They Don't Write Parts for Old Ducks by Bob Galley
THEY DON'T WRITE PARTS FOR OLD DUCKS
CHARACTERS:
DOT: A long term meber of an amateur theatre group.
EVA: An earlier member who had left for several years. Dot joined
while she was away.
They have known each other for many years and
have many shared experiences.
THE ACTION TAKES PLACE AT THE CLUBROOMS. DOT IS SEATED AT A TABLE WITH
A TEAPOT. SHE POURS HERSELF A CUP. THERE IS A MILK CARTON AND A SUGAR
BOWL ON THE TABLE. EVA ENTERS.
EVA.: I can't do it. I just can't do it.
DOT.: Can't do what.
EVA.: This part they gave me.
DOT.: Which one's that?
SHE POURS TEA INTO A SECOND CUP.
EVA.: She's called Molly. It's a wonderful role. Some really lovely
lines.
DOT PASSES HER A CUP. EVA SITS.
Thank you.
POURS MILK INTO HER TEA. OFFERS IT TO DOT.
Milk? No you don't do you?
DOT.: What's it about?
EVA.: It's a mystery— sort of—and, see I'm supposed to be the
maiden aunt who's actually got herself a young stud.
DOT.: O!
GIVES HERSELF SOME SUGAR OFFERS IT TO EVA
Sugar? No you don't do you?
EVA.: Well I suppose I do—I mean she does—- not actually on stage
of course. Turns out he's a spy.
And there's been a robbery—a mysterious antique manuscript has gone
missing. I've got it here.
TAKES SCRIPT OUT OF HER BAG. GIVES IT TO DOT.
DOT.: I know that name. I'm sure we did one of his—it must be twenty
years ago—- Yes I was in it. I played a real bitch—-,
DOT STANDS AND MOVES AROUND AS IF PERFORMING.
EVA.: (SOTTO VOCE) They always gave you those sort of roles. Suited
you perfectly.
DOT.: ——who stabbed her twin brother to death. I remember that
line—“I am extremely adept with a scalpel”. I was upstage right, and
Colin, he played my brother, was behind a curtain and I-
SHE ACTS OUT THE SCENE DESCRIBED.
And then I had this death scene where I was garotted with a piece of
wire. Good play.
EVA.: The play was fine. It was the performance that was the
disaster.
DOT.: Only because we let that poonce Frederick direct it—what sort
of person let's himself be called Frederick? And fancy letting Charlie
play the leading man. Awful performance. Dreadful. It was only after I
shot him in the end of Act 2 that the play had a chance. Should have
bumped him off at the start of page one. The man simply couldn't act.
Nice man—don't get me wrong, and he did more work for the theatre
than anyone else. Credit where credit's due. Looked after the garden,
ran the bar, was on the committee for years, built the sets—but he
was hopeless on stage.
EVA.: You are talking about my brother.
DOT.: O, yes.
EVA.: You're right. He should never have trod the boards. I think I
inherited all the artistic attributes, Charlie got the rest. Some of
us have it and some of us don't.
DOT.: Yes. Is there a part in this for me?
EVA.: No, there's only one part for old crocks like us.
DOT.: I beg your pardon. Senior actresses.
EVA.: Senior actresses, yes. Veteran performers.
DOT.: Doesn't matter how you say it. We're still old.
EVA.: Vintage. That's the word.
DOT.: Like one of those vintage cars. Polish it up as much as you
like, you can't hide that it don't perform like it used to.
EVA.: I was thinking more of a vintage wine. Improves as the years go
on. May not be to everyone's liking, but, appreciated by those with
discriminating tastes.
[End of Extract]