Act I.
The Scene is set in the hills of the sheep-raising part of the S. Island of New Zealand.
The back-cloth is painted with fine rocky and wooded hills and lakes, rather like Scotland but with a clearer, bluer sky and keener atmosphere.
The stage represents a temporary camp in a clearing, for the mustering and marking of sheep. There are boulders and groups of luxuriant trees. The grass is trampled under foot. Right centre is an open fire with cooking utensils. Back right the corner of sheep enclosures. On LEFT is a temporary cover, part canvas, part tree branches.
Two Shepherds are DISCOVERED near the fire, binding up the leg of a sheep. The collie dogs prowl and lie around.
1st Shep.
(An old, wiry man.) A fine muster, this year.
2nd Shep.
(A dour man, about 45 years old.) Aye.
1st Shep.
The best season I mind for ten years. (Working with sheep’s leg.) Plague take it, it’s slipped. Lie still you bleatin’ fule ye! And sheep s’d fetch a guid price this year and all.
2nd Shep.
Aye.
1st Shep.
I’m thinkin’ these sheep will be making the fortune of the young masters, but they do nought but make work for us.
2nd Shep.
(Spits.) Aye.
1st Shep.
The young masters must get an extra man, we never had to handle so many sheep.
2nd Shep.
Men’ll be scarce now.
1st Shep.
They will that. Do you hear they recruitin’ fellows are scourin’ the country for likely lads?
2nd Shep.
Aye.
1st Shep.
When did you know it?
2nd Shep.
’Bout a week ago.
1st Shep.
(Reproachfully.) And ye kept a tale like that from me—and me that glad of any bit of news in this lonesomeness. I call that nasty of ye.
(2nd Shepherd is silent; spits slowly.)
I call that nasty of ye.
2nd Shep.
Aye.
1st Shep.
And what else do ye know ye might tell me if—if, well, if I had a wee drop of something to loosen your lips—(Pulls out a flask and a tin cup and pours a small drink—the dogs come up.) Down Jock—get out Scottie. What news have ye for this, eh?
(2nd Shepherd reaches out his hand.)
1st Shep.
Na-na. News first. It mayn’t be worth it all.
2nd Shep.
The new young lady from England is comin’ this afternoon.
1st Shep.
What young lady? Why don’t I know a’ these wild doin’s? What’s she like. Who’s she stayin’ with?
2nd Shep.
Old man Lee and his daughter.
1st Shep.
Have you seen her? What’s she like?
2nd Shep.
(Stretching out his hand for his drink.) I’ve earned it.
1st Shep.
(Drawing it away.) Ye’ll tell me what she’s like first.
2nd Shep.
A flower. You give it to me now.
1st Shep.
(Hands it grudgingly.) Well, perhaps you desarve it. That’s news.
(He slowly fills a kettle out of a pail of water which he observes with annoyance is nearly empty and puts kettle on the fire.)
For why is she coming here?
2nd Shep.
London city was killin’ her. The doctor ordered six months of healin’ air.
1st Shep.
If she’s as bonny as you say it’ll be joyful doings for the young masters. Lasses are scarce here.
2nd Shep.
There’s Nora Lee.
1st Shep.
Well, fule. She’s only one. We’ve got two young masters, let alone the other young chaps hereby.
2nd Shep.
Mister Gordon’s lame. What’d he do with a girl?
1st Shep.
Only a bit lame, only a wee bit lame, like—and he’s got a rare brain—look at the exchange o’ reapers and such like he rigged up for the freeholders around here. He’s just chock full o’ ideas and always dreamin’ and readin’ and talkin’ about ’em. That’s what girls like. He’ll be as good in a girl’s eyes as his brother—better I shouldn’t wonder.
2nd Shep.
He’s no good for the war.
1st Shep.
And what matters that? Am I any good for the war? Down Scottie, down will ye! Yourself is not much good for the war, and yet a pretty girl or two don’t come amiss to your eyes even though they never looked at ye. War! You’re crazy on the war. Why man it’s more’n ten thousand miles off and it’s a game for the young chaps anyway.
2nd Shep.
It’s no game.
1st Shep.
It’ll raise the price of sheep. That’s one thing I’m thinking. And we have more sheep on this station to-day than there have been in my memory. Aren’t there now?
2nd Shep.
Aye.
(Gordon Hyde comes slowly on from right wing, a fishing rod and bag of fish on his shoulder. He is slight, bronzed, and with a fine noble face. He limps, his leg dragging. 1st Shepherd takes up a tin of salmon and slowly begins to prepare to open it.)
Gordon.
There’s a good haul for supper, lads. (Throws down fish.)
(The Shepherds move a little from the fire respectfully, but don’t touch their hats or get up.)
1st Shep.
Aye, aye, Boss.
(He is just about to insert the tin opener, Gordon suddenly notices him.)
Gordon.
What have you got there?
1st Shep.
A tin of salmon, Boss.
Gordon.
Stop opening it then. Use that fresh fish instead. Tinned stuff is extra valuable nowadays. It can be sent to the front. We have time to think out here on these hills. I have thought till my head reeled and not yet found out what big things we can do for our country, but the little duties are clear enough, and one of ’em is not to be wasteful.
2nd Shep.
Aye, Boss. That’s true.
(1st Shepherd shamefacedly lays down the tin.)
1st Shep.
Eh, Boss, the sheep’s fine this year.
Gordon.
What is the full tally?
1st Shep.
Mr. Robert hasn’t come in yet, but from what I’ve heard, it looks to be the best year on this station.
Gordon.
Fine. We can’t have too much wool and mutton this year.
(Roto comes on from left second Entrance, somewhat staggering under two pails of water. He is an old Maori, with straight black hair turning white, and a few tatoo marks on his face. He has high cheek bones, a broad nose, and full lips, but is light brown in colour and very intelligent and fine in expression. He wears a short pair of pants, and a piece of fine matting on his shoulders, his scanty shirt is open at the neck and a string with a carved green jade charm is partly seen.)
Roto.
Here is the water for Miss Nora’s tea, Boss.
1st Shep.
(To 2nd Shep.) She has an healthier thirst than yours.
Gordon.
(Busying himself smoothing a seat of fern.) She’ll be tired after that long ride.
1st Shep.
The other lady’ll be worse. She’s not native born like Miss Nora.
Gordon.
(Quickly.) Her fine lady cousin! She’s coming, of course. I’d forgotten! Here, you chaps, get that place straight. (Indicates the shelter, which shows a disorder of blankets, etc.) What is this sheep doing here?
1st Shep.
Her leg broke when she tried to push through over a rocky bit. I have tethered her down. The young lady may like to pat her or tie a ribbon round her neck perhaps.
Gordon.
(Grinning.) You old fool. All right. Leave her. Go and straighten things up a bit in the shelter. ’Tis like a pig-stye.
(A clatter of horses hoofs, shouts of “Whoa there, Nellie. Here we are,” etc., is heard without. Two Girls with riding hats and whips ENTER front right wing.
Nora Lee is dainty with light hair and a rather sunburnt face and neck. She has pale lashes; she is petite and pretty and rather self-assured. She advances laughing.)
Nora.
Here we are!
Gordon.
(Springing up and limping hurriedly to meet her, taking off his hat.) Oh, Nora, I’m glad you’ve come.
Nora.
Where is Robert?
Gordon.
Out with the men. He’ll be back by tea-time.
(Loveday stands a little back looking round and waiting. She is taller than Nora; a splendidly built, dark-haired and beautiful woman, with a clear skin, deep searching eyes, regular features. She walks like a Queen and has a deep-toned, but soft and thrilling voice. She is all in white.)
Nora.
This is my cousin, Loveday Lewisham, Gordon.
(Loveday smiles, comes forward and shakes hands with Gordon.)
You know I told you all about her, and how she broke down with war-work in England and is going to make her home with us for six months. You know.
Gordon.
I do know. (Smiles.) I wish you welcome, Miss Lewisham.
Nora.
Loveday.
Gordon.
Yes. This is a friendly country. My name is Gordon.
Loveday.
How beautiful that view is. And what a ride we had. Three hours of fairyland!
Nora.
Oh, that’s nothing! Let us show her everything. Where’s old Roto? She wants to see a Maori. And where is Robert?
Gordon.
I’ll coo-ee for Robert.
(His coo-ee is long and penetrating so that it re-echoes.)
And there is Roto. Hi. Come along, Roto. Miss Nora wants to show you off.
(Roto advances from shelter, which is now in better order, the blankets piled up, etc.)
Roto.
(Grinning.) Here, Miss Nora.
Nora.
Good-day, Roto. See, Loveday. This is a real live Maori. Nothing wonderful after all!
Loveday.
Oh, how do you do?
Roto.
Finely, Miss.
Loveday.
(Smiling winningly.) You are not nearly so terrifying as I expected!
Roto.
(Grinning, pleased.) Maoris not allowed to be terrible now, Miss.
Loveday.
That is a shame. I’d so much rather be a savage myself. What do you do now they won’t let you be a savage any more?
Roto.
Help with the sheep and cook.
Loveday.
(Stooping forward and taking hold of Roto’s green jade charm hanging on its long string round his neck.) And what is that queer thing you wear round your neck?
Nora.
(Hastily.) A jade charm—these natives often wear them. They are very superstitious.
Gordon.
The Maoris believe in all sorts of charms and magic and spirits. They have a legend about these forests, for instance, that a goddess of wisdom lives in these hill tops and is a tree by day and a white woman at night.
Loveday.
(Her eyes sparkling). Have you seen her?
Gordon.
Not yet—but sometimes—
Loveday.
But sometimes—go on—do tell me—
Gordon.
Sometimes after a day alone in these forests, at sunset, when the heavens seem opening, one half imagines Wisdom is just behind one, slipping between the trees—I (hesitates).
Loveday.
What an enchanting country. Tell me—
(Sounds of arrival disturb them. Robert Hyde enters. He is like Gordon, but much sturdier. He is very strong and manly, with a more sensual and less spiritual face. A very good fellow.)
Nora.
Here’s Robert. Robert! I have brought Loveday. This is Loveday Lewisham. She arrived last week, when you were out here. She would come so as to see a camp before you break it up. She wants to see everything.
(Robert and Loveday shake hands. Robert is evidently much impressed.)
Robert.
I’ll show her. (Goes over towards fire, and points to sheep enclosures at back.) Do you see those? That’s just the beginning of them. We have a rare good lot of sheep this year.
Loveday.
I am glad. We need everything good we can get this year.
Robert.
We need everything we can get every year.
Loveday.
But this year specially. There are so many people in England who need extra feeding and clothing. Your sheep will be useful.
Robert.
I hadn’t thought of that.
Gordon.
Wool and mutton! Both necessaries. Of course we’ve all thought of that, Robert.
Nora.
Loveday is simply obsessed with the idea of the war, and says we ought not to have any luxuries.
2nd Shep.
Aye. She’s right.
Loveday.
What is that sheep doing? (Goes toward the lame sheep by the fire.)
Robert.
I dunno. Sick, I expect. Here, Roto. What is that sheep here for?
Roto.
Leg broke, Boss.
Loveday.
Oh, isn’t it thirsty? Look how its tongue hangs out. Let me give it some water.
Robert.
(Smiling.) It doesn’t want water.
Loveday.
Are sheep like rabbits? Don’t they need water?
Roto.
(Laughing.) Rabbits!
Robert.
(Smiling.) Don’t you speak of rabbits to a New Zealander! Rabbits are the very devil here! We poison ’em, we shoot ’em, we trap ’em, we set dogs on ’em, we set stoats on to ’em, we imported weasels to catch ’em, we sent to Europe for ferrets to hike ’em out, we breed cats to catch ’em, we wire ’em in, and burn ’em out, and set poisoned corn over their runs, and kill ’em by thousands—but millions of ’em spring up out of the very earth and sometimes threaten to starve out the sheep, they clear the grass out. Rabbits! For the Lord’s sake don’t speak affectionately of rabbits.
Loveday.
(Laughing mischievously.) Darling little furry things with nice white tails!
Robert.
(Groans.) But you’re joking! Come and I’ll show you why we sheep farmers hate ’em like poison.
(They stroll off together. Roto takes the empty pail and goes off. Nora and Gordon are left together.)
Gordon.
(Eagerly going, with a possessive air toward Nora.) Oh, it is wonderful to see you again!
Nora.
(Pertly, teasing him and evidently enjoying it.) Women are scarce here, I know, but there’s nothing else wonderful about me.
Gordon.
For me you are the dream of God which stirs the woodland, you are—(noting her unresponsive face). I say, do sit down. You’ll be tired after that ride. Let me take your whip. Take your gloves off. Those little hands must ache after holding the reins for three hours.
Nora.
Pooh! I like having the reins in my own hands.
Gordon.
And so you should, they are such clever little hands.
Nora.
(Yawns affectedly.) Gordon, you’re a romantic goose.
Gordon.
I’m not. Everyone thinks you are wonderful, ask—
Nora.
Robert doesn’t think I’m at all wonderful.
Gordon.
Of course he does.
Nora.
Then why doesn’t he tell me?
Gordon.
He—he’s shy. But besides, though all men may think such things about a girl, they only say them when they love her.
Nora.
(Quizzically.) So you love me?
Gordon.
(Tenderly.) Is it a hundred or a hundred and one times I have told you so?
Nora.
And what have I answered a hundred or a hundred and one times?
Gordon.
You have never once said no!
Nora.
I didn’t ask you what I didn’t say, but what I did say. And what did I say?
Gordon.
(Persuasively.) Say something different this time. You can’t always be cruel, with that sweet face you have.
Nora.
Oh, can’t I?
Gordon.
Don’t be, then.
Nora.
Besides I’m not cruel. You love me. That is very nice for you. Being in love is nice. Isn’t it?
Gordon.
Being in love with you would make the world a heaven if only you were kind!
Nora.
I am kind—to myself. Being not in love with you is much kinder to myself than what you ask. You want me to be happy, don’t you?
Gordon.
Of course! I’d die to make you happy!
Nora.
I don’t ask that. I only ask you not to talk of love.
Gordon.
How can I not talk of it when I love you?
Nora.
(Turning away.) Well, if you are willing to die for me, why not stop loving me?
Gordon.
No man could.
Nora.
(Flattered.) ’Um. Perhaps. But a man could stop talking about it. Talk of something else—anything interesting. What is Robert doing away so long?
Gordon.
(Checking his tenderness with an effort, speaking in off-hand tones.) Shewing Miss Loveday the sheep. I say, she’s handsome.
Nora.
Oh? I don’t think so. But you will be soon making love to her I see. I needn’t have worried about your worrying me for long.
Gordon.
Don’t say that, Nora. You know you are every beautiful thing to me. I hear your sweet voice every time the bell bird calls. I see your hair in the golden clouds after the sunset; I think of you and the home nest you are making somewhere, particularly when I am out here sleeping out of doors. You know I never shall think there is anyone in the world like you.
Nora.
(Peremptorily.) Stop! Where are Robert and Loveday? Call them, Gordon.
(Gordon coo-ees. An answer is heard.)
Gordon.
(With a little gust of temper.) You try to prevent us being alone. You grudge me these few minutes. It is cruel.
Nora.
Oh. La-la-la! (Whistles a snatch of tune.)
(Loveday and Robert return, conversing. Loveday comes quickly across to Nora.)
Loveday.
Oh, Nora, what lots of sheep! And the hills, how beautiful they are. The air is as clear as crystal and the sky seems so big.
Gordon.
You notice that? Isn’t the sky the same size in England, Miss Loveday?
Loveday.
No! The sky in England seems closer down on us than it is here. Our sky, even when it is blue, is as though all the smoke from all the chimneys had got on to it and weighed it down a bit.
Gordon.
Everything is big here; and mostly beautiful. It makes big ideas come into one’s head to be so solitary on these wide hills. Big ideas hover but they won’t settle down into words, so one doesn’t know clearly what they are.
Loveday.
(Smiling encouragingly.) What are they about, the big ideas?
Gordon.
Well, of course at present, about the war. The war is so huge one needs to be away from it, like we are here, to see how big it is.
Loveday.
Yes. I felt that on the voyage out, passing over those miles and miles of clean, shining blue sea. I’d worked my hardest in a tiny corner till I had broken down, in London you know, but I didn’t realise what I had been working at till I was far away on the sea. Then I began to ache and ache to find some way of doing more for it than I had done. (Whimsically.) And as I am on the sick list I seem able to do nothing at all.
Gordon.
But you have done something. I’ve done nothing yet.
Loveday.
“Your sheep——.”
Gordon.
(Smiling.) Wool and mutton are useful, I help produce those, but I must do more, Robert and I will both do more when we see clearly what we ought to do.
Loveday.
That’s a Briton’s attitude.
Gordon.
I’ve thought of joining an Expeditionary Force, but they haven’t called for us yet—and, anyway, I don’t know if that is the best one can do—to leave all these sheep we are raising, you know. They are needed.
(The beautiful note of the bell bird is heard calling through the wood.)
Loveday.
(Clasping her hands.) What is that? Oh, what is that lovely note?
Robert and Gordon.
(Together.) That is the bell bird.
Loveday.
Is it wild?
Nora.
Of course, it is quite common.
Loveday.
How clear and sweet! It is the voice of New Zealand herself, calling to her sisters all over the world, to wake, wake and sing the triumphal song of the Empire. That song will cross the waves in a thousand hearts and echo in the very centre of our lands.
Nora.
Don’t be a romantic goose, Loveday. The bell bird is as common as thrushes are in England.
Loveday.
You have so much beauty around you, has it become common to you?
Robert.
Of course not, only we don’t say much about it. You at home don’t pour out poetry over every thrush that sits on a haw-hedge.
Loveday.
I would if I could! (Smiling.) But I’ll try not to make you think me too great a goose. This beautiful country has gone to my head perhaps. Everything here seems perfect!
(Noises without of an arrival on horseback, shepherds’ voices, dogs barking, etc.
Robert and Gordon look over their shoulders and exchange a knowing grin.)
Robert.
I think I hear the voice of one in perfection!
(Enter John Varlie. He is a florid man, with rather bulging eyes, a clean shaven face, with a noticeable but small triangular scar on the right cheek, one eyelid slightly more closed than the other. He wears American clothes and speaks with a strong American accent. He is accompanied by the shepherds and dogs.)
Varlie.
Waal, boys! Here we are again. I have just delivered your new shearing gear down at your homestead and they told me down in the valley I should strike your trail up here, so I flicked up my grey mare to keep you from feelin’ lonesome without me.
Robert.
(Amiably.) Halloo, Varlie. We aren’t lonesome to-day.
Varlie.
(Looking from one to the other.) The ladies! I just can’t quit now though I guess I’m as little wanted as a bug in a blanket.
Robert.
Not a wet blanket anyway.
Gordon.
You’re welcome. We’ll show you off. Miss Loveday Lewisham is fresh out from home and wants to see all the native sights. Miss Loveday, this is Mr. John Varlie, the universal provider. A regular conjurer who wafts the appliances of civilisation into our rude wilderness.
Varlie.
Miss Lewisham, I’m proud to make your acquaintance. Say, cut that Hyde. I’m no conjurer. I’m a plain business man, and only doing what any other business man could do if he had the brains.
Robert.
That’s it. It takes a Yankee to think of selling the goods we want in this part of the British Empire.
Loveday.
What do you want?
Varlie.
(Slapping his leg.) What I’ve got here, Miss Lewisham.
Nora.
(A little spitefully.) I often thought you used your brains to make them think they wanted to buy what you wanted to sell.
Varlie.
Aw—come now, Miss Nora. You’re real cute, but you don’t think I could monkey with British brains?
Nora.
(Lightly.) Well, the British brains in my neighbourhood are not fair game for you. (Looks at Robert.) They don’t know what they ought to want (looks at Gordon) or they want what they can’t get.
Varlie.
Well, they all ought to have this! (Produces sample tin opener from his pocket. The Shepherds look eagerly on.) Is there a tin of food stuff around? Sure-ly?
Roto.
Here you are, Boss.
(Runs to the shelter and returns with one.)
Varlie.
Now this tin opener won’t only save your breath, but it’ll let the recording angel have a holiday. See that? (Has slit the tin round rapidly and easily.) Can you beat that with any tin opener you ever set eyes on?
1st Shep.
Noa. That’ll be a useful kind—if they all work as easy.
2nd Shep.
Aye.
Gordon.
Bully for you.
Varlie.
How many will you take? You chaps ought to have one each. And the ladies! There will be a day when the ladies are alone to get the supper, none of you handy Herculeses around. With this opener, getting the supper is as easy as smiling. Now then! Only sixpence each. Finest American non-rusting steel.
Nora.
Fancy wasting your time with such a trifle, Mr. Varlie.
Varlie.
Don’t fret. I ain’t wastin’ my time. I came around your homestead with the big dump of machinery. And I am like the elephant’s trunk, calculated to pull up a tree or pick up a pin. (Laughter.) I’m picking up more than you think, maybe.
Loveday.
(Smiling and counting the people.) One, two, three, why there are six of us, if we have one each all round! You don’t mean to tell me that you have six tin openers in your pocket?
Varlie.
Yep. ’N I’ve got a pack horse over there with sixty on it, and sixty dozen in Dunedin, and sixty thousand where they came from! Now, you’ll have one, Miss?
Loveday.
Yes, I will.
Varlie.
Bully. And you—
(Gordon takes it half laughing.)
Gordon.
All right.
Varlie.
And you—
Robert.
Not I. My jack knife has a claw that’s good enough for me.
Varlie.
Now, Mr. Hyde, just let me....
(Leads Robert aside and tries to persuade him. Meanwhile there is a clatter without as of several horses arriving. A Recruiting Officer and two or three Young Men, all in khaki ENTER as if just from horseback after a long ride.
Varlie steps aside whispering with 1st Shepherd.)
Re. Off.
Hey, lads. They told me I should find a covey of you here. Fine! I’m glad we struck your camp. Whew! We’re dead thirsty! Have you got any tea?
Gordon.
Sure. Those kettles are boiling. We’ll have tea in a jiffy.
Robert.
Where are you going?
Re. Off.
Zig-zagging cross country to the outlying stations.
(Varlie aside, whispering with 1st Shepherd. The word “Germany” is overheard.)
1st Shep.
(Indignantly.) Are you askin’ who around here sympathises with Germany?
Varlie.
(Annoyed.) No, no, you fool! You ain’t got me square! (Shuts up note-book with a snap and turns away.)
1st Shep.
Are you square?
Varlie.
(Tipping him.) Here’s to prove it. (The Shepherd takes the money, but looks rather distrustfully at Varlie. They separate.)
Nora.
(To Recruiting Officer.) My! But you look fine! That’s the first khaki we’ve seen round here.
Re. Off.
It’ll not be the last, Miss. Khaki breeds khaki.
Roto.
(Chuckles. Suddenly, to Robert.) He is the colour of a rabbit, Boss, that’s why.
Robert.
Shut up, you fool. This is serious.
Loveday.
(Laughs.) Rabbits? (She looks mischievously at Robert.)
Gordon.
Sit down and have tea first, and then tell us all about it.
Re. Off.
Thanks. (To his Men.) You may sit down too, lads. We’ve ridden hard. But first water the horses.
(One of his MEN goes out with pails, assisted by Roto. Splashing and champing sounds are heard. In a few minutes THEY return and sit with the rest.)
Robert.
Are you recruiting?
Re. Off.
You’ve hit it, my lad. (Takes off his hat and wipes his forehead.)
Nora.
Let’s see your hat. It is smart.
Re. Off.
(Flattered, passes it.) There, miss.
(Nora leans over to Loveday and they examine it together. Nora takes off her own and coquettishly tries it on, catches Robert’s eye, he smiles and looks away; catches Gordon’s eye, he gazes admiringly at her, she tosses her head and takes the hat off. Mugs of tea are handed round, the men drink thirstily.)
Varlie.
(Remaining, eagerly listening, leans over to Recruiting Officer.) Say, stranger, are you getting along well with your job?
Re. Off.
(Keenly.) And who are you?
Varlie.
Waal, I guess it can’t be hard for you to lay your finger on the name of my country.
Re. Off.
I asked you.
Varlie.
I’m an Amurrican.
Re. Off.
Passports all right?
Varlie.
(Affecting laziness, drawing them out.) I should say.
(Recruiting Officer examines them, looks at him keenly, and passes them back.)
Robert.
He’s all right, Officer! We have had him around the station many a time.
Nora.
He’s the only man with brains enough to sell us the things we want.
Robert.
He has brains enough to sell us the things we don’t want.
Re. Off.
Brains are always suspicious.
Robert.
Oh, I say! That’s being too British! He’s all right. Some straight men have brains.
Gordon.
And lots of straight men are muddled headed enough to think that wasting peoples time making a lot of truck nobody wants is good for trade.
Re. Off.
Pardon. This tea’s good. Have you more, Missy?
Nora.
As much as you want—Officer! Is that what I should call you?
Re. Off.
That’ll do for me fine, Missy.
Nora.
Fill up the kettle, Roto.
Re. Off.
Now my men. ’tenshun. (All three rise.) We’ll have our meeting.
(Roto returns, and he and the Shepherds crowd eagerly behind the others listening.)
Loveday.
But we seem like friends now, are you going to give us a formal speech?
Re. Off.
When we speak of our King and Country we stand up to it like men, Miss.
Loveday.
Then so do we.
(She springs up. All rise and stand round the Recruiting Officer who is flanked by his own men.)
Re. Off.
God Save the King.
All.
God Save the King.
(A fleeting sneer is seen on Varlie’s face, but he shouts louder than any.)
Re. Off.
(Oratorically.) We have lived in New Zealand, some for years, some of us all our lives, and we know what New Zealand means to us. And most of us also know the Old Dart, know her and love her.
Several.
Hear, hear!
Loveday.
(Whispering.) The Old Dart, what’s that?
Robert.
(Smiling down on her.) That’s England, Great Britain, our pet name for the Old Country.
Re. Off.
Now the Old Dart’s in trouble, fighting for her life—and, my lads, it’s not only her life, it’s our life, too, she’s fighting for. Like a mother fightin’ for her young. And, she’s not only fightin for her young, which is us, she is fightin’ for the world! for decency, and truth, for liberty.
All.
(Increasingly enthusiastic.) Hear, hear! That’s right. Bravo.
Re. Off.
She’s fightin’ for liberty, fightin’ so that promises shall be kept between nations as decent men keep ’em between each other.
(A murmur of assent.)
You know if your neighbours were all the time to lie to you over everything they promised to do, you would never be able to keep going with them. Like a man, you’d have to up and show ’em what’s what. And that’s what the Old Dart is doing, and it is a big fight. But it is going on in Europe, which is more than 10,000 miles away from us. You may ask what has it all to do with us?
Robert and Gordon.
Not us. We know. We don’t ask what it has to do with us!
Re. Off.
(Hesitates as if thrown off his track.) Then you don’t need my speech. (Suddenly brightens and smiles appealingly.) Don’t spoil my speech lads. Pretend to ask so you can hear it. It will make you feel real grand.
Robert and Gordon.
Fire away then. Hear, hear!
Roto.
(Excited.) That’s it, Mister. Give it us.
Re. Off.
(Continues more eloquently.) Now we are New Zealanders, and we live in this free and happy land, you may ask, what has all this trouble in Europe to do with us?
Robert, Gordon and the Shepherds.
Hear! Hear! We do, we do ask!
Re. Off.
(Very effectively.) But I answer you lads, what language do we speak? English! What race are we? Britons! Why, lads, the British over there aren’t as British as we are; They are English and Scotch and Irish and Welsh—but what are we? All these British strains mixed! Most of us have some Scotch blood and some English blood and some Irish blood mixed in our veins, many of us have been to other parts of Britain and got a touch of Canada, or Australia, or South Africa into us. I say lads we are more British than the folks in the Old Dart. We are a fine blend of all the flavours of different Britons, we are the very essence of Britain! We are epitomes of Empire.
All.
(Enthusiastic.) Hurray, that’s right. Hear, hear! Go it!
Roto.
(Particularly enthusiastic.) We are, we are, hear, hear, Boss!
1st Shep.
(Digging Roto in the ribs.) Ho, Ho!
Re. Off.
Do I need to tell you it’s a righteous war?
Gordon.
We know that!
Robert.
Shut up, let him give us his speech!
Re. Off.
(Smiling.) I wasn’t going into that. I don’t have to tell our lads it’s a righteous war. I only asked it like a rhetorical question this time.
Roto.
Go on, Boss, go on. You speak most as fine as a Maori chief.
Re. Off.
Now, if Britons are engaged in this war, we are engaged, for are we not the Britons of the British? We are. And lads, I will tell you, in the words of our own Prime Minister, Mr. Massey himself, I say to you that “All that we have and are is staked upon the issue of the war!”
All.
(Tremendous enthusiasm.) Hear, hear, bravo, hurrah!
(A roar of sound drowns the actual words. Varlie shouts, but has a slight sneering smile on his lips as he watches the generous enthusiasm of the others.)
Re. Off.
Now lads, you know we are free Britons in this country. We expect every New Zealander will do his duty because he’s glad, aye and proud to do it. You are all only waiting to be told what to do. We have no compulsion. But when you know what we are going to do, you’ll all want to join in.
Shepherds.
Tell us Mister.
Re. Off.
We are a small nation. Only about a million souls of us altogether, counting women and children. Now that’s very small as nations go. But what are we going to do? We are going to put a larger number of troops in the field than the British had in the great battle of Waterloo!
(All at first incredulous, then wildly enthusiastic.)
Re. Off.
Aye, Aye, lads. Well may you shout. That’s what comes of being New Zealand Britons. But we are going to do more. We are going to do what the experts tell us is the most possible that any nation can do; in three years we are going to have ten per cent. of our total population in the field! That’s the maximum, the absolute scientific limit of what any nation can put in. And that means from our little country we shall send one hundred thousand men to the field.
All.
Hurray, hurray!
Loveday.
(Glowing.) How splendid, how splendid you are!
Re. Off.
That’s it Missy, that’s how New Zealand women take it.
Robert.
She’s English, she’s just visiting from home!
Re. Off.
From the Old Dart? Our men’ll follow you back Missy, all of us would like to, only the years have passed over some, and that ties ’em. When the years press on your shoulders you can’t carry the knapsack too! And I see some of you chaps are too old.
1st Shep.
(Groans.) I am, curse the day I was born.
Re. Off.
But all of you, every one of you has your part to play. If you can’t fight you can save. That’s what the people of New Zealand haven’t realised yet. How many of our patriots have reduced their consumption of petrol or of beer by a single gallon because of their patriotism? Yet that is what they must do. That’s what we all must do.
Men must fight
And women must save
The path of glory for Britons to pave.
(Loveday and Gordon stand a little apart and are talking.)
Gordon.
Ah, this stirs one! I wonder if this is what I ought to do?
Loveday.
(Smilingly shakes her head.) I don’t know.
Gordon.
A man has only one life. That’s all he can give to his country.
Loveday.
But the thousands of sheep you raise may be even more useful! (mischievously). It is a question you know—is one man as much use to his country as his ten thousand sheep?
Gordon.
Old men can raise sheep.
Re. Off.
(Louder, catching all eyes.) And now to come to the fighting element. I’ve just said, all of you can do something. But those of you who can fight are wanted now. Have you seen this paper? (Takes official set of questions out of his pocket.)
Men.
(Shaking their heads.) No. What is it?
Re. Off.
Then I’ll read it to you. It is addressed to all men between nineteen and forty-five. Which of you are between nineteen and forty-five?
Gordon.
(Looks across at Loveday and says to her alone.) That’s a direct message to me.
(Gordon, Robert, Roto and the 2nd Shepherd stand out, each saying “I am!”)
Re. Off.
(Slapping Roto on the shoulder.) How old are you?
Roto.
(Quickly.) Forty-five, Mister.
Re. Off.
Open your mouth.
(Roto opens and shows browned teeth.)
Re. Off.
(Laughing.) Forty-five, with that hair and those teeth!
Roto.
(Protesting.) I am, I am. My hair gone pale when I was nearly drowned in the Rotorua hot spring.
Re. Off.
Get out.
Roto.
(Persistently.) I’m strong man. I’m young man, see my muscle. Feel my arm.
Re. Off.
You are not a Pakeha. You can’t fight with the Pakeha.
Loveday.
(To Nora.) What is Pakeha? What does he mean?
Nora.
Pakeha are white men, Englishmen.
Roto.
(Protesting.) My father was a Queen-Maori.
Re. Off.
Was he? That’s good.
Loveday.
Whatever is a Queen-Maori?
Re. Off.
In the great war, missy, the Maori war, the Maoris who fought on the side of the English, under Queen Victoria, you know, they were called Queen-Maoris.
Roto.
My father fought with Pakeha then, why not me to-day? Take me. I am strong like the branches of the Kauri pine. I am hard as my hei-tiki. My father was a Queen-Maori. I will be a Queen-Maori and fight for you. Take me.
Re. Off.
You are too old. You are sixty years old if you are a minute.
Roto.
No, no.
Re. Off.
(To the 1st Shepherd.) He is on your station, isn’t he? How old is he?
1st Shep.
Well, we don’t know exactly. But it is about six years ago since we had a feast and a good drink because he said it was his fiftieth birthday.
Re. Off.
There! Stand aside my man. If you are so strong you must do the work the young men leave behind them.
(Roto protests, and expresses chagrin but says no more.)
Re. Off.
(To Gordon not noticing his lameness as he stands with the others.) How old are you, sir?
Gordon.
Twenty-nine.
Re. Off.
(To Robert.) And you, sir?
Robert.
Thirty-one.
Re. Off.
Good! (To 2nd Shepherd.) And you?
2nd Shep.
Forty-two.
Re. Off.
H’m. You look more.
2nd Shep.
I’m forty-two (glares.)
Re. Off.
(Feeling his arm and looking at him.) H’m. Well. Now lads. On this paper are the following questions addressed specially to you as you are between nineteen and forty-five. Question A. Have you volunteered for military service beyond New Zealand as a member of an Expeditionary Force in connection with the present war? If so, have you been accepted for service or rejected?
All Three.
No. No, Boss. No.
Re. Off.
Well, Question B. If you have not volunteered for service, are you, being a single man without dependants, willing to become a member of an Expeditionary Force? or (2) Are you—? By the way, let’s settle that first. Are you all single men?
All Three.
Yes. Yes. Yes, sir.
Re. Off.
Then I needn’t read the alternative questions. Are you willing to become members of an Expeditionary Force?
All Three.
Yes.
Re. Off.
That’s right, lads. Now I’ll be honest with you, and tell you that all the law asks of you is to sign copies of this paper and send them in—you will get them officially in a few days maybe—but that’s not what I’m here for, to get from you a mere scrap of paper with a promise for the future on it. I’m here to get you yourselves, lads, now. That’s better fitted to a Briton than to write his name on a bit of paper, and to go back to his ordinary job! He that puts his hand to the plough and turns back—you know what it says in the Bible. You lads, and I, have got acquainted this afternoon, and I know you’re not that kind.
All Three.
No! We are not! We’ll come now, right now!
Robert.
(Taking a step forward.) I’ll come at once. That’s square. (Looking at Loveday and smiling.) Can you fit me out in khaki right now, Officer?
Re. Off.
The doctor’ll have to examine you (indicating one of the men with him) and you’ll have to take the oath.
Robert.
Yes, yes. Surely you have an extra uniform handy!
Re. Off.
(Smiling.) It’s very irregular, sir. We’ll see later, step aside.
Gordon.
Now me.
Re. Off.
(Examines him more carefully. Speaking kindly.) Step across to me, sir.
(Gordon tries to conceal his limp as much as possible, but of course fails.)
Re. Off.
(Shaking his head.) No good, sir. Why, you’re lame!
Gordon.
Hardly at all. And I’m strong! I’ve never been ill. I can ride day and night in the saddle. I’d join the mounted rifles!
Re. Off.
Not a bit of good, sir.
Gordon.
(Unbelieving.) I’m the right age. I’m strong. I can ride like a cow-boy. I can shoot better than my brother.
Robert.
That’s so.
Re. Off.
Your bit is not at the front.
Loveday.
Oh, officer. Is it impossible? It is such a trifling limp.
(Gordon looks acutely distressed but smiles bravely and very gratefully at Loveday.)
Re. Off.
Not a bit more good than if you was to ask, Missy.
Gordon.
(Half stammering in his eagerness.) You must take me, somehow or other. You must. I can shoot. I never miss my aim! What is the good of coming here and rousing us all up with your talk of soldiering if you won’t take the best shot in the place?
Re. Off.
(Kindly.) You’ll do no fighting, sir.
Gordon.
(Overcome.) Curse the tree that staked me! Curse the fools that didn’t heal me square!
(There is an awkward silence. He flings up to Nora, who is a little apart from the rest, his eyes blazing.)
Gordon.
Nora, what do you say? Aren’t I fit to go?
Nora.
(Calmly.) Of course not, Gordon. I can’t think how you could have expected—
Gordon.
(Wildly.) Now I see why you never loved me! You’ve teased me often enough. I’ve made love like a man, but to you, to you I was never a man! I see it now. You all think me useless. You don’t look on me as a man!
(A tense pause, Loveday and Robert look rather awkwardly distressed.)
Nora.
(Somewhat cowed.) Don’t be silly.
Robert.
I say, old chap, don’t take it so hard.
Gordon.
Wouldn’t you take it hard if both your country and the woman you love told you plainly you were mere useless rubbish?
Loveday.
(Pitifully.) Perhaps you will find a still greater thing to do for your country. It is not only fighters she needs.
Gordon.
(His lips quivering.) You are kind. But, oh God!—
(He goes toward shelter away from the OTHERS and aimlessly unfolds the blankets, folds them up again, and re-arranges the pile; opens them out and re-folds them, and so on.
Meanwhile, the Recruiting Officer has quietly asked questions of the 2nd Shepherd, whose answers are satisfactory.
Loveday looks from one to the other, then sits brooding, glancing pitifully at Gordon from time to time.
While this is going on, the Recruiting Officer takes Robert and the 2nd Shepherd out, followed by the men with him, leaving Nora, 1st Shepherd, Roto and Varlie in a group. Loveday a little apart.)
Roto.
(Grumbling, to 1st Shepherd.) You have a black heart, you Pakeha tutua.
1st Shep.
Trying to lie about your age? You are older than I am.
Roto.
Why not lie about your age, too?
1st Shep.
What would become of the sheep if I went off? Are the sheep to die on the hills because the Germans are scurvy dogs? And the best lot of sheep we have had, too, since I’ve been on the station!
Nora.
When will you black fellows learn not to tell lies? What is the good of telling lies any way, when you are always found out?
Roto.
I wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t wagged his tongue! And to tell a bit of a lie so to give your life, that’s no lie.
Varlie.
Ah, Miss Nora, don’t try to stamp out necessary lying. The world would be in a queer way if none of us told lies once in a way. I’ll wager you this patent button hook you tell lies yourself now and then. Little ones!
Nora.
(Smiling.) Oh, well—when I say I’m glad to see you, for instance, that’s not a lie. It doesn’t take you in!
Varlie.
Freeze on to the button hook, Miss Nora. I’ve won my wager. It is only sixpence.
Nora.
(Tosses it back to him.) What are you dreaming about, Loveday?
Loveday.
Before ever I met you all—for months past—I have been thinking about Gordon’s problem. What is one who cannot fight to do for our country?
Nora.
Save, as you said yourself.
Loveday.
It isn’t only fighting and saving the nation’s needs. It needs thinking. Wouldn’t it be splendid to see a man’s strength and his brains put into thinking that might save thousands of lives in the time to come.
Varlie.
People who talk about thinking are generally fools. The wise man thinks his hardest how to conceal what he is thinking.
Loveday.
(Swiftly and scornfully.) That’s a worldly man, whose thoughts are grasping. I was dreaming of a man whose thoughts would be gifts.
Varlie.
Thoughts are pretty cheap gifts.
Loveday.
Is there anything we possess that did not grow from a thought? Isn’t the freedom in your country the result of the thought of the men who framed your Constitution? Isn’t all law, all order, all happiness, thought, or the results of it?
Varlie.
Huh! That’s too deep for me.
Nora.
(Reproving.) You are such a dreamer, Loveday. It’s so woolly to dream, stop it.
Loveday.
My dreams are beginning to clear. If no one had ever thought, we would be savages still. All human beings would be tearing out each other’s eyes, always.
Varlie.
Yep. But talking about my thoughts is not my job. (Yawning.) I must be getting along. When are those fellows going to start?
(Sounds of cheering and laughter and trampling without. Robert comes swaggering on in a Khaki uniform with hat jauntily tilted. He is followed by the 2nd Shepherd with Badge and Armlet. Recruiting Officer and his MEN follow, grinning. The group round the fire start up. All crowd round Robert shouting, admiring and patting him on the back. Robert goes up to Loveday and salutes her, she smiles at him cheerily.)
Loveday.
Bravo! How fine you look!
(She looks past him however, to where Gordon is wistfully watching the group, and mastering himself to come forward. She smiles very sweetly and encouragingly at Gordon. The sky slowly takes on sunset tints.)
Nora.
(To Robert.) Give me one of your buttons. I’ll wear it.
Robert.
(Putting her off, with forced gaiety.) With the officer looking? Shame on you!
Nora.
(To Recruiting Officer.) A man who’s enlisted is allowed to give away one button, isn’t he?
Re. Off.
(Smiling.) One—only one—to the girl he loves.
Nora.
(Invitingly.) Now, Robert, you hear!
(Gordon overhears this and waits eagerly for Robert’s answer.)
Robert.
(Laughs and comically struts.) Don’t shear my feathers off me yet!
Nora.
(To Varlie.) Men are vain.
Varlie.
Take one of my buttons! (Holds out his coat.)
Nora.
(Eyes flashing.) When you’re in khaki!
Gordon.
(Pulling himself together, holds out his hand to Robert, speaks huskily.) Good luck, old chap, the best of luck!
(Loveday looks proudly at Gordon.)
Robert.
(Claps Gordon’s shoulder with his free hand.) Keep the station going till I come back, sonny.
Gordon.
I will, Robert.
Robert.
If I come back!
Nora.
(Excitedly.) Of course you will. You’ll come back with a V.C., won’t he, lads?
All.
Of course. He’s just the make of a hero. Hurrah! Bravo!
(All crowd round him shouting and singing snatches of “Rule Britannia, God Save the King,” etc.
The sunset is crimson by now.)
Robert.
Look at the sky! Come, we must be getting back.
(All follow him, marching, waving branches, etc., singing, “See the Conquering hero comes.” The rest troop off, but Robert turns and goes up to Loveday who is lingering and keeps her apart.)
Robert.
Wait a minute, won’t you?
Loveday.
Yes? Of course, what is it?
Robert.
(Shyly.) I say, I—won’t you—(he takes out his jack knife and cuts off a button, offering it to her) I say, won’t you, won’t you wear it, just to bring me luck?
Loveday.
(Hesitates.) Oh—I—
Robert.
Of course I don’t mean—to—to bother you in any way. I mean it only in—in friendship! Just to bring me luck. Do! There’s nothing in it—nothing silly—like what they said.
Loveday.
(Smiling, very charmingly.) Shall I sew it on again for you?
Robert.
Oh! If you won’t have it—you may sew it on if I may keep my coat on while you are doing it!
Loveday.
Very well. Heroes have to be humoured, I suppose. Come along, it’s getting late!
(They follow the others, as she is going off she looks back and sends a compassionate glance towards Gordon.
The sky rapidly darkens. Gordon stays behind, waits till they are all out of sight, then he throws himself face down on the ground, clenching his hands and moving as though in pain. The bell bird’s clear sweet note is heard. He lies in silence then groans aloud.)
Gordon.
To both my country and the woman I love, I’m not a man. I’m lumber—useless lumber! Nora! Nora!
(Gordon crouches in despair. The stage is now dusky, a pale moon shows. Softly, without any noise, between the trunks of two tall trees appears behind him the upper part of a white figure, with the forehead and head half covered by a floating white veil; the face is tender and grave, the eyes glowing as if inspired. In the shadowy light the figure looks like a vision. Gordon does not recognise that it is Loveday. He slowly, as if mesmerised, rises on to his knees. There is a sweet low call of the bell bird far away. Stillness for a moment. Loveday stands silent between the trees.)
Gordon.
(Still half kneeling, speaking in awed tones.) You are a spirit?
(Loveday is quite still.)
Gordon.
You are the goddess of the woods come to me in my pain! Tell me, you beautiful, you wonderful—tell me, what have I to do? Speak to me, speak to me!
(Loveday does not move; in a soft, penetrating voice, she intones, like a chant.)
Loveday.
The bodies of men that can fight are mown down like the grass.
The body of one young man, even if he is a prince among men cannot slay more than a hundred of his enemies.
But by thought a man’s brain might conceive of a way to kill or to save hundreds of thousands.
Now is the time for a Briton to arise who can slay with his great thought all the enemies of the future.
Now is the time for one to bring forth a noble plan, so that all the treacherous aggressors shall be for ever disarmed and the peaceful nations be for ever free from fear of onslaught.
(She draws the veil across her face, takes a step back into the dusk and vanishes.)
Gordon.
(Exalted and trembling with eagerness.) Angel! Goddess! Tell me—how—
(She does not return and makes no sound.)
Slowly the Curtain descends.