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by Harold Brighouse

Genre: Drama
Format of Original Source: Play
Recommended Adaptation Length:

Candidate for Adaptation? Not Reviewed


SAM (dropping the cotton-waste he is fumbling with and picking it up). It’s a fine day for th’ time o’ th’ year.

SARAH. Didst want to see me private to tell me that, lad?

SAM. Naw, not exactly.

SARAH. Well, what is it then? Coom, lad, A’m waitin’ on thee. Art tongue-tied? Can’t tha quit mawlin’ yon bit o’ waste an’ tell me what ’tis tha wants?

SAM (desperately). Mebbe it’ll not be so fine in th’ mornin’.

SARAH. A’ll tell thee what A’d do to thee if A ‘ad the use o’ my ‘ands, my lad. A’d coom aside thee and A’d box thy ears. If tha’s got business wi’ me, tha’d best state it sharp or A ‘ll be showin’ thee the shape o’ my door.

SAM. Tha do fluster a feller so as A doan’t knaw wheer A am. A’ve not been nagged like that theer sin’ my ould moother died.

SARAH. A’ve ‘eerd folk say Sal Horrocks were a slick un wi’ ‘er tongue.

SAM (admiringly). She were that. Rare talker she were. She’d lie theer in ‘er bed all day as it might be in yon corner, an’ call me all th’ names she could put her tongue to, till A couldn’t tell ma reeght ‘and from ma left. (Still reminiscent.) Wonnerful sperrit, she ‘ad, considerin’ she were bed-ridden so long. She were only a little un an’ cripple an’ all, but by gum, she could sling it at a feller if ‘er tea weren’t brewed to ‘er taste. Talk! She’d talk a donkey’s yead off, she would.


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