bully brothers hoot after him his little nickname andhis mother's shame and his father's wickedness with theloose wild barefoot women of the hovels of the hills. Itall means nothing at all, and, howling for his milky mum,for her cawl and buttermilk and cowbreath and welshcakesand the fat birth-smelling bed and moonlit kitchen of herarms, he'll never forget as he paddles blind home throughthe weeping end of the world. Then his tormentors tussleand run to the Cockle Street sweet-shop, their penniessticky as honey, to buy from Miss Myfanwy Price, who iscocky and neat as a puff-bosomed robin and her small roundbuttocks tight as ticks, gobstoppers big as wens thatrainbow as you suck, brandyballs, winegums, hundreds andthousands, liquorice sweet as sick, nougat to tug andribbon out like another red rubbery tongue, gum to gluein girls' curls, crimson coughdrops to spit blood,ice-cream comets, dandelion-and-burdock, raspberry andcherryade, pop goes the weasel and the wind.SECOND VOICEGossamer Beynon high-heels out of school The sun hums downthrough the cotton flowers of her dress into the bell ofher heart and buzzes in the honey there and couches andkisses, lazy-loving and boozed, in her red-berried breast.Eyes run from the trees and windows of the street,steaming 'Gossamer,' and strip her to the nipples and thebees. She blazes naked past the Sailors Arms, the onlywoman on the Dai-Adamed earth. Sinbad Sailors places onher thighs still dewdamp from the first mangrowingcockcrow garden his reverent goat-bearded hands.GOSSAMER BEYNONI don't care if he is common,SECOND VOICEshe whispers to her salad-day deep self,GOSSAMER BEYNONI want to gobble him up. I don't care if he does drop hisaitches,SECOND VOICEshe tells the stripped and mother-of-the-world big-beamedand Eve-hipped spring of her self,GOSSAMER BEYNONso long as he's all cucumber and hooves.SECOND VOICESinbad Sailors watches her go by, demure and proud andschoolmarm in her crisp flower dress and sun-defying hat,with never a look or lilt or wriggle, the butcher'sunmelting icemaiden daughter veiled for ever from thehungry hug of his eyes.SINBAD SAILORSOh, Gossamer Beynon, why are you so proud?SECOND VOICEhe grieves to his guinness,SINBAD SAILORSOh, beautiful beautiful Gossamer B, I wish I wish that youwere for me. I wish you were not so educated.SECOND VOICEShe feels his goatbeard tickle her in the middle of theworld like a tuft of wiry fire, and she turns in a terrorof delight away from his whips and whiskery conflagration,and sits down in the kitchen to a plate heaped high withchips and the kidneys of lambs.FIRST VOICEIn the blind-drawn dark dining-room of School House, dustyand echoing as a dining-room in a vault, Mr and Mrs Pughare silent over cold grey cottage pie. Mr Pugh reads, ashe forks the shroud meat in, from Lives of the GreatPoisoners. He has bound a plain brown-paper cover roundthe book. Slyly, between slow mouthfuls, he sidespies upat Mrs Pugh, poisons her with his eye, then goes onreading. He underlines certain passages and smiles insecret.MRS PUGHPersons with manners do not read at table,FIRST VOICEsays Mrs Pugh. She swallows a digestive tablet as big as ahorse-pill, washing it down with clouded peasoup water. [PauseMRS PUGHSome persons were brought up in pigsties.MR PUGHPigs don't read at table, dear.FIRST VOICEBitterly she flicks dust from the broken cruet. It settleson the pie in a thin gnat-rain.MR PUGHPigs can't read, my dear.MRS PUGHI know one who can.FIRST VOICEAlone in the hissing laboratory of his wishes, Mr Pughminces among bad vats and jeroboams, tiptoes throughspinneys of murdering herbs, agony dancing in hiscrucibles, and mixes especially for Mrs Pugh a venomousporridge unknown to toxicologists which will scald andviper through her until her ears fall off like figs, hertoes grow big and black as balloons, and steam comesscreaming out of her navel.MR PUGHYou know best, dear,FIRST VOICEsays Mr Pugh, and quick as a flash he ducks her in ratsoup.MRS PUGHWhat's that book by your trough, Mr Pugh?MR PUGHIt's a theological work, my dear. Lives of the GreatSaints.FIRST VOICEMrs Pugh smiles. An icicle forms in the cold air of thedining-vault.MRS PUGHI saw you talking to a saint this morning. Saint PollyGarter. She was martyred again last night. Mrs OrganMorgan saw her with Mr Waldo.MRS ORGAN MORGANAnd when they saw me they pretended they were looking fornests,SECOND VOICEsaid Mrs Organ Morgan to her husband, with her mouth fullof fish as a pelican's.MRS ORGAN MORGANBut you don't go nesting in long combinations, I said tomyself, like Mr Waldo was wearing, and your dress nearlyover your head like Polly Garter's. Oh, they didn't fool me.SECOND VOICEOne big bird gulp, and the flounder's gone. She licks herlips and goes stabbing again.MRS ORGAN MORGANAnd when you think of all those babies she's got, then allI can say is she'd better give up bird nesting that's allI can say, it isn't the right kind of hobby at all for awoman that can't say No even to midgets. Remember BobSpit? He wasn't any bigger than a baby and he gave hertwo. But they're two nice boys, I will say that, Fred Spitand Arthur. Sometimes I like Fred best and sometimes Ilike Arthur. Who do you like best, Organ?ORGAN MORGANOh, Bach without any doubt. Bach every time for me.MRS ORGAN MORGANOrgan Morgan, you haven't been listening to a word 1 said.It's organ organ all the time with you..FIRST VOICEAnd she bursts into tears, and, in the middle of her saltyhowling, nimbly spears a small flatfish and pelicans itwhole.ORGAN MORGANAnd then Palestrina,SECOND VOICEsays Organ Morgan.FIRST VOICELord Cut-Glass, in his kitchen full of time, squats downalone to a dogdish, marked Fido, of peppery fish-scrapsand listens to the voices of his sixty-six clocks, one foreach year of his loony age, and watches, with love, theirblack-and-white moony loudlipped faces tocking the earthaway: slow clocks, quick clocks, pendulumed heart-knocks,china, alarm, grandfather, cuckoo; clocks shaped likeNoah's whirring Ark, clocks that bicker in marble ships,clocks in the wombs of glass women, hourglass chimers,tu-wit-tuwoo clocks, clocks that pluck tunes, Vesuviusclocks all black bells and lava, Niagara clocks thatcataract their ticks, old time-weeping clocks with ebonybeards, clocks with no hands for ever drumming out timewithout ever knowing what time it is. His sixty-sixsingers are all set at different hours. Lord Cut-Glasslives in a house and a life at siege. Any minute or darkday now, the unknown enemy will loot and savage downhill,but they will not catch him napping. Sixty-six differenttimes in his fish-slimy kitchen ping, strike, tick, chime,and tock.SECOND VOICEThe lust and lilt and lather and emerald breeze andcrackle of the bird-praise and body of Spring with itsbreasts full of rivering May-milk, means, to that lordlyfish-head nibbler, nothing but another nearness to thetribes and navies of the Last Black Day who'll sear andpillage down Armageddon Hill to his double-lockedrusty-shuttered tick-tock dust-scrabbled shack at thebottom of the town that has fallen head over bells in love.POLLY GARTERAnd I'll never have such loving again,SECOND VOICEpretty Polly hums and longs.POLLY GARTER (Sings)Now when farmers' boys on the first fair dayCome down from the hills to drink and be gay,Before the sun sinks I'll lie there in their armsFor they're good bad boys from the lonely farms,But I always think as we tumble into bedOf little Willy Wee who is dead, dead, dead... [A silenceFIRST VOICEThe sunny slow lulling afternoon yawns and moons throughthe dozy town. The sea lolls, laps and idles in, withfishes sleeping in its lap. The meadows still as Sunday,the shut-eye tasselled bulls, the goat-anddaisy dingles,nap happy and lazy. The dumb duck-ponds snooze. Clouds sagand pillow on Llareggub Hill. Pigs grunt in a wetwallow-bath, and smile as they snort and dream. They dreamof the acorned swill of the world, the rooting forpig-fruit, the bagpipe dugs of the mother sow, the squealand snuffle of yesses of the women pigs in rut. Theymud-bask and snout in the pig-loving sun; their tailscurl; they rollick and slobber and snore to deep, smug,after-swill sleep. Donkeys angelically drowse on DonkeyDown.MRS PUGHPersons with manners,SECOND VOICEsnaps Mrs cold Pugh,MRS PUGHdo not nod at table.FIRST VOICEMr Pugh cringes awake. He puts on a soft-soaping smile: itis sad and grey under his nicotine-eggyellow weepingwalrus Victorian moustache worn thick and long in memoryof Doctor Crippen.MRS PUGHYou should wait until you retire to your sty,SECOND VOICEsays Mrs Pugh, sweet as a razor. His fawning measlyquarter-smile freezes. Sly and silent, he foxes into hischemist's den and there, in a hiss and prussic circleof cauldrons and phials brimful with pox and the BlackDeath, cooks up a fricassee of deadly nightshade,nicotine, hot frog, cyanide and bat-spit for his needlingstalactite hag and bednag of a pokerbacked nutcrackerwife.MR PUGHI beg your pardon, my dear,SECOND VOICEhe murmurs with a wheedle.FIRST VOICECaptain Cat, at his window thrown wide to the sun and theclippered seas he sailed long ago when his eyes were blueand bright, slumbers and voyages; ear-ringed and rolling,I Love You Rosie Probert tattooed on his belly, he brawlswith broken bottles in the fug and babel of the dark dockbars, roves with a herd of short and good time cows inevery naughty port and twines and souses with the drownedand blowzy-breasted dead. He weeps as he sleeps and sails.SECOND VOICEOne voice of all he remembers most dearly as his dreambuckets down. Lazy early Rosie with the flaxen thatch,whom he shared with Tom-Fred the donkeyman and manyanother seaman, clearly and near to him speaks from thebedroom of her dust. In that gulf and haven, fleets by thedozen have anchored for the little heaven of the night;but she speaks to Captain napping Cat alone. Mrs Probert...ROSIE PROBERTfrom Duck Lane, Jack. Quack twice and ask for RosieSECOND VOICE...is the one love of his sea-life that was sardined withwomen.ROSIE PROBERT (Softly)What seas did you see,Tom Cat, Tom Cat,In your sailoring daysLong long ago?What sea beasts wereIn the wavery greenWhen you were my master?CAPTAIN CATI'll tell you the truth.Seas barking likeseals, Blue seas and green,Seas covered with eelsAnd mermen and whales.ROSIE PROBERTWhat seas did you sailOld whaler whenOn the blubbery wavesBetween Frisco and WalesYou were my bosun?CAPTAIN CATAs true as I'm hereDear you Tom Cat's tartYou landlubber RosieYou cosy loveMy easy as easyMy true sweetheart,Seas green as a beanSeas gliding with swansIn the seal-barking moon.ROSIE PROBERTWhat seas were rockingMy little deck handMy favourite husband In your seaboots and hungerMy duck my whalerMy honey my daddyMy pretty sugar sailor.With my name on your bellyWhen you were a boyLong long ago?CAPTAIN CATI'll tell you no lies.The only sea I sawWas the seesaw seaWith you riding on it.Lie down, lie easy.Let me shipwreck in your thighs.ROSIE PROBERT,Knock twice, Jack,At the door of my graveAnd ask for Rosie.CAPTAIN CATRosie Probert.ROSIE PROBERTRemember her.She is forgetting.The earth which filled her mouthIs vanishing from her.Remember me.I have forgotten you.I am going into the darkness of the darkness for ever.I have forgotten that I was ever born.CHILDLook,FIRST VOICEsays a child to her mother as they pass by the window ofSchooner House,CHILDCaptain Cat is cryingFIRST VOICECaptain Cat is cryingCAPTAIN CATCome back, come back,FIRST VOICEup the silences and echoes of the passages of the eternalnight.CHILDHe's crying all over his nose,FIRST VOICEsays the child. Mother and child move on down the street.CHILDHe's got a nose like strawberries,FIRST VOICEthe child says ; and then she forgets him too. She sees inthe still middle of the bluebagged bay Nogood Boyo fishingfrom the Zanzibar.CHILDNogood Boyo gave me three pennies yesterday but I wouldn't,FIRST VOICEthe child tells her mother.SECOND VOICEBoyo catches a whalebone corset. It is all he has caughtall day.NOGOOD BOYOBloody funny fish!SECOND VOICEMrs Dai Bread Two gypsies up his mind's slow eye, dressedonly in a bangle.NOGOOD BOYOShe's wearing her nightgown. (Pleadingly) Would you likethis nice wet corset, Mrs Dai Bread Two?MRS DAI BREAD TWONo, I won't!NOGOOD BOYOAnd a bite of my little apple?SECOND VOICEhe offers with no hope.FIRST VOICEShe shakes her brass nightgown, and he chases her out ofhis mind; and when he comes gusting back, there in thebloodshot centre of his eye a geisha girl grins and bowsin a kimono of ricepaper.NOGOOD BOYOI want to be good Boyo, but nobody'll let me,FIRST VOICEhe sighs as she writhes politely. The land fades, the seaflocks silently away; and through the warm white cloudwhere he lies, silky, tingling, uneasy Eastern musicundoes him in a Japanese minute.SECOND VOICEThe afternoon buzzes like lazy bees round the flowersround Mae Rose Cottage. Nearly asleep in the field ofnannygoats who hum and gently butt the sun, she blows loveon a puffball.MAE ROSE COTTAGE (Lazily)He loves meHe loves me notHe loves meHe loves me notHe loves me!--the dirty old fool.SECOND VOICELazy she lies alone in clover and sweet-grass, seventeenand never been sweet in the grass ho ho.FIRST VOICEThe Reverend Eli Jenkins inky in his cool front parlour orpoem-room tells only the truth in his Lifework--thePopulation, Main Industry, Shipping, History, Topography,Flora and Fauna of the town he worships in--the White Bookof Llareggub. Portraits of famous bards and preachers, allfur and wool from the squint to the kneecaps, hang overhim heavy as sheep, next to faint lady watercolours ofpale green Milk Wood like a lettuce salad dying. Hismother, propped against a pot in a palm, with herwedding-ring waist and bust like a black-clotheddining-table suffers in her stays.REV. ELI JENKINSOh angels be careful there with your knives and forks,FIRST VOICEhe prays. There is no known likeness of his father Esau,who, undogcollared because of his little weakness, wasscythed to the bone one harvest by mistake when sleepingwith his weakness in the corn. He lost all ambition anddied, with one leg.REV. ELI JENKINSPoor Dad,SECOND VOICEgrieves the Reverend Eli,REV. ELI JENKINSto die of drink and agriculture.SECOND VOICEFarmer Watkins in Salt Lake Farm hates his cattle on thehill as he ho's them in to milking.UTAH WATKINS (In a fury)Damn you, you damned dairies!SECOND VOICEA cow kisses him.UTAH WATKINSBite her to death!SECOND VOICEhe shouts to his deaf dog who smiles and licks his hands.UTAH WATKINSGore him, sit on him, Daisy!SECOND VOICEhe bawls to the cow who barbed him with her tongue, andshe moos gentle words as he raves and dances among hissummerbreathed slaves walking delicately to the farm. Thecoming of the end of the Spring day is already reflectedin the lakes of their great eyes. Bessie Bighead greetsthem by the names she gave them when they were maidens.BESSIE BIGHEADPeg, Meg, Buttercup, Moll,Fan from the Castle,Theodosia and Daisy.SECOND VOICEThey bow their heads.FIRST VOICELook up Bessie Bighead in the White Book of Llareggub andyou will find the few haggard rags and the one poorglittering thread of her history laid out in pages therewith as much love and care as the lock of hair of a firstlost love. Conceived in Milk Wood, born in a barn, wrappedin paper, left on a doorstep, bigheaded and bass-voicedshe grew in the dark until long-dead Gomer Owen kissed herwhen she wasn't looking because he was dared. Now in thelight she'll work, sing, milk, say the cows' sweet namesand sleep until the night sucks out her soul and spits itinto the sky. In her life-long low light, holily Bessiemilks the fond lake-eyed cows as dusk showers slowly downover byre, sea and town.Utah Watkins curses through the farmyard on a carthorse.UTAH WATKINSGallop, you bleeding cripple!FIRST VOICEand the huge horse neighs softly as though he had given ita lump of sugar.Now the town is dusk. Each cobble, donkey, goose andgooseberry street is a thoroughfare of dusk; and dusk andceremonial dust, and- night's first darkening snow, andthe sleep of birds, drift under and through the live duskof this place of love. Llareggub is the capital of dusk.Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard, at the first drop of thedusk-shower, seals all her sea-view doors, draws thegerm-free blinds, sits, erect as a dry dream on ahigh-backed hygienic chair and wills herself to cold,quick sleep. At once, at twice, Mr Ogmore and MrPritchard, who all dead day long have been gossiping likeghosts in the woodshed, planning the loveless destructionof their glass widow, reluctantly sigh and sidle into herclean house.MR PRITCHARD You first, Mr Ogmore. MR OGMOREAfter you, Mr Pritchard.MR PRITCHARDNo, no, Mr Ogmore. You widowed her first.FIRST VOICEAnd in through the keyhole, with tears where their eyesonce were, they ooze and grumble.MRS OGMORE-PRITCHARDHusbands,FIRST VOICEshe says in her sleep. There is acid love in her voice forone of the two shambling phantoms. Mr Ogmore hopes that itis not for him. So does Mr Pritchard.MRS OGMORE-PRITCHARDI love you both. MR OGMORE (With terror)Oh, Mrs Ogmore.MR PRITCHARD (With horror)Oh, Mrs Pritchard.MRS OGMORE-PRITCHARDSoon it will be time to go to bed. Tell me your tasks in