For the Reckord Read online

  CRAGGE: ‘Cos there’s too many things make me puke. He’d lose the manor for us swearin’ – but no matter how little we learn he don’t lose nothing. For ‘avin’ most us leave ‘ere content to borin’ dirty work ‘e gets the Mayor praisin’ him. To hell with the lot of them anyway, I ain’t content. That bloody ‘eadmaster, ‘e’s imposin’ ‘imself on us. Toffs don’t eat in the street so we mustn’t. We ain’t toffs that’s why ‘e can’t teach us nothin’. Somethin’ like that. We ‘aven’t learned nothin’ any’ow and ‘e’s bloody paid to teach us… I dunno…

  FREEMAN: Just a minute. You’ve got some sort of brain. Why’ve you never thought about staying on?

  CRAGGE: I’ve stayed four years already and it’s got me nowhere.

  FREEMAN: It’s better than pushing a barrow down Brixton.

  CRAGGE: What about your bike?

  FREEMAN: I’ll go by bus. Take it to the school keeper – and take Miss Smith’s as well… goodnight.

  CRAGGE: (Cheeky; of Miss Smith.) Are you scratchin’ ‘er then?

  FREEMAN: So what are you going to do when you leave?

  CRAGGE: (Caught off balance, forced to consider.) Dunno. Get lost I expect.

  FREEMAN: Are you on probation? (No answer; seeing the others coming.) You’ll get jailed if you go on being lawless.

  CRAGGE: You get jailed lawless or not, down ‘ere.

  FREEMAN: That’s rubbish.

  CRAGGE: That’s life.

  Exit FREEMAN. Enter Gang and Girls.

  BROOK: ‘And over me bruiser.

  CRAGGE: Waste of a tanner, that was.

  ADAMS: (Looking at the knuckle-duster.) Any blood?

  HELEN: Let me ‘ave a look.

  ADAMS: It’s a bloody knuckle-duster.

  JORDAN: It ain’t bloody, it’s dry.

  CRAGGE: (Very defensive, fearing their reaction to what he has to tell.) Waste of a tanner, I told you.

  ADAMS: ‘Ow long will ‘e be in ‘ospital?

  BROOK: Why don’t you dry up? (To CRAGGE.) What did you use?

  SYLVIA: Did ‘e scream?

  BROOK: (To SYLVIA.) Look, if you don’t shut your cake ‘ole, I’ll do you.

  Roar of laughter.

  HELEN: What did ‘e say ‘e’d used?

  BROOK: ‘E ain’t ‘ad a chance to say a thing yet. Will you dry up?

  CRAGGE: You should ‘ave ‘eard ‘im talking. Cor.

  BROOK: So what did you do?

  CRAGGE: Oh, he talked on and on. Begged hisself off.

  COLMAN: Tried to talk ‘imself out of it, did he?

  BROOK: Let ‘im tell it.

  CRAGGE: That’s all. ‘E begged hisself off.

  BROOK: ‘E traps you into lettin’ on about the birds then gets you caned for it. Then you let ‘im smooth you over.

  CRAGGE: I didn’t.

  ADAMS: Didn’t you hit ‘im wiv it (i.e. knuckle duster.)?

  BROOK: (Calmly.) Let ‘im tell.

  CRAGGE: ‘E apologized. Begged hisself off.

  BROOK: So what you do when he done that.

  ADAMS: They kissed goodnight.

  BROOK: You fell on ‘is bleedin’ neck and cried.

  CRAGGE: You couldn’t a done no different. ‘E as ‘is judo belt, that master. Toss you a mile.

  BROOK: Aw, you weeper. (To the others.) You comin’?

  CRAGGE: Well, ‘e apologised, ‘e did an all. You ask ‘im in the mornin’.

  BROOK: (Contemptuously.) Ah, you go and ask ‘im yourself.

  BROOK goes off with the others following him. CRAGGE is left with bitter jealousy and a one-down feeling. Clutching for support he calls after one of the girls.

  CRAGGE: Sylvia.

  SYLVIA: (Intensely embarrassed.) Wot.

  ADAMS: (Derisively.) You can ‘ave ‘er. (Exit.)

  SYLVIA: (Hostile.) Wot was it you wanted?

  CRAGGE: Knuckledusterin’. That’s Brook’s kinda work. ‘E’s just a thief with no brains. No brains ‘e ‘asn’t. Now they’re going into the caff eatin’ what Brook buys ‘em.

  SYLVIA: No they’re not, they’re going to the graveyard.

  CRAGGE: Wot?

  SYLVIA: They want me an’ ‘Elen to go into graveyard wiv ‘em. And I ain’t going.

  CRAGGE: (Alarmed.) ‘Elen’s goin’ wiv them?

  SYLVIA: You go and be wiv ‘er.

  CRAGGE: Let ‘er go to bloody ‘ell if she likes… All I know is there’s always plainclothes coppers patrollin’ that graveyard and they won’t ‘ave the nerve to go in.

  SYLVIA: Brook seems to ‘ave the nerve for anything.

  CRAGGE: For takin’ advantage.

  SYLVIA: That’s nerve as well.

  CRAGGE: Getting people to do what they don’t want to do.

  SYLVIA: What d’you mean?

  CRAGGE: I wouldn’t be like him for anything.

  SYLVIA: He’s all right.

  She is about to go.

  CRAGGE: Can you ride a bike?

  SYLVIA: Can I ride a bike!

  CRAGGE: I learnt to ride underbar like this when I was that ‘igh. (The barbarian demonstrates on the flat tyre.) No one taught me. Would you like a try?

  SYLVIA: No.

  CRAGGE: Come on, have a go.

  SYLVIA: No.

  CRAGGE: Come on.

  She comes diffidently to the bike but her narrow skirt impedes her from climbing on with ease.

  Ride on the cross-bar.

  SYLVIA: Will you hold it for us?

  He guides her round.

  CRAGGE: If you ‘ad one would you cycle all over?

  SYLVIA: I don’t ave one.

  CRAGGE: You’re too sheltered from life. You should be doin’ things like cycling down to Brighton and ‘aving a picnic off the road in the beautiful countryside, with food and a transistor, then on to the road again, racin’ quite fast with the breeze in your face and your legs glowin’. But you never. D’you like goin’ round with Brook and them?

  SYLVIA: (Sour grapes.) I know I don’t wanna get like ‘Elen. Brook’ll have her slippin’ stuff out Woollies. Them shops, they’re all eyes.

  CRAGGE: ‘E’s a big mouth. ‘E should be shouting paraffin for a living. Esso blue! (He does the Esso Blue street cry. The ‘E’ becomes a long high ‘A’.) A’s blue. (He does it very well.)

  SYLVIA: (Laughing.) You ought to sell it, not ‘im.

  The unmeant irony wounds him and he shows it.

  (Very friendly, soothing him.) I didn’t mean nothin’.

  CRAGGE: You won’t do much wiv ‘im except goin’ to the pictures and wearin’ eye-brow pencil, and ‘angin’ about wet-like, nattering.

  SYLVIA: (Friendly.) Who is wet?

  CRAGGE: You should be keepin’ ‘ealthy, cycling in the open this week-end, instead a coopin’ up in the smog, your lungs gettin’ yellow.

  SYLVIA: I’m going out anyway, this week-end.

  CRAGGE: Who with?

  SYLVIA: ‘Elen.

  CRAGGE: (Apprehensive.) Just two of you.

  SYLVIA: The gang was talkin’ in the caff just now about something.

  CRAGGE: What?

  SYLVIA: (Gently.) I expect if they want you to know they’ll tell you.

  All silence. He’s completely deflated.

  CRAGGE: Didn’t they say nothin’ about tellin’ me?

  SYLVIA: No.

  CRAGGE: It’s some muckin’ around wastin’ time. They’ll leave school and ‘ave to troop into some dirty job for life. I’ve made up me mind… I’m gonna be doin’ something – not just muckin’ around.

  SYLVIA: (Not following.) When are you talkin’ about?

  CRAGGE: I’m gonna be doin’ the thing in life that takes the most nerve and makes the most money.

  SYLVIA: I’m talkin’ about this week-end.

  CRAGGE: (Not lifting his eyes.) You could ‘ave this bike (Miss Smith’s.) For the week-end to cycle to Brighton.

  SYLVIA: ‘Ow could I?

  For a second he can’t get out an answer.

  Whose is it then?


  CRAGGE: I got another one (FREEMAN’s.) as well. This is me cousin’s and he don’t want it clutterin’ up the ‘ouse. This week-end cycle down to Brighton with me.

  SYLVIA: Me dad don’t like me borrowin’ things from people.

  CRAGGE: Have it.

  SYLVIA: No.

  CRAGGE: What are you nervous about?

  SYLVIA: I ain’t.

  CRAGGE: Then wheel the bloody thing away.

  SYLVIA: I don’t want a bike.

  BROOK and HELEN re-enter.

  Let’s go with Brook this week-end, then another time…

  CRAGGE: Yeah, you go wiv ‘em then.

  HELEN: (Moving a little aside.) Are you coming to the graveyard then, you and me and ‘im and ‘is friends.

  SYLVIA: Not Jordan. Where is ‘e?

  HELEN: Soon be ‘ere.

  SYLVIA: I ain’t goin’.

  BROOK: (To Sylvia; jeering.) Then you’re bloody on your own this week-end as well.

  SYLVIA: (Falling back on CRAGGE.) I might be cyclin’ down to Brighton wiv ‘im.

  BROOK: What on?

  SYLVIA: (Flaunting her independence of BROOK.) ‘Ow far is it to Brighton? I’ll need a rain-cape and tent.

  BROOK: I could get you a proper cape cut right for next to nothing.

  SYLVIA: I’ll buy me own cape.

  BROOK: What you goin on?

  SYLVIA: That bike.

  BROOK: This bike?

  CRAGGE: Yeah, I’m lending it to her.

  BROOK: (To CRAGGE.) You’re a wet drag lending it to ‘er. You might as well sell it. You’re gonna need a couple a quid in Brighton. Instead of lending it to ‘er for the week-end, flog it to ‘er for a bargain so you’ll be flush.

  HELEN: (A born confederate.) They’re comin’ in now ain’t they, racin’ bikes for girls.

  SYLVIA: Are you sellin’ it?

  CRAGGE: And this shed as well.

  BROOK: (To SYLVIA.) It’s gonna be chromed to look new so one will see it’s an old second-‘and bike.

  SYLVIA: If I was ‘avin’ it I’d ‘ave it as it is.

  BROOK: You can’t be the girl with the black push-bike. You gotta be the flyer on the chrome.

  CRAGGE: You’re sellin’ it then.

  BROOK: Everyone sees I’m sellin’ it. For ten quid. Chromed.

  SYLVIA: But it’s ‘is bike.

  BROOK: (Moving CRAGGE away from the girls.) Lendin’ or sellin’ it’s larceny you timid nit… I reckon we could make a tenner a day on jobs like this.

  CRAGGE: Freeman knows ‘e left me ‘ere wiv the bikes.

  BROOK: Are ya chicken then? Are ya?

  CRAGGE: You run your risks, I’ll run mine.

  BROOK: Ten quid for ten minute’s work. Quid a minute. That’s wages. You’ll go for life Whitbread like your Dad and they’ll retire you wiv a ribbon and a bundle of grass.

  CRAGGE: If you’re as barmy as you are I’ll do me own pinchin’.

  BROOK: Whitbread’s load’ll be as safe with you as with a bloody carthorse.

  CRAGGE: You can say anything you like. I’d be a sittin’ duck for cops wiv that bike and you know it.

  BROOK: If they found out. Any job’s a risk.

  CRAGGE: I’ll choose me own risks.

  BROOK: Any risk’ll be too big for the likes a you. Any risk. (To the girls.) You comin’?

  He jumps on FREEMAN’s bike and coasts over to JORDAN, COLMAN and ADAMS as they re-enter.

  SYLVIA: Is this the lot of ‘em?

  HELEN: There can’t be no pairin’ off, Brooksie says. ‘E says ‘e wants ‘is mates in as well.

  SYLVIA: Just you wiv all them.

  HELEN: And you.

  SYLVIA: Tell ‘em I ain’t goin’.

  HELEN: It’s Brooksie wants you in.

  SYLVIA: I wouldn’t mind ‘im. But not that lot. Let’s just wander away.

  HELEN: You won’t get far.

  SYLVIA gets out of the way of JORDAN who brushes against her, then the boys talk among themselves.

  COLMAN: Bloody one and six they are.

  BROOK: (Taking a look.) I think it’s old stock as well.

  JORDAN: (Referring to ADAMS and COLMAN.) At the shop they was just gigglin’ and wouldn’t ask for nutten. (To BROOK about ADAMS.) ‘E still ain’t got one.

  ADAMS: I didn’t ‘ave one and six.

  COLMAN: ‘E ain’t comin. ‘E’s afraid somethin’ will ‘appen.

  BROOK: ‘E’s another one.

  ADAMS: ‘Ow am I another one?

  COLMAN: ‘E means another one like Cragge.

  CRAGGE: (Holding his own.) Everything’s Cragge, you damn cretin. Me like ‘im? I’ll kick your bloody teeth in.

  ADAMS: I feel somethin’ will ‘appen and I’m sayin’ it.

  BROOK: What will?

  ADAMS: We’ll be ‘ad up for somethin’ indecent and that’s remand ‘ome and I’m not goin’ to one a them places.

  BROOK: Shout so she bloody hears.

  JORDAN: (To ADAMS.) Are you goin’?

  ADAMS: Only if everyone else is.

  JORDAN: (To ADAMS.) If. An iffin’ bastard. (To CRAGGE.) You comin’?

  BROOK: Leave him.

  CRAGGE: She’s not going with you, you know. Every girl ain’t Helen.

  COLMAN: Which one are we going to have then?

  BROOK: Both of them. (To the girls.) We’re goin’.

  HELEN: (To BROOK.) Just a moment. (To SYLVIA.) Who don’t ya fancy then?

  SYLVIA: I don’t even know ‘em, except ‘im. (i.e. BROOK.)

  HELEN: (To BROOK.) She wants you a minute.

  SYLVIA: Did I say that?

  BROOK: What about the lark in the graveyard then?

  SYLVIA: I’ll go wiv you and ‘Elen, if you want to. Not them.

  BROOK: What’s the good a that?

  SYLVIA: Go with ‘er, then.

  BROOK: I’m not gonna be ‘ere arguin’… Are you gonna be around wiv us?

  SYLVIA: If you like.

  BROOK: Come on, then.

  SYLVIA: Not with them.

  BROOK: You’d go wiv me, wouldn’t you?

  SYLVIA: I’d go wiv you and ‘Elen.

  BROOK: That’s what I said. Well, if you go with me, you go with them. It’s the gang of us.

  HELEN: They could easily force you if they liked.

  SYLVIA: I’d tell me mum.

  BROOK: Bleedin’ tell-tit. I knew it. Tell-tale tit.

  HELEN: She wouldn’t tell.

  BROOK: (In a nasty voice.) Come on.

  SYLVIA is too much on the verge of tears to say anything.

  CRAGGE: Who ‘e can’t buy ‘e bashes.

  ADAMS: More power to ‘im.

  SYLVIA: (To BROOK.) I’ll go wiv you any day.

  BROOK: (Sweet reason.) Just do what I tell you and they’ll do whatever I tell ‘em to.

  SYLVIA: What will you tell ‘em?

  BROOK: Let’s go.

  SYLVIA: (Weeping.) Brooksie, what will you tell ‘em?

  BROOK: I’ll tell ‘em to leave off if you don’t want.

  SYLVIA: What am I goin’ wiv ‘em for, then?

  BROOK: Don’t argue… Are you?

  SYLVIA: No.

  BROOK: I could force you. Like to bet?

  SYLVIA: I don’t want you to force me.

  BROOK: So what are we on then?

  CRAGGE intervenes and taking BROOK aside says very anxiously.

  CRAGGE: If you force ‘er and she goes ‘ome bawlin’ and ‘er dad goes to the police you’ll be ‘ad up and she’ll tell about you tryin’ to flog ‘er the bike. So go wiv ‘Elen and leave her.

  BROOK: I’ll ‘ave ‘er in.

  ADAMS: She ain’t goin’.

  JORDAN: We’ve missed ‘er.

  CRAGGE: (Sardonic.) ‘E’ll ‘ave ‘er there and on ‘er back in no time.

  COLMAN: (Throws up a ball and tries to catch it in his mouth.) Missed it. God doon it.

  ADAMS: (Sings.) There’s a hole in my Liza, Dear bucket, dear bucket…

  BROOK: Sh
ut up.

  ADAMS: Why?

  BROOK: (Power.) ‘Cos I says.

  ADAMS: (Serious protest.) It’s five of us against just ‘er.

  CRAGGE: (Not to be included.) Four.

  ADAMS: Four to one.

  BROOK: That’s the fun, fool.

  ADAMS: The grass in the graveyard’s wet.

  JORDAN: We’ll ‘ave ‘em between the grass and us. (To COLMAN.) Throw it up again. (To the girls.) Bet ‘e muffs.

  HELEN: Bet ‘e doesn’t.

  SYLVIA: I say ‘e muffs. No, I say ‘e doesn’t.

  COLMAN muffs.

  ADAMS: I told you.

  JORDAN: (To SYLVIA.) Catch.

  He hurls the ball brutally at her back but misses. She doesn’t see.

  CRAGGE: (Shocked; dry.) I’m goin’ ‘ome to wash me dog.

  BROOK: (Urgently, to CRAGGE.) ‘Ang on.

  ADAMS: What’s gonna be ‘appennin’ ‘ere, then?

  JORDAN: (Brutally sadistic.) We gonna… We gonna… We gonna…

  COLMAN: (Laughs.) Sh-h-h.

  JORDAN: (Sadistically sexy.) Machine-gun ‘em.

  BROOK: (Cold.) If they die from overwork we can bury ‘em right there and then.

  SYLVIA has been bouncing the ball and it goes to BROOK who pockets it.

  (Friendly.) So let’s go,

  SYLVIA: Give it to us.

  BROOK: Go to ‘ell.

  HELEN: (Soft voice, to SYLVIA.) Now you’ve ‘ad it.

  SYLVIA: I don’t care. I said I’d go wiv you and ‘im.

  BROOK: (To SYLVIA.) How long are we gonna be standin’ ‘ere, then?

  SYLVIA: Till I make up my own mind.

  BROOK: What do you ‘ave against me mates?

  SYLVIA: (Pointing to JORDAN.) Look at ‘im. Rag bag, that one.

  BROOK: That’s only one.

  SYLVIA: Do we count ‘im out, then?

  BROOK: ‘E’s still my mate so ‘e’s gotta be yours.

  SYLVIA: Only if I ‘ave ‘im.

  BROOK: Make up your mind.

  SYLVIA: I am doin’. Can’t you just wait?

  BROOK: Not much longer.

  SYLVIA: Don’t then.

  BROOK: If we leave ‘im out for the present what about the others?

  SYLVIA: What about ‘em?

  BROOK: Are you takin’ the mickey out a me then?

  SYLVIA: I ain’t. I’m sorry.

  CRAGGE: (To HELEN.) Can’t you go wivout ‘er?

  HELEN: She’s makin’ up ‘er mind.

  BROOK: (Wilful; of SYLVIA) She’s got to come.

  CRAGGE: She doesn’t want to. She’s only a teaser.

  BROOK: (Brutally.) She’s comin’. (To SYLVIA, turning on a more moderate voice.) Do it my way today and tomorrow your way.