I've been told that you failed to get into the Terry Hands production of Under Milk Wood – on this week at the Civic Centre, Mold (Clwyd Theatr Cymru).
I understand that you were not even allowed to attend as a member of the audience. Very well. Let me offer a copy of the BBC production, as a slight compensation.
All this reminds me of Aisleen Dunkleit, and her theatre days. Perhaps you recall her under her maiden name of Henderson? They certainly remember you from the old times!
Aisleen and her husband Heimie moved to Ealing a year ago and now live in one of those large terraced houses in Creffield Road. I got to know Aisleen again when we both became members of
The Minimalist Drama Club
("DON'T JUST ACT – BEHAVE!")
The stories I could tell you about that club! The rows! The litigation!
Anway, I was passing Aisleen's house recently when she rushed out and started staring at the cellar of the house next door. She appeared to be listening intently. I paused in my tracks and hid my presence in a hedge so as not to miss anything.
Aisleen came straight over and asked "Are you spying on me?" I muttered something about looking for insects, but she ignored me and took me back to her front door and explained. "You know the Solomons next door, don't you? Well, he's sublet his cellar to this family and now there are very strange goings on. You can hear them quite clearly through my cellar wall.
"There are constant rows between the man and his wife. He knocks her about and she hits back. While all this is going on she is trying to nurse the baby. There are animals involved as well. The police are called but never seem to come. The noise is incessant. The strange thing is that the Solomons, as landlords, don't seem at all concerned."
"What about your husband? What does he think about it?" I asked. Aisleen went quiet. "I don't like to bother him. He's been having a lot of business problems lately with his exotic toys. Perhaps you heard?" (Who has not heard of the great dildo deluge of Holborn Tube station?) "He wants no more legal problems. So I need some hard proof to show it's not just my imagination. Will you help, for old time's sake?"
I arranged to be a witness the following day at 10 am. "Usually it starts about 9.30 am," she said.
About 9.45 I told Gill I was going to visit Aisleen's cellar. She just nodded. "It's Mr Solomon's lodgers, I expect," she said. (These women can never keep a secret.)
I went around to Aisleen's house. She answered the bell immediately. As she led the way to the cellar she explained that Heimie was away again on business. "We'll have to be very quiet. They're in now and already they're having a row," she whispered.
We made our way forward through the samples of exotic toys and materials until we reached the cellar wall. Aisleen had come prepared and silently handed me a tumbler. We applied them to the wall and listened.
It was certainly an odd conversation. They seemed to squawk at each other in monotones. He had the lower pitch while she tended to squeak. I couldn't make anything out clearly until I heard him say "I've lost the baby. Call in the Social Services. But first, I'll have a sausage and then I'll beat you up." In the end, I took Aisleen by the arm and led her from the place.
Outside, I told her I had heard enough to make reasonable representation about noise level,s if nothing else. We rang the Solomons' bell. After considerable movement inside the door was partly opened by a small fierce-looking woman with a hooked nose. She wore an old-fashioned bonnet.
"Good morning," I said. "Forgive any intrusion, but my friend who lives next door was wondering . . ." I got no further because I heard a loud caterwauling coming from her husband hiding behind the door. "No! I'll deal with things!" the woman shouted to him. To us she explained "He can't talk now. He's swallowed his swazzle . . . you know, to speak in character."
As if to prove this assertion, the man's face appeared. He had a red face with a hooked nose and a permanent ugly grin. It was Mr Punch! It appeared that he and his wife practised their Punch and Judy act every morning in the cellar. It was all make-believe, except for the swallowing of the swazzle, which was painful, protracted and embarrassing – especially when shopping.
I noticed that Punch and Judy seemed eager to confide in Aisleen, so Iretreated to their front gate. From that perspective it seemed to be an odd conversation. Mr Punch would say something and it would have to be translated by Judy before Aisleen could respond. I gathered they were trying to recruit Aisleen as a deptuty Judy while the original Judy took over Punch's role during his incapacity. The matter was resolved when, with a loud harsh cough, Mr Punch expelled his swazzle!
Aisleen and I walked back to her house. She was very apologetic, but I just wanted to get away. "Look," I said, "these mistakes occur, but odd events need to be investigated. Otherwise who knows what could be happening?" I turned to go.
Aisleen looked anxious. "D'you think we could have a talk?" she asked. "Of course," I said, "but what about?"
The upshot was that she asked if I knew anyone who could play a part in the forthcoming Punch and Judy show – opening at The Corn Exchange, Shrewsbury on March 4th. Naturally, I gave your name and they will be contacting you shortly. Whether you play Toby the Dog or the Policeman is negotiable. Neither is a speaking part.
Yours,
Conrad
As if to prove this assertion, the man's face appeared. He had a red face with a hooked nose and a permanent ugly grin. It was Mr Punch! It appeared that he and his wife practised their Punch and Judy act every morning in the cellar. It was all make-believe, except for the swallowing of the swazzle, which was painful, protracted and embarrassing – especially when shopping.
I noticed that Punch and Judy seemed eager to confide in Aisleen, so Iretreated to their front gate. From that perspective it seemed to be an odd conversation. Mr Punch would say something and it would have to be translated by Judy before Aisleen could respond. I gathered they were trying to recruit Aisleen as a deptuty Judy while the original Judy took over Punch's role during his incapacity. The matter was resolved when, with a loud harsh cough, Mr Punch expelled his swazzle!
Aisleen and I walked back to her house. She was very apologetic, but I just wanted to get away. "Look," I said, "these mistakes occur, but odd events need to be investigated. Otherwise who knows what could be happening?" I turned to go.
Aisleen looked anxious. "D'you think we could have a talk?" she asked. "Of course," I said, "but what about?"
The upshot was that she asked if I knew anyone who could play a part in the forthcoming Punch and Judy show – opening at The Corn Exchange, Shrewsbury on March 4th. Naturally, I gave your name and they will be contacting you shortly. Whether you play Toby the Dog or the Policeman is negotiable. Neither is a speaking part.
Yours,
Conrad
