Cheeriozy!

James Brenan.. 1837-1907 (Irish country girl,)

Cheeriozy!

Play of one act, one set.

Characters:

An anonymous man.

Pete..a supervisor.

Keith..plumber.

John M. ..Builder.

Scene : Man sitting at the front bar, he takes a sip from a pint glass of beer. Turns as if talking to yourself sitting on the next stool in conversation.

Man: “Funny you should mention that..was sitting here in this exact spot Friday, a month or so ago talking to Pete on this very subject..about losing one’s parents..I ‘spose because we are all older now ourselves, so it comes as no longer an immediate sorrow, but rather one lived through so many years ago. And we got onto all the reactions one experiences at the funeral, what with all the rellies gathered and friends and some strangers one doesn’t even know but is informed later on in hushed whispers or whatever.”

(He pauses to drink from his pint of beer and motions to the barperson with one finger lifted from the hand holding the glass for another beer.. he then lights up a cigarette).

Man : “Ta, Noela….” (takes a long drag on the ciggy..looks at it and comments)..”Ooo…that’s nice…been denying myself lately…the wife says I oughta give it away..(takes another drag)..but..you know..And there is that bottled-up grief, that reserve in the old English tradition, especially among men, not to be seen weeping or blubbering at such gatherings..and then there is the language used..interesting in its sparsity of emotion..or understatement.”

Man : “ Then Pete, who was sitting there in quiet contemplation while I said these things,took a sup at his beer, reflected a tad, wiped a bead of condensation streak off the glass, looked into the distance, if you get my drift, and made a motion with his pointed finger..then he said..”

(Stage blacks out then re-lights with Pete sitting on a barstool next to the Man.)

Pete : “ …But I do remember one chap I worked for, a builder in the financing slash speculative line.. stiff upper lip sort of bloke..John M..old Adelaide family, that sort of thing. You couldn’t get an emotive comment from him even if’n you smacked his thumb with a hammer!..which I did once, accidently, as he was holding a length of bracing prop for me…hopeless at physical work..all thumbs..an’ I hit his thumb and you know what he said?..where you or I would’ve swore blue murder, he just spun away (dropped the prop), cried; “bother” and stuck the offended thumb in his mouth for a second to comfort the pain…that’s the sort of chap he was..sort of “old school Oxford”.

Man : “Yes thanks, Noela…take the damage from the change there..”

Pete : “The job was winding down, the contract nearing completion so there were only a couple of trades finishing some final touches to the groundworks and I was there as supervisor of the job from go to whoa. That was when John turned up. He was walking the site by himself, looking like he was inspecting the finished job..not his usual occupation..he usually waited for the handing over ceremony for that sort of thing..but there he was. Now, I knew he had been to his mother’s funeral the day before, and I put his meandering down to a listlessness that one gets when first “orphaned”..that; “you’re on your own now”..feeling..so to say, But I was surprised when he pulled up a drum to sit on and joined me and Keith the plumber for smoko.

John was the project builder..a developer rather than an actual builder..not your sort of tradie-evolved into builder, but a bloke from an old family with old money involved in multi-faceted projects, of which building was but one. I was his go-to man for building..I was the “knowledge-base” for that side of his investments. He would leave on-site management to me…and that included timetables, subbie hire and materials delivery scheduling etcetera ..We had worked together for years, but not in a close familiar way..I was still just the “hired help”..it was just a business sort of thing. So it was quite surprising when he opened the conversation with the announcement that he had just buried his mother..of course, Keith (another long server) and I both knew this, but we gave our condolences kindly..and fairly..we had no gripe with the man or his family..He thanked us and then after the usual quiet on these occasions, he cleared his throat and spoke in a confiding manner..to neither of us in particular, but rather while looking at the ground somewhere between us.”

(Stage again blacks out and re-lights with three men sitting on twenty gallon drums…two of them are eating their smoko..John M. just sits there ).

John M. : “ You know, it’s a funny thing, language..the expression of certain words. I have been to the best schools and university where language is treated as a sacred thing..the pronunciation, the grammar, even the timing of delivery of thought or repost..how to debate and speak, you could say…”

(John goes quiet while he reaches to pick up a twig which he uses to scribble on the ground by his feet.)

John M. : “ I gave the eulogy at my mother’s funeral yesterday..all the usual blather and history..all about the family, her work in the district and the committees she was on and such like..all written there on my notes, some highlighted in yellow marker for emphasis..it went over well..as I was trained to do.. a solemn finish before we made our way to the cemetery for the placing of the casket.”

(The stage darkens while a spotlight highlights Pete, as he explains the progress of John’s story.)

Pete : “There was a pause while John drew some hieroglyphics in the dust as he thought it out a bit..I could see all this idle chatter was taking its toll on the man…but he was on a mission to explain something to himself I felt..we remained silent..to give him some space..he then continued with a sudden exclamation”.

(Stage re-lights to show all three men.)

John : “ Dammit!..you have to hold yourself together at these..these events..it doesn’t do to make a fool of oneself weeping and carrying on..one must maintain structure..dignity..after all, it wasn’t as if mother’s passing was a sudden tragedy..it was a long, tiring business for all the family..a sad but kindly relief for all when she passed..and to be candidly honest..I’d say for HER most particularly..so it was..SHOULD have been a solemn, dignified affair..the placing of the casket in the grave………except for Loretta..” (John stabbed the stick into the earth at his feet).

Keith : “ Loretta?”

John : “ Loretta” ( John sighs ) “Yes..Loretta..an Italian woman, the wife of one of the nephews..lovely woman, in the Italian dark-lady of the sonnets mould..if you know what I mean. It was quite a surprise for the family when the nephew returns from a long working stint on the continent with an Italian wife…shocked!..you could say..a real eyebrow raiser, the whole affair..But they settled down and had a couple of kids and got on with the married life routine…But dammit!..she’s got that “Eyetie” emotion thing in spades…weeping all over the place at weddings and christenings and such like..I’ve heard told where some have to be almost dragged from the gravesite before they throw themselves in on top of the coffin…damn display to say the least!”

Pete : ( as an aside) “And here was the long silence..here was the nub of the new “congenial John”..here he became uncomfortable.”

John : “ You know, one HAS to hold oneself together as an example for the younger ones..it doesn’t do to put on too much display..and…and I was there beside Father O’Loughlin as he read the rites and the coffin was lowered down..sure, I had some tears to shed, but held in check for the dignity of the moment..but I could hear Loretta weeping somewhere behind me..and I thought I would give her husband a bit of kindly talking to after the funeral..at the wake..But as we stepped back from the grave to let the mourners file past to throw a bit of dirt onto the coffin lid as is the custom, that flamin’ Italian woman suddenly called out a word..ONE WORD…in perfect inflection and imitation of our mother’s voice..PERFECT enunciation..here was this woman..who could only speak a kind of garbled mish-mash of Italo-English saying in perfect enunciation that one word so familiar to all of mother’s children and grandchildren..and by time-lapse, especially to me..”

(John draws himself up as if to take breath before the final stretch of his talking).

John : “ You see..mum was a country girl and she had an infuriating habit of “cutesying” words by adding an “ee” sounding to the end of those words..like “bunnee” instead of rabbit…she’d say ; “Oh, we’re having a couple of bunnys for dinner..” and one really infuriating one she’d say when I was a young tear-away, home from boarding school with a friend or two staying over and we’d been ripping it up a tad at a local dance and in the morning she’d wake us with a much too cheerful ; “Come on boys..up we get..I’ll make you some bacon and eggys for breaky..”…it used to SO infuriate me..and here we were at the final lap so to speak of the funeral, and I had held myself together so well and then that weeping Italian woman has to drop that bombshell that took me by complete surprise and…and…well….” (John angrily throws the stick over his shoulder)….”I lost it…I just lost it…Loretta halted right in front of me, looked directly at me in a flood of tears then to the coffin in the grave and wept out a string of damn indecipherable ‘eyetie’ words to finish with that one perfectly enunciated, damn softly spoken parting word mother always called to us as we left her home…”Cheeriozy!”…that one, silly muck-up of a perfectly good, common English word…

“Cheeriozy!…Cheeriozy!..Loretta called out and I just lost it and I wept and wept…and I still can’t get over it…..and I don’t know why!…”

(Stage darkens but with spotlight on Pete…he turns to audience to speak.)

Pete : “ John then abruptly stood up, turned around and left…without a word..but we could see the tears..Of course, neither Keith nor I ever mentioned it again.”