Twist of Gold

ANNIE
– nearly 11, gregarious, forthright, on the offensive when slighted. If called Sean’s ‘little sister’ retorts
‘I’m not little!’ Blunt, curious, always asking questions; speaks her mind without always thinking through the consequences. Courageous. Irrepressible effervescence, which
inspires all around her. Sister of:

SEAN
– 14, positive, protective, proud of his sister. A good judge of character, responsible, loyal.

MOTHER
– stoic, proud, pragmatic. Driven by love and hope and faith.

WILL
– a Sergeant of the English Dragoons, a soldier of thirty years, but in Ireland ‘I have seen and done things that turn my stomach with
shame’. A jocular, belly-laughing giant of a man.

CAPTAIN MURRAY
– English, embittered. Rules his America-bound emigrants’ ship
The Pelican
like a tyrant. A man with a twisted soul,
corrupted by the money to be made from the ever-hopeful Irish migrating to America. Cruel, greedy, but can turn on the charm.

MR BLUNDELL
–
The Pelican
’s First Officer. Resembles a gargoyle more than a man, but not as fierce as he at first appears;
tender-hearted beneath a rough exterior.

DONNELLY
– a gangly, incorrigible, fiddle-playing young man from Sligo. Gentle, a joker. Full of confidence and good spirit, immodest yet
selfless; seeking his fortune in America.

MARTY
– baccy-chewin’ villager from the coast. Wry humour.

BOSTON CHANCER
– a smile too broad to be believed.

MISS HENRY
– imperious, domineering, formidable. Hardhearted; short-haired. Beneath her bluster lies a heart of gold. Twin sister of:

MISS MARTHA
– altogether more shy, soft-hearted and more obviously compassionate. Overwhelmed by her twin sister, Miss Henry. By contrast
long-haired.

LIL’ LUKE
– a big, generous, optimistic black man, freed from the slavery in Virginia he ran away from years ago. General factotum to the
spinster twins.

BOUNTY HUNTER
– trading in black men captured in the free north of America to take to the southern states. A cheat at cards, a mean-eyed man who
smiles with his mouth only. He feeds off the unwary and the innocent.

COLONEL
– the black sheep brother of Miss Henry and Miss Martha, who, thirty years ago, squandered a fortune, broke their father’s heart,
and was never forgiven by his sisters. Tall, elegant, leans on a silver-topped cane. Now tee-total. Owns a paddle-steamer which charts the Missouri river with a casino on board. A commanding
presence, a natural born leader.

MATT COLBY
– an honest Farmer, heading West on the wagon trail.

FRENCH CHARLIE
– surly, whiskey-drinking, seasoned guide on the wagon-trail. Not to be trusted.

SEAMUS FINN
– Kerry-born, old man of the Mountain in the Sierra Nevada. Pursuing his dream of striking gold regardless of ridicule. Dotty but
wise.

RED INDIAN CHIEF
– fierce-looking but genteel; wily and wise.

MOTHER
: Danny, Mary, little Joe. A few more bites to eat and you’d not now be lying there in the ground. Oh my poor children.

    
MOTHER
collapses, overwhelmed by grief, by hunger.
SEAN
comforts her.

    
The lights cross-fade to:

    
A brook. Drizzly autumn evening. Flies buzz irritably.
SEAN
fishes, hopelessly, with a line and baited hook.
ANNIE
is on lookout. She hears a
horse cantering towards them on the opposite bank. An English
DRAGOON
– resplendent in scarlet cloak, golden plumed helmet and sword – dismounts.

DRAGOON
: Whose waters are you poaching, children?

    
ANNIE
and
SEAN
don’t budge from their fishing.

SEAN
: This is an Irish stream and Englishmen aren’t welcome!

    
The
DRAGOON
looks at how
SEAN
is holding his line.

DRAGOON
: You’ll not catch any fish like that, and you look like you could do with a bite to eat.

    
He puts some biscuits into his handkerchief, ties it into a knot, and throws the modest bundle across the brook to the children.
ANNIE
is about to say ‘thank you’ – but thinks better of it.

WILL
: My name is Will.

    
The Children say nothing.
SEAN
glares at
WILL
.

    What’s your name, boy? What do they call you at home?

    
Pause.

    The biscuits. Maybe you’ve someone at home who’d be in need of them? Hm?

    
Pause.

    I’m beginning to feel a bit stupid talking to myself.

ANNIE
: Our Mother won’t eat your English biscuits. She’d rather die.

SEAN
: Hush, Annie.

WILL
: I like a child who speaks their mind. Perhaps if she won’t eat my biscuits then she’ll eat this:

    
And he reaches inside his tunic to fetch out a small fish which he holds up by its tail.

    Irish trout. Well, young lady, what do you think of that?

ANNIE
: I’m not a young lady, I’m Annie O’Brien and my Mother says you’ve no business here, any of you. She says you’re
robbers and thieves.

    
A pause.

WILL
: Is your mother sick?

SEAN
: Everyone’s sick.

ANNIE
: She has the hunger.

    
Beat.

    Brother Danny’s dead and sister Mary’s dead and little Joe died three weeks back.

WILL
: And your father?

SEAN
: Father’s away, in ’Merica.

WILL
:
(Gently.)
Tell your Mother I’m sorry about your brothers and sisters. I’d like to do what I can for you. For the three of
you.

SEAN
: How can we trust you?

WILL
: How can
I
trust
you
? I don’t even know your name, boy.

SEAN
: Sean. I’m called Sean. Sean O’Brien.

WILL
: Well, Sean, if you tell anyone about our meeting they’ll lock me up and I’ll never be able to see you again. So that’s how you
can trust me.

SEAN
: Oh.

ANNIE
: I’ll trust you if you promise never to tumble our home and put us out.

WILL
: Why would I do that?

ANNIE
: You’re an English soldier. We have no money for rent.

WILL
: I won’t tumble your home, Annie O’Brien. And as much as I can I’ll see to it that no one else does either. Now, do you know how
to cook a fish?

ANNIE
: Slowly, so you don’t burn away all the goodness.

WILL
: That’s right.
(He replaces his helmet.)

ANNIE
: Mister Soldier, is it not awful heavy having to wear such a hat as that?

WILL
: It’s what’s inside your head that weighs heavy. Not what you wear on it. Do you understand me?

ANNIE
:
(Boldly.)
No.

SEAN
: Why are you helping us, Mister?

WILL
: Sean, I’m a soldier. I have been a soldier for over thirty years. I’ve fought the world over for my Queen and for my country –
that’s my trade, and I do it well. But in Ireland I have seen and done things that turn my stomach with shame. Do you understand?

SEAN
: I think so.

ANNIE
: Well I don’t.

    
WILL
smiles.

WILL
: To survive you must learn to live from the land.

ANNIE
: That’s what Mother says. But there’s nothing left on the land to live from. Not now all you soldiers have taken it.

WILL
: You may be right, Annie. But there’s people dying in this country because they don’t know where to look for their food, don’t
know how to catch it. You’ve all dug potatoes for so long, you’ve forgotten.

SEAN
: That’s not true! I know how to fish.

WILL
: And how many fish have you caught, Sean?

    
Pause.

    Three? Four?

    
No response.

    Two?

SEAN
: Not one.

WILL
: And eels?

SEAN
: Eels?

WILL
: Eels are there in plenty if you can only catch them.

SEAN
: How do you catch them?

WILL
: When it’s a still, dark night with no moonshine, and you can feel the light drizzle on the back of your neck as you stare into a black
pool.

ANNIE
: How does that catch an eel?

WILL
: Keep your voice low, Annie. And when you laugh, laugh softly, else those eels will laugh too as they shoot off down river. An eel can hear you,
you know.

ANNIE
: No, I didn’t know. Will: in your country, in England, do the people have enough food to eat?

WILL
: The poor are always hungry, no matter where they live. But there are more poor living here and there is less food to go round, and more people
stopping you from finding it.

ANNIE
: People?

WILL
: Soldiers.

ANNIE
: English soldiers. Like you.

WILL
: Yes, but not like me, Annie.

ANNIE
: No, not like you.

SEAN
: Before the potatoes died, we had food. Plenty of it. Sure, we went a bit short every year, just before the new potatoes were lifted – summer
time – but then there were always the hens and the spring berries to keep us going.

WILL
: Yes.

SEAN
: Will we die do you think? Will everyone in Ireland die?

    
Pause.

ANNIE
:
(To
WILL
.)
What’s the matter?

WILL
: Annie, Sean: I have to see your Mother.

SEAN
: No.

WILL
: Take me to your home.

ANNIE
: It’s a trick, Sean. Mother said it would be.

WILL
: It’s no trick, Annie.

ANNIE
: She won’t speak to you. She hates you.

WILL
: Then I’ll not come.

SEAN
: We’ll take your biscuits, mister, but not your fish. And we’ll be thanking you.

WILL
: Well. Goodbye.

    
SEAN
and
ANNIE
make the journey home, accompanied by music. They enter their home: a spartan
dwelling, no furniture, no bed; just fresh bracken on the hard earth floor.
MOTHER
, beneath her blanket, speaks without stirring.

MOTHER
:
(Attempting to smile.)
Well, Sean dear: is it a salmon that you’re bringing us this time?

SEAN
: No salmon, Mother, but what would you say to a biscuit? A great, thick, oatmeal biscuit.

    
SEAN
unwraps the tied handkerchief to reveal the biscuits – to his
MOTHER
’s astonishment.
She struggles to raise herself onto her elbows.

MOTHER
: Three!

ANNIE
: There’ll be one for each of us, Mother. Can I eat it today? Can I eat all mine now?

MOTHER
: Every bit, Annie dear. But eat slowly, for ’tis manna from heaven.

SEAN
: Not heaven, Ma.

MOTHER
: You didn’t steal it, Sean?

SEAN
: No!

ANNIE
:
(Blurting it out.)
’Tis a present from the English Army himself!

MOTHER
: Sean?

SEAN
: A Sergeant of the Dragoons. He brought his horse to the brook to water. He gave us the biscuits.

MOTHER
: It’s a trap! They followed you home. Annie: look out and see if there’s anyone there.

SEAN
: There’s no one there, Mother. No one followed us. ’Tis food, Mother. If we don’t eat, then there’ll be none of us left
when Father comes home to fetch us.

MOTHER
: Have you not yet learned never to trust an English uniform? Do they not tumble homes, burn villages? While there are still fish in the rivers,
rabbits in the field, we’ll not be taking their biscuits –

SEAN
: But Mother…

MOTHER
: You’re a good boy, Sean. Your father will be proud of you. And when he comes home to fetch us I will tell him how you’ve kept us in
food when there’s been no food. But I will not touch another of your English biscuits. I should die rather.

ANNIE
: Don’t say that. Rest now.

    
She tucks the blanket under her
MOTHER
’s chin.

MOTHER
: Oh, Annie: there’s an anger and bitterness inside me that will hang over this land for hundreds of years after we’re all gone.

    
MOTHER
sleeps after her exertion.
ANNIE
stokes the peat fire, which roars.

ANNIE
: Like Father said: ‘The higher the chimney, the better it draws.’

SEAN
: Truly, a wonderful creation.

ANNIE
:
(Whispering to
SEAN
.)
Sean: why does Father not come back to us? It’s more than a year now.

SEAN
:
(Whispering.)
’Tis a long way to America, Annie – and a long way back. And it’s a very big place when you get there.
He’ll be finding us a farm, and a place to live, ‘
a paradise on earth…
’

    
FATHER
‘delivers’ the letter:

FATHER
: ‘
…a paradise on earth, where the sun shines through the winter and there’s food enough for everyone and plenty … I
will be going as far West as the sun leads me. I will be following the sun all the way till it sets in a place they call Grass Valley, California. And when I have found Grass Valley I shall
build us a house with the tallest chimney in all America, and then I will be coming back for you and we shall all be together again…
’

SEAN
: Now that would take time, wouldn’t it?

ANNIE
:
(Whispering.)
Sure it would. But if he doesn’t come soon, it will be too late.

SEAN
: He’ll come.

    
WILL
bursts in.

    Will!

ANNIE
: English soldier! You followed us! You promised you wouldn’t. Don’t tumble our home, Mister.

WILL
: I’m not going to harm you. I’m your friend. I had to follow you to find your home. I have to tell you and your Mother grave news.

MOTHER
:
(Stirring.)
What can be more grave than the grave you’ll bury us in, English soldier?

WILL
: I’ve come to warn you.

MOTHER
: Warn us of what?

WILL
: There’s a plague, a fever, sweeping the countryside. It’s coming closer all the time.

MOTHER
:
(Quietly.)
I know.

SEAN
: You know?

MOTHER
: There’s always fever in Ireland. There always has been. It follows the hunger. It always has done.

WILL
:
(Gently.)
Ma’am, this is a fever like no other. It wipes out whole villages.

MOTHER
: No. It’s the English who wipe out whole villages. And then burn them to the ground.

WILL
: I regret that this is true, Ma’am. But now the Soldiers are torching the villages, on the orders of the authorities, to try to burn out the
fever.

MOTHER
: How can we trust you?

WILL
: Your children asked me the same thing. I’m risking a court martial by being here.

MOTHER
: Hunger is a terrible thing. Plague: terrible. We Irish have always known that. Do they not know that, your English ‘authorities’? We
ask for food, we beg for food and they send us work at tuppence a day, scarce enough to feed one child. And even if we could pay for food, there’s no food to buy, so the people rise up
and fight for it and they send more soldiers to put them down. And still the landlord we never see wants his rent paid. Rent for what? And if you don’t pay the rent, the roof comes
tumbling down over your head and you’re left to die in a ditch.

    
Pause.

WILL
: Ma’am, I can do nothing to put right all the great wrongs that have been done in this poor country. All I can do is to help you and your
children. And there’s only one thing to be done. You must leave, and leave now.